Repository: eliben/deep-learning-samples Branch: main Commit: 26e866b5c42f Files: 137 Total size: 9.4 MB Directory structure: gitextract_wihh10ju/ ├── .gitignore ├── .vimrc ├── LICENSE ├── README.rst ├── coursera-sequence-models/ │ ├── README.rst │ └── week-1-building-recurrent-network/ │ ├── dino.py │ ├── dinos.txt │ ├── input.txt │ ├── rnn.py │ ├── rnn_provided.py │ ├── rnn_utils.py │ ├── shakespeare.txt │ └── utils.py ├── cs231n/ │ ├── _z.py │ ├── cifar10.py │ ├── k_nearest_neighbor.py │ ├── k_nearest_neighbor_test.py │ ├── linear_classifier.py │ ├── linear_svm.py │ ├── math_utils.py │ ├── neural_net.py │ ├── run_knn.py │ ├── run_nn.py │ ├── run_svm.py │ ├── softmax.py │ └── timer.py ├── gradients/ │ ├── numgrad.py │ ├── sigmoid.py │ └── tanh.py ├── linear-regression/ │ ├── CCPP-dataset/ │ │ ├── Readme.txt │ │ └── data.csv │ ├── README.rst │ ├── multiple_linear_regression.py │ ├── multiple_linear_regression_test.py │ ├── simple_linear_regression.py │ ├── simple_linear_regression_test.py │ └── timer.py ├── llama2-from-scratch/ │ ├── .gitignore │ ├── .python-version │ ├── README.md │ ├── download.sh │ ├── inference.py │ ├── model.py │ └── pyproject.toml ├── logistic-regression/ │ ├── .gitignore │ ├── .vimrc │ ├── README.rst │ ├── mnist_binary_classifier.py │ ├── mnist_dataset.py │ ├── mnist_multinomial_classifier.py │ ├── mnist_softmax_classifier.py │ ├── plot_binary_decision.py │ ├── plot_binary_losses.py │ ├── plot_sigmoid.py │ ├── regression_lib.py │ ├── regression_lib_test.py │ ├── simple_binary_classifier.py │ └── timer.py ├── min-char-rnn/ │ ├── cnus-clean.txt │ ├── cnus.txt │ ├── input.txt │ ├── markov-model.py │ ├── min-char-lstm.py │ ├── min-char-rnn.py │ └── preprocess-cnus.py ├── nanogpt-lecture/ │ ├── .python-version │ ├── README.md │ ├── bigram.py │ ├── explore-input.py │ ├── gpt.py │ ├── input.txt │ └── pyproject.toml ├── numpy-shapes-tutorial/ │ ├── .python-version │ ├── hello.py │ ├── pyproject.toml │ └── shapes.py ├── pytorch-samples/ │ ├── .python-version │ ├── README.md │ ├── attention-head.py │ ├── basic-device.py │ ├── cross-entropy.py │ ├── linear-compare.py │ ├── moe.py │ ├── pyproject.toml │ ├── topk.py │ └── where.py ├── softmax/ │ ├── softmax.py │ └── softmax_test.py ├── tensorflow-cnn-tutorial/ │ ├── .gitignore │ ├── README.md │ ├── predict.py │ └── train.py ├── tensorflow-samples/ │ ├── basic_operations.py │ ├── conv2d-numpy.py │ ├── conv2d.py │ ├── embedding_partitioned.py │ ├── embedding_shape.py │ ├── embedding_shape_extra_dim.py │ └── reduce_sum.py ├── transformer-attention/ │ ├── .python-version │ ├── README.md │ ├── experimental/ │ │ └── position_enc_sin.py │ ├── moe.py │ ├── multiheadattention.py │ ├── pyproject.toml │ ├── selfattention.py │ ├── softmax.py │ ├── test_moe.py │ ├── test_multiheadattention.py │ └── test_selfattention.py ├── ud730/ │ ├── .gitignore │ ├── .vimrc │ ├── assign1_train_logistic.py │ ├── assign2_tf_sgd.py │ ├── assign3_regularization.py │ ├── assign4_conv.py │ ├── assign5_cbow.py │ ├── assign5_word2vec.py │ ├── assign6.py │ ├── check_images_dir.py │ ├── notmnist_prepare_data.py │ ├── softmax.py │ ├── timer.py │ ├── utils.py │ └── word_utils.py ├── understanding-deep-learning-book/ │ ├── nb-04-03-deep-networks.py │ ├── nb-10-01-1d-convolution.py │ ├── nb-12-01-self-attention.py │ └── nb-12-02-multihead-attention.py └── word2vec-jax/ ├── .gitignore ├── .python-version ├── README.md ├── download-dataset.sh ├── make-train-data.py ├── pyproject.toml ├── similar-words.py └── train.py ================================================ FILE CONTENTS ================================================ ================================================ FILE: .gitignore ================================================ # Byte-compiled / optimized / DLL files __pycache__/ *.py[cod] # C extensions *.so # Distribution / packaging .Python env/ build/ develop-eggs/ dist/ downloads/ eggs/ .eggs/ lib/ lib64/ parts/ sdist/ var/ *.egg-info/ .installed.cfg *.egg # PyInstaller # Usually these files are written by a python script from a template # before PyInstaller builds the exe, so as to inject date/other infos into it. *.manifest *.spec # Installer logs pip-log.txt pip-delete-this-directory.txt # Unit test / coverage reports htmlcov/ .tox/ .coverage .coverage.* .cache nosetests.xml coverage.xml *,cover # Translations *.mo *.pot # Django stuff: *.log # Sphinx documentation docs/_build/ # PyBuilder target/ datasets/ *.gz ================================================ FILE: .vimrc ================================================ " Force indentation styles for this directory autocmd FileType python set shiftwidth=4 autocmd FileType python set tabstop=4 autocmd FileType python set softtabstop=4 ================================================ FILE: LICENSE ================================================ This is free and unencumbered software released into the public domain. 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For more information, please refer to ================================================ FILE: README.rst ================================================ Deep learning & neural networks ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/README.rst ================================================ Use Python 3 with Numpy enabled [for example ~/bin/venv/py36-numpy] ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/dino.py ================================================ import numpy as np from rnn_provided import * import random data = open('dinos.txt', 'r').read() data= data.lower() chars = list(set(data)) data_size, vocab_size = len(data), len(chars) print('There are %d total characters and %d unique characters in your data.' % (data_size, vocab_size)) char_to_ix = { ch:i for i,ch in enumerate(sorted(chars)) } ix_to_char = { i:ch for i,ch in enumerate(sorted(chars)) } print(ix_to_char) def clip(gradients, maxValue): ''' Clips the gradients' values between minimum and maximum. Arguments: gradients -- a dictionary containing the gradients "dWaa", "dWax", "dWya", "db", "dby" maxValue -- everything above this number is set to this number, and everything less than -maxValue is set to -maxValue Returns: gradients -- a dictionary with the clipped gradients. ''' dWaa, dWax, dWya, db, dby = (gradients['dWaa'], gradients['dWax'], gradients['dWya'], gradients['db'], gradients['dby']) for gradient in [dWax, dWaa, dWya, db, dby]: np.clip(gradient, a_min=-maxValue, a_max=maxValue, out=gradient) gradients = {"dWaa": dWaa, "dWax": dWax, "dWya": dWya, "db": db, "dby": dby} return gradients def sample(parameters, char_to_ix, seed): """ Sample a sequence of characters according to a sequence of probability distributions output of the RNN Arguments: parameters -- python dictionary containing the parameters Waa, Wax, Wya, by, and b. char_to_ix -- python dictionary mapping each character to an index. seed -- used for grading purposes. Do not worry about it. Returns: indices -- a list of length n containing the indices of the sampled characters. """ # Retrieve parameters and relevant shapes from "parameters" dictionary Waa, Wax, Wya, by, b = (parameters['Waa'], parameters['Wax'], parameters['Wya'], parameters['by'], parameters['b']) vocab_size = by.shape[0] n_a = Waa.shape[1] n_x = Wax.shape[1] ### START CODE HERE ### # Step 1: Create the one-hot vector x for the first character (initializing # the sequence generation). x = np.zeros((n_x, 1)) # Step 1': Initialize a_prev as zeros a_prev = np.zeros((n_a, 1)) # Create an empty list of indices, this is the list which will contain the # list of indices of the characters to generate. indices = [] # Idx is a flag to detect a newline character, we initialize it to -1. idx = -1 # Loop over time-steps t. At each time-step, sample a character from a # probability distribution and append its index to "indices". We'll stop if # we reach 50 characters (which should be very unlikely with a well trained # model), which helps debugging and prevents entering an infinite loop. counter = 0 newline_character = char_to_ix['\n'] while (idx != newline_character and counter != 50): # Step 2: Forward propagate x using the equations (1), (2) and (3) a = np.tanh(np.dot(Waa, a_prev) + np.dot(Wax, x) + b) z = np.dot(Wya, a) + by y = softmax(z) # for grading purposes np.random.seed(counter+seed) # Step 3: Sample the index of a character within the vocabulary from the # probability distribution y idx = np.random.choice(np.arange(vocab_size), p=y.ravel()) # Append the index to "indices" indices.append(idx) # Step 4: Overwrite the input character as the one corresponding to the sampled index. x = np.zeros((n_x, 1)) x[idx, 0] = 1 # Update "a_prev" to be "a" a_prev = a # for grading purposes seed += 1 counter +=1 if (counter == 50): indices.append(char_to_ix['\n']) return indices def optimize(X, Y, a_prev, parameters, learning_rate = 0.01): """ Execute one step of the optimization to train the model. Arguments: X -- list of integers, where each integer is a number that maps to a character in the vocabulary. Y -- list of integers, exactly the same as X but shifted one index to the left. a_prev -- previous hidden state. parameters -- python dictionary containing: Wax -- Weight matrix multiplying the input, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_x) Waa -- Weight matrix multiplying the hidden state, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a) Wya -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) b -- Bias, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) learning_rate -- learning rate for the model. Returns: loss -- value of the loss function (cross-entropy) gradients -- python dictionary containing: dWax -- Gradients of input-to-hidden weights, of shape (n_a, n_x) dWaa -- Gradients of hidden-to-hidden weights, of shape (n_a, n_a) dWya -- Gradients of hidden-to-output weights, of shape (n_y, n_a) db -- Gradients of bias vector, of shape (n_a, 1) dby -- Gradients of output bias vector, of shape (n_y, 1) a[len(X)-1] -- the last hidden state, of shape (n_a, 1) """ # Forward propagate through time loss, cache = rnn_forward(X, Y, a_prev, parameters, vocab_size) # Backpropagate through time gradients, a = rnn_backward(X, Y, parameters, cache) # Clip your gradients between -5 (min) and 5 (max) gradients = clip(gradients, 5) # Update parameters parameters = update_parameters(parameters, gradients, learning_rate) return loss, gradients, a[len(X)-1] def model(data, ix_to_char, char_to_ix, num_iterations = 35000, n_a = 50, dino_names = 7, vocab_size = 27): """ Trains the model and generates dinosaur names. Arguments: data -- text corpus ix_to_char -- dictionary that maps the index to a character char_to_ix -- dictionary that maps a character to an index num_iterations -- number of iterations to train the model for n_a -- number of units of the RNN cell dino_names -- number of dinosaur names you want to sample at each iteration. vocab_size -- number of unique characters found in the text, size of the vocabulary Returns: parameters -- learned parameters """ # Retrieve n_x and n_y from vocab_size n_x, n_y = vocab_size, vocab_size # Initialize parameters parameters = initialize_parameters(n_a, n_x, n_y) # Initialize loss (this is required because we want to smooth our loss, # don't worry about it) loss = get_initial_loss(vocab_size, dino_names) # Build list of all dinosaur names (training examples). with open("dinos.txt") as f: examples = f.readlines() examples = [x.lower().strip() for x in examples] # Shuffle list of all dinosaur names np.random.seed(0) np.random.shuffle(examples) # Initialize the hidden state of your LSTM a_prev = np.zeros((n_a, 1)) # Optimization loop for j in range(num_iterations): ### START CODE HERE ### # Use the hint above to define one training example (X,Y) (≈ 2 lines) index = j % len(examples) X = [None] + [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in examples[index]] Y = X[1:] + [char_to_ix["\n"]] # Perform one optimization step: Forward-prop -> Backward-prop -> Clip # -> Update parameters Choose a learning rate of 0.01 curr_loss, gradients, a_prev = optimize(X, Y, a_prev, parameters, 0.01) # Use a latency trick to keep the loss smooth. It happens here to # accelerate the training. loss = smooth(loss, curr_loss) # Every 2000 Iteration, generate "n" characters thanks to sample() to # check if the model is learning properly if j % 2000 == 0: print('Iteration: %d, Loss: %f' % (j, loss) + '\n') # The number of dinosaur names to print seed = 0 for name in range(dino_names): # Sample indices and print them sampled_indices = sample(parameters, char_to_ix, seed) print_sample(sampled_indices, ix_to_char) seed += 1 # To get the same result for grading purposed, increment the seed by one. print('\n') return parameters if __name__ == '__main__': #np.random.seed(2) #_, n_a = 20, 100 #Wax, Waa, Wya = np.random.randn(n_a, vocab_size), np.random.randn(n_a, n_a), np.random.randn(vocab_size, n_a) #b, by = np.random.randn(n_a, 1), np.random.randn(vocab_size, 1) #parameters = {"Wax": Wax, "Waa": Waa, "Wya": Wya, "b": b, "by": by} #indices = sample(parameters, char_to_ix, 0) #print("Sampling:") #print("list of sampled indices:", indices) #print("list of sampled characters:", [ix_to_char[i] for i in indices]) parameters = model(data, ix_to_char, char_to_ix) ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/dinos.txt ================================================ Aachenosaurus Aardonyx Abdallahsaurus Abelisaurus Abrictosaurus Abrosaurus Abydosaurus Acanthopholis Achelousaurus Acheroraptor Achillesaurus Achillobator Acristavus Acrocanthosaurus Acrotholus Actiosaurus Adamantisaurus Adasaurus Adelolophus Adeopapposaurus Aegyptosaurus Aeolosaurus Aepisaurus Aepyornithomimus Aerosteon AetonyxAfromimus Afrovenator Agathaumas Aggiosaurus Agilisaurus Agnosphitys Agrosaurus Agujaceratops Agustinia Ahshislepelta Airakoraptor Ajancingenia Ajkaceratops Alamosaurus Alaskacephale Albalophosaurus Albertaceratops Albertadromeus Albertavenator Albertonykus Albertosaurus Albinykus Albisaurus Alcovasaurus Alectrosaurus Aletopelta Algoasaurus Alioramus Aliwalia Allosaurus Almas Alnashetri Alocodon Altirhinus Altispinax Alvarezsaurus Alwalkeria Alxasaurus Amargasaurus Amargastegos Amargatitanis Amazonsaurus Ammosaurus Ampelosaurus Amphicoelias Amphicoelicaudia Amphisaurus Amtocephale Amtosaurus Amurosaurus Amygdalodon Anabisetia Anasazisaurus Anatosaurus Anatotitan Anchiceratops Anchiornis Anchisaurus Andesaurus Andhrasaurus Angaturama Angloposeidon Angolatitan Angulomastacator Aniksosaurus Animantarx Ankistrodon Ankylosaurus Anodontosaurus Anoplosaurus Anserimimus Antarctopelta Antarctosaurus Antetonitrus Anthodon Antrodemus Anzu Aoniraptor Aorun Apatodon Apatoraptor Apatosaurus Appalachiosaurus Aquilops Aragosaurus Aralosaurus Araucanoraptor Archaeoceratops Archaeodontosaurus Archaeopteryx Archaeoraptor Archaeornis Archaeornithoides Archaeornithomimus Arcovenator Arctosaurus Arcusaurus Arenysaurus Argentinosaurus Argyrosaurus Aristosaurus Aristosuchus Arizonasaurus Arkansaurus Arkharavia Arrhinoceratops Arstanosaurus Asiaceratops Asiamericana Asiatosaurus Astrodon Astrodonius Astrodontaurus Astrophocaudia Asylosaurus Atacamatitan Atlantosaurus Atlasaurus Atlascopcosaurus Atrociraptor Atsinganosaurus Aublysodon Aucasaurus Augustia Augustynolophus Auroraceratops Aurornis Australodocus Australovenator Austrocheirus Austroposeidon Austroraptor Austrosaurus Avaceratops Avalonia Avalonianus Aviatyrannis Avimimus Avisaurus Avipes Azendohsaurus Bactrosaurus Bagaceratops Bagaraatan Bahariasaurus Bainoceratops Bakesaurus Balaur Balochisaurus Bambiraptor Banji Baotianmansaurus Barapasaurus Barilium Barosaurus Barrosasaurus Barsboldia Baryonyx Bashunosaurus Basutodon Bathygnathus Batyrosaurus Baurutitan Bayosaurus Becklespinax Beelemodon Beibeilong Beipiaognathus Beipiaosaurus Beishanlong Bellusaurus Belodon Berberosaurus Betasuchus Bicentenaria Bienosaurus Bihariosaurus Bilbeyhallorum Bissektipelta Bistahieversor Blancocerosaurus Blasisaurus Blikanasaurus Bolong Bonapartenykus Bonapartesaurus Bonatitan Bonitasaura Borealopelta Borealosaurus Boreonykus Borogovia Bothriospondylus Brachiosaurus Brachyceratops Brachylophosaurus Brachypodosaurus Brachyrophus Brachytaenius Brachytrachelopan Bradycneme Brasileosaurus Brasilotitan Bravoceratops Breviceratops Brohisaurus Brontomerus Brontoraptor Brontosaurus Bruhathkayosaurus Bugenasaura Buitreraptor Burianosaurus Buriolestes Byranjaffia Byronosaurus Caenagnathasia Caenagnathus Calamosaurus Calamospondylus Calamospondylus Callovosaurus Camarasaurus Camarillasaurus Camelotia Camposaurus Camptonotus Camptosaurus Campylodon Campylodoniscus Canardia Capitalsaurus Carcharodontosaurus Cardiodon Carnotaurus Caseosaurus Cathartesaura Cathetosaurus Caudipteryx Caudocoelus Caulodon Cedarosaurus Cedarpelta Cedrorestes Centemodon Centrosaurus Cerasinops Ceratonykus Ceratops Ceratosaurus Cetiosauriscus Cetiosaurus Changchunsaurus Changdusaurus Changyuraptor Chaoyangsaurus Charonosaurus Chasmosaurus Chassternbergia Chebsaurus Chenanisaurus Cheneosaurus Chialingosaurus Chiayusaurus Chienkosaurus Chihuahuasaurus Chilantaisaurus Chilesaurus Chindesaurus Chingkankousaurus Chinshakiangosaurus Chirostenotes Choconsaurus Chondrosteosaurus Chromogisaurus Chuandongocoelurus Chuanjiesaurus Chuanqilong Chubutisaurus Chungkingosaurus Chuxiongosaurus Cinizasaurus Cionodon Citipati Cladeiodon Claorhynchus Claosaurus Clarencea Clasmodosaurus Clepsysaurus Coahuilaceratops Coelophysis Coelosaurus Coeluroides Coelurosauravus Coelurus Colepiocephale Coloradia Coloradisaurus Colossosaurus Comahuesaurus Comanchesaurus Compsognathus Compsosuchus Concavenator Conchoraptor Condorraptor Coronosaurus Corythoraptor Corythosaurus Craspedodon Crataeomus Craterosaurus Creosaurus Crichtonpelta Crichtonsaurus Cristatusaurus Crosbysaurus Cruxicheiros Cryolophosaurus Cryptodraco Cryptoraptor Cryptosaurus Cryptovolans Cumnoria Daanosaurus Dacentrurus Dachongosaurus Daemonosaurus Dahalokely Dakosaurus Dakotadon Dakotaraptor Daliansaurus Damalasaurus Dandakosaurus Danubiosaurus Daptosaurus Darwinsaurus Dashanpusaurus Daspletosaurus Dasygnathoides Dasygnathus Datanglong Datonglong Datousaurus Daurosaurus Daxiatitan Deinocheirus Deinodon Deinonychus Delapparentia Deltadromeus Demandasaurus Denversaurus Deuterosaurus Diabloceratops Diamantinasaurus Dianchungosaurus Diceratops DiceratusDiclonius Dicraeosaurus DidanodonDilong Dilophosaurus Diluvicursor Dimodosaurus Dinheirosaurus Dinodocus Dinotyrannus Diplodocus Diplotomodon Diracodon Dolichosuchus Dollodon Domeykosaurus Dongbeititan Dongyangopelta Dongyangosaurus Doratodon Doryphorosaurus Draconyx Dracopelta Dracoraptor Dracorex Dracovenator Dravidosaurus Dreadnoughtus Drinker Dromaeosauroides Dromaeosaurus Dromiceiomimus Dromicosaurus Drusilasaura Dryosaurus Dryptosauroides Dryptosaurus Dubreuillosaurus Duriatitan Duriavenator Dynamosaurus Dyoplosaurus Dysalotosaurus Dysganus Dyslocosaurus Dystrophaeus Dystylosaurus Echinodon Edmarka Edmontonia Edmontosaurus Efraasia Einiosaurus Ekrixinatosaurus Elachistosuchus Elaltitan Elaphrosaurus Elmisaurus Elopteryx Elosaurus Elrhazosaurus Elvisaurus Emausaurus Embasaurus Enigmosaurus Eoabelisaurus Eobrontosaurus Eocarcharia Eoceratops Eocursor Eodromaeus Eohadrosaurus Eolambia Eomamenchisaurus Eoplophysis Eoraptor Eosinopteryx Eotrachodon Eotriceratops Eotyrannus Eousdryosaurus Epachthosaurus Epanterias Ephoenosaurus Epicampodon Epichirostenotes Epidendrosaurus Epidexipteryx Equijubus Erectopus Erketu Erliansaurus Erlikosaurus Eshanosaurus Euacanthus Eucamerotus Eucentrosaurus Eucercosaurus Eucnemesaurus Eucoelophysis Eugongbusaurus Euhelopus Euoplocephalus Eupodosaurus Eureodon Eurolimnornis Euronychodon Europasaurus Europatitan Europelta Euskelosaurus Eustreptospondylus Fabrosaurus Falcarius Fendusaurus Fenestrosaurus Ferganasaurus Ferganastegos Ferganocephale Foraminacephale Fosterovenator Frenguellisaurus Fruitadens Fukuiraptor Fukuisaurus Fukuititan Fukuivenator Fulengia Fulgurotherium Fusinasus Fusuisaurus Futabasaurus Futalognkosaurus Gadolosaurus Galeamopus Galesaurus Gallimimus Galtonia Galveosaurus Galvesaurus Gannansaurus Gansutitan Ganzhousaurus Gargoyleosaurus Garudimimus Gasosaurus Gasparinisaura Gastonia Gavinosaurus Geminiraptor Genusaurus Genyodectes Geranosaurus Gideonmantellia Giganotosaurus Gigantoraptor Gigantosaurus Gigantosaurus Gigantoscelus Gigantspinosaurus Gilmoreosaurus Ginnareemimus Giraffatitan Glacialisaurus Glishades Glyptodontopelta Skeleton Gobiceratops Gobisaurus Gobititan Gobivenator Godzillasaurus Gojirasaurus Gondwanatitan Gongbusaurus Gongpoquansaurus Gongxianosaurus Gorgosaurus Goyocephale Graciliceratops Graciliraptor Gracilisuchus Gravitholus Gresslyosaurus Griphornis Griphosaurus Gryphoceratops Gryponyx Gryposaurus Gspsaurus Guaibasaurus Gualicho Guanlong Gwyneddosaurus Gyposaurus Hadrosauravus Hadrosaurus Haestasaurus Hagryphus Hallopus Halszkaraptor Halticosaurus Hanssuesia Hanwulosaurus Haplocanthosaurus Haplocanthus Haplocheirus Harpymimus Haya Hecatasaurus Heilongjiangosaurus Heishansaurus Helioceratops Helopus Heptasteornis Herbstosaurus Herrerasaurus Hesperonychus Hesperosaurus Heterodontosaurus Heterosaurus Hexing Hexinlusaurus Heyuannia Hierosaurus Hippodraco Hironosaurus Hisanohamasaurus Histriasaurus Homalocephale Honghesaurus Hongshanosaurus Hoplitosaurus Hoplosaurus Horshamosaurus Hortalotarsus Huabeisaurus Hualianceratops Huanansaurus Huanghetitan Huangshanlong Huaxiagnathus Huaxiaosaurus Huaxiasaurus Huayangosaurus Hudiesaurus Huehuecanauhtlus Hulsanpes Hungarosaurus Huxleysaurus Hylaeosaurus HylosaurusHypacrosaurus Hypselorhachis Hypselosaurus Hypselospinus Hypsibema Hypsilophodon Hypsirhophus habodcraniosaurus Ichthyovenator Ignavusaurus Iguanacolossus Iguanodon Iguanoides Skeleton Iguanosaurus Iliosuchus Ilokelesia Incisivosaurus Indosaurus Indosuchus Ingenia Inosaurus Irritator Isaberrysaura Isanosaurus Ischioceratops Ischisaurus Ischyrosaurus Isisaurus Issasaurus Itemirus Iuticosaurus Jainosaurus Jaklapallisaurus Janenschia Jaxartosaurus Jeholosaurus Jenghizkhan Jensenosaurus Jeyawati Jianchangosaurus Jiangjunmiaosaurus Jiangjunosaurus Jiangshanosaurus Jiangxisaurus Jianianhualong Jinfengopteryx Jingshanosaurus Jintasaurus Jinzhousaurus Jiutaisaurus Jobaria Jubbulpuria Judiceratops Jurapteryx Jurassosaurus Juratyrant Juravenator Kagasaurus Kaijiangosaurus Kakuru Kangnasaurus Karongasaurus Katepensaurus Katsuyamasaurus Kayentavenator Kazaklambia Kelmayisaurus KemkemiaKentrosaurus Kentrurosaurus Kerberosaurus Kentrosaurus Khaan Khetranisaurus Kileskus Kinnareemimus Kitadanisaurus Kittysaurus KlamelisaurusKol Koparion Koreaceratops Koreanosaurus Koreanosaurus Koshisaurus Kosmoceratops Kotasaurus Koutalisaurus Kritosaurus Kryptops Krzyzanowskisaurus Kukufeldia Kulceratops Kulindadromeus Kulindapteryx Kunbarrasaurus Kundurosaurus Kunmingosaurus Kuszholia Labocania Labrosaurus Laelaps Laevisuchus Lagerpeton Lagosuchus Laiyangosaurus Lamaceratops Lambeosaurus Lametasaurus Lamplughsaura Lanasaurus Lancangosaurus Lancanjiangosaurus Lanzhousaurus Laosaurus Lapampasaurus Laplatasaurus Lapparentosaurus Laquintasaura Latenivenatrix Latirhinus Leaellynasaura Leinkupal Leipsanosaurus Lengosaurus Leonerasaurus Lepidocheirosaurus Lepidus Leptoceratops Leptorhynchos Leptospondylus Leshansaurus Lesothosaurus Lessemsaurus Levnesovia Lewisuchus Lexovisaurus Leyesaurus Liaoceratops Liaoningosaurus Liaoningtitan Liaoningvenator Liassaurus Libycosaurus Ligabueino Ligabuesaurus Ligomasaurus Likhoelesaurus Liliensternus Limaysaurus Limnornis Limnosaurus Limusaurus Linhenykus Linheraptor Linhevenator Lirainosaurus LisboasaurusLiubangosaurus Lohuecotitan Loncosaurus Longisquama Longosaurus Lophorhothon Lophostropheus Loricatosaurus Loricosaurus Losillasaurus Lourinhanosaurus Lourinhasaurus Luanchuanraptor Luanpingosaurus Lucianosaurus Lucianovenator Lufengosaurus Lukousaurus Luoyanggia Lurdusaurus Lusitanosaurus Lusotitan Lycorhinus Lythronax Macelognathus Machairasaurus Machairoceratops Macrodontophion Macrogryphosaurus Macrophalangia Macroscelosaurus Macrurosaurus Madsenius Magnapaulia Magnamanus Magnirostris Magnosaurus Magulodon Magyarosaurus Mahakala Maiasaura Majungasaurus Majungatholus Malarguesaurus Malawisaurus Maleevosaurus Maleevus Mamenchisaurus Manidens Mandschurosaurus Manospondylus Mantellisaurus Mantellodon Mapusaurus Marasuchus Marisaurus Marmarospondylus Marshosaurus Martharaptor Masiakasaurus Massospondylus Matheronodon Maxakalisaurus Medusaceratops Megacervixosaurus Megadactylus Megadontosaurus Megalosaurus Megapnosaurus Megaraptor Mei Melanorosaurus Mendozasaurus Mercuriceratops Meroktenos Metriacanthosaurus Microcephale Microceratops Microceratus Microcoelus Microdontosaurus Microhadrosaurus Micropachycephalosaurus Microraptor Microvenator Mierasaurus Mifunesaurus Minmi Minotaurasaurus Miragaia Mirischia Moabosaurus Mochlodon Mohammadisaurus Mojoceratops Mongolosaurus Monkonosaurus Monoclonius Monolophosaurus Mononychus Mononykus Montanoceratops Morelladon 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Pycnonemosaurus Pyroraptor Qantassaurus Qianzhousaurus Qiaowanlong Qijianglong Qinlingosaurus Qingxiusaurus Qiupalong Quaesitosaurus Quetecsaurus Quilmesaurus Rachitrema Rahiolisaurus Rahona Rahonavis Rajasaurus Rapator Rapetosaurus Raptorex Ratchasimasaurus Rativates Rayososaurus Razanandrongobe Rebbachisaurus Regaliceratops Regnosaurus Revueltosaurus Rhabdodon Rhadinosaurus Rhinorex Rhodanosaurus Rhoetosaurus Rhopalodon Riabininohadros Richardoestesia Rileya Rileyasuchus Rinchenia Rinconsaurus Rioarribasaurus Riodevasaurus Riojasaurus Riojasuchus Rocasaurus Roccosaurus Rubeosaurus Ruehleia Rugocaudia Rugops Rukwatitan Ruyangosaurus Sacisaurus Sahaliyania Saichania Saldamosaurus Salimosaurus Saltasaurus Saltopus Saltriosaurus Sanchusaurus Sangonghesaurus Sanjuansaurus Sanpasaurus Santanaraptor Saraikimasoom Sarahsaurus Sarcolestes Sarcosaurus Sarmientosaurus Saturnalia Sauraechinodon Saurolophus Sauroniops Sauropelta Saurophaganax Saurophagus Sauroplites Sauroposeidon Saurornithoides 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Vagaceratops Vahiny Valdoraptor Valdosaurus Variraptor Velociraptor Vectensia Vectisaurus Velafrons Velocipes Velociraptor Velocisaurus Venaticosuchus Venenosaurus Veterupristisaurus Viavenator Vitakridrinda Vitakrisaurus Volkheimeria Vouivria Vulcanodon Wadhurstia Wakinosaurus Walgettosuchus Walkeria Walkersaurus Wangonisaurus Wannanosaurus Wellnhoferia Wendiceratops Wiehenvenator Willinakaqe Wintonotitan Wuerhosaurus Wulagasaurus Wulatelong Wyleyia Wyomingraptor Xenoceratops Xenoposeidon Xenotarsosaurus Xianshanosaurus Xiaosaurus Xingxiulong Xinjiangovenator Xinjiangtitan Xiongguanlong Xixianykus Xixiasaurus Xixiposaurus Xuanhanosaurus Xuanhuaceratops Xuanhuasaurus Xuwulong Yaleosaurus Yamaceratops Yandusaurus Yangchuanosaurus Yaverlandia Yehuecauhceratops Yezosaurus Yibinosaurus Yimenosaurus Yingshanosaurus Yinlong Yixianosaurus Yizhousaurus Yongjinglong Yuanmouraptor Yuanmousaurus Yueosaurus Yulong Yunganglong Yunmenglong Yunnanosaurus Yunxianosaurus Yurgovuchia Yutyrannus Zanabazar Zanclodon Zapalasaurus Zapsalis Zaraapelta ZatomusZby Zephyrosaurus Zhanghenglong Zhejiangosaurus Zhenyuanlong Zhongornis Zhongjianosaurus Zhongyuansaurus Zhuchengceratops Zhuchengosaurus Zhuchengtitan Zhuchengtyrannus Ziapelta Zigongosaurus Zizhongosaurus Zuniceratops Zunityrannus Zuolong Zuoyunlong Zupaysaurus Zuul ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/input.txt ================================================ ok, Air Monster, by Edwin Green This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Air Monster Author: Edwin Green Release Date: November 14, 2017 [eBook #55965] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AIR MONSTER*** E-text prepared by Roger Frank AIR MONSTER by EDWIN GREEN The Goldsmith Publishing Company New York Copyright 1932 The Goldsmith Publishing Company Made in U. S. A. CONTENTS I. On Secret Duty II. The Air Monster III. Mystery Plane IV. Danger in the Air V. No Clues VI. The Night Alarm VII. Suspicions VIII. Mysterious Moves IX. On the East Side X. The Neptune Sails XI. In the Hangar XII. Trial Flight XIII. Wings of the Storm XIV. Flood Relief XV. In Northern Seas XVI. Rescue in the Arctic AIR MONSTER CHAPTER I On Secret Duty Lights glowed brightly in the large, bare tower room which was the headquarters of the Gerka, secret police organization of Rubania. It was midnight and a meeting of the supreme council of the Gerka at that hour could mean only the most urgent business. Residents of Kratz, the capital of Rubania, who happened to be in the streets that night and who saw the lights in the tower of the government palace shook their heads and hurried on their way with fear in their hearts for the Gerka was the most dangerous organization in all Rubania and for that matter one of the most powerful groups of secret police in the whole world. The creation of the new Europe which had followed the World War had resulted in the formation of Rubania, a rich, fertile land east of Prussia. It had been made a free state but Alex Reikoff, an unscrupulous dictator with a lust for world power, had risen to supreme command of the government, crushing out all opposition. He had built up the armed forces of his country until Rubania was recognized as a world power, feared for the might of its armada of submarines and the power of its fleets of airplanes, for Reikoff believed in the power of aircraft as an instrument of war. That the midnight meeting of the Gerka was of unusual importance was borne out when Reikoff himself strode into the room and took his place at the head of the table around which a half dozen men were seated. They looked expectantly at him. Reikoff, short and dark with closely cropped hair, stroked his bristly mustache. He looked intently at the men before him. One after another met his gaze until his eyes looked into those of Serge Larko, in the uniform of a lieutenant of the air force. “Ah, Serge,” said Reikoff, “I’m glad that you could leave your beloved flying machines long enough to answer my call.” “Yes, Excellency,” smiled Serge. “I came at once but there is much that remains to be done on the new XO5 before it will be ready for the long flights for which it has been designed.” “The XO5 must be ready for a six thousand mile non-stop trip by the day after tomorrow,” replied Reikoff, his words short and sharp. “I shall inform the commander of your field that you are to be given every possible assistance. An emergency has come up which makes it imperative that you go soon on a special mission.” Serge, who was one of the newest members of the secret police, gasped at the news that he was to be assigned to special work. He had been trained in Germany at Friedrichshafen for service in the lighter-than-air division of the Rubanian air force and only recently had been shifted unexpectedly and without explanation to the airplane division where he had been given an intensive course in the handling of long-distance planes. For the last month he had been supervising the construction of the XO5, the latest type in Rubanian super air cruisers. Surprised though he was at the news that he had been selected for a special mission. Serge felt that he was ready for whatever task might be ordered. The dictator of Rubania spoke again, his words cracking through the midnight stillness of the room. “You are all well aware,” he said, “that the United States is our only rival in the building of dirigibles. Their Los Angeles is antiquated now but their new Akron is superior to anything in the world. It is even a mightier fighting craft than the new Blenkko which we will launch next month. This must not be. We must be supreme in the air!” Reikoff hammered the table with his fists to emphasize his determination and his face reddened at the thought that some nation might have men with more brains and skill than his own engineers. “And now,” he continued, “comes more bad news. The National Airways, Inc., largest passenger aviation company in the United States, has turned to dirigibles. They have been granted a large subsidy by the federal government and now have under construction an airship that will dwarf anything the world has ever known. It is intended primarily for passenger carrying, between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, but, it is so designed that it can be turned into a powerful fighting craft, a floating mother ship in the sky that will be capable of housing a large number of fighting planes. If this dirigible, which has been named the Goliath, is completed and flies, America will remain supreme in the air for at least four more years. It would take us that long to build such a craft as their Goliath in our Blenkko aircraft plant. For America to continue supreme in the air is not in line with my plans. I do not intend that the Goliath shall rule the air.” Serge heard the last words with a sinking heart. He sensed what his mission would be. He knew now why they had rushed the XO5 to completion. Reikoff was talking again. “Lieutenant Larko,” he said, “your mission will take you on a non-stop flight to the United States in the new XO5. Complete details will be given you later but this you must remember. On reaching the United States it is essential that you crash your plane in some manner so that identification will be impossible. You will then proceed to Bellevue where the Goliath is under construction and join the staff of the National Airways.” When the dictator paused, Serge rose to ask a question. “But won’t they question my appearance at Bellevue?” “That will be arranged,” promised Reikoff. “Before you leave Rubania you will be supplied with the credentials of a dirigible expert from the Friedrichshafen works in Germany. I warn you, however, that your mission will be dangerous. The American secret service knows that I will let nothing stand in the way of Rubania’s supremacy in the air and they have been guarding this new dirigible with the greatest secrecy. Our agents in the United States have known for some months that the National Airways was building a ship to enter the transcontinental passenger service but it was only two days ago that they learned the details of the plans. Boris Dubra, one of our cleverest agents in America, has secured employment at the main assembly plant under the name of Cliff Bolton. You will work with him in the accomplishment of your mission. Completion of the Goliath will mean domination of the skies for America. It must not be.” There was a chorus of agreement from the members of the supreme council of the Gerka grouped around the table. “The National Airways have ambitious plans for the Goliath,” went on Reikoff. “Capt. John Harkins, probably the best dirigible commander in the world, will be in charge of the big ship,” he said, fingering the yellow sheets of flimsy, the wireless reports from the American branch of the Gerka which had brought news of the Goliath and its menace to Rubania’s air leadership. “Construction at Bellevue is under the direction of Charles High, vice president in charge of operations, and his son, Andy, who is reported to be an unusually resourceful young scientist and who will be Captain Harkins’ first assistant.” “Your duty,” went on Reikoff, addressing himself directly to Serge, “will be to win the confidence of Andy High. In America you will be known as Herman Blatz. Once you have done that you should be in a position to bring about the destruction of the Goliath. You must learn its every secret. If necessary that the ship be allowed to fly in order to accomplish that goal, do not interfere until you have mastered every secret of these American aircraft builders. When you have done that, destroy the Goliath!” Serge nodded slowly. So this was why he had been drafted into the secret police. He was to destroy the new king of the skies. Serge loved the great, gracefully looking airships on which he had been trained at Friedrichshafen and the thought of destroying one of them sickened him. But he was a Rubanian, a member of the great army which lived as Alex Reikoff dictated and he finally forced himself to accept the mission. The meeting of the supreme council adjourned at two o’clock and Serge drove hastily through the deserted streets of the capital until he reached the flying field where he was supervising the final work on the XO5, the new distance plane. Mechanics were routed from their beds and set to work preparing the big monoplane for its long flight across the Atlantic. For eighteen hours Serge worked feverishly over the craft, making test flights over the field and checking every detail of the preparations. Satisfied that his craft was ready, he rolled into a bed at the field and slept for twelve hours. Awakened at dawn the second day following the secret meeting of the supreme council, he found Reikoff at the field to see him off. Last minute instructions followed, a checking of weather maps, acceptance of the secret papers which would put him in touch with the American headquarters of the Gerka and the last words from Reikoff. “Learn the secrets of the Goliath; then destroy that air monster.” With those words ringing in his ears. Serge climbed into the cockpit of the dull-gray low-winged monoplane, opened the throttle, shot his squat looking craft down the field and into the air. He circled the field once while gaining altitude. Then the young lieutenant of the Rubania air force headed his ship westward. He had started his 6,000 mile flight to America, a mission of destruction which was to involve the Goliath, its builders and especially Andy High, young assistant pilot. CHAPTER II The Air Monster Before Andy High and the construction experts of the National Airways had arrived to supervise the building of the Goliath, Uncle Sam’s newest bid for supremacy in the skies, Bellevue had been a sleepy little village in the heart of the bluegrass section of Kentucky. It had been selected as the construction site for several reasons. One of the most important was its location between two long rows of hills which insured it of protection from high winds. Another was its comparative isolation. There were no main highways leading into the bluegrass town and only one branch line railroad, which, however, was sufficient to handle the shipments of supplies. The secrecy which shrouded the building of the Goliath was another factor in the selection of Bellevue, for the isolated little village was hard to get to without being seen and it was a comparatively easy thing to guard all entrances to the valley. Construction headquarters had been set up almost two years before the spring in which the Goliath was scheduled for trial tests. First had come freight trains heavily laden with building materials. A little village of construction houses had gone up alongside the railroad to shelter the workmen whose task it was to build the great hangar which was to house the Goliath. As mighty as the hangar of the Akron was, that of the Goliath was even larger. It measured 1,400 feet from one of its “orange peel” doors to the other and was broad enough for the Goliath, when completed, to nest comfortably alongside the Los Angeles, when that dirigible hopped over from Lakehurst for a friendly call. Andy High, son of the vice president of operations of National Airways, had arrived with the first of the construction crews and had hardly left the village during the two intervening years. His father, Charles High, and Capt. John Harkins, who was to be in command of the new sky king, had shuttled back and forth between the assembly plant at Bellevue and the various factories in other cities which were supplying materials which went into the construction. It had been Andy’s duty to stay on the job at Bellevue and see that every part of the carefully organized construction machine kept to its schedule for every day represented thousands of dollars to the National Airways and they made each working minute count. The hangar had been completed and parts of the dirigible, much of which had been fabricated at the Zeppelin plant at Akron, arrived by the train-load to be assembled in the big dome-shaped shed just outside Bellevue. On this particular spring morning, Andy was in his office just outside the hangar, pouring over the set of blueprints for the big gondola which was being assembled for the forward end of the dirigible. He was engrossed in the blueprints and failed to hear Bert Benson, who was to be chief radio operator on the Goliath, enter the room. “Hello, Andy,” said Bert quietly. The unexpected greeting startled the young aircraft engineer and he jumped involuntarily. When he saw that his visitor was Bert he grinned sheepishly. “Sorry I jumped like that,” he said, “but we’ve been having so many mishaps in the last two weeks my nerves are on edge.” “I know it,” replied Bert gravely. “It’s been just one thing after another. First something goes wrong here and then something turns up in another part of the plant. Seems as though there was a hoodoo on this valley.” “I wouldn’t exactly call it a hoodoo,” said Andy, “but we’ve certainly been having our share of tough breaks. I’ll be glad when Dad and Captain Harkins get back from Akron. Then we’ll be able to give more of our time to closer supervision of the plant and these accidents may be stopped.” The words were barely out of Andy’s mouth when Bert, who had been looking toward the far end of the hangar, gripped the young engineer hard. “Look, Andy,” he cried, “one of the doors at the other end of the hangar is opening!” Andy looked in the direction Bert pointed. There was no mistake. One of the huge “orange peel” doors which sealed the ends of the hangar was swinging back on the railroad track on which it was mounted. “Something’s gone wrong down there,” said Andy sharply. “A crew is working on top of that door this morning. They may be brushed off if that door isn’t stopped at once.” Bert realized the danger to men working on the top of the 225 foot, 600 ton door, and he nodded grimly. There was something decidedly wrong, for specific orders had been issued that the doors were never to be opened unless Andy or Capt. Harkins were at the controls of the motors which moved the giant doors. “Come on,” cried Andy. “We’ve got to stop that door.” They left the office and jumped into Andy’s roadster which was parked nearby. With a clashing of hastily shifted gears, they roared along the outside of the hangar. While they dashed toward the end, the door continued its slow, relentless movement. At the top they could see a half dozen men clinging to the girders. The control room for the doors was on the other side and Andy whipped his roadster around the end of the hangar. He was out of the machine before it stopped and raced toward the motor room with Bert at his heels. There was no one at the control board and the powerful motors were humming softly. With one swift movement Andy shut off the power and the great door stopped. “Run outside and tell that crew on top of the door to hang on for another five minutes,” Andy told Bert. “Warn them to hold on tight when I start rolling the door in.” The radio operator departed on the run and Andy, looking through a window, saw Bert megaphone with his hands and shout the warning to the desperate crew clinging on top of the door. Andy threw over the controls and turned on the motors. He let the clutch which operated the door mechanism in easily and the great “orange peel” moved slowly back into place. While the motors sang at their task, Andy’s mind was busy over this near tragedy. It could not have been an accident by the furthest stretch of the imagination for motors do not start all by themselves and clutches do not jump into place without a guiding hand. In the last two weeks there had been one minor accident after another. It had been maddening. The Goliath was scheduled to make its trial flights in two more months and there wast much remaining to be done. Each little delay meant valuable time lost and Andy had about come to the conclusion that a deliberate attempt was being made to delay the construction of the great ship. He promised himself that there would be a thorough investigation of this latest incident. The door finally rolled into place and the half dozen men who had been in danger of their lives quickly climbed down to a place of safety. Andy disengaged the clutch and shut off the motors. Bert returned and they made a thorough inspection of the little room but found nothing which would identify the man who had started the motors. “Now I’ll tell you why I came into your office,” Bert told Andy after they had securely locked the control room. “Last night someone tampered with my radio equipment and broke up a lot of it.” Andy’s lips snapped into a thin, straight line. “How much damage was done?” he asked. “Not as much as I first feared,” replied Bert. “As luck would have it whoever used the hammer destroyed experimental equipment and the installation for the Goliath is almost intact. He must have been an amateur at the job or he would have singled out the set for the Goliath and smashed it.” “What you’ve told me and what’s just happened,” said Andy grimly, “makes me positive that there is a well-defined plot under way to injure the Goliath in every way possible. I thought we had a hand-picked crew that couldn’t be bribed but it looks like I was wrong.” From the timber-covered hills behind the hangar came the sharp crackle of rifle fire, which was followed by a tense quiet as every man in the great hangar stopped work. When the rifle fire was not repeated, the crews slowly resumed their work and Andy and Bert headed for the hills on the run. Since the Goliath had been partially financed by a government appropriation and its construction embodied secrets valuable to the war department, a military guard had patrolled the construction site from the day the hangar had been completed and the actual assembly of the dirigible started. On a number of occasions they had apprehended men trying to make their way into Bellevue and without exception the secret service detail at the hangar had found them to be agents of foreign governments. They had been quietly sent to military prisons but in the last few weeks there had been no such arrests and the vigilance of the guards had been relaxed somewhat. Andy and Bert were half-way up the slope to the guard line when they met Merritt Timms, chief of the secret service unit at Bellevue, coming down the hill. “Anybody hurt at the hangar?” asked Timms anxiously. “No,” replied Andy. “We stopped the door in time. What happened on top of the hill?” “The guard had to stop a man who was trying to get away,” explained Timms. “I’ve been suspecting one of the motor mechanics for some time of sabotage and only ten minutes ago saw him sneak out of the control room door. A second later one of the doors started to open and I knew what he had been up to. I saw you coming to shut off the power and I took after this fellow. He knew he’d have to make a quick get-away and he tried to get past the guard line.” “Did he refuse to stop?” asked Bert. “Not only that,” replied the secret service chief, “but he attempted to shoot and the guard fired, but he wasn’t seriously wounded.” “I can’t feel very sorry for him,” said Andy, “when I think of the half dozen men, on top of the door, he almost killed. If the door had run to the end of its track with the power still on it would have ripped away from its fastenings and perhaps have crushed an end of the hangar.” “Which is exactly what this chap wanted,” added Timms. “I’ve got a little leather packet here in which he carried some secret papers. We’ll have a look at them.” The name on the leather folder was that of Cliff Bolton, a common enough American name, but the secret service man and Andy and Bert were in for a surprise when they examined the contents. Documents there showed the true name of the spy to have been Boris Dubra, an agent of the dreaded Rubanian Gerka, whose reputation for unscrupulous methods was known even in Bellevue. “This puts a new angle on the whole case,” said Timms gravely. “Of course you know that Alex Reikoff, dictator of Rubania, is determined that his air force shall be the most powerful in the world. Until just now we hadn’t discovered a single Rubanian agent trying to get through the lines but it certainly looks as though Reikoff is definitely interested in the Goliath, all of which means we will have to redouble our vigilance.” “But why should Reikoff have designs against the Goliath?” asked Bert. “It’s a long story,” replied the secret service chief, “but to boil it down it means that he plans to make Rubania a world power through the development of a great air force. When his planes and dirigibles are the peer of anything else in the world, he will strike out for world power.” “Which would mean another war,” said Andy quietly. “Just exactly,” replied Timms, “and when the Goliath is completed and in the air it will dwarf even the great dirigibles Reikoff has turned out at his Blenkko plant in Rubania. Now you understand why the Rubanian secret police, or Gerka as it is better known, is interested in the Goliath. So far we’ve been pretty successful in checking sabotage and this mechanic was the only man they could get into the plant.” “He was enough,” said Andy, “for had his plan succeeded and the door have crushed an end of the hangar we might have been delayed for months.” They walked slowly back toward the hangar, discussing further the events which had just taken place and planning for the tightening of the guard lines around the plant. “As soon as this agent of the Gerka is patched up in the hospital I’ll go over and give him a thorough grilling,” said Timms as they reached the hangar. “Let me know when you go,” said Andy. “I’d like to see what he has to say.” “I’ll do that,” promised the secret service agent as Andy and Bert got into the young engineer’s roadster. When they reached the little building which served as Andy’s office, they found a messenger boy with a telegram for Andy. “Must be from Dad,” he said as he ripped open the envelope, “and believe me I’ll be glad to have him back here in charge of things.” Andy scanned the telegram; then he read it again hardly able to believe the words which were typed on the yellow sheet. “What’s the matter?” asked Bert anxiously. “Nothing wrong,” grinned Andy, “but it’s news, big news!” With eyes aglow and face reflecting his own enthusiasm he handed the telegram to Bert. “Rush work with all possible speed,” said the message. “Have just completed plans for Goliath’s first official flight this summer which will take us to North pole for an exchange of mail with the Submarine Neptune, which will be commanded by Gilbert Mathews.” “My gosh,” exclaimed Bert, “a trip to the North pole. Well, that is news.” “I’ll say,” replied Andy. “Watch us make time from now on for there won’t be any more accidents with this Rubanian secret agent out of the way.” CHAPTER III Mystery Plane The change of the seasons was at hand and the last dirty patches of snow melted under the rays of the March sun. Andy spread the news that the first official flight of the Goliath would take it into the polar regions and the crews inside the lofty hangar were filled with new enthusiasm and energy. They were making history, placing America in the forefront of the air-minded nations, and they thrilled at their task. In the afternoon Andy helped Bert check over the damage which the agent of the Gerka had done to the radio apparatus and they were greatly relieved to find that the set intended for installation on the Goliath worked perfectly. When Andy returned to his office, Bert accompanied him and they discussed the outlook for the polar flight. “It will be a real test of the Goliath,” said Andy, “and it means we’ll make plenty of trial flights before we undertake a cruise into the northland.” “Why do you suppose your father decided on such a daring trip?” asked Bert. “There has been some criticism of the government for appropriating a part of the money necessary for the construction of the Goliath,” explained Andy. “This was especially true when it became known that the dirigible would eventually be used for transcontinental passenger traffic. What most people do not realize is that the Goliath will be a veritable airship of the skies, a craft that can be turned from a peace-time airship into an aerial battleship if the United States is ever attacked by an enemy force. With its enormous cruising radius of 15,000 miles without refueling it will be able to scout far from our own shores and uncover the approach of any enemy fleet.” “Then the whole idea of the polar flight will be to popularize the Goliath with the general public,” said Bert. “I expect that’s about how Dad’s figured it,” agreed Andy. “The trial flights will take us to a good many cities in various sections and as soon as people get a glimpse of the Goliath they’ll be glad Uncle Sam appropriated funds to help build it. Once they’ve seen the airship they’ll follow its polar flight with double interest and when the Goliath comes back from the north it will be a familiar name to everyone in the country.” “Sounds like a good idea,” nodded Bert. “This country needs to be air-minded or foreign nations like Rubania, which have dictators ambitious to extend their powers, will put us on a shelf.” The afternoon mail arrived and with it was a letter addressed to Andy and from the war department. “Wonder what’s up now?” he mused as he silt open the envelope. He read the letter carefully for the war department communications were usually lengthy affairs which required careful scrutiny. “We’re going to have company,” Andy told Bert when he finished. “The war department has granted permission for a dirigible expert from the Friedrichshafen works in Germany to come down here and study the general plans for the Goliath. He will probably remain until after the trial flights have been completed.” “How about our construction secrets we’ve been guarding so closely?” asked Bert. “It doesn’t seem right that we should let this fellow have the run of the works.” “We won’t exactly do that,” explained Andy, “for this letter outlines definitely just what information to which the Friedrichshafen man is to have access. Our own research department has had much help and advice from Dr. Hugo Eckener and his co-workers in Germany and it is only fair that we return the favor as long as we do not divulge any of the military secrets of the Goliath.” “Wonder what kind of a fellow he’ll be?” asked Bert. “You know as much about him as I do,” replied Andy. “Except that I have been told his name is Herman Blatz.” “That sounds like a brand of near beer,” grinned Bert. “Wonder if he’ll be able to talk much English?” “I expect so,” nodded Andy. “Those chaps at the Friedrichshafen works are cosmopolitan; they have to be the way the Graf Zeppelin has been hopping from one hemisphere to another. A fellow certainly has to hand it to Doctor Eckener for his work in proving how capable lighter-than-air craft can be.” “When will this expert from Germany arrive?” Bert wanted to know. “This letter doesn’t give an exact date, but I should imagine it would be within the week. I’ll show it to Merritt Timms so he won’t have his secret service men chasing Blatz out of here when he tries to get through the guard line.” Bert stepped to the door of Andy’s small office and scanned the clear afternoon sky. He sniffed at the air eagerly. There was no mistaking it. There was a real tang and zest of spring on the breeze. Beyond the great doors of the home of the Goliath stretched a meadow which had been turned into an airport for the aviation experts who made visits to Bellevue usually came in their own plane and ships of the National Airways dropped down several times a day. “It’s a wonderful afternoon,” said Bert suggestively. Andy left his desk with its blue prints and stepped to the door. He chuckled as he looked at the sky and then at the wind sock on the beacon tower. “That wasn’t, by any chance, a hint that it would be a nice afternoon for a little vacation in the clouds?” he grinned. “Take it that way if you want to,” chuckled Bert. “There’s nothing that would suit me better than a hop over the hills. I’ve been on the ground for nearly a month; it’s been slushy and muddy underfoot and I’d like nothing better than a joy hop.” “Tell you what,” said Andy. “I feel the same way about it but I’ve got to check over the final specifications on the assembly of the control room in the gondola. I’m about half through now. It will take half an hour to finish the job. As soon as I’m done I’ll meet you down on the field and we’ll take a ride in my sportster. The sunset this afternoon is going to be grand.” “I’ll be waiting,” promised Bert and he left Andy alone to study over the intricate set of blueprints. Final assembly of the main control room was to start the next day and Andy wanted to be sure that he had every detail in mind. In the absence of Captain Harkins this task would require his closest personal supervision and the son of the vice president in charge of operations for the National Airways concentrated on his task before him. Andy was a natural airman. He had first flown a plane at fifteen and at eighteen had qualified for a transport license, which he had never had time to use for from that time on he had devoted his attention to dirigibles. A year at Friedrichshafen under Doctor Hugo Eckener had given him a firm foundation for his later experiments in his father’s own laboratory and he had watched the building of the Akron at the Goodyear-Zeppelin plant in Ohio. When the National Airways had decided to go into the dirigible field and construct the Goliath, suitable for passenger service in peace time or as a battleship of the skies in time of war, Andy had been given an important role in the construction program. His technical advice was sound, based on his thorough schooling at Friedrichshafen and Akron, and his more advanced ideas were supported by the experiments he had made in his father’s laboratory. Plans for the Goliath had been worked out by Charles High, Andy’s father, Captain Harkins, the chief engineer and pilot, and a special board of army experts designated by the war department. If the Goliath lived up to the expectations of its builders, more ships of the same type would be constructed in the Kentucky hills while the aircraft plant at Akron was enlarged to handle the construction of other ships the size of the Goliath. Secret plans of the National Airways and the war department called for the eventual construction of ten of the giant sky liners, five of them at the Bellevue plant of the National Airways and the rest at the Goodyear-Zeppelin factory at Akron. Andy completed his minute study of the blueprints and straightened up. He was six feet one tall, with broad shoulders and a well-developed body that revealed his love for sports in his hours away from his work. His eyes were a clear, bright blue and his light hair had just a tinge of red, an indication of his temper when he was aroused to a fighting pitch. The sun had dropped behind the arched roof of the main hangar when Andy left his office and started for the meadow beyond the huge structure. He had been inside it at least a dozen times that day to watch the progress of the work on the Goliath but now, with the crews through for the day, he couldn’t resist the urge to step in and gaze in silent admiration at the great hulk that was soon to rule the skies. The hangar was silent except for a few birds, which made their home there. They wheeled high over the framework of the Goliath, chirping their defiance. Structural work on the Goliath had been completed several months before and crews of riggers had been busy since then testing and placing the great gas bags which would contain the precious helium, the life-blood of the great craft. Specifications for the Goliath called for 12 of the large gas bags, which in reality were balloons held captive by the duralumin framework with its covering of sturdy metal cloth. Ten of the large bags had been tested and were in place while the last two would be in place before the end of the week. There would be six in the forward half of the Goliath and six in the after section. In the space between them was the especially designed hold which in peace time would be used for cargo-carrying and in war as the hold in which the Goliath would carry its swarm of fighting planes. The framework of the Goliath was 850 feet long, sixty-five feet longer than that of the Akron. It’s diameter was 135 feet, only three feet more than the Akron but a new manufacturing process had increased the tensile strength of the duralumin used in the Goliath so that it could stand double the strain of the metal used in any previously constructed airship. This process, which had been worked out by Captain Harkins with the assistance of Andy, was one of the great features of the Akron. It was expected that the ship would be able to withstand any storm of less than cyclonic intensity and such an accident as befell the Shenandoah was practically impossible. The increased strength of the Goliath’s framework also allowed the mounting of more powerful engines, which meant greater speed. If the hopes of Andy and the other engineers were realized, the great craft would cruise at 100 miles an hour with a top speed of 120, a decided advantage over any other craft then in service. Mechanics had been busy the last three weeks mounting the 12 engines which were to provide the power. Each engine was mounted in a separate engine room, completely insulated from the rest of the ship to do away with the danger of fire and lessen noise. Power shafts would project through the side with six propellers on each side. All of these facts Andy knew by heart and in the silence of the sunset hour he stood in awe before the sky king he was helping to create. In two more months the great doors would roll open, the huge mooring mast, with the Goliath in tow, would waddle out on the concrete runway, and the world’s greatest airship would be introduced to its public, some of whom would welcome it enthusiastically while others would gaze at it with questioning eyes, waiting for its trial flights to prove the claims of its builders. Andy knew that Bert was waiting for him out on the field and he finally forced himself to leave the hangar. He had lived with the Goliath for months and the great ship was almost a part of him. Mechanics had warmed up Andy’s plane and the trim red sportster was ready for the late afternoon spin. “I thought you weren’t going to show up,” Bert shouted. “Been in ‘talking’ with the Goliath?” Andy grinned and nodded. “I don’t blame you,” shouted back Bert. “I go in there every once in a while and just sit down and look at it. Some ship!” “I’ll say,” replied Andy. “You’d better get into a sheepskin coat. The air will be a little nippy when we get up five or six thousand feet.” Bert agreed with the suggestion and ran to one of the airplane hangars, which was dwarfed in the lengthening shadows from the Goliath’s home. He returned with two coats, one for himself and one for Andy. The sportster was an Ace two-place biplane with stubby wings, painted silver, and a crimson fuselage. Andy had ordered up dual controls the week before and had promised to give Bert flying instructions whenever they had a spare hour during the spring. “Let your feet and hands rest lightly on the controls,” Andy told his friend, “and whatever you do, don’t hang onto them. If you do I may have to clout you over the head with a wrench.” They slipped into their parachute harnesses for Andy was a safe and sane flyer who believed in taking commonsense precautions. Bert climbed into the forward cockpit and Andy slipped into the rear seat. The motor was warm but he tested it thoroughly before waving to the mechanics to pull the blocks. The sun was a great red disk of flame when they skipped down the meadow and raced into the air. Bert, who had learned his radio knowledge at a department of commerce station, had never had the opportunity to do much flying until he joined the National Airways radio force and was assigned to Bellevue to take charge of the installation of the equipment on the Goliath. He had arrived the previous fall and during the winter had become Andy’s closest friend. They were almost inseparable and Andy, realizing Bert’s ambition to become a flyer, had promised to give his friend instructions. Bert studied each move of the controls and its effect on the maneuvers of the plane. At Andy’s suggestion he had read up on the principles of aeronautics and understood the reason for the shifts in the stick and the rudder bar. At three thousand feet Andy leveled off and waggled the stick, indicating that Bert was to take control. The chunky little radio operator felt his heart go into his throat, but he took a firm grip on the stick and moved it cautiously backward. The nose came up slowly. He moved it ahead. The nose went down ever so slightly. He could fly; he was flying! He turned around and shouted at Andy in his excitement. The next moment his head was snapped back against his seat. He gasped and jerked around to look at the controls. To his surprise the nose of the plane was in a steep dive and he felt the pit of his stomach start to turn a flip flop. He knew the thing to do was to pull back on the stick and he did so enthusiastically. The nose came up, the ground disappeared and he found himself staring toward a bank of fleecy clouds that rolled along lazily. His safety belt snapped tight and to his astonishment the ground whirled into view again. Andy was signaling for the stick and Bert gladly turned over the controls. Andy throttled down and grinned at the radio operator. “Nice work,” he shouted. “I guess you’ve set a record. At least you’re the only fellow I know who looped on his first flight.” “Who what?” cried Bert. “You looped,” replied Andy. “You did a nice piece of flying but I’ll bet it was more luck than sense.” “You’re right,” admitted Bert, who slumped down in his seat, glad enough that Andy was back at the controls. Andy loafed around the field in easy circles, gradually gaining altitude. The sun was dropping over the horizon and the purple shadows that preceded night were wrapping the countryside in their soft shroud. It was a glorious feeling to be able to take to the air and for the moment forget the pressing cares which he felt around him every minute he was on the ground. The sportster handled beautifully and Andy found himself at the six thousand foot level almost before he knew it. The air was growing colder and the shadows below deepened rapidly. He throttled down, preparatory to drifting down when he heard a cry from Bert. The radio operator was shouting and pointing excitedly toward a bank of clouds in the east. Andy turned and saw a large gray monoplane, traveling fast and high, above the cloud bank. The plane was different from any machine with which he was familiar and he decided to get a closer look at the stranger. The other machine must have been up 10,000 feet and Andy opened the throttle and sent the Ace scooting upward. At eight thousand he knew the pilot of the other ship had seen him and the gray machine seemed to leap ahead with a sudden burst of speed. They were directly over Bellevue, a prohibited flying area for any except army or National Airways ships, and Andy was curious to know who this flyer was who dared to defy strict air regulations. The sportster was fast but in less than a minute he knew the other ship was superior in speed. It was a squat, low-winged craft, evidently an all-metal machine and distinctly foreign looking in appearance. Andy made a mental note that he’d get out his design guides when he landed and find out just what make of plane it was that could pull away from his with such apparent ease. It was a useless chase and after five more minutes Andy gave up and swung the Ace back toward Bellevue while the strange ship disappeared in the south. CHAPTER IV Danger in the Air The landing field at Bellevue was shrouded in heavy shadows of the fast-coming night when Andy dropped his Ace sportster down after the futile pursuit of the strange plane. Merritt Timms, the secret service chief, was waiting for them when the young engineer and the radio operator climbed out of the fuselage. “Did you get the department of commerce number on the fellow I saw you chasing?” he asked. “I should say we didn’t,” replied Andy. “He was too fast for one thing and for another, he didn’t have any number on his wings that I could see.” “Outlaw plane?” asked Timms. “Yes,” replied Andy, “and a strange machine. I’ve never seen one exactly like it. I’m going over to the office and see if I can check up on its design. I’ve some guide books there that may help us.” “How’s the Rubanian agent that was winged earlier this morning?” Bert asked the secret service man. “He’ll come through nicely,” replied Timms, “and probably spend about the next five years in a military prison wondering what it is all about.” “Have you had a chance to talk to him?” Andy wanted to know. “Not yet. I’m going over after supper. Want to come along?” “Yes,” said the young engineer. “How about you, Bert?” “Count me in,” replied the radio operator. “It’s too bad he’s wounded. I’d like to give him a punch on the nose after all the damage he did to my radio room.” “I don’t blame you,” chuckled Andy. “He certainly did mess things up but if he had been very intelligent he’d have recognized the installation for the Goliath and have smashed it all to pieces. I guess we’ve been lucky after all.” When they reached the office Andy dug some reference books on airplane design out of a box and sat down to hunt for a description of the type of craft that he had encountered only a few minutes before. “I don’t think it was an American-made machine,” he said, “so we won’t waste time hunting there. Let’s try the foreign designers first.” British, French, Italian and German divisions failed to furnish any designs similar to the craft he had pictured in his mind’s eye. The Russians had a low-winged monoplane but the wing mounting was too high to answer the description of the craft Andy and Bert had seen. Andy turned on to the section devoted to the aviation activities and designs of the Rubanian air force. Here was something nearer what he sought. Pictured on one page was a low-winged machine with a streamlined fuselage that very nearly answered the description of the machine he had seen. A footnote added that planes of this type were in production at the Blenkko works near Kratz, the Rubanian capital, but that it was possible minor changes might be made in them when they were put through actual air tests. “How does this picture strike you?” Andy asked Bert. “Looks almost exactly like the monoplane we chased,” replied the chubby radio operator. Merritt Timms was intensely interested in the description of the Rubanian plane. “I’m not surprised,” he said, “and I have a hunch we’ll find that it was a Rubanian monoplane.” “But how could it get clear over here?” asked Bert. Timms pointed at the specifications of the monoplane which were printed under the picture. “Cruising range 7,000 miles,” read Bert. “That would give a good flyer an ample margin to fly from Rubania to Bellevue,” said Timms, “and such a feat isn’t at all impossible.” “You talk as though you thought the Goliath was in great danger of damage by Rubanian agents,” said Bert. “I don’t think now; I know,” replied Timms gravely, “for you may be sure that there is danger connected with anything in which Alex Reikoff, dictator of Rubania, is interested. Will you write a brief description of this plane?” he asked, turning to Andy. “It won’t take five minutes,” promised Andy. “Thanks,” said Timms. “I’ll have a complete description broadcast and we’ll be sure to pick him up somewhere. He can’t fly on forever and he’ll find that disobeying Uncle Sam’s orders and flying over a forbidden area is not to be joked with.” Andy wrote a brief but thorough description of the mystery plane and Timms departed to get his message on its way to the broadcasting stations from which a complete description and warning to watch out for the gray monoplane would soon be sent to hundreds of thousands of listeners. “Think Timms will be able to pick up the flyer of this Rubanian plane?” Bert asked. “It will be something out of the ordinary if he doesn’t,” replied Andy. “Timms may be a little slow to get started but once he is on the job he is like a bull dog; he never gives up.” Andy made sure that all of the precious specifications for the Goliath were in the big steel vault before he locked the office. They walked down to the one hotel, where they had made their home while in Bellevue, and cleaned up for supper. A regular mess hall had been built at the plant for the crews, who worked, ate and slept in the buildings erected beside the hangar, but technicians and crew foremen lived at the hotel. The two long tables in the dining room were well filled when Andy and Bert entered and they were joined a minute or two later by Timms. “The alarm will be all over the country in another fifteen minutes,” said the secret service man, “and we ought to have some news either tonight or the first thing in the morning.” Structural experts, gas experts, motor specialists and expert fitters were at the table and the talk, as it always did, centered on the Goliath, how much progress had been made that day, what they would do the next and to speculation on the exact day the big ship would take the air and what would be its destination on its first official flight. “Any news on where we’ll go on our first long trip?” one of the motor experts asked Andy. “Sure,” replied the young engineer. “We’re going to the North pole to exchange mail with the submarine Neptune this summer.” “What!” “Quit your kidding.” “Say it again.” “You’re dreaming.” These and a chorus of similar exclamations greeted Andy’s quiet statement. He said it in such a matter-of-fact way that most of the men in the room thought he was joking and he had to repeat his statement two more times before they took him seriously. “Wait a minute,” he added. “I’ll read you the telegram that came this afternoon.” He pulled the message from his pocket and read his father’s words. When he had finished they were all grave. There was no question now. They were going to the North pole on their first great test of the new airship. Every man in the room knew something of the dangers of a polar flight and they admired Andy’s father for his courage in sending the Goliath on such a voyage. “We’ll make a lot of flights to various cities in this country,” explained Andy, “before we start on the long trip north so the ship will have a thorough test and we’ll know just exactly what she’ll do.” “She’ll do everything the specifications call for and more too,” exclaimed one of the rigging foremen and his words represented the sentiment of every expert in the room for they all had explicit confidence that the Goliath would live up to expectations of her designers and builders. “When do you think we’ll be ready for the test flights?” one of the helium experts asked Andy. “With the polar trip definitely decided on,” replied Andy, “we’ll have to be in the air before the end of the next sixty days. That means we can’t afford even a single hour’s delay on the assembly schedule and we may have to lengthen the shifts in order to get through.” “We’ll work 24 hours a day if we have to,” said one of the enthusiastic foremen, for after nearly two years of exacting construction work, they were all anxious to see the Goliath test its wings. The remainder of the supper hour was devoted to heated discussions of the various features of the dirigible, and who would be selected for the crew. Every man in the room hoped that he would get by the final weeding out process and win a permanent berth on the world’s largest airship. Timms was waiting for Andy and Bert after supper in the lobby of the hotel. “I’m going over and talk to the Rubanian,” he said. “Better come along.” They were about to leave the lobby when the program of dance music which was coming in on the radio stopped abruptly for a station announcement. “Wait a minute,” said Bert. “They haven’t stopped for the usual station identification. They cut that piece off in the middle.” They went closer to the receiver and it seemed as though the announcer in the station miles away had seen their movement for he started his announcement at once. “We have just received a special bulletin,” said the voice on the ether waves. “A powerful monoplane, of low-winged construction, was sighted just at sunset near Bellevue, Ky. It was flying over a restricted area in violation of department of commerce rules. The machine is fast and slate-gray in color. There appeared to be only one man in the machine and from the description at hand it is evidently of foreign make. It is possible that some European flyer, on a secret long-distance flight, has crossed the Atlantic, and, unaware of the department of commerce regulation, flew over Bellevue, home of the giant airship Goliath. Now, news hounds, get busy and let’s see what you can find out about this strange, low-winged monoplane. Any information should be sent direct to this station. Our program of music will continue.” The voice stopped and the dance band which was featured at that hour on the air resumed. “That ought to get results,” said Andy. “Anyone listening in on this program who has heard or seen a plane in the last two hours will undoubtedly send in a report.” “We’ll have a lot of misinformation,” said Timms, “but a real clue may develop.” “How many stations carried that announcement?” asked Bert. “The message was sent to about 50 of the major broadcasters,” replied Timms, “and every one of them will put it on the air.” “In other words, you covered the whole country,” grinned Bert. “That’s what I hoped to do,” replied Timms. “Now we’ll see just how much value the radio is to the secret service in an emergency when we need the cooperation of the public.” “You’ll have something definite before midnight,” predicted Bert, who was quick to rise to the defense of his chosen profession. “It’s seven-thirty now,” said Andy, glancing at the clock in the lobby. “That gives you four and a half hours.” “That’s enough,” replied Bert. “If there isn’t some real clue by that time I’ll buy your suppers tomorrow night.” “And if you win?” Andy asked. “Then I’ll eat supper tomorrow night and the next on you two,” grinned Bert. “I’ll buy your suppers for a week,” promised Timms, “if we know by midnight where this mysterious plane went.” The doctor in charge of the little emergency hospital which was a part of the National Airways equipment at Bellevue informed them that Dubra, or Cliff Bolton as he had been listed on the payroll, was resting easily and in condition to talk. The Gerka agent was in a private room and a soldier was seated across the hall, facing the door. The windows were barred and there was little chance that Reikoff’s secret agent would go free until Uncle Sam decided he had paid the penalty for his treachery. Dubra was propped up on pillows, reading an evening paper. He looked up expectantly when they entered but the moment he saw Timms he became sullen. The radio down the hall was plainly audible and Andy recognized the music of the dance band they had heard over the receiving set at the hotel. Unquestionably Dubra had heard the emergency announcement. Andy wondered if there had been any connection between Dubra’s attempt to wreck the hangar that morning and the arrival of the Rubanian plane. It was logical to believe that it was part of a carefully laid out plot. He had thought the Goliath safe from an air attack by a jealous foreign country but if the gray plane they had sighted that afternoon proved to be a Rubanian ship, they would have to station several fast army pursuit ships at the field or perhaps install searchlights to ward off any night attack. Possibilities of destruction of the Goliath by an air attack were limitless and Andy grew sick at the thought that the great ship, which represented the labor and love of hundreds of men, was in danger and he looked at the wounded agent of the Gerka with little sympathy. “How do you feel tonight?” Timms asked Dubra. “How do you suppose?” was the sullen reply. “I’ve got two bullet holes in my right leg and another in my left one.” “You’re lucky you didn’t get one through the heart,” replied Timms cheerfully. “You’ll suffer for this outrage,” promised Dubra, whose eyes shifted from the secret service agent to Andy, then to Bert, and back to Timms. “Just as soon as my government learns of this unwarranted attack you’ll be in enough trouble to last you the rest of your life.” Dubra’s bravado angered Timms, who spoke fiercely. “Shut up and listen to me,” said the secret service agent. “You’re a Rubanian resident who posed as a naturalized American. You entered this country unlawfully, you’re a secret agent of the Gerka, you attempted to commit murder this morning when you turned on the power of the hangar door and almost killed a half dozen men working on it, you attempted to escape from a military reservation and were shot when you failed to obey repeated commands to halt. A full report of this has been forwarded to the department of justice. You’ll be lucky if you don’t spend the rest of your life behind the bars at a military prison for remember, Dubra, that military, not civil, courts will deal with your offense and army courts are well known for the severity of their sentences on scoundrels such as you.” The concise, bitter indictment by Timms broke Dubra’s spirit of bravado and the agent of the Gerka cringed as he thought of his black future. “How much were you to be paid for wrecking the hangar?” asked Timms. Dubra refused to answer. “How much?” Timms repeated the question. Still no answer. “All right, boys,” said the secret service agent. “We’ll just turn off the light and leave Dubra alone in the dark tonight. He has plenty to think about. Oh, yes, I’ll tell the orderly down the hall Dubra’s to have no water to drink and any calls from this room are not to be answered.” Timms reached for the light switch and Dubra suddenly changed his mind. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk,” he cried, “only don’t leave me alone in the dark. Something might happen. What do you want to know?” “Are you the only agent of the Gerka in the plant now?” asked Timms, his words snapping through the quiet of the room. “Yes,” replied Dubra so quickly that the others were convinced he had told the truth. “And your job was to wreck the hangar and delay construction until another and more powerful agent could get here and finish the job of sabotage against the Goliath?” went on Timms. This time there was no reply to the question and Dubra turned his face toward the wall. “I’ll give you a minute to make up your mind,” said Timms. The seconds ticked away and there was no sound from any of the four in the small room. “Make up your mind,” warned Timms. “Ten more seconds and the lights go out.” The secret service chief, Andy and Bert turned to leave the room. They were on the threshold when Dubra called them back. “My job was to wreck the hangar,” he confessed, the words coming slowly and evidently with the greatest reluctance. “Who is going to attempt to wreck the Goliath?” demanded the secret service chief. “I don’t know,” whispered Dubra. “The Gerka doesn’t work that way. Each of us is assigned a specific task to carry out independent of anyone else.” “Then you don’t know who flew that gray monoplane over here this afternoon?” asked Andy. “I didn’t know a monoplane came over.” “Don’t lie,” said Timms. “If you didn’t hear the noise you certainly heard the announcement over the radio just a few minutes ago. Did you expect someone to make a long-distance flight from Rubania for the purpose of destroying the Goliath?” “I didn’t expect anyone,” replied Dubra. “But someone else was to carry out the attack on the Goliath?” persisted Timms. “Yes,” whispered Dubra. “That’s enough for the present,” said Timms. “Let’s go, boys.” “You promised Dubra some pretty rough treatment if he wouldn’t talk,” said Bert when they left the hospital. “It was bluff, pure and simple,” smiled Timms, “but he’s in a precarious situation and is smart enough to realize that his case will be handled by a court-martial. He’s between two fires. If he talks too much his own organization, the Gerka, will revenge themselves on him. If he refuses to talk to us, his penalty will be doubly severe.” “At least the talk with Dubra did one thing,” said Andy gravely. “We know for sure that the Goliath is in grave danger and that the man selected to carry out its destruction has not yet arrived at Bellevue.” CHAPTER V No Clues On leaving the hospital after questioning the agent of the Gerka, Andy, Bert and the secret service chief walked over to Andy’s office. There they discussed plans for additional precautions in the guarding of the Goliath. “I’m convinced now,” said Andy, “that the plane we sighted this afternoon was a Rubanian ship. Either the pilot had made a non-stop flight across the Atlantic or he stopped at some remote place where there was little chance that news of his landing would spread, took on additional fuel, and continued here.” “The fact that we were up sky-larking may have prevented a bomb attack on the Goliath,” said Bert. “That’s possible,” conceded Timms, “but I doubt that Rubania would dare to use such an open and violent method. An air attack would mean war with popular sentiment of the world with the United States.” “A more likely explanation,” said Andy, “is that the agent who is to carry on the actual campaign of destruction against the Goliath arrived in the plane we sighted.” “I’m inclined to believe as you do,” Timms told Andy. “Our first step, after doubling the guards around Bellevue, will be to trace this strange craft. I’m hopeful that the radio appeal will bring results.” “I know it will,” said Bert confidently. “Dad will be back within a day or two,” said Andy, “and I’ll be mighty glad to turn the responsibility of this whole affair over to him. When he’s back on the job, we’ll take a whirl at finding this unknown agent of the Rubanian Gerka who is to destroy the Goliath,” he told Bert. Timms was busy with a long-distance call to the department of justice in Washington, informing his chief there of the latest development at Bellevue. When he finished, he turned to talk with Andy and Bert. “Half a dozen army pursuit planes, fully equipped for combat, will drop down here tomorrow morning,” he said. “They’ll remain until the Goliath is ready to take the air and after that at least two of them will accompany the big ship on all of its trial flights. In addition, an anti-aircraft battery with complete night lighting equipment will arrive before sundown tomorrow.” “That ought to insure us against the success of any attack from the air,” said Andy. “From the air, yes,” conceded Timms, “but our danger will lie from an attack within. Everyone who comes on the reservation from now on will be doubly checked.” By ten o’clock that night every possible precaution to safeguard the Goliath had been taken. The military guard around the grounds of the National Airways reservation had been doubled, and extra watchmen had been placed at the hangar. It didn’t seem humanly possible for anyone to get within the lines without discovery. Descriptions of the mysterious plane had been broadcast hourly from the principal radio stations and a mass of information had been received, telegrams having been relayed from the radio stations to which they had been sent. These messages were checked, one by one, against the large map which had been hung on one wall of Andy’s office. On this map had been worked out the probable course of the strange plane. It had come out of the northeast, swung over the home of the Goliath, and then darted away in a southeasterly direction, heading toward the mountains. Telegrams which failed to indicate a plane in this general line of flight were consigned to the wastebasket. The few that might furnish information were studied carefully but in a majority of cases the description of the plane which the sender of the message had seen failed to come close to that of the machine they sought. Timms found several messages which appeared worth telephone calls to the senders but on each occasion he was doomed to disappointment. “I thought you said we’d have some definite news before midnight,” he told Bert. “There’s nearly two more hours,” replied the radio operator hopefully. “I won’t concede defeat until the last minute.” Timms snorted and turned to another handful of telegrams that had just been forwarded. He was half-way through the pile when an exclamation brought Andy and Bert to his side. “Read that,” said the secret service agent, tossing a yellow sheet to them. The message had been sent from Alden, a small town in the mountains of southeast Kentucky. “Plane crashed near here early tonight. Description appears to tally with that broadcast. From wreckage it must have been a low-winged monoplane, painted gray. No trace found of pilot.” The message was signed by Frank Hacke, editor, the Alden Advocate. “Who said the radio wouldn’t bring results?” demanded Bert. “This message looks like a real tip.” “It does,” agreed Timms, reaching for the phone and placing a long distance call for the editor of the Alden paper. Half an hour elapsed before the operator was able to get the call through and Timms fumed with impatience. When the wire was finally cleared for his conversation, he fairly leaped at the telephone. Question after question was fired over the wire and Andy and Bert, from the very tenseness of Timms’ attitude, knew that the secret service man was getting valuable information. His final words were highly significant. “I’ll be there as soon as possible. If I can fly in, have auto lights turned on to mark the boundaries of a field that is safe for a landing.” Timms banged the receiver on the hook and turned to Andy and Bert. “We’ve found the wreckage of the gray plane,” he said. “It smacked into the side of a mountain about three miles from Alden. The editor of the paper was one of the first ones to reach the scene but they were unable to find any trace of the pilot. We’ve got to get to Alden at once for we mustn’t let that flyer get away. He’s the man who is slated to bring about the actual destruction of the Goliath.” The words rang through Andy’s head. The pilot had somehow escaped in the crash. It was possible to crack up a ship without injury but it was more likely that the man they sought had jumped while the plane was in flight, drifting down in his chute and leaving the plane to crash to its own destruction. Andy heard Timms asking if he could fly him to Alden that night. He replied almost mechanically and then hastened out of the office and down the field to rout out several mechanics, who rolled his red sportster out on the concrete apron and checked it thoroughly. The motor sent echoes blasting through the stillness of the night as Andy himself tested it. He was joined several minutes later by Bert and the secret service agent. Timms climbed into the forward cockpit and Bert started to crowd in with him. “Sorry, Bert,” called Andy. “You’ll have to stay on the ground this trip. The Ace is only a two-place job and I can’t afford to overtax its capacity tonight. I’ll need all my speed and climbing ability in dodging over the mountains.” Bert was keenly disappointed but he knew the truth of Andy’s words and he dropped back to the ground. “I’ll warn Alden that you’re coming by air,” he said, “and they’ll be sure to have a field marked in some way.” “Fine,” yelled Andy. “See you tomorrow.” Flame licked around the exhaust vent of the motor as Andy opened the throttle. The Ace came to life with a quick flirt of its tail. The riding lights gleamed sharply in the night; then were swallowed in the haze of dirt swept up from the field by the wash of the propeller. Alden was just a little under an hour of fast flying from Bellevue and Andy opened the Ace up until they were skimming through the half clear night at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. The lights of Bellevue disappeared as if blotted out by the hand of an unseen giant and they were alone in the sky. Andy had plotted a compass course and he followed it closely for Alden was tucked away in the mountains and he could easily miss the village if slightly off course. By the end of the first half hour the clouds had cleared and a thin moon tried vainly to dissipate the blackness of the night. Lights on the ground were few and far between with midnight almost at hand. The air was raw and Andy snuggled deeper into the sheepskin he had donned for the trip. He checked the time and compass again. Alden should show on the horizon any moment if his calculations were correct. Another two minutes passed and he sighted a glow of light to the left. He nosed the Ace over and dropped lower. Lights below flashed on and off. He blinked his riding lights and those on the ground answered. There was no way of detecting the direction of the light wind and Andy had to take a chance that there were no bad ground currents. He skimmed over the field to determine its length. It appeared to be on a side-hill for level stretches of land were few and far between in that section of the state. The field was long enough for an easy landing and he cut the motor and slid down the invisible trail. He was going in too fast and he opened the throttle and zoomed into the sky for another try. The second time he stalled all the way down, drifted over the top of the car whose lights marked the near end of the field, and dropped to an easy landing. He swung the Ace around and taxied back over the uneven field. A group was waiting when they climbed down from the cockpits. Fred Hacke, the editor, stepped up and introduced himself. With him was Sheriff Jud Barnes, a six foot two man of the mountains who was proud of his great, booming voice. “Get in my car,” said the sheriff, “and I’ll run you over to the hill where that airplane busted.” For half an hour they bounced over a rough mountain road and were glad enough when the sheriff stopped the car and led the way through a patch of timber. The grade was steep and they were compelled to rest several times. Finally they came to a small clearing, crossed this and just beyond saw a darker mass against the trees. The sheriff turned his flashlight on a tangled pile of cloth and metal, the broken remnants of the machine Andy had chased only a few hours before. The editor and his party came up and they made a thorough inspection of the wreckage. Motor numbers and the name of the maker had been filed away, the plates on the fuselage had been removed and every means of absolute identification taken off. In spite of this Andy and the secret service agent were positive that the plane was of Rubanian make and that an agent of the Gerka had been at the controls when it had been sighted at Bellevue. “We haven’t found the flyer yet,” said the sheriff. “Maybe he spilled out somewhere before the wreck. We’ll search the hills in the morning.” “I don’t think it will do any good,” replied Andy. “The chap that was flying this machine undoubtedly took to his parachute. He may have landed some miles away. If the controls were locked before he jumped, the ship could have cruised alone for three or four minutes on a quiet night like this.” “We’ll have a look anyway,” said the sheriff, and Andy and Timms decided to remain at least until noon to see if the searching parties discovered anything of importance. They returned to Alden, took a room at the hotel, and slept until dawn. Andy went out to the field where they had landed and went over the Ace carefully while Timms accompanied the sheriff into the hills. The secret service agent returned at noon and announced that the search had proved fruitless. There were no more clues, either at the scene of the wreck or in the nearby hills, and they decided to return to Bellevue at once. Andy got the Ace off the improvised airport without trouble and they headed for home through the bright rays of the spring sun. As they sped over the tree-covered hills, Andy flew mechanically, his mind busy on the new problem which confronted them. There was no question now. The Goliath was in serious danger and every means at their command must be used to protect the great airship, destruction of which would mean the ruin of the National Airways, which had invested millions in its construction. But more than the mere financial loss which it would mean was the month of labor by the loyal crew, the years of planning on the part of his father and Captain Harkins, and his own love for the great craft. An attack from the air was improbable for the Rubanian agent had wrecked his own plane deliberately. Whatever happened would be caused by someone who had easy access to the hangar and Andy resolved that he would be doubly vigilant in the days to come. CHAPTER VI The Night Alarm When Andy taxied the Ace across the field at Bellevue and up to the concrete apron, he found Bert waiting for him. The radio operator was nearly bursting with curiosity to learn what Andy and the secret service chief had found at Alden. “Control yourself, Bert, control yourself,” grinned Andy as he hoisted himself out of the cockpit and slid to the ground. “You can’t blame me for being curious,” replied Bert, “when I’ve been marooned here for the last twelve hours while you’ve been chasing excitement all over southeastern Kentucky.” “That’s just it,” said Andy. “We were only chasing. We didn’t find a thing to give us thrill.” “No trace of the mysterious flyer?” asked Bert. “Nary a sign,” replied Andy. “We found where his plane had attempted to bore its way through the side of a hill but he had evidently dropped out some time before in his chute. He’s probably securely hidden waiting for a chance to bring about the destruction of the Goliath.” “That won’t be an easy thing to accomplish,” said Bert. “The guard lines have been tightened so a bird can hardly fly over them without being stopped. The army planes came in before noon and any flyer who violates the department of commerce regulations by flying over this air reservation will find a handful of slugs singing through his wings.” Andy nodded grimly as he looked at the group of army machines in front of a hangar further down the field. “We’re ready for business now,” he said. “I’d like to meet the officer in command.” “He’s a fine fellow,” enthused Bert. “Not much older than we are. His name is Lieutenant Jim Crummit of Selfridge Field, Mich. He’s one of the ace pursuit flyers of the air force and the rest of the fellows with him are not far behind when it comes to handling a plane with a machine gun on the business end of it. They’re just itching for something to happen.” “I’m afraid they’ll be disappointed,” said Merritt Timms, who had just emerged from the cockpit, having experienced some trouble in unfastening his safety belt. “They would have had plenty of fun if they had been here yesterday but from now on the game will be played on the ground or aboard the Goliath when it goes on its trial flights.” “Here comes Lieutenant Crummit now,” said Bert, stepping forward to greet the tall young officer in command of the detachment from Selfridge Field. Bert introduced the lieutenant to Andy and the secret service agent, who cordially welcomed the army man to Bellevue. “Our field is a little bumpy but we’ll try and make up in hospitality what we lack in air accommodations,” said Andy. “The field is O.K.,” smiled Lieutenant Crummit. “A couple of the boys came in too fast and bounced a little high but they’ll soon get over that. We’re all glad to be here where we can watch the completion of the Goliath.” “I understand several ships will be detailed to accompany us on all trial flights,” said Andy. “Those are the orders direct from Washington,” said the lieutenant. “Now, somebody tell me what all the fuss is about?” They walked over to the office where Andy and the secret service chief explained in detail every event of the preceding twenty-four hours. “That does look serious,” said Lieutenant Crummit, “especially since you have an admission from the agent of the Gerka you caught here that an attempt was to be made to destroy the Goliath. At least you can feel reasonably safe from an air attack. Anti-aircraft equipment with night lights will be in tonight and the unit also carries special microphones for the detection of planes in flight. Any craft approaching here will be known while it is miles away and we can give it a warm reception.” Assignment of the army flyers to quarters had been held up pending Andy’s return and he arranged for them to have accommodations at the hotel, six of the construction foremen agreeing to give up their double rooms and move over to the company houses on the reservation proper. It was late afternoon before Andy was alone in his office with an opportunity to go over the day’s mail There were several important looking letters on top but he shuffled through the stack until he came to one in his father’s familiar writing. He slit it open and read it eagerly. It was with a real feeling of relief that he learned his father and Captain Harkins would return late the next day, coming in on a special National Airways plane. His father wrote that final arrangements had been finished for all of the delicate apparatus which was to go into the control room of the Goliath and that, unless there were unforeseen developments, everything was now lined up so that construction would be completed ahead of schedule. The afternoon freight train brought the anti-aircraft unit, with its searchlights, field pieces and other equipment. The twenty-five men of this company were housed in company quarters, which had been vacated only the week before by a crew which had finished its work. Before nightfall Bellevue had been turned into a truly military camp with its strict guard around the grounds of the National Airways plant, the army planes ready to take the air at any time of day or night, and the great searchlights, crouching under their shrouds of canvas, eager to send their searing blue-white beams tracing through the night sky. “When a fellow looks over the field now,” said Bert as they walked to the hotel for supper, “he realizes just how valuable the Goliath is to Uncle Sam.” “We’ve got the jump on them now,” said Andy. “Dubra failed in his attempt to damage the hangar and is now in our hands. That means the ‘inside man’ on whom Reikoff had counted for cooperation with this newcomer from Rubania is out of the picture and our guard lines have been tightened until it is almost physically impossible for anyone to get through. But even with all those precautions, we’ll continue to keep our eyes and ears open.” Supper that night was a jolly affair, with introductions of Lieutenant Crummit and his companions to the engineers and foremen in charge of the building of the Goliath. The army flyers were keenly interested in the construction of the great dirigible and Andy enjoyed Lieutenant Crummit’s practical inquiries on the stability of the big gas bag, what it was expected to do when in the air and its availability for war-time use. “We know in a general way,” he said, “but nothing very definite has appeared on the actual capability of the craft.” Andy had an enthusiastic second in Bert and they went over a complete outline of the Goliath and its range, both in peace and war times, for the army men. By the time they were through, supper was over and the group broke up in twos and threes and straggled into the lobby of the old-fashioned hotel. The air was chilly and a great fire had been built in the fireplace. Lights were low and there was a general spirit of comradeship in the room. The radio had ceased its accustomed blare and a really excellent orchestra, devoid of the usual advertising propaganda, was playing familiar airs. Someone started humming and in another minute the room was filled with lusty voices that took up the refrain. For half an hour they enjoyed the impromptu concert until a messenger boy came in with a telegram for Bert. The young radio operator looked surprised as he fingered the yellow envelope, turning it over as though half expecting to find the address of the sender on the back. “Now who under the sun could be telegraphing me?” he asked. “Better open it and find out,” suggested Andy. “A most original proposal,” replied Bert tartly. “It’s from Harry Curtis,” he cried as he read the message. “He’s going to the North pole as radio operator for Gilbert Mathews on the submarine Neptune.” “My gosh,” Bert continued in the same breath. “That means we’ll meet Harry at the North pole sometime this summer.” “Well, that is a coincidence,” said Andy, who had met Harry Curtis the year before. Bert and Harry had served the department of commerce together and were close friends, a friendship which had not dimmed by their separation. Andy had taken a liking to Harry on their first meeting. Harry had visited at Bellevue during the preceding summer and their friendship had developed rapidly. “What a thrill we’ll have saying ‘hello’ to each other in the Arctic,” he said. “But that isn’t all,” added Bert. “It seems that your father and Mathews have agreed to keep in touch with each other by radio so Harry has been ordered here to check up on our radio equipment with me. We’ll arrange for complete synchronization of the sets so that we’ll be able to get through to each other at any time.” “That sounds like Dad,” said Andy. “He’s always looking ahead and planning for any emergency. It will take careful timing to bring both the Neptune and the Goliath to the pole at the same time. Believe me, Bert, you’re going to have an important job when the Goliath finally sticks her nose into the air and heads north.” “I’m commencing to realize how really important it is,” said Bert soberly. “Hey, wait a minute,” he added. “I almost forgot one of the most important parts of this telegram. Harry said he was starting at once for Bellevue.” “Good,” said Andy. “Where was the message sent from?” “New York,” replied Bert. “That means it will be tomorrow afternoon before he arrives,” reasoned Andy as he mentally outlined the train schedules between the metropolis and the isolated Kentucky valley. The group in the hotel lobby broke up, most of the men going to their rooms to write letters or read while a few gathered around a chess board. Andy had some correspondence to finish and he walked down to his office. Reports for the day showed better than average progress had been made on the Goliath and he wrote these into the permanent record of the construction of the mammoth craft. For an hour he worked at his desk, catching up on the mail which had come in that morning. All of it was routine with the exception of another short notice from the war department that Herman Blatz, the civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, would arrive at Bellevue the next day. It added that every courtesy of the National Airways plant should be made available to the newcomer. The note irritated Andy. He was inclined to be suspicious of any newcomer now but he realized that he would have to master that feeling for they were deeply indebted to Doctor Eckener for his many contributions to the advancement of dirigibles. Andy filed the letter from the war department and was about to leave his office and return to the hotel when the blast of a siren cracked the night wide open. It was shrill, penetrating, alarming—the kind of noise that creeps up and down the spine and makes the short hair at the back of the neck stand straight up. Lights flashed on in the anti-aircraft battery down the field. Hangar doors swung open. Mechanics popped out of beds and into their clothes. Canvas hoods were ripped off the searchlights and the dynamos hummed with energy. The microphones had picked up the sound of an approaching airplane. Propellers of the army planes spun. Flame whimpered around the exhaust stacks. Ammunition belts were fed into the black, deadly little guns. Andy ran along the line of fighting planes. They were poised; eager for the word to go. Every other light in Bellevue had been put out. There was only the occasional flicker of the exhaust of one of the waiting planes. He felt out of the picture; the army was in command. He stopped beside Lieutenant Crummit’s plane and the army officer leaned down. “Room enough in here if you want to pile in and see this shindig,” he shouted. The invitation was followed by the acceptance in action and Andy vaulted into the cockpit of the speedy fighter. It was lucky they were both slender but even then it was a tight squeeze. “How do you know when to go?” asked Andy. “The plane was ten miles away and heading this way when the ‘mike’ picked it up,” replied Lieut. Crummit. He glanced at his wrist watch. “The searchlights will go on in ten more seconds. We’ll start up the minute they fasten on anything.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the night awoke to a blue-white brilliance as the searchlights sent their beams soaring into the sky. Back and forth moved the giant fingers of light, each one covering a certain area. Any plane near the reservation was certain of detection. There was a cry from Lieutenant Crummit. “There it is,” he shouted as he gunned the pursuit ship. It seemed to Andy that they jumped straight into the air, so fast was the rise of their craft. Up and up they went, the brilliant light from below pointing an unerring path toward the plane they sought. It was a black biplane, fast and streamlined. The pilot was twisting and turning to get away from the pursuing beams of light but his task was useless with the army pursuit ships rising from below in an angry swarm. They were at two thousand feet in no time and level with the craft they sought. Lieutenant Crummit pressed the trigger of his machine gun and a stream of tracer bullets coursed through the night, singing past the machine ahead. Andy saw the pilot turn a desperate, terror-stricken face in their direction. Someone in the forward cockpit was waving. They drew closer. The plane was giving up. A white handkerchief was being waved by the passenger. Lieutenant Crummit drew closer and signaled for the black biplane to follow him down. The pilot waggled his wings to indicate that he understood the order and they began the strange descent, Lieutenant Crummit and Andy in the leading plane, then the strange biplane followed by the five other army ships. The operators of the searchlights changed the direction of their beams, turning them on the field to make it easy for the night landing. As soon as their own plane had stopped rolling, Andy leaped out and ran toward the black biplane. Lieutenant Crummit was only one stride behind and in his right hand he carried a service automatic. Andy was astounded to hear a familiar voice from the black plane. “What kind of a reception is this?” was the demand and he looked up into the face of Harry Curtis, radio operator of the Neptune, whom they had not expected until the following day at the earliest. “Who is this fellow?” Lieutenant Crummit wanted to know. Andy explained that Harry had been ordered to Bellevue to plan for the radio communication between the Goliath and Neptune during their Arctic trips and Lieutenant Crummit broke into a broad smile. “At least we gave you a real army welcome,” he chuckled. “It’s lucky one of the other boys didn’t reach you first, though. This is restricted flying territory and he might not have sent his first burst of tracers alongside just as a warning.” “I was scared to death,” confessed Harry, who had climbed down from the plane just in time to receive a hearty greeting from Bert. “Believe me I sure scrambled around trying to get a handkerchief out of my pants pocket.” The civilian pilot of Harry’s plane came in for a severe reprimand from Lieutenant Crummit, who warned him not to repeat the offense again. Dynamos for the searchlights were turned off, planes wheeled back into the hangars and Bellevue turned on its lights once more. They had had their first night alarm and the army men on the job had proved their ability to handle the emergency. CHAPTER VII Suspicions Andy, Bert and Harry talked until far into the night, discussing the proposed meeting of the Goliath and the submarine Neptune at the North Pole. “There’s no doubt in my mind,” said Andy, “that the Goliath will be able to make the trip on schedule. What I’m wondering about is the tin fish.” “You can cease worrying right now,” replied Harry. “The Neptune isn’t a cast-off navy submarine refitted for a polar cruise. It’s a long-distance underwater cruiser of the latest type and only a multi-millionaire explorer like Gilbert Mathews could afford to operate such a craft. Believe me, it’s some boat.” “And believe me,” added Bert, “the Goliath is some airship. Wait until you see it in the daylight. Its size will fairly take your breath away.” “I can believe you easily enough,” replied Harry, “for the eastern newspapers have been carrying a great many feature stories about the Goliath. Only the National Airways haven’t been giving out a lot of actual facts and with reporters barred from the plant here, they’ve had to guess at part of the stories they’ve been printing. Everyone is anxious for an actual view of the big ship.” “You’ll be in on all of the previews,” Andy promised, “and if you stay with us long enough I can promise you several trial flights.” “Bert and I will probably be through in a month,” said Harry. “Then I’ll have to hop down to Brooklyn and make the final adjustments on the set aboard the Neptune. After that’s done I may be able to get back here for a few days. I’d certainly like to go along on the trial runs.” There were no more alarms that night and finally the three young enthusiasts ceased talking and dropped into deep slumber. The next day was clear with a warm sun and a definite note of spring was in the air. Birds, on their northward flight, wheeled over the hangar and the grass was a fresher, brighter green. Andy made the rounds at the hangar with Harry, an eager observer, at his side. Assembly of the main gondola was starting, a task which Andy was to personally supervise. In this large car would be located the control room and the passengers quarters with their individual staterooms, dining salons and lounging quarters. Quarters for the crew were built inside the hull and in the middle of the ship between the banks of gas cells. Harry was properly impressed with the size of the Goliath and exclaimed at the engineering progress which had been made in its construction. Andy explained how the double-strength duralumin had increased the strength of the frame to such a point that a disaster such as had befallen the Shenandoah could not strike the Goliath. “How many passengers will you be able to carry when the ship goes into transcontinental service?” Harry asked. “We’ll have sleeping accommodations for 200,” replied Andy, “and during daytime runs between large cities will be able to carry an extra 100.” “Will the fares be pretty stiff?” asked Harry. “Not as much as you would expect. They will average railroad plus Pullman.” “In that case,” said Harry, “you can be sure of capacity business for a good many years.” “We’ll have to if National Airways is to break even on the operation of the Goliath,” said Andy. Bert, who had remained in the office to check over blueprints on an especially complicated piece of radio equipment for the Goliath, hurried up. “Andy,” he said. “Herman Blatz is here.” “Who?” asked Andy. “Blatz,” repeated Bert, “Herman Blatz. He’s the civilian observer from Friedrichshafen.” “Of course,” grinned Andy. “I’d forgotten the name for a moment. What does he look like?” “Fine looking sort of a fellow,” replied Bert. “He’s just about our own age; not quite as tall as you are and dark; brown eyes and hair that is almost coal black.” “If you don’t mind running back to the office,” said Andy, “tell him that I’ll be along presently. I want to make sure that the assembly of the gondola starts smoothly.” Andy became engrossed in the direction of the subforemen and their crews and he even forgot Harry, much less the newcomer who was waiting for him in the office. An hour later Bert returned. “What’s the idea?” he demanded. “I thought you said you’d be along right away. Blatz has been cooling his heels for more than an hour.” “Sorry,” grinned Andy, who had been helping with the assembly. “I was so interested I forgot all about him. I’ll come along with you.” The young engineer crawled out from beneath the duralumin frame on which he had been working, wiped his hands on a piece of waste, brushed off his dungarees, the universal uniform of engineers, foremen and mechanics at the Bellevue plant. Andy stepped into his office, blinked his eyes to accustom them to the dark interior, and looked into the face of Lieut. Serge Larko, secret agent of Alexis Reikoff’s Grega, who had been assigned the task of bringing about the destruction of the Goliath. But Andy was to know the visitor as Herman Blatz, civilian observer from Friedrichshafen, and he stepped forward with a cordial greeting. “We shall be delighted to have you with us,” said Andy, “and I must apologize for my tardiness in greeting you. We have just started the assembly of the main gondola and I have been giving it my personal supervision.” “The Goliath is that near completion?” asked Lieutenant Larko, who from here on we shall speak of in his new role as Herman Blatz. “We’ll be making trial flights in less than two months,” replied Andy enthusiastically. “It was well that I arrived at this time,” said Blatz, “for I will be able to remain long enough for the trial flights.” “The war department communications indicated that you would probably accompany us on the test trips,” said Andy. “Yes,” replied Blatz. “Europe is greatly interested in the Goliath and I feel it a rare privilege that I have been assigned here.” The young German’s pronunciation of English was clear and precise, his words close-clipped in the Teuton manner. “I understand that you have been at Friedrichshafen some time,” said Andy. “Yes,” replied Blatz, who dreaded questions about the Germany airship base. He wondered how much this young American might really know about him; how much he might suspect for he had sensed instantly that Andy was suspicious of every newcomer. “I spent a year at Friedrichshafen,” said Andy. “It is possible that we know a number of the same men there. Do you recall Bauer and Schillig, who were the aces of the navigation class in 1929?” “The names are familiar,” replied Blatz, “but I went through navigation the preceding year.” Harry and Bert came into the office and Andy introduced the German expert and the radio operator of the Neptune. “You are going to carry a submarine radio operator on an airship?” asked Blatz. “Oh, no,” replied Bert quickly. He was about to explain that the Goliath and the Neptune were to meet at the North pole that summer but a warning glance from Andy silenced him, and he added, rather lamely. “Harry and I were department of commerce operators and he’s down here helping me with the final assembly of the set for the Goliath.” “Very fortunate. I’m sure,” said Blatz. “You understand,” said Andy, “that there are certain construction secrets which I can not divulge?” “Of course,” replied Blatz, “and I assure you that you need have no worry on that score.” Andy suggested that they make a tour of the plant and Blatz readily assented for he was anxious to see the Goliath. He had received some idea of the size when he had flown over at sunset two days before and glimpsed the hangar. As they walked toward the huge structure, he wondered who had chased him in the red plane. He had been tired after the long flight across the Atlantic and had lost his way after striking the Atlantic coast. He had not intended coming as close to Bellevue but when he finally got his bearings he was less than a hundred miles away and he could not resist the temptation. But it had been a foolish move for a little red plane had darted out of the shadows below and pushed him hard before he had escaped into the coming night. Another hundred miles and he had slipped out of the cockpit of the Blenkko which had served him so faithfully in the long flight from Rubania, and had dropped through the night in his chute. He had clutched a suitcase with fresh clothes and his precious identification papers as Herman Blatz in his arms. The landing had been easy and after washing the grime of the long flight off in a nearby creek, he had changed clothes; then burned his old clothes, the parachute and the suitcase. Into the fire had gone everything which would identify him as Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian air force on special duty as an agent of the Gerka. Out of the timber and onto the highway had stepped Herman Blatz, who had hitch-hiked to the nearest town where he had rested for a day, bought a fresh wardrobe, and then continued by train and auto to Bellevue. A suppressed excitement gripped his whole being He had done the seemingly impossible, flown the Atlantic and made his way into this carefully guarded dirigible plant, thanks to the clever subterfuge Reikoff must have used in getting permission for a civilian observer to visit Bellevue. He would get in touch with Boris Dubra, the mechanic who was a member of the Gerka, at the first opportunity. They entered the hangar and Blatz stopped involuntarily. Andy had expected that reaction and it told him that the newcomer was a true airman for the majestic bulk of the Goliath usually struck those who were viewing it for the first time speechless. “It’s inspiring,” gasped Blatz. “I never dreamed an airship could be so large.” “Of course it looks larger in the hangar than it really is,” said Andy, “but we’re rather proud of the Goliath.” “Friedrichshafen has never done anything like it,” said Andy. “Or, for that matter, has anyone else in the world.” “You’re right,” nodded Blatz. “I wonder that you ever tore yourself away from here and came out to meet me.” “I’ve just about lived with the Goliath,” admitted Andy, “for Dad and Captain Harkins have been forced to make many trips to see about materials. They will return this afternoon to greet you.” “I look forward to meeting two such famous men. The honor is great.” They continued through the hangar, Andy pointing out and explaining the progress which had been made on the component parts of the great airship. “One of the pleasantest years of my life,” said Andy, “was the one passed at Friedrichshafen. I recall the day I went up in one of the small dirigibles, the Strassburg, I believe. Karl Staab was at the controls and a wind squall hit us. It pushed us clear across Lake Constance and we were lucky to get home the same day. Karl was a great joker but a wonderful navigator despite that.” “Yes, you’re quite right,” nodded Blatz. “He always enjoyed a good laugh.” Andy’s eyes narrowed and he looked closely at the newcomer. He started to say something; then thought better of it and quickly switched the conversation from reminiscences of days at Friedrichshafen to the present. Andy, Bert, Harry and Blatz lunched together at the hotel where Andy introduced the German expert to the heads of the construction staff at Bellevue. Blatz was accorded a warm welcome and after lunch resumed his tour of the plant with Andy. In mid-afternoon a National Airways plane dropped in from the north. The army flyers, warned of its coming, did not roar into the sky in angry pursuit, but squatted beside their planes and watched the cabin monoplane skid to a stop in front of one of the smaller hangars. Andy excused himself and ran toward the plane. The first man out of the cabin was his father, and Andy received an affectionate greeting. “Everything going O.K. son?” asked the vice president of the National Airways. “We’ve had a little excitement. Dad,” replied Andy, “but it didn’t affect the work on the Goliath. We’re well ahead of schedule.” “Fine,” replied Andy’s father. “We’ll need all of the extra time for trial flights before we start our northward trip.” “Then it’s definitely settled that we’ll meet the Neptune at the North pole?” “Very definitely settled,” replied Charles. High. “The contracts were signed yesterday. Captain Harkins has our copies with him.” The tall, bronzed airman who was the chief designer and captain of the Goliath stepped out of the cabin of the monoplane. “Hello, Andy,” he said, extending his hand for a cordial greeting. “Have you started the assembly of the main gondola?” “Work got under way on that project this morning,” replied Andy, “and the crews are making unusually good time.” “I’ve decided on several minor changes,” said Captain Harkins, “but they need not delay the general construction work on the main car.” As they walked toward the office buildings, Andy briefly explained what had happened during their absence, how Dubra had attempted to damage the hangar, the passage and pursuit of the foreign plane, the arrival of the army patrols and Dubra’s admission that an attempt was under way to destroy the Goliath. “The wonder of it is,” said Andy’s father, “that some foreign power hasn’t made the attempt before. Now that we are fore-warned, there is little chance of success in damaging the big ship.” Andy saw Herman Blatz waiting for him some distance away and he spoke to his father and Captain Harkins in low tones, explaining that Blatz had been sent to Bellevue on special orders of the war department. “I can see no objection to that,” said Captain Harkins. “Doctor Eckener at Friedrichshafen has placed us deeply in his debt through suggestions on the improvement of our general design and one of his observers is welcome as far as I am concerned.” “National Airways feels the same way,” added Andy’s father. Andy took his father and Captain Harkins over to Blatz where he made the necessary introductions. They were soon engaged in a spirited discussion of the improvements in aircraft building which were represented in the Goliath and Andy left them to walk back to his own office. The arrival of Blatz had disturbed him strangely. He had hoped that he would be able to welcome the newcomer with real cordiality but instead he found a mounting barrier of resentment rising between himself and the German. Blatz’ story didn’t ring true. Andy had tested him that afternoon when he had recalled the incident at Friedrichshafen when he and Karl Staab had been blown across Lake Constance in the old Strassburg. Blatz had recalled knowing Staab when, in reality, there was no such navigator at Friedrichshafen. The whole story and the name had been invented by Andy to test Blatz. If, as he claimed, he had been connected with the Friedrichshafen plant for a number of years, he could not have remembered a man who did not exist. Blatz had agreed too readily. Andy’s suspicions were aroused and he promised himself an investigation. CHAPTER VIII Mysterious Moves When Herman Blatz, alias Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian secret police, was alone in his room late that afternoon preparing for supper, he was torn between conflicting emotions. He had reached Bellevue safely. He was even inside the plant of the National Airways, accepted as a German civilian observer. The opportunity for him to wreck the Goliath might present itself at any moment but two mighty emotional forces were at work. One was his inherent love for anything man-made that could conquer the elements. Only that afternoon he had viewed the greatest of all airships and he quailed inwardly at the thought that his task was to destroy the mighty craft. He heard the call for supper and descended to the dining room where he was seated at the head table with Andy, Bert, Harry, Andy’s father and Captain Harkins. There was a vacant chair at his left and he wondered who the late-comer would be. Conversation at the table was devoted almost solely to topics centering around the Goliath and the young Rubanian airman reveled in the sheer joy it brought him. For the time he forgot his ominous mission and was light-hearted and gay. Supper was half over when a quiet man slipped into the chair beside him. Andy turned and introduced the late arrival. “Mr. Blatz,” he said, “I want you to know Merritt Timms, chief of the secret service agents here.” Blatz acknowledged the introduction mechanically and Andy, watching his every move and facial expression, failed to see any note of alarm. It was well for Blatz that Andy’s eyes could not penetrate beneath the surface for Blatz’s mind was working rapidly. The chief of the secret service agents at Bellevue seated beside him! Had he aroused suspicion already? Had there been a slip somewhere along the line; could these alert Americans know his identity and be playing with him, waiting for him to make a slip so they could send him to some military prison? He knew the careful workings of the Gerka and he doubted that a slip had been made. That thought gave him some reassurance and his gay attitude returned. They finished the meal and chairs were pushed back. “I’m going over to the hospital,” said Timms to Andy. “Want to go along and hear what Dubra has to say?” Andy darted a glance at Blatz. He saw the civilian observer start ever so slightly. It was hardly more than a tremor but it helped to verify Andy’s suspicions. “I’ll go,” he replied. “Perhaps Blatz here would like to come with us?” “Yes, of course,” replied the other. “Some mechanic hurt?” “A little,” replied Timms. “A couple of bullets hurt him. He was an agent of the Gerka, Rubanian secret police organization, planted here to damage the hangar. He failed and the guards didn’t miss when he tried to escape.” “I’m surprised to hear that,” said Blatz. “I didn’t suppose anyone would direct any destructive efforts toward the Goliath.” “We’ll be surprised if anyone else does,” said Timms, “for we know that Alex Reikoff, dictator of Rubania, would like nothing better than to hear about the destruction of the Goliath. As a result, we’ve taken every precaution that is humanly possible.” “That is wise,” said Blatz, “for in Europe we have come to fear Reikoff as a menace to the peace of the world.” They were in the doorway of the hospital now and Blatz saw Andy’s keen blue eyes boring into him, probing as though questioning the truth of his words. He felt that his answers, especially the reference to Reikoff as a menace, had been well put. A slight infection had set in on Dubra’s right leg and the Rubanian was restless with pain. “Hello, Dubra,” said the secret service chief. “Just dropped in to see how you are getting along.” “They’re killing me,” cried the man on the bed. “My leg hurts so.” “They’re doing no such thing,” replied Timms. “The doctor here is making every effort to save your worthless life. Have you got anything else to add to what you said the other night?” Dubra’s eyes were bright with fever but his mind was clear and he shook his head. Blatz kept well in the background. He had lost the ally Reikoff had told him he would have. Dubra, over-anxious to cause harm, had been caught and wounded. His usefulness as an agent of destruction was at an end and Blatz would have to go on alone. Perhaps it would be easier that way. There was no more information to be had from the wounded Rubanian and they left the hospital. When they returned to the hotel, Blatz excused himself and went to his room. Timms signified his intention to do likewise but changed his mind when Andy insisted that they take a walk together. “What’s the idea?” the secret service chief asked when they were well away from the hotel and walking in the open. “It’s Blatz,” said Andy. “There’s something about him that doesn’t ring true.” The assistant pilot of the Goliath related the incident of the afternoon with the fake story of the adventure at Friedrichshafen. “That sounds a little fishy,” admitted Timms, “but that’s not enough to accuse a man of being a spy.” “I realize that,” admitted Andy, “but you should have seen him tonight when you asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital and see Dubra. Blatz’s face paled and he trembled ever so slightly. No one else noticed it but I had been watching him closely.” “Still there is nothing definite,” insisted Timms. “There’s enough so that I’m not going to let him get very far away from me,” replied Andy. “Can’t you start a quiet tracer through the secret service; find out where and when he landed; how he came to receive the permission from the war department and anything else your people in Europe can dig up?” “It might be rather serious if your suspicions proved unfounded,” said Timms. “I’m willing to take the risk,” replied Andy. “Then I’ll see what can be done,” promised the secret service chief. Events during the next month at Bellevue were quiet enough. Andy kept a close watch of Blatz, but the German observer’s conduct was model. He confined his activities solely to observance and taking notes on the parts of the Goliath to which he was allowed access and he made no move to delve into the military secrets which were a part of the giant craft. Bert and Harry had been busy with the installation of the intricate radio equipment which was a part of the Goliath. Late in April they completed their joint task and Bert announced that the communications apparatus was ready. Assembly of the gondola had been completed, motor crews were busy tuning up the 12 giant engines which were to provide the power and fitters worked overtime on the installation of the luxurious furnishings of the lounge and sleeping quarters in the passenger cabins. The gondola of the Goliath was a two-deck affair. In the fore part of the lower deck was the control and operations room with the communications room just behind. The main lounge was located on this deck with the dining room and the chef’s quarters at the rear of the gondola. An enclosed promenade deck, encircled the lounge and dining room. The upper deck was devoted solely to passenger cabins, which were fitted like the staterooms of a Pullman. Every modern convenience for the comfort of travelers had been built into the gondola and the Goliath was truly a revelation in luxury. Blatz was enthusiastic in his praise of the great machine and Andy was forced to admit to himself that his earlier suspicions appeared unfounded. He relaxed his vigilance somewhat and the secret agent of the Gerka sensed this change in the assistant pilot’s attitude. Between them a real friendship started to develop and it was only natural that Bert and Harry were included in this feeling of comradeship. On more than one occasion Blatz proved his sound technical knowledge, which could have been gained only at Friedrichshafen, a fact which influenced Andy in quieting his suspicions. In addition, there had been no report from the Washington headquarters of the secret service and it appeared that Blatz’s record was all right. Shipments of helium, the life-blood of the Goliath, were arriving daily from the Texas gas fields. The long, narrow cylinders were stacked in rows outside the hangar. When needed they would be trucked inside, the valves opened, and their contents would flow into the gas cells inside the duralumin hull. In this respect the United States led all the other nations in its precious supply of helium, a non-inflammable gas. Some of the Europeans were forced to use hydrogen, a highly inflammable gas, the use of which had resulted in some of the major dirigible catastrophes. Work on the Goliath was well ahead of schedule and when Bert and Harry finished their work on the radio equipment, Harry announced that it would be necessary for him to return to Brooklyn at once for a final test of the equipment of the Neptune. The submarine was to leave soon and Andy and Bert obtained leave to accompany Harry on his return east. When Blatz heard of the plans, he asked permission to accompany them. It would give him an opportunity to visit the American headquarters of the Gerka in New York. “You might just as well make it a real holiday,” Andy’s father said when apprised of their plans. “One of our cabin monoplanes will be in tomorrow and I’ll see that you are given the use of it for a week. Then you can fly east together.” The suggestion appealed to them and they accepted with enthusiasm. Two days later they were ready to depart. After stowing their luggage into the baggage compartment of the trim, fast National Airways monoplane, they each took farewell looks at the Goliath and then climbed into their places. Andy was at the controls with Blatz in the seat beside him. Bert and Harry were sprawled in comfortable wicker chairs to the rear. The plane skimmed across the field and took off in a steep climb, circled the field once, and then headed northeast in a bee-line for New York. The mountains, their crests covered with the fresh green of early spring foliage, reared their misty heads to the east. They would cut diagonally across them and Andy held the stick back and watched the altimeter climb. At five thousand he leveled off and settled down to the trip. They had plenty of gas to make it on one long hop. Blatz was enjoying the trip, the rolling country beneath, the mountains which they were approaching and even the thrill of being in the air, which never grew old to him. His eyes sparkled and there was a bright glow to his cheeks. He’d like to get his hands on the controls and see how this American commercial job handled. An hour later Andy turned to Blatz. “Ever handled a ship like this?” he asked. “I’ve done a little flying,” admitted the European. “Think you could handle it?” Blatz nodded eagerly and Andy slipped out from behind the controls which the other took over. Andy watched him keenly and noticed that Blatz settled into his chair like a veteran. His touch on the controls was firm but light and, unlike the beginner, he did not over-control. The air over the mountains was rougher and Andy wondered how Blatz would come through. His question was soon answered. A down draft swirled them downward three hundred feet in the twinkling of an eye. A novice would have been panic-stricken, but Blatz gave her the gun and flipped out of it nicely. “Good work,” said Andy. “More luck than anything else,” was the reply, but Andy was very much inclined to disagree. There was no question in his mind now. Blatz was not only a good dirigible man but he was an expert flyer as well. The long-allayed suspicions Andy had harbored in the first weeks the civilian observer had been at Bellevue were re-awakened. He would communicate his distrust to Bert and Harry when they had a chance to talk alone. Until now he had kept his misgivings to himself but he felt that it was time the others knew how he felt. They lunched over eastern Pennsylvania with the plane clipping the miles off at 110 an hour. Sandwiches had been brought in a liberal supply but the cool air had whetted their appetites and the basket of lunch soon disappeared. “Oh, boy,” said Bert. “Wait until I get to New York and sink my teeth in a big, juicy steak. Honestly, I’m almost starved. Those sandwiches were just teasers.” “How long before we’ll be in?” asked Harry, who likewise confessed that the lunch had not satisfied his hunger. “Another hour,” replied Andy, who was back at the controls. “Next time we’ll bring a restaurant along. From the way you fellows complain someone might get the idea you’d been working this morning.” Fifty-five minutes later they dipped over the National Airways field on the Jersey side and Andy nosed down to land. Blatz touched his arm. “If Bert and Harry won’t starve for five more minutes,” he said, “I’d like to see New York from the air.” “We’ll manage to hold out another few minutes,” conceded the hungry pair, and Andy headed the monoplane east across the Jersey flats. They dipped a wing in salute as the Statue of Liberty was passed and climbed steeply as they approached the Battery. On up town they sped over the canyons between the skyscrapers where hurrying crowds of shoppers were thronging the streets. The Empire State’s gleaming tower was ahead, then beside, and then behind them. The Chrysler spire glittered in the sun and they looked down on the crowds in Times Square. Central Park was a fleeting panorama. Then they were over the Hudson, back to Jersey and sliding down out of the skyway with motor idling. They touched gently and rolled to a landing in front of the main control station where the number of their plane was taken and they were assigned to a hangar. Andy taxied the monoplane down the line to the No. 5 hangar where mechanics were ready to take it in charge. “How did you like your aerial view of New York?” Andy asked Blatz. “It was marvelous, breath-taking,” laughed the other. “In Europe we have no city to compare with it. Your buildings; they go into the clouds.” “I’ll say,” replied Harry. “I’ve been on the Empire State tower when the clouds were so thick you couldn’t see the street.” They entered the main administration building at the airport, cleaned up, and then took a taxi for New York. Through Jersey City and under the Hudson they went in the Holland Tubes and then through the maze of mid-afternoon traffic to their hotel just off Times Square. While Andy was registering for the party, Bert saw the sign above the door of the grillroom, and, with a “See you later,” departed to order the steak he had promised himself. Andy, Blatz and Harry went up to their rooms, assured themselves that the double quarters were satisfactory, and then went down to join Bert in the grill. “I ordered steaks for everyone,” said the radio operator of the Goliath. “Anyone have any objections?” There was no vocal protest and the steaks were placed before them a minute later. “I’ve got to go over to the shipyard and report that I’m in town,” said Harry. “Anyone like to run over to Brooklyn now and see what the Neptune looks like?” “Count me in,” replied Bert. “I want to see what kind of a tin can you’re going to use in your attempt to reach the North Pole.” “How about you two?” asked Harry, turning to Andy and Blatz. “I’ll be glad to go in the morning,” said Blatz, “but just now I’m a little tired. I’ll stay here at the hotel, rest a while, and then perhaps stroll out and look around the city a bit.” “You’ll have to count me out, too,” said Andy. “I’ve a few errands that must be attended to and the sooner they are out of the way the more time I’ll have to spend over at the shipyard.” Harry and Bert departed, after promising that they would return early in the evening so they could enjoy a show together. Blatz went up to their double room and Andy sat down at a writing desk to pen several important notes. He had been writing not more than five minutes when he looked up and saw a familiar figure going through the main doorway. He recognized the German civilian observer. But Blatz had just said that he was tired and was going to his room to rest? Without waiting to ponder the question, Andy picked up the note he had been writing, stuffed it in his pocket, and hurried toward the entrance. It was late afternoon and dusk had settled but he reached the street just in time to see Blatz step into a cab. There was something furtive, mysterious in the other’s manner and Andy decided to follow. He motioned for a cab cruising by to stop. The driver was an alert, keen looking fellow and he responded instantly when Andy spoke to him. “Keep that cab ahead in sight,” said Andy, “and there’s an extra five for you.” Gears meshed harshly as the cab lurched ahead and Andy started on one of the strangest adventures of his life. CHAPTER IX On the East Side Lieutenant Larko, or Blatz as he was known to his American friends, wanted to get his visit to the American headquarters of the Gerka over as soon as possible. He did not look forward to it with pleasure and was anxious to return to his friends. The deeper he got into the intrigue the less he liked the mission which had been assigned to him by the dictator of Rubania. On leaving the hotel, he sank back in the cushions of the taxicab and marveled at the dexterity of the driver, who guided his car between the moving streams of traffic with amazing skill. They worked away from the mid-town section, getting over on the east side where the streets were narrower, the lights dimmer and the pavement rough and bumpy. Occasionally the gleam of the headlights of another car flashed in the mirror over the driver’s head, but Blatz thought nothing of it until the driver leaned back as he slowed for a turn. “There’s another cab been following us ever since we left the hotel,” he said. “Want me to try and shake them?” “Not right now,” replied Blatz. “Keep going; I’ll watch them.” He turned and looked out the rear window. There was no mistake on the part of the driver; another machine was following, making every turn they did, maintaining the same speed and keeping about a block to the rear. Had the American secret service become suspicious of him and placed him under surveillance? The thought alarmed Blatz and he ordered the driver to attempt to lose the pursuing machine. For fifteen minutes they turned and twisted from one street to another, darted through alleys and doubled back onto thoroughfares. At last the lights of the other machine vanished and Blatz felt sure that they had lost their pursuers. He gave the order to continue to the address he had given the driver and relaxed again. He would be glad to get back to the hotel and rejoin his friends. The American headquarters of the Gerka were located on the fifth floor of a warehouse building on the east side, a district which was anything but reassuring after dusk had fallen. Street lights cast their feeble rays at infrequent intervals and there was no traffic on the street. One dusty electric globe hung in the little cubby which was marked “watchman’s office.” “Want me to wait?” asked the taxi driver. “That’s not necessary,” replied Blatz. “I’ll call a cab when I’m ready to return.” The taxi lurched down the street and Blatz walked up to the watchman’s window. The password of the Gerka was in Rubanian and Blatz spoke a guttural phrase. The watchman, a middle aged man with distinct Rubanian features, stepped to a phone and made sure that Blatz was really an agent of the Gerka. Informed that the newcomer was to be shown to the headquarters, he took Blatz into the dim confines of the building and showed him into a freight elevator. They were lifted slowly to the fifth floor and when the door opened, Blatz stepped out into a comfortably furnished suite of rooms. A secretary took his number and mission and five minutes later he was ushered into the inner chamber, to face Lothar Vendra, head of the American branch of the Gerka. Vendra was an impressive individual. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome in a bitter sort of way. “I am most happy to greet you,” he told Blatz, extending his hand in welcome. “I am happy to be here,” replied Blatz, with an enthusiasm that he did not honestly feel. “Sit down,” motioned Vendra, “and tell me all that has happened since you arrived at Bellevue and how you happen to be in New York at this time.” Blatz recounted in detail the events that had taken place since he had arrived at the home of the Goliath. When he mentioned the name of Boris Dubra, the mechanic who had been wounded in his attempt to damage the Goliath’s hangar, Vendra’s face clouded with anger. “I had heard of that,” he said. “Dubra was a fool. We are just as well off without him. You will be able to accomplish the task alone.” “I’m not so sure that I will fulfill my mission,” replied Blatz. “What’s that?” demanded Vendra. “I have a feeling that the Americans, especially Andy High, are suspicious,” explained Blatz. “When I left the hotel a few minutes ago I was followed and only by the amazing dexterity of my taxi driver was I able to elude my pursuer.” “You must have been mistaken,” insisted Vendra. “Your papers are in perfect order.” “I was not mistaken,” said Blatz, clearly and decisively. “Every precaution must be taken or I will find myself in an American military prison.” “I agree that you must be careful,” admitted Vendra, “but His Excellency is most anxious that the Goliath be destroyed at once. In his latest communication he especially stressed this point. This air monster must never become the king of the skies!” The words came to Blatz through a mist of memories. He could see the silver sides of the Goliath as the great ship lay in its hangar, hear the tap of hammers and cries of the workmen as they rushed it to completion, see the pride and joy in Andy’s eyes as the young engineer looked at the great skycraft he had helped to create. And his job was to destroy all this. The airman in him rebelled and Vendra, sensing the emotional conflict, moved closer. “Remember,” he warned. “You are a Rubanian, a member of the Gerka, who is pledged to duty even unto death!” Blatz nodded dismally. There was no getting away from the facts. He would have to destroy the Goliath. “You may inform His Excellency,” he said, “that I will do my best.” He was about to leave when a buzzer rang sharply. Vendra seized the telephone and a look of alarm came over his face. “There’s trouble down at the entrance,” he said. “The watchman just found a man prowling around. He knocked him out and is bringing him up here.” Andy’s pursuit of the German observer had not been successful for his driver had finally lost the cab in the maze of quick turns Blatz’s driver had made after being ordered to shake off pursuit. But Andy was not easily discouraged and he ordered his own taxi to return to the street on which they had been when Blatz had started his zig-zig tactics. There was a possibility that the cab he sought might return and continue its journey from that point. His hunch was correct and within ten minutes the machine he had lost rolled down the street. This time his driver put out his lights and they followed, Andy in the meantime having agreed to fend off any police charges that might be brought for running without lights. He was less than two hundred yards away when Blatz entered the warehouse and Andy was slipping into the building when the night watchman returned and caught him. The challenge was in Rubanian, a language unfamiliar to Andy. He replied in American, explaining that he was looking for a friend who was to meet him at that address. The explanation failed to satisfy the watchman, who ordered Andy out. The watchman was too anxious to get rid of him and Andy refused to leave. The attack followed almost instantly, and the burly watchman hurled himself at the slender airman with surprising speed. Taken unaware, Andy went down in a heap. He struggled to his feet and turned to face the next rush by the watchman. He partially fended off the first blow but another, starting low and coming up with tremendous force, caught him on the point of the chin. His knees wobbled, a mist clouded his eyes, his mouth was strangely dry and he had a sensation of falling from a great height. Then a curtain of darkness descended. The watchman picked him up carried him into the elevator, and finally walked into Vendra’s office with the unconscious Andy in his arms. Blatz started back in white-faced amazement. “Is he badly hurt?” he asked. “No,” grunted the watchman. “He’ll come around in a few minutes. He struck his head against a door sill when I knocked him down.” “This is terrible,” said Blatz. “Now Andy’s suspicions of me will be confirmed. It will be no use for me to return to Bellevue after this.” “What do you mean?” asked Vendra. “Just this,” explained Blatz. “Your bulldog watchman here has knocked out Andy High, son of Charles High, executive vice president of the National Airways who is in charge of the building of the Goliath. Andy is my ‘chaperon’ at Bellevue and the only one who has appeared to be suspicious of me. He must have followed me from the hotel.” Vendra was silent for a minute, pondering the situation which confronted them. “It is regrettable,” he said. “You must return to Bellevue to fulfill your mission of destroying the Goliath, the air monster.” “But I can’t go back now,” protested Blatz. “Return to your hotel at once,” said Vendra. “When anyone asks where you have been, tell them on a long taxi ride through the city and Central Park.” “Andy will never believe such a story,” protested Blatz. “He won’t be able to disprove it,” countered Vendra. “As soon as you leave I’ll take him out of here. We’ll leave him in another street before he recovers consciousness. He’ll never be able to find his way back here and you’ll make a complete denial if he ever openly accuses you. It is ticklish, I admit, but it is the only way out.” Blatz finally agreed and hastened from the room, to return at once to the hotel where he found Bert and Harry waiting. “Where’s Andy?” asked Bert. “I don’t know,” replied Blatz. “I’ve been on a long taxi ride.” Which, he told himself, was quite true. An hour later Andy arrived in a cab, his clothes so dirty and disheveled that he attracted open attention as he walked through the fashionable lobby of the hotel. The clerks eyed him with disgust but they dared not protest at his appearance. When he appeared in his room, he was greeted with exclamations of astonishment. “What under the sun happened to you?” asked Bert. “Did a taxi walk all over you?” “Something, hit me,” said Andy, “while I was down on the east side. The next thing I knew I was lying in a street and a policeman was shaking me. I finally convinced him that I was sane and sober, and he let me come back here. I haven’t figured it out just yet; my head’s too dizzy.” He looked straight at Blatz when he added: “But I have a hunch I’ll get it straight when I get over this headache.” CHAPTER X The Neptune Sails Andy was shaky from his experience over on the east side and while Bert, Harry and Blatz went out to a show, he remained at the hotel to rest and think things over. He was positive that he had seen Blatz go into the warehouse and the conviction grew that the German civilian observer was not all that he claimed to be. Andy felt a crisis coming, something he couldn’t exactly put into words, but a vague feeling that trouble was just around the corner. He was asleep when the others returned at midnight from the theater and they did not waken him. Andy felt much refreshed the next morning and they decided to accompany Harry on his visit to the shipyard. “It’s the finest tin fish I’ve ever seen,” said Bert, who had visited the Neptune the afternoon before. “They’ve got just about everything they need in it.” “It is a wonderful boat,” admitted Harry proudly, “but I’ll have to confess that traveling in the Neptune won’t be able to compare with the Goliath. When we’re submerged the air isn’t any too good if we’re down three or four hours and we’re pretty cramped for space.” “Let’s get under way,” said Andy. “I’m anxious to see this wonderful tin fish.” They took a taxi across town, rolled over the Brooklyn bridge and fifteen minutes later were walking into the shipyard where the Neptune was being groomed for its polar trip. The submarine was lying beside a stubby wharf with its main hatch open. Workmen were busy passing supplies down into its depths as Andy and his party arrived. “My gosh,” exclaimed Andy. “I didn’t suppose you had a submarine of this type. It’s almost as big as one of the navy’s super-cruisers.” “Just about,” agreed Harry. “As a matter-of-fact, this sub was built for naval purposes by the Seabright yards. They used it as a demonstrator in selling similar models to South American navies. It has just about every modern gadget on it that inventors could devise. As a result of this working model, the Seabright people landed contracts for about 25 million in work. The Neptune had served its purpose and they were willing to sell it to Gilbert Mathews at a very reasonable figure when he started looking for a ship in which to make the polar trip. The Seabright engineers have made all of the necessary changes for polar cruising and have just put their official approval on the Neptune, which means we’ll be starting north within a few days.” “I’d like to see inside the Neptune,” said Blatz, adding, “I’ve never been in a submarine before.” “All right,” agreed Harry, “but we’ll have to keep out of the way of the crew bringing in stores Let’s go.” They scrambled down the ladder and reached the rivet-studded deck of the Neptune. There was a lull in the steady stream of boxes being carried into the interior and they hurried through the main hatch and into the conning tower, then down into the main control room. Andy looked about in amazement at the compactness of the instruments in the “brains” of the submarine. There was not an inch of waste space in the spotlessly white interior of the steel fish. Harry led them through the forward engine room and into the crew quarters where double-decked bunks lined the walls. Just ahead were the officers’ quarters, slightly better furnished than those of the crew and beyond this was the radio cubby where Harry would practically live from the time they left the Brooklyn shipyard until they returned from the desolate ice wastes of the far north. They went on ahead into the room usually used as a torpedo room. This had been fitted with scientific equipment for sounding the ocean depths, and determining the material at the bottom of the Arctic. In addition to the scientific paraphernalia, the forward room contained the all important rescue chambers. In this room was located the powerful drill which was capable of boring fifty feet upward straight through the ice, opening a tunnel large enough for a man to wriggle through in case the submarine became trapped by ice. There was also an escape passage through the forward torpedo tubes. The inspection of the forward half of the sub completed, they turned to the after quarters. Another large engine room was located after the main control room and beyond this was another room with double-decked bunks while just back of that was the galley. “You’ve got a place to cook food,” said Bert, “but where do you eat?” “Just about any place we find convenient,” replied Harry. “There are a number of folding tables that can be pulled out in the crews’ quarters but if the going is rough or we’re busy, we take on food when and where we can get it.” “When you’re pitching around on the North Atlantic and trying to connect a little food with that hungry mouth of yours, just remember what a pleasant time I’ll be having on the Goliath where there’s plenty of room to stretch and plenty of room to eat,” said Bert. “I’ll probably remember that a good many times,” grinned Harry, “but if you radio me a description of some of those nice meals of yours. I’ll refuse to answer.” They completed their inspection of the Neptune and had climbed back to the wharf when a roadster rolled through the shipyard gate. “Just a minute, fellows,” said Harry. “Here comes Gilbert Mathews. I’d like to have you meet him.” The commander of the Neptune was tall and broad-shouldered. His walk was vigorous and he was hatless. His brown hair was slightly gray at the temples and he might be anywhere from 35 to 45 years old. “Hello, Harry,” he said as he came up. “Your radio equipment all ready?” “Everything’s tested and in fine shape,” replied the radio operator. “I’d like to have you meet my friends.” “Delighted,” said the explorer, and he greeted Blatz, Bert and Andy cordially. “I’ve had some very pleasant conferences with your father,” he told Andy. “Will we meet at the North pole this summer?” “I sincerely hope so,” replied Andy. “Bert is chief radio operator on the Goliath and I will make the trip as assistant to Captain Harkins.” “Then I am sure that we will meet again,” replied Mathews. He turned to Harry. “Did the orders reach you at your hotel before you left this morning?” he asked. “No sir,” replied Harry. “Then this will come as somewhat of a surprise,” smiled Mathews. “We’ll leave at sunrise and every member of the crew has been ordered on board tonight.” “It certainly is a surprise,” gasped Harry, “but I’ll be aboard ship tonight.” “You’re leaving almost two weeks earlier than you had first planned,” said Andy. “Conditions in the Arctic are more open than they have been for a number of years,” replied the explorer, “and I am anxious to get the Neptune into the ice as soon as possible.” “We probably will not see you again,” said Andy, “but we wish you every good fortune and we’ll see you at the North pole.” “Thank you for your good wishes,” replied Mathews. “In return, I wish the Goliath a fair voyage and a fast one.” The explorer left them and hurried down the ladder to supervise the final preparations for the departure of the Neptune. Harry was busy the remainder of the day, finishing the task of getting his kit together and sending goodbye telegrams to relatives, for his parents lived in Illinois and would not be able to reach New York before sailing time. Hotel reporters learned that the assistant pilot of the Goliath was in the city and when they returned to the hotel in late afternoon, half a dozen were waiting for Andy. They plied him with questions. How long would it be before the Goliath was ready to take the air; what would the big ship do; where would it go on its trial flights; was it true that attempts had been made to destroy the ship in its hangar; when would it start on the cruise into the Arctic regions? To all these questions Andy was able to give only the most general of answers for he was bound in secrecy not to reveal definite information about the Goliath or the plans for its trial flights. Andy and his friends posed while flashlights flared but finally they were alone in their rooms. Harry had finished the score of small tasks which had been necessary when the final sail order, was given and he stretched out on one of the beds, his hands clasped above his head. “Tonight we’re all here together,” he said. “Tomorrow I’ll be going down the sound in the tin fish; next week you’ll be aloft as the Goliath tries its wings, and the next time we meet will be at the North pole. Believe me, that’s adventure.” “How I envy you all,” said Blatz, his voice low and earnest, and Andy actually felt sorry for the European whom he had come to firmly suspicion. If he could wipe those doubts out of his mind, he would thoroughly like Blatz for the foreigner was a born airman and would be a real asset to the technical staff of National Airways. “When you sail away for the North pole in the Goliath,” he told Andy, “I’ll stay on the ground at Bellevue and watch you fade into the north but I’ll glory with you in success.” “I’m hungry,” announced Bert. “Let’s go down and get something to eat. If we sit around here we’ll all get blue for we’re going to miss Harry a lot. There’s just this one consolation. We’ll be able to talk back and forth daily on our low wave sets unless the Arctic puts up a wall of static we can’t break through.” Their last meal together was a quiet affair despite Bert’s efforts to make it jolly and cheerful. With Harry going aboard ship within the next hour or so and the Neptune casting off at dawn, they knew the start of the great adventure was at hand and it awed them all. A messenger paged Harry in the dining room and handed him a telegram. The Neptune’s radio operator tore it open with fingers that shook just a little and read it hungrily. His face whitened for a moment and he folded the message carefully and placed it in an inner pocket. There was a suspicion of a tear in one eye. “A wire from Dad and Mother,” he said. “They’re the best ever.” An hour later they stepped out of a taxi on the Brooklyn wharf. Lights glowed over the Neptune; cars hurried up to disgorge other members of the crew, newspaper men were buzzing around, flashlights blazed and over the whole scene there was a feeling of tension. Gilbert Mathews was at the head of the ladder, checking in every man as he came aboard. Harry reported and was checked off the list. He turned to his friends from Bellevue. “I can’t say very much,” he told them. “Everything is sort of choked up in my throat. Bert, old scout, I’ll be tuning up for your messages. Don’t forget me.” “I won’t,” promised the Goliath’s operator. “So long, fellows,” said Harry and he turned and hastened down the ladder to the deck of the Neptune. He paused for a moment and waved before stepping inside the steel hull. When they returned to their hotel, Blatz stopped at a newsstand to buy an early edition of one of the morning papers. They were so much more comprehensive than the Rubanian papers to which he had been accustomed and he thoroughly enjoyed reading them. In the quiet of his room he digested the news of the day. A story on an inside page caught and held his attention. The dateline was “KRATZ, Rubania.” The story told of the growing unrest against the regime of Dictator Reikoff, adding that this bad feeling was centered in the powerful air corps, the largest unit of the Rubanian army. Blatz knew what they meant. Reikoff had been making unjust demands of his airmen and he was sitting on an open powder keg which was likely to explode with disastrous results to himself. Blatz almost wished that revolution would sweep the country and rid Rubania of its dictator. He was thoroughly disgusted and out of sympathy with the task to which he had been assigned, that of destroying the Goliath, and he would welcome any opportunity to escape but as long as Reikoff lived and ruled it would mean death for Blatz if he failed to carry out his mission. Andy stepped through the door which connected the double room. “Any objections to our returning to Bellevue in the morning?” he asked. “No, why?” replied Blatz. “Oh, there’s no reason for us to stay on longer here but I thought you might have some business over on the east side to transact.” Andy’s keen eyes were watching Blatz’s face, searching for some change of expression that would indicate his alarm. There was none; the civilian observer outwardly appeared cool and unruffled but it was well that Andy could not see the flash of fear that seared across his mind. It was true, then, that Andy did suspect him. He was warning him in this way to watch his step. Undoubtedly he would tell the secret service. If he, Blatz, were to accomplish his mission of destruction it must be immediately after his return to Bellevue. “There is nothing to keep me in the city,” replied Blatz, “and I am anxious to get back and see the finishing touches put on the Goliath.” “Then we’ll get an early start,” said Andy, “drop down the harbor and say goodbye to the Neptune and then head for home. We ought to be there in time for lunch.” They were up shortly after dawn but it was eight o’clock by the time they reached the airport of the National Airways in Jersey, had stowed their baggage in the monoplane and were ready to take the air. Andy took over the controls, Blatz climbed in beside him and Bert stowed his more ample bulk in a chair just behind and beside a window where he could wave when they passed the Neptune. Satisfied that the motor of the monoplane was functioning perfectly, Andy sent the plane speeding over the crushed rock runway and into the slanting rays of the sun. He circled the field until he had plenty of altitude, and then cut across the Jersey flats where the blue Atlantic gleamed in the distance. The Neptune must have started at the crack of dawn, for the submarine was far down the bay when they finally picked it up. The Neptune was running on the surface at ten knots an hour, its sharp nose cleaving through the sparkling waves and its decks almost awash. The main hatch was open and half a dozen of the crew were on top of the conning tower. Andy sent the monoplane down in a gentle glide, levelled off, and skimmed over the water with motor on full. They flashed past the Neptune, raced out to sea, turned and roared back: Someone on the conning tower was waving frantically. The three in the monoplane caught a fleeting glimpse of Harry as they sped past. The Neptune was off, headed for Plymouth, England, on the first leg of its long and adventurous trip into the Arctic. CHAPTER XI In The Hangar The return flight to Bellevue was uneventful and the monoplane settled down beside the Goliath’s hangar shortly after noon. Andy taxied the plane up to the apron and they piled out and hurried into the main hangar to see what progress had been made on the Goliath since their departure. Even in the short time they had been away the crews had put on the finishing touches. The great silver hull gleamed in the softened light of the hangar. The main gondola had been completed, the observation cockpits on top of the big bag were in place and hundreds of helium tanks were piled along the walls of the hangar—empty. That meant that the gas cells had been filled with the precious gas. The Goliath was almost ready to take the air. Charles High and Captain Harkins hurried up to them. “How does the Goliath look today?” Andy’s father asked. “Wonderful, Dad, simply wonderful,” replied Andy. “When will you make the first test?” “We may walk it out of the hangar tomorrow but we won’t make a real flight for several days,” replied the vice president in charge of operations for the National Airways. “The army has a finger in the pie and when we actually take the air several members of the general staff and a dozen air corps experts will want to be aboard to see if it behaves to specifications.” “I’m sure it will,” put in Blatz. “I’ve seen a good many of Doctor Eckener’s ships at Friedrichshafen and with all due respect to the Herr Doctor, the Goliath is the finest, most carefully designed and built aircraft I have ever seen.” “That’s a real compliment,” chuckled Bert. “It isn’t very often a European will concede superiority to an American in anything.” “Blatz is right,” said Captain Harkins quietly. “There is no question about the Goliath being the finest airship ever built. I expect it to live up to our every hope in its performance in the air.” “We were surprised when Gilbert Mathews informed Harry of the advance in sailing plans,” Andy told his father. “I was a trifle surprised, too,” admitted the vice president of National Airways. “Mathews wired me the same day of the change in plans and I replied that the Goliath would be able to advance its air tests and keep the date to meet him at the pole even with the earlier sailing. I can’t blame him, though, for wanting to take advantage of the favorable ice conditions which are reported in the north now.” “The Neptune is a great submarine,” said Bert, “as far as subs go but I’ll take an airplane or dirigible any day. Being shut up in one of those things is like sailing around in a tub. I wouldn’t trade my radio cubby on the Goliath for a dozen jobs on the Neptune.” “Someone had to go on the Neptune and we’ll give Harry plenty of credit for his nerve,” said Andy. “Will you be able to pick up his message tonight?” “I promised him I’d tune in every night at eight,” replied Bert. “We ought to hear him plainly.” Captain Harkins asked Andy to accompany him to the main office to check over the final construction reports on the Goliath while Andy’s father took Blatz on an inspection trip over the big bag. They entered the luxuriously furnished gondola with its lounge and radio room, the dining salon and the glass enclosed promenade. Then to the upper deck of the gondola where the passenger cabins were located. The interior finish was in a cool, pleasing gray, a favorable contrast to the silver of the metalized hull. After leaving the gondola, they walked down the main runway which was built lengthwise down the middle of the Goliath. In the earlier dirigibles this had been little more than a catwalk and none too safe. A plunge off would have meant crashing through the outer fabric and a fall to earth. In the Goliath the main runway was a substantial affair six feet wide. Made of duralumin, it was strong but light and guard rails proved ample protection for members of the crew or passengers who might be permitted to view the interior of the big airship. The gas bags were inflated with, helium and held rigidly in place, six of them in the forward part of the ship and six of them in the after section. The transverse rings built of girders of duralumin separated each bag and there was a narrow catwalk between each large gas cell to facilitate the stopping of any possible leaks. The motor gondolas were built inside the hull with the flexible propeller shafts sticking through the side. There were six of the motor gondolas on each side and each car was carefully insulated so that fire could be confined to one section of the dirigible. The mid-section of the Goliath was forbidden ground to Blatz for it was here that space had been provided for the storing of airplanes in time of war. A special device which hooked onto the planes while they were in flight and lifted them into the hold in the center of the airship had been perfected by Captain Harkins and Blatz was anxious to see this. He was in for a disappointment that afternoon for Charles High did not take him back that far. Instead, they stopped at the fourth transverse girder where a stairway led to the top of the dirigible. There were six of these stairs all told, each running to the top and giving access to the observation cockpits. There was a runway on top of the Goliath with strong cables stretched along the side but it would be almost worth a man’s life to attempt to walk on it while the dirigible was in motion and especially if the air happened to be the least bit rough. A fine place, thought Blatz, for anyone who was inclined to be seasick. They walked along the outer runway toward the rear of the Goliath and from this elevation Blatz had a real opportunity to realize the size of the new king of the air—the craft which Reikoff had termed an “air monster.” When they reached the after part of the dirigible with its great fin and elevators, they descended into the interior. Motor crews were busy tuning up the engines and the air was filled with the tenseness of preparation. At dinner that night Captain Harkins announced that he had received word from the army air corps that the officers who would report on the trial flights of the Goliath would be at Bellevue before noon the next day. “That means we’ll walk the Goliath out at one o’clock if the wind and weather are favorable.” The words came to Blatz through a daze. He had seen Andy and Merritt Timms of the secret service conferring before dinner and from the look Timms had shot his way he knew that he had been the object of their discussion. The Goliath would be out of its hangar tomorrow. Army officers would arrive and from then on there would be little opportunity to damage the big ship. Tonight was the time! Even though Andy might be suspicious, he would hardly believe him capable of so daring an attempt on the Goliath. Blatz set his jaw firmly. It was going to be a task he did not fancy for his love for the Goliath had grown until he quailed at the thought of its destruction. But he was a Rubanian, a member of the Gerka. He could not escape from his duty. Andy found an item of interest in the evening paper which he showed Blatz. It was another bulletin from Rubania. Revolution was threatening. Reikoff’s power was tottering. Blatz read it eagerly. Perhaps he would not be forced to destroy the Goliath after all. If he could only wait a few more days. But the one big opportunity was at hand. Tonight was the logical one for his task. Andy noticed the European’s hands shook as he read the item, but Blatz’s face showed no change of emotion. “Come on, you two,” called Bert. “Let’s get over to my radio shack and we’ll see if we can pick up Harry somewhere off Long Island in his tin fish.” It was nearly eight o’clock when they reached the radio shack just outside the main hangar and it took Bert some time to time up his apparatus. He plugged in on the main transmitter and a minute later turned around with a grin. “Harry is burning up the air,” chuckled Bert. “I was late coming in and wants to know what I’d been doing. Accuses me of over-eating. Imagine.” The stream of dots and dashes which had been flickering through the air ceased. “We’re going to try the radiophone now,” explained Bert, “and we’ll be able to talk back and forth.” When Bert completed the proper adjustments Andy almost fell out of his chair as Harry’s voice echoed in the little room. “Hello Bert. Hello Andy,” said Harry, eight hundred miles away and under water in the radio room of the Neptune. “Tell Blatz hello, too, if he’s with you,” added Harry. “The three of us are in the radio shack,” replied Bert, “and I resent your implication that I overate tonight. I over-talked.” “Which is just as bad,” came back the voice over the ether waves. Andy picked up the microphone and spoke to Harry. “How is the trip going?” he asked, “and where are you?” “We’re about 130 miles out of New York harbor,” replied Harry. “The sea is a little choppy but nothing to write home about. Everything is running smoothly so far and we ought to put in at Plymouth in about 12 days.” “How’s the air in your tin fish?” Bert wanted to know. “Fine,” replied Harry. “The main hatch has been open all of the time and I haven’t a thing to complain about. I’ll have to sign off now and send some messages for Mr. Mathews. I’ll buzz you again at eight in the morning.” “Be sure you make it at eight o’clock our time,” warned Bert as he signed off. Bert had some work to do on his reserve radio equipment and Andy went to his own office to look over the correspondence which had accumulated during his absence in New York. Blatz, professing to be tired after the flight down from New York, said he would go to the hotel and retire early. Andy watched until the German civilian observer bad crossed the track and was well on his way to the hotel. He had told Timms of his experience in New York but the secret service man was still inclined not to doubt Blatz’s right to be at Bellevue. Whatever watching of the observer was done would have to be by Andy. The assistant pilot of the Goliath was busy half an hour reading and sorting the mail. It was unusually quiet around the hangar that night so the scuffing of something against a stick caught Andy’s attention. Someone was walking cautiously toward the hangar! Andy remained in his chair, fingering through the pile of letters before him. The guarded sound came again. At the end of a minute he turned out the light and slipped out of his office. A small door which led into the main hangar was open. Andy returned to his office to get his flashlight. Remembering that he had left it at the hotel, he found some matches beside a half dozen red lanterns which were used to mark danger places on the field. Since the Goliath used helium there was no danger of an explosion from striking a match in the hangar or, for that matter, aboard the Goliath itself. The assistant pilot of the dirigible stepped quickly through the door and paused to accustom his eyes to the heavy darkness of the interior. He slipped off his shoes and then moved slowly toward the lighter outline of the silvered hull of the Goliath. Andy paused. Someone was moving slowly just ahead of him. The young airman groped his way ahead, hands outstretched. The next second he was clutching someone’s coat. They came to grips, but only for a second. The unknown invader of the hangar slipped out of his coat and Andy heard him running out of the hangar. Muttering to himself in disgust, Andy stooped to strike a match and look at the coat he had seized. As he struck a match, he slipped and stumbled headlong. The match dropped into a chunk of oily waste. It flared and burst into flame but Andy remained motionless on the floor, his head resting against a heavy wood block it had struck. The fire in the waste glowed brightly and leaped higher as it fed on the oil which saturated the waste. Unless help reached Andy soon the fire would spread to other parts of the hangar and the Goliath itself would be in danger of destruction! CHAPTER XII Trial Flight While Andy lay senseless on the floor of the hangar with the flames from the oil-soaked waste mounting higher, a shadow appeared in the doorway. It was Blatz, whom Andy had surprised in the hangar as he was about to attempt the destruction of the Goliath. The German observer crept closer to the flames and it was not until he was almost at the blaze that he discerned the inert form of the assistant pilot. “Andy,” he cried, “Andy!” There was no answer and Blatz acted with sudden determination. He picked up the coat which Andy still clutched and used the garment to beat out the flames. That task accomplished he turned on his flashlight and bent down to examine the lump on Andy’s forehead. The young airman groaned and Blatz chuckled grimly. The game was nearly over. He was glad. He managed to pick Andy up and carried the now half-conscious American out of the hangar and into his office, where he turned on the light. Andy came to several minutes later and finally focused his eyes long enough on one spot to see Blatz standing in front of him. “I’m on to you,” cried Andy, struggling to get out of his chair. “You’re trying to destroy the Goliath.” “Easy, Andy, easy,” urged Blatz. “You’ve had another nasty bump on your head. The Goliath is all right.” “The last I remember is falling,” said Andy. “How did I get in here and what are you doing around the hangar at this time of night?” “You took a tumble, all right,” agreed Blatz, “and the match you had in your hand fell into a handful of greasy waste. You’d chased me out of the hangar but if I hadn’t been curious when you failed to follow, the whole thing might have burned up. As it was, I got back in time to put out the fire before it got to you or the Goliath.” Andy looked at the speaker with incredulous eyes. “If that’s true,” he said, “I have done you a great wrong.” Before the observer could reply, Bert burst through the door. “Big news,” he said. “The Rubanian air force rebelled this afternoon and forced Dictator Reikoff clear out of the country. I just got that bulletin over in the radio shack.” “You’re sure there’s no mistake?” asked Blatz. “Positive,” replied Bert. “It was an Associated Press dispatch broadcast through the courtesy of one of the Louisville papers.” Blatz looked at Andy and they smiled understanding. “What’s the joke,” demanded Bert. “There isn’t any joke,” replied Blatz gravely, “and I can now tell you the truth. I am Lieut. Serge Larko of the Rubanian air force. I was assigned to special duty as an agent of the Gerka, our secret police, and my mission was to make a non-stop flight to the United States, make my way to Bellevue and bring about the destruction of the Goliath.” Bert stared at him in speechless wonder but Andy nodded and said. “Then you were piloting the gray monoplane we chased that afternoon?” “Right,” said Serge. “You gave me a real scare.” “And you went into that warehouse on the east side while we were in New York?” continued Andy. “Right again.” “And tonight you went into the hangar for the purpose of destroying the Goliath?” “I started in with that purpose,” admitted Serge, “but I’m too much of an airman. After I got inside I couldn’t bring myself to damage that beautiful craft. I was about to leave when you entered and we met in the dark. You know the rest of the story.” “I know that it was mighty fortunate for me that you came back,” replied Andy and be grasped Serge warmly by the hand. “Now that the menace of Reikoff has been removed from your homeland, I’m sure we’ll become real friends. We’ll see Dad and Captain Harkins about having you added to the permanent staff of the National Airways.” “I’d like that,” smiled Serge happily, “but they’ll probably order me away from Bellevue or the secret service may take a hand in my case.” “I think Merritt Timms can be made to see things my way,” replied Andy. “When did you first suspect me?” asked Serge. “Almost as soon as you arrived,” admitted Andy. “If you remember I questioned you about Friedrichshafen and suggested that you might know Karl Staab? When you admitted that you knew Staab I decided something was wrong for as far as I know Staab never existed outside of my own mind.” “But I really have been at Friedrichshafen,” replied Serge. “I believed that,” said Andy, “for your technical knowledge showed you had been trained with the Germans. Now let’s go over to the hotel and see Dad and Captain Harkins.” The conference at the hotel was interesting and successful and before the long evening drew to a close it was agreed that Serge Larko, who had assumed his real identity, should become a permanent member of the Goliath’s crew. Even though the next day promised to be unusually busy, it was midnight before they were in bed but they were up at the crack of dawn. Serge was happier than he had been in months and Andy felt that a great weight had been lifted from his mind. There was no further danger to the Goliath from inside sources and they were practically ready for the test flights. Lieut. Jim Crummit, in command of the army pursuit ships at Bellevue, stopped them as they left the hotel. “Will you want us to stand by this afternoon in case you decide to take the Goliath aloft?” he asked Captain Harkins. “I hardly think that will be necessary, Lieutenant!” replied the commander of the Goliath. “Any flight we might make would be confined to the limits of the field.” “Right, sir,” said the army officer as he turned and walked toward the hangars which housed the army ships. At eight o’clock Andy, Serge and Bert gathered in the radio shack and Bert turned his set to talk with the Neptune. There was a steady crackle of interference but Bert stepped up the power with the hope that he would get through to the Neptune. “Looks like we’re out of luck this morning,” he finally announced, “but I’ll give it one more try.” He turned to the dial again, tuning so carefully the black disks hardly moved. “Harry’s coming in now,” he said. “I’ll have it strong in a minute.” Bert switched over to the radiophone loudspeaker and the boys heard Harry calling, “Hello Bellevue. Good morning.” “Good morning yourself,” replied Bert. “Have fish for breakfast?” “Not this morning,” replied Harry. “Besides, it’s mid-forenoon out where we are. How’s the Goliath?” Andy picked up the microphone and told Harry briefly what had taken place the night before, adding that Serge had been added to the crew of the Goliath and would make the trip to the North pole. “I’m glad to hear that,” replied Harry over the magic waves which bridged the hundreds of miles between them. “I’ll say hello to Serge if he’ll take the mike now.” The young Rubanian conversed with Harry for several minutes and then the operator of the Neptune signed off. “I’ll be back on the air tonight at eight,” he told Bert. “Be sure and let me know how the Goliath behaves on her first trip out of the hangar.” The interior of the great hangar was alive with activity that morning. Final weight checks were being made for the war department. Specifications on the total weight were very strict and builders of dirigibles were always prone to exceed the specification limit. Captain Harkins and Andy’s father were at first one end of the Goliath and then at the other supervising the countless last minute tasks. A tri-motor droned over the field at 11 o’clock, circled and dropped down to waddle across the fresh green of the meadow. It stopped at one side of the Goliath’s hangar and a dozen army officers, all with the wings of the air corps on their collars, descended and walked toward the hangar. Captain Harkins and Andy’s father hastened to make them welcome and assure them that the Goliath would be ready for a walk-out test immediately after lunch. While the builders and chief engineers of the Goliath entertained the visiting army delegation at the hotel at noon, Andy and Serge made the final inspection of the big ship. The ground crew had been drilled in its task and the operator of the portable mooring mast to which the nose of the Goliath had been fastened had thoroughly rehearsed his part. At one o’clock the army officers, accompanied by Captain Harkins and Charles High, returned from the hotel. For the next hour the army men went over the Goliath, inspecting every yard of fabric and testing every duralumin beam. Motors were put on test, Bert demonstrated the power of his radio equipment and even the passenger cabins came in for a rigid inspection. At two o’clock Captain Harkins stepped into the control room at the forward end of the gondola. “Everything ready?” he asked Andy, in whom he had placed a large share of responsibility for the successful flight. “Everything ready, sir,” replied Andy. Captain Harkins took over the controls. The army officers lined the windows of the control room. Andy leaned out one window on the right side and placed a whistle to his mouth. He was wearing a telephone headset while on the wall of the control room was a compact little switchboard so that he could instantly communicate with any part of the dirigible whenever Captain Harkins gave a command. The great moment was at hand. The Goliath was ready for its first test, the walk-out from the hangar. Months of work and planning were represented in the great ship; would it live up to expectations? Andy sounded a shrill blast on the whistle. The ground crew, which had been waiting for the signal, leaped to its stations. The operator of the portable mooring mast started the engine of the big tractor-truck which carried the mast. The assistant pilot of the Goliath looked at Captain Harkins, who nodded quietly. Andy sounded two long blasts on the whistle. The shackles which had held the Goliath in the hangar for so many months were loosened. The great airship quivered slightly as though eager to test its power. The blasts of the whistle echoed through the hangar and the operator of the huge tractor ahead eased in the clutch and started forward. The Goliath lurched slightly at the tug of the mooring mast, and then slowly started ahead. The ground crew steadied the great hulk as it was eased out of the shed. There was no wind and in ten minutes the Goliath was outside the hangar in which it had been born and in which it had grown to such proportions that it was king of all the skycraft. The Goliath moved steadily ahead until it was well away from the hangar. Captain Harkins signaled Andy and another blast of the whistle stopped the portable mooring mast. Captain Harkins conferred with the ranking air corps officer and Andy caught a snatch of their conversation. They were going to take the Goliath up. The big ship was behaving perfectly and the army men were anxious for an air test. Captain Harkins assented and turned to Andy. “Have the motors started at once,” he ordered. Andy cut in a main phone connection so that he could talk to each of the 12 motor rooms at the same time. “Start your motors,” he said, “and stand by for flight.” Sharp, joyous answers echoed in his ears as the engineers hastened to start the engines which were capable of sending the Goliath through the air at a maximum speed of 120 miles an hour. The rear engine crews were the first to get their motors turning over but within a minute the steady pulse of the 12 powerful engines could be heard. Engine room after engine room reported to Andy and he checked each one off as they reported ready. In three minutes he turned to Captain Harkins and said: “The engineers are ready.” The Goliath was ready to test its wings. For a moment it hung, poised just above the ground. Then Captain Harkins nodded again, Andy’s whistle shrilled the “lines away” call and the Goliath floated upward into the heavens. For the moment it was the world’s largest balloon, drifting upward in the warm rays of the afternoon sun, lifted higher and higher by the buoyancy of its helium gas. Andy, Bert and Serge were grouped at one of the windows in the control cabin together. The ground simply floated away from them. There was no sense of sudden rising; no undue motion to the great craft. Fifty, one hundred and then two hundred feet the Goliath climbed into the skies, its powerful motors purring smoothly and ready to take up their task. Andy cut in the general connection to all of the engine rooms and warned the engineers to stand by for further orders. When the Goliath was three hundred feet above the field, Captain Harkins turned to Andy and gave the order for slow speed ahead. “Slow speed ahead,” Andy repeated into the transmitter. The Goliath came to life almost instantly. The great gas bag shook itself as though getting accustomed to its new power and then moved slowly ahead, the ground beneath drifting away in a fascinating panorama. Captain Harkins, at the controls, moved the wheel which operated the elevators at the tail of the Goliath, and the earth dropped rapidly away from them as they climbed for altitude and circled over the home field. Andy, looking down, could see the members of the ground crew, faces upturned, watching their every move. The great moment had come and passed. The Goliath had soared aloft and even now was proving the claims of its builders. Captain Harkins ordered half speed ahead and Andy repeated the command to the engine rooms. The speed quickened as the beat of the motors increased but so carefully insulated were the engine rooms that there was no unpleasant or disturbing noise. The air corps officers appeared elated at the ease with which the Goliath handled and they were outspoken in their praise of the engineers and staff which had constructed the new king of the skies. For half an hour the Goliath cruised leisurely around the field, now climbing, now dipping lower at the will of the silent man at the controls. Andy turned his telephone set over to Bert to relay Captain Harkins’ commands to the engine rooms and in company with his father, made an inspection of the whole ship. There had been no shifting of the big gas bags and stress and strain indicators on the transverse rings of duralumin, the real backbone of the dirigible, exceeded their expectations. Engine performance was more than satisfactory and before returning to the control cabin, they mounted one of the stairways to an observation cockpit on the top of the Goliath. Ahead and behind them stretched the smooth, silvered surface of the Goliath. Far to the east, were the haze enshrouded mountains while below them was the rich, fresh green of the countryside in spring. Andy stood close to his father for he knew how much the successful flight of the new dirigible meant to the vice president of the National Airways. His father, with Captain Harkins, had dreamed and planned for years for the Goliath, and the culmination of their hopes meant their life careers. Andy, himself, had shouldered no small part of the burden in the studying and engineering necessary for the construction of the huge ship but he felt his own share small in comparison to the manifold burdens which his father had carried. They stood together in the observation cockpit, happy in the knowledge that the Goliath represented a great task well done. “Son,” said Charles High, “I’m mighty proud of all that you’ve done in the building of the Goliath.” “And I’m mighty proud of you, Dad,” said Andy, “for I have some idea of the obstacles you’ve had to face and the problems you’ve been called on to solve. The Goliath is certainly an accomplishment for which the world will pay you tribute.” “I’m not looking for tribute or praise,” replied his father. “Satisfaction in knowing that the job is done, and done well, is all that I ask. Now I’m looking forward to the day when our plant here at Bellevue and the Goodyear-Zeppelin people at Akron will be busy all the time turning out air cruisers like the Goliath; when the country will be crossed with a network of dirigible lines carrying passengers, express and valuable freight at a high rate of speed and much more safely than airplanes.” “The day is coming and it is not so far in the dim and distant future,” said Andy confidently. A telephone in the observation cage buzzed and Andy answered the call. It was Bert, warning them that Captain Harkins was about to descend. “We’d better get back to the control cabin,” said Andy’s father, and they hurried down the ladder, along the main interior runway, and into the control room where Captain Harkins was giving Bert orders to relay to the engine rooms. With power on, the Goliath nosed down for its first landing. The ground crew was strung out along the field, ready to grasp the lines which would be dropped while the portable mooring mast had been maneuvered into position for the landing. They were dropping rapidly but smoothly and there was only a slight feeling of downward motion. Captain Harkins checked the forward speed of the Goliath, lines were dropped, and the big ship was back to earth after a flight in which it had lived up to the fondest hopes of its designers and builders. The nose was pushed up against the mooring mast where the automatic coupling was made and the slow entry into the berth in the hangar started with the mooring mast, on its tractor-truck, waddling along ahead and the Goliath following obediently. In fifteen minutes the big ship was in its berth and the “orange peel” doors were rolling shut. Before leaving the gondola, Captain Harkins and Andy’s father held a conference with the air corps officers who had made the trip with them and definite plans for the first long trial flight were made. Captain Harkins turned to Andy when the conference was over. “See that orders are issued for the crew to be aboard ship and ready to depart at three in the morning,” he said. “We’re going to make a surprise visit to Washington if the weather reports at 2 A. M. are fair.” CHAPTER XIII Wings of the Storm Captain Harkins’ announcement that the Goliath would make its first long test flight the next morning meant hours of work ahead for Andy but the assistant pilot of the airship threw himself into the task with his usual unfailing energy. He had able assistants in Serge and Bert. The visit to Washington was to be a complete surprise and every effort was made to keep the news from getting out from Bellevue. If all went well the first intimation the capital would have of the visit of the new sky king would be when the rising sun silvered the nose of the Goliath with its rays. Andy received detailed reports from each of the engine rooms on the performance during the trip over the field and found them highly satisfactory. Fuel consumption had been less than he had anticipated. Supplies for the flight the next day must be ordered and placed aboard for breakfast and lunch would be served to the army officers and to the members of the crew. Serge volunteered to attend to that task while Bert kept his radio busy getting the latest weather reports. He asked the Washington bureau for a special report at two o’clock the next morning and Washington came back with: “What’s up? Are you chaps going to make a trial flight at that hour of the night?” Bert refused to give the curious operators at Washington any information but secured the promise that he could have a special meteorological report at the desired hour. Preparations for the flight were completed by early evening and members of the crew were ordered to bed by nine o’clock. They would be aroused shortly after two if the weather report at that hour was favorable for their plans. At eight that night the three young friends gathered in Bert’s radio shack to talk with Harry, now well out to sea in the Neptune. They picked up Harry’s signal on time to the minute and learned that the Neptune had been having a bad time of it. “I’ve been sick most of the day,” said Harry miserably. “The sea got mighty choppy this morning and we’ve been tossed all over the inside of this tin fish. The air’s bad, too, and it’s been so rough we couldn’t have eaten much if we had felt like it.” “That’s too bad,” replied Bert, “but it’s just what you get for gallivanting around the world in a cast-iron cigar.” “When is the Goliath going to test its wings?” asked Harry. “Can’t tell you,” replied Andy, who had picked up the microphone. “You mean you won’t tell me,” said Harry. “I guess that’s it,” admitted Andy, “but the first long flight is supposed to be a surprise trip and if I told you where and when we were going to take the air someone with a low wave set might pick it up and the newspapers would spread it all over their front pages.” “I get you,” replied Harry. “When shall I come on the air again.” Andy turned to Bert, cutting off the mike temporarily. “We ought to be over Washington around six o’clock,” he said. “How about having Harry tune in then and we’ll talk to him while we’re circling over the capital?” “Fine idea,” replied Bert enthusiastically. “Make it six o’clock and I’ll make a note of it now and put it on my instrument board on the Goliath. If I don’t I may get so excited I’ll forget to call Harry and he’ll be sitting around out there in the ocean wondering what has happened.” Andy cut in the mike again. “Turn on your juice tomorrow morning at six o’clock, eastern standard time,” he told Harry. “I’m going to sign off now. We’re rolling out early in the morning and I need a little ‘shut-eye’.” Andy, accompanied by Bert and Serge, made a final inspection of the Goliath. Everything was in readiness for the early morning flight. They returned to their rooms at the hotel but sleep was a long time in coming for Andy. He had worked so many long months over the plans and on the actual construction of the Goliath that their realization had seemed, until now, an almost unattainable dream. But now the Goliath was ready to claim its place as the king of all the man-made crafts which cruised the heavens for only that afternoon the great dirigible had tested its wings and found them strong and reliable. On the morrow it would sail away into the eastern sky on its first long trip. Andy finally fell asleep but in his ears was the steady beat of the Goliath’s engines, the sweetest music of all to him. Bert had left a call at the hotel desk for 1:45 o’clock and he was at his receiving set promptly at two for the special meteorological report from Washington. The report promised fair weather with a light west wind and an unlimited ceiling. Bert copied the report in triplicate, placed one copy in his own files for a record and hastened back to the hotel with the other two. He awakened Andy and read the report to the assistant pilot. “That means we sail at three,” said Andy, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and hurriedly got into his clothes. “I’ll go wake Dad and Captain Harkins,” he added. “Here’s a copy of the report for them,” said Bert as he handed Andy the third tissue he had made. Andy awakened his father and the commander of the Goliath and they agreed that weather conditions were ideal for the flight to Washington. By two-thirty the hangar was ablaze with light as the members of the crew, their eyes still heavy with sleep, hurried to their posts. Motors were given a final going over, rigging was thoroughly checked, the water ballasts tanks and the water condenser at the top of the big bag were inspected. Finally the Goliath was pronounced ready to go. At two forty-five the big doors at the end of the hangar started to roll back on their tracks and Andy, from his post in the control room, could hear the roar of engines as the army pilots, assigned to fly with the Goliath on any of its longer trips, warmed up their craft. Four of the army planes under the command of Lieutenant Crummit would accompany the Goliath on the trip to Washington. The air corps board which was to pass on the performance of the dirigible climbed aboard. Captain Harkins took his place at the main control station and Andy’s whistle shrilled for the ground crew to take hold. The whistle sounded again and the tractor-truck with the portable mooring mast lurched into motion and the Goliath moved slowly ahead. The big ship was walked out into the soft moonlight, which bathed it with its radiance. Andy gave a general order for the 12 engine rooms to stand by. Then followed the order to start the engines and the night was broken by the subdued roar of the powerful motors. “All lights out except the riding lights,” said Captain Harkins and Andy turned to the bank of switches to carry out the command. Only the shaded lights over the instruments in the control room and those in the engine rooms were left on. Down the field Andy could see the sputtering stream of fire from the exhausts of the four army planes which were to escort them on the flight to Washington. They would take off as soon as the Goliath was clear of the field. Reports checked back to Andy from the engine rooms indicated that every motor was functioning perfectly and Andy relayed the report on to Captain Harkins. Bert, who had kept tuned in on Washington, hurried into the control room, a hastily penciled message in his hand. Captain Harkins took the message, held it down under one of the shaded lights, and read it aloud so that everyone in the control room could hear. “Weather from Kentucky east to Atlantic seaboard fair; light west wind; unlimited visibility.” “The weather reports continues favorable,” said Captain Harkins. Then, turning to Andy, he said: “Give the signal for the ground crew to let go.” Andy stepped to the open window. In the moonlight below he could see the line of workmen stretched back into the shadows under the great hulk. His whistle shrilled the release signal. The ground crew let go their hold on the great gas bag and at the same moment the operator of the mooring mast released the automatic coupling. There was only the slightest tremble as the Goliath started upward. The ground dropped silently away. Below Andy could see the streaks of flame from the exhausts of the fast army planes. A few lights glowed in Bellevue itself but the rest of the country seemed asleep. The Goliath rose to a level with the hills which enclosed the valley and drifted steadily upward, the beat of its engines muffled by the interior engine room as the powerful motors waited for the command to start driving the dirigible through the air. “Tell the engine rooms to stand by,” said Captain Harkins. A moment later Andy got the command of slow speed ahead and he felt the Goliath gather itself for the trip through the night. The big ship felt steadier with the power on and he leaned from his window to listen to the steady monotone of the muffled exhausts. Lights of the field drifted out of sight and they slipped over the hills on the start of their surprise visit to Washington. Gradually the speed was stepped up. Forty, fifty, sixty miles an hour they pushed their way through the moonlit sky, soaring through the heavens. The altimeter showed a steady climb and Captain Harkins kept the nose of the Goliath up until they had reached the ten thousand foot level. At that height the muffled sound of the airship’s engines could not be heard on the ground and it was doubtful if anyone would see the great silver craft slipping through the sky. The army planes caught up with them, circled around once or twice, and then climbed five thousand feet above the Goliath, riding the high heavens in unceasing vigilance. Bert came into the control room again and spoke to Captain Harkins. “Washington wants to know what’s up,” said Bert. “What shall I tell them?” Captain Harkins looked at his watch. It was three-thirty. “Tell them they’ll have a surprise for breakfast,” he said, and Bert returned to his radio cubicle to dispatch the message. The army inspectors were busy going over the Goliath, checking every detail of the airship’s operation, rate of climb, maneuverability, speed, engine performance, fuel consumption and the hundred and one specifications which Uncle Sam had decided must be met by the Goliath before it would be acceptable and the remainder of the federal appropriation paid to the National Airways. With the engines thoroughly warmed to their task. Captain Harkins increased the speed until the Goliath was racing along at an even 100 miles an hour. There was no sense of motion or undue speed; only the ground slipping away beneath in an ever-changing pattern of lights and shadows. Occasionally the streaking lights of a train would be visible or a larger town could cast its reflection upward, but Captain Harkins shifted his course to avoid the larger cities. Some enterprising newspaperman might catch the muffled beat of the engines and take the surprise element out of their visit to the capital. Andy checked their position on the map and stepped over to Captain Harkins. “We’ll be over Washington about five-thirty if we maintain our present rate of speed,” he said. “That’s too early,” replied the commander. “Order the engines down to half speed. We can speed up later if we find we’re a little behind.” Andy phoned the order to the engine rooms and the Goliath slowed down to a steady fifty miles an hour, with the distance slipping off its silvered sides like magic miles. The assistant pilot got permission to leave his post and make a tour of inspection. He stopped at Bert’s cubby on his way back into the interior. “Washington is about crazy with curiosity,” grinned Bert, who had a headset on, “He knows we’ve left the field because our signals are stronger but he doesn’t believe we’re on our way east. Bet he stretches his neck when we arrive.” “A good many thousand people are going to have Stiff necks before the day’s over,” smiled Andy. “See you later. I’m going to make a swing around this big weiner.” All lights in the main gondola, except those in the control and radio rooms were out, but enough moonlight came through the windows of the promenade deck for Andy to see his way clearly back to the main catwalk in the interior. The catwalk was well lighted and he passed along under the towering gas cells, filled with the precious helium. The stress and strain meters showed that the duralumin framework was reacting even more favorably than they had dared hope to under the test of actual flight. Andy continued on until he was in the middle of the ship where the great cargo hold was located. It yawned an empty, dimly lighted space. In the fore part were the quarters for the members of the crew and officers and Andy stepped into the tiny cabin he shared with Bert. The night had been raw when he started and he had put on an extra jacket of heavy brown suede but it was not needed now for with their approach to the eastern seaboard the temperature was climbing steadily. After leaving his cabin, Andy ran up one of the ladders which led to the top of the dirigible and its observation cockpits. He saw the shadow of someone ahead of him and discovered that Serge, who had been making a trip through the interior, could not resist the temptation and had also gone up top. “You Americans should be very proud of the Goliath,” said Serge. “I have never dreamed of anything so complete. It is a Pullman of the air; every comfort thought of and anticipated.” “The thing that pleases me,” said Andy, “is that the ship is so far exceeding every specification set for it. The army men haven’t said very much but I can tell that they are highly pleased.” They remained up top for ten of fifteen minutes as the new king of the skies slid through its domain. The sky was reddening in the east with the approach of the new day. The mountains were in the west, smeared with the sullen shadows of a night which seemed reluctant to leave. Before them stretched the smoother country of Virginia. “We’re climbing again,” said Andy. “Captain Harkins must be going up so high we won’t be heard or seen on the ground.” The army planes, faithful guardians through the night, circled far overhead. “I don’t envy those chaps,” grinned Serge. “We are moving so slowly they must find it hard to stay anywhere near us. Lieutenant Crummit told me their low cruising speed was 100 miles an hour. Look how they zig-zag back and forth.” “They’ll leave us when we get over Washington and drop down on Bolling field to refuel,” said Andy. “By the time we get back to Bellevue they’ll be pretty much all in. Handling one of those delicate pursuit ships for eight or ten hours is no picnic.” The red disk of the sun popped into view and Andy and Serge left the observation cockpit and returned to the control room. Captain Harkins had hardly moved since leaving Bellevue but now he turned the main controls over to Andy. “The course is north, northeast,” he said. “Hold her as she is and at 12,000 feet.” “North by northeast,” replied Andy, “and at 12,000 feet. Yes sir.” The steward had been busy for the last hour and a hot breakfast was served to the army observers and officers of the dirigible in the main dining salon while the crew had its breakfast in the dining room midships. Bert brought Andy a cup of coffee and a sandwich but the assistant pilot was too interested in the way the Goliath handled to think of asking for relief so he could go back and have the hot cereal, toast and jam that the others enjoyed. He was master of their dirigible, the king of the skies, the greatest airship ever built by man! Andy’s hands firmly grasped the wheels which controlled the elevators and the rudder. The Goliath responded easily and he swung it a point or two off course to see just how it handled. Captain Harkins returned from breakfast while Andy was bringing the Goliath back on course. “Experimenting a little to see how the big boy handles?” asked the commander. “I couldn’t resist,” replied Andy. “I know how you feel,” smiled Captain Harkins. “I did a little of it myself while we were over the mountains.” He turned to Serge. “Step up here and take control,” he told the young Rubanian, whose mission had once been the destruction of the craft in which they now rode in comfort and security. Serge smiled gratefully as he accepted Captain Harkins’ invitation. It had been months since he had stood at the controls of a dirigible. The last time had been early in the winter when he had guided one of the large Blenkkos over Kratz, the capital of Rubania. The day following that trip he had been ordered into the Gerka and then put on the long distance planes, with the result that he was now in the United States, a member of the crew of the Goliath. It all seemed like a vague dream, his long flight across the ocean, his acceptance at Bellevue as a civilian observer from Friedrichshafen and the final discovery of his identity by Andy and the downfall of Alex Reikoff, dictator of Rubania. Within the hour he would soar over Washington, the capital of the United States, and he felt his body glow with the happiness and contentment that was his. Captain Harkins checked the position of the Goliath and ordered a slight increase in speed. The sun cleared away the morning mists and the entire countryside lay below them, clothed with the green freshness of the spring. The commander took over the controls and Andy returned to his station at Captain Harkin’s right where he was in a position to relay instantly orders to the engine crews. Andy, watching ahead intently, was the first to catch the white gleam of the Washington monument and a minute later the dome of the capitol was sighted. The Potomac curved lazily below and they soared over Alexandria, Va; In order to reach Washington at six, Captain Harkins had dipped further into Virginia than he had first intended and approached Washington from the south and east. The assistant pilot of the Goliath had made many air trips to Washington but he had never viewed the city from that height and he marveled at the beauty of the capital; its great, gleaming white buildings, its broad boulevards and its stately memorials. It was just six o’clock when Bert hurried out of the radio room. “Harry just came in on the air,” he said. “Can you get off a minute and we’ll say good morning to him?” Serge relieved Andy at the phones and the assistant pilot accompanied Bert back to the radio cubby, where he was handed a headset. “Harry wants to know what’s up?” chuckled Bert. “All right,” grinned Andy. “Cut him in and then listen to him explode.” Bert made the necessary adjustments and Andy heard Harry’s familiar voice. “Hello, hello, hello,” said Andy. “This is the dirigible Goliath, now over the city of Washington, in a special broadcast to the Arctic submarine Neptune, en route from Brooklyn, New York, to Plymouth, England, on the first leg of its trip to the North pole where it will be met this summer by the Goliath for an exchange of mail. This is a beautifully clear spring morning with a light west wind. We are paying a surprise visit to the capital after an unannounced departure this morning at three o’clock from the Goliath’s home field at Bellevue, Ky.” Andy heard an excited exclamation and then Harry, now far out to sea in the Neptune, started plying him with questions. “Are you really over Washington now? How is the Goliath behaving? Why didn’t you tell a fellow what you were going to do?” One by one Andy answered them and before he signed off Harry gave three stirring cheers for the Goliath and the success of its first long flight. “The weather is still bad,” he said as he signed off, “and if you don’t get me at eight tonight, don’t worry. I’m more than a little seasick and I may not feel up to talking with anyone but I’ll be on sure tomorrow morning at eight.” Andy met his father on the way back to the control room and found him jubilant. “The army board is more than enthusiastic about the performance,” he told Andy, “and there is no question but what we will get an immediate approval and payment of the balance of the government appropriation.” “I’m mighty glad to know that, Dad,” replied Andy, “for I realize how much the success of the Goliath means to you. It will prove the practicability of these big ships for commercial service and mean we can build more of them for National Airways.” When Andy returned to his post in the control room, they were circling over the heart of the city and losing altitude rapidly for Captain Harkins was coming down to give the early morning risers a close view of the world’s largest airship. They swung out over the Potomac and the crew of the night boat, up from Norfolk, Va., which was just steaming into the tidal basin, waved as the Goliath drifted overhead, its speed now cut down to a mere thirty miles an hour. They cruised over the city at a thousand feet. News of the Goliath’s arrival spread rapidly and hundreds of people flocked into the streets to see the big airship. Captain Harkins headed for the White House and dropped the airship down to seven hundred and fifty feet. Back of the White House a group of men ceased their game of medicine ball to gaze up at the great silver hulk. Andy nudged Serge and pointed downward. “There’s the president and his ‘medicine ball’ cabinet,” he said. “What kind of a cabinet is that?” asked Serge. “It’s the group of men with which the president plays medicine ball,” explained Andy. “They get together every morning for their exercise. There’s usually the president’s personal physician, at least one of his private secretaries and several cabinet members and usually a justice of the supreme court.” Officers and crew of the Goliath lined the windows as they passed over the White House and waved at the group below, which returned the greeting enthusiastically. Captain Harkins dipped the bow of the airship in salute and then threw over the elevator controls and sent the Goliath to a safer altitude. For an hour they cruised over the capital and its environs, now swinging down into Virginia, idling slowly over Arlington and then back over the capital. Several of the army officers had been in the radio room, getting in touch with their superiors. When they returned they went into a conference with Captain Harkins and Andy’s father. The assistant pilot caught snatches of the conversation. He heard Baltimore, New York and Philadelphia mentioned and his heart leaped as Captain Harkins turned to him and handed over the controls. “Make one more circle over the city,” he said, “and then set your course for Baltimore.” “Yes sir,” said Andy. “After Baltimore do we start home?” “Not yet,” replied Captain Harkins, his fine eyes twinkling. “The army men are anxious that New York and Philadelphia get a glimpse of the Goliath so we won’t be home until night.” They made a final circle of the city and Andy set the course for Baltimore. Serge, at the telephone, relayed the order for the engines to increase their speed to eighty miles and hour and in less than half an hour they were within sight of the city that made the oyster famous. News that they had headed toward Baltimore had preceded them and the streets were thick with thousands of people craning their necks to see the sky king. They gave Baltimore a half hour view at two thousand feet and by that time the air was full of planes which circled around them. The faithful army ships had rejoined them and had a busy time chasing newspaper planes whose ambitious photographers insisted on getting too close to the Goliath. The ever-growing procession left Baltimore and headed north for Philadelphia, which was also given a half hour view of them before they proceeded on toward New York. Captain Harkins took charge again and set the speed so the Goliath would reach the metropolis during the noon hour when the thousands of down town workers would be out to lunch and free to watch the maneuvers of the airship. Bert stuck his head out of the radio room and called to Andy. “I’ve just picked up a message from Washington to Lakehurst,” he said. “The Akron and the Los Angeles are being ordered out to join us in a parade over New York.” “I’d almost like to be on the ground to see it,” said Andy, “but I guess I’ll be contented and stay here.” The sun mounted toward its zenith as New Jersey unfolded below them and the hangars at Lakehurst grew from tiny dots into good-sized mushrooms, outside which two silver ships were starting to take the air. By the time they were over the home of the naval aircraft, the Akron and Los Angeles were at the two thousand foot level and Captain Harkins radiophoned to both ships to decide on the formation. It was agreed that the Los Angeles would lead with the Akron next and the Goliath, the giant of them all, bringing up the rear, a pageant of the progress of aircraft. The Los Angeles, slimmer and more graceful than the bulkier Akron or the giant Goliath, took the lead and the other two ships fell in behind. It was a magnificent fleet that paraded over the Jersey flats that spring morning. To the east rolled the sparkling waters of the Atlantic while ahead of them loomed the spires of Greater New York. The aerial argosy swung out over the bay, dipped in salute as it circled the Statue of Liberty, and then proceeded over the Battery and up the man-made canyon that is known the world over as Broadway. Whistles of tugs and ferryboats blended in a concerted shriek of welcome and the streets below were thronged with humanity. Traffic in down town New York was at a standstill, tied up so hopelessly that it took hours to get it moving again. They passed the mooring mast atop the Empire State at fifty miles an hour and then dipped slightly to the west to look down on Times Square. Central park displayed its greenery ahead of them and in another minute they were over Riverside drive and the Hudson. Captain Harkins shifted the course and they turned and cut across Manhattan to give Brooklyn a view of the Goliath. For an hour and a half the three dirigibles zig-zagged back and forth over the metropolitan area. At one-thirty the command was given to start for home and with the final scream of whistles in their ears, the crew of the Goliath watched the mighty buildings of Manhattan disappear behind them. Lunch was served while they were on the return to Lakehurst, where the Los Angeles and the Akron left them and they proceeded on toward Bellevue accompanied only by the four army planes. Captain Harkins set a bee-line course that took them over New Jersey, west of Philadelphia, and across the heart of the mountains to their sheltered valley home in Kentucky. Bert had obtained a mid-afternoon weather forecast from Washington, which he handed to Andy. The prediction was none too favorable. A storm had swept down off the Great Lakes and was now over Ohio. If it continued its present rate and course it would bisect the path of the Goliath. Andy passed the forecast on to Captain Harkins, whose lips tightened into a firm, straight line. “Looks like we’ll be in for some nasty weather before we get home,” observed the commander of the Goliath. “Keep in touch with Washington, Bert, and advise me at once of any changes in the weather report.” Captain Harkins ordered the speed stepped up until they were doing an even ninety an hour. In calm weather they would have been averaging a hundred but a westerly wind cut them down ten miles an hour. Clouds rolled out of the west and the sun was obscured by the drifting banks of gray. Bert came back to the control room to say that weather reports now indicated spotty weather all of the way home with local showers and thunderstorms. They ran under a bank of rain clouds and the Goliath got its first taste of dirty weather, but it rode through the shower without difficulty, the rain shooting off its metalized sides in steady sheets. Dusk found them two hundred miles from Bellevue with storms all around them. Lightning was flashing steadily in the northwest and the sky was full of wind squalls with the clouds rolling and twisting in an ominous manner. “Just the kind of a night for a tornado,” Andy heard his father tell Captain Harkins in a low voice. The Commander of the Goliath, his face lined with worry, nodded. The storm was thickening. It would break at any minute. They had stuck to their course as long as they dared before Captain Harkins gave the orders to run before the storm. The Goliath heeled sharply as a vicious gust of wind caught it broadside while it was circling. Then they were running into the southeast with the storm behind them. Electrical interference was so heavy that it was impossible for Bert to communicate with the Washington weather bureau and learn the conditions they were running into. They simply had to take the course of the least resistance and hope that they could escape the fury of the elements. For half an hour the Goliath sped through the heavy night. Rain beat against its silvered sides and flashes of lightning cast their glare over the boiling clouds. If the big airship returned to Bellevue without mishap it would certainly have won its laurels on its maiden flight. The weather was getting thicker and Captain Harkins ordered Andy and Serge into the observation cockpits on top of the big bag. “Keep in constant touch with me,” he ordered. “If you see a break in the storm let me know and we’ll try and run through it.” From their lonely posts atop the dirigible Andy and Serge, clad in oilskins, braced themselves against the heat of the rain and the rush of the wind. With headsets on their ears and transmitters slung across their chests, they kept in touch with the main control room. All around them was a sea of churning clouds, rolling thunder, bolts of glittering blue and through it all the steady beat of the powerful engines as they drove the Goliath on through the night. They were at the seven thousand foot level and Captain Harkins warned them he was going to attempt to get above the storm. The nose shot skyward and they pushed their way up through the clouds. Eight, nine and ten thousand feet dropped away, but even at that level the storm raged. There was no escape. Flickers of static played along the runway atop the Goliath and Andy was grateful that the gas cells were filled with the non-explosive helium. At ten thousand feet the Goliath was making the fight for its life. Grim-faced engineers watched over their engines while in the control room Captain Harkins and Andy’s father stood side by side as they guided the great airship through the storm. The army officers, grouped close behind, watched every move for their lives hung in the balance that fateful night. Would the storm rip the Goliath asunder and drop it, a broken, lifeless thing, like it had the Shenandoah? Would their fate be the same? Those questions were in the mind of every man. The storm increased in violence and Andy, atop the dirigible, felt the frame trembling under the terrific blows from the wind. He looked about desperately for some break in the clouds that would let them through to safety. The Goliath was making a brave battle but it was only a question of how long it could stand such a battering. Bert, down in the control room, was on the other end of the phone, and the news he gave Andy was none too encouraging. No. 5 engine had cut out. The crew reported a burned out bearing, which meant that the engine was disabled for the remainder of the trip. Ten minutes later No. 9 on the opposite side developed trouble and had to be shut down. They were cruising with 10 motors running, ample power for any average storm but this spring disturbance of the weather was anything but usual. An occasional brilliant glare of lightning would reveal Serge at his observation post further back along the top and Andy wondered how the young Rubanian was faring. If they could only locate a break in the clouds. Andy’s eyes swept the darkness again but it was to no avail. The Goliath heeled savagely and he clung to the edge of the cockpit. They were knifing off to the right. The speed of the motors had increased. Could the men in the control room have sighted a break or had Serge’s eyes been keener than his own? The Goliath was running for its life, pulsating to the throbbing power of the engines. They must be doing well over a hundred, thought Andy. The clouds ahead thinned; the rain lessened, the force of the wind abated and in ten more minutes they were out of the main storm, sailing through a light spring shower. Andy dropped down on a seat in the observation cockpit. He was exhausted for he had fought every step with the Goliath and now that safety was at hand he felt a great wave of fatigue sweep over him. After a five minute rest he descended into the heart of the dirigible and then made his way forward to the control room. Captain Harkins was still at the controls but the lines of his face had softened. “We’re through the worst of it,” he told Andy. “We’ll loaf along here until the weather north and west of us clears enough so we can get back to Bellevue. You take charge while I go back for a bite to eat. I’m pretty much all in.” All Andy knew was that they were somewhere over the western part of the Carolinas, and he let the Goliath ease through the night at a bare thirty-five miles an hour. The rain ceased and the moon was struggling to break through the clouds. Bert had managed to get in touch with Washington and allayed the fears of officials at the capital. He also learned that the four army planes which had accompanied the Goliath had landed safely in West Virginia. This was good news to Andy, who in his concern over the safety of the Goliath had forgotten the army flyers. Serge came down from his observation post and Captain Harkins praised him highly. “It was Serge,” he told Andy, “who spotted the break in the storm. If it hadn’t been for his keen eyes one guess is as good as another as to where we would be now.” By ten o’clock the storms had drifted away and they were free to start the return to Bellevue. The trouble on No. 9 motor had been repaired and with only No. 5 out, they sped toward home. The lights of Bellevue came into view at eleven-fifteen and ten minutes later the Goliath drifted down to stick its squat nose into the automatic coupling on the portable mooring mast. Eager hands steadied the great ship as it was towed into the hangar and lodged securely in its berth. Before leaving the hangar, a thorough inspection was made to ascertain if any sections had undergone damage during the storm. The outer fabric was in perfect condition and outside of the failure of No. 5 motor, the Goliath had won its laurels in its first long flight. CHAPTER XIV Flood Relief News of the Goliath’s victorious battle against the most severe storm of the spring was spread on the front page of every newspaper in the country the next day and special writers and correspondents for the big press associations besieged the military patrol at Bellevue. Venturesome photographers even attempted to fly over the plant and snap pictures of the hangar but the army planes soon put an end to that stunt. The insistence of the reporters compelled the attention of Andy’s father and Captain Harkins, and they called Andy into their conference. He advised that reporters be escorted through the hangar and taken on a thorough trip over the dirigible. “We want the public to have faith in the Goliath,” counseled Andy, “and the reporters must have the facts if they are to write intelligently.” “I believe you’re right,” agreed his father and Captain Harkins added a word of approval. Andy and Bert were designated as the tour conductors and they met the reporters at the hotel. Nine men and two women were in the group they escorted to the plant. Andy was amused by their exclamations of wonder at the size of the Goliath and he was pleased at their open praise of the beauty of the great ship. The inspection tour required two hours that afternoon for they went into every part of the dirigible, even up to the observation cockpits on top and several of the more daring reporters walking along the upper catwalk. When they returned to the main cabin, they found that Captain Harkins had ordered the steward to serve tea. It was late afternoon by the time the reporters departed, but they left highly elated over their expedition and promised that glowing stories of the Goliath would appear in their papers and on the press association wires. When they had gone, Andy and Bert sat down on the steps of the hotel. The tension of fighting with the Goliath through the storm of the night before had carried them along but now they relaxed and an enveloping cloak of fatigue settled over them. “I’m so tired I can hardly wiggle,” groaned Bert. “I’m just about that bad,” agreed Andy. “Believe me, I’ll go to bed early tonight.” “Wonder what’s happened to Harry and the Neptune?” said Bert. “I managed to roll out this morning in time to tune in at eight o’clock but I didn’t get even a peep out of him.” “I must have been sound asleep when you got up,” said Andy, “for I didn’t hear a thing.” “I came back to bed after failing to get in touch with Harry,” replied Bert. “I’ll try again tonight at eight. Hope I have better luck. I wouldn’t trust one of those tin fish as far as I could throw my hat. They don’t look safe to me.” “I expect a sailor feels the same way about an airship,” said Andy. “It all depends on what you’re used to.” After dinner that night Andy’s father announced that special tests would be made the next week, including the attaching of a plane to the Goliath while in flight. This had been successfully accomplished by the Akron and they expected no difficulty. The special rigging was already at Bellevue and it would be only the matter of a few days to complete the installation. The Goliath differed from the Akron in one capacity. Where the Akron could carry a single plane slung underneath in a special carriage, the Goliath had a special hold midships where the planes could be raised and stored. It could accommodate four fast pursuit ships, launching them as it sped through the air at one hundred miles an hour. It was from this viewpoint that the Goliath held unusual value to the army officers. Shortly before eight o’clock Andy and Bert went to the radio room, where Bert tuned up his receiver for a talk with Harry, now far out to sea in the Neptune. He turned on the power at eight o’clock and waited patiently for a signal from the submarine. When it failed to come he tried calling Harry but even then failed to get a reply. Bert worked for an hour hoping that he could get some answer from the Neptune but at nine o’clock was forced to admit defeat. “I’m getting worried,” confessed Bert. “It was too stormy to make contact last night so it’s been nearly 36 hours since we’ve heard from Harry and anything can happen out there in mid-ocean.” “Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” counseled Andy, who admitted to himself that he was afraid some accident had befallen the Neptune. “They’ve probably run into a streak of bad weather and may have submerged to try and ride it out.” “I’ll try again the first thing in the morning,” said Bert. “We’ve just got to hear from Harry,” he added desperately. In spite of their fatigue, Andy and Bert passed a restless night and they were up with the first sign of the dawn. Without waiting for breakfast they hurried to the radio room where Bert tuned in on the wave length used for communication between the station at Bellevue and the Neptune. “Someone’s on the air,” he said quickly. “I can hear the hum of his transmitter; sounds like Harry’s set.” “Hello, Neptune,” said Bert. “This is the station at Bellevue, Ky., calling for the submarine Neptune, now en route to Plymouth, England. Hello, Neptune, hello!” Andy bent close to the loud speaker, waiting eagerly for the ether waves to bring a reply to Bert’s call. It failed to come and Bert repeated his call. Still there was no answer and the call went out a third and then a fourth time. “I can’t understand his failure to reply,” said Bert. “His set is running.” “Try it once more,” urged Andy. “Maybe we’ll have better luck.” Bert repeated his call and then gazed at Andy incredulously as Harry’s familiar voice replied almost immediately. “You must be a prophet,” Bert told Andy. “Where in the dickens have you been for the last two days?” he asked Harry. “We’ve been scared stiff for fear your tin fish might have sunk.” “No such luck,” replied Harry. “I’ve been so seasick I couldn’t even sit up. This is my first message since I last talked with you two days ago.” “Been running into rough weather?” asked Andy. “I never dreamed the ocean could be so nasty,” replied Harry in a hollow voice. “We’ve been tossed around like a cork and half the crew has been under the weather. This morning is the first time in 48 hours we could cruise on the surface with any degree of comfort.” “Don’t blame us for your predicament,” said Bert unfeelingly. “I warned you to keep out of the submarine. But, no, you knew best.” “Listen,” replied Harry. “I couldn’t let you go to the North Pole and slip one over on me so when I heard the Neptune was going to make the trip I signed up. You fellows wait until old man weather gets a real good shot at you and you won’t think it is quite so funny.” “We’ve had our turn,” said Andy, and he told Harry in detail of the events which had occurred on their return from New York and of their strenuous battle against the elements. “Looks to me like the Goliath and the Neptune proved their ability at about the same time,” said Harry. “After the last two days in the Neptune, I’ve got every confidence in it.” “I called you for fifteen minutes before you answered,” said Bert. “Your transmitter was on the air but I couldn’t get any reply.” “The answer is simple,” replied Harry. “I wasn’t here. As I said before, I’ve been feeling pretty rocky. Well, I came up to the radio room and turned on the set, intending to call you. Then I got shaky again and had to go back and lie down. Guess I forgot to turn off the set and it kept buzzing away.” “How much longer will it take you to reach Plymouth?” asked Andy. “With the delay we’ve encountered on account of the storm, it will take nearly another week,” replied Harry, “and here’s hoping that we’ll have fair weather from now on.” They signed off a few minutes later after agreeing to talk again that night at eight o’clock. The remainder of that day and the rest of the week was devoted to the installation of the special landing apparatus which would snare a plane out of mid-air and haul it safely into the inner hold of the Goliath. Andy and Bert talked with Harry every day and learned that the Neptune, aided by favorable weather, was making good progress. The sea had steadied down and Harry had found his sea legs and his appetite had returned. “Which means,” laughed Bert, “that the cook aboard that sub is going to have a man-sized job keeping Harry filled with food.” Air corps officers from various posts flew in to inspect the Goliath while the members of the official board which had accompanied the airship on its flight to New York remained at hand for further tests. It was Tuesday of the following week before the installation of the special gear had been completed and the Goliath pronounced ready for further tests. The pursuit ship of Lieutenant Crummit was also fitted with special rigging and when this was completed they were ready for another trial. Tuesday was an ideal spring day with plenty of sunshine and only a slight breeze from the south. The Goliath was walked out of its hangar and, with Captain Harkins at the controls and Andy at his side, made its third trip aloft. When they were well under way, Andy went back midships to supervise the contact with the pursuit plane. Lieutenant Crummit buzzed nervously about the Goliath in his fast single-seater. The airship gradually stepped up its speed until it was doing a hundred miles an hour, going fast enough for the contact to be made. Back in the cavernous hold of the Goliath a tense crew was waiting to leap to its task. Andy’s father came back to watch the operation. A great arm hung beneath the dirigible and from this arm extended a V-shaped coupler into which the coupler on the plane would fit. Synchronization of speed was the main thing upon which success depended and it was up to Lieutenant Crummit to creep up under the Goliath at just a trifle more than a hundred miles an hour. From the observation windows in the keel Andy watched the approach of the pursuit plane. Lieutenant Crummit was coming in as slowly as he dared, maneuvering carefully in an attempt to make the coupling on the first contact. The triangular coupling mounted on the upper wing of the army plane slipped into the “V” of the arm below the Goliath. There was a slight jolt at the shock of contact and Lieutenant Crummit, assured that the coupling was fast, cut the switches on his motor and looked up expectantly. Andy threw over the switch on the main control. The large trap door at the bottom of the Goliath rolled back. Simultaneously the arm which held the army plane fast in its grip moved upward rapidly, bringing the pursuit ship with it. In another thirty seconds the army fighter was deposited safely in the hold, the trap door was back in place and the powerful crane, or arm, which had caught and lifted the plane, was back in position. Lieutenant Crummit leaped from the cockpit and ran toward Andy. “That’s the greatest aerial stunt I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Why, it’s as simple as falling off a log. I couldn’t miss that big ‘V’ and the next thing I knew the plane was being whirled upward.” Army officers who had watched the operation from the control room came back to interview the lieutenant and get his report. It was decided to repeat the maneuver, only this time the plane would be set into flight from the Goliath. The large crane was lifted back into the hold and made fast to the plane. When Lieutenant Crummit signalled he was ready, Andy opened the trap door and dropped the plane through. The army flyer switched on his inertia starter, the warm motor caught the first time over and the propeller went into its dazzling whirl. Lieutenant Crummit threw up his left arm as a signal for the release and the big crane relinquished its grip on the pursuit ship. The army plane dropped down and away from the Goliath, then climbed and raced wildly around the mother ship. The Goliath had passed another one of its exacting tests successfully and Andy returned to the main control room and relieved Serge, who had taken his place during his absence in the hold. Instead of heading back for Bellevue, the Goliath swung north and Andy looked inquiringly at his father, who had just returned from a conference with the army men. “We’re going to give Cincinnati a treat,” said the vice president of the National Airways. “We can make the trip up there and be back home before dark.” With Lieutenant Crummit’s plane and another army craft as escorts, the Goliath roared northward at a hundred miles an hour, knifing its silver hull through the lazy, fleecy clouds. The Ohio river, heavy-burdened with a spring flood, rolled ahead of them and just beyond was the haze which hung over Cincinnati. It was a surprise visit but the townspeople were not long in hurrying into the streets to glimpse the king of the air. They wheeled and turned over Cincinnati for a half hour before heading back for Bellevue. Bert, who had left his radio room, leaned out a window and looked down at the swollen Ohio. “There’s plenty of water rolling down to the Gulf,” he told Andy, “and from all reports the Ohio isn’t the only river on a rampage. Almost every large tributary of the Mississippi is at flood stage, which means plenty of trouble for people living down in the lower river country. It will take several days for the flood waters to get there, but when they do the country is going to forget about the Goliath and think about the flood.” “You’re a cheerful sort of a soul,” smiled Andy. “Just mark my words,” insisted Bert. “I predict a big flood on the lower portions of the Mississippi.” They returned to Bellevue as twilight was draping its mantle of soft purple over the valley and it was dark, by the time the Goliath was in its berth. There were minor adjustments and changes to be made on the Goliath and the next three days were busy ones for the officers and members of the crew. Bert’s prediction was coming true, if the stories appearing in the papers were not exaggerating the situation. From Memphis down the Mississippi was on a rampage, crashing through the man-made barriers that had been erected to keep it in its channel and spreading death and destruction over large areas of fertile land. The Friday morning paper, which reached Bellevue by bus shortly after noon, emphasized the need for relief measures, stressing that refugees were without proper clothes or food. The national Red Cross had stepped in and was making every effort to relieve the situation but it was impossible to reach some of the more isolated regions and women and children were believed to be in want. “What they need is a dirigible,” said Andy. “Why, we could load the Goliath with tons of food and clothing, cruise over that area at a low altitude, and drop supplies for hundreds of refugees.” “Why don’t you suggest it to your father?” said Bert. “I’ll do it right now,” said Andy, and he started toward the hotel. Charles High heard his son’s story without comment and when Andy was through, spoke with his characteristic decision. “I’ll put through a call to the national Red Cross office in Washington,” he said, “and if the need is as serious as you feel, we’ll start before dawn.” The national headquarters of the Red Cross confirmed the emergency and welcomed the offer of the National Airways to send the Goliath into the flood region. Arrangements were made to bring in supplies on a special train from Cincinnati and the loading of the Goliath was set for shortly after midnight. The special train arrived an hour late and the crew of the airship worked with feverish haste to transfer the clothes and food from the express cars to the Goliath. The task was completed at four o’clock and with the first tints of dawn in the sky, the Goliath was taken out of its hangar and started on its errand of mercy. Captain Harkins held the big ship at a steady eighty miles an hour and by mid-forenoon they were well below Memphis and swinging over the flood area. The Mississippi had turned its valley into an immense brown lake. The waters had swilled through towns, inundating streets and sweeping houses from their foundations. Many of the towns had been deserted while others, on higher ground, were completely cut off by the flood. It was to the latter that the Goliath was directed. Bert kept in touch with the latest radio reports on the conditions and the Goliath swung from one village to another. Andy, back in the hold, superintended the dropping of food and clothes. The food was put into bundles of clothes and then dropped overboard, the Goliath descending until it was a bare fifty feet above the towns to which it brought relief. With motors shut off, it was possible for Andy to carry on a conversation with the marooned people and ascertain their needs. Serge was with Andy and they directed the crew in the relief work. Through the morning and afternoon they worked and their supply of food and clothing dwindled at a surprising rate. Two more towns to serve and they would be through. They dropped food and clothing to the first one and hurried on to supply the second. After that they would start for home. Lieutenant Crummit and another army flyer had stuck with them all day long, leaving only when it was necessary to fly to some city and replenish their fuel supply, but one of the army pursuit ships had always been on duty. A scene of complete desolation greeted them as they neared the last town to which they were bringing assistance. Flood waters were pouring through every street and the inhabitants who had not escaped were huddled on house tops. More than fifty men, women and children were congregated on the flat roof of a garage, the largest building in the town. Out of the northwest a chill wind was presaging a raw, bitter night and Andy shivered as he thought of the suffering which the little band on the rooftop would undergo before rescuers could reach them by boat. “Why don’t we drop down and take them aboard?” suggested Bert. “With much more exposure some of those people will have pneumonia.” “It might be possible,” agreed Andy. “We’ll see Captain Harkins.” They presented their suggestion to the commander of the Goliath, and, after a careful survey, Captain Harkins agreed. Orders were given for the descent of the Goliath and Andy went back midships to supervise the dropping of a flexible steel ladder. The Goliath could not land directly on the roof, but would hover just above it. The refugees would have to climb the ladder to safety. With a megaphone in his hands, Andy directed the rescue work. The Goliath, its motors turning over just enough to hold it above the roof, hung almost motionless. The excited townspeople grasped the ladder, which four men held fast to the rooftop. The ladder was none too steady but the refugees, preferring the climb to the airship to another night on the rooftop, bravely made their way aloft. Women came up alone with the boys and girls following them. Babes in arms were carried up by the men. In fifteen minutes the transfer had been completed, the ladder was drawn up, the command given to proceed and the refugees hurried forward into the main cabin where it was warm and where the stewards had prepared a hot meal. It was a grateful group that came into the control room later to express their thanks to Captain Harkins, but the commander referred them to Andy, saying: “You can thank Andy High, assistant pilot, for he was the one who directed the rescue.” They made the run back to Memphis without difficulty but it was well after dark when they soared over the city. Bert had radioed the story of the rescue and the news that they would stop at Memphis and leave the refugees. The airport was aglow with lights and when the Goliath nosed down for an easy landing, police were taxed to the utmost to keep back the cheering throng. Flashlights boomed as newspaper photographers snapped the refugees as they disembarked. The Red Cross was on hand to care for the unfortunate townspeople and after ascertaining that the weather was fair, the Goliath continued its homeward journey. The next month was a succession of busy days with further tests for the giant airship. Reports from Harry indicated the daily progress of the Neptune toward its goal in the Arctic, first to Plymouth, England, on to Bergen, Norway, then toward the Arctic with the last stop at King’s Bay, Spitzbergen. Preparations at Bellevue were now centering on the flight to the Arctic. Special oils for the motors were arriving as well as equipment and clothing for the officers and crew. Insulation of the engine rooms and the gondola was increased to stand the colder temperatures of the northland. The tentative date for the start of the flight was set for July 10th and the month of June rolled away as though on magic wheels. Harry radioed from King’s Bay that the Neptune was about ready to start the final dash to the pole. On the 20th of June he reported that they were nosing out of the bay, running on the surface. A few hours later came the news that the Coast of Spitzbergen was disappearing over the horizon and that the Neptune was headed north into the land of eternal ice and snow. The exchange of mail by the Goliath and Neptune had attracted the attention of stamp collectors in all parts of the world and extra mail clerks were brought to Bellevue to handle the hundreds of letters which had been sent there for mailing aboard the Goliath, which would transfer the pouches when it met the Neptune at the North Pole. The amount of mail had been limited to five tons, a total which was reached long before the date for closing the pouches was reached. A special cancellation stamp had been devised to show that the letters had been sent by the Goliath. With the Neptune definitely slipping through the broken ice of the Arctic, the importance of Bert’s task of keeping in touch with the Neptune increased and he almost lived in the radio room of the Goliath. The days marched by in a steady procession. Daily reports from Harry indicated that ice conditions were most favorable and that the Neptune was finding much clear water. Occasionally it was necessary to dive under some particularly stubborn ice field but this had not happened often. Then things changed; high winds prevailed in the northland; progress was retarded; ice jammed in front of the Neptune; static set up a wall of interference that was almost impossible to break through; messages from Harry were few and far between, and lines of worry deepened as Bert and Andy waited anxiously in the radio room. On the 28th of June a wave of static turned back every query sent into the Arctic. On the 29th the same conditions prevailed. When the static cleared on the 30th of June, Bert called in vain for the Neptune but there was no answer. CHAPTER XV The Northern Seas After a rough crossing of the Atlantic from New York to Plymouth, England, where the Neptune had put in to replenish its supply of fuel, the cruise of the polar submarine had been much smoother and Harry had really enjoyed his trip. The daily talks by radiophone with Bert, Serge and Andy were the high spots of the day for he missed the pleasure of their companionship. His first days aboard the Neptune had been miserable with the weather rough and his stomach turning flip-flops every time he tried to eat. But after leaving Plymouth and heading north for Bergen he had found the sub and its tricks to his liking. Bob Smith, first officer of the Neptune, was not much older than Harry. Bob was a navy man, loaned to Gilbert Mathews especially for the Polar cruise, and he was thoroughly at home in the underwater craft. From Bergen to King’s Bay, Spitzbergen, was a lonely voyage for there are few ships in the Arctic. An occasional gull wheeling overhead, stray bergs drifting by, and the eternal blue of the cold North Atlantic was all they saw day after day. Harry kept the radio humming with the press messages which the explorer sent back to his syndicate in New York. One method Mathews had used in spreading out the cost of the trip was the sale of exclusive stories of what went on aboard the Neptune to a newspaper syndicate. Morning and afternoon stories were required and Harry, who was adept at writing a readable story, was often pressed into service to write the daily dispatch. Weather favored them all the way to King’s Bay, where they were to make their final stop for supplies, which had been sent on ahead by steamers. Harry deserted his post and went up on deck when Bob called down to inform him that they were slipping into King’s Bay, scene of the start of many a famous Arctic flight. It was from here that Byrd and Floyd Bennett had made their dash to the North pole, to be followed a few days later by Nobile and Ellsworth in the Italian dirigible Norge. It was here that Wilkins and Eielson had landed after their long flight from Alaska across the barrens of the Arctic and it was from here that the ill-fated Norge had made a second expedition into the Arctic. By the time the sleek, black submarine had nosed its way up to the large coal dock, the entire population of King’s Bay was down to greet it. The crew and officers welcomed the opportunity to leave the Neptune and stretch their legs on land, but preparations for the trip into the Arctic were pushed with all possible haste. The weather was too favorable for any unnecessary delay and the crew worked steadily at the task of refilling fuel tanks and taking on fresh stores of food. On the morning of the 20th of June they cast their lines off the coal dock, the big Diesels turned over smoothly, and the Neptune backed away and turned its nose toward the open bay. As many of the crew of 31 as could crowd onto the deck watched the changing scene, and listened to the wishes for good fortune shouted by the townspeople on the dock. There was a fresh breeze in the outer bay and they were forced below by the crisp wind which sent waves slapping over the deck in steady succession. They were in the land of the midnight sun where in summer there is no night, only a dusk as the sun dips to the horizon. At dusk the mainland of Spitzbergen was to the rear and they were slipping past Amsterdam island, which lay to their right. Ahead of them was the uncharted mystery of the Arctic ocean. Harry was surprised at the comparative mildness of the Arctic summer but the temperature of the Arctic sea was not such that a fall overboard was inviting and as a result the outer hull of the craft was ice-cold. Special electrical heating devices had been installed in the living quarters and the control room so it was fairly comfortable inside the sub. As they pushed northward, Gilbert Mathews and the two scientists with him kept busy in the forward torpedo room where they made soundings of the ocean depth and drew off samples from the bottom to determine the nature of the floor of the Arctic. Because of the scientific investigations, the Neptune made slow progress and it was the fourth day out before they encountered much pack ice. Conditions were favorable for the progress of the Neptune, for the ice fields were open with wide leads between them. Occasionally a small berg scraped the side of the submarine and on the fifth day, when they encountered a solid mass of ice, the diving order was given and the Neptune, its special electrical feelers projecting ahead, slipped under the wall of ice and into the open water on the other side. Such an operation was under the direct charge of Bob Smith, who demonstrated his ability in that one brief maneuver. The weather remained fair and on the 26th and 27th, the Neptune increased its speed for the ice was fairly open. They were following almost the same route taken by Byrd and Bennett in their successful dash by air to the North Pole. On the twenty-eighth the sky closed in on them. A cold Arctic fog obscured the sun and a wall of static shut them off from communication with the outside world. They were now well into the unknown regions of the Arctic, further north than any vessel had previously penetrated, in the region which had been seen by man only from the air. On the night of the twenty-eighth a bitter wind whipped down out of the northwest and the leads commenced to close under the pressure of the drifting ice. The Neptune scuttled from one open area to another seeking safety but the gravity of the situation increased every minute. With the ice pack closing in, it was possible that the submarine might be caught between the ice and crushed like an egg shell for despite its sturdy construction it could not withstand the enormous pressure which the ice would exert. Bob was glued to the controls while Gilbert Mathews searched madly for an opening through which the Neptune might slip to safety. There was none and reluctantly the order was given to submerge. They would be safe down below for the time being but they would be unable to tell in what direction safety lay. They would have to feel their way almost blindly under the ice, hoping that they would eventually find an opening where they could rise to the surface. Bob sent the Neptune down five fathoms and they slipped under the ice pack. Hour after hour passed as the Neptune crept under the great mass of ice. At times it was necessary to go down to 10 and 12 fathoms but for the most part they were only five or six fathoms under the ice. The Neptune was a good underwater boat, steady and smooth-riding and the crew experienced little discomfort. There was plenty of air for 40 hours under the ice and they felt no alarm, when, at the end of twenty hours, they had failed to find an opening. They stopped and made a test with the ice drill which had been especially designed and installed for just such an emergency but the device jammed tight before they could get it working and that avenue of escape was cut off. When another ten hours had elapsed and they were still groping blindly under the ice. Bob expressed his private opinion that they were in a tight situation. Harry agreed as he stood beside the first officer in the control room. Another three hours slipped away and the air was heavy. Harry’s head felt light and the blood raced through his veins. Unless they found an opening soon it would be curtains for the Neptune and its crew. Gilbert Mathews relieved Bob at the main controls and the first officer walked back to the radio cubby with Harry. “If we don’t get out of this,” he said, “no one will ever know what happened to us. They’ll have plenty of guesses and some of them will be right, but they’ll never really know. I wish you could get a message through.” “So do I,” said Harry, “but that won’t be possible until we emerge.” “I’m all in,” confessed Bob, “and I don’t suppose worrying will help us any. Wake me up in half an hour,” he added as he slumped down in the one comfortable canvas chair in the room. Harry returned to the control room where a white-faced, worried crew stuck grimly to their stations. The air was bad; lights dim. They were barely creeping forward. Several of the men dropped at their posts and were carried away by more fortunate companions. Others took their places. The chief engineer, a quiet Yankee, came in to tell the explorer that the power was going. The batteries wouldn’t last more than another hour. There was nothing Harry could do in the control room and he returned to his own quarters. Bob was sound asleep in the chair. One dim light glowed over the now useless radio set. Harry sat down and picked up a message blank. He’d write a note to Andy and Bert. Someone might find the hulk of the submarine some day; a freak of the Arctic might cast it where it would again be viewed by man. Harry had just started the note when he was startled by a sudden bumping and scraping. The Neptune tilted sharply. Were they headed for the bottom; crushed under the ice pack? The thought shot through Harry’s mind as he roused Bob. There were cries from the control room. They were going up. They had found an opening in the ice pack. Three minutes later the main hatch was thrown open and a wave of cool, fresh air swept down into the dank, stinking interior of the submarine. They were in a small lead between the sheer walls of the ice pack. The Neptune had nosed into it blindly at a time when officers and crews had despaired of their own lives. As soon as the batteries had been charged sufficiently, Harry tried to send out a call but the wall of static still engulfed the Arctic and his efforts were futile. “I don’t think I got out more than a hundred miles,” he told Bob, “and there isn’t one chance in a thousand that anyone heard us.” The Neptune remained securely in the sheltered lead all day on the 30th, crew and officers resting after the strenuous ordeal they had been through. Above them and over the ice pack a high wind raged and toward the close of day there were ominous crackings and rumblings in the ice. With the exception of one man left in the conning tower, the crew of the Neptune was sound asleep at midnight. Two hours later they were awakened by the alarmed cries of the watch. An eerie rumbling and groaning filled the night. When they tumbled out on deck a terrifying sight greeted them. The walls of the ice pack were closing in. They were trapped in the lead! The rapid movement of the ice was astounding. Orders cracked from the lips of Gilbert Mathews and Bob Smith. The crew tumbled back into the submarine. The main hatch was slammed and battened down. A crash dive was in order. They were going under the ice again. Harry dreaded the thought. The last time their margin of safety had been slim; too slim. This time they might not come up. The tension inside the Neptune was terrific as Bob gave the orders for the dive. Valves were opened wide; water roared into the diving tanks. The Neptune settled swiftly. The conning tower was almost under when there was a terrific bump. Their downward motion stopped. The water continued to rush into the diving tanks but the depth indicated remained motionless. “We’re caught on an ice shelf,” cried the explorer. “Blow the tanks and we’ll get back to the surface,” commanded Bob. “We won’t have a chance if we’re caught by the ice under water.” Compressed air whistled into the diving tanks and the needle of the depth gauge quivered and moved upward. With a rush they were back on the surface. The walls of the ice had moved closer. There was the steady thunder of the pack as the pressure increased and miles of ice, driven by the biting gale, moved forward, crushing all before it. Under Gilbert Mathews’ direction, members of the crew made hasty soundings. To their dismay it was found that the tremendous pressure of the advancing ice had driven a shelf of it under them. There wasn’t a single hole large enough to allow them to dive through to the comparative safety of the depths. In the next seconds a tremendous decision must be made: Should they stay with the Neptune or abandon the submarine and attempt to escape over the ice? The walls of ice were moving forward relentlessly, closing the gap foot by foot. Gilbert Mathews, white-faced, grim, spoke. “Get out the emergency equipment,” he said. “We’ll abandon the Neptune.” For the next ten minutes the crew worked desperately. Food, tents, snowshoes, medical supplies, and the portable radio and stoves were rushed up from below. The Neptune was nosed over against the nearest wall of ice and the supplies tossed on the pack. Others of the crew, hurrying over the treacherous ice, carried the supplies back to a place of safety for the tremendous pressure which would be exerted when the walls of ice met might cause an explosion. Harry took a final look at his beloved set before abandoning the Neptune. He tried one more desperate call but the static strangled his cry for help. They were alone in the desolate Arctic. The Neptune abandoned to its fate, the crew retired from the edge of the ice pack. From a distance of half a mile they watched the walls of ice come together. Gilbert Mathews turned away when the first of the rumbling explosions shattered the air. Ice rose in great pyramids, shattering and flying in every direction. The pack on which they were standing quivered and moved dangerously. In several places wide gaps appeared but they were fortunate enough not to fall in. When the pressure eased, they returned to the place where they had left the Neptune. Instead of a haven of open water they found great masses of ice, twisted and piled in grotesque fashion as though some giant of the north had been playing a game all his own. “We’ve seen the last of the Neptune,” said Bob Smith sadly. “It was a good tub but not good enough to beat the Arctic.” But Bob was wrong for on the far side of the twisted mass of ice they came upon the bow of the Neptune. From all appearances the shell of the submarine had withstood the terrific pressure and the undersea craft had been hurled out of the water and caught fast in the ice. It would be impossible to use the Neptune as a means of travel but if the ice held its grip, they could live in the submarine until a rescue expedition could reach them. Axes were brought from the supplies they had taken off the Neptune and the crew turned to the task of chopping a hole through the ice until they reached the main hatch. Working in shifts, it took them two hours to accomplish the task. When the hatch was finally opened, Gilbert Mathews insisted that he be the first to enter for the danger of chlorine gas lurked inside the Neptune. If the batteries had upset, the deadly gas might have formed. Anxiously the crew awaited the return of their leader. They cheered wildly when he called that there was no sign of gas and they tumbled back inside for a thorough inspection. Seams had been wrenched so severely that the Neptune would sink like a rock if it ever slid into the ocean but it was dry and comfortable inside and there was plenty of fuel oil in the tanks to keep them warm for months to come. The first thing was to send word of their plight to the outside world. The portable radio with its aerial was set up on the ice outside and Harry sat down to send out the first message and ask for relief. The static had cleared since his last attempt and he finally picked up an amateur station at Hopedale, Labrador, to which he communicated the events which had befallen the Neptune. As nearly as possible, Harry gave their position and asked that the officers of the Goliath at Bellevue, Ky., be notified at once. The operator at Hopedale, after recovering from the astonishment of Harry’s message, promised to relay it at once. The hours dragged by and there was no reply from the operator at Hopedale, except that he had relayed the message to Montreal for further transmission. The tent which had been erected around Harry’s portable set was little protection from the bitter wind and he was numb from cold and miserable when the Hopedale operator finally came back at him. The message had reached Bellevue. The reply was on the way. It cracked through the ether. “Goliath leaves at midnight. Estimate distance to you is 5,500 miles. Should make it in 60 hours after departure. Signed, Andy High, Assistant Pilot.” Harry ran to the Neptune with the message and the news it contained cheered them greatly. With the wind rapidly whipping into a storm, they took refuge in the warmth of the Neptune and awaited the coming of the Goliath. CHAPTER XVI Rescue in the Arctic For two days after the static cleared, there was no word from the silent northland. Bert, Serge, and Andy remained in the radio room continuously, calling vainly for the Neptune but each time their call went unheeded. “Something mighty serious has happened to the Neptune,” declared Bert, “or Harry would have answered just as soon as the static cleared.” “I’m afraid you’re right,” said Andy. “They were getting into dangerous water when we last heard from them. Personally, I’ve doubted all along that the Neptune would ever get to the North Pole. The ice pack there is too solid. They’d have to do too much underwater cruising.” “Do you think they’ve been trapped under the ice?” asked Bert anxiously. “No,” replied Andy, “for they have the ice drill to cut a path to safety. But a submarine has so many things that can go wrong.” Late the second day Andy’s father returned from Washington and they informed him of the gravity of the situation. “How long would it take to get the Goliath ready for a polar trip?” he asked Andy. “Not much more than six hours,” Andy replied. “Better warn the crew to stand by. If we don’t hear from the Neptune in another 48 hours we’ll start north in an attempt to locate them.” Two hours later the Canadian station at Montreal broke in with an urgent message. “Amateur operator at Hopedale, Labrador, has just messaged that submarine Neptune is disabled and caught in ice. Crew safe. Approximate position: latitude 82° 21'; longitude, east 9° 31'. Ask relief expedition.” Bert copied the message with a hand that shook so much the words were little more than a scrawl. “Tell Montreal to stand by,” said Andy, “while I rush this over to Dad and Captain Harkins.” Andy found his father and the commander of the Goliath at the hotel where he burst in on their conference, the message in his hand. “I was afraid of something like this,” said Andy’s father. “The navy people in Washington were inclined to be pretty pessimistic when I talked with them, yesterday. Well, what do you say Captain?” The commander of the Goliath asked Andy for the latest weather report. It was favorable. “We’ll start north at midnight,” he said. “Will you be able to make the trip, Dad?” asked Andy. “Sorry, son, but I’m due back in Washington tomorrow for a conference that may mean the construction of more ships like the Goliath. The army people have been tremendously pleased with the performance and are anxious for more, semi-commercial, semi-military dirigibles.” Andy hurried back to the radio room where he communicated the news to Bert and Serge. The message that the Goliath would start north at midnight flashed to Montreal but static delayed its transmission to Hopedale, to which it was finally relayed and from there sent on to the waiting crew of the Neptune. Reporters assigned to Bellevue to cover various trial flights of the Goliath sent out the news of the Neptune’s fate and the word that the Goliath was starting north at midnight. Through the early hours of the night the hangar was ablaze with light as final preparations were made. Every motor was thoroughly checked, extra helium put in the gas cells and every precaution taken to insure the success of the long flight. Andy and Captain Harkins studied charts of the northland, plotting their proposed course. It was finally agreed that they would fly north and east to Montreal and then almost due north nearly 3,000 miles along the 76th meridian until they reached Etah, Greenland, on the northwestern tip of that ice-covered land. At Etah they would swing east, skirting the north coast of Greenland, then out over the desolate waste of ice on the last leg of their trip to find the crew of the Neptune. By eleven-thirty every member of the crew selected for the rescue trip was aboard, including two mail clerks. There would be no transfer of the mail to the Neptune but the postoffice department had rushed a special cancellation from Washington and letters already aboard would be carried into the Arctic. At the scene of the rescue of the Neptune’s crew the postal clerks would cancel the letters with the special stamp. When the Goliath started out of its hangar at midnight on the second of July, there were 62 men aboard, including the two postoffice clerks. The crew had been reduced to a minimum for they would pick up the 31 men from the Neptune. A typical July heat wave had gripped the nation for three days and they were glad to soar into the cooler heights. A thin moon peeped down at them as the great silver airship climbed into the sky and started north on its mission of rescue. Lights of Bellevue vanished in the night. They went up to eight thousand feet and headed for Montreal. Bert, in the radio room, advised the Canadian station of their start and asked that the news be sent on to the Neptune, via the station at Hopedale. Andy made a thorough trip over the Goliath while Serge remained in the control room as first assistant to Captain Harkins. In the last month Serge had proved invaluable. He was thoroughly capable of handling the Goliath and had the ability to size up an emergency in an instant and make the right decision. A little more than an hour after leaving Bellevue, the lights of Pittsburgh appeared to their right. Tongues of flame from the steel furnaces along the Monongahela shot into the night as though in greeting to the king of the skyways. The sky was brightening with the rose of a summer dawn when they passed over Buffalo and headed down Lake Ontario. Captain Harkins, who had been at the controls, complained of a severe abdominal pain and retired into the main lounge, leaving Andy in charge. As they neared Montreal, the commander’s suffering became more intense. “I’m going to radio ahead and have a doctor meet us at Montreal,” said Bert. “Captain Harkins is a mighty sick man and unless I miss my guess, the trouble is acute appendicitis.” Andy agreed and told Serge to make preparations to land the Goliath when they reached the airport outside Montreal. Fortunately there was a mooring mast that had been used by British dirigibles in their trans-Atlantic flights. It was eight o’clock when the Goliath nosed over Montreal and prepared to descend after its 750 mile flight from its home field. A company from a Canadian regiment stationed in the city had bean turned out and was ready to assist in bringing down the big airship. News that the Goliath would stop had spread over the city and roads leading to the airport were jammed with cars. With Andy at the main elevator and rudder controls and Serge beside him with a megaphone to direct the actions of the ground crew, they brought the Goliath to an easy landing. As soon as the big ship was fastened securely to the mooring mast Andy hastened back into the main salon where a doctor, who had boarded it the moment they landed, was examining Captain Harkins. “Acute appendicitis,” was the verdict and the doctor added: “To continue on this flight will undoubtedly cost Captain Harkins his life.” “We’ve got to go on,” protested the commander of the Goliath. “The lives of 31 men in the Neptune, trapped in the Arctic, depend on us.” “You’ve got to think of yourself once in a while,” replied the surgeon tartly. “We can take the Goliath on, Captain Harkins,” said Andy. “Serge has demonstrated that he is an expert pilot and navigator. Between the two of us we can handle the ship.” Captain Harkins smiled through pain-tightened lips. “I’m sure you can,” he said, “but you’d better get an official O. K. from your father. He planned to fly back to Washington but you may be able to get him at Bellevue before he starts.” Bert got through to Bellevue at once and in five minutes Andy was talking with his father by radiophone. “We’ve got to go on,” said the assistant pilot of the Goliath, “and Captain Harkins is desperately ill. Serge and I can take the Goliath through if you’ll give your permission.” “Then don’t waste any time,” replied the executive vice president of the National Airways. “Tell Captain Harkins I’ll fly up to see him as soon as possible. Good luck, son, and the best of weather.” Breakfast was served to the crew while the Goliath was moored at the Montreal airport and at nine o’clock Andy gave orders to resume the flight. Captain Harkins refused to leave the airport until the Goliath was under way and he watched the big ship move away from the mooring mast and soar into the sky from his cot beside an ambulance. Andy dipped the nose of the Goliath in salute to its commander and then headed the dirigible due north, following just east of the 76th meridian. The day was clear and warm with a slight breeze from the south to speed them on their way and they roared into the northland at a steady hundred miles an hour. The fertile lands around Montreal were replaced by the heavier forests of middle Quebec and as the sun sped on its western path they looked down on a desolate land of brush, swamp and giant mosquitoes which infested the region in summer. There was little habitation in the country below them for it was a quagmire in summer and a frozen waste in winter. There were innumerable lakes and rivers sighted during the day but by sundown these had thinned out into a few streams which sent their waters westward into Hudson Bay. Bert kept in almost constant communication with Montreal for the rescue flight of the Goliath was the news of the hour for every paper in the United States and Canada. Serge had taken a long afternoon shift at the controls while Andy slept and at sundown they changed, Serge going back into the main cabin for a warm supper and a few hours sleep. At midnight he would relieve Andy. The wind had died down to a whisper. The sky was brilliant with stars and the Goliath made steady progress northward. There was a chill in the air by midnight and Serge had on his sheepskin when he came forward to relieve Andy. “They’re having trouble with No. 5 engine again,” said Andy, “and I’m going back and see what’s up. I’ll have them cut it off until they find out just what’s the matter.” Serge nodded, squinted at the chart and compass, and swung the nose of the Goliath one point east. Back in No. 5 engine room Andy found the motor crew battling a stubborn piece of machinery. The motor would turn over all right but they couldn’t get the necessary speed. Andy slipped into a pair of coveralls and worked with the crew. The trouble was in the timing and it took them two hours to do the job. When Andy returned to the main gondola, the sky was light in the east for they were getting into a latitude where the summer nights were short and the days extremely long. Andy stepped into the control room and Serge pointed ahead of them to a blue expanse of water. “Hudson Strait,” he cried and Andy, hardly believing the words, looked at the chart. An hour later they were cutting across a corner of Fox Land. Then the Goliath was over Baffin Land with the waters of Baffin Bay ahead and to their right. At five a.m. Andy, who had slept for two hours, relieved Serge. A sharp wind had come out of the north and the Goliath’s speed was down to seventy miles an hour. The broad expanse of Baffin Bay was dotted with ice. They nosed out over Home Bay with the open area of the South water beneath them. Ahead was the great area of everlasting ice known as the Middle ice. For three hours the Goliath fought its way over the ice sheet. Then came the 25 mile stretch of open water known as Middle water and then another sheet of desolate ice. It was noon when the Goliath finally left the Middle ice and looked down on the berg-dotted stretch of North water. To their right was that majestic land of eternal ice—Greenland, while to their left was the desolate reaches of Ellesmere island. Serge took over the controls but Andy, instead of going back to rest, remained at the window, looking down at the ever-changing panorama. Bert had managed to pick up the wireless station at Etah and had asked for a weather report. “Clear but a thirty mile wind from the north,” Etah had replied, when the operator had recovered from his astonishment at learning of the proximity of the Goliath. With their speed greatly curtailed by the strong wind and a desire to economize as much as possible on fuel, it was late in the day when the Goliath stuck its nose into Smith Sound and looked down at Etah, the farthest north year-round settlement of Greenland. The Goliath dropped low over Etah in salute to its residents. Then the motors of the Goliath echoed their power through the stillness of the Arctic, Andy brought the nose up, and they proceeded up Smith’s Sound and into Kane Basin. Ahead of them loomed a gray blanket of fog and Andy sent the Goliath climbing for altitude. Four, five, six, even seven thousand feet they fought their way against the bitter wind but the drifting mist of gray enveloped them. They came down to eight hundred feet but there was no escape. The fog clung to the earth and it was impossible to see more than two hundred feet ahead of the control room. Double lookouts were posted and extra men ordered into the observation cockpits atop the Goliath with telephone sets strapped to them so they could communicate any possible danger or send news of a break in the fog bank. The Goliath crept ahead under reduced speed, barely feeling its way along. Andy knew that below them was the great ice cap which covered Greenland and in the region over which they were now flying an occasional mountain peak reared its head through the eternal blanket of ice and snow. The danger of colliding with such a peak was known to every member of the crew and not a man so much as closed his eyes while the Goliath battled the fog. The real danger from the fog, which only Andy and Serge realized, was ice. In less than half an hour the outer covering of the Goliath was sheathed in ice. The sides of the gondola were covered with the treacherous stuff and even the windows froze over. It was necessary to lower them and the cold fog swept into the control room. Sheepskins were buttoned close as the Goliath moved slowly ahead. Serge kept his eyes on the altimeter. The needle was wavering at eight hundred feet. Then it dropped to seven-fifty and finally to seven hundred. The weight of the ice was forcing them down. Serge nudged Andy and pointed significantly to the needle. It was down to six seventy-five. Andy nodded grimly and ordered more speed, at the same time trying to nose the Goliath higher with the increased lifting power of the additional speed. They gained a bare hundred feet, held it for five minutes, and then saw the needle of the altimeter start down. “Take the controls,” Andy told Serge. “I’m going to ask for volunteers to go on top with me and try and chop the ice loose.” “You can’t do that,” protested Serge. “The risk is too great. Someone will slip off and be killed.” “It’s either going up top and trying to clear off the ice or wait here until we’re forced down and crash into something, which would mean the loss of the Goliath and the end of the rescue flight to the Neptune. I’ve got to go.” There was no hesitancy among the crew in volunteering for the dangerous task. They equipped themselves with short axes and steel bars, special steel cleated shoes and ropes fastened around their waists. Andy divided his crew of volunteers, four of them going aft and three of them accompanying him aloft at the bow of the Goliath. When they emerged in the observation cockpit where another member of the crew was huddled trying to peer into the fog, they found themselves in a world alone. Ahead, behind, and on each side stretched the solid wall of cold, gray mist. The top of the Goliath shone dully under the sheet of ice, the depth of which was increasing every minute. “Lash yourselves to the steel cable along the catwalk,” Andy cautioned them, “and be careful in using the axes. Don’t chop through the metalized covering if you can help it.” The men nodded grimly and crept cautiously out on the catwalk, each one careful to fasten the rope around his body. Setting the spikes on their shoes firmly into the ice, they began hacking away at the menacing shield which covered the Goliath. It was a slow, tedious task and the air was bitter cold. They cleaned off the forward part of the catwalk and then started cautiously out on top of the Goliath. Great sheets of ice slipped away under the prying of their bars but it seemed that new sheets formed almost as fast as they pried the old ones loose. Andy’s hands became numb and his face felt like an icy mask. The lookout in the observation cockpit shouted at them. “Control room says we’re holding steady now at five hundred feet. Asks if you want more help.” “Tell them to send up a relief crew,” replied Andy. Ten minutes later three fresh men were working with him and they attacked the ice with renewed vigor. Andy felt fortunate that there had been no accident so far but the thought was hardly in his mind when one of the new men, overly-enthusiastic, slipped and disappeared in the fog. His safety rope was fastened to the cable along the catwalk, but he had been in too much haste to tie it securely and Andy saw the rope slipping. Somewhere over the side of the Goliath this man was hanging, undoubtedly feeling the quiver of the rope as the knot slipped. Forgetting his own danger, Andy hurled himself along the catwalk. He seized the other man’s safety rope just before the knot gave way. Andy’s arms jerked out straight and he cried aloud at the sudden pain. He wrapped his legs around the cable on the catwalk and sprawled out on top of the Goliath, head-foremost toward the edge over which the other man had disappeared. Andy’s cries brought the attention of the watch in the observation cockpit and the other two men working on top with him. As fast as the treacherous condition of the catwalk would permit, they hastened toward him but to Andy their progress was painfully slow. The rope was slipping through his hands. His fingers tightened until it seemed they would crack but they were so numb from cold he couldn’t put his full strength on the rope. It was slipping faster and faster. Somewhere on the other end the man who had been working beside him only a minute before was swinging like a pendulum along the side of the ice-encrusted dirigible. Andy cried out again. He saw the three coming to his aid hurl themselves toward him. He closed his eyes. The rope was slipping faster. Something hit him so hard that he gasped for breath and the rope raced through his fingers. He clutched at it and his fingers closed against his own palms. When Andy opened his eyes one of the crew was bending over him while the other two were pulling their companion up over the side of the Goliath. They had reached Andy just as his numbed fingers let go their hold. A minute later the man who had been looking death in the face was safe on the catwalk, grateful to Andy for the risk he had taken. Bert, who had sensed something wrong when the watch in the forward cockpit had failed to answer, came charging up. Andy was in no condition to remain up top longer and Bert made him go below into one of the engine rooms to thaw out. Crews on top of the Goliath were changed every half hour and in this manner the dirigible wallowed through the fog. It was mid-forenoon before the haze showed any signs of lifting but at noon there was a definite break and the Arctic sun soon dispelled the menace in gray. When Andy was able to shoot their position again, he found that the Goliath was approaching Cape Morris Jessup, the northernmost tip of Greenland. There were irregular leads in the ice pack which surrounded the cape, but these soon dropped behind and the Goliath moved out over the white expanse of the silent Arctic. They were on the last leg of their long flight, heading east and north now for the position from which Harry had sent his appeal for help. The second day slipped away and they recorded the coming of the third in their log book. They were fifty-five hours out from Bellevue. The sky was clear but the chill wind still swept out of the north. The interior of the main cabin and control room was warm again and the crew experienced no discomfort in its flight. They crossed the Greenwich meridian at noon the third day. The Neptune was somewhere east of them by nine degrees and 31 minutes and about two degrees north. Andy altered the course slightly and the Goliath swept nearer the North Pole, although still some three hundred miles from that visionary goal. Every man who was not on duty in the control or engine rooms was at the windows or stationed in the observation cockpits atop the dirigible, straining ahead for some glimpse of the Neptune and its marooned crew. Static had been bad all morning but Bert kept up an incessant call for Harry. It was an hour after crossing the Greenwich meridian when he received his first answer and his wild whoop of joy brought Andy into the radio room on the run. “I’m talking with Harry now,” cried Bert. “He says to hurry. The pack ice is breaking up and the Neptune may be lost at any minute.” “Tell them to get out of the tin tub and get onto the ice where they’ll be safer,” replied Andy. “We’ll be there within another hour.” “Two members of the crew are sick,” replied Bert. “Then they’ll have to fix up some kind of shelter on the ice,” said Andy. “And Harry says it looks like a norther is coming up,” added the radio operator. “Tell him we’re coming at full speed. Have him keep his set going and use your radio compass in guiding us to him.” Bert agreed and Andy hastened back to the control room. “Bert’s just talked with Harry,” he told Serge, “and Harry says it looks like a bad storm is brewing. We’ll put on full speed and pick them up just as soon as possible.” Word telephoned down from the observation cockpits warned the control room that clouds to the north looked bad. This news added confirmation to that received from Harry and the Goliath raced over the waste of ice and snow at a hundred miles an hour. Every eye was strained ahead to catch some sign of the trapped submarine and its crew. “The ice is more open here,” Andy told Serge. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Neptune has disappeared by the time we reach there. Harry said the ice was getting dangerous and I warned them to get out at once.” “I’ve had enough of the Arctic right now,” said Serge. “The experience with the fog scared me half to death. I thought sure we were going to crash over Greenland and we would if you hadn’t gone aloft and kept enough of it chopped off.” “We ought to be near the Neptune now,” said Andy, “unless my calculations are way off.” “Want me to start circling from here?” asked Serge. Before Andy could reply, Bert came from the radio room. “The Neptune is due north of us,” he cried. “Harry sent a flash. Said he caught a glimpse of us with the sun slanting off the silver sides.” Serge swung the rudder over hard and the Goliath, its motors working rhythmically, bored into the heart of the northland. Ahead a solid wall of gray was mounting toward the heavens. In less than an hour the blizzard would be on them. Five minutes later the watch in the No. 1 cockpit on top phoned that he had sighted the Neptune. “Crew’s on the ice,” was the terse message. “The sub’s still in sight but the ice is moving and it won’t be long until the sub is gone.” Andy’s keen eyes were the first in the control room to sight the marooned crew of the Neptune. Behind them he saw the great ridge of ice in which the Neptune had been caught. The dark nose of the undersea craft was still in sight but the ice was heaving and churning under the pressure of the moving ice pack. Fissures in the ice were widening and the wind swooped out of the north with an ominous roar. Flurries of snow swept past them. The temperature was dropping fast. The rescue must be a matter of minutes or the Arctic might claim the Goliath as well as the Neptune. “You’re better at a landing than I am,” Serge told Andy. “Take over.” Andy stepped into the place of command and under his skillful hands the Goliath slid down toward the crew of the Neptune. Steel cables, with heavy grapnels, had been rigged especially for a landing on the ice. When Andy gave the order to shut off the engines, the steel hooks were dropped. They caught on the uneven ice and electric winches to which they were fastened rapidly drew the Goliath down until the main gondola rested just above the ice pack. Harry was the first to reach the gondola where he was greeted enthusiastically by Andy, Bert and Serge. “You’re just in time,” he told them. “The ice is breaking up. That means the end of the Neptune and this blizzard would probably have finished us.” While Harry was talking, the sound of the coming storm was drowned by a series of splintering crashes. The ice ahead of them heaved and buckled. Great chunks were hurled into the air. The nose of the Neptune was pushed straight up. For a moment the submarine hung in this position. Then, to the accompaniment of the steady booming of the ice, the sleek, steel hull slid from view. It was gone in ten seconds—devoured by the ever-hungry Arctic. Gilbert Mathews, who had aged years in the last few days, stumbled across the ice. “Thank heaven you’ve arrived,” he cried. “We must hurry. The blizzard is almost upon us.” In twos and threes the crew of the Neptune hurried toward the Goliath. A twilight had settled over the scene and the lights from the cabin windows of the Goliath shone strangely through the dusk of the coming storm. Serge and a crew from the Goliath brought the two men from the Neptune who were ill aboard. Some of them carried a few personal possessions. Most of them had only the clothes they wore but they were thankful to have even those. The last hours aboard the Neptune had been hours of terror with the constant danger of the ice breaking up and dropping them into the depths of the Arctic. With rescue at hand, some of them were almost hysterical with joy. Mathews spoke to Andy. “I know the Arctic,” he said. “Get out of here as soon as you can. This storm is going to be terrific. As soon as the last man is aboard, take off.” Every motor was running smoothly and easily. “Stand by for a quick take off and a run before the storm,” he warned the engineers. “Our lives will depend on you. We’ve got to make time.” Back in one of the cabins the postal clerks were busy cancelling the letters which had been the only pay cargo aboard the Goliath on the polar trip. They were obvious to the dangers of the coming storm and Andy envied them their lack of worry. “Everybody on,” reported Serge. “Let’s go.” “Let’s go,” echoed Andy and the command was flashed back to the engine rooms. The Goliath quivered to the pulsation of the powerful motors. To save time, the steel cables with the grapnels were dropped on the ice and the Goliath shook its nose at the gathering storm as it roared aloft. The take-off had not come a moment too soon. The Goliath had barely turned around and headed south, when the blizzard struck in all its fury. A dry, biting snow enveloped the dirigible and the lights from the cabin windows made only faint glows in the sea of swirling white. With motors turning over at full speed, the Goliath raced due south. But fast though the Goliath traveled, the storm kept pace. Andy was thankful for one thing. The snow was dry. It wouldn’t freeze to the sides and force them down. The air outside was bitter cold and despite the heating system in the gondola, a penetrating chill crept in. “How about the two men who are sick?” Andy asked the explorer. “It’s flu,” replied Mathews. “They’re over the worst of it but so weak they can hardly move. However, if they had been exposed to many hardships, it would have turned into pneumonia and they wouldn’t have had a chance.” Bert had managed to send out a flash on the rescue of the crew of the Neptune and had added that they were running before an Arctic blizzard. This meager information was relayed by the Hopedale station and for hours a waiting world wondered and waited for news of the Goliath and its daring crew. They knew the king of the skies was battling for its life somewhere in the northland; they knew that its commander was ill in a Montreal hospital and they wondered at the stuff of which Andy and his assistants were made. Could they bring the Goliath through the dangers and rigors of a blizzard in the Arctic? Radio stations all over the northland tuned their sensitive ears for some word from the Goliath, but the wall of static had dropped and their calls went unanswered. In the meantime, the Goliath was racing south, its motors on full as it sped through the storm. They were doing a hundred and thirty miles an hour but the snow stayed with them and the cold was even more intense. The great ship was running blind. The only direction was south. Anything to escape the tearing savagery of the Arctic. Serge stood silent at the controls while Andy went on a tour of inspection. The engine crews were getting drowsy from their long vigil and he ordered the steward to serve a hot lunch for everyone. Andy was in the rear of the Goliath, leaving the last engine room, when he heard a peculiar whistling sound. A draft of cold air struck him and he turned quickly toward the tail of the ship, stopping only long enough to get a flashlight from the engine room. He worked his way along the narrow catwalk in the tail. The blast of air was stronger. The beam of his flashlight traced a finger of light through the duralumin girders and cables which formed and controlled the main elevator. The light fastened on one section of the right elevator. There was a great tear in the metalized fabric through which the wind was whistling in an increasing crescendo. Unless the tear was repaired at once, the Goliath would be in grave danger of getting out of control for the opening was growing larger and would soon render the elevators useless. Andy ran back to the engine room where he telephoned Serge to reduce their speed to a minimum. The same call brought Bert and Harry back on the run and another call brought two expert riggers with a roll of the metal cloth and a can of cement, which they heated in the engine room. The chief rigger, Mac Glassgow, looked at the rip in the elevator. “It’s a mean one to fix,” he asserted, “but we’ll do the job.” “We’ve got to,” urged Andy. “It’s growing larger every minute.” “An inside job won’t be so hard,” said Mac, “but to make it stick, it should be patched from the outside.” “There’s no place to land and do that,” protested Bert. “I know, I know,” said Mac, “but an inside patch will never hold.” “You mean someone ought to go up top, lower themselves down on the outside, and make the patch?” asked Andy. Mac nodded. “That’s the ticket,” he said. “I’m a bit too old and stiff or I’d do it in a minute. The Graf Zeppelin’s crew had to do it one time off the Atlantic coast in weather about as bad as this.” “I’ll go up,” replied Andy. “Get the patch ready, Mac. Bert and Harry will come along to lower me away.” Andy’s friends protested that it was a foolhardy attempt, but he refused to listen to them. “We are all in grave danger,” he said. “The attempt must be made. As long as you fellows hang onto the rope I’ll be in no danger.” Other members of the crew were summoned and under Mac’s expert direction a temporary patch was placed inside the elevator fin. While this was being accomplished, Andy prepared for the outside job. A harness of leather straps was rigged around his shoulders and body and to this was attached a strong new one inch rope. Mac had cut the patch to the proper size and the cement had been placed in a double bucket to retain its heat. The motors were turning over just fast enough to give the Goliath steerage way. Andy and his two companions ascended the ladder to the rear right cockpit, from which the commander of the Goliath was to be lowered over the side. The wind was blowing a gale that chilled them instantly. “You’ll freeze to death before you get down to the fin,” said Bert. “I’ll hug this cement pot,” replied Andy. “All set?” Andy slid over the side and Bert and Harry lowered away on the rope. Foot by foot Andy eased down over the smooth side of the Goliath. Twenty, thirty, forty feet he went out and down. Just below he caught the glow of light inside the fin and the outline of the makeshift patch which Mac and his rigger had slapped on inside. The young pilot sprawled flat on the surface of the fin, arms outstretched. The cloth to complete the patch was fastened on his back. With chilled hands he opened the top of the cement pot and seized the brush. The rip in the fin was about twelve feet long and two feet wide. Andy slapped the cement on the back end first, shut the top of the pot, readied for the patch, and put the end in place before the cement had a chance to cool. The Goliath was drifting through the storm and Andy had patched the end of the hole which received the greatest force of the wind. He worked forward carefully, stopping now to apply the cement liberally, then unrolling the patch, and moving ahead another foot to repeat the operation. In the fin beneath, he could hear Mac, the rigger, shouting encouragement. He needed it. He was worn almost to the breaking point by the responsibility which had been on his shoulders ever since the Goliath left the airport at Montreal. Tears froze to his cheeks and he cried aloud at the pain in his cold white hands. His movements were mechanical. Slap on the cement, unroll the patch, slap on the cement, unroll the patch. Suddenly there was no more cement to put on, no more cloth to unroll. The job was done. The danger that the fin might be ripped off by the wind was over. Andy closed his eyes and his numbed hands slipped. There was a sensation of falling and he knew that he was slipping off the fin but he was in a lethargy, unable to help himself. He felt himself dip over the edge of the fin; knew he was falling into the storm and darkness. When he opened his eyes half an hour later he was in the warmth of one of the rear engine rooms. Bert and Harry were beside him. “What happened while I was on the fin?” demanded Andy. “The cold got you,” replied Bert, “and you slipped off. Good thing we had a rope around you.” “Is the fin all right?” Andy asked eagerly. Mac Glassgow, the chief rigger who had remained in the background, stepped up. “Best job of patching I ever saw,” he exclaimed. “We’ll have no more trouble with that fin this trip.” “How’s the storm?” was Andy’s next question. “We’re running out of it now,” replied Harry. “Serge just phoned back that the sky was clearing and it is much warmer.” Despite Andy’s protest, they made him go to bed, and Harry sat down to see that their wishes were enforced. When Andy awoke again the sky had cleared and the Goliath was cruising through brilliant sunshine. The events of the storm were like a nightmare. Serge was still at the controls. He was tired and worn by the long ordeal, but he smiled happily when he saw Andy. Bert came out of the radio room with a sheaf of messages. “I’ve sent out a complete story of our trip,” he informed Andy, “and messages are coming in almost every minute now. Here’s a couple you’ll want.” The first was from Andy’s father, then in Washington. “Have just learned of fine work of yourself and crew of Goliath. I’m proud of you, son.” The other was from Captain Harkins. It read: “Great work, Andy. My congratulations to Bert, Harry and Serge. Many happy landings.” Andy passed the messages along to Harry and Serge, who read them eagerly. “You’ve done a fine piece of work in taking the Goliath into the Arctic and bringing back the Neptune’s crew,” said Harry. “You deserve all the congratulations.” “They’re embarrassing,” grinned Andy, “for you fellows deserve just as much credit as I do.” “We won’t quarrel over that,” said Serge. “Incidentally, if anyone is curious, that point of land to our left is Cape Bismark and that rather inhospitable-looking stretch of ice and snow beyond is King William land.” “Which means nothing at all to me,” replied Bert. “If you could read a chart,” replied Serge lightly, “you’d know that we are now off the east coast of Greenland, proceeding south by west at ninety miles an hour with clear skies and a favoring tail wind. Also, I’m going to bed.” With motors tuned perfectly to their task, the Goliath sped southward toward New York, where it would stop to land the crew of the Neptune. Andy, again at the controls, smiled happily for the Goliath had proved beyond any question that it was master of the elements—king of the skies. THE GO AHEAD BOYS SERIES By ROSS KAY On Smuggler’s Island The Treasure Cave Mysterious Old House In the Island Camp And the Racing Motor And Simon’s Mine These stories will appeal to any boy who is imbued with “The Go Ahead” spirit. Whether on Smuggler’s Island, at Simon’s Mine or in The Treasure Cave, the boys have adventures that are as thrilling as they are unusual. The scene of each volume is laid in some beautiful and historic part of our country. This adds to the interest and value of the stories and makes them doubly attractive. The Goldsmith Publishing Co NEW YORK, N.Y. THE MUSKET BOYS SERIES By GEORGE A WARREN The Musket Boys of Old Boston The Musket Boys Under Washington The Musket Boys on the Delaware Stirring times were these—and stirring deeds made boys into men before their time. Against the picturesque background of the revolutionary war, George A. Warren tells a tale of heroism and patriotism of the boys of long ago who heard the call of their country and rallied to the colors. What trials of valor and responsibilities beyond their years comes to “The Musket Boys” is told in an enthralling manner. The Goldsmith Publishing Co NEW YORK, N.Y. BOOKS for BOYS THE TIM MURPHY SERIES By Graham M. Dean Graham M. Dean is a newspaper editor. He lives and knows how to tell the romance of newspapering. Tim Murphy learns how to fly at the expense of the “Atkinson News” because the editor firmly believes some of the biggest news stories will break above the clouds. Every boy and girl imbued with the spirit of adventure will want to read these books. DARING WINGS SKY TRAIL AIR MONSTER By Edwin Green A story of the world’s largest dirigible and of the dangers in the frozen wastes of the Arctic—a combination sure to provide thrills for every reader. What befalls this “Air Monster” on the Arctic trip is only a part of the smashing action of this great book for boys. EXTRA By George Morse Baffling mystery, startling disappearances, roaring presses, etc., the tenseness of the deadline hour of great newspapers—all these and more are in this book written by a newspaper man in a style every young reader will enjoy. The Goldsmith Publishing Co NEW YORK ALL AMERICAN SPORT SERIES by Harold M. Sherman Harold M. Sherman, one of the most popular authors of boys’ books, needs no introduction to the vast majority of young readers. To boys who like, as every red-blooded boy must, these high type sport stories, we dedicate this series. FOOTBALL . . . INTERFERENCE FOOTBALL . . . IT’S A PASS! FOOTBALL . . . OVER THE LINE BASKETBALL . . . UNDER THE BASKET ICE HOCKEY . . . DOWN THE ICE BASE BALL . . . STRIKE HIM OUT TENNIS . . . THE TENNIS TERROR The Goldsmith Publishing Co. NEW YORK THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES By Captain Quincy Allen The Outdoor Chums On the Lake In the Forest On the Gulf After Big Game On A House Boat In the Big Woods At Cabin Point For lovers of the great outdoors (and what boy is not?) this “Outdoor Chums” series will be a rare treat. After you have read the first book and followed the fortunes of the “Chums,” you will realize the pleasure the other seven volumes have in store for you. These rollicking lads know field, forest, mountain, sea and stream—and the books contain much valuable information on woodcraft and the living of an outdoor life. The Goldsmith Publishing Co. NEW YORK ***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AIR MONSTER*** ******* This file should be named 55965-0.txt or 55965-0.zip ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/5/9/6/55965 Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will be renamed. 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Arguments: xt -- your input data at timestep "t", numpy array of shape (n_x, m). a_prev -- Hidden state at timestep "t-1", numpy array of shape (n_a, m) parameters -- python dictionary containing: Wax -- Weight matrix multiplying the input, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_x) Waa -- Weight matrix multiplying the hidden state, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a) Wya -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) ba -- Bias, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) Returns: a_next -- next hidden state, of shape (n_a, m) yt_pred -- prediction at timestep "t", numpy array of shape (n_y, m) cache -- tuple of values needed for the backward pass, contains (a_next, a_prev, xt, parameters) """ # Retrieve parameters from "parameters" Wax = parameters["Wax"] Waa = parameters["Waa"] Wya = parameters["Wya"] ba = parameters["ba"] by = parameters["by"] a_next = np.tanh(np.dot(Waa, a_prev) + np.dot(Wax, xt) + ba) yt_pred = softmax(np.dot(Wya, a_next) + by) # store values you need for backward propagation in cache cache = (a_next, a_prev, xt, parameters) return a_next, yt_pred, cache def rnn_forward(x, a0, parameters): """ Implement the forward propagation of the recurrent neural network described in Figure (3). Arguments: x -- Input data for every time-step, of shape (n_x, m, T_x). a0 -- Initial hidden state, of shape (n_a, m) parameters -- python dictionary containing: Waa -- Weight matrix multiplying the hidden state, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a) Wax -- Weight matrix multiplying the input, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_x) Wya -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) ba -- Bias numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) Returns: a -- Hidden states for every time-step, numpy array of shape (n_a, m, T_x) y_pred -- Predictions for every time-step, numpy array of shape (n_y, m, T_x) caches -- tuple of values needed for the backward pass, contains (list of caches, x) """ # Initialize "caches" which will contain the list of all caches caches = [] # Retrieve dimensions from shapes of x and parameters["Wya"] n_x, m, T_x = x.shape n_y, n_a = parameters["Wya"].shape # Hidden states have shape: # n_a, m, T_x (hidden dimension, num samples, seq index) a = np.zeros((n_a, m, T_x)) y_pred = np.zeros((n_y, m, T_x)) a_next = a0 # loop over all time-steps for t in range(0, T_x): # Update next hidden state, compute the prediction, get the cache a_next, yt_pred, cache = rnn_cell_forward(x[:,:,t], a_next, parameters) a[:,:,t] = a_next y_pred[:,:,t] = yt_pred caches.append(cache) # store values needed for backward propagation in cache caches = (caches, x) return a, y_pred, caches def lstm_cell_forward(xt, a_prev, c_prev, parameters): """ Implement a single forward step of the LSTM-cell as described in Figure (4) Arguments: xt -- your input data at timestep "t", numpy array of shape (n_x, m). a_prev -- Hidden state at timestep "t-1", numpy array of shape (n_a, m) c_prev -- Memory state at timestep "t-1", numpy array of shape (n_a, m) parameters -- python dictionary containing: Wf -- Weight matrix of the forget gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bf -- Bias of the forget gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wi -- Weight matrix of the update gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bi -- Bias of the update gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wc -- Weight matrix of the first "tanh", numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bc -- Bias of the first "tanh", numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wo -- Weight matrix of the output gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bo -- Bias of the output gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wy -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) Returns: a_next -- next hidden state, of shape (n_a, m) c_next -- next memory state, of shape (n_a, m) yt_pred -- prediction at timestep "t", numpy array of shape (n_y, m) cache -- tuple of values needed for the backward pass, contains (a_next, c_next, a_prev, c_prev, xt, parameters) Note: ft/it/ot stand for the forget/update/output gates, cct stands for the candidate value (c tilde), c stands for the memory value """ # Retrieve parameters from "parameters" Wf = parameters["Wf"] bf = parameters["bf"] Wi = parameters["Wi"] bi = parameters["bi"] Wc = parameters["Wc"] bc = parameters["bc"] Wo = parameters["Wo"] bo = parameters["bo"] Wy = parameters["Wy"] by = parameters["by"] # Retrieve dimensions from shapes of xt and Wy n_x, m = xt.shape n_y, n_a = Wy.shape # Concatenate a_prev and xt concat = np.zeros((n_a + n_x, m)) concat[: n_a, :] = a_prev concat[n_a :, :] = xt # Compute values for ft, it, cct, c_next, ot, a_next using the formulas # given figure (4) ft = sigmoid(np.dot(Wf, concat) + bf) it = sigmoid(np.dot(Wi, concat) + bi) cct = np.tanh(np.dot(Wc, concat) + bc) c_next = ft * c_prev + it * cct ot = sigmoid(np.dot(Wo, concat) + bo) a_next = ot * np.tanh(c_next) yt_pred = softmax(np.dot(Wy, a_next) + by) # store values needed for backward propagation in cache cache = (a_next, c_next, a_prev, c_prev, ft, it, cct, ot, xt, parameters) return a_next, c_next, yt_pred, cache def lstm_forward(x, a0, parameters): """ Implement the forward propagation of the recurrent neural network using an LSTM-cell described in Figure (3). Arguments: x -- Input data for every time-step, of shape (n_x, m, T_x). a0 -- Initial hidden state, of shape (n_a, m) parameters -- python dictionary containing: Wf -- Weight matrix of the forget gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bf -- Bias of the forget gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wi -- Weight matrix of the update gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bi -- Bias of the update gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wc -- Weight matrix of the first "tanh", numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bc -- Bias of the first "tanh", numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wo -- Weight matrix of the output gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a + n_x) bo -- Bias of the output gate, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) Wy -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) Returns: a -- Hidden states for every time-step, numpy array of shape (n_a, m, T_x) y -- Predictions for every time-step, numpy array of shape (n_y, m, T_x) caches -- tuple of values needed for the backward pass, contains (list of all the caches, x) """ # Initialize "caches", which will track the list of all the caches caches = [] # Retrieve dimensions from shapes of x and parameters['Wy'] (≈2 lines) n_x, m, T_x = x.shape n_y, n_a = parameters['Wy'].shape a = np.zeros((n_a, m, T_x)) c = np.zeros((n_a, m, T_x)) y = np.zeros((n_y, m, T_x)) # Initialize a_next and c_next a_next = a0 c_next = np.zeros_like(a_next) # loop over all time-steps for t in range(T_x): # Update next hidden state, next memory state, compute the prediction, # get the cache. a_next, c_next, yt, cache = lstm_cell_forward(x[:,:,t], a_next, c_next, parameters) a[:,:,t] = a_next y[:,:,t] = yt c[:,:,t] = c_next caches.append(cache) # store values needed for backward propagation in cache caches = (caches, x) return a, y, c, caches if __name__ == '__main__': np.random.seed(1) x = np.random.randn(3,10,7) a0 = np.random.randn(5,10) Wf = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) bf = np.random.randn(5,1) Wi = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) bi = np.random.randn(5,1) Wo = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) bo = np.random.randn(5,1) Wc = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) bc = np.random.randn(5,1) Wy = np.random.randn(2,5) by = np.random.randn(2,1) parameters = {"Wf": Wf, "Wi": Wi, "Wo": Wo, "Wc": Wc, "Wy": Wy, "bf": bf, "bi": bi, "bo": bo, "bc": bc, "by": by} a, y, c, caches = lstm_forward(x, a0, parameters) print("a[4][3][6] = ", a[4][3][6]) print("a.shape = ", a.shape) print("y[1][4][3] =", y[1][4][3]) print("y.shape = ", y.shape) print("caches[1][1[1]] =", caches[1][1][1]) print("c[1][2][1]", c[1][2][1]) print("len(caches) = ", len(caches)) #np.random.seed(1) #xt = np.random.randn(3,10) #a_prev = np.random.randn(5,10) #c_prev = np.random.randn(5,10) #Wf = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) #bf = np.random.randn(5,1) #Wi = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) #bi = np.random.randn(5,1) #Wo = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) #bo = np.random.randn(5,1) #Wc = np.random.randn(5, 5+3) #bc = np.random.randn(5,1) #Wy = np.random.randn(2,5) #by = np.random.randn(2,1) #parameters = {"Wf": Wf, "Wi": Wi, "Wo": Wo, "Wc": Wc, "Wy": Wy, "bf": bf, "bi": bi, "bo": bo, "bc": bc, "by": by} #a_next, c_next, yt, cache = lstm_cell_forward(xt, a_prev, c_prev, parameters) #print("a_next[4] = ", a_next[4]) #print("a_next.shape = ", c_next.shape) #print("c_next[2] = ", c_next[2]) #print("c_next.shape = ", c_next.shape) #print("yt[1] =", yt[1]) #print("yt.shape = ", yt.shape) #print("cache[1][3] =", cache[1][3]) #print("len(cache) = ", len(cache)) ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/rnn_provided.py ================================================ import numpy as np def softmax(x): e_x = np.exp(x - np.max(x)) return e_x / e_x.sum(axis=0) def smooth(loss, cur_loss): return loss * 0.999 + cur_loss * 0.001 def print_sample(sample_ix, ix_to_char): txt = ''.join(ix_to_char[ix] for ix in sample_ix) txt = txt[0].upper() + txt[1:] # capitalize first character print ('%s' % (txt, ), end='') def get_initial_loss(vocab_size, seq_length): return -np.log(1.0/vocab_size)*seq_length def softmax(x): e_x = np.exp(x - np.max(x)) return e_x / e_x.sum(axis=0) def initialize_parameters(n_a, n_x, n_y): """ Initialize parameters with small random values Returns: parameters -- python dictionary containing: Wax -- Weight matrix multiplying the input, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_x) Waa -- Weight matrix multiplying the hidden state, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a) Wya -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) b -- Bias, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) """ np.random.seed(1) Wax = np.random.randn(n_a, n_x)*0.01 # input to hidden Waa = np.random.randn(n_a, n_a)*0.01 # hidden to hidden Wya = np.random.randn(n_y, n_a)*0.01 # hidden to output b = np.zeros((n_a, 1)) # hidden bias by = np.zeros((n_y, 1)) # output bias parameters = {"Wax": Wax, "Waa": Waa, "Wya": Wya, "b": b,"by": by} return parameters def rnn_step_forward(parameters, a_prev, x): Waa, Wax, Wya, by, b = parameters['Waa'], parameters['Wax'], parameters['Wya'], parameters['by'], parameters['b'] a_next = np.tanh(np.dot(Wax, x) + np.dot(Waa, a_prev) + b) # hidden state p_t = softmax(np.dot(Wya, a_next) + by) # unnormalized log probabilities for next chars # probabilities for next chars return a_next, p_t def rnn_step_backward(dy, gradients, parameters, x, a, a_prev): gradients['dWya'] += np.dot(dy, a.T) gradients['dby'] += dy da = np.dot(parameters['Wya'].T, dy) + gradients['da_next'] # backprop into h daraw = (1 - a * a) * da # backprop through tanh nonlinearity gradients['db'] += daraw gradients['dWax'] += np.dot(daraw, x.T) gradients['dWaa'] += np.dot(daraw, a_prev.T) gradients['da_next'] = np.dot(parameters['Waa'].T, daraw) return gradients def update_parameters(parameters, gradients, lr): parameters['Wax'] += -lr * gradients['dWax'] parameters['Waa'] += -lr * gradients['dWaa'] parameters['Wya'] += -lr * gradients['dWya'] parameters['b'] += -lr * gradients['db'] parameters['by'] += -lr * gradients['dby'] return parameters def rnn_forward(X, Y, a0, parameters, vocab_size = 27): # Initialize x, a and y_hat as empty dictionaries x, a, y_hat = {}, {}, {} a[-1] = np.copy(a0) # initialize your loss to 0 loss = 0 for t in range(len(X)): # Set x[t] to be the one-hot vector representation of the t'th character in X. # if X[t] == None, we just have x[t]=0. This is used to set the input for the first timestep to the zero vector. x[t] = np.zeros((vocab_size,1)) if (X[t] != None): x[t][X[t]] = 1 # Run one step forward of the RNN a[t], y_hat[t] = rnn_step_forward(parameters, a[t-1], x[t]) # Update the loss by substracting the cross-entropy term of this time-step from it. loss -= np.log(y_hat[t][Y[t],0]) cache = (y_hat, a, x) return loss, cache def rnn_backward(X, Y, parameters, cache): # Initialize gradients as an empty dictionary gradients = {} # Retrieve from cache and parameters (y_hat, a, x) = cache Waa, Wax, Wya, by, b = parameters['Waa'], parameters['Wax'], parameters['Wya'], parameters['by'], parameters['b'] # each one should be initialized to zeros of the same dimension as its corresponding parameter gradients['dWax'], gradients['dWaa'], gradients['dWya'] = np.zeros_like(Wax), np.zeros_like(Waa), np.zeros_like(Wya) gradients['db'], gradients['dby'] = np.zeros_like(b), np.zeros_like(by) gradients['da_next'] = np.zeros_like(a[0]) ### START CODE HERE ### # Backpropagate through time for t in reversed(range(len(X))): dy = np.copy(y_hat[t]) dy[Y[t]] -= 1 gradients = rnn_step_backward(dy, gradients, parameters, x[t], a[t], a[t-1]) ### END CODE HERE ### return gradients, a ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/rnn_utils.py ================================================ import numpy as np def softmax(x): e_x = np.exp(x - np.max(x)) return e_x / e_x.sum(axis=0) def sigmoid(x): return 1 / (1 + np.exp(-x)) def initialize_adam(parameters) : """ Initializes v and s as two python dictionaries with: - keys: "dW1", "db1", ..., "dWL", "dbL" - values: numpy arrays of zeros of the same shape as the corresponding gradients/parameters. Arguments: parameters -- python dictionary containing your parameters. parameters["W" + str(l)] = Wl parameters["b" + str(l)] = bl Returns: v -- python dictionary that will contain the exponentially weighted average of the gradient. v["dW" + str(l)] = ... v["db" + str(l)] = ... s -- python dictionary that will contain the exponentially weighted average of the squared gradient. s["dW" + str(l)] = ... s["db" + str(l)] = ... """ L = len(parameters) // 2 # number of layers in the neural networks v = {} s = {} # Initialize v, s. Input: "parameters". Outputs: "v, s". for l in range(L): ### START CODE HERE ### (approx. 4 lines) v["dW" + str(l+1)] = np.zeros(parameters["W" + str(l+1)].shape) v["db" + str(l+1)] = np.zeros(parameters["b" + str(l+1)].shape) s["dW" + str(l+1)] = np.zeros(parameters["W" + str(l+1)].shape) s["db" + str(l+1)] = np.zeros(parameters["b" + str(l+1)].shape) ### END CODE HERE ### return v, s def update_parameters_with_adam(parameters, grads, v, s, t, learning_rate = 0.01, beta1 = 0.9, beta2 = 0.999, epsilon = 1e-8): """ Update parameters using Adam Arguments: parameters -- python dictionary containing your parameters: parameters['W' + str(l)] = Wl parameters['b' + str(l)] = bl grads -- python dictionary containing your gradients for each parameters: grads['dW' + str(l)] = dWl grads['db' + str(l)] = dbl v -- Adam variable, moving average of the first gradient, python dictionary s -- Adam variable, moving average of the squared gradient, python dictionary learning_rate -- the learning rate, scalar. beta1 -- Exponential decay hyperparameter for the first moment estimates beta2 -- Exponential decay hyperparameter for the second moment estimates epsilon -- hyperparameter preventing division by zero in Adam updates Returns: parameters -- python dictionary containing your updated parameters v -- Adam variable, moving average of the first gradient, python dictionary s -- Adam variable, moving average of the squared gradient, python dictionary """ L = len(parameters) // 2 # number of layers in the neural networks v_corrected = {} # Initializing first moment estimate, python dictionary s_corrected = {} # Initializing second moment estimate, python dictionary # Perform Adam update on all parameters for l in range(L): # Moving average of the gradients. Inputs: "v, grads, beta1". Output: "v". ### START CODE HERE ### (approx. 2 lines) v["dW" + str(l+1)] = beta1 * v["dW" + str(l+1)] + (1 - beta1) * grads["dW" + str(l+1)] v["db" + str(l+1)] = beta1 * v["db" + str(l+1)] + (1 - beta1) * grads["db" + str(l+1)] ### END CODE HERE ### # Compute bias-corrected first moment estimate. Inputs: "v, beta1, t". Output: "v_corrected". ### START CODE HERE ### (approx. 2 lines) v_corrected["dW" + str(l+1)] = v["dW" + str(l+1)] / (1 - beta1**t) v_corrected["db" + str(l+1)] = v["db" + str(l+1)] / (1 - beta1**t) ### END CODE HERE ### # Moving average of the squared gradients. Inputs: "s, grads, beta2". Output: "s". ### START CODE HERE ### (approx. 2 lines) s["dW" + str(l+1)] = beta2 * s["dW" + str(l+1)] + (1 - beta2) * (grads["dW" + str(l+1)] ** 2) s["db" + str(l+1)] = beta2 * s["db" + str(l+1)] + (1 - beta2) * (grads["db" + str(l+1)] ** 2) ### END CODE HERE ### # Compute bias-corrected second raw moment estimate. Inputs: "s, beta2, t". Output: "s_corrected". ### START CODE HERE ### (approx. 2 lines) s_corrected["dW" + str(l+1)] = s["dW" + str(l+1)] / (1 - beta2 ** t) s_corrected["db" + str(l+1)] = s["db" + str(l+1)] / (1 - beta2 ** t) ### END CODE HERE ### # Update parameters. Inputs: "parameters, learning_rate, v_corrected, s_corrected, epsilon". Output: "parameters". ### START CODE HERE ### (approx. 2 lines) parameters["W" + str(l+1)] = parameters["W" + str(l+1)] - learning_rate * v_corrected["dW" + str(l+1)] / np.sqrt(s_corrected["dW" + str(l+1)] + epsilon) parameters["b" + str(l+1)] = parameters["b" + str(l+1)] - learning_rate * v_corrected["db" + str(l+1)] / np.sqrt(s_corrected["db" + str(l+1)] + epsilon) ### END CODE HERE ### return parameters, v, s ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/shakespeare.txt ================================================ THE SONNETS by William Shakespeare 1 From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 2 When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a tattered weed of small worth held: Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; To say within thine own deep sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse' Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. 3 Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, Now is the time that face should form another, Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, Of his self-love to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime, So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. But if thou live remembered not to be, Die single and thine image dies with thee. 4 Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free: Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer why dost thou use So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? For having traffic with thy self alone, Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive, Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, Which used lives th' executor to be. 5 Those hours that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell Will play the tyrants to the very same, And that unfair which fairly doth excel: For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there, Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where: Then were not summer's distillation left A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it nor no remembrance what it was. But flowers distilled though they with winter meet, Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet. 6 Then let not winter's ragged hand deface, In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place, With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed: That use is not forbidden usury, Which happies those that pay the willing loan; That's for thy self to breed another thee, Or ten times happier be it ten for one, Ten times thy self were happier than thou art, If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, Leaving thee living in posterity? Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair, To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. 7 Lo in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty, And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage: But when from highmost pitch with weary car, Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are From his low tract and look another way: So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon: Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. 8 Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly, Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear: Mark how one string sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'. 9 Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, That thou consum'st thy self in single life? Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, The world will be thy widow and still weep, That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When every private widow well may keep, By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind: Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, And kept unused the user so destroys it: No love toward others in that bosom sits That on himself such murd'rous shame commits. 10 For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any Who for thy self art so unprovident. Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lov'st is most evident: For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate, That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which to repair should be thy chief desire: O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove, Make thee another self for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 11 As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st, In one of thine, from that which thou departest, And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest, Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, Without this folly, age, and cold decay, If all were minded so, the times should cease, And threescore year would make the world away: Let those whom nature hath not made for store, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more; Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. 12 When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silvered o'er with white: When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd And summer's green all girded up in sheaves Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: Then of thy beauty do I question make That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow, And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence. 13 O that you were your self, but love you are No longer yours, than you your self here live, Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination, then you were Your self again after your self's decease, When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold, Against the stormy gusts of winter's day And barren rage of death's eternal cold? O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know, You had a father, let your son say so. 14 Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good, or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality, Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell; Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find. But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And constant stars in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert: Or else of thee this I prognosticate, Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 15 When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment. That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment. When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky: Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory. Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful time debateth with decay To change your day of youth to sullied night, And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 16 But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time? And fortify your self in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live your self in eyes of men. To give away your self, keeps your self still, And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill. 17 Who will believe my verse in time to come If it were filled with your most high deserts? Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say this poet lies, Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces. So should my papers (yellowed with their age) Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be termed a poet's rage, And stretched metre of an antique song. But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme. 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed, And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 19 Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood, Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood, Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st, And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time To the wide world and all her fading sweets: But I forbid thee one most heinous crime, O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen, Him in thy course untainted do allow, For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young. 20 A woman's face with nature's own hand painted, Hast thou the master mistress of my passion, A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change as is false women's fashion, An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling: Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth, A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created, Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. 21 So is it not with me as with that muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven it self for ornament doth use, And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems: With April's first-born flowers and all things rare, That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. O let me true in love but truly write, And then believe me, my love is as fair, As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air: Let them say more that like of hearsay well, I will not praise that purpose not to sell. 22 My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date, But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me, How can I then be elder than thou art? O therefore love be of thyself so wary, As I not for my self, but for thee will, Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain, Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again. 23 As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I for fear of trust, forget to say, The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might: O let my looks be then the eloquence, And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. O learn to read what silent love hath writ, To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 24 Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled, Thy beauty's form in table of my heart, My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, And perspective it is best painter's art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies, Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes: Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done, Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not the heart. 25 Let those who are in favour with their stars, Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlooked for joy in that I honour most; Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread, But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foiled, Is from the book of honour razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: Then happy I that love and am beloved Where I may not remove nor be removed. 26 Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit; To thee I send this written embassage To witness duty, not to show my wit. Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it; But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it: Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, Points on me graciously with fair aspect, And puts apparel on my tattered loving, To show me worthy of thy sweet respect, Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. 27 Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear respose for limbs with travel tired, But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired. For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see. Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night) Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for my self, no quiet find. 28 How can I then return in happy plight That am debarred the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night, But day by night and night by day oppressed. And each (though enemies to either's reign) Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day to please him thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: So flatter I the swart-complexioned night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger 29 When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon my self and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least, Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate, For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 30 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow) For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe, And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee (dear friend) All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 31 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead, And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear, But things removed that hidden in thee lie. Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many, now is thine alone. Their images I loved, I view in thee, And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 32 If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover: Compare them with the bett'ring of the time, And though they be outstripped by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought, 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'. 33 Full many a glorious morning have I seen, Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green; Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy: Anon permit the basest clouds to ride, With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendour on my brow, But out alack, he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath masked him from me now. Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth, Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. 34 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak, That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief, Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss, Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence's cross. Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 35 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, My self corrupting salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, Thy adverse party is thy advocate, And 'gainst my self a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessary needs must be, To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. 36 Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name: But do not so, I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 37 As a decrepit father takes delight, To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store: So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, That I in thy abundance am sufficed, And by a part of all thy glory live: Look what is best, that best I wish in thee, This wish I have, then ten times happy me. 38 How can my muse want subject to invent While thou dost breathe that pour'st into my verse, Thine own sweet argument, too excellent, For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O give thy self the thanks if aught in me, Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thy self dost give invention light? Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine which rhymers invocate, And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal numbers to outlive long date. If my slight muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 39 O how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring: And what is't but mine own when I praise thee? Even for this, let us divided live, And our dear love lose name of single one, That by this separation I may give: That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone: O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove, Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, To entertain the time with thoughts of love, Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive. And that thou teachest how to make one twain, By praising him here who doth hence remain. 40 Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all, What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more: Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest, But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest By wilful taste of what thy self refusest. I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief Although thou steal thee all my poverty: And yet love knows it is a greater grief To bear greater wrong, than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. 41 Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed. And when a woman woos, what woman's son, Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth, Who lead thee in their riot even there Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth: Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, Thine by thy beauty being false to me. 42 That thou hast her it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly, That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye, Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her, And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss, Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross, But here's the joy, my friend and I are one, Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone. 43 When most I wink then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected, But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright How would thy shadow's form, form happy show, To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made, By looking on thee in the living day, When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade, Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. 44 If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way, For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote, where thou dost stay, No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, As soon as think the place where he would be. But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, But that so much of earth and water wrought, I must attend, time's leisure with my moan. Receiving nought by elements so slow, But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. 45 The other two, slight air, and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide, The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone, Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy. Until life's composition be recured, By those swift messengers returned from thee, Who even but now come back again assured, Of thy fair health, recounting it to me. This told, I joy, but then no longer glad, I send them back again and straight grow sad. 46 Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight, Mine eye, my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right, My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes) But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To side this title is impanelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part. As thus, mine eye's due is thy outward part, And my heart's right, thy inward love of heart. 47 Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other, When that mine eye is famished for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother; With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart: Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part. So either by thy picture or my love, Thy self away, art present still with me, For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them, and they with thee. Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight. 48 How careful was I when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not locked up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my breast, From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part, And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear, For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 49 Against that time (if ever that time come) When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Called to that audit by advised respects, Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, When love converted from the thing it was Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Against that time do I ensconce me here Within the knowledge of mine own desert, And this my hand, against my self uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part, To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws, Since why to love, I can allege no cause. 50 How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek (my weary travel's end) Doth teach that case and that repose to say 'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.' The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider loved not speed being made from thee: The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side, For that same groan doth put this in my mind, My grief lies onward and my joy behind. 51 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? Till I return of posting is no need. O what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, In winged speed no motion shall I know, Then can no horse with my desire keep pace, Therefore desire (of perfect'st love being made) Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race, But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade, Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. 52 So am I as the rich whose blessed key, Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming in that long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special-blest, By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope. 53 What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one, hath every one, one shade, And you but one, can every shadow lend: Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, Is poorly imitated after you, On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear, And you in every blessed shape we know. In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you for constant heart. 54 O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live: The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwooed, and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth. 55 Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn: The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So till the judgment that your self arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 56 Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allayed, To-morrow sharpened in his former might. So love be thou, although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness: Let this sad interim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted new, Come daily to the banks, that when they see: Return of love, more blest may be the view. Or call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. 57 Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servant once adieu. Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But like a sad slave stay and think of nought Save where you are, how happy you make those. So true a fool is love, that in your will, (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. 58 That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. O let me suffer (being at your beck) Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty, And patience tame to sufferance bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong, That you your self may privilage your time To what you will, to you it doth belong, Your self to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. 59 If there be nothing new, but that which is, Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which labouring for invention bear amis The second burthen of a former child! O that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done. That I might see what the old world could say, To this composed wonder of your frame, Whether we are mended, or whether better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O sure I am the wits of former days, To subjects worse have given admiring praise. 60 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 61 Is it thy will, thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? O no, thy love though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, To play the watchman ever for thy sake. For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near. 62 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account, And for my self mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me my self indeed beated and chopt with tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read: Self, so self-loving were iniquity. 'Tis thee (my self) that for my self I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. 63 Against my love shall be as I am now With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn, When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn Hath travelled on to age's steepy night, And all those beauties whereof now he's king Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring: For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shall live, and he in them still green. 64 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age, When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage. When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store. When I have seen such interchange of State, Or state it self confounded, to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death which cannot choose But weep to have, that which it fears to lose. 65 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out, Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays? O fearful meditation, where alack, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 66 Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill. Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die, I leave my love alone. 67 Ah wherefore with infection should he live, And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve, And lace it self with his society? Why should false painting imitate his cheek, And steal dead seeming of his living hue? Why should poor beauty indirectly seek, Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is, Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins, For she hath no exchequer now but his, And proud of many, lives upon his gains? O him she stores, to show what wealth she had, In days long since, before these last so bad. 68 Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow: Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, To live a second life on second head, Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: In him those holy antique hours are seen, Without all ornament, it self and true, Making no summer of another's green, Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, And him as for a map doth Nature store, To show false Art what beauty was of yore. 69 Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned, But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, In other accents do this praise confound By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. They look into the beauty of thy mind, And that in guess they measure by thy deeds, Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind) To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. 70 That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair, The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve, Thy worth the greater being wooed of time, For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days, Either not assailed, or victor being charged, Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, To tie up envy, evermore enlarged, If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. 71 No longer mourn for me when I am dead, Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: Nay if you read this line, remember not, The hand that writ it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. O if (I say) you look upon this verse, When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; But let your love even with my life decay. Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone. 72 O lest the world should task you to recite, What merit lived in me that you should love After my death (dear love) forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove. Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To do more for me than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I, Than niggard truth would willingly impart: O lest your true love may seem false in this, That you for love speak well of me untrue, My name be buried where my body is, And live no more to shame nor me, nor you. For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, And so should you, to love things nothing worth. 73 That time of year thou mayst in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. 74 But be contented when that fell arrest, Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. When thou reviewest this, thou dost review, The very part was consecrate to thee, The earth can have but earth, which is his due, My spirit is thine the better part of me, So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, The prey of worms, my body being dead, The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, Too base of thee to be remembered, The worth of that, is that which it contains, And that is this, and this with thee remains. 75 So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found. Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, Now counting best to be with you alone, Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure, Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, And by and by clean starved for a look, Possessing or pursuing no delight Save what is had, or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 76 Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? O know sweet love I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument: So all my best is dressing old words new, Spending again what is already spent: For as the sun is daily new and old, So is my love still telling what is told. 77 Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste, These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, Of mouthed graves will give thee memory, Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know, Time's thievish progress to eternity. Look what thy memory cannot contain, Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 78 So oft have I invoked thee for my muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, As every alien pen hath got my use, And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learned's wing, And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine, and born of thee, In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be. But thou art all my art, and dost advance As high as learning, my rude ignorance. 79 Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, But now my gracious numbers are decayed, And my sick muse doth give an other place. I grant (sweet love) thy lovely argument Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, He robs thee of, and pays it thee again, He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word, From thy behaviour, beauty doth he give And found it in thy cheek: he can afford No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. Then thank him not for that which he doth say, Since what he owes thee, thou thy self dost pay. 80 O how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might, To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame. But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, My saucy bark (inferior far to his) On your broad main doth wilfully appear. Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride, Or (being wrecked) I am a worthless boat, He of tall building, and of goodly pride. Then if he thrive and I be cast away, The worst was this, my love was my decay. 81 Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I (once gone) to all the world must die, The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie, Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, When all the breathers of this world are dead, You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. 82 I grant thou wert not married to my muse, And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject, blessing every book. Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, And therefore art enforced to seek anew, Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. And do so love, yet when they have devised, What strained touches rhetoric can lend, Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathized, In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend. And their gross painting might be better used, Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused. 83 I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to your fair no painting set, I found (or thought I found) you did exceed, That barren tender of a poet's debt: And therefore have I slept in your report, That you your self being extant well might show, How far a modern quill doth come too short, Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. This silence for my sin you did impute, Which shall be most my glory being dumb, For I impair not beauty being mute, When others would give life, and bring a tomb. There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, Than both your poets can in praise devise. 84 Who is it that says most, which can say more, Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you? In whose confine immured is the store, Which should example where your equal grew. Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, That to his subject lends not some small glory, But he that writes of you, if he can tell, That you are you, so dignifies his story. Let him but copy what in you is writ, Not making worse what nature made so clear, And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, Making his style admired every where. You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. 85 My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden quill, And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen, To every hymn that able spirit affords, In polished form of well refined pen. Hearing you praised, I say 'tis so, 'tis true, And to the most of praise add something more, But that is in my thought, whose love to you (Though words come hindmost) holds his rank before, Then others, for the breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 86 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither he, nor his compeers by night Giving him aid, my verse astonished. He nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, As victors of my silence cannot boast, I was not sick of any fear from thence. But when your countenance filled up his line, Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine. 87 Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate, The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing: My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting, And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking, So thy great gift upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgement making. Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. 88 When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, And place my merit in the eye of scorn, Upon thy side, against my self I'll fight, And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn: With mine own weakness being best acquainted, Upon thy part I can set down a story Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted: That thou in losing me, shalt win much glory: And I by this will be a gainer too, For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, The injuries that to my self I do, Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong. 89 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, And I will comment upon that offence, Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt: Against thy reasons making no defence. Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill, To set a form upon desired change, As I'll my self disgrace, knowing thy will, I will acquaintance strangle and look strange: Be absent from thy walks and in my tongue, Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, Lest I (too much profane) should do it wronk: And haply of our old acquaintance tell. For thee, against my self I'll vow debate, For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 90 Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now, Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss: Ah do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquered woe, Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, When other petty griefs have done their spite, But in the onset come, so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortune's might. And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so. 91 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, Some in their garments though new-fangled ill: Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse. And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, Wherein it finds a joy above the rest, But these particulars are not my measure, All these I better in one general best. Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs, Of more delight than hawks and horses be: And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take, All this away, and me most wretchcd make. 92 But do thy worst to steal thy self away, For term of life thou art assured mine, And life no longer than thy love will stay, For it depends upon that love of thine. Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, When in the least of them my life hath end, I see, a better state to me belongs Than that, which on thy humour doth depend. Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie, O what a happy title do I find, Happy to have thy love, happy to die! But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. 93 So shall I live, supposing thou art true, Like a deceived husband, so love's face, May still seem love to me, though altered new: Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place. For there can live no hatred in thine eye, Therefore in that I cannot know thy change, In many's looks, the false heart's history Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. But heaven in thy creation did decree, That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell, Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be, Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell. How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show. 94 They that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing, they most do show, Who moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow: They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense, Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces, Others, but stewards of their excellence: The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to it self, it only live and die, But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds, Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds. 95 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, Which like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! That tongue that tells the story of thy days, (Making lascivious comments on thy sport) Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise, Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. O what a mansion have those vices got, Which for their habitation chose out thee, Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, And all things turns to fair, that eyes can see! Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege, The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. 96 Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport, Both grace and faults are loved of more and less: Thou mak'st faults graces, that to thee resort: As on the finger of a throned queen, The basest jewel will be well esteemed: So are those errors that in thee are seen, To truths translated, and for true things deemed. How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, If like a lamb he could his looks translate! How many gazers mightst thou lead away, if thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! But do not so, I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 97 How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time, The teeming autumn big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seemed to me But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit, For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And thou away, the very birds are mute. Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 98 From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim) Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing: That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell: Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, They were but sweet, but figures of delight: Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, As with your shadow I with these did play. 99 The forward violet thus did I chide, Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells, In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. The lily I condemned for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair, The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair: A third nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both, And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, But for his theft in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee. 100 Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long, To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem, In gentle numbers time so idly spent, Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Rise resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, If time have any wrinkle graven there, If any, be a satire to decay, And make time's spoils despised everywhere. Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. 101 O truant Muse what shall be thy amends, For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Both truth and beauty on my love depends: So dost thou too, and therein dignified: Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, 'Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay: But best is best, if never intermixed'? Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee, To make him much outlive a gilded tomb: And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how, To make him seem long hence, as he shows now. 102 My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming, I love not less, though less the show appear, That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming, The owner's tongue doth publish every where. Our love was new, and then but in the spring, When I was wont to greet it with my lays, As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: Not that the summer is less pleasant now Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, But that wild music burthens every bough, And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue: Because I would not dull you with my song. 103 Alack what poverty my muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside. O blame me not if I no more can write! Look in your glass and there appears a face, That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful then striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend, Than of your graces and your gifts to tell. And more, much more than in my verse can sit, Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. 104 To me fair friend you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold, Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned, In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived, So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred, Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 105 Let not my love be called idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still constant in a wondrous excellence, Therefore my verse to constancy confined, One thing expressing, leaves out difference. Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words, And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone. Which three till now, never kept seat in one. 106 When in the chronicle of wasted time, I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have expressed, Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring, And for they looked but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 107 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul, Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, And the sad augurs mock their own presage, Incertainties now crown themselves assured, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time, My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 108 What's in the brain that ink may character, Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit, What's new to speak, what now to register, That may express my love, or thy dear merit? Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine, I must each day say o'er the very same, Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. So that eternal love in love's fresh case, Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page, Finding the first conceit of love there bred, Where time and outward form would show it dead. 109 O never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, As easy might I from my self depart, As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love, if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, So that my self bring water for my stain, Never believe though in my nature reigned, All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stained, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all. 110 Alas 'tis true, I have gone here and there, And made my self a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new. Most true it is, that I have looked on truth Askance and strangely: but by all above, These blenches gave my heart another youth, And worse essays proved thee my best of love. Now all is done, have what shall have no end, Mine appetite I never more will grind On newer proof, to try an older friend, A god in love, to whom I am confined. Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 111 O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide, Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: Pity me then, and wish I were renewed, Whilst like a willing patient I will drink, Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection, No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance to correct correction. Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye, Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 112 Your love and pity doth th' impression fill, Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow, For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all the world, and I must strive, To know my shames and praises from your tongue, None else to me, nor I to none alive, That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong. In so profound abysm I throw all care Of others' voices, that my adder's sense, To critic and to flatterer stopped are: Mark how with my neglect I do dispense. You are so strongly in my purpose bred, That all the world besides methinks are dead. 113 Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, And that which governs me to go about, Doth part his function, and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out: For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch, Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night: The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 114 Or whether doth my mind being crowned with you Drink up the monarch's plague this flattery? Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, And that your love taught it this alchemy? To make of monsters, and things indigest, Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, Creating every bad a perfect best As fast as objects to his beams assemble: O 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing, And my great mind most kingly drinks it up, Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing, And to his palate doth prepare the cup. If it be poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin, That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. 115 Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer, Yet then my judgment knew no reason why, My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer, But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, Divert strong minds to the course of alt'ring things: Alas why fearing of time's tyranny, Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,' When I was certain o'er incertainty, Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Love is a babe, then might I not say so To give full growth to that which still doth grow. 116 Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments, love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no, it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come, Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom: If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 117 Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all, Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day, That I have frequent been with unknown minds, And given to time your own dear-purchased right, That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise, accumulate, Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. 118 Like as to make our appetite more keen With eager compounds we our palate urge, As to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun sickness when we purge. Even so being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; And sick of welfare found a kind of meetness, To be diseased ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love t' anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, And brought to medicine a healthful state Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured. But thence I learn and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so feil sick of you. 119 What potions have I drunk of Siren tears Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw my self to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted In the distraction of this madding fever! O benefit of ill, now I find true That better is, by evil still made better. And ruined love when it is built anew Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuked to my content, And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent. 120 That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. For if you were by my unkindness shaken As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time, And I a tyrant have no leisure taken To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. O that our night of woe might have remembered My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, And soon to you, as you to me then tendered The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! But that your trespass now becomes a fee, Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. 121 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. For why should others' false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good? No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses, reckon up their own, I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad and in their badness reign. 122 Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full charactered with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain Beyond all date even to eternity. Or at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist, Till each to razed oblivion yield his part Of thee, thy record never can be missed: That poor retention could not so much hold, Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score, Therefore to give them from me was I bold, To trust those tables that receive thee more: To keep an adjunct to remember thee Were to import forgetfulness in me. 123 No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change, Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange, They are but dressings Of a former sight: Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire, What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them born to our desire, Than think that we before have heard them told: Thy registers and thee I both defy, Not wond'ring at the present, nor the past, For thy records, and what we see doth lie, Made more or less by thy continual haste: This I do vow and this shall ever be, I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. 124 If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, As subject to time's love or to time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. No it was builded far from accident, It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy that heretic, Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. 125 Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Lose all, and more by paying too much rent For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent? No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul When most impeached, stands least in thy control. 126 O thou my lovely boy who in thy power, Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour: Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st, Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st. If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack) As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure, She may detain, but not still keep her treasure! Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, And her quietus is to render thee. 127 In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were it bore not beauty's name: But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slandered with a bastard shame, For since each hand hath put on nature's power, Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name no holy bower, But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem, At such who not born fair no beauty lack, Slandering creation with a false esteem, Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so. 128 How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand. To be so tickled they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more blest than living lips, Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 129 Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action, and till action, lust Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad. Mad in pursuit and in possession so, Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme, A bliss in proof and proved, a very woe, Before a joy proposed behind a dream. All this the world well knows yet none knows well, To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 130 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, Coral is far more red, than her lips red, If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun: If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head: I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks, And in some perfumes is there more delight, Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet by heaven I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare. 131 Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; To say they err, I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to my self alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander as I think proceeds. 132 Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even Doth half that glory to the sober west As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 133 Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engrossed, Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken, A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed: Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail, Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard, Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol. And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, Perforce am thine and all that is in me. 134 So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous, and he is kind, He learned but surety-like to write for me, Under that bond that him as fist doth bind. The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use, And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake, So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. 135 Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus, More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store, So thou being rich in will add to thy will One will of mine to make thy large will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill, Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.' 136 If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will', And will thy soul knows is admitted there, Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil. 'Will', will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one, In things of great receipt with case we prove, Among a number one is reckoned none. Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store's account I one must be, For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold, That nothing me, a something sweet to thee. Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lov'st me for my name is Will. 137 Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That they behold and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot, Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not To put fair truth upon so foul a face? In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this false plague are they now transferred. 138 When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutored youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue, On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old? O love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love, loves not to have years told. Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flattered be. 139 O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art, Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside, What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide? Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows, Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, And therefore from my face she turns my foes, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. 140 Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit better it were, Though not to love, yet love to tell me so, As testy sick men when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know. For if I should despair I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee, Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. 141 In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note, But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. Nor are mine cars with thy tongue's tune delighted, Nor tender feeling to base touches prone, Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone: But my five wits, nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. 142 Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, O but with mine, compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments, And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov'st those, Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee, Root pity in thy heart that when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied. 143 Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch, One of her feathered creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay: Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent, To follow that which flies before her face: Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind, But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me: And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind. So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, If thou turn back and my loud crying still. 144 Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still, The better angel is a man right fair: The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. To win me soon to hell my female evil, Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil: Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turned fiend, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell, But being both from me both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell. Yet this shall I ne'er know but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 145 Those lips that Love's own hand did make, Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate', To me that languished for her sake: But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet, Was used in giving gentle doom: And taught it thus anew to greet: 'I hate' she altered with an end, That followed it as gentle day, Doth follow night who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away. 'I hate', from hate away she threw, And saved my life saying 'not you'. 146 Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth, My sinful earth these rebel powers array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms inheritors of this excess Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then soul live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more, So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then. 147 My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please: My reason the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest, My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, At random from the truth vainly expressed. For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 148 O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight, Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote, Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, How can it? O how can love's eye be true, That is so vexed with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view, The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears. O cunning love, with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 149 Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not, When I against my self with thee partake? Do I not think on thee when I forgot Am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon, Nay if thou lour'st on me do I not spend Revenge upon my self with present moan? What merit do I in my self respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? But love hate on for now I know thy mind, Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. 150 O from what power hast thou this powerful might, With insufficiency my heart to sway, To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds, There is such strength and warrantise of skill, That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O though I love what others do abhor, With others thou shouldst not abhor my state. If thy unworthiness raised love in me, More worthy I to be beloved of thee. 151 Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. For thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason, My soul doth tell my body that he may, Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee, As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. No want of conscience hold it that I call, Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 152 In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing, In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing: But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjured most, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee: And all my honest faith in thee is lost. For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness: Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see. For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I, To swear against the truth so foul a be. 153 Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep, A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground: Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively heat still to endure, And grew a seeting bath which yet men prove, Against strange maladies a sovereign cure: But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast, I sick withal the help of bath desired, And thither hied a sad distempered guest. But found no cure, the bath for my help lies, Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes. 154 The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep, Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand, The fairest votary took up that fire, Which many legions of true hearts had warmed, And so the general of hot desire, Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy, For men discased, but I my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure and this by that I prove, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. THE END ================================================ FILE: coursera-sequence-models/week-1-building-recurrent-network/utils.py ================================================ import numpy as np def softmax(x): e_x = np.exp(x - np.max(x)) return e_x / e_x.sum(axis=0) def smooth(loss, cur_loss): return loss * 0.999 + cur_loss * 0.001 def print_sample(sample_ix, ix_to_char): txt = ''.join(ix_to_char[ix] for ix in sample_ix) print ('----\n %s \n----' % (txt, )) def get_initial_loss(vocab_size, seq_length): return -np.log(1.0/vocab_size)*seq_length def softmax(x): e_x = np.exp(x - np.max(x)) return e_x / e_x.sum(axis=0) def initialize_parameters(n_a, n_x, n_y): """ Initialize parameters with small random values Returns: parameters -- python dictionary containing: Wax -- Weight matrix multiplying the input, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_x) Waa -- Weight matrix multiplying the hidden state, numpy array of shape (n_a, n_a) Wya -- Weight matrix relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, n_a) b -- Bias, numpy array of shape (n_a, 1) by -- Bias relating the hidden-state to the output, numpy array of shape (n_y, 1) """ np.random.seed(1) Wax = np.random.randn(n_a, n_x)*0.01 # input to hidden Waa = np.random.randn(n_a, n_a)*0.01 # hidden to hidden Wya = np.random.randn(n_y, n_a)*0.01 # hidden to output b = np.zeros((n_a, 1)) # hidden bias by = np.zeros((n_y, 1)) # output bias parameters = {"Wax": Wax, "Waa": Waa, "Wya": Wya, "b": b,"by": by} return parameters def rnn_step_forward(parameters, a_prev, x): Waa, Wax, Wya, by, b = parameters['Waa'], parameters['Wax'], parameters['Wya'], parameters['by'], parameters['b'] a_next = np.tanh(np.dot(Wax, x) + np.dot(Waa, a_prev) + b) # hidden state p_t = softmax(np.dot(Wya, a_next) + by) # unnormalized log probabilities for next chars # probabilities for next chars return a_next, p_t def rnn_step_backward(dy, gradients, parameters, x, a, a_prev): gradients['dWya'] += np.dot(dy, a.T) gradients['dby'] += dy da = np.dot(parameters['Wya'].T, dy) + gradients['da_next'] # backprop into h daraw = (1 - a * a) * da # backprop through tanh nonlinearity gradients['db'] += daraw gradients['dWax'] += np.dot(daraw, x.T) gradients['dWaa'] += np.dot(daraw, a_prev.T) gradients['da_next'] = np.dot(parameters['Waa'].T, daraw) return gradients def update_parameters(parameters, gradients, lr): parameters['Wax'] += -lr * gradients['dWax'] parameters['Waa'] += -lr * gradients['dWaa'] parameters['Wya'] += -lr * gradients['dWya'] parameters['b'] += -lr * gradients['db'] parameters['by'] += -lr * gradients['dby'] return parameters def rnn_forward(X, Y, a0, parameters, vocab_size = 71): # Initialize x, a and y_hat as empty dictionaries x, a, y_hat = {}, {}, {} a[-1] = np.copy(a0) # initialize your loss to 0 loss = 0 for t in range(len(X)): # Set x[t] to be the one-hot vector representation of the t'th character in X. x[t] = np.zeros((vocab_size,1)) x[t][X[t]] = 1 # Run one step forward of the RNN a[t], y_hat[t] = rnn_step_forward(parameters, a[t-1], x[t]) # Update the loss by substracting the cross-entropy term of this time-step from it. loss -= np.log(y_hat[t][Y[t],0]) cache = (y_hat, a, x) return loss, cache def rnn_backward(X, Y, parameters, cache): # Initialize gradients as an empty dictionary gradients = {} # Retrieve from cache and parameters (y_hat, a, x) = cache Waa, Wax, Wya, by, b = parameters['Waa'], parameters['Wax'], parameters['Wya'], parameters['by'], parameters['b'] # each one should be initialized to zeros of the same dimension as its corresponding parameter gradients['dWax'], gradients['dWaa'], gradients['dWya'] = np.zeros_like(Wax), np.zeros_like(Waa), np.zeros_like(Wya) gradients['db'], gradients['dby'] = np.zeros_like(b), np.zeros_like(by) gradients['da_next'] = np.zeros_like(a[0]) ### START CODE HERE ### # Backpropagate through time for t in reversed(range(len(X))): dy = np.copy(y_hat[t]) dy[Y[t]] -= 1 gradients = rnn_step_backward(dy, gradients, parameters, x[t], a[t], a[t-1]) ### END CODE HERE ### return gradients, a ================================================ FILE: cs231n/_z.py ================================================ import numpy as np import cifar10 import timer dir = 'datasets/cifar-10-batches-py' X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test = cifar10.load_CIFAR10(dir) # Subsample to save on time/space num_training = 5000 num_validation = 1000 num_test = 1000 # Our validation set will be num_validation points from the original # training set. mask = range(num_training, num_training + num_validation) X_val = X_train[mask] y_val = y_train[mask] # Our training set will be the first num_train points from the original # training set. mask = range(num_training) X_train = X_train[mask] y_train = y_train[mask] # We use the first num_test points of the original test set as our # test set. mask = range(num_test) X_test = X_test[mask] y_test = y_test[mask] # Reshape the image data into rows: each item in these arrays is a 3072-element # vector representing 3 colors per image pixel. X_train = np.reshape(X_train, (X_train.shape[0], -1)) X_val = np.reshape(X_val, (X_val.shape[0], -1)) X_test = np.reshape(X_test, (X_test.shape[0], -1)) print 'Train data shape: ', X_train.shape print 'Train labels shape: ', y_train.shape print 'Validation data shape: ', X_val.shape print 'Validation labels shape: ', y_val.shape print 'Test data shape: ', X_test.shape print 'Test labels shape: ', y_test.shape # Preprocessing: subtract the mean image # 1. compute the image mean based on the training data mean_image = np.mean(X_train, axis=0) def report_mean_image(mimg): print mimg.shape, mimg[:10] # print a few of the elements import matplotlib.pyplot as plt plt.figure(figsize=(4, 4)) plt.imshow(mimg.reshape((32, 32, 3)).astype('uint8')) plt.show() # 2. subtract the mean image from train and test data X_train -= mean_image X_val -= mean_image X_test -= mean_image #import k_nearest_neighbor #knn = k_nearest_neighbor.KNearestNeighbor() #knn.train(X_train, y_train) #with timer.Timer('Computing distances...'): #dists = knn.compute_distances_no_loops(X_test) #with timer.Timer('Running label prediction...'): #y_test_pred = knn.predict_labels(dists, k=5) ## Compute and print the fraction of correctly predicted examples #num_correct = np.sum(y_test_pred == y_test) #accuracy = float(num_correct) / num_test #print 'Got %d / %d correct => accuracy: %f' % (num_correct, num_test, accuracy) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/cifar10.py ================================================ # Access to the CIFAR-10 dataset. # # Some of the code is based on the cs231n data utils code # [http://cs231n.github.io/] # See https://www.cs.toronto.edu/~kriz/cifar.html for information on the # data set and its format. # # * Xs (data) are arrays of 32x33x3 arrays of pixels. Logically, the values are # between 0-255, so they would fit into a uint8. However, since we want to # perform math on them without running into uint overflow and other problems, # we load them as float64. # * ys (labels) are arrays of integers in the range 0-9 import cPickle as pickle import numpy as np import os def _load_CIFAR_batch(filename): """Load a single batch of CIFAR from the given file.""" with open(filename, 'rb') as f: datadict = pickle.load(f) X = datadict['data'] Y = datadict['labels'] X = X.reshape(10000, 3, 32, 32).transpose(0,2,3,1).astype('float64') Y = np.array(Y) return X, Y def load_CIFAR10(rootdir): """Load the whole CIFAR-10 data set. Given a path to the root directory containing CIFAR-10 samples in batches. Returns a 4-tuple: (Xtraining, Ytraining, Xtest, Ytest). """ xs = [] ys = [] for b in range(1,6): f = os.path.join(rootdir, 'data_batch_%d' % (b, )) X, Y = _load_CIFAR_batch(f) xs.append(X) ys.append(Y) Xtr = np.concatenate(xs) Ytr = np.concatenate(ys) Xte, Yte = _load_CIFAR_batch(os.path.join(rootdir, 'test_batch')) return Xtr, Ytr, Xte, Yte def show_CIFAR10_samples(X_train, y_train): """Show some sample images with classifications from the dataset.""" import matplotlib.pyplot as plt classes = ['plane', 'car', 'bird', 'cat', 'deer', 'dog', 'frog', 'horse', 'ship', 'truck'] samples_per_class = 7 for y, cls in enumerate(classes): idxs = np.flatnonzero(y_train == y) idxs = np.random.choice(idxs, samples_per_class, replace=False) for i, idx in enumerate(idxs): plt_idx = i * len(classes) + y + 1 plt.subplot(samples_per_class, len(classes), plt_idx) plt.imshow(X_train[idx].astype('uint8')) plt.axis('off') if i == 0: plt.title(cls) plt.show() if __name__ == '__main__': dir = 'datasets/cifar-10-batches-py' X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test = load_CIFAR10(dir) print 'Training data shape: ', X_train.shape, X_train.dtype print 'Training labels shape: ', y_train.shape, y_train.dtype print 'Test data shape: ', X_test.shape, X_test.dtype print 'Test labels shape: ', y_test.shape, y_test.dtype print 'Showing a few samples from the dataset.....' show_CIFAR10_samples(X_train, y_train) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/k_nearest_neighbor.py ================================================ # KNN classifier with L2 distance function. # See http://cs231n.github.io/linear-classify for background. import numpy as np class KNearestNeighbor: """K nearest neighbor classifier with L2 distance.""" def __init__(self): pass def train(self, X, y): self.X_train = X self.y_train = y def compute_distances_two_loops(self, X): """Compute L2 distance matrix for the test vectors X. Each vector in X is a test sample. We compute its L2 distance from each training vector in X_train and put it in the matrix. The returned matrix at [i, j] has the L2 distance between test i and training sample j. Note: this is a very slow version using Python-level loops. """ num_test = X.shape[0] num_train = self.X_train.shape[0] dists = np.zeros((num_test, num_train)) for i in xrange(num_test): for j in xrange(num_train): dists[i, j] = np.sqrt( np.sum(np.square(X[i, :] - self.X_train[j, :]))) return dists def compute_distances_one_loop(self, X): """Partially-vectorized distance matrix computation.""" num_test = X.shape[0] num_train = self.X_train.shape[0] dists = np.zeros((num_test, num_train)) for i in xrange(num_test): # X_train is (num_train, imgsize) # X[i] is (imgsize,) # X_train - X[i] broadcasts X[i] over each row of X_train. # np.square is elementwise; sum over axis=1 sums up all the columns # into a single number per row. dists[i, :] = np.sqrt(np.square(self.X_train - X[i]).sum(axis=1)) return dists def compute_distances_no_loops(self, X): """Fully-vectorized distance matrix computation.""" # The sum in L2 distance is: # # distance[i,j] = sqrt(Sum_p (X_train[i,p] - X[j,p])^2 # # where 'p' is running over the pixels/colors vector. # # The expression inside the sum can be rewritten as: # # X_train[i,p]^2 - 2*X_train[i,p]*X[j,p] + X[j,p]^2 # # Note that the first and last items only depend on one of i or j, not # both, so they can be broadcast over the result array. And the middle # item can be computed as matrix multiplication between X_train and X # (one of them transposed). X_train_T = self.X_train.T # First compute the "cross-correlation" item using matrix mul, # transposing X_train since we want tests in rows and train in columns. # The shape of this is (num_test,num_train), which is also the shape # of the result. cross = -2.0 * X.dot(X_train_T) # Now compute the first item: norm of X_train. Sum all columns together, # getting a row vector. X_train_norm = np.sum(self.X_train ** 2, axis=1) # Similarly for X, but this time the results go into a column vector so # it gets broadcast per column of the result. X_norm = np.sum(X ** 2, axis=1, keepdims=True) # Finally sum up the parts and compute their sqrt. return np.sqrt(X_norm + cross + X_train_norm) def predict_labels(self, dists, k=1): """Predict labels, given a distances matrix. dists - (num_test, num_train) array; dists[i, j] is the distance between the ith test point and the jth trainin point. k - how many neighbors to use. Output: a vector of length num_test where each element is the predicted label for the test point. """ num_tests = dists.shape[0] y_pred = np.zeros(num_tests, dtype='int64') for i in xrange(num_tests): # dists[i] has the ith test distance from each training example. # argsort will produce sorted indices of training examples, from # smallest distance (closes) to largest distance. We can use this # to index into y_train to find the labels that are closest. closest_y = self.y_train[np.argsort(dists[i])] k_closest_y = closest_y[:k] # k_closest_y is a list of k labels that were the closest among # the training samples. Find the most common label among these. values, counts = np.unique(k_closest_y, return_counts=True) y_pred[i] = values[np.argmax(counts)] return y_pred ================================================ FILE: cs231n/k_nearest_neighbor_test.py ================================================ import numpy as np import sys, unittest from k_nearest_neighbor import KNearestNeighbor class TestKNearestNeighborDistance(unittest.TestCase): """Tests that distance computations all return the same result.""" def test_arange(self): train = np.arange(150).reshape(5, -1) test = np.square(np.arange(2, 122)).reshape(4, -1) knn = KNearestNeighbor() knn.train(train, None) d_two = knn.compute_distances_two_loops(test) d_one = knn.compute_distances_one_loop(test) d_no = knn.compute_distances_no_loops(test) self.assertAlmostEqual(0, np.linalg.norm(d_two - d_one, ord='fro')) self.assertAlmostEqual(0, np.linalg.norm(d_no - d_one, ord='fro')) if __name__ == '__main__': unittest.main() ================================================ FILE: cs231n/linear_classifier.py ================================================ # This is a generic linear classifier that implements SGD - Stochastic Gradient # Descent (actually its mini-batch generalization). # # It has to be derived from by classes that provide a 'loss' member function, # to implement different classifiers. # See http://cs231n.github.io/classification/ for background. import numpy as np import random class LinearClassifier: def __init__(self): self.W = None def train(self, X, y, learning_rate=1e-3, reg=1e-5, num_iters=100, batch_size=200, verbose=False): """Train this linear classifier using stochastic gradient descent. Inputs: - X: D x N array of training data. Each training point is a D-dimensional column. - y: 1-dimensional array of length N with labels 0...K-1, for K classes. - learning_rate: (float) learning rate for optimization. - reg: (float) regularization strength. - num_iters: (integer) number of steps to take when optimizing - batch_size: (integer) number of training examples to use at each step. - verbose: (boolean) If true, print progress during optimization. Outputs: A list containing the value of the loss function at each training iteration. """ D, N = X.shape K = np.max(y) + 1 if self.W is None: # Lazily initialize W to a random matrix self.W = np.random.randn(K, D) * 0.001 # Run stochastic gradient descent to optimize W loss_history = [] for it in xrange(num_iters): batch_samples = np.random.choice(N, batch_size) X_batch = X[:, batch_samples] y_batch = y[batch_samples] # Evaluate loss and gradient loss, dW = self.loss(X_batch, y_batch, reg) loss_history.append(loss) self.W += -learning_rate * dW if verbose and it % 100 == 0: print 'iteration %d / %d: loss %f' % (it, num_iters, loss) return loss_history def predict(self, X): """Use the trained weights of this linear classifier to predict labels. Inputs: - X: D x N array of training data. Each column is a D-dimensional point. Returns: - y_pred: Predicted labels for the data in X. y_pred is a 1-dimensional array of length N, and each element is an integer giving the predicted class. """ y_pred = self.W.dot(X) return y_pred.argmax(axis=0) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/linear_svm.py ================================================ # Linear SVM classifier. # See http://cs231n.github.io/classification/ for background. # And http://cs231n.github.io/optimization-1/ for the gradient parts. import numpy as np import random import linear_classifier def svm_loss_naive(W, X, y, reg): """Structured SVM loss function, naive implementation (with loops). Important dimensions: K is number of classes we classify samples to. D is the dimensionality of data (for example, 32x32x3 images have D=3072). Note that bias is often folded into the sample as "1", so the actual dimensionality may be +1 (or 3073 for those images). N is simply the number of samples we're working with. This function uses a delta value of 1. Inputs: - W: K x D array of weights. - X: D x N array of data. Each datum is a (D-dimensional) column. - y: 1-dimensional array of length N with labels 0...K-1, for K classes. y[i] is the correct classification of sample i. - reg: (float) regularization strength Returns a tuple of: - loss as single float - gradient with respect to weights W; an array of same shape as W """ delta = 1 dW = np.zeros(W.shape) # initialize the gradient as zero # compute the loss and the gradient K = W.shape[0] N = X.shape[1] loss = 0.0 for i in xrange(N): # Compute the loss for this sample. # The equation is: # # Li = Sum_{j!=yi} max(0, wj*xi - wyi*xi + delta) # # We use W * Xi to find both wj*xi and wyi*xi, so we just index into # the result to find these distinct parts. # # X[:, i] is the ith column of X. scores now has the shape K x 1 scores = W.dot(X[:, i]) # wyi*xi is not changing in the sigma (internal loop), so precompute it. correct_class_score = scores[y[i]] # This computes the sigma. for j in xrange(K): margin = scores[j] - correct_class_score + delta if j == y[i]: continue if margin > 0: loss += margin # The gradient is only updated when margin > 0. dW[j, :] += X[:, i] dW[y[i], :] -= X[:, i] # Average the loss over N samples and add regularization. loss = (loss / N) + 0.5 * reg * np.sum(W * W) # Same for gradient. dW = (dW / N) + reg * W return loss, dW def svm_loss_vectorized(W, X, y, reg): """Structured SVM loss function, vectorized implementation. Inputs and outputs are the same as svm_loss_naive. """ N = X.shape[1] delta = 1 # scores's shape is (K, N): contains scores for all N samples, in columns. scores = W.dot(X) # We want to select the score of the correct class for every sample. Samples # are in columns. y[i] gives, for sample i, the correct class. Therefore # we need to index into every column at the appropriate y[i]. # The result is a (N,) vector. correct_class_scores = scores[y, np.arange(N)] # Vectorized sum for all samples. This computes the sigma for all Li. # scores is (K,N), correct_class_scores is (N,) so it's broadcast over each # row of scores. # The shape remains (K,N) since it contains the score per class for each # sample. si = scores - correct_class_scores + delta # Sum all class scores for each sample into a total "loss per sample". # clip performs the max(0,...) operation. s = si.clip(min=0).sum(axis=0) # The sum was supposed to ignore the category with the correct score. But # for j=yi, the summed element is just max(0, delta), so we subtract delta # from the sums. s -= delta # Finally compute the average loss with regularization. loss = np.mean(s) + 0.5 * reg * np.sum(W * W) # To compute the vectorized gradient, create a (K,N) array of indicators # where each cell is the gradient contribution to the row's class from the # column's sample. indicators = np.zeros(scores.shape) # This is for all dW_j indicators[si > 0] = 1 # For dW_yi, subtract the number of positive indicators num_positive = np.sum(si > 0, axis=0) indicators[y, np.arange(N)] -= num_positive # Finally, indicators * X.T will give use the result dW = indicators.dot(X.T) / N + reg * W return loss, dW class LinearSVM(linear_classifier.LinearClassifier): """ A subclass that uses the Multiclass SVM loss function """ def loss(self, X_batch, y_batch, reg): return svm_loss_vectorized(self.W, X_batch, y_batch, reg) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/math_utils.py ================================================ import numpy as np from random import randrange def rel_error(x, y): """Relative error between x and y.""" return np.max(np.abs(x - y) / (np.maximum(1e-8, np.abs(x) + np.abs(y)))) def grad_check_sparse(f, x, analytic_grad, num_checks): """Run some checks of the computed analytic gradient vs. numeric gradient. """ h = 1e-5 for i in xrange(num_checks): ix = tuple([randrange(m) for m in x.shape]) x[ix] += h # increment by h fxph = f(x) # evaluate f(x + h) x[ix] -= 2 * h # increment by h fxmh = f(x) # evaluate f(x - h) x[ix] += h # reset grad_numerical = (fxph - fxmh) / (2 * h) grad_analytic = analytic_grad[ix] rel_error = abs(grad_numerical - grad_analytic) / ( abs(grad_numerical) + abs(grad_analytic)) print 'numerical: %f analytic: %f, relative error: %e' % ( grad_numerical, grad_analytic, rel_error) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/neural_net.py ================================================ # Simple neutral net classifier # # See http://cs231n.github.io/neural-networks-case-study import numpy as np def two_layer_net(X, model, y=None, reg=0.0): """Run two-layer fully connected NN. The net has an input dimension of D, a hidden layer dimension of H, and performs classification over C classes. We use a softmax loss function and L2 regularization of the weight matrices. The two layer net should use a ReLU nonlinearity after the first affine layer. The two layer net has the following architecture (FC = fully connected layer): [input] -- [FC] -- [ReLU] -- [FC] -- [softmax] The outputs of the second fully-connected layer are the scores for each class. Inputs: - X: Input data of shape (N, D). Each X[i] is a training sample. - model: Dictionary mapping parameter names to arrays of parameter values. It should contain the following: - W1: First layer weights; has shape (D, H) - b1: First layer biases; has shape (H,) - W2: Second layer weights; has shape (H, C) - b2: Second layer biases; has shape (C,) - y: Vector of training labels. y[i] is the label for X[i], and each y[i] is an integer in the range 0 <= y[i] < C. This parameter is optional; if it is not passed then we only return scores, and if it is passed then we instead return the loss and gradients. - reg: Regularization strength. Returns: If y not is passed, return a matrix scores of shape (N, C) where scores[i, c] is the score for class c on input X[i]. If y is passed, instead return a tuple of: - loss: Loss (data loss and regularization loss) for this batch of training samples. - grads: Dictionary mapping parameter names to gradients of those parameters with respect to the loss function. This should have the same keys as model. """ # unpack variables from the model dictionary W1, b1, W2, b2 = model['W1'], model['b1'], model['W2'], model['b2'] N, D = X.shape # Compute the forward pass: layer 1, ReLU, layer 2 Hout = X.dot(W1) + b1 ReLU = np.maximum(0, Hout) scores = ReLU.dot(W2) + b2 # The shape of scores is (N, C) -- for each input it has an array of scores # for each of the classification classes. scores[i][c] is the score of input # X[i] for class c. # The softmax data loss is defined as follows: for every input i, we have an # array F holding its scores for C classes (in the notation above, F is one # line of 'scores'). Li is the data loss for input i. The total data loss # for all inputs is the average: # # L = 1/N * Sum_i Li # # Each Li is: # # Li = -log( exp(F[y[i]]) / (Sum_j exp(F[j]))) # # Where y[i] is the correct class for input i. # Compute the expression inside the log for all possible scores, and then # select only the relevant ones. probs's shape is (N, C) just like scores, # since it collects losses for all possible classes. correct_probs only # selects the losses for the correct classes, which is what we need. It # selects one column in each row, resulting in shape (N,) exp_scores = np.exp(scores) probs = exp_scores / np.sum(exp_scores, axis=1, keepdims=True) correct_probs = probs[range(N), y] # Finally compute the loss for all examples data_loss = np.sum(-np.log(correct_probs)) / N # Regularization loss is sum of 1/2 * reg * w^2 for every weight in the # model. reg_loss = 0.5 * reg * (np.sum(W1 ** 2) + np.sum(W2 ** 2)) # Compute the loss. loss = data_loss + reg_loss # Compute the gradients based on # http://cs231n.github.io/neural-networks-case-study/ dscores = probs dscores[range(N), y] -= 1 dscores /= N grads = {} grads['W2'] = Hout.T.dot(dscores) + reg * W2 grads['b2'] = np.sum(dscores, axis=0) # Next backprop into hidden layer dhidden = dscores.dot(W2.T) # Backprop the ReLU non-linearity dhidden[Hout <= 0] = 0 grads['W1'] = X.T.dot(dhidden) + reg * W1 grads['b1'] = np.sum(dhidden, axis=0) # Return scores or (loss, grads) based on y. if y is None: return scores else: return loss, grads ================================================ FILE: cs231n/run_knn.py ================================================ # Runs a KNN classifier on a subset of CIFAR-10 data. import numpy as np import cifar10 import timer dir = 'datasets/cifar-10-batches-py' X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test = cifar10.load_CIFAR10(dir) print 'Training data shape: ', X_train.shape, X_train.dtype print 'Training labels shape: ', y_train.shape, y_train.dtype print 'Test data shape: ', X_test.shape, X_test.dtype print 'Test labels shape: ', y_test.shape, y_test.dtype # Subsample to save on time/space num_training = 50000 X_train = X_train[:num_training] y_train = y_train[:num_training] num_test = 100 X_test = X_test[:num_test] y_test = y_test[:num_test] # Reshape the image data into rows: each item in these arrays is a 3072-element # vector representing 3 colors per image pixel. X_train = np.reshape(X_train, (X_train.shape[0], -1)) X_test = np.reshape(X_test, (X_test.shape[0], -1)) print 'Reshaped training data shape: ', X_train.shape, X_train.dtype print 'Reshaped test data shape: ', X_test.shape, X_test.dtype import k_nearest_neighbor knn = k_nearest_neighbor.KNearestNeighbor() knn.train(X_train, y_train) with timer.Timer('Computing distances'): dists = knn.compute_distances_no_loops(X_test) with timer.Timer('Running label prediction'): y_test_pred = knn.predict_labels(dists, k=5) # Compute and print the fraction of correctly predicted examples num_correct = np.sum(y_test_pred == y_test) accuracy = float(num_correct) / num_test print 'Got %d / %d correct => accuracy: %f' % (num_correct, num_test, accuracy) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/run_nn.py ================================================ import numpy as np import math_utils import neural_net # Create some toy data to check your implementations input_size = 4 hidden_size = 10 num_classes = 3 num_inputs = 5 # The toy model is a 2-layer network: it has one hidden layer and one output # layer. def init_toy_model(): model = {} # Layer 1 has 10 neurons. Each has 4 connections (one from each input). # Overall number of weights is 4 * 10, with weight [i][j] being the # weight from input i to neuron j in this layer. model['W1'] = np.linspace(-0.2, 0.6, num=input_size * hidden_size) model['W1'].shape = (input_size, hidden_size) # Each neuron in layer 1 has a bias. model['b1'] = np.linspace(-0.3, 0.7, num=hidden_size) # Layer 2 has 3 neurons (outputs). Each has 10 connections (one from each # neuron in the hidden layer). Overall number of weights is 10 * 3, with # weight [i][j] being the weight from hidden neuron i to output neuron j. model['W2'] = np.linspace(-0.4, 0.1, num=hidden_size * num_classes) model['W2'].shape = (hidden_size, num_classes) model['b2'] = np.linspace(-0.5, 0.9, num=num_classes) return model def init_toy_data(): X = np.linspace(-0.2, 0.5, num=num_inputs * input_size) X.shape = (num_inputs, input_size) y = np.array([0, 1, 2, 2, 1]) return X, y model = init_toy_model() X, y = init_toy_data() loss, grads = neural_net.two_layer_net(X, model, y, reg=0.1) print(loss) import pprint pprint.pprint(grads) #print(scores) #correct_scores = [[-0.5328368, 0.20031504, 0.93346689], #[-0.59412164, 0.15498488, 0.9040914 ], #[-0.67658362, 0.08978957, 0.85616275], #[-0.77092643, 0.01339997, 0.79772637], #[-0.89110401, -0.08754544, 0.71601312]] #print 'Difference between your scores and correct scores:' #print np.sum(np.abs(scores - correct_scores)) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/run_svm.py ================================================ import numpy as np import cifar10 import linear_svm import softmax import math_utils import timer dir = 'datasets/cifar-10-batches-py' X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test = cifar10.load_CIFAR10(dir) # Subsample to save on time/space num_training = 5000 num_validation = 100 num_test = 100 # Our validation set will be num_validation points from the original # training set. mask = range(num_training, num_training + num_validation) X_val = X_train[mask] y_val = y_train[mask] # Our training set will be the first num_train points from the original # training set. mask = range(num_training) X_train = X_train[mask] y_train = y_train[mask] # We use the first num_test points of the original test set as our # test set. mask = range(num_test) X_test = X_test[mask] y_test = y_test[mask] # Reshape the image data into rows: each item in these arrays is a 3072-element # vector representing 3 colors per image pixel. X_train = np.reshape(X_train, (X_train.shape[0], -1)) X_val = np.reshape(X_val, (X_val.shape[0], -1)) X_test = np.reshape(X_test, (X_test.shape[0], -1)) print 'Train data shape: ', X_train.shape print 'Train labels shape: ', y_train.shape print 'Validation data shape: ', X_val.shape print 'Validation labels shape: ', y_val.shape print 'Test data shape: ', X_test.shape print 'Test labels shape: ', y_test.shape # Preprocessing: subtract the mean image # 1. compute the image mean based on the training data mean_image = np.mean(X_train, axis=0) def report_mean_image(mimg): print mimg.shape, mimg[:10] # print a few of the elements import matplotlib.pyplot as plt plt.figure(figsize=(4, 4)) plt.imshow(mimg.reshape((32, 32, 3)).astype('uint8')) plt.show() # 2. subtract the mean image from train and test data X_train -= mean_image X_val -= mean_image X_test -= mean_image # 3. append the bias dimension of ones (i.e. bias trick) so that our SVM # only has to worry about optimizing a single weight matrix W. # Also, transform data matrices so that each image is a column. X_train = np.hstack([X_train, np.ones((X_train.shape[0], 1))]).T X_val = np.hstack([X_val, np.ones((X_val.shape[0], 1))]).T X_test = np.hstack([X_test, np.ones((X_test.shape[0], 1))]).T print X_train.shape, X_val.shape, X_test.shape W = np.random.randn(10, 3073) * 0.0001 with timer.Timer('SVM loss naive'): loss, grad = linear_svm.svm_loss_naive(W, X_train, y_train, 0.00001) with timer.Timer('SVM loss vectorized'): loss, grad = linear_svm.svm_loss_vectorized(W, X_train, y_train, 0.00001) classifier = linear_svm.LinearSVM() # Note: the softmax classifier works but it's slow (I only have the # non-vectorized version implemented so far). Therefore it remains commented out # by default. #classifier = softmax.Softmax() loss_hist = classifier.train(X_train, y_train, learning_rate=1e-7, reg=5e4, num_iters=800, verbose=True) y_train_pred = classifier.predict(X_train) print 'training accuracy: %f' % (np.mean(y_train == y_train_pred), ) y_val_pred = classifier.predict(X_val) print 'validation accuracy: %f' % (np.mean(y_val == y_val_pred), ) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/softmax.py ================================================ # Softmax classifier loss function import numpy as np from random import shuffle import linear_classifier def softmax_loss_naive(W, X, y, reg): """Softmax loss function, naive implementation (with loops) Important dimensions: K is number of classes we classify samples to. D is the dimensionality of data (for example, 32x32x3 images have D=3072). Note that bias is often folded into the sample as "1", so the actual dimensionality may be +1 (or 3073 for those images). N is simply the number of samples we're working with. Inputs: - W: K x D array of weights. - X: D x N array of data. Each datum is a (D-dimensional) column. - y: 1-dimensional array of length N with labels 0...K-1, for K classes. y[i] is the correct classification of sample i. - reg: (float) regularization strength Returns a tuple of: - loss as single float - gradient with respect to weights W; an array of same shape as W """ # Note: this code is from the internet, since I couldn't find an explanation # of how to compute the softmax gradient in lecture notes. # Initialize the loss and gradient to zero. loss = 0.0 dW = np.zeros_like(W) for i in range(X.shape[1]): scores = W.dot(X[:, i]) # Shift down by max to improve numerical stability -- now the highest # number is 0. scores -= np.max(scores) prob = 0.0 loss -= scores[y[i]] for curr_score in scores: prob += np.exp(curr_score) for j in range(W.shape[0]): prob_ji = np.exp(scores[j]) / prob margin = -prob_ji * X[:, i].T if j == y[i]: margin = (1 - prob_ji) * X[:, i].T dW[j, :] += -margin loss += np.log(prob) loss /= X.shape[1] dW /= X.shape[1] # Regularization loss += 0.5 * reg * np.sum(W * W) dW += reg * W return loss, dW class Softmax(linear_classifier.LinearClassifier): """ A subclass that uses the Softmax + cross entropy loss function """ def loss(self, X_batch, y_batch, reg): return softmax_loss_naive(self.W, X_batch, y_batch, reg) ================================================ FILE: cs231n/timer.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import sys import time class Timer(object): def __init__(self, name=None): self.name = name def __enter__(self): self.tstart = time.time() if self.name: print('[%s] ' % self.name, end='') sys.stdout.flush() def __exit__(self, type, value, traceback): print('Elapsed: %s' % (time.time() - self.tstart)) ================================================ FILE: gradients/numgrad.py ================================================ import numpy as np def eval_numerical_gradient(f, x, verbose=False, h=1e-5): """A naive implementation of numerical gradient of f at x. Used for gradient checking. f: function taking a single array argument and returning a scalar. x: array starting point for evaluation. Based on http://cs231n.github.io/assignments2016/assignment1/, with a bit of cleanup. Also uses the centered formula described in http://cs231n.github.io/neural-networks-3/#gradcheck Returns a numerical gradient, same shape as x. """ grad = np.zeros_like(x) # iterate over all indexes in x it = np.nditer(x, flags=['multi_index'], op_flags=['readwrite']) while not it.finished: ix = it.multi_index oldval = x[ix] x[ix] = oldval + h fxph = f(x) # evalute f(x + h) x[ix] = oldval - h fxmh = f(x) # evaluate f(x - h) x[ix] = oldval # restore # compute the partial derivative with centered formula grad[ix] = (fxph - fxmh) / (2 * h) if verbose: print(ix, grad[ix]) it.iternext() return grad ================================================ FILE: gradients/sigmoid.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np from numgrad import eval_numerical_gradient def sigmoid(z): """Computes sigmoid function. z: array of input values. Returns array of outputs, sigmoid(z). """ # Note: this version of sigmoid tries to avoid overflows in the computation # of e^(-z), by using an alternative formulation when z is negative, to get # 0. e^z / (1+e^z) is equivalent to the definition of sigmoid, but we won't # get e^(-z) to overflow when z is very negative. # Since both the x and y arguments to np.where are evaluated by Python, we # may still get overflow warnings for large z elements; therefore we ignore # warnings during this computation. with np.errstate(over='ignore', invalid='ignore'): return np.where(z >= 0, 1 / (1 + np.exp(-z)), np.exp(z) / (1 + np.exp(z))) def sigmoid_grad(x): return sigmoid(x) * (1 - sigmoid(x)) if __name__ == '__main__': x = np.array([1.0, 2.1, 0.3, 0.7]) print('sigmoid', sigmoid(x)) print('sigmoid_grad', sigmoid_grad(x)) # Note: eval_numerical_gradient works for scalar functions. Therefore we'll # run it for each element of sigmoid separately. print('Numerical gradient') for i in range(x.shape[0]): print(i, eval_numerical_gradient(lambda z: sigmoid(z)[i], x)) ================================================ FILE: gradients/tanh.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np from numgrad import eval_numerical_gradient def tanh_grad(x): return 1 - np.tanh(x) ** 2 if __name__ == '__main__': x = np.array([1.0, 2.1, 0.3, 0.7]) print('tanh', np.tanh(x)) print('tanh_grad', tanh_grad(x)) # Note: eval_numerical_gradient works for scalar functions. Therefore we'll # run it for each element of tanh separately. print('Numerical gradient') for i in range(x.shape[0]): print(i, eval_numerical_gradient(lambda z: np.tanh(z)[i], x)) ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/CCPP-dataset/Readme.txt ================================================ The CSV file is taken from Sheet 1 of the data set, downloaded from http://archive.ics.uci.edu/ml/datasets/Combined+Cycle+Power+Plant Below is the original contents of this Readme file. ---- The dataset contains 9568 data points collected from a Combined Cycle Power Plant over 6 years (2006-2011), when the power plant was set to work with full load. Features consist of hourly average ambient variables Temperature (T), Ambient Pressure (AP), Relative Humidity (RH) and Exhaust Vacuum (V) to predict the net hourly electrical energy output (EP) of the plant. A combined cycle power plant (CCPP) is composed of gas turbines (GT), steam turbines (ST) and heat recovery steam generators. In a CCPP, the electricity is generated by gas and steam turbines, which are combined in one cycle, and is transferred from one turbine to another. While the Vacuum is colected from and has effect on the Steam Turbine, he other three of the ambient variables effect the GT performance. For comparability with our baseline studies, and to allow 5x2 fold statistical tests be carried out, we provide the data shuffled five times. For each shuffling 2-fold CV is carried out and the resulting 10 measurements are used for statistical testing. We provide the data both in .ods and in .xlsx formats. Relevant Papers to cite: Pınar Tüfekci, Prediction of full load electrical power output of a base load operated combined cycle power plant using machine learning methods, International Journal of Electrical Power & Energy Systems, Volume 60, September 2014, Pages 126-140, ISSN 0142-0615, http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ijepes.2014.02.027. (http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0142061514000908) Heysem Kaya, Pınar Tüfekci , Sadık Fikret Gürgen: Local and Global Learning Methods for Predicting Power of a Combined Gas & Steam Turbine, Proceedings of the International Conference on Emerging Trends in Computer and Electronics Engineering ICETCEE 2012, pp. 13-18 (Mar. 2012, Dubai) ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/CCPP-dataset/data.csv ================================================ AT,V,AP,RH,PE 14.96,41.76,1024.07,73.17,463.26 25.18,62.96,1020.04,59.08,444.37 5.11,39.4,1012.16,92.14,488.56 20.86,57.32,1010.24,76.64,446.48 10.82,37.5,1009.23,96.62,473.9 26.27,59.44,1012.23,58.77,443.67 15.89,43.96,1014.02,75.24,467.35 9.48,44.71,1019.12,66.43,478.42 14.64,45,1021.78,41.25,475.98 11.74,43.56,1015.14,70.72,477.5 17.99,43.72,1008.64,75.04,453.02 20.14,46.93,1014.66,64.22,453.99 24.34,73.5,1011.31,84.15,440.29 25.71,58.59,1012.77,61.83,451.28 26.19,69.34,1009.48,87.59,433.99 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14.09,45.87,1009.05,84.09,465.6 10.73,25.36,1009.35,100.15,469.43 23.2,49.3,1003.4,79.77,440.75 8.21,38.91,1015.82,88.99,481.32 9.3,40.56,1022.64,76.14,479.87 16.97,39.16,1005.7,69.13,458.59 23.69,71.97,1009.62,93.03,438.62 25.13,59.44,1012.38,77.92,445.59 9.86,43.56,1015.13,74.89,481.87 11.33,41.5,1013.58,88.7,475.01 26.95,48.41,1008.53,62.94,436.54 15,40.66,1016.28,89.62,456.63 20.76,62.52,1015.63,81.04,451.69 14.29,39.59,1010.93,94.53,463.04 19.74,67.71,1007.68,64.02,446.1 26.68,59.92,1009.94,70.57,438.67 14.24,41.4,1019.7,70.32,466.88 21.98,48.41,1008.42,84.86,444.6 22.75,59.39,1015.4,81.41,440.26 8.34,40.96,1023.28,89.45,483.92 11.8,41.2,1017.18,82.71,475.19 8.81,44.68,1023.06,93.93,479.24 30.05,73.68,1014.95,70.6,434.92 16.01,65.46,1014,87.68,454.16 21.75,58.79,1012.42,87.58,447.58 13.94,41.26,1021.67,74.4,467.9 29.25,69.13,1010.27,67.35,426.29 22.33,45.87,1007.8,63.61,447.02 16.43,41.79,1005.47,76.89,455.85 11.5,40.22,1010.31,78.08,476.46 23.53,68.94,1007.53,69.17,437.48 21.86,49.21,1014.61,53.31,452.77 6.17,39.33,1012.57,93.32,491.54 30.19,64.79,1017.22,42.47,438.41 11.67,41.93,1019.81,82.58,476.1 15.34,36.99,1007.87,94.59,464.58 11.5,40.78,1023.91,86.31,467.74 25.53,57.17,1010,72.57,442.12 21.27,57.5,1014.53,80.76,453.34 28.37,69.13,1010.44,71.93,425.29 28.39,51.43,1011.74,47.54,449.63 13.78,45.78,1025.27,95.72,462.88 14.6,42.32,1015.71,77.03,464.67 5.1,35.57,1027.17,80.49,489.96 7,38.08,1020.27,77.67,482.38 26.3,77.95,1009.45,78.72,437.95 30.56,71.98,1004.74,58.77,429.2 21.09,46.63,1013.03,74.8,453.34 28.21,70.02,1010.58,51.34,442.47 15.84,49.69,1015.14,90.41,462.6 10.03,40.96,1024.57,91.1,478.79 20.37,52.05,1012.34,62.57,456.11 21.19,50.16,1005.81,84.27,450.33 33.73,69.88,1007.21,42.93,434.83 29.87,73.68,1015.1,40.96,433.43 19.62,62.96,1020.76,76.53,456.02 9.93,40.67,1018.08,69.74,485.23 9.43,37.14,1013.03,74.99,473.57 14.24,39.58,1011.17,70.45,469.94 12.97,49.83,1008.69,91.49,452.07 7.6,41.04,1021.82,88.97,475.32 8.39,36.24,1013.39,89.13,480.69 25.41,48.06,1013.12,46.52,444.01 18.43,56.03,1020.41,60.55,465.17 10.31,39.82,1012.87,88.71,480.61 11.29,41.5,1013.39,89.15,476.04 22.61,49.3,1003.51,83.02,441.76 29.34,71.98,1005.19,75.19,428.24 18.87,67.71,1004,87.35,444.77 13.21,45.87,1008.58,85.66,463.1 11.3,44.6,1018.19,91.66,470.5 29.23,72.99,1007.04,63.47,431 27.76,69.4,1004.27,72.25,430.68 29.26,67.17,1006.6,70.58,436.42 25.72,49.82,1016.19,60.1,452.33 23.43,63.94,1010.64,89.29,440.16 25.6,63.76,1010.18,67.43,435.75 22.3,44.57,1008.48,67.58,449.74 27.91,72.24,1010.74,70.8,430.73 30.35,77.17,1009.55,63.62,432.75 21.78,47.43,1007.88,66.68,446.79 7.19,41.39,1018.12,90.76,486.35 20.88,59.8,1015.66,75.34,453.18 24.19,50.23,1015.73,59.77,458.31 9.98,41.54,1019.7,80.79,480.26 23.47,51.3,1011.89,74.1,448.65 26.35,49.5,1012.67,41.34,458.41 29.89,64.69,1006.37,58.78,435.39 19.29,50.16,1010.49,97.78,450.21 17.48,43.14,1018.68,74.85,459.59 25.21,75.6,1017.19,69.84,445.84 23.3,48.78,1018.17,75.36,441.08 15.42,37.85,1009.89,85.8,467.33 21.44,63.09,1016.56,90.11,444.19 29.45,68.27,1007.96,61.63,432.96 29.69,47.93,1002.85,44.76,438.09 15.52,36.99,1006.86,89.7,467.9 11.47,43.67,1012.68,72.51,475.72 9.77,34.69,1027.72,74.98,477.51 22.6,69.84,1006.37,79.59,435.13 8.24,39.61,1017.99,78.42,477.9 17.01,44.2,1019.18,61.23,457.26 19.64,44.6,1015.88,47.56,467.53 10.61,41.58,1021.08,93.06,465.15 12.04,40.1,1014.42,89.65,474.28 29.19,65.71,1013.85,50.5,444.49 21.75,45.09,1014.15,44.84,452.84 23.66,77.54,1008.5,85.32,435.38 27.05,75.33,1003.88,82.94,433.57 29.63,69.71,1009.04,67.26,435.27 18.2,39.63,1005.35,79.05,468.49 32.22,70.8,1009.9,62.03,433.07 26.88,73.56,1004.85,94.36,430.63 29.05,65.74,1013.29,60.02,440.74 8.9,39.96,1026.31,95.46,474.49 18.93,48.6,1005.72,84.92,449.74 27.49,63.76,1010.09,62.8,436.73 23.1,70.79,1006.53,90.81,434.58 11.22,43.13,1017.24,80.9,473.93 31.97,79.74,1007.03,55.84,435.99 13.32,43.22,1009.45,75.3,466.83 31.68,68.24,1005.29,37.34,427.22 23.69,63.77,1013.39,79.5,444.07 13.83,41.49,1020.11,87.29,469.57 18.32,66.51,1015.18,81.5,459.89 11.05,40.71,1024.91,76.42,479.59 22.03,64.69,1007.21,75.75,440.92 10.23,41.46,1020.45,84.95,480.87 23.92,66.54,1009.93,62.37,441.9 29.38,69.68,1011.35,49.25,430.2 17.35,42.86,1014.62,74.16,465.16 9.81,44.45,1021.19,90.55,471.32 4.97,40.64,1020.91,94.28,485.43 5.15,40.07,1012.27,63.31,495.35 21.54,58.49,1010.85,78.9,449.12 7.94,42.02,1006.22,90.97,480.53 18.77,50.66,1014.89,87.34,457.07 21.69,69.94,1010.7,80.8,443.67 10.07,44.68,1023.44,90.95,477.52 13.83,39.64,1012.52,69.97,472.95 10.45,39.69,1003.92,89.45,472.54 11.56,40.71,1015.85,76.08,469.17 23.64,70.04,1011.09,83.35,435.21 10.48,40.22,1004.81,92.16,477.78 13.09,39.85,1012.86,58.42,475.89 10.67,40.23,1017.75,85.06,483.9 12.57,39.16,1016.53,88.91,476.2 14.45,43.34,1015.47,83.33,462.16 14.22,37.85,1011.24,88.49,471.05 6.97,41.26,1010.6,96.88,484.71 20.61,63.86,1015.43,73.86,446.34 14.67,42.28,1007.21,65.17,469.02 29.06,72.86,1004.23,69.41,432.12 14.38,40.1,1015.51,81.23,467.28 32.51,69.98,1013.29,54.07,429.66 11.79,45.09,1013.16,89.17,469.49 8.65,40.56,1023.23,78.85,485.87 9.75,40.81,1026,84.44,481.95 9.11,40.02,1031.1,83.02,479.03 23.39,69.13,1010.99,90.66,434.5 14.3,54.3,1015.16,75.29,464.9 17.49,63.94,1020.02,82.6,452.71 31.1,69.51,1010.84,45.4,429.74 19.77,56.65,1020.67,66.33,457.09 28.61,72.29,1011.61,45.33,446.77 13.52,41.48,1014.46,67.12,460.76 13.52,40.83,1008.31,84.14,471.95 17.57,46.21,1014.09,80.81,453.29 28.18,60.07,1016.34,49.13,441.61 14.29,46.18,1017.01,87.29,464.73 18.12,43.69,1016.91,52.95,464.68 31.27,73.91,1003.72,68.92,430.59 26.24,77.95,1014.19,85.21,438.01 7.44,41.04,1021.84,88.56,479.08 29.78,74.78,1009.28,55.09,436.39 23.37,65.46,1016.25,48.64,447.07 10.62,39.58,1011.9,87.85,479.91 5.84,43.02,1013.88,87.42,489.05 14.51,53.82,1016.46,62.75,463.17 11.31,42.02,1001.18,94.86,471.26 11.25,40.67,1011.64,63.54,480.49 9.18,39.42,1025.41,69.46,473.78 19.82,58.16,1016.76,74.66,455.5 24.77,58.41,1013.78,80.57,446.27 9.66,41.06,1021.21,84.7,482.2 21.96,59.8,1016.72,72.6,452.48 18.59,43.14,1011.92,52.63,464.48 24.75,69.89,1015.29,82.01,438.1 24.37,63.47,1012.77,75.22,445.6 29.6,67.79,1010.37,51.05,442.43 25.32,61.25,1011.56,80.1,436.67 16.15,41.85,1016.54,81.58,466.56 15.74,71.14,1019.65,65.94,457.29 5.97,36.25,1029.65,86.74,487.03 15.84,52.72,1026.45,62.57,464.93 14.84,44.63,1019.28,57.37,466 12.25,48.79,1017.44,88.91,469.52 27.38,70.04,1011.18,72.26,428.88 8.76,41.48,1018.49,74.98,474.3 15.54,39.31,1009.69,71.19,461.06 18.71,39.39,1014.09,62.82,465.57 13.06,41.78,1012.3,55.31,467.67 12.72,40.71,1016.02,71.57,466.99 19.83,39.39,1013.73,59.16,463.72 27.23,49.16,1004.03,40.8,443.78 24.27,68.28,1005.43,67.63,445.23 11.8,40.66,1017.13,97.2,464.43 6.76,36.25,1028.31,91.16,484.36 25.99,63.07,1012.5,64.81,442.16 16.3,39.63,1004.64,85.61,464.11 16.5,49.39,1018.35,93.42,462.48 10.59,42.49,1009.59,77.36,477.49 26.05,65.59,1012.78,67.03,437.04 19.5,40.79,1003.8,89.45,457.09 22.21,45.01,1012.22,54.84,450.6 17.86,45,1023.25,53.48,465.78 29.96,70.04,1010.15,54.47,427.1 19.08,44.63,1020.14,43.36,459.81 23.59,47.43,1006.64,48.92,447.36 3.38,39.64,1011,81.22,488.92 26.39,66.49,1012.96,60.35,433.36 8.99,39.04,1021.99,75.98,483.35 10.91,41.04,1026.57,74.24,469.53 13.08,39.82,1012.27,85.21,476.96 23.95,58.46,1017.5,68.46,440.75 15.64,43.71,1024.51,78.31,462.55 18.78,54.2,1012.05,89.25,448.04 20.65,50.59,1016.22,68.57,455.24 4.96,40.07,1011.8,67.38,494.75 23.51,57.32,1012.55,53.6,444.58 5.99,35.79,1011.56,91.69,484.82 23.65,66.05,1019.6,78.21,442.9 5.17,39.33,1009.68,94.19,485.46 26.38,49.5,1012.82,37.19,457.81 6.02,43.65,1013.85,83.53,481.92 23.2,61.02,1009.63,79.45,443.23 8.57,39.69,1000.91,99.9,474.29 30.72,71.58,1009.98,50.39,430.46 21.52,50.66,1013.56,74.33,455.71 22.93,62.26,1011.25,83.66,438.34 5.71,41.31,1003.24,89.48,485.83 18.62,44.06,1017.76,64.59,452.82 27.88,68.94,1007.68,75.68,435.04 22.32,59.8,1016.82,64.18,451.21 14.55,42.74,1028.41,70.09,465.81 17.83,44.92,1025.04,70.58,458.42 9.68,39.96,1026.09,99.28,470.22 19.41,49.39,1020.84,81.89,449.24 13.22,44.92,1023.84,87.99,471.43 12.24,44.92,1023.74,88.21,473.26 19.21,58.49,1011.7,91.29,452.82 29.74,70.32,1008.1,52.72,432.69 23.28,60.84,1017.91,67.5,444.13 8.02,41.92,1029.8,92.05,467.21 22.47,48.6,1002.33,63.23,445.98 27.51,73.77,1002.42,90.88,436.91 17.51,44.9,1009.05,74.91,455.01 23.22,66.56,1002.47,85.39,437.11 11.73,40.64,1020.68,96.98,477.06 21.19,67.71,1006.65,56.28,441.71 5.48,40.07,1019.63,65.62,495.76 24.26,66.44,1011.33,55.32,445.63 12.32,41.62,1012.88,88.88,464.72 31.26,68.94,1005.94,39.49,438.03 32.09,72.86,1003.47,54.59,434.78 24.98,60.32,1015.63,57.19,444.67 27.48,61.41,1012.2,45.06,452.24 21.04,45.09,1014.19,40.62,450.92 27.75,70.4,1006.65,90.21,436.53 22.79,71.77,1005.75,90.91,435.53 24.22,68.51,1013.23,74.96,440.01 27.06,64.45,1008.72,54.21,443.1 29.25,71.94,1007.18,63.62,427.49 26.86,68.08,1012.99,50.04,436.25 29.64,67.79,1009.99,51.23,440.74 19.92,63.31,1015.02,82.71,443.54 18.5,51.43,1010.82,92.04,459.42 23.71,60.23,1009.76,90.67,439.66 14.39,44.84,1023.55,91.14,464.15 19.3,56.65,1020.55,70.43,459.1 24.65,52.36,1014.76,66.63,455.68 13.5,45.51,1015.33,86.95,469.08 9.82,41.26,1007.71,96.69,478.02 18.4,44.06,1017.36,70.88,456.8 28.12,44.89,1009.18,47.14,441.13 17.15,43.69,1017.05,63.36,463.88 30.69,73.67,1006.14,60.58,430.45 28.82,65.71,1014.24,54.3,449.18 21.3,48.92,1010.92,65.09,447.89 30.58,70.04,1010.4,48.16,431.59 21.17,52.3,1009.36,81.51,447.5 9.87,41.82,1033.04,68.57,475.58 22.18,59.8,1016.77,73.16,453.24 24.39,63.21,1012.59,80.88,446.4 10.73,44.92,1025.1,85.4,476.81 9.38,40.46,1019.29,75.77,474.1 20.27,57.76,1016.66,75.76,450.71 24.82,66.48,1006.4,70.21,433.62 16.55,41.66,1011.45,55.53,465.14 20.73,59.87,1019.08,80.48,445.18 9.51,39.22,1015.3,72.41,474.12 8.63,43.79,1016.08,83.25,483.91 6.48,40.27,1010.55,82.12,486.68 14.95,43.52,1022.43,94.75,464.98 5.76,45.87,1010.83,95.79,481.4 10.94,39.04,1021.81,86.02,479.2 15.87,41.16,1005.85,78.29,463.86 12.42,38.25,1012.76,82.23,472.3 29.12,58.84,1001.31,52.86,446.51 29.12,51.43,1005.93,60.66,437.71 19.08,41.1,1001.96,62.77,458.94 31.06,67.17,1007.62,65.54,437.91 5.72,39.33,1009.96,95.4,490.76 26.52,65.06,1013.4,51.78,439.66 13.84,44.9,1007.58,63.62,463.27 13.03,39.52,1016.68,83.09,473.99 25.94,66.49,1012.83,61.81,433.38 16.64,53.82,1015.13,68.24,459.01 14.13,40.75,1016.05,72.41,471.44 13.65,39.28,1012.97,79.64,471.91 14.5,44.47,1028.2,66.95,465.15 19.8,51.19,1008.25,91.98,446.66 25.2,63.76,1009.78,64.96,438.15 20.66,51.19,1008.81,88.93,447.14 12.07,43.71,1025.53,85.62,472.32 25.64,70.72,1010.16,84,441.68 23.33,72.99,1009.33,89.41,440.04 29.41,64.05,1009.82,67.4,444.82 16.6,53.16,1014.5,76.75,457.26 27.53,72.58,1009.13,89.06,428.83 20.62,43.43,1009.93,64.02,449.07 26.02,71.94,1009.38,64.12,435.21 12.75,44.2,1017.59,81.22,471.03 12.87,48.04,1012.47,100.13,465.56 25.77,62.96,1019.86,58.07,442.83 14.84,41.48,1017.26,63.42,460.3 7.41,40.71,1023.07,83.32,474.25 8.87,41.82,1033.3,74.28,477.97 9.69,40.46,1019.1,71.91,472.16 16.17,46.97,1014.22,85.8,456.08 26.24,49.82,1014.9,55.58,452.41 13.78,43.22,1011.31,69.7,463.71 26.3,67.07,1006.26,63.79,433.72 17.37,57.76,1016,86.59,456.4 23.6,48.98,1015.41,48.28,448.43 8.3,36.08,1020.63,80.42,481.6 18.86,42.18,1001.16,98.58,457.07 22.12,49.39,1019.8,72.83,451 28.41,75.6,1018.48,56.07,440.28 29.42,71.32,1002.26,67.13,437.47 18.61,67.71,1004.07,84.49,443.57 27.57,69.84,1004.91,68.37,426.6 12.83,41.5,1013.12,86.07,470.87 9.64,39.85,1012.9,83.82,478.37 19.13,58.66,1013.32,74.86,453.92 15.92,40.56,1020.79,53.52,470.22 24.64,72.24,1011.37,80.61,434.54 27.62,63.9,1013.11,43.56,442.89 8.9,36.24,1013.29,89.35,479.03 9.55,43.99,1020.5,97.28,476.06 10.57,36.71,1022.62,80.49,473.88 19.8,57.25,1010.84,88.9,451.75 25.63,56.85,1012.68,49.7,439.2 24.7,58.46,1015.58,68.64,439.7 15.26,46.18,1013.68,98.58,463.6 20.06,52.84,1004.21,82.12,447.47 19.84,56.89,1013.23,78.32,447.92 11.49,44.63,1020.44,86.04,471.08 23.74,72.43,1007.99,91.36,437.55 22.62,51.3,1012.36,81.02,448.27 29.53,72.39,998.47,76.05,431.69 21.32,48.14,1016.57,71.81,449.09 20.3,58.46,1015.93,82.13,448.79 16.97,44.92,1025.21,74.27,460.21 12.07,41.17,1013.54,71.32,479.28 7.46,41.82,1032.67,74.59,483.11 19.2,54.2,1011.46,84.44,450.75 28.64,66.54,1010.43,43.39,437.97 13.56,41.48,1008.53,87.2,459.76 17.4,44.9,1020.5,77.11,457.75 14.08,40.1,1015.48,82.81,469.33 27.11,69.75,1009.74,85.67,433.28 20.92,70.02,1010.23,95.58,444.64 16.18,44.9,1021.3,74.46,463.1 15.57,44.68,1022.01,90.02,460.91 10.37,39.04,1023.95,81.93,479.35 19.6,59.21,1017.65,86.29,449.23 9.22,40.92,1021.83,85.43,474.51 27.76,72.99,1007.81,71.66,435.02 28.68,70.72,1009.43,71.33,435.45 20.95,48.14,1013.3,67.72,452.38 9.06,39.3,1019.73,84.23,480.41 9.21,39.72,1019.54,74.44,478.96 13.65,42.74,1026.58,71.48,468.87 31.79,76.2,1007.89,56.3,434.01 14.32,44.6,1013.85,68.13,466.36 26.28,75.23,1011.44,68.35,435.28 7.69,43.02,1014.51,85.23,486.46 14.44,40.1,1015.51,79.78,468.19 9.19,41.01,1022.14,98.98,468.37 13.35,41.39,1019.17,72.87,474.19 23.04,74.22,1009.52,90.93,440.32 4.83,38.44,1015.35,72.94,485.32 17.29,42.86,1014.38,72.3,464.27 8.73,36.18,1013.66,77.74,479.25 26.21,70.32,1007,78.29,430.4 23.72,58.62,1016.65,69.1,447.49 29.27,64.69,1006.85,55.79,438.23 10.4,40.43,1025.46,75.09,492.09 12.19,40.75,1015.13,88.98,475.36 20.4,54.9,1016.68,64.26,452.56 34.3,74.67,1015.98,25.89,427.84 27.56,68.08,1010.8,59.18,433.95 30.9,70.8,1008.48,67.48,435.27 14.85,58.59,1014.04,89.85,454.62 16.42,40.56,1020.36,50.62,472.17 16.45,63.31,1015.96,83.97,452.42 10.14,42.02,1003.19,96.51,472.17 9.53,41.44,1018.01,80.09,481.83 17.01,49.15,1021.83,84.02,458.78 23.94,62.08,1022.47,61.97,447.5 15.95,49.25,1019.04,88.51,463.4 11.15,41.26,1022.67,81.83,473.57 25.56,70.32,1009.07,90.63,433.72 27.16,66.44,1011.2,73.37,431.85 26.71,77.95,1012.13,77.5,433.47 29.56,74.22,1007.45,57.46,432.84 31.19,70.94,1007.29,51.91,436.6 6.86,41.17,1020.12,79.14,490.23 12.36,41.74,1020.58,69.24,477.16 32.82,68.31,1010.44,41.85,441.06 25.3,70.98,1007.22,95.1,440.86 8.71,41.82,1033.08,74.53,477.94 13.34,40.8,1026.56,64.85,474.47 14.2,43.02,1012.18,57.07,470.67 23.74,65.34,1013.7,62.9,447.31 16.9,44.88,1018.14,72.21,466.8 28.54,71.94,1007.4,65.99,430.91 30.15,69.88,1007.2,73.67,434.75 14.33,42.86,1010.82,88.59,469.52 25.57,59.43,1008.88,61.19,438.9 30.55,70.04,1010.51,49.37,429.56 28.04,74.33,1013.53,48.65,432.92 26.39,49.16,1005.68,56.18,442.87 15.3,41.76,1022.57,71.56,466.59 6.03,41.14,1028.04,87.46,479.61 13.49,44.63,1019.12,70.02,471.08 27.67,59.14,1016.51,61.2,433.37 24.19,65.48,1018.8,60.54,443.92 24.44,59.14,1016.74,71.82,443.5 29.86,64.79,1017.37,44.8,439.89 30.2,69.59,1008.9,67.32,434.66 7.99,41.38,1021.95,78.77,487.57 9.93,41.62,1013.76,96.02,464.64 11.03,42.32,1017.26,90.56,470.92 22.34,63.73,1014.37,83.19,444.39 25.33,48.6,1002.54,68.45,442.48 18.87,52.08,1005.25,99.19,449.61 25.97,69.34,1009.43,88.11,435.02 16.58,43.99,1021.81,79.29,458.67 14.35,46.18,1016.63,87.76,461.74 25.06,62.39,1008.09,82.56,438.31 13.85,48.92,1011.68,79.24,462.38 16.09,44.2,1019.39,67.24,460.56 26.34,59.21,1013.37,58.98,439.22 23.01,58.79,1009.71,84.22,444.64 26.39,71.25,999.8,89.12,430.34 31.32,71.29,1008.37,50.07,430.46 16.64,45.87,1009.02,98.86,456.79 13.42,41.23,994.17,95.79,468.82 20.06,44.9,1008.79,70.06,448.51 14.8,44.71,1014.67,41.71,470.77 12.59,41.14,1025.79,86.55,465.74 26.7,66.56,1005.31,71.97,430.21 19.78,50.32,1008.62,96.4,449.23 15.17,49.15,1021.91,91.73,461.89 21.71,61.45,1010.97,91.62,445.72 19.09,39.39,1013.36,59.14,466.13 19.76,51.19,1008.38,92.56,448.71 14.68,41.23,998.43,83.71,469.25 21.3,66.86,1013.04,55.43,450.56 16.73,39.64,1008.94,74.91,464.46 12.26,41.5,1014.87,89.41,471.13 14.77,48.06,1010.92,69.81,461.52 18.26,59.15,1012.04,86.01,451.09 27.1,79.74,1005.43,86.05,431.51 14.72,40.83,1009.65,80.98,469.8 26.3,51.43,1012.05,63.62,442.28 16.48,48.92,1011.84,64.16,458.67 17.99,43.79,1016.13,75.63,462.4 20.34,59.8,1015.18,80.21,453.54 25.53,62.96,1019.81,59.7,444.38 31.59,58.9,1003.39,47.6,440.52 30.8,69.14,1007.68,63.78,433.62 10.75,45,1023.68,89.37,481.96 19.3,44.9,1008.89,70.55,452.75 4.71,39.42,1026.4,84.42,481.28 23.1,66.05,1020.28,80.62,439.03 32.63,73.88,1005.64,52.56,435.75 26.63,74.16,1009.72,83.26,436.03 24.35,58.49,1011.03,70.64,445.6 15.11,56.03,1020.27,89.95,462.65 29.1,50.05,1005.87,51.53,438.66 21.24,50.32,1008.54,84.83,447.32 6.16,39.48,1004.85,59.68,484.55 7.36,41.01,1024.9,97.88,476.8 10.44,39.04,1023.99,85.03,480.34 26.76,48.41,1010.53,47.38,440.63 16.79,44.6,1014.27,48.08,459.48 10.76,40.43,1025.98,79.65,490.78 6.07,38.91,1019.25,83.39,483.56 27.33,73.18,1012.26,82.18,429.38 27.15,59.21,1013.49,51.71,440.27 22.35,51.43,1011.34,77.33,445.34 21.82,65.27,1013.86,72.81,447.43 21.11,69.94,1004.37,84.26,439.91 19.95,50.59,1016.11,73.23,459.27 7.45,39.61,1017.88,79.73,478.89 15.36,41.66,1012.41,62.32,466.7 15.65,43.5,1021.39,78.58,463.5 25.31,74.33,1015.04,79.88,436.21 25.88,63.47,1011.95,65.87,443.94 24.6,63.94,1012.87,80.28,439.63 22.58,41.54,1013.21,71.33,460.95 19.69,59.14,1015.99,70.33,448.69 25.85,75.08,1006.24,57.73,444.63 10.06,37.83,1005.49,99.46,473.51 18.59,39.54,1008.56,68.61,462.56 18.27,50.16,1011.07,95.91,451.76 8.85,40.43,1025.68,80.42,491.81 30.04,68.08,1011.04,51.01,429.52 26.06,49.02,1007.59,74.08,437.9 14.8,38.73,1003.18,80.73,467.54 23.93,64.45,1015.35,54.71,449.97 23.72,66.48,1003.61,73.75,436.62 11.44,40.55,1023.37,88.43,477.68 20.28,63.86,1016.04,74.66,447.26 27.9,63.13,1011.8,70.04,439.76 24.74,59.39,1015.23,74.64,437.49 14.8,58.2,1018.29,85.11,455.14 8.22,41.03,1021.76,82.97,485.5 27.56,66.93,1016.81,55.59,444.1 32.07,70.94,1006.91,49.9,432.33 9.53,44.03,1008.87,89.99,471.23 13.61,42.34,1017.93,91.61,463.89 22.2,51.19,1009.2,82.95,445.54 21.36,59.54,1007.99,92.62,446.09 23.25,63.86,1017.82,59.64,445.12 23.5,59.21,1018.29,63,443.31 8.46,39.66,1015.14,85.38,484.16 8.19,40.69,1019.86,85.23,477.76 30.67,71.29,1008.36,52.08,430.28 32.48,62.04,1010.39,38.05,446.48 8.99,36.66,1028.11,71.98,481.03 13.77,47.83,1007.41,90.66,466.07 19.05,67.32,1013.2,83.14,447.47 21.19,55.5,1019.83,65.22,455.93 10.12,40,1021.15,91.67,479.62 24.93,47.01,1014.28,66.04,455.06 8.47,40.46,1019.87,78.19,475.06 24.52,56.85,1012.59,54.47,438.89 28.55,69.84,1003.38,67.26,432.7 20.58,50.9,1011.89,72.56,452.6 18.31,46.21,1010.46,82.15,451.75 27.18,71.06,1008.16,86.32,430.66 4.43,38.91,1019.04,88.17,491.9 26.02,74.78,1010.04,72.78,439.82 15.75,39,1015.91,69.58,460.73 22.99,60.95,1015.14,69.86,449.7 25.52,59.15,1013.88,65.37,439.42 27.04,65.06,1013.33,52.37,439.84 6.42,35.57,1025.58,79.63,485.86 17.04,40.12,1011.81,83.14,458.1 10.79,39.82,1012.89,88.25,479.92 20.41,56.03,1019.94,55.85,458.29 7.36,40.07,1017.29,52.55,489.45 28.08,73.42,1012.17,62.74,434 24.74,69.13,1010.69,90.08,431.24 28.32,47.93,1003.26,54.5,439.5 16.71,40.56,1019.48,49.88,467.46 30.7,71.58,1010,48.96,429.27 18.42,58.95,1016.95,86.77,452.1 10.62,42.02,999.83,96.66,472.41 22.18,69.05,1002.75,70.84,442.14 22.38,49.3,1003.56,83.83,441 13.94,41.58,1020.76,68.22,463.07 21.24,60.84,1017.99,82.22,445.71 6.76,39.81,1017.11,87.9,483.16 26.73,68.84,1010.75,66.83,440.45 7.24,38.06,1020.6,85.36,481.83 10.84,40.62,1015.53,60.9,467.6 19.32,52.84,1004.29,83.51,450.88 29,69.13,1001.22,52.96,425.5 23.38,54.42,1013.95,73.02,451.87 31.17,69.51,1010.51,43.11,428.94 26.17,48.6,1002.59,61.41,439.86 30.9,73.42,1011.21,65.32,433.44 24.92,73.68,1015.12,93.68,438.23 32.77,71.32,1007.68,42.39,436.95 14.37,40.56,1021.67,68.18,470.19 8.36,40.22,1011.6,89.18,484.66 31.45,68.27,1007.56,64.79,430.81 31.6,73.17,1010.05,43.48,433.37 17.9,48.98,1014.17,80.4,453.02 20.35,50.9,1012.6,72.43,453.5 16.21,41.23,995.88,80,463.09 19.36,44.6,1016.25,45.65,464.56 21.04,65.46,1017.22,63.02,452.12 14.05,40.69,1015.66,74.39,470.9 23.48,64.15,1021.08,57.77,450.89 21.91,63.76,1009.85,76.8,445.04 24.42,63.07,1011.49,67.39,444.72 14.26,40.92,1022.07,73.96,460.38 21.38,58.33,1013.05,72.75,446.8 15.71,44.06,1018.34,71.69,465.05 5.78,40.62,1016.55,84.98,484.13 6.77,39.81,1017.01,87.68,488.27 23.84,49.21,1013.85,50.36,447.09 21.17,58.16,1017.16,68.11,452.02 19.94,58.96,1014.16,66.27,455.55 8.73,41.92,1029.41,89.72,480.99 16.39,41.67,1012.96,61.07,467.68 15.28,40,1016.65,65,458.76 22.05,59.92,1009.06,93.74,437.9 18.63,48.92,1011.37,71.72,450.29 15,41.17,1015.57,64.82,468.72 20.46,59.21,1018.42,85.89,445.22 11.97,45.51,1016.84,81.47,472.82 26.59,59.92,1009.97,70.09,438.22 13.76,45.08,1023.77,80.48,469.74 21.41,59.43,1010.27,74.54,442.85 12.45,37.92,1008.03,61.87,470.59 10.62,39.64,1010.65,62.15,477.07 12.33,37.73,1022.46,59.3,470.11 15.63,44.9,1009.38,82.8,457.44 19.11,50.16,1010.88,100.09,450.38 21.83,41.1,1001.91,41.79,453.38 22.02,64.45,1012.57,47.87,454.9 26.54,71.98,1005.8,91.16,431.78 6.9,39.81,1016.74,88.24,481.88 13.05,34.03,1018.31,64.99,472.69 19.61,45.01,1014.84,64.42,461.97 26.26,63.73,1010.45,70.61,442.18 30.56,71.25,1000.3,70.55,431.92 21.81,63.77,1014.28,83.66,444.52 26.65,58.41,1013.53,65.83,442.66 25.18,57.5,1015.07,60.76,449.01 17.8,46.48,1007.27,81.31,452.66 33.27,66.44,1010.63,43.47,430.11 29.94,65.74,1012.4,46.94,440.54 8.51,34.69,1026.96,75.34,481.83 9.45,36.71,1024.24,83.28,476.02 24.27,60.23,1011.84,77.8,438.99 11.28,42.44,1014.62,99.78,473.36 7.93,41.01,1023.64,97.23,476.37 14.3,42.99,1007.32,73.72,467.9 24.31,63.86,1019.47,58.54,442.69 29.3,70.04,1010.95,61.23,426.25 20.43,63.09,1016.46,91.78,445.58 10.94,39.69,1004.5,86.29,459.69 23.04,57.32,1011.23,64.27,442.01 25.37,44.89,1009.27,63.06,442.38 21.1,49.16,1006.76,86.08,442.78 20.4,57.85,1011.14,92.47,450.07 20.51,48.6,1005.29,80.7,448 12.15,38.78,1013.34,95.05,474.15 15.27,41.16,1009,84.12,467.01 23.78,60.27,1018.02,78.06,441.56 22.01,60.84,1017.55,83.82,441.9 24.72,77.54,1008.39,81.03,438.52 28.84,73.03,1013.99,76.05,435.75 26.53,54.2,1012.9,66.73,439.96 19.82,41.67,1012.92,51.92,456.87 16.69,40.56,1019.92,51.43,469.9 20.36,56.53,1020.25,72.96,455.34 18.6,68.28,1003.27,84.21,446.98 12.54,40.1,1015.73,84.29,475.02 14.54,46.18,1015.29,94.48,463.03 30.97,67.9,1005.98,55.6,428.26 26.54,71.14,1007.52,72.04,431.31 25.2,59.21,1017.54,55.53,444.16 13.17,38.52,1018.5,83.77,468.82 8.53,40.77,1009.85,90.95,481.03 24.06,58.2,1017.46,48.04,445.91 12.25,41.38,1021.81,59,474.77 14.7,40.8,1025.78,50.96,472.85 15.75,39.39,1014.38,76.29,468.6 29.45,74.16,1010.49,64.87,438.11 30.22,68.3,1014.91,34.9,434.3 26.96,72.58,1009.23,89.62,429.03 18.48,58.59,1015.61,85.14,452.52 17.78,50.66,1015.09,91.9,456.11 6.64,39.04,1018.84,74.94,481.53 21.83,63.13,1013.4,85.82,443.41 13.92,39.58,1012.5,80.28,465.67 12.14,40.27,1007.57,73.22,472.84 15.64,38.28,1014.39,76.93,466.51 16,44.9,1020.5,80.89,461.5 9.75,43.69,1016.81,82.42,481.34 13.56,43.67,1011.34,94.02,467.09 7.94,40.56,1023.25,80.84,488.01 20.46,54.2,1011.4,84,448.1 18.23,62.26,1011.48,91.35,448.64 23.14,63.94,1017.49,53.19,446.57 20.55,46.21,1013.21,73.18,448.66 23.58,49.3,1003.8,74.62,440.44 14.51,42.77,1017.47,81.95,463.37 10.05,40.71,1015.51,84.21,471.68 26.91,61.5,1009.47,55.26,436.84 15.66,41.35,1001.68,86.26,463.57 30.07,69.82,1010.39,57.53,437.38 24.28,68.31,1009.94,77.08,440.07 12.57,39.3,1019.57,72.44,473.67 11.01,42.02,995.24,98.62,473.96 23.3,72.99,1008.54,92.11,437.62 28.76,60.23,1010.03,58.24,437.42 21.4,68.28,1008.2,60.34,450.22 30.33,68.67,1006,54.99,435.53 18.89,67.71,1003.92,86.12,443.54 18.83,47.83,1005.58,77.07,454.23 12.32,43.69,1016.26,83.18,471.6 25.15,68.51,1013.25,72.31,440.96 17.06,52.9,1019.76,80.9,460.82 23.68,49.02,1007.53,86.05,440.68 11.95,39.82,1013.4,92.51,474.56 25.39,58.79,1015.85,62.59,441.51 11.52,40.8,1024.31,73.49,479.56 19.69,56.65,1020.86,73.41,455.32 26.1,74.16,1009.42,85.4,437.18 27.44,74.9,1003.85,76.65,436.42 27.35,66.05,1017.62,55.26,439.6 25.7,69.45,1013.86,56.91,437.04 24.54,58.66,1011.63,57.62,448.11 14.87,41.23,997.39,82.06,465.01 14.05,40.35,1011.52,66.21,475.54 25.69,73.18,1012.64,86.35,432.82 31.01,67.69,1005.06,46.16,426.64 9.46,42.28,1008.67,78.16,481.95 7.71,40.77,1021.93,87.04,482.19 15.69,37.64,1016,83.88,462.18 26.45,64.27,1013.23,60.92,444.9 22.86,60.08,1017.2,67.11,452.34 21.61,49.39,1019.41,78.2,449.26 25.66,77.54,1008.22,78.42,432.82 22.48,71.29,1008.15,75.41,444.71 21.58,63.87,1015.27,63.15,451.88 25.94,77.24,1007.97,84.82,432.88 16.45,44.68,1018.6,85.14,462.66 27.88,63.87,1017.79,40,443.24 26.62,65.12,1016,43.24,441.22 27.94,49.16,1004.22,35.46,436.75 5.02,45.87,1007.8,99.22,481.03 31.87,71.22,1006.16,45.66,437 24.49,68.61,1010.56,64.03,447.57 30.42,67.69,1006.23,54.19,430.9 20.85,59.21,1012.9,75.97,444.44 13.18,40.03,1017.75,82.29,470.88 5.37,38.68,1017.76,76.48,487.07 31.81,69.88,1007.94,55.91,432.6 20.55,48.98,1016.1,63.89,452.52 22.49,69.84,1006.78,73.76,437.57 12.57,39.18,1023.09,77.28,471.87 27.35,69.48,1008.51,65.81,432.31 17.82,49.15,1020.73,70.25,457.35 23.25,56.9,1006.82,76.37,442.76 9.37,40.11,1024.94,75.03,471.13 24.43,58.2,1017.18,46.84,444.89 20.04,49.39,1020.62,78.84,449.63 10.06,43.22,1014.1,85.7,473 21.44,50.78,1008.87,87.56,443.3 29.04,62.26,1010.63,56.6,433.97 8.83,41.26,1023.04,86.08,478.87 24.19,46.21,1010.79,62.04,440.87 11.97,41.04,1026.42,70.75,468.81 19.43,52.9,1017.16,67.41,458.46 15.59,45.09,1013.41,91.97,457.54 13.23,42.34,1018.02,97.49,462.21 16.34,41.16,1006.36,75.52,462.56 28.1,61.02,1011.28,59.05,437.5 26.08,70.32,1012.32,89,434.24 24.44,52.84,1006.39,49.05,440.2 18.37,58.96,1015.5,67.79,460.25 22.93,51.19,1009.3,82.8,443.57 29.67,73.67,1006.48,64.98,429.28 12.15,43.71,1025.78,93.69,472.59 15.67,45.17,1018.73,94.74,462.09 14.7,48.6,1006.91,85.65,460.63 27.33,52.84,1005.88,56.16,438.97 12.55,38.91,1012.58,75.44,474.35 31.42,69.13,1009.34,57.16,425.98 15.44,39.54,1007.49,82.14,469.28 24.19,47.45,1008.26,64.25,446.3 6.05,41.14,1027.69,86.93,481.02 13.94,42.86,1012.35,88.78,471.64 5.79,45.87,1010.23,95.41,480.97 27.01,69.75,1009.78,81.29,442.57 9.59,38.56,1017.01,60.1,481.3 27.46,69.98,1013.28,63.73,435.36 22.63,70.47,1008,82.27,441.92 28.11,77.95,1009.38,72.81,432.98 18.87,44.06,1013.42,68.78,451.4 15.5,49.25,1021.41,77.92,453.99 3.73,39.42,1024.4,82.42,488.58 26.41,68.24,1010.6,77.79,428.52 17.83,66.86,1011.65,77.31,456.56 13.44,37.85,1009.78,99.13,469.89 14.62,46.18,1014.75,96.81,462.26 19.7,43.79,1015.93,47.39,464.41 6.06,41.17,1019.67,84.7,489.62 15.89,38.73,1001.45,74.37,465.76 31.63,69.59,1008.66,61.81,436.89 18.99,44.58,1018.29,54.71,468.35 13.96,40.92,1022.65,73.08,460.95 20.21,54.9,1016.82,66.56,454.23 15.14,49.64,1023.78,75,463.58 18.97,44.85,1014.86,46.31,466.17 21.36,52.3,1007.95,79.38,448.13 29.48,64.69,1006.44,64.46,435.09 21.1,62.66,1011.19,83.49,448.8 26.51,70.32,1010.3,57.4,431.82 30.93,61.5,1009.81,41.46,437.35 11.64,41.44,1016.4,73.18,478.99 7.26,36.08,1021.47,83.15,483.58 16.36,44.88,1018.34,76,468.53 17.43,63.09,1019.87,92.77,449.36 10.37,37.5,1013.19,79.25,473.1 22.8,49.16,1006.4,77.05,439.65 21,70.02,1010.22,95.11,447.29 12.68,45,1022.54,77.19,479.69 12.35,44.2,1017.81,82.49,471.65 7.09,43.13,1017.91,92.37,485.04 28.9,68.12,1011.87,46.56,438.53 26.82,69.05,1004.62,40,437.42 11.02,40.71,1020.3,86.64,469.31 14.95,43.72,1010.28,93.62,459.31 16.58,44.68,1021.5,83.38,458.87 31.73,73.42,1010.8,61.81,430.46 8.58,38.38,1021.03,84.37,482.26 28.08,73.17,1011.19,73.1,430.8 31.01,67.83,1007.95,43.57,429.46 26.94,59.87,1011.66,58.34,448.6 10.2,41.62,1016.52,98.09,462.87 9.2,39.99,1011.73,85.95,484.04 27.69,70.32,1012.2,82.27,432.57 25.71,71.14,1010.02,66.39,432.46 18.22,39.63,1005.11,79,465.78 16.81,42.42,1008.95,74.25,462.19 30.63,74.22,1007.47,46.52,430.38 12.11,38.28,1013.56,93.21,469.93 23.75,60.29,1017.36,64.04,449.57 33.96,68.94,1006.93,47.39,427.06 29.35,54.2,1013.07,42.45,439.47 23.07,50.05,1006.9,86.98,442.97 12.91,41.66,1013.37,71.52,469.71 6.25,39.04,1019.65,71.27,484.14 19.8,58.79,1017.04,87.71,449.66 31.38,68.27,1006.79,52.79,426.67 10.62,39.96,1025.37,96.64,470.8 6.89,43.65,1019.87,72.77,484 16.3,38.73,1001.79,73.45,465.7 14.82,44.58,1020.13,74.88,473.17 22.97,63.94,1010.5,88.47,440.81 31.15,66.25,1008.89,61.08,437.55 15.69,41.93,1021.3,52.69,468.43 26.65,66.48,1005.7,65.09,436.65 29.38,73.42,1011.49,54.96,445.42 16.77,49.39,1018.61,95.86,459.38 22.77,70.32,1012.04,82.43,440.67 15.91,44.99,1010.93,62.81,459.73 24.33,68.08,1013.02,64.81,442.93 19.69,56.65,1020.79,66.94,457.17 31.76,66.54,1003.02,49.64,430.18 14.47,42.86,1031.55,66.73,466.64 27.2,72.43,1006.75,80.67,430.32 17.29,44.06,1016.24,77.56,461.38 25.44,63.13,1011.74,77.83,441.91 16.98,43.7,1015.07,53.51,464.01 22.65,68.67,1006.67,77.42,447.01 26.41,60.93,1007.16,66.02,436.71 19.78,63.09,1019.01,78.39,448.34 19.26,65.61,1015.03,85.74,451.85 22.25,59.8,1016.79,69.02,451.64 7.1,35.77,1015.39,92.1,480.36 18.53,39.72,1001.26,64.08,457.26 30.47,77.3,1002.13,63.7,434.68 27.34,71.64,1008.12,72.22,438.76 29.8,69.34,1009.36,64.74,437.65 22.69,65.12,1016.35,72.02,446.91 18.58,49.25,1019.92,60.24,452.94 14.16,44.06,1018.92,76.34,464.91 28.33,78.92,1011.15,70.04,432.67 28.31,70.32,1007.88,47,432.5 21.5,50.59,1017.08,65.28,453.8 29.24,64.33,1011.5,64.14,440.29 25.15,66.49,1012.71,63.46,436 15.48,53.82,1016.1,64.77,462.69 16.07,47.83,1006.99,86.49,458.18 18.02,53.16,1013.41,82.84,458.01 14.99,41.35,1004.56,98.9,466.85 29.62,71.8,1011.05,63.13,438.55 25.04,63.86,1018.92,52.79,441.6 11.45,40.8,1027.74,78.6,476.28 18.96,44.58,1016.66,71.95,461.96 26.54,66.51,1015.39,51.22,440.04 22.3,67.25,1017.33,75.85,453.27 14.7,41.39,1018.84,68.19,469.6 9.14,40.6,1015.34,88.91,483.57 6.14,38.5,1012.4,75.35,489.26 11.24,42.34,1021.3,95.19,469.3 30.55,71.06,1009.33,73.38,432.6 14.9,52.05,1015.11,77.33,464.82 10.25,37.14,1013.14,70.73,474.37 3.26,41.31,996.32,100,489.38 27.54,75.6,1018.26,57.89,440.87 13.65,44.6,1017.99,87.04,466.06 22.08,41.1,1002.19,46.69,455.04 24.93,69.05,1001.02,85.14,429.53 27.58,71.97,1008.51,87.99,430.53 32.14,75.08,1005.35,49.92,439.22 16.98,44.85,1015.48,51.77,464.27 13.25,34.03,1018.94,72.1,470.46 25.9,48.92,1009.82,35.42,443.8 30.27,64.05,1011.93,65.72,438.68 22.37,50.78,1008.84,82.06,449.08 21.93,57.17,1009.81,81.15,448.75 29.65,74.9,1003.22,71.09,433.32 18.32,42.18,1002.27,95.99,458.46 22.76,44.05,1006.95,74.07,450.31 8.95,43.56,1015.04,81.53,485.21 13.12,44.21,1019.57,89.29,469.09 21.18,44.57,1007.27,73.67,449.93 16.71,46.18,1011.61,95.82,459.4 15.01,43.56,1014.65,61.82,465.84 25.96,68.08,1011.34,71.57,432.82 33.4,69.98,1013.29,47.78,432.44 17.4,63.09,1020.84,92.58,453 6.49,35.57,1025.4,79.67,486.8 6.01,35.79,1011.26,90.72,482.79 29.97,69.14,1007.92,66.74,433.82 21.33,63.86,1020.33,72.13,445.02 23.27,64.69,1006.84,70.53,438.08 28.3,59.27,1010.92,61.83,445.19 5.74,45.87,1011.44,95.94,482 21.67,50.32,1008.41,85.99,445.31 20.06,47.03,1013.66,83.23,461.02 8.25,37.49,1009.02,81.09,480.38 22.61,50.32,1008.41,79.4,444.74 26.31,71.29,1009.87,84.16,432.92 25.03,57.5,1014.96,62.23,449.48 11.44,41.39,1019.59,79.95,478.52 25.14,49.02,1007.56,79.02,438.53 30.91,69.75,1010.23,59.36,435.7 31.54,71.06,1008.4,71.77,431.87 12.24,44.9,1020.31,82.22,464.25 6.65,39.33,1011.29,92.85,490.41 8.31,40.46,1020.07,78.18,476.72 22.72,50.05,1007,88.24,444.43 22.78,58.59,1012.84,65.55,445.45 25.63,72.99,1008.2,86.8,436.64 6.01,35.79,1011.05,91.33,482.25 20.21,65.06,1016.46,73.36,451.46 7.47,40.64,1020.47,94.8,478.08 19.73,69.51,1013.14,61.84,450.99 13.57,39.39,1014.01,82.12,471.44 14.8,42.77,1019.14,76.53,462.29 10.41,44.68,1023.53,91.38,474.7 12.33,39.85,1012.53,66.04,479.32 26.65,73.18,1012.27,83.12,437.7 19.09,56.51,1015.58,92.56,449.24 12.81,45.51,1015.46,79.97,469.27 9.99,36.71,1023.57,83.53,475.85 13.02,40.1,1014.43,87.32,474.97 14.15,39.28,1013.5,77.63,471.23 19.46,47.03,1013.9,88.86,460.57 23.19,42.67,1007.83,63.31,446.95 20.25,58.59,1012.99,65.98,452.18 31.9,69.4,1003.4,57.76,436.04 20.76,44.58,1017.09,57.47,462.01 20.51,42.23,1013.25,71.83,461.78 22.56,70.98,1005.66,95.95,440.81 25.64,68.14,1005.48,56.11,437.63 23.63,58.79,1017.2,67.68,442.86 15.3,43.14,1015.11,71.35,466 6.79,39.37,1019.79,72.39,487.3 23.89,48.41,1010.48,62.31,441.83 26.23,63.56,1013.57,65.81,440.8 12.5,45.51,1015.8,82.82,469.69 21.97,68.12,1012.53,75.12,443.39 24.11,66.51,1015.35,56.01,437.21 18.24,49.5,1014.37,79.36,464.13 19.7,52.84,1004.86,89.72,444.64 19.15,57.76,1019.62,74.89,458.66 14.79,39.52,1017.95,71.97,469.47 25.13,68.63,1013.57,43.44,446.36 23.02,59.21,1011.74,83.18,440.5 34.35,77.17,1009.26,59.33,437.65 23.95,66.48,1003.55,73.68,431.87 25.52,63.94,1017.81,41.54,440.32 23.56,42.67,1008.01,66.76,440.69 26.67,59.44,1012.01,58.83,441.29 18.7,66.51,1015.14,79.23,458.73 25.89,63.56,1013.82,64.51,443.82 27.25,50.05,1006.53,60.64,439.63 16.73,58.59,1015.02,89.61,455.3 30.67,77.95,1015.28,61.67,435.96 13.98,54.3,1015.58,74.91,466.52 25.42,69.71,1009.29,82.5,435.59 21.57,66.49,1014.76,68.19,455.18 23.66,67.17,1007.24,87.56,443.43 13.87,42.99,1007.45,81.52,471.12 9.42,41.4,1029.6,87.43,478.12 13.61,39.85,1012.78,58.12,475.62 23.84,59.87,1019.11,59.59,441.94 31.09,59.57,1010.67,60.5,440.08 3.98,35.47,1017.22,86.53,489.64 29.28,74.33,1011.66,72.37,426.53 23.55,58.79,1010.78,78.47,447.01 17.37,48.92,1011.91,58.4,455.53 18.34,44.63,1000.76,89.27,455.22 13.86,40.83,1008.76,82.4,470.37 27.36,58.33,1013.86,56.7,439.14 27.71,54.2,1012.72,47.25,440.74 8.46,40.8,1023.57,81.27,485.06 25.18,47.93,1002.92,60.33,441.29 21.82,63.9,1014.48,92.53,447.29 15.61,40.89,1010.48,80.26,467.3 30.4,71.97,1008.42,76.28,430.23 10.54,42.02,997.5,99.77,472.64 10.59,39.96,1025.87,97.05,468.96 12.52,41.44,1016.08,68.94,477.18 32.92,69.05,1000.74,39.61,426.61 21.14,69.94,1008.87,79.74,440.69 26.33,64.45,1013.12,43.31,450.67 27.19,71.58,1010.85,76.1,436.77 19.64,56.53,1019.6,76.19,447.66 15.52,58.59,1014.12,91.22,457.74 12.95,41.38,1021.97,53.83,474.46 6.43,36.08,1022.73,85.03,486.39 25.21,60.37,1006.01,73.14,436.23 21.24,41.67,1012.6,49.27,459.81 9.63,41.14,1027.99,87.89,469.73 24.32,58.79,1016.8,65.61,442.78 17.47,63.31,1015.28,88.22,450.68 14.54,39.39,1013.87,76.39,470.23 20.74,49.69,1010.91,69.1,454.59 8.75,40.77,1021.99,86.46,478.85 27.67,69.59,1009.13,82.15,437.29 23.21,58.66,1012.24,65.31,450.92 7.49,39.81,1019.03,87.29,483.59 7.82,38.91,1015.58,90.11,479.15 7.77,35.77,1016.53,73.79,479.68 22.84,50.05,1005.59,79.49,442.85 10.48,41.93,1017.17,92.81,480.01 10.2,41.46,1020.23,84.54,481.46 27.24,68.08,1013.23,51.96,445.25 9.37,42.32,1015.15,82.96,477.57 24.12,58.66,1011.55,58.96,450.69 14.54,43.14,1010.26,82.98,465.45 31.23,66.75,1017.48,36.55,433.9 5.41,45.87,1008.47,97.51,479.48 15.61,38.52,1018.4,80.99,439.21 26.9,59.14,1016.18,70.88,436.16 23.95,73.67,1007.32,87.67,437.43 9.2,40.03,1017.05,92.46,480.38 9.51,43.79,1016.02,79.81,481.12 8.51,41.26,1023.17,87.79,477.51 19.66,51.43,1010.17,84.19,459.12 27.33,51.43,1006.18,67.6,439.12 21.43,63.94,1017.28,57.49,449.02 14.97,43.67,1011.13,87.33,465.54 21.97,69.23,1012.25,86.45,443.85 8.34,40.77,1010.84,90.01,480.48 21.86,60.27,1016.06,90.48,446.31 24.59,71.94,1006.89,88.52,430.28 26.26,73.06,1009.35,91.65,435.41 26.76,71.94,1008.81,64.62,432.49 30.98,69.82,1009.17,50.63,438.44 19.22,65.06,1015.05,82.5,446.98 25.72,70.47,1010.44,70.57,434.94 22.37,41.54,1013.74,72.21,459.06 26.05,44.89,1009.83,56.36,443.18 20.8,50.9,1012.07,73.16,457 29.1,77.95,1010.01,71.48,431.28 11.17,40.27,1009.54,74.56,476.18 11.35,40.73,1019.37,96.05,472.32 18.12,63.09,1019.32,89.21,449.65 16.97,42.86,1013.92,74.8,463.62 10.22,38.18,1018.01,70.7,474.07 13.1,40.55,1007.59,95.46,472.37 18.22,45.09,1013.62,75.56,454.74 4.15,39.9,1008.84,96.68,491.22 19.15,59.21,1018.41,88.9,450.26 15.87,39.31,1009.95,66.78,460.59 8.05,40.8,1028.01,89.56,483.43 18.81,61.87,1009.71,70.47,448.49 23.95,51.86,1014.24,68.28,449.81 13.21,41.2,1016.63,74.1,474.26 9.38,43.7,1015.45,90.47,481.52 27.41,59.21,1013.3,50.93,438.39 18.42,63.94,1020.47,74.47,450.55 19.51,44.05,1008.52,78.38,451.7 28.5,76.86,999.49,77.47,430.62 11.97,42.32,1016.95,88.32,467.98 3,39.64,1011,80.14,485.2 12.11,41.17,1019.46,62.59,475.53 12.32,41.26,1022.42,79.74,470.27 8.83,36.3,1027.08,72.69,479.86 20.08,49.69,1008.34,69.88,453.54 32.12,69.98,1013.31,54.3,429.86 18.68,56.65,1020.38,80.26,455.79 28.33,68.27,1008.09,50.37,432.66 25.14,67.32,1013.96,41.78,435.39 31.43,69.89,1014.8,56.22,426.15 29.54,72.29,1011,42,443.79 24.94,74.33,1014.3,75.34,435.21 26.49,67.69,1004.61,78.13,430.62 23.89,64.27,1013.37,75.22,450.82 14.41,40.83,1009.82,80.43,470.13 29.3,68.08,1011.23,56.23,434.11 23.09,69.71,1009.75,91.35,437.7 23.23,71.77,1005.01,88.1,432.8 28.86,67.9,1006.29,57.19,432.97 7.4,41.04,1024.44,90.9,477.69 25.23,61.86,1013,76.18,441.48 26.69,79.74,1008.29,73.79,431.41 23.99,45.87,1007.63,52.62,443.66 31.65,66.25,1008.57,59.05,437.35 8.94,43.13,1014.82,76.66,483.63 15.79,58.86,1015.85,91.91,455.15 11.43,40.22,1010.84,81.04,477.5 21.14,67.71,1006.38,56.78,445.12 25.21,65.34,1013.94,65.04,446.68 10.42,39.35,1015.21,89.75,478.52 4.84,38.5,1011.96,81.62,491.23 21.57,69.23,1011.94,81.73,437.55 20.86,39.72,1001.73,56.38,456.27 11.06,37.92,1008.76,67.32,473.16 15.86,40.66,1016.23,86.74,455.85 22.12,60.77,1018.01,83.87,443.97 30.2,71.8,1011.13,60.66,436.94 7.91,37.8,1020.59,61,483.49 17.1,62.1,1020.39,93.63,453.4 13.06,44.2,1018.95,85.68,469.02 20.73,69.94,1009.9,82.12,445.91 10.69,36.71,1022.08,83.28,472.81 17.28,44.06,1018.15,66.93,462.05 8.13,39.96,1026.07,95.84,477.12 19.4,39.53,1007.96,63.38,457.17 25.21,59.21,1017.37,55.06,445.33 25.67,58.59,1013,62.34,451.03 7.31,42.18,1014.75,86.75,477.38 24.27,57.85,1012.81,63.48,445.1 25.8,65.38,1009.3,52.28,450.5 20.68,42.04,1010.2,63.43,464.14 21.26,50.32,1008.41,87.22,446.22 11.2,35.76,1019.24,64.59,473.33 20,39.53,1007.59,62.09,456.28 10.34,41.46,1017.75,89.73,478.03 7.72,41.14,1025.11,96.75,478.34 26.79,77.95,1009.9,80.22,437.91 21.26,60.84,1018.43,78.83,446.08 12.85,40.92,1023.04,84.04,461.05 28.07,70.32,1007.17,67.02,430.29 17.72,39.99,1007.34,72.3,461.7 26.43,75.33,1004.09,86.48,431.79 27.39,67.07,1006.17,58.2,441.45 30.18,65.74,1012.63,47.74,441.65 25.45,67.83,1009.47,57.97,429.95 11.72,41.54,1020.04,66.84,476.12 8.43,40.6,1015.39,91.81,483.1 16.18,41.66,1010.01,65.62,465.82 13.33,54.3,1016.77,80.32,468.1 26.18,52.36,1013.46,56.65,453.54 8.57,41.17,1020.18,72.47,484.2 21.22,59.15,1014.68,59.71,450.96 26.53,65.18,1012.77,64.37,437.39 12.34,40.1,1015.77,92.26,470.92 19.54,44.57,1007.19,78.93,450.54 9.68,41.44,1015.19,87.34,479.89 18.19,66.54,1012.9,86.05,449.22 31.25,68.94,1005.99,49.61,434.51 26.8,72.58,1008.94,78.24,428.62 16.82,41.66,1010.49,63.14,465.64 29.52,64.79,1017.53,44.83,439.6 26.93,72.99,1007.33,78.85,433.18 9.45,41.4,1027.06,87.35,479 13.98,44.84,1023.6,89.09,462.81 29.15,73.42,1011.43,66.49,432.26 10.28,39.61,1020.43,69.09,478.34 21.24,63.47,1011.86,97.02,442.94 11.41,41.4,1019.01,78.59,449.5 20.15,39.72,1001.85,59.32,456.87 11.39,40.27,1009.04,73.13,474.93 22.07,50.78,1008.6,61.33,449.96 28.28,69.48,1008.56,61.3,428.75 9.96,41.26,1022.9,83.83,475.21 21.69,44.57,1005.84,71.53,447.88 13.93,44.21,1022.26,82.4,469.12 23.63,60.93,1006.41,83.06,439.9 16.39,52.75,1024.42,54.61,459.48 13.93,44.9,1022.15,85.93,470.59 14.5,41.76,1023.94,84.42,464.23 18.84,67.32,1012.63,81.89,449.21 27.19,64.27,1013.06,58.13,444.54 20.95,70.72,1009.96,87.73,445.66 14.49,41.92,1030.3,56.62,463.81 24.77,71.94,1006.77,88.86,432.27 21.14,48.78,1020.39,86.2,450.35 28.4,59.27,1012.03,59.75,441.64 17.69,65.46,1013.72,67.28,448.49 23.39,63.94,1010.54,89.94,441.44 20.98,43.77,1010.67,62.73,449.88 7.24,41.17,1020.35,80.56,486.76 22.17,65.61,1014.71,70.91,449.91 19.23,41.67,1012.53,48.86,465.66 10.82,41.55,1004.55,65.14,475.44 16.7,50.66,1014.86,94.87,457.74 19.83,51.19,1008.13,91.29,449 29.99,74.9,1003.84,64.43,435.87 25.02,60.77,1016.71,69.85,441.21 8.85,40.22,1008.61,90.6,482.3 9.87,40.81,1017.17,84.25,473.2 24.04,72.43,1008.02,87.2,439.39 26.45,69.13,1001.53,89.64,427.5 27.58,57.19,1007.88,52.95,435.7 16.53,53.29,1018.64,87.47,463.32 29.24,60.23,1009.62,59.71,438.24 15.52,40,1017,66.27,454.14 28.47,67.69,1004.79,56.51,430.67 8.27,35.76,1020.11,75.25,480.8 26.75,64.79,1017.79,54.31,438.4 22.64,72.24,1011.07,98.55,434.36 19.59,66.54,1012.73,85.84,447.16 18.56,42.18,1001.46,99.59,456.61 9.35,44.03,1011.02,88.11,476.25 28.5,72.99,1007.02,67.13,433.24 23.42,73.17,1012.07,88.39,438.22 22.66,68.3,1017.73,86.92,431.27 32,71.85,1008.44,53.59,427.95 21.11,65.94,1009.83,71.91,448.77 26.34,69.04,1009.44,72.06,444.13 20.94,44.78,1008.14,35.7,465.57 20.54,59.39,1014.07,84.15,445.41 8.16,39.64,1011.21,85.56,481.78 29.11,74.9,1003.31,74.01,432.43 20.16,57.76,1019.34,72.1,455.13 24.87,68.61,1011.19,55.69,450.54 25.86,59.92,1009.92,73.95,436.06 27.26,73.18,1012.58,74.83,429.92 28.59,69.84,1003.79,67.31,427.53 8.75,40.22,1008.96,90.53,482.8 9.11,40.64,1020.68,86.91,476.62 22.98,69.84,1005.55,84.1,437.49 11.28,43.41,1017.91,81.03,471.42 26.12,75.6,1017.41,72.31,439.68 32.9,68.51,1012.95,50.09,430.23 17.31,44.71,1017.43,35.4,463.05 5.25,42.85,1013.75,89.67,477.78 22.57,62.4,1009.77,86.05,444.69 20.41,50.32,1008.45,93.12,447.06 12.29,40.03,1017.62,89.64,472.65 24.3,69.94,1007.02,62.14,438.92 11.56,41.62,1012.5,91.42,460.6 14.21,39.16,1016.5,85.09,473.87 24.96,68.12,1011.27,70.22,437.62 28.16,70.4,1003.77,83.17,434.01 22.86,47.43,1009.75,61.54,452.53 14.43,45.08,1023.23,83.98,465.07 29.3,67.69,1007.17,55.5,430.72 22.61,42.8,1014.24,69.71,460.26 19.83,59.21,1012.67,96.42,440.03 26.17,59.92,1010.01,73.75,444.96 5.78,45.87,1012.65,88.8,483.27 8.77,40.46,1019.68,77.84,475 24.48,69.13,1002.88,69.43,432.71 15.29,41.1,1005.75,85.53,467.99 9.44,43.99,1020.31,98.06,475.01 26.4,48.41,1008.51,66.95,442.23 21.95,60.95,1015.22,75.09,450.38 22.42,60.08,1017.71,67.46,452.31 24.32,65.48,1017.55,59.02,443.31 30.15,72.51,1009.37,50.64,443.72 6.86,40.02,1031.5,77.94,476.45 14.46,45.87,1008.26,89.44,458.69 4.73,41.31,999.77,93.44,486.6 10.27,38.38,1022.16,70.77,475.58 20.37,54.9,1016.94,65.86,453.94 8.12,43.02,1013.56,85.26,483.55 28.57,69.34,1007.98,65.55,439.46 18.81,49.15,1020.79,67.09,459.81 28.62,63.77,1012.82,55.77,441.97 13.96,40.83,1009.89,84.86,469.86 30.47,72.86,1004.02,66.35,432.51 29.13,66.56,1006.63,52.85,439.31 24.41,56.9,1006.58,77.94,439.51 14.56,45.51,1015.39,69.84,469.79 7.11,39.9,1008.82,87.76,484.21 7.92,39.54,1011.51,84.41,481.44 14.56,41.76,1023.82,85.36,464.3 17.45,42.28,1007.64,69.19,463.83 29.75,70.32,1007.35,55.8,427.2 14.86,37.85,1010.58,86.8,467.71 10.57,36.71,1022.11,82.39,472.62 30.09,76.2,1006.64,61.02,434.68 6.82,41.03,1022.12,87.63,489.64 15.4,41.16,1005.34,80.22,465.16 7.31,43.02,1014.19,86.43,484.82 32.56,68.94,1007.12,58.18,425.61 9.77,39.04,1023.73,76.06,483.87 29.22,72.39,1000.87,77.39,430.24 14.33,38.73,1003.52,85.92,468.86 23.36,74.93,1016.57,71.91,443.78 15.23,44.9,1007.75,81.34,456.07 26.82,65.27,1013.6,53.85,437.84 32.41,72.86,1003.69,58.04,432.75 12.92,39.35,1014.56,88.29,469.83 16.92,44.6,1017.34,58.75,460.17 17.18,63.09,1020.67,93.58,451.37 29.31,64.84,1010.49,53.97,442.11 27.04,48.41,1008.57,60.73,441.21 13.21,43.71,1024.5,86.59,466.39 12.3,39.85,1012.59,73.38,476.42 14.66,41.76,1022.12,78.13,463.6 29.1,73.9,1007.47,59.48,436.56 24.54,60.23,1011.55,72.78,445.25 25.24,68.67,1006.76,76.95,442.29 24.81,66.44,1011.19,69.96,435.79 8.75,36.3,1015.61,57.53,480.4 18.01,44.2,1018.84,55.72,456.36 28.44,67.07,1006.08,50.42,433.15 13.56,40.75,1016.05,74.64,474.26 8.13,71.14,1018.94,86.7,471.99 18.97,44.78,1007.87,47.98,463.46 25.66,70.02,1010.89,68.14,442.2 24.32,66.25,1009.09,91.89,444.93 16.7,46.18,1011.4,95.51,458.05 7.61,43.22,1014.8,86.92,478.55 9.01,38.56,1016.67,63.61,482.37 14.98,39.58,1011.78,75.07,467.77 30.24,67.32,1014.07,46.53,437.18 13.53,38.73,1004.86,85.38,472.46 16.73,43.79,1016.25,73.58,468.87 11.94,39.28,1017.04,89.88,475.59 25.68,67.79,1010.66,69.51,449.04 17.84,61.27,1020.1,70.68,454.57 22.66,61.27,1019.29,55.43,448.68 15.69,44.6,1014.06,61.51,462.07 22.88,63.91,1009.63,87.82,442.5 30.78,73.67,1005.97,58.7,427.15 18.44,45.38,1014.3,86.02,461.99 12.03,41.58,1015.09,90.43,464.02 27.74,74.78,1010.05,60.82,436.87 33.01,69.88,1006.71,53.25,433.5 10.56,41.54,1019.92,78.95,479.33 28.8,71.58,1010.51,59.87,434.82 18,44.06,1016.8,78.88,454.59 15.27,38.73,1002.83,77.77,465.99 6.26,41.31,1002.04,87.54,485.57 9.24,41.4,1018.34,84.91,477.65 19.65,51.3,1014.81,90.23,452.5 21.32,49.02,1008.81,85.81,445.65 8.43,40.69,1020.36,87.28,484.94 23.49,42.8,1013.96,65.31,459.9 17.88,46.97,1013.73,67.78,456.77 24.7,44.57,1008.24,57.62,444.65 28.4,74.93,1013.65,48.6,442.23 24.59,60.37,1005.31,76.81,438.09 18.28,60.1,1009.72,85.79,452.93 10.08,37.92,1010.47,66.37,474.63 14.48,46.18,1015.83,92.15,462.3 24.77,48.92,1010.25,47.04,448.25 26.13,79.74,1005.61,90.27,431.29 7.61,38.06,1021.16,83.22,484.14 22.06,59.21,1012.84,87.06,442.31 20.51,39.72,1002.25,47.97,452.39 22.99,56.57,1013.93,78.77,445.44 14.05,39.59,1011.2,94.54,464.63 10.95,40.81,1016.19,77.96,474.36 11.84,40.05,1014.54,86.78,473.82 20.76,51.19,1009,87.23,445 12.89,48.14,1017.48,83.95,463.77 26.62,72.43,1006.79,82.74,430.22 15.8,41.1,1003,77.36,465.87 17.8,43.72,1008.71,78.5,458.92 5.5,39.04,1021.46,78.91,478.65 12.38,44.2,1020.23,81.5,467.04 17.14,44.2,1018.91,62.18,457.02 9.41,39.61,1016.14,78.38,477.34 14.44,41.2,1015.96,81.97,469.85 11.68,40.55,1022.21,85.76,475.13 17.48,49.39,1021.51,84.53,460.01 13.87,41.74,1021.42,64.02,472.12 23.57,70.04,1011.06,82.79,437.53 15.85,49.69,1015.48,88.65,464.72 25.59,73.5,1011.19,81.52,435.48 13.95,71.14,1019.76,75.51,461.18 17.12,49.5,1014.79,87.03,463.39 23.99,67.69,1007.9,78.57,437.1 24.41,52.3,1006.28,70.33,442.62 30.25,71.8,1010.87,60.4,437.28 13.38,40.89,1010.48,92.55,472.15 27.55,73.68,1013.62,81.13,431.86 25.16,77.3,1000.73,86.4,439.37 34.15,68.51,1010.75,37.02,430.19 12.68,40.73,1017.66,92.08,465.94 24.64,58.49,1011.2,72.67,444.95 25.38,70.94,1007.87,73.59,446.31 31.35,71.32,1005.99,62.35,434.43 7.79,41.01,1024,97.2,477 19.19,63.31,1016.88,66.58,453.16 11.8,42.34,1020.25,93.54,466.52 20.47,63.07,1012.79,88.67,451.71 24.82,71.94,1010.5,64.67,438.69 29.6,71.58,1010.34,52.56,434.64 9.48,40.11,1025.49,73.81,472.16 28.42,73.4,1011.39,62.72,438.25 11.86,39.85,1013,66.92,478.29 14.48,40.89,1011.39,82.18,470.44 4.71,42.07,1005.35,82.26,486.79 21.7,60.77,1018.07,88.15,444.66 28.97,67.9,1006.19,65.81,434.7 14.1,44.84,1025.09,79.42,468.22 11.74,40.71,1020.64,82.15,470.05 23.82,48.92,1010.48,44.45,446.85 23.01,44.05,1006.56,74.95,450.67 25.77,68.08,1010.99,73.58,433.46 27,59.15,1013.12,61.39,440.58 11.92,40.62,1015.91,55.4,464.9 12.83,41.67,1012.84,84.29,474.81 13.69,43.22,1009.94,74.64,466.72 14.17,42.86,1030.94,66.47,466.2 12.82,41.58,1020.37,81.06,464.07 16.7,46.18,1012.6,96.15,455.93 6.5,41.14,1028.15,86.78,480.96 8.28,40.56,1023.29,79.44,486.4 28.46,69.75,1009.46,79.75,435.75 27.16,56.85,1012.07,39.05,437.4 14.12,42.86,1011.84,88.29,471.86 10.8,40.69,1014.3,87.44,478.19 21.4,44.57,1005.7,73.09,445.09 26.45,54.5,1014.96,65.55,450.76 27.39,66.93,1017.16,53.75,441.04 25.78,47.93,1003.67,67.23,442.46 9.5,37.36,1015.13,63.41,478.8 25.1,74.87,1010.01,79.41,439.93 31.98,70.17,999.43,59.42,430.92 11.71,40.05,1014.49,86.09,471.49 13.81,40.2,1013.66,88.16,464.23 21.95,68.63,1012.8,61.55,448.9 6.94,39.61,1017.74,81.43,480.07 14.26,42.86,1011.33,88.37,471.19 19.04,50.12,1010.53,100.09,446.59 14.65,39.28,1014.04,77.98,470.41 22.35,65.61,1016.27,73.93,448.41 33.33,73.03,1014.2,42.28,436.05 12.32,41.62,1012.16,88.37,455.71 29.55,66.25,1009.38,69.55,436.29 14.81,42.77,1017.83,75.09,463.06 19.48,58.66,1013.32,73.16,454.4 28.01,51.43,1011.6,49.2,449.82 31.46,70.79,1003.54,59.51,425.68 13.98,40.71,1022.72,71.83,474.46 27.32,73.42,1012.07,86.3,432.74 24.75,63.57,1010.47,84.24,445.3 28.29,61.86,1011.87,64.17,438.25 26.24,70.36,1005.4,82.43,437.31 9.54,41.17,1019.79,65.61,481.18 27.44,52.3,1008.15,58.92,441.75 20.86,51.3,1012.03,92.46,449.67 7.69,36.24,1013.08,88.37,482.46 22.97,64.15,1021,70.61,450.07 20.24,56.03,1019.78,59.8,460.76 8.5,39.16,1014.1,86.64,485.76 19.38,63.56,1013.13,83.54,452.01 21.31,58.05,1012.94,88.39,446.76 32.98,71.32,1003.67,49.78,433.56 26.49,78.92,1010.82,83.42,434.91 32.14,68.31,1010.48,42.15,436.15 9.45,43.5,1018.89,84.29,476.1 15.06,39.3,1019.63,63.32,464.15 15.7,44.21,1021.26,86.83,462.19 21.47,57.19,1006.45,75.8,448.31 9.08,36.71,1025.07,81.32,479.02 25.72,72.39,1003.01,86.38,432.77 20.25,63.91,1009.27,97.97,448.37 23.7,62.91,1012.26,57.89,444.99 31.84,71.37,1003.51,46.22,432.04 13.15,41.14,1026.72,80.31,461.49 10.33,41.44,1015.24,86.72,478.79 29.23,77.3,1002.71,65.24,438.05 20.29,65.27,1013.17,74.94,445.52 12.65,41.93,1023.07,65.05,479.53 25.06,65.46,1014.37,38.82,443.03 23,63.78,1015.85,70.46,444.62 21.9,47.43,1006.8,60.48,452.13 23.76,58.41,1013.85,85.38,445.85 10.05,41.17,1018.98,83.71,481.38 24.81,59.43,1009.42,54.64,439.33 25.69,64.45,1013.05,42,450.94 14.1,44.92,1023.95,89.5,467.22 10.17,41.46,1020.01,84.86,482.36 16.57,53.82,1015.17,63.69,462.52 19.02,44.85,1014.57,43.37,465.42 14.8,40.2,1012.87,88.35,466.27 29.39,69.89,1013.92,47.36,434.27 25.38,63.87,1018.7,52.48,442.13 13.52,42.34,1017.97,95.34,463.71 22.31,51.19,1009.38,79.72,444.74 17.55,43.14,1018.86,76,461.58 12.83,44.88,1017.86,87.88,474.26 26.77,74.22,1008.87,74.68,434.35 24.49,65.46,1015.77,44.95,445.27 15.21,43.56,1012.92,56.61,467 31.15,67.45,1014.85,42.11,431.97 19.45,38.52,1017.99,62.86,451.96 17.68,45.17,1017.5,77.57,461.96 22.01,58.46,1016.26,75.99,443.75 13.6,42.86,1013.37,87.52,472.27 17.63,40.55,1002.27,73.42,462.13 23.74,52.3,1008.88,76.34,444.4 21.34,51.61,1010.11,80.7,452 6.48,36.24,1013.62,92.03,484.65 24.32,59.14,1017.46,80.14,438.08 13.8,39.82,1012.37,83.69,473.56 30.74,71.77,1006.24,53.38,434.89 26.52,77.17,1008.71,92.32,432.48 24.01,46.93,1013.3,52.24,448.35 25.12,71.58,1010.18,87.5,433.58 33.26,68.51,1012.49,52.68,429.38 3.38,41.31,998.79,97.76,489.11 15.77,58.16,1016.09,82.56,450.11 10.75,45.01,1018.73,93.16,471.47 18.04,44.85,1015.13,48.4,463.31 20.79,50.59,1017.75,73.35,456.01 24.85,70.09,1006.56,70.09,439.96 14.87,35.71,1015.53,57.7,468.75 10.93,39.22,1019.44,64.94,473.27 9.51,40.46,1018.84,70.12,471.32 27.57,60.07,1016.52,54.75,440.12 26.13,48.06,1013.5,47.67,440.99 11.72,40.92,1023.35,88.55,465.88 13.32,41.7,1020.22,88.3,451.93 15.65,54.3,1018,69.66,461.69 28.98,70.8,1008.19,73.45,434.08 21.96,48.6,1004.87,76.27,446.56 21.29,47.45,1008.85,71.6,447.78 22,51.3,1012.87,85.79,450.18 16.49,49.39,1018.1,93.13,461.54 23.57,63.91,1011.65,80.74,441.93 22.72,69.13,1010.81,92.43,438.01 26.06,71.73,1009.65,77.02,432.38 31.11,74.16,1012.2,58.86,435.69 17.34,45.01,1013.22,77.71,459.01 24.42,64.79,1016.12,69.32,449.1 28.88,71.98,1005.37,74.24,428.61 14.28,42.77,1020.06,81.77,466.75 12.28,40.92,1023.23,89.14,460.33 19.92,38.52,1018.15,60.68,451.16 7.98,40.77,1008.69,98.65,480.72 29.17,72.99,1006.86,64.92,430.59 20.71,58.79,1017.48,86.67,444.39 25.15,62.91,1012.23,48.22,444.19 18.45,42.44,1013.45,63.52,459.79 27.96,77.24,1007.23,78.51,433.35 22.61,45.38,1013.92,62.91,459.53 10.62,39.64,1010.51,68.55,478.37 7.55,38.08,1019.37,76.32,485.49 28.84,74.67,1016.52,67.43,428.98 23.55,65.94,1011.76,58.44,443.98 19.11,44.85,1014.76,45.86,464.66 25.87,67.79,1011.16,79.88,445.87 11.68,40.55,1017.31,99.82,473.51 27.51,73.67,1005.71,76.75,431.97 14.43,39.82,1012.56,78.52,470.17 30.22,74.9,1003.57,67.15,434.17 18.41,44.9,1008.97,73.81,453.12 29.56,71.14,1011.42,53.18,432.09 31.54,77.24,1007.83,62.98,430.07 25.16,43.21,1011.73,88.69,442.29 30.75,73.88,1005.62,57.95,436.97 16.71,46.18,1012.06,96.6,458.4 20.29,63.09,1019.03,76.07,448.22 25.16,54.2,1012.69,58.02,441.99 22.56,66.48,1003.82,77.46,437.73 32.81,75.08,1005.09,42,433.37 27.04,69.98,1008.5,75.41,433.25 10.58,42.34,1022.32,94.01,474.91 22.91,66.44,1011.23,63.43,444.48 31.35,68.67,1005.26,66.85,433.73 10.55,41.55,1005.02,63.24,473.99 21.53,70.02,1010.33,95.95,440.93 13.42,38.91,1012.81,73.82,472.22 14.26,44.47,1028.81,72.19,465.77 21.89,74.78,1010.35,80.39,444.6 22.98,51.95,1006.83,74.92,454.63 18.63,61.27,1019.69,73.67,454.03 26.28,73.06,1008.06,90.7,437.01 10.12,41.55,1005.78,62.34,475.46 34.53,73.03,1013.53,36.74,437.03 25.55,71.64,1009.09,79.35,439.37 25.41,68.94,1007.21,69.2,436.95 25.59,65.46,1014.47,37.89,444.9 23.09,69.13,1010.93,90.07,436.67 10.31,40.67,1017.61,69.61,485.25 30.1,66.25,1009.38,65.41,434.99 16.81,42.86,1013.83,77.11,464.36 21.87,69.45,1014.04,71.19,439.97 26.75,43.21,1012.29,87.28,430.45 26.3,69.05,1005.37,41.7,438.12 27.19,64.96,1006.71,73.99,428.79 24.15,71.73,1009.76,85.16,436.55 29.28,77.17,1009.4,76.3,433.14 13.61,38.47,1015.1,54.98,466.51 22.04,57.32,1012.54,62.17,447.27 9.86,38.38,1018.22,85.35,479.56 25.81,66.51,1016.53,62.19,437.57 14.29,39.59,1012.36,92.38,463.13 23.15,69.48,1011.07,85.83,436.16 4.96,39.4,1003.58,92.22,486.09 19.11,58.95,1017.07,85.49,449.89 21.84,60.29,1017.23,66.89,454.4 27.4,77.24,1007.65,78.13,435.74 24.63,63.9,1014.53,75.24,440.23 24.37,68.14,1005.22,59.27,440.22 27.16,59.87,1011.78,58.84,446.38 10.67,42.02,996.55,99.94,472.65 11.2,37.5,1013.81,72.81,472.2 25.67,68.3,1017.16,74.19,435.89 25.93,69.34,1008.91,79.43,434.08 25.71,52.84,1006.32,53.29,445.54 22.98,73.17,1011.94,90.13,438.5 21.94,62.52,1015.99,74.56,449.87 22.67,68.08,1013,66.59,443.79 27.28,72.58,1009.21,89.96,431.27 20.24,56.53,1020.29,77.75,455.25 27.92,69.23,1013.21,44.43,435.62 31.95,70.79,1003.8,55.25,426.37 11.41,40.1,1014.27,91.17,476.81 23.74,63.9,1014.73,81.9,445.47 18.74,44.34,1019.4,55.16,468.84 11.22,41.66,1008.96,72.38,477.53 22.53,62.39,1007.84,86.4,450.08 26.31,77.95,1012.45,77.22,436.83 10.23,42.07,1017.93,91.1,475.14 9.07,36.3,1015.26,56.81,479.98 8.42,37.49,1009.22,82.15,478.87 4.87,42.85,1012.69,94.72,482.05 26.91,74.99,1005.64,78.98,437.06 10.77,41.44,1016.72,75.27,479.19 22.93,58.2,1017.75,54.09,444.95 20.19,44.57,1009.2,72.13,454.36 25.18,61.08,1013.08,80.75,445.64 14.1,41.16,1021.26,73.87,460.01 20.79,68.28,1001.42,76.77,445.83 30.56,72.39,999.96,69.81,430.85 17.67,53.16,1013.59,83.31,457.99 12.66,40.35,1011.37,82.77,473.11 17.28,65.94,1013.62,89.97,454.76 9.47,40.81,1026.44,91.87,479.96 20.32,39.72,1001.38,57.21,456.18 18.2,52.72,1025.87,54.26,463.47 7.81,40.71,1023.32,82.08,475.46 29.46,49.3,1003.88,54.1,436.37 22.68,70.47,1010.86,82.8,441.47 25.76,65.48,1017.82,54.77,441.14 23.3,52.84,1003.97,72.16,439.49 25.21,49.82,1016.44,63.14,450.75 18.82,61.27,1019.5,72.23,455.29 28.71,64.69,1006.52,68.38,435.85 7,41.55,1001.43,97.12,483.92 18.41,42.44,1012.66,65.93,463.2 29.06,71.64,1005.54,69.84,435.98 9.88,37.83,1005.68,97.61,470.44 20.06,60.77,1017.19,88.73,447.35 11.39,43.72,1010.91,98.83,467.8 28.7,71.64,1007.11,69.85,436.58 22.55,47.45,1008.65,67.9,447.42 28.08,59.14,1016.16,58.08,438.83 21.05,61.87,1009.69,62.81,449.05 14.47,48.14,1017.28,87.36,457.45 8.05,38.38,1021.14,86.39,482.17 13.41,45,1022.31,76.29,475.9 8.9,41.4,1030.83,85.63,472.95 18.83,48.98,1016.33,74.23,453.28 24.17,48.78,1018.08,75.14,440.96 26.73,49.02,1007.75,67.73,438.17 21.54,58.41,1013.99,86.34,450.69 26.12,63.31,1013.97,51.6,439.77 21.73,50.32,1008.51,84.62,442.1 28.28,61.47,1009.44,60.89,443.12 25.61,60.32,1015.77,56.48,443.96 25.28,70.32,1006.91,81.74,431.43 23.88,67.9,1005.99,67.58,446.34 34.6,64.96,1003.3,34.32,427.65 16.32,43.14,1014.72,70.43,465.38 23.56,67.79,1010.14,89.72,441.29 9.93,39.04,1023.78,77.08,480.54 24.93,73.5,1011.28,83.09,437.35 28.11,70.98,1007.76,85.6,431.83 29.2,64.84,1009.94,55.37,441.9 8.66,41.01,1022.51,98.55,472.16 9.35,41.03,1021.33,66.75,482.16 23.04,64.27,1014.29,80.23,439.67 7.38,41.22,1016.47,96.29,485.73 25.09,65.46,1015.29,40.13,442.99 5.47,38.68,1017.33,72.71,485.7 26.11,69.84,1002.57,84.99,427.45 6.62,42.49,1008.74,94.57,482.74 21.61,58.62,1017.61,76.07,449.11 29.97,70.32,1007.44,53.26,428.42 28.79,70.79,1003.83,65.9,425.64 23.9,61.41,1011.95,67.87,451.99 32.84,74.67,1015.89,31.81,430.88 11.11,40.55,1023.91,87.12,476.37 14.28,43.02,1012.97,49.44,467.83 19.94,61.87,1009.7,66.6,445.97 12.25,44.85,1014.13,85.25,470.92 15.15,37.64,1014.37,89.82,463.98 9.08,40.46,1019.48,77.37,476.81 26.58,70.98,1008.96,77.36,434.41 19.31,60.07,1014.86,69.37,453.47 33.3,80.18,1011.09,63.98,430.16 9.33,42.49,1008.93,82.59,478.43 26.96,65.34,1015.05,46.93,441.81 16.72,44.34,1019.26,63.77,465.89 14.38,45.09,1012.95,86.1,464.27 32.36,73.91,1003.88,59.84,431.92 27.08,63.78,1015.04,50.8,447.24 21.45,60.84,1017.86,82.8,444.99 20.25,58.33,1013.25,68.92,448.93 20.52,57.76,1017.03,81.19,453.64 26.04,68.08,1010.82,75.58,430.32 18.42,60.1,1009.77,86.75,451.93 8.06,39.96,1024.23,94.48,476.03 28.8,74.9,1003.48,75.01,434.01 23.34,73.5,1011.43,89.74,441.14 26.61,56.85,1012.48,48.84,437.26 29.24,74.67,1015.81,59.95,432.61 12.65,44,1023.03,88.73,471.46 12.08,40.75,1015.84,86.9,476.84 12.76,40.27,1006.58,49.34,474.03 25.65,49.3,1003.73,68.48,440.05 17.92,50.66,1012.62,93,456.84 16.45,41.48,1016.64,45.21,454.69 22.22,59.14,1017.32,83.41,442.31 18.56,42.28,1007.75,60.89,462.05 19.69,56.65,1020.84,72.14,455.07 20.27,63.56,1014.24,86.55,446.93 21.47,70.32,1011.72,88.36,440 10.1,41.58,1021.26,94.06,468.19 29.36,68.94,1007.5,79.91,431.39 18.62,59.15,1012.85,82.54,450.81 20.55,63.86,1015.12,73.98,447.54 8.57,40.69,1020.87,84.15,485.18 14.45,43.71,1025.26,84.23,463.6 31.17,70.98,1007.19,67.34,431.01 31.54,77.24,1008.23,70.19,431.27 14.19,43.71,1024.38,83.03,467.8 29.35,69.04,1008.55,61.78,445.04 29.63,69.59,1008.3,72.53,438.64 11.21,44.03,1007.95,93.03,471.79 13.74,41.16,1010.74,87.69,473.19 25.53,59.57,1010.65,82.04,445.59 31.67,69.89,1013.88,39.33,426.35 26.63,74.22,1007.44,78.5,434.25 24.66,58.86,1013.86,56.39,444.42 20.12,45.09,1013.73,57.78,448.35 9.52,39.61,1021.18,73.78,478.79 13.65,41.58,1020.56,72.17,460.8 25.44,66.54,1011.9,56.76,437.99 12.41,41.16,1017.45,93.64,464.08 14.05,41.39,1019.06,68.54,472.19 24.94,63.94,1012.72,73.71,438.55 6.08,35.79,1011.08,90.59,483.08 28.84,75.6,1018.41,53.96,442.69 7.51,43.02,1014.35,86.46,485.38 23.88,69.94,1007.48,61,440.63 31.88,66.44,1009.25,64.06,427.83 28.27,66.56,1007.36,55.99,433.52 23.96,51.3,1011.81,71.81,451.11 22.44,63.47,1012.02,91.08,444.65 14.01,38.91,1015.86,69.24,470.1 29.17,64.79,1016.43,61.05,441.2 14.53,39,1016.48,76.36,464.86 31.42,70.17,999.3,61.22,430.78 23.64,58.49,1011.4,74.2,445.75 26.25,52.09,1013.2,53.12,450.53 6.72,39.85,1011.84,84.66,489.09 21.9,63.13,1011.54,81.83,447.4 20.11,51.19,1007.82,92.06,449.03 29.22,73.18,1012.22,64.91,430.57 31.25,69.51,1010.25,36.83,428.77 8.13,39.99,1011.71,87.89,486.19 22.35,66.44,1011.19,65.41,445.27 13.87,38.01,1022.61,84.22,473.39 9.27,36.3,1026.93,72.13,479.66 17.32,45,1022.19,40.45,469.38 13.2,45.01,1013.96,78.78,466.71 15.83,45.01,1013.39,81.9,460.22 9.44,41.4,1027.64,86.22,473.94 26.17,48.92,1009.87,34.43,440.09 16.37,44,1024.61,78.26,460.14 10.74,40.05,1015.45,87.33,477.93 15.45,45,1023.63,70.74,469.54 28.54,76.86,1000.09,74.67,433.35 23.29,62.91,1013.35,68.25,444.61 9.54,41.17,1019.79,65.61,481.18 21.04,50.32,1008.41,90.19,446.33 23.56,60.77,1017.93,76.34,443.13 13.12,39.18,1023.11,64.33,471.44 26.03,70.32,1008.81,71.35,438.15 10.15,43.41,1018.4,82.07,473.43 25.87,59.43,1008.34,65.83,440.26 23.1,72.99,1008.85,90.54,440.46 22.35,63.94,1010.32,93.02,443.9 23.46,47.01,1014.41,69.19,457.76 29.76,73.56,1008.07,84.85,432.51 23.45,66.25,1009.1,90.28,443.44 33.18,72.29,1009.51,58.35,435.26 28.85,66.54,1010.73,43.27,437.79 25.37,66.75,1017.94,79.26,434.16 7.38,44.71,1020.27,70.55,486.91 10.9,41.46,1016.66,86.2,479.45 20.6,45.38,1014.93,75.78,460.24 13.43,40.1,1015.82,87.9,471.77 24.73,71.14,1009.07,68.87,437.55 24.36,68.61,1010.27,63.78,448.71 24.62,72.24,1011.39,83.94,432.13 10.87,37.5,1011.43,95.56,474.07 24.82,59.27,1012.76,72.34,444.81 25.31,49.82,1014.62,62.15,453.05 18.77,52.08,1004.02,99.86,449.62 21.5,61.5,1008.43,78.13,447.83 10.07,41.39,1019.89,70.53,480.54 27.92,68.3,1015.02,51.04,437.28 24.96,65.18,1012.68,76.19,436.24 20.67,70.02,1010.42,94.09,448.75 29.13,70.72,1009.61,67.49,436.9 24.47,75.23,1012.43,75.25,441.07 16.16,25.88,1009.58,72.24,461.86 21.32,59.8,1016.26,76.26,452.7 20.32,39.72,1002,51.71,458.8 24.32,71.14,1011.71,71.65,435.34 4.77,39.33,1011.32,68.98,494.91 20.87,63.31,1012.27,79.51,446.7 28.17,63.13,1012.44,66.61,439.94 29.64,69.51,1012.13,44.65,428.69 25.25,62.91,1012.51,62.64,443.14 22.25,60.77,1017.8,82.19,444.05 22.49,71.29,1008.24,75.8,442.58 29.16,73.17,1010.96,67.77,429.06 14.49,44.84,1024.09,86.55,465.72 11.95,41.48,1013.44,74.83,465.41 26.99,72.99,1008,76.1,430.81 26.36,73.68,1013.99,86.44,430.39 9.91,39.64,1010.57,75.82,478.63 23.94,51.95,1008.61,73.42,448.67 22.84,59.39,1014.61,80.36,443.71 13.64,44.88,1019.85,56.86,466.66 20.01,43.77,1012.13,65.53,455.66 18.58,44.6,1016.61,48.15,459.06 25.69,72.43,1006.86,86.38,429.99 26.98,72.58,1008.55,78.5,431.12 13.73,45.08,1023.55,81.64,470.35 28.67,69.14,1008.24,72.68,433.79 29.22,75.23,1010.49,48.73,438.57 25.67,74.78,1010.24,68.87,440.48 22.67,62.52,1016.47,65.63,449.34 16.44,44,1024.48,76.51,460.33 23.26,59.14,1016.98,76.29,440.37 21.14,58.05,1012.98,87.27,449.74 31.68,73.68,1014.85,64,431.11 8.8,41.26,1008.08,96.52,479.74 18.13,49.39,1021.29,82.52,458.53 22.68,59.54,1004.32,95.44,437.96 14.56,40.69,1015.48,73.73,469.31 29.28,75.08,1005.21,59,436.15 14,43.34,1016.37,85.51,463.99 23.76,74.22,1009.2,92.98,437.47 20.98,60.1,1011.07,79.44,450.95 27.61,59.54,1005.84,71.27,437.85 8.86,40.8,1028.18,91,483.36 25.64,63.87,1017.14,49.25,444.34 13.5,41.44,1015.72,68.36,471.34 33.94,74.67,1015.94,28.16,427.98 11.72,39.18,1024.19,68.53,468.98 28.61,69.75,1009.82,71.7,440.53 20.11,57.25,1010.36,88.89,451.95 30.61,67.69,1004.97,47.46,429.8 22.04,58.05,1013.11,85.22,447.28 27.62,67.51,1012.38,60.25,442.13 24.09,63.94,1017.59,51.02,442.92 23.22,63.07,1012.91,77.59,446.62 16.2,65.46,1013.97,89.84,451.86 9.7,40.11,1026.61,75.48,473.97 22.85,60.29,1017.29,61.92,448.58 31.18,69.04,1008.19,49.72,441.26 15.43,39.64,1008.58,87.99,464.05 24.57,49.5,1014.22,56.31,455.72 9.52,40.96,1023.48,86.49,483.59 26.38,66.49,1013.89,43.06,442.38 26.32,69.71,1009.39,67.05,441.25 25.92,50.16,1003.95,71.3,440.98 12.19,40.05,1014.77,84.39,473.92 19.79,44.9,1008.66,72.68,455.59 9.76,41.01,1019.66,97.59,467.6 16.74,41.16,1006.87,74.24,463 11.34,41.54,1020.25,75.83,477.24 25.9,47.45,1007.8,55.96,443.13 16.63,43.77,1012.25,75.09,458.66 17.45,50.9,1012.16,83.8,458.67 23.34,45.61,1012.73,74.09,455.82 24.41,58.59,1012.62,64.52,442.64 12.31,44.78,1011.15,77.34,468.29 10.35,37.14,1013.37,69.26,472.63 33.43,66.44,1010.29,53.45,433.01 5.64,40.62,1015.76,85.98,483.17 24.8,61.02,1009.86,71.75,438.96 24.33,46.93,1013.72,48.27,447.43 14.87,38.28,1014.65,80.24,467.29 7.66,41.92,1031.96,82.48,485.11 27.61,69.68,1012.79,77.01,438.31 23.4,72.99,1009.48,88.82,438.51 13.98,44.58,1016.48,77.59,473.01 18.12,58.95,1017.82,86.16,449.28 17.12,48.6,1007.38,79.15,454.47 9.56,44.71,1021.13,64.6,487.92 24.85,58.05,1011.5,70.12,444.53 11.63,41.5,1013.6,87.11,477.3 17.19,43.14,1014.34,68.62,464.72 15.68,43.7,1015.09,58.96,470.29 23.64,69.94,1005.2,64.53,439.66 10.19,44.63,1020.58,91.64,472.45 27.71,70.32,1008.63,64.05,432.59 9.12,41.54,1018.61,79.26,482.95 15.78,48.6,1007.24,84.23,460.86 27.55,68.08,1011.42,60.71,432.59 14.5,39,1017.04,75.75,465.32 23.88,51.95,1005.37,75.25,449.52 25.01,66.56,1004.55,82.46,434.74 22.36,58.79,1011.77,87.51,446.49 27.76,44.89,1009.4,50.15,442.83 9.95,43.56,1014.85,82.62,477.88 17.48,58.95,1016.49,90.35,449.26 17.35,47.83,1006.71,80.57,453.96 12.82,43.5,1022.38,84.32,471.41 28.86,49.3,1003.93,52.85,435.75 33.41,77.95,1010.3,59.72,432.9 13.63,43.5,1022.12,84.32,468.28 24.49,70.79,1005.51,88.65,430.54 25.58,63.47,1011.44,66.81,443.66 24.25,74.93,1013.07,69.31,445.44 9.59,38.56,1017.52,61.89,481.05 23.27,64.15,1020.98,71.18,452.26 23.09,70.47,1010.76,79.89,439.36 28.35,70.32,1009.22,47.13,427.21 19.62,68.63,1012.26,68.05,453.84 29.13,47.93,1002.5,49.1,435.61 21.92,66.54,1012.49,79.82,443.03 12.52,40.24,1020.45,97.41,470.56 18.17,52.08,1001.91,100.09,451.06 27.5,65.59,1011.23,65.37,441.27 14.48,39,1016.75,75.97,464.56 19.41,46.63,1013.23,86.28,452.6 24.43,47.45,1007.68,65.18,446.45 25.45,63.76,1009.96,67.78,439.56 10.07,39.66,1015.37,83.78,479.64 18.85,48.06,1012.52,67.88,451.77 24.65,64.63,1020.52,53.45,446.04 18.99,62.1,1020,76.76,453.09 8.8,39.42,1025.17,68.72,476.5 10.16,41.79,1021.35,52.4,472.75 27.75,77.24,1007.48,78.37,433.57 23.43,61.47,1007.84,87.11,448.01 28.62,69.98,1013.3,68.53,432.11 15.82,43.34,1014.52,79.07,460.4 22.61,44.05,1005.69,76.74,443.45 23.96,60.95,1015.01,65.24,446.4 29.81,73.67,1005.6,60.91,430.67 26.98,70.94,1007.99,68.16,434.73 7.64,41.17,1020.01,75.14,488.53 20.07,42.23,1012.86,74.11,461.25 19.05,59.21,1017.99,89.53,451 26.27,58.33,1013.81,60.43,438.82 22.45,57.76,1017.55,58.6,450.61 26.52,73.21,1002.3,95.38,437.02 24.73,69.94,1006.09,59.15,439.86 26.11,70.36,1007.64,70.12,445.37 10.87,38.38,1020.85,69.78,477.03 7.19,38.91,1016.53,88.61,486.05 14.91,39.28,1014.57,75.23,469.34 19.5,52.72,1025.21,50.21,457.26 22.96,68.61,1011.15,76.62,447.18 29.74,56.9,1007.15,41.91,438.76 16.03,41.23,996.35,82.04,464.67 17.35,52.72,1026.31,58.01,463.65 11.26,39.35,1015.47,99.28,471.83 27.82,59.15,1012.74,42.78,442 28.15,71.94,1006.73,68.21,427.69 14.66,42.77,1019.37,79.79,463.6 26.56,49.02,1007.65,70.78,438.82 15.49,42.07,1018.01,78.07,460.32 29.29,73.18,1012.4,66.65,430.31 21.69,57.17,1011.75,82.63,446.61 33.67,80.18,1010.83,60.87,431.99 20.79,57.32,1012.47,70.09,446.18 23.35,71.85,1009.32,73.48,441.28 27.01,43.77,1011.18,46.58,440.64 27.71,69.13,1001.63,51.45,432.54 23.48,49.16,1002.7,70.22,445.72 17.77,43.72,1009.01,77.7,456.34 22.24,69.23,1011.83,79.37,441.9 24.6,57.85,1012.92,69.56,447.09 19.06,50.16,1011.36,99.64,449.74 14.56,47.45,1009.52,91.14,451.95 26.62,71.73,1009.32,80.1,431.93 23.03,59.04,1011.85,81.24,444.85 13.73,41.92,1031.01,64.92,466.29 13.79,42.07,1018.27,88.06,462.25 23.46,73.18,1012.07,88.14,438.62 19.58,52.9,1017.46,64.64,458.28 12.76,43.7,1015.13,65.34,475.73 6.93,43.13,1018.61,88.31,486.94 10.63,39.61,1020,72.42,476.99 17.46,39.99,1008.52,69.73,461.01 6.15,40.77,1022.42,88.57,482.49 6.9,44.71,1019.7,71.21,486.3 25.77,59.39,1014.76,69.99,438.64 27.86,63.07,1011.11,56.81,440.48 7.91,41.79,1021.86,54.92,479.02 22.35,63.47,1013.21,82.52,440.11 17.65,62.1,1019.63,84.3,452.2 16.96,52.9,1019.61,81.86,460.2 18.71,53.16,1013.26,82.64,455.7 24.22,61.86,1013.39,80.11,442.65 23.61,59.39,1015.11,78.84,438.08 14.01,45.08,1023.28,82.49,464.79 31.33,76.86,997.85,64.43,431.44 12.86,44.77,1018.75,74.73,468.43 16.4,38.01,1022.2,73.05,463.79 22.49,58.82,1009.73,85.19,444.11 23.75,61.5,1008.16,69.14,442.35 28.92,66.51,1015.5,34.51,439.09 12.11,41.17,1019.46,62.59,475.53 13.64,43.71,1024.41,84.46,468.85 28.52,57.82,1004.81,57.82,435.4 24.79,59.21,1017.9,53.83,446.04 24.27,60.37,1005.13,77.16,437.78 31.59,62.7,1009.3,50.16,442.58 23.25,51.86,1013.54,78.34,450.22 22.1,58.33,1013.71,69.09,441.31 24.97,54.2,1012.68,74.25,439.71 11.96,43.41,1017.42,79.44,469.34 35.03,68.27,1006.55,43.82,426.22 17.97,65.94,1012.92,88.22,448.88 24.24,70.32,1009.38,82.83,436.45 5.04,40.64,1021.35,93.63,484.42 17.18,40.55,1000.47,72.03,461.73 11.24,25.36,1009.26,97.47,469.92 32.69,72.86,1003.57,56.84,431.76 27.6,73.42,1011.91,83.66,431.44 7.5,38.06,1021.96,83.45,485.98 22.15,43.77,1010.81,60.08,448.46 18.18,44.63,1020.41,48.64,455.57 17.19,37.2,1011.84,67.59,468.4 10.42,43.79,1016.22,90.75,474.79 12.74,49.83,1007.44,91.47,466.09 27.43,56.85,1011.86,36.76,436.64 23.68,68.12,1011.18,72.45,441.54 13.83,42.86,1030.77,75.09,470.21 16.58,41.93,1022.36,45.24,466.61 13.41,45,1021.65,45.24,478.96 16.61,50.9,1013.18,85.26,460.35 3.99,39.9,1009.74,96.81,490.91 23.39,63.21,1011.91,84.57,448.3 14.42,41.16,1004.32,88.42,467.25 7.11,43.13,1018.96,87.82,486.11 13.7,45.64,1019.18,92.66,467.9 24.43,65.18,1012.57,77.83,437.26 27.39,69.14,1008.82,78.35,435.22 26.94,62.91,1011.68,41.3,449.1 19.09,42.44,1012.93,63.59,461.84 15.46,44.6,1017.7,68.2,459.62 31.94,74.99,1002.05,34.12,440.17 10.58,41.49,1020.43,91.9,473.19 19.95,58.46,1017.45,89.46,447.1 5.82,40.62,1016.79,85.04,482.67 12.72,44.9,1007.6,71.8,463.49 14.87,54.3,1017.17,71.57,462.87 29.17,67.45,1014.1,46.85,435.08 14.13,43.7,1015.94,80.89,469.28 22.67,60.77,1017.56,79.43,444.43 28.01,64.69,1007.61,58.45,440.23 30.93,70.83,1010.61,46.13,440.59 23.01,66.54,1009.86,64.53,442.47 32.53,77.95,1014.76,58.1,434.44 26.57,44.57,1007.76,50.39,445.49 11.64,40.1,1015.5,87.05,477.2 16.31,42.28,1007.45,77.77,466.49 20.03,45.01,1012.73,56.89,460.11 20.79,65.59,1014.9,77,450.3 17.3,42.24,1017.07,64.52,469.21 25.86,61.08,1013.51,67.5,449.67 9.8,41.82,1032.98,67.55,473.72 25.42,75.6,1017.39,77.63,438.24 28.75,77.24,1008.92,77.17,433.03 18.58,46.97,1014.25,74.09,454.26 22.56,70.79,1005.85,93.09,435.14 23.05,48.98,1015.64,49.33,446.05 26.78,52.3,1008.52,61.23,441.21 10.13,39.18,1024.09,85.48,479.42 31.97,69.04,1008.5,47.69,441.18 8.95,36.18,1014.08,76.94,478.07 7.57,39.61,1018.66,85.73,480.86 25.97,43.21,1011.9,88.73,434.83 24.56,60.27,1017.63,74.5,440.31 30.71,64.05,1011.75,62.81,438.42 13.8,39.39,1013.85,81.95,471.7 20.21,58.12,1015.36,79.18,453.19 16.77,45.01,1013.47,81.42,458.22 29.18,71.43,1011.65,59.49,443.75 17.86,52.9,1015.71,67.99,457.42 4.24,39.9,1009.28,96.74,491.25 24.11,59.27,1011.02,78.18,444.35 15.5,40.12,1012.79,96.75,460.41 9.62,41.01,1019.43,97.99,467.34 5.05,35.57,1027.03,80.02,491.4 26.81,71.29,1009.65,80.69,434.48 15.68,39.16,1006.09,75.62,461.98 21.85,63.86,1020.16,68.84,445.62 30.98,67.45,1015.18,45.4,433.59 30.14,67.69,1006.54,57.05,426.91 29.89,71.29,1009,55.72,431.45 29.42,56.9,1006.51,53.6,439.51 26.6,61.02,1010.26,66.16,436.19 19.64,48.06,1014.81,74.96,455.27 13.16,54.3,1017.33,82.43,468.4 33.17,70.4,1004.45,58,430.14 16.14,44.71,1014.83,39.41,468.88 25.34,71.06,1007.74,92.52,434.86 21.12,63.56,1014.16,81.42,445.9 13.41,39.35,1015.1,79.32,471.85 13.38,40.12,1013.92,96.96,468.15 17.27,43.52,1021.37,76.73,460.08 16.69,46.18,1010.8,96.8,466.03 7.8,39.04,1018.46,66.5,482.31 27.14,75.23,1011.47,63.14,439.33 21.08,44.05,1008.13,72.52,449.6 32.23,69.13,1000.61,55.1,426.9 13.48,40.73,1017.59,94.81,463.6 10.45,40,1019.01,89.01,465.43 25.43,70.17,1000.46,87.84,436.43 7.09,39.37,1020.07,73.26,487 31.24,74.22,1007.74,48.77,430.44 21.92,61.87,1009.68,58.83,445.52 10.74,52.75,1021.75,75.41,467.48 13.67,41.48,1017.51,63.54,463.97 9.79,39.69,1002.36,93.86,471.61 14.04,39.64,1011.09,87.22,472.31 24.43,61.25,1011.66,85.24,436.05 14.88,42.28,1007.26,71.3,466.73 10.68,38.38,1020.79,72.33,476.22 14.22,42.32,1015.54,77.23,465 14.47,44.66,1016.33,93.52,464.41 7.19,40.81,1015.22,85.65,487.15 11.73,37.92,1008.24,65.13,472.04 10.94,43.67,1012.36,73.3,477.34 14.44,39,1017.06,76.02,466.96 24.53,74.78,1009.9,78.34,446.3 29.72,54.2,1012.86,38.48,438.84 17.52,44.05,1008.87,85.67,455.72 12.99,44,1025.22,90.27,470.93 10.04,39.66,1015.84,82.31,480.63 30.5,66.75,1017.55,38.2,432.87 33.11,69.75,1008.88,42.08,437.19 13.41,40.89,1010.85,89.61,472.4 26.98,74.78,1009.77,69.54,442.28 15.19,42.03,1017.38,71.66,462.64 28.24,64.69,1007.35,61.14,438.03 29.04,60.07,1014.88,47.23,438.5 13.74,45.08,1024.97,84.79,466.79 12.58,39.72,1017.85,57.74,471.24 17.3,47.45,1010.29,87.13,448.79 28,69.05,1000.82,65.24,427.71 15.15,53.82,1016.34,62.59,461.6 25.47,65.34,1015.3,50.31,445.39 20.78,68.28,1008.75,60.87,450.57 26.12,49.02,1008.63,72.04,438.52 13.78,40.73,1017.55,94.28,462.59 26.28,68.14,1005.61,53.17,435.71 27.76,75.33,1003.69,79.62,433.03 18.26,49.64,1024.92,62.82,462.6 6.4,39.18,1024.6,86.83,484.44 26.31,44.57,1007.51,52.6,452.73 32.89,73.68,1014.45,52.34,426.46 6.74,36.08,1020.36,86.98,484.18 22.69,65.18,1012.47,80.9,441.18 33.11,77.54,1010.36,50.99,431.77 22.28,58.86,1014.08,66.47,446.55 28.84,75.6,1018.41,53.96,442.69 31.75,74.99,1003.25,53.33,430.82 9.6,41.82,1032.93,72.63,475.01 21.54,69.48,1011.04,80.48,443.15 13.33,38.47,1015.42,58.27,466.26 12.73,37.73,1021.89,61.76,470.89 28.73,68.24,1008.31,56.85,430.63 9,43.13,1020.25,81.32,481.09 31.1,68.51,1012.99,54.3,428.68 28.81,56.86,1005.82,56.86,434.08 14.95,42.74,1027.66,66.71,464.31 23.04,48.06,1014.16,54.99,459.36 24.04,68.94,1007.62,69.11,437.13 27.69,65.34,1014.31,46.59,442.84 28.82,64.79,1016.74,56.34,445.1 25.23,69.34,1009.51,82.87,445.92 8.77,40.77,1011.54,89.58,480.56 7.61,44.71,1019.41,70.48,485.36 28.37,75.6,1017.48,55.19,439.25 21.82,50.66,1013.74,73.6,455.2 14.82,42.74,1028.04,69.81,466.34 13.97,52.05,1012.05,85.36,463.64 31.74,72.25,1012.21,41.62,437.29 27.27,72.58,1009.25,89.31,428.93 23.95,58.79,1010.45,74.34,448.32 29.08,66.54,1004.67,64.5,430.16 28.3,64.33,1011.23,68.88,441.51 12.66,43.67,1012.49,95.96,472.44 30.12,74.16,1013.13,63.56,433.08 29.44,65.51,1014.82,56.49,445.67 25.95,59.92,1010.05,76.05,443.93 32.5,71.37,1003.75,43.8,433.7 23.97,44.57,1007.35,62.71,448.17 21.97,58.12,1015.29,77.47,449.6 32.17,73.21,1001.43,69.86,430.64 12.35,40.73,1019.03,95.53,466.71 18.03,53.16,1013.06,82.03,458.04 32.07,71.29,1008.43,44.95,426.96 31.39,69.59,1008.28,62.86,435.76 11.92,40.62,1016.66,55.25,468.14 10.65,41.78,1013.66,70.04,474.27 31.24,68.3,1015.89,42.84,435.2 9.13,39.04,1022.36,74.6,483.24 23.39,71.25,1005.22,93.7,435.68 11.95,42.03,1017.58,90.89,465.2 33.3,68.14,1003.02,53.43,426.88 24.27,61.47,1007.84,80.85,448.66 18.13,39.72,1002.75,58.85,455.81 21.9,55.5,1018.85,60.27,456.52 27.52,67.9,1005.65,59.52,439.01 16.76,48.14,1012.92,65.74,456.31 12.77,36.71,1013.29,86.4,475.59 16.44,53.82,1015.4,63.16,462.09 29.01,70.32,1007.26,60.55,429.23 18.9,57.5,1016.21,93.9,451.42 22.33,71.94,1011.06,82.85,441.85 26.58,59.39,1014.49,65.87,439.46 17.36,52.9,1015.42,69.97,458.66 28.18,64.84,1009.22,56.04,443.65 24.63,59.57,1010.45,85.36,440.67 13.62,40.2,1014.2,85.05,465.74 16.62,54.3,1017.99,63.76,459.59 17.33,41.35,999.51,68.36,460.46 20.72,63.94,1017.17,59.83,447.69 6.89,39.37,1020.21,74.17,486.9 33.61,69.88,1007.4,42.51,435.99 27.38,59.21,1012.74,53.53,437.78 23.21,63.94,1013.56,80.23,446.11 26.13,71.25,999.8,88.47,430.6 15.18,44.2,1019.6,72.45,462.09 5.66,39.42,1024.7,78.52,482.11 15.75,36.99,1007.67,93.8,464.38 29.45,75.6,1018.12,50.68,437.31 20.12,69.45,1013.23,88.48,442.89 22.8,73.17,1011.87,91.57,437.98 29.93,71.85,1008.43,66.64,426.82 29.25,72.99,1006.85,61.15,429.12 34.14,74.34,1000.19,43.56,434.23 19.47,58.79,1016.8,87.26,450.17 24.03,58.46,1015.71,70.15,442.03 12.71,43.02,1012.25,62.68,475.38 26.6,61.41,1012.35,54.42,451.4 27.09,65.61,1014.22,48.13,442.94 26.44,71.77,1006.68,81.45,430.12 28.31,65.71,1014.67,59.29,447.26 10.87,44.71,1021.38,58.22,484.63 29.54,69.48,1008.91,56.07,427.82 15.98,41.48,1017,55.73,456.31 24.27,70.47,1008.96,78.31,434.24 29.78,70.98,1007.82,77.59,436.32 24.05,64.69,1006.63,69.2,438.36 28.59,80.18,1011.36,89.18,431.55 13.97,40.24,1018.32,88.72,467.93 11.56,40.43,1025.48,74.75,489.54 20.07,49.21,1012.34,56.8,454.25 31.19,68.3,1014.86,39.1,430.48 18.39,67.71,1003.77,92.48,444.63 9.78,43.8,1022.25,69.64,477.22 29.26,69.34,1009.76,58.64,435.32 9.53,38.38,1020.49,80.08,478.03 22.32,48.41,1008.68,79.11,445.36 18.95,42.23,1013.01,79.4,462.73 11.55,42.34,1020.78,94.56,469.13 27.3,65.12,1016.24,44.87,442.78 22.1,68.63,1015.19,59.05,449.54 17.12,68.28,1003.56,94.29,449.94 14.85,45.87,1009.37,84.65,462.67 10.33,40.69,1014.25,84.46,480.18 19.45,46.33,1013.39,99.52,452.82 12.16,40.81,1025.79,70.97,476.63 7.65,36.3,1016.5,65.51,482.56 4.31,38.5,1011.75,82.08,492.92 19.04,43.43,1009.25,68.74,453.32 26.02,70.79,1004.21,79.12,428.72 26.09,60.29,1017.72,50.83,444.71 27.14,65.27,1013.26,55.17,441.68 22.67,58.2,1016.91,60.75,446.36 7.28,40.67,1020.16,72.7,493.3 25.62,73.17,1011.65,86.45,430.56 22.33,59.8,1016.84,67.09,450.07 23.93,68.28,1005.16,69.91,444.95 29.07,51.43,1006.22,61.58,438.79 15.79,50.88,1014.58,99.9,460.19 28.81,64.96,1000.46,68.05,427.91 17.07,44.9,1020.74,70.18,460.19 32.51,69.98,1011.92,49.45,428.37 22.11,59.8,1016.74,73.9,453.45 18.41,62.1,1020.4,78.1,457.14 28.9,71.25,1000.73,77.24,431.52 10.47,44.21,1017.87,85.34,476.02 10.09,37.14,1012.99,72.59,473.66 27.09,73.5,1011.34,76.06,434.31 17.44,44.89,1009.9,80.54,457.67 23.76,58.82,1011.75,77.34,444.57 31.11,69.05,1002.37,41.56,433.19 23.86,63.77,1014.6,82.37,440.58 15.09,40.89,1010.15,92,466.47 9.26,39.61,1021.18,84.58,480.38 15.83,52.75,1024.3,58.34,458.6 9.96,39.66,1015.23,82.98,480.6 19.3,65.59,1014.07,81.98,452.76 19.91,51.19,1008,90.23,449.23 23.18,51.43,1011.56,81.83,449.94 19.13,45.38,1014.72,81.95,459.94 24.6,63.78,1017.25,60.33,448.65 29.38,74.9,1003.25,72.19,433.74 29.15,69.48,1008.68,55.78,430.54 31.03,69.59,1007.77,63.96,432.56 21.84,45.09,1013.94,46.11,450.88 6.28,43.02,1013.72,88.13,487.17 22.48,50.32,1008.47,83.58,444.5 31.51,71.97,1007.84,71.18,430.11 15.67,41.1,1004.1,77.93,466.45 13.24,39.16,1016.52,86.66,474.48 17.1,43.52,1020.3,70.51,461.51 32.32,67.9,1006.08,37.93,428.12 23.51,63.78,1016.1,69.79,446.58 13.58,40.75,1016.05,76.45,472.73 12.43,40.27,1007.08,61.56,470.92 16.37,39.64,1009.19,76.92,463.91 7.64,43.79,1016.17,84.45,486.01 21.03,59.8,1015.86,76.63,453.86 33.37,73.88,1005.8,47.94,436.76 18.92,62.26,1012.05,85.99,451.51 20.61,48.78,1020.8,85.05,449.38 22.38,63.31,1014.76,73.8,441.3 30.2,73.67,1006.31,62.14,428.72 31.02,70.4,1006.24,77.86,431.37 17.64,57.76,1016.28,85.04,455.75 28.85,58.33,1013.78,41.39,444 22.4,70.94,1008.06,84.52,440.04 19.13,68.61,1010.65,94.92,448.69 23.79,59.44,1012.53,79.48,448.67 22.12,60.37,1008.75,92.13,439.18 29.14,67.45,1015.51,46.47,433.34 20.17,56.03,1019.47,56.77,458.04 29.3,74.16,1007.72,81.92,431.32 5.7,40.62,1016.07,84.94,482.82 25.5,68.08,1011.13,72.86,436.07 16.06,47.45,1009.97,88.09,450.62 27.75,65.34,1014.8,45.91,440.83 25.12,66.56,1009.22,65.62,436.56 22.78,62.44,1011.79,75.43,446.12 29.3,69.48,1010.1,53.69,429.42 8.01,40.02,1031.33,85.01,477.84 16.58,38.01,1023.5,60.14,464.03 17.08,58.86,1016.04,87.46,449.98 17.54,44.58,1016.56,79,465.51 26.93,56.9,1006.25,77.79,444.7 22.52,67.32,1011.4,66.2,443.49 13.48,46.18,1018.15,88.38,464.58 9.05,40,1015.48,80.91,472.41 19.93,56.65,1020.7,62.82,456.53 29.68,64.33,1011.2,57.73,441.79 30.52,70.04,1010.62,54.47,431.14 12.54,40.8,1024.56,68.97,479.65 27.6,69.05,1003.87,42.01,436.08 18.48,46.48,1007.53,82.57,461.49 15.24,48.6,1007.08,86.49,459.85 4.41,42.07,1005.54,68.85,488.36 15.82,44.88,1018.59,78.88,461.9 24.65,72.43,1007.99,90.05,437.59 19.02,52.72,1025.44,51.9,461.57 23.32,69.13,1010.75,91.84,435.27 23.99,68.12,1012.92,70.68,437.14 10.12,39.96,1025.98,98.63,471.6 12.53,43.56,1014.8,74.05,469.23 18.11,52.08,1002.51,100.09,449.99 24.94,59.07,1008.89,84.79,440.12 30.92,59.57,1010.87,62.43,440.96 12.68,45.01,1013.86,83.26,448.69 25.41,66.49,1014.06,51.09,449.2 14.12,39.4,1008.02,76.45,468.63 28.33,64.96,999.71,69.66,427.42 14.77,49.15,1020.56,80.27,467.72 29,70.72,1009.51,67.72,437.55 18.02,49.78,1003.86,100.09,451.41 11.55,40.6,1014.44,87.06,475.14 15.31,52.75,1025.21,55.22,460.77 12.36,37.73,1021.36,65.45,470.39 19.45,58.95,1017.79,93.46,445.1 27.05,67.79,1010.99,71.37,443.89 9.73,40.22,1011.48,87.88,481.42 11.11,37.5,1013.68,73.67,473.32 13.01,41.58,1020.82,78.41,464.64 11.76,40.96,1023.22,81.31,475.18 17.58,39.63,1004.84,80.43,467.33 27.54,51.43,1012.3,54.82,439.8 29.79,77.17,1009.68,64,432.84 13.83,40.2,1013.28,90.44,465.53 32.05,77.24,1008.06,67.09,432.49 28.14,76.86,1000.7,70.17,434.68 34.11,73.56,1006.77,45.92,432.78 22.83,70.79,1006.36,92.07,438 21.04,47.43,1007.15,64.82,450.27 12.39,40.75,1016.05,81.91,475.96 27.7,72.24,1011.02,67.6,434.56 16.62,39.99,1007.07,77.14,463.74 25.27,67.07,1006.34,66.35,445.81 9.52,41.26,1020.55,89.73,475.44 17.74,58.33,1013.55,81.8,446.01 22.9,49.3,1003.45,80.95,441.77 14.86,43.14,1019.21,99.14,461.14 26.71,66.25,1008.11,79.28,435.41 13.42,42.86,1013.88,85.13,473.27 25.82,72.39,1003.4,86.33,432.98 15.14,44.21,1019.97,83.86,463.1 10.17,41.17,1018.58,87.72,478.04 27.44,65.59,1010.76,68.67,441.08 23.94,63.21,1013.52,83.12,440.15 25.16,74.33,1014.55,76.7,436.15 12.88,42.74,1026.25,74.54,470.89 31.87,67.32,1013.65,36.69,435.47 22.18,65.46,1016.74,54.02,447.92 9.41,41.54,1019.48,82.19,481.59 12.17,40.6,1013.59,88.62,473.76 30.57,69.71,1008.94,59.99,439.38 28.16,70.98,1008.51,72.12,435.04 9.72,43.41,1016.25,76.39,474.1 11.9,39.16,1016.53,84.59,477.75 7.1,41.74,1022.25,91.07,484.12 11.47,40.27,1005.39,77.4,479.44 28.19,67.45,1013.97,49.76,434.77 9.75,36.66,1026.21,70.12,479.45 7.55,43.65,1019.09,61.71,481.61 19.9,56.53,1020.52,78.05,456.48 12.45,40.56,1017.84,66.52,477.41 9.15,39.61,1018.11,75.29,474.88 14.38,40.66,1016.34,92.37,463.1 26.16,67.9,1005.81,61.02,444.06 22.63,45.61,1014.14,73.06,457.88 30.51,70.79,1004.55,56.05,428.79 26.2,60.07,1014.75,59.41,440.89 25.77,69.04,1009.66,65.49,445.35 14.74,44.47,1028.29,67.87,462.92 17.02,44.85,1014.38,62.66,459.98 17.68,53.16,1013.09,82.79,456.86 8.93,40.46,1019.03,71,472.77 9.49,40.69,1015.09,91.31,476.67 23.48,72.99,1009.61,88.16,437.1 22.69,49.21,1012.64,46.83,449.01 12.65,44.34,1019.4,71.45,468.8 12.79,44.68,1022.51,99.55,465.75 13.01,41.17,1017.26,76.2,469.48 30.76,69.14,1007.63,71.24,431.67 22.56,47.43,1006.72,54.82,448.65 20.7,58.16,1016.73,68.19,453.22 21.09,50.9,1012.42,69.09,456.09 26.35,59.44,1012.16,63.73,443.73 35.1,68.27,1006.96,43.51,426.3 14.43,38.28,1014.76,79.76,467.12 16.32,43.56,1014.4,59.77,463.57 12.21,40.64,1020.31,83.84,464.03 32.13,69.98,1013.3,55.85,431.84 25.68,70.32,1009.08,90.48,431.32 24.4,62.26,1011.62,70.1,439.06 6.41,40.81,1026.57,93.51,484.49 23.38,65.06,1014.12,59.36,443.8 30.21,75.33,1002.24,66.71,431.46 22.88,50.23,1016.11,63.77,458.08 27.99,71.58,1010.68,68.99,435.99 16.01,49.64,1026.35,77.75,457.8 31.08,59.57,1010.76,60.49,442.88 23.09,70.02,1010.58,77.85,443.27 21.03,69.05,1002.17,75.35,444.35 12.05,49.83,1008.54,95.11,454.18 14.73,54.3,1016.75,67.13,463.63 32.56,68.14,1004.02,35.04,425.11 6.99,40.07,1014.83,54.36,490.11 18.84,40.79,1005.18,92.46,459.96 6.18,41.38,1020.23,81.38,490.81 13.72,49.83,1006.88,89.49,463.65 29.48,59.27,1010.99,51.23,440.72 14.35,39.39,1012.92,82.41,470.53 19.47,43.43,1011.66,69.93,451.38 26.92,73.17,1011.42,76.94,431.29 26.16,70.04,1009.63,73.22,432.56 19.77,49.39,1019.02,91.03,451.05 26.92,62.44,1011.09,70.8,437.99 27.54,75.6,1018.26,57.89,440.87 18.75,41.1,1001.97,59.6,458.31 26.29,68.24,1010.71,76.95,429.71 27.16,65.61,1014.21,47.93,441.33 16,39.16,1016.37,77.63,468.49 10.38,37.73,1021.5,75.02,475.02 30.29,74.16,1008.77,75.23,431.39 24.69,71.73,1010.13,70.54,436.78 14.16,40.89,1010.78,82.86,471.15 9.97,39.99,1010.09,95,477.31 21.96,51.43,1007.28,89.96,442.87 32.43,68.31,1010.09,42.22,439.75 27.99,69.89,1013.94,51.25,435.79 18.15,45.01,1013.06,72.4,455.21 8.83,43.56,1014.9,81.55,482.43 26.62,70.36,1005.15,84.99,441.28 32.96,68.31,1010.39,42.33,443.57 24.67,68.61,1010.71,57.47,450.64 27.06,70.47,1007,72.37,430.82 25,69.71,1009.23,80.92,438.38 15.47,38.73,1001.13,77.61,467.96 17.36,41.23,998.08,63.46,459.1 29.62,70.02,1010.09,43.1,439.35 13.54,40.69,1015.85,77.55,471.05 24.52,59.15,1014.03,74.83,439.55 9.73,38.56,1017.18,61.81,479.78 20.6,65.12,1015.53,71.57,452.86 25.16,68.08,1010.89,70.16,435.78 20.86,63.73,1008.54,96.83,440.42 10.31,45.01,1018.42,93.67,473.74 20.37,69.48,1011.04,84.31,445.81 17.58,44.9,1020.52,71.48,459.78 19.04,51.86,1018.05,79.01,458.64 25.38,71.73,1009.97,72.6,434.44 32.81,77.17,1009.17,53.13,430.53 19.41,67.32,1012.34,78.8,446.71 21.73,69.05,1001.31,86.64,439.01 22.29,56.89,1014.39,84.89,441.9 29.39,71.14,1010.97,53.88,430.5 20.08,58.12,1015.53,80.84,455.85 16.51,51.86,1022.37,81.18,442.48 14.47,42.99,1009.78,91.15,469 17.37,40.55,1001.19,71.42,460.97 17.03,43.99,1021.5,82.32,460.25 25.91,67.07,1005.66,60.12,441.74 6.03,40.78,1025.53,98.68,480.36 31.9,73.42,1010.82,60.58,432.27 20.03,47.45,1009.04,77.56,450.6 31.23,68.67,1005.82,52.1,436.58 13.8,45.08,1023.99,79.72,466.71 15.52,41.93,1022.97,52.92,471.97 23.68,51.3,1011.86,71.24,451.67 23.25,70.32,1009.28,86.52,437.96 24.58,49.02,1008.85,79.32,442.47 8.3,36.3,1015.97,60.62,480.58 9.27,42.02,1004.29,95.05,474.93 15.52,42.86,1015.09,83.48,467.12 30.71,68.24,1006.15,34.15,429.41 11.47,25.36,1008.27,95.4,469.51 30.51,70.94,1007.64,59.42,430.91 26.43,66.48,1004.36,55.9,435.59 28.65,70.32,1008.46,58.13,433.45 21.38,49.21,1012.49,53.77,449.66 19.97,59.21,1017.87,83.46,450.41 19.38,54.9,1017.08,70.46,454.1 17.77,44.6,1016.97,54.25,460.13 7.04,41.74,1021.91,88.55,488.99 30.3,69.51,1011.8,50.43,431.12 14.91,43.34,1015.15,81.56,461.27 26.87,69.23,1012.71,54.54,433.89 18.86,51.43,1010.27,86,446.91 20.77,43.77,1010.76,63.12,453.46 12.2,44.77,1018.64,76.1,469.41 16.17,41.79,1005.78,78.8,454.72 11.69,35.76,1019.02,55.6,471.72 9.17,40.67,1019.03,66.21,487.33 10.82,42.02,996.03,99.34,475.46 23.08,48.41,1008.44,82.35,443.5 12.74,39.13,1008.19,94.81,468.57 26.85,57.19,1007.9,60.04,438.01 28.44,69.4,1003.98,73.51,433.44 14.02,42.86,1030.86,68.36,467.29 14.57,41.79,1007.61,82.85,457.21 15.4,40.69,1015.1,70.25,471.66 16.75,42.23,1013.81,84.98,464.87 29.83,68.67,1005.33,71.15,434.28 26.25,66.56,1008.29,60.65,436.3 27.17,63.09,1015.59,68.33,443.66 27.49,71.94,1008.25,68.29,428.27 11.7,41.16,1017.98,95.71,462.94 24.37,73.42,1010.19,76.01,440.29 26.14,61.02,1010.13,66.71,436.17 15.91,38.62,1016.2,63.63,462.25 9.24,41.4,1030.72,87.36,476.9 14.09,41.66,1009.25,71.4,469.93 10.61,37.5,1008.8,100.13,472.9 28.72,76.86,999.31,71.74,431.74 16.61,25.88,1009.34,65.47,460.97 24.35,51.86,1014.34,67.22,442.81 26.95,72.24,1011.16,73.14,435.65 13.89,41.49,1020.02,86.47,469.6 20.98,47.43,1007.39,68.15,450 24.74,63.87,1016.91,55.65,447.02 16.12,45.87,1008.15,86.12,457.41 20.94,44.58,1016.98,59.65,463.69 21.01,58.96,1014.33,61.8,453.88 6.52,35.57,1025.37,78.32,486.06 13.14,43.71,1024.47,87.42,467.07 13.93,44.47,1025.35,81.54,469.25 14.46,45.87,1009.21,84.09,464.5 21.83,62.91,1011.07,91.34,443.76 9.97,41.26,1020.6,91.14,475.43 15.09,43.13,1015.71,54.36,466.87 25.63,71.58,1010.14,87.57,433.76 24.17,71.58,1010.16,89.96,436.27 18.6,43.56,1013.9,51.16,464.67 31.05,69.13,1000.38,58.49,426.31 10.19,37.14,1012.74,73.48,475.01 13.26,41.78,1009.77,61.69,467.78 9.66,41.82,1033.19,73.19,477.67 23.6,62.44,1011.52,78.12,440.66 15.91,71.14,1019.7,72.65,458.15 8.79,40.67,1019.5,66.3,489.02 30.88,67.83,1008.97,54.99,425.36 20.98,60.07,1016.26,67.18,446.26 14.2,42.86,1031.96,69.59,468.63 25.69,57.32,1012.34,44.18,441.43 23.65,59.92,1010.19,89.53,436.74 15.48,44.99,1011.94,69.95,463.92 10.64,39.61,1018.33,66.81,471.48 14.48,38.92,1015.6,90.05,470.63 10.47,43.14,1010.35,86.86,476.55 24.65,63.86,1018.37,56.15,442.89 16.2,45.76,1014.73,89.84,460.87 28.61,52.84,1006,45.73,437.39 23.13,61.47,1008.96,85.5,438.8 13.55,42.99,1007.58,97.55,470.82 18.71,54.9,1017.12,74.79,456.88 14.35,49.83,1006.39,91.23,462.54 29.79,69.34,1008.82,65.13,434.74 29.64,54.2,1013,39.56,438.12 15.11,45.01,1017.01,84.39,462.21 25.02,60.29,1017.49,54.75,445.61 23.61,49.16,1002.39,65.63,443.5 16.05,38.28,1014.38,73.89,466.75 19.59,59.87,1018.28,84.83,449.74 23.23,56.89,1012.87,75.43,441.85 9.41,43.5,1021,88.74,473.84 6.63,39.37,1020.33,76.18,489.16 27.89,69.88,1007.99,85.62,430.75 22.54,51.95,1007.29,79.28,447.29 14,40.8,1026.17,54.82,474.87 6.87,39.85,1012.66,83.34,486.26 30.47,70.02,1009.65,62.03,435.72 27.33,68.94,1007.04,61.83,431.96 13.7,34.03,1018.82,69.07,470.2 22.03,59.43,1006.88,82.05,442.9 30.32,74.22,1008.31,53.14,429.36 17.13,43.79,1016.09,58.94,465.3 26.3,71.94,1006.64,85.12,428.83 17.55,48.78,1016.81,91.27,455.11 23.34,59.14,1017.47,78.91,439.6 23.26,58.2,1016.72,57.98,446.87 8.07,41.17,1019.4,86.43,484.54 24.45,68.63,1013.38,45.35,446.33 18.41,49.69,1006.66,80.55,454.97 18.22,58.2,1017.09,81.92,451.04 16.54,42.86,1014.85,78,465.26 30.01,65.18,1012.87,43.95,436.91 29.19,67.51,1011.48,55.55,446.97 14.58,41.92,1030.42,61.96,462.69 19.41,64.45,1009.44,64.05,452.55 18.95,65.48,1018.17,71.85,452.85 11.36,40.75,1016.34,85.19,477.5 23.79,58.49,1011,75.39,445.87 16.55,41.93,1022.71,42.73,466.77 21.43,59.14,1015.91,64.4,448.51 18.98,60.1,1010.09,85.34,453.37 16.38,55.5,1019.8,82.44,464.58 23.26,59.21,1017.71,67.16,442.38 22.55,69.84,1006.57,76.29,438.54 10.01,40.78,1023.71,88.11,470.82 23.33,54.2,1012.47,79.48,440.11 20.89,68.63,1012.6,69.52,452.05 14.18,53.82,1016.9,64.57,465.25 8.94,42.07,1018.9,85.93,473.34 28.61,69.84,1004.02,67.26,428.25 28.59,75.08,1005.58,60.3,442.7 13.91,40.24,1017.03,85.93,466.24 32.21,71.85,1008.25,58.09,429.15 15.34,43.5,1021.18,79.44,459.77 27,69.34,1008.88,74.4,439.26 23.63,65.59,1013.1,76.95,440.56 6.79,38.5,1012.61,72.46,488.69 9.01,40.77,1022.37,90.3,470.84 17.92,44.2,1018.97,53.8,455.37 9.05,40.67,1015.57,75.48,486.55 24.17,73.18,1011.72,86.1,437.27 26.92,63.73,1010.29,68.6,440.35 15.59,52.75,1024.3,59.93,458.87 10.17,41.46,1019.34,83.04,480.13 10.66,37.5,1009.42,95.86,472.86 32.48,69.89,1013.98,46.39,434.13 29.05,68.24,1007.88,42.67,433.92 32.91,73.68,1014.49,50.62,426.28 6.1,40.07,1020.21,67.24,494.43 25.11,63.21,1012.21,83.58,443.43 7.89,71.14,1018.4,86.49,474.66 22.82,69.94,1004.65,73.47,437.32 14.13,43.41,1015.26,55.63,461.96 9.32,36.3,1027.9,77.02,478.55 11.86,40.55,1019.82,91.45,473.31 10.05,40.46,1018.71,67.38,469.06 11.22,40.22,1011.01,81.67,476.7 31.68,70.79,1004.05,54.5,429.55 10.27,42.34,1022.69,92.78,474.55 9.34,40.77,1012.14,90.81,477.36 28.83,66.44,1008.47,77.49,430.01 24.01,67.17,1007.44,86.87,443.09 9.68,41.48,1018.24,71.04,473.31 14.86,44.71,1018.3,49.46,466.38 8.74,36.3,1015.18,61.97,438.63 16.55,46.18,1009.97,96.54,455.8 27.65,48.41,1008.54,58.25,440.94 10.1,41.17,1019.18,84.87,479.95 28.75,64.84,1009.61,58.24,441.3 18.75,63.09,1018.19,87.84,450.98 18.32,45,1022.67,46.38,471.43 28.62,68.24,1010.15,69.31,428.08 11.46,39.1,1010.17,100.15,470.55 13.92,43.41,1015.12,61.64,464.76 22.89,74.78,1009.79,81.57,443.7 21.13,47.43,1006.97,64.26,448.83 24.78,68.94,1007.29,70.56,435.93 17.03,47.83,1004.94,79.68,460.43 25.41,65.12,1016.01,53.39,442.86 21.47,60.93,1006.46,87.83,442.75 10.8,41.39,1019.74,74.08,478.75 11.67,36.18,1016.03,61.44,472.76 19.61,56.65,1020.64,63.74,457.41 21.48,47.43,1006.88,63.54,449.2 21.48,66.91,1008.58,84.49,447.42 14.17,43.13,1014.94,48.62,471.08 24.15,64.63,1020.72,58.06,448.87 28.81,69.23,1013.14,39.18,433.74 16.53,46.18,1010.2,95.42,458.67 22.1,68.12,1012.71,79.77,440.08 16.22,50.88,1014.33,100.09,454.94 10.9,40.67,1016.66,65.09,482.4 13.9,40.2,1013.13,89.91,464.17 30.61,77.17,1009.49,73.19,430.46 5.9,45.87,1013.25,87,481.27 5.67,45.87,1008.91,93.29,478.44 17.82,65.94,1013.44,88.13,452.82 9.34,41.49,1020.58,97.59,471.04 27.07,66.93,1017.32,55.38,446.48 25.52,71.98,1006.89,86.94,433.42 33.37,79.05,1007.19,62.64,430.42 22.25,66.54,1004.64,89.15,437.19 28.34,63.77,1013.7,61.13,439.75 32.87,71.32,1004.36,54.69,433.15 9.84,40.72,1022.21,77.79,477.52 15.8,53.82,1015.87,68.48,463.09 21.96,71.85,1009.38,75.98,441.52 8.3,40.35,1012.37,98.17,481.77 8.39,36.3,1015.39,62.23,479.57 12.55,39.58,1010.68,76.9,472.31 24.37,65.61,1014.5,65.67,443.13 33.43,69.88,1006.86,44.84,435.59 13.04,41.04,1026.27,69.75,464.91 13.52,39.39,1012.91,84.03,474.82 11.46,38.91,1012.34,77.37,477.5 19.75,57.32,1010.76,79.29,443.63 7.19,39.37,1019.67,70.77,480.4 26.76,70.98,1007.64,90.51,437.83 29.67,71.98,1005.16,67.75,425.14 32.86,66.44,1010.98,44.99,429.32 10.02,52.75,1021.93,73.68,473.09 17.41,40.55,1003.91,76.87,461.47 26.53,65.61,1014.29,50.9,442.64 29.82,69.75,1010.09,65.02,442.6 30.56,69.14,1007.49,71,432.26 13.92,43.5,1021.14,88.44,461.45 19.94,38.52,1018.4,55.9,450.48 21.03,44.78,1007.99,36.82,459.72 31.33,65.18,1011.97,36.62,435.77 11.7,41.16,1019.58,87.49,464.12 16.94,50.59,1018.75,94.22,460.64 26.06,67.83,1009.26,66.37,432.28 15.39,42.28,1007.35,81.35,467.3 10.98,37.5,1011.12,97.51,472.34 28.41,74.16,1010.29,72.09,439.2 4.88,40.27,1012.66,74.51,491.29 6.58,40.67,1020.18,71.07,494.84 13.79,40,1016.02,70.17,461.16 27.16,71.32,1007.81,89.07,430.53 7.65,41.01,1024.31,97.17,475.89 16.3,41.16,1007.88,76.61,463.47 23.04,63.86,1019.83,59.78,446.22 25.74,65.38,1009.6,54.34,452.94 24.31,44.05,1006.16,73.3,442.69 23.43,69.23,1013.09,63.48,441.6 14.91,46.9,1019.59,98.1,461.73 31.28,75.08,1005.39,49.53,438.63 25.84,67.83,1009.26,59.55,433.32 24.57,49.82,1016.82,65.25,452.3 13.42,48.04,1011.63,99.32,461.36 25.31,65.59,1011.16,79.71,440.96 22.78,59.92,1011.28,88.78,440.87 20.19,58.86,1014.3,71.64,450.67 17.98,39.63,1005.42,82.12,466.69 22.71,75.23,1010.48,76.86,444 13.68,41.7,1019.19,84.07,464.46 24.87,65.75,1006.45,65.75,435.6 7.53,41.74,1022.45,90.85,487.25 24.97,68.61,1011,55.04,453.26 13.55,40.71,1019.13,75.44,467.21 8.66,40.11,1032.86,75.31,479.76 16.84,45.01,1016.14,75.74,456.85 23.05,68.67,1006.69,76.43,447.34 17.7,49.78,1005.19,100.09,451.24 19.39,68.61,1011.09,96.51,446.47 30.05,56.9,1007.02,41.96,437.55 19.82,63.9,1013.19,78.96,449.61 19.1,56.53,1020.18,76.38,455.52 17.47,43.56,1014.15,54.71,460.87 23.86,45.87,1007.71,48.73,446.67 26.31,63.77,1014.15,69.36,440.1 26.74,69.89,1013.96,51.82,436.02 9.94,40.46,1018.9,68.51,473.74 27.01,71.25,1000.46,87.95,431.38 21.01,51.19,1008.44,81.49,446.2 34.97,73.56,1006.57,44.69,435.15 22.51,68.63,1015.1,57.19,450.75 21.03,67.45,1015.01,68.59,447.11 29.05,75.6,1017.63,51.16,439.14 23.6,57.17,1009.84,74.27,446.05 5.62,43.65,1017.9,77.43,481.69 21.16,65.48,1016.99,72.79,446.37 21.89,58.62,1016.15,74.59,450.05 9.66,40.05,1015.78,89.06,481.14 25.69,59.07,1006.89,82.34,440.6 8.33,38.08,1018.94,73.78,481.89 7.32,41.22,1015.42,97.25,484.21 21.11,41.67,1012.44,52.86,460.33 12.25,40.75,1016.02,82.4,475.07 24.57,51.95,1005.8,70.07,448.15 16.64,48.92,1011.55,78.76,452.56 11.57,41.54,1020.13,69.14,476.89 29.23,75.6,1017.72,52.26,438.92 32.37,67.83,1008.32,57.39,426.76 26.17,58.86,1014.52,51.28,443.69 6.05,38.68,1017.46,66.13,483.5 8.64,41.66,1014.14,80.44,481.89 25.91,75.6,1018.23,62.65,443.2 25.02,59.92,1009.9,76.27,436.64 25.96,68.08,1010.86,67.07,435.84 25.5,59.27,1012.92,68.88,442.65 14.85,45.01,1013.12,85.53,460.19 19.06,44.63,1004.23,84.43,456.54 15.22,41.67,1013.18,67.17,469.93 26.07,71.37,1008.6,79.48,439.25 7.62,44.71,1020.56,69.96,486.07 16.94,49.64,1024.43,69.22,459.25 26.18,69.14,1006.54,85.95,436 21.91,48.7,1006.89,83.97,449.8 23.24,63.78,1017.1,63.8,446.95 22.48,50.05,1005.55,82.36,442.56 12.8,41.16,1022.43,86.19,462.72 26.17,66.54,1002.23,75.6,433.81 29.71,73.18,1012.35,63.06,427.04 7.41,39.16,1015.23,90.66,486.91 16.25,58.16,1018.34,78.59,458.31 14.28,44.84,1024.84,79.09,474.57 22.12,47.93,1005.5,84.47,443.41 23.06,63.9,1013.54,65.28,447.36 13.46,39.85,1012.76,72.94,472.5 26.76,49.02,1007.96,70.05,439.4 28.57,51.43,1012.02,47.79,450.04 10.31,38.18,1018.02,70.1,476.31 28.47,69.23,1013.18,40.73,434.12 8.35,40.77,1011.77,90.25,478.82 24.42,57.32,1011.46,55.92,443.94 25.64,50.05,1006.97,67.72,440.86 7.69,39.96,1023.9,89.18,478.05 11.54,45.51,1017.19,83.02,474.73 15.62,40.89,1007.01,79.21,466.15 18.74,45.09,1014.24,41.54,456.25 20.12,65.94,1009.93,76.24,447.46 17.85,48.14,1017.16,86.68,451.9 17.21,52.9,1019.91,77.31,460.88 20.99,67.07,1005.17,82.41,442.02 17.69,46.36,1019.55,86.64,462.81 20.58,49.15,1021.42,56.15,453.87 12.04,38.25,1013.08,82.45,472.13 29.07,71.64,1006.07,69.53,440.51 21.81,65.46,1013.97,52.16,444.66 9.48,40.8,1023.82,78.98,485.36 13.69,44.85,1016.89,79.87,470.78 32.18,69.75,1009.94,52.91,438.26 23.48,60.23,1011.91,79.48,437.44 27.82,76.09,1007.83,76.07,434.52 25.26,74.33,1014.79,79.56,433.49 14.12,42.99,1007.13,78.16,468.45 23.14,60.27,1018.51,80.54,442.59 17.74,50.88,1015.56,89.78,457.71 10.15,41.17,1019.38,82.3,480.71 8.35,43.79,1016.2,85.23,484.21 20.35,68.61,1011.17,86.69,450.89 22.06,45.61,1014.3,77.75,455.61 15.64,44.21,1020.17,83.28,462.42 9.32,36.66,1027.46,70.76,479.13 29.28,65.71,1013.76,48.05,445.49 7.52,39.61,1018.61,78.96,481.54 29.08,67.79,1010.91,55.96,442.78 7.55,42.85,1011.21,93.25,484.93 26.51,44.57,1007.56,52.23,445.32 26.52,63.94,1018.23,42.41,440.47 8.07,41.17,1019.4,86.43,484.54 25.35,63.21,1012.31,80.16,442.23 11.36,41.48,1012.8,76.16,465.37 11.89,40.64,1021.29,97.16,476.99 20.19,66.86,1012.97,64.7,454.84 20.04,48.92,1011.14,68.92,447.89 10.32,39.28,1016.56,94.13,478.88 12.01,41.48,1017.75,66.67,469.08 23.08,61.86,1013.44,84.64,441.44 19.81,66.54,1013.88,80.09,449.07 24.1,71.29,1007.96,67.56,442.8 14.47,39.58,1011.31,69.85,467.34 32.25,77.54,1010.46,54.57,430.86 9.51,40.81,1015.69,82.52,475.29 12.63,41.48,1009.61,87.69,461.09 30.91,76.2,1008.53,58.08,434.94 8.38,39.22,1015.03,75.14,478.82 22.63,57.17,1009.83,77.43,433.54 5.71,40.77,1022.49,87.9,487.48 13.09,43.67,1012.22,91.91,474.45 22.72,62.4,1010.28,80.79,445.22 23.67,72.24,1011.22,90.45,435.94 18.19,43.96,1011.87,79.68,464.58 25.58,47.01,1014.5,63.53,454.39 6.79,40,1019.01,81.83,480.83 19.05,62.96,1020.48,83.04,454.26 25.32,63.77,1014.55,74.69,441.5 15.09,39.52,1017.05,72.43,469.8 23.44,72.24,1011.28,88.03,438.34 8.26,44.71,1020.85,68.82,485.19 17.22,36.71,1013.77,67.92,465.32 27.46,68.08,1013.06,46.49,433.72 11.52,40.03,1017.56,87.87,472.31 27.55,63.13,1012.92,71.29,440.75 6.5,38.5,1013.92,90.1,486.78 13.35,39.58,1012.41,83.45,465.85 21.5,59.87,1019.05,76.56,444.05 22.46,48.41,1008.66,80.85,442.57 22.05,63.31,1012.39,76.95,444.37 18.28,41.1,1002,65.69,460.03 14.56,53.82,1016.37,64.46,463.64 26,70.47,1009.61,74.66,435.05 13.14,40.66,1016.47,94.76,466.95 24.17,59.44,1012.66,78.53,447.13 26.11,73.17,1009.8,65.18,434.94 9.38,44.77,1020.41,85.26,473.9 18.77,49.21,1012.2,58.69,454.86 10,39.66,1016.83,78.91,479.97 10.1,44.03,1008.11,90.29,471.59 10.35,40.27,1005.09,92.42,477.8 12.95,40.1,1015.31,86.01,471.07 21.76,47.93,1005.34,86.28,444.77 25.06,52.36,1014.7,67.98,454.13 8.39,52.72,1026.06,86.76,473.45 23.56,71.85,1009.67,74.78,439.48 23.58,58.82,1009.68,81.38,445.01 20.71,45.61,1013.64,82.39,457.4 13.4,41.78,1010.2,64.57,466.68 10.36,41.46,1017.53,92.04,478.27 13.67,42.32,1015.41,79.04,464.56 29.35,71.58,1010.07,61.8,434.45 6.61,36.24,1013.57,91.8,483.12 13.92,39.85,1012.64,68.03,473.47 27.18,62.66,1009.89,52.83,442.16 11.41,41.54,1019.94,66.49,477.89 26.61,69.13,1002.05,51.97,430.17 20.32,67.71,1007.42,63.71,446.22 20.97,44.63,1007.64,73.69,453.26 25.34,49.5,1013.25,50.8,457.12 6.22,39.85,1012.05,86.88,443.73 11.87,36.43,1023.42,79.5,474.17 11.92,41.2,1016.99,81.24,476 28.15,71.25,1000.51,81.04,431.28 28.01,65.34,1014.68,46.86,440.77 16.51,41.79,1007.1,74.03,457.74 13.51,39.31,1012.18,75.19,466.46 18.34,65.94,1013.27,85.42,451.29 10.04,41.62,1013.36,95.17,463.87 20.3,56.53,1020.27,76.49,454.12 18.6,56.85,1012.34,80.24,450.26 19.79,51.19,1008.77,94.72,447.96 11.18,39.61,1018.56,68,468.75 10.91,40.1,1014.07,91.45,478.34 18.92,46.93,1009.89,77.98,453.66 14.1,42.18,1015.05,78.25,463.3 24.69,59.92,1010.12,80.58,436.33 23.61,43.77,1011.81,56.08,444.55 27,60.96,1012.36,58.97,450.15 15.87,45,1021.92,40,470.85 30.2,74.34,1004.17,74.77,431.77 14.18,39.3,1020.1,67.48,464.32 11.23,43.67,1012.57,72.1,475.41 32.95,75.08,1005.32,47.7,436.3 24.33,46.93,1013.83,44.59,447.54 9.55,38.08,1019.34,68.38,479.23 27.58,65.27,1013.51,50.43,441.3 25.56,58.82,1010.44,70.23,441 5.74,37.8,1021.37,74.47,490.81 8.22,41.82,1032.77,71.63,477.86 23.18,59.04,1011.44,79.28,443.12 26.91,70.02,1010.75,59.48,445.31 16.14,54.3,1017.93,65.68,460.73 20.69,50.78,1008.71,91.95,447.58 24.18,66.48,1003.3,70.99,433.37 2.8,39.64,1011.01,82.96,482.66 25.26,65.61,1014.43,58.35,447.34 10.11,52.75,1021.79,76.08,470.35 17.44,45.01,1013.65,75.13,456.08 25.37,59.14,1017.27,78.07,437.19 9.45,41.92,1029.32,91.09,467.79 10.39,39.69,1003.31,89.6,473 26.2,74.67,1016.69,84.38,430.22 22.85,47.43,1008.13,66.36,448.15 12.65,44.03,1007.13,85.23,466.01 15.14,41.93,1020.95,61.26,469.68 28.51,70.02,1010.58,54.68,441.66 22.55,70.79,1006.19,92.56,436.43 24.35,66.49,1012.48,62.12,439.15 12.64,41.79,1016.38,92.65,461.46 24.2,64.33,1011.15,84.23,442.78 7.52,41.66,1015.2,78.41,483.28 21.54,58.12,1015.33,78.67,454.32 23.43,60.32,1015.34,69.34,446.88 23.24,63.76,1010.1,79.16,441.35 24.67,69.14,1006.25,88.51,440.03 6.77,40.78,1024.86,96.58,478.24 31.94,69.98,1013.32,56.17,432.03 20.83,49.02,1009.45,91.92,445.31 8.37,39.99,1010.36,93.26,482.31 13.75,44.47,1029.63,70.74,467.14 30.82,70.36,1006.47,58.79,439.16 25.16,57.17,1009.86,75.7,442.03 22.1,65.48,1019.3,66.96,447 18.7,52.72,1024.84,57.72,458.06 19.76,58.79,1017.37,89.09,449.76 28.45,69.23,1013.07,39.46,436.96 13.58,49.83,1008.9,86.8,465.82 20.83,67.32,1011.76,73.11,443.17 5.85,41.55,1001.95,99.41,484.47 16.99,40.89,1011.54,64.51,464.95 10.68,37.92,1009.59,65.05,474.03 14.65,35.4,1016.16,60.26,469.61 26.2,71.14,1007.92,72.95,431.7 32.74,68.31,1010.23,41.29,441.66 15.78,41.16,1008.43,80.25,464.85 12.41,39.28,1017.08,87.02,473.86 25.36,60.07,1015.06,66.11,439.73 20.56,60.08,1017.79,78.08,452.8 24.92,63.86,1019.19,59.24,440.93 31.88,67.32,1013.64,35.1,436.64 24.51,51.86,1014.64,67.57,446.74 8.48,40.05,1015.89,90.25,483.5 27.76,71.97,1008.53,86.97,434.04 12.08,41.39,1019.45,78.3,477.8 23.56,73.18,1012.18,87.98,437.92 11.77,41.06,1021.45,76.63,475.88 21.37,65.94,1010.73,75.09,444.74 14.02,43.34,1016.06,85.8,466.38 17.53,44.9,1020.5,71.1,457.61 14.89,35.71,1015.1,55.11,469.37 14.81,43.7,1015.1,60.72,469.5 28.99,68.24,1008.75,66.57,428.28 30.49,70.32,1011.34,66.33,434.76 21.59,66.54,1004.88,90.54,441.71 24.46,61.9,1013.88,87.16,441.34 21.63,50.16,1005.7,84.84,448.32 21.46,46.63,1012.97,71.29,452.1 5.7,40.35,1012.18,91.57,488.8 27.11,70.04,1009.76,71.25,431.96 9.95,41.82,1033.09,69.44,477.52 18.68,46,1002.2,97.17,447.8 18.41,65.94,1010.23,84.71,452.66 19.02,49.25,1019.75,58.29,453.49 26.25,61.02,1011.47,71.22,436.44 18.07,63.31,1016.65,72.81,456.5 26.17,70.47,1010.25,68.96,434.56 23.83,49.21,1012.93,46.79,446.23 21.11,59.39,1013.87,85.29,446.02 13.9,42.86,1030.82,71.89,473.76 26.64,73.56,1004.98,93.31,432.93 21.5,45.38,1013.88,64.28,460.18 11.61,41.17,1019.57,58.82,476.81 6.13,39.48,1005.17,53.5,484.12 12.72,40.6,1013.45,86.16,471.23 17.29,44.63,1019.6,41.98,460.66 31.8,69.05,1000.77,49.82,426.5 19.16,43.43,1012.36,72.59,451 23.62,73.67,1007,90.8,438.33 7.87,41.17,1020.33,77.77,486.2 25.78,59.15,1013.61,66.68,441.71 29.29,72.58,1007.39,72.85,428.73 29.58,76.2,1008.37,60.73,433.91 24.29,63.57,1010.29,87.3,443.28 25.25,58.46,1015.54,70.76,444.05 31.74,72.58,1007.26,59.58,425.12 7.39,39.85,1011.63,83.61,487.84 28.5,79.74,1006.75,87.09,433.08 29.98,67.22,1014.22,52.69,445.3 22.94,61.5,1008.25,73.45,445.31 25.85,70.36,1005.59,78.23,433.06 21.09,74.93,1015.11,81.93,443.51 27.28,47.93,1003.46,59.22,438 23.86,59.21,1013.02,73.6,441.22 13.33,40.64,1020.92,91.47,474.07 23.66,60.37,1006.91,87.13,438.59 16.8,44.9,1009.14,79.78,456.42 22.12,57.19,1007.56,76.5,442.51 24.82,57.19,1007.82,71.46,439.91 11.09,40.43,1025.47,74.97,490.96 7.64,40.81,1026.67,95.24,483.38 27.78,60.07,1014.66,53.74,439.43 6.49,38.68,1017.94,64.81,485.95 10.97,40.6,1015,87.59,478.69 25.27,63.91,1009.82,75.48,440.39 14.07,43.34,1015.79,86,463.77 18.9,47.83,1005.31,77.79,455.94 4.49,38.44,1015.47,76.96,485.78 5.94,39.9,1007.84,86.33,485.86 21.94,64.15,1021.2,61.75,453.3 21.35,59.04,1012.28,95.71,445.83 7.94,35.77,1017.04,63.22,480.38 23.6,60.08,1017.51,63.02,451.97 29.73,67.25,1017.64,37.79,439.06 10.51,39.04,1023.95,85.35,479.15 8.7,36.24,1013.34,89.5,478.69 29.6,69.82,1010.49,61.66,438.47 24.26,56.57,1013.86,70.35,442.9 20.61,60.1,1010.84,80.57,450.46 14.2,38.62,1017.83,77.57,465.29 8.77,42.49,1010.7,86.78,469.1 27.38,69.4,1004.57,74.12,434.47 12.98,39.64,1013.95,74.39,473.54 32.38,73.91,1004.05,61.69,430.17 19.2,58.71,1009.8,84.62,448.17 27.37,63.73,1009.79,65.25,437.24 18.77,58.66,1010.34,87.25,454.54 21.95,59.43,1010.29,74.67,442.84 26.73,77.95,1012.31,78.35,434.76 16.02,71.14,1019.75,70.42,456.35 18.86,46.48,1007.28,78.47,452 21.7,64.44,1014.95,73.33,448.51 20.25,44.78,1007.93,40.16,462.44 11.42,41.38,1021.98,60.19,479.23 6.37,41.03,1022.23,80.36,490.47 14.54,42.99,1009.27,90.88,468.93 24.43,58.05,1011.88,71.39,445.68 15.92,37.64,1014.93,83.73,464.14 27.51,71.29,1009.43,76.92,430.42 23.64,60.95,1014.92,64.91,447.86 9,41.54,1018.83,79.61,484.08 28.98,73.42,1011.25,72.9,432.2 18.31,50.9,1011.87,86.83,455.5 15.82,44.2,1018.96,66.73,460.2 14.88,41.66,1009.4,67.15,468.55 27.49,63.78,1015.43,47.45,445.66 10.74,41.46,1016.76,84.59,479.94 18.21,62.26,1011.97,87.28,455.88 17.2,40.55,1000.68,72.67,462.55 8.66,36.25,1028.22,86.96,479.66 20.59,42.04,1009.78,62.77,463.08 22.86,58.96,1014.03,54.96,451.82 23.31,68.63,1014.73,51.57,448.2 16.71,42.99,1007.72,75.35,465.09 4.97,38.91,1018.99,89.86,489.96 31.95,70.8,1008.38,66.26,432.79 13.89,35.71,1016.4,65.49,468.54 26.92,51.43,1012.29,59.33,437.35 23,60.37,1005.34,83.73,437.6 25.95,59.27,1010.9,70.42,444.19 14.84,38.91,1013.78,69.27,467.83 22.5,70.94,1008.04,82.39,442.4 31.84,77.95,1014.9,55.35,433.28 19.35,39.39,1013.91,61.53,465.28 24.26,67.69,1008.48,66.74,437.4 21.95,68.08,1012.91,69.36,443.93 16.07,65.46,1013.88,87.11,450.54 30.21,79.74,1006.82,54.03,430.83 13.66,45,1021.97,79.04,473.12 9.76,39.16,1014.19,85.4,482.38 15.69,39.3,1019.03,60.57,464.17 5.29,41.38,1020.62,83.83,492.12 26.72,65.61,1014.41,52.01,442.48 12.68,41.4,1021.59,78.57,466.64 29.24,64.33,1011.49,65.08,440.12 19.09,43.14,1012.34,45.75,463.3 5.06,40.64,1021.49,93.7,483.73 26.23,70.72,1009.73,73.44,445.28 27.15,73.9,1007.57,74.42,433.09 23.47,65.61,1014.57,69.83,447.16 19.78,44.71,1015.7,29.43,465.49 13.07,40.83,1010,84.84,471.19 8.52,38.5,1013.16,64.06,482.96 10.39,40.96,1023.51,84.73,479 30.2,56.9,1006.89,42.69,436.17 23.93,64.05,1013.09,86.02,440.66 21.11,43.43,1010.1,62.62,447.83 16.59,41.79,1006.67,73.9,455.42 30.52,70.4,1003.9,64.33,438.29 15.74,43.71,1024.7,78.38,462.66 21.25,44.05,1005.69,81.87,448.43 12.25,44.58,1016.47,81.15,475.24 6.49,43.65,1020.41,72.78,484.94 14.1,48.92,1011.6,84.39,461.34 24.62,58.66,1011.43,56.61,449.8 16,43.34,1013.89,78.39,462.33 28.67,66.25,1007.96,76.36,434.73 29.18,68.24,1010.04,68.04,428.52 26.8,68.31,1011.04,61.48,447.85 16.76,43.67,1011.27,70.55,462.44 9.44,39.82,1013.26,91.55,483.18 11.44,34.03,1018.57,74.06,476.06 13.45,43.14,1015.5,74.33,474.1 16.46,61.27,1020.02,74.54,456.64 12.91,40.73,1017.66,93.66,464.61 18.58,64.45,1009.68,67.57,444.28 13.1,40.03,1017.79,84.48,470.75 13.45,41.16,1022.04,82.96,460.57 10.01,43.7,1015.73,91.97,479.24 17.32,41.67,1013.23,68.07,462.74 21.49,61.27,1019.81,63.21,450.07 23.56,49.16,1003.31,66.98,445.36 11.02,38.28,1013.51,95.66,472.11 33.62,77.17,1009.38,63.71,431.03 4.56,40.27,1011.13,80.24,493.87 14.87,41.76,1022.26,78.21,464.84 10.77,44.78,1012.87,84.16,470.66 21.45,60.08,1017.92,72.7,451.49 13.24,54.3,1017.05,81.99,467.81 22.64,58.66,1011.68,60.97,449.79 11.72,40.55,1020.74,86.22,474.7 26.74,59.87,1012.5,62.88,447.88 12.51,49.83,1008.61,94.27,452.84 9.88,39.66,1017.81,76.05,480.05 25,68.14,1005.35,57.13,437.67 25.51,73.56,1006.59,96.63,437.07 11.22,41.93,1023.13,69.35,480.71 21.7,49.02,1008.74,82.8,446.46 19.83,63.94,1019.81,75.05,448.03 12.34,40.62,1016.28,53.6,466.47 10.4,45.01,1018.58,93.48,470.79 13.61,42.34,1017.78,88.84,466.17 25.55,58.95,1017.12,51.84,442.3 13.2,41.78,1010.49,64.96,468.58 25.88,66.48,1004.24,63.16,434.4 14.75,41.16,1009.58,86.96,468.14 7.82,40.72,1022.17,88.13,481.52 11.7,25.36,1008.65,92.11,470.88 6.37,40.81,1025.98,91,489.18 23.98,50.32,1008.41,67.75,443.45 24.8,59.87,1018.79,60.79,441 23.89,50.16,1004.88,73.94,444.99 27.88,70.79,1005.06,72.5,429.62 7.19,39.4,1011.45,90.65,483.04 24.2,60.95,1014.82,59.42,448.43 33.82,72.29,1008.67,46.95,432.13 14.69,54.3,1018.01,73.4,462.63 24.82,74.87,1010.28,73.54,434.46 12.59,40.03,1018.76,85.4,471.63 19.05,44.06,1017.02,73.76,454.28 5.51,35.57,1026.3,78.97,489.36 33.7,68.27,1007.16,50.41,427.4 26.05,56.85,1012.78,59.09,438.59 14.45,39.58,1012.41,79,467.62 30.48,70.04,1010.73,53.7,429.85 19.68,56.65,1020.75,67.25,456.89 21.34,48.06,1014.49,63.23,458.13 23.03,65.12,1016.29,69.8,447.84 24.2,59.07,1009.25,88.25,441.93 24.54,48.06,1013.02,55.18,443.67 32.27,71.85,1008.06,59.28,429.72 7.61,41.26,1009.05,97.32,480.68 13.86,41.58,1020.69,70.74,461.56 24.35,59.21,1018.21,54.46,444.35 29.12,67.32,1014.21,48.8,435.2 18.03,58.86,1015.99,89.03,450.33 10.59,41.54,1019.94,72.52,478.74 27.69,69.98,1008.52,60.93,433.47 15.21,50.88,1014.24,100.11,460.56 16.92,50.9,1013.27,82.97,460.86 26.16,63.76,1010.03,68.77,437.24 13.78,38.47,1015.2,57.8,466.41 17.66,60.08,1017.22,86.96,456.62 30.12,73.18,1012.29,61.32,429.31 17.69,44.34,1019.31,61.12,464.13 23.14,58.95,1017.52,66.25,442.27 13.98,39.18,1009.61,89.12,467.97 24.41,69.48,1008.34,76.13,435.38 14.38,44.78,1010.8,66.58,459.66 22.75,70.94,1008.03,81.95,439.91 26.94,65.61,1014.31,49.73,443.9 18.8,47.83,1005.86,76.77,453.9 24.45,65.12,1015.92,57.19,445.01 23.77,69.13,1011.05,89.41,434.08 24.62,68.31,1010.45,75.18,448.58 18.85,67.32,1012.91,82.37,446.7 21.94,56.85,1011.01,77.72,442.63 25.61,58.86,1013.9,54.9,444.77 18.97,43.43,1012.72,75.69,453.2 23.46,51.19,1009.6,73.22,444.82 21.04,74.87,1009.09,88.25,443.44 4.23,38.44,1016.46,76.64,489 24.42,63.31,1012.64,71.8,438.39 23.1,59.43,1007.36,85.96,440.64 24.98,58.98,1010.34,78.56,441.33 32.96,73.03,1013.56,54.03,438.93 22.1,71.29,1008.2,75.38,442.35 32.27,71.85,1007.88,56.01,427.56 12.36,52.75,1026.04,68.71,465.14 13.11,41.44,1015.55,74.45,471.61 13.18,52.72,1024.67,75.96,468.36 8.03,40.67,1020.13,70.87,492.26 15.49,39,1016.01,71.31,462.28 30.02,68.24,1009.8,65.73,429.5 14.73,40.35,1011.15,65.2,470.03 4.78,42.85,1013.07,94.72,479.09 30.3,71.98,1004.4,55.6,426.52 9.63,40.27,1009.96,81.03,477.38 13.24,39.85,1012.64,59.99,477.22 22.93,63.13,1011.6,77.09,448.02 14.55,42.74,1027.29,66.64,457.77 26.42,59.27,1012.9,65.38,443.94 18.88,43.69,1016.77,46.88,464.63 24.47,70.94,1008.07,81.55,436.29 14.81,42.03,1017.43,72.54,470.41 12.8,42.18,1016.27,83.9,467.69 9.72,39.66,1018.31,76.07,480.05 17.74,44.2,1018.87,58.59,454.37 29.65,71.25,1001.07,73.97,430.88 22.19,62.96,1019.54,67.96,453.03 29.79,62.66,1008.5,48.51,440.27 27.13,69.45,1013.9,51.16,434.47 24.62,70.47,1010.55,72.71,435.88 28.65,68.27,1006.96,52.78,432.73 31.86,69.59,1008.61,59.74,435.72 27.56,63.9,1013.23,45.97,442.43 12.29,40.71,1019.71,83.09,469.75 8.84,42.49,1010.28,89.09,481.58 30.62,64.69,1006.23,52.06,435.84 3.99,39.64,1011.53,83.58,492.06 23.38,58.82,1012.27,77.87,446.54 27.46,66.54,1002.39,67.09,431.81 29.22,60.23,1009.73,61.5,436.32 22.22,48.98,1015.87,53.18,447.1 6.8,39.37,1020.24,73.29,487.33 4.49,40.27,1012.01,76.5,494.24 22.53,74.87,1009.91,93.21,444.69 23.63,60.37,1005,81.66,440.74 10.06,39.61,1020.87,74.01,476.92 11.09,42.44,1014.18,92.81,478.37 7.64,38.18,1017.65,78.51,484.45 33.95,68.14,1002.33,48.98,427.25 32.38,69.05,1000.76,45.85,429.31 9.42,41.4,1029.99,88.41,477.01 25.92,60.32,1016.05,52.51,448.37 18.5,52.08,1006.23,100.09,451.23 13.12,48.04,1011.93,100.07,463.46 34.33,69.05,1000.89,37.9,430.56 29.29,70.02,1010.13,46.93,438.84 16.4,44.9,1009.22,82.31,456.11 21.44,62.96,1020.27,79.85,450.57 11.45,41.17,1017.98,84.64,476 14.62,44.84,1023.41,85.17,464.51 29.29,57.19,1008.3,60.11,435.69 10.16,40.8,1028.13,86.39,477.49 25.45,69.59,1008.51,83.17,445.61 31.98,73.42,1010.66,60.06,432.2 25.93,66.56,1004.97,76.35,433.25 32.51,71.22,1005.62,47.6,433.76 11.38,52.75,1026.19,72.71,469.9 10.39,40.22,1009.77,83.27,478.58 13.6,41.2,1015.92,85.05,467.42 30.11,62.04,1010.69,47.96,444.42 33.24,74.34,1002.58,45.05,435.5 25.59,62.39,1006.37,74.06,435.84 24.33,60.32,1015.49,59.95,445.36 28.92,61.02,1011.19,56.13,436.76 15.62,58.59,1013.91,97.6,457.3 7.49,36.08,1020.27,85.69,483.26 18.33,44.34,1019.55,51.69,468.8 21.38,44.05,1005.69,81.66,445.71 24.13,73.18,1012.62,91.52,436.22 9.53,40.23,1017.74,89.05,484 8.83,41.92,1031.8,78.97,483.38 26.37,54.5,1014.48,66.31,451.78 15.04,41.35,1004.29,99.1,467.96 25.13,51.95,1005.42,62.05,447.7 22.26,69.04,1010.48,84.33,444.73 31.07,70.32,1011.74,65.91,436.16 30.74,79.05,1005.78,73.19,430.69 13.08,43.14,1019.39,99.74,467.06 26.18,69.84,1005.13,72.89,431.69 14.22,40.83,1009.2,81.32,469.75 10.95,40.22,1010.04,78.96,477.23 30.62,66.75,1017.68,53.68,432.66 26.96,73.68,1013.81,84.77,429.48 23.25,63.78,1016.01,72.01,448.82 8,34.03,1018.98,78.67,487.17 12.66,41.2,1015.88,89.12,466.49 23.04,74.99,1005.44,92.86,437.65 31.41,74.16,1011.1,57.05,434.88 29.51,75.6,1017.92,50.61,431.18 21.96,58.79,1012.1,88.74,447.31 26.45,75.6,1017.42,74.5,436.89 12.79,44.03,1007.46,95.93,464.35 14.63,41.23,998.96,86.4,466.36 14.74,42.77,1017.71,76.59,463.61 23.56,66.49,1012.21,53.86,441.92 17.34,44.06,1015.84,74.88,458.5 13.26,45.51,1015.99,69.82,472.17 19.46,60.07,1014.81,66.61,451.89 29.96,67.83,1008,44.05,433.13 21.38,60.84,1017.94,82.83,445.8 19.48,39.72,1001.75,55.41,457.16 12.99,41.93,1020.25,74.64,472.95 25.79,75.6,1017.46,75.63,434.65 11.46,39.3,1019.53,76.86,475.51 26.38,71.58,1011.02,80.9,434.26 5.23,35.57,1026.23,79.38,488.5 15.36,41.35,1002.4,91.67,465.01 9.19,40.62,1017.78,68.91,475.42 5.89,40.07,1018.99,63.13,493.9 34.29,68.51,1009.58,32.25,427.62 19.21,60.07,1014.94,70.02,452.84 14.02,40.66,1017.05,84.14,465.39 29.12,67.83,1008.05,46.86,432.46 2.58,39.42,1028.68,69.03,488.69 12.61,41.58,1020.17,85.18,463.36 20.48,60.29,1017.16,72.1,455.51 7.3,43.65,1019.33,67.62,482.96 22.7,66.44,1011.19,68.36,444.02 29.78,65.74,1012.13,44.96,441.51 15.3,43.34,1013.23,82.73,463.7 10.39,44.85,1014.22,78.42,478.05 13.1,49.83,1007.29,92.79,466.08 24.92,48.92,1010.11,36.53,445.56 10.89,44.2,1018.3,86.32,479.16 6.81,38.56,1016.5,70.99,487.45 23.63,71.29,1008.01,70.07,442.65 32.39,79.74,1006.92,58.58,430.12 20.64,49.21,1014.86,58.47,454.2 26.89,70.32,1012.39,87.17,435.56 19.02,50.66,1013.04,85.25,455.42 20.78,58.86,1016.02,77.29,446.2 8.72,36.25,1029.31,85.73,479.94 22.45,41.54,1012.69,70.89,460.07 24.2,50.78,1008.74,59.32,443.09 10.8,40.22,1011.25,84.57,478.21 31.48,69.75,1008.9,45.66,438.19 19.09,66.51,1015.11,76.38,458.41 24.38,63.91,1009.53,79.11,446.02 19.46,46.33,1013.77,89.62,452.11 26.63,73.68,1015.15,85.13,428.8 10.26,39.13,1010.94,87.78,474.16 31.01,71.37,1003.4,55.06,430.82 3.95,38.44,1016.75,79.65,492.46 25.99,74.67,1016.59,83.39,434.7 18.25,43.14,1011.51,55.16,462.78 14.46,53.82,1016.55,68.11,462.6 29.09,70.98,1007.86,80.35,439.34 12.53,42.03,1017.57,81.57,469.18 20.35,67.71,1005.85,63.97,446.42 5.82,41.38,1021.06,86.91,492.12 10.52,41.01,1020.35,93.58,466.75 14.1,41.04,1026.11,74.25,465.89 21.98,55.97,1009.12,89.51,442.65 23.6,65.48,1017.44,61.26,444.38 26.53,63.87,1017.38,48.53,445.11 28.22,51.43,1006.06,63.72,438.43 26.13,73.21,1002.12,92.02,435.34 4.11,38.44,1015.9,81.79,488.05 30.75,73.5,1011.02,54.76,429.18 13.27,42.28,1008.3,86.2,468.86 11.91,43.22,1008.75,76.57,472.88 18.24,59.15,1012,84.4,449.48 30.01,62.34,1005.28,62.34,435.94 11.41,40.62,1015.56,57.62,466.83 14.39,40.35,1011.33,64.86,472.43 20.75,60.77,1017.91,86.06,448.58 11.36,38.25,1013.22,86.16,473.55 27.94,63.07,1010.75,38.57,441 11.28,40.55,1006.23,97.78,475.14 14.69,49.64,1023.43,78.17,434.12 24.23,59.04,1011.91,71.79,443.06 9.44,41.79,1020.16,72.26,474.03 21.83,57.85,1012.49,75.16,448.21 14.79,38.73,999.83,86.45,470.28 23.29,68.51,1013.19,77.81,441.17 21.75,65.12,1015.53,66,452.89 17.33,53.16,1013.16,82.93,460.67 17.53,50.66,1012.74,91.51,457.28 22.61,54.42,1014.74,75.87,453.86 13.34,40.83,1008.09,85.85,471.82 15.85,49.69,1015.33,89.24,469.4 12.43,43.22,1008.93,77.42,468.01 20.34,46.63,1013.16,79.08,453.62 14.52,44.84,1023.51,88.51,466.88 31.92,75.33,1001.81,61.97,436.38 22.89,73.11,1006.66,73.11,440.15 20.84,51.19,1008.63,84.11,448.98 18.81,52.08,1005.77,98.86,450.72 28.95,66.75,1018.22,60.48,432.39 16.82,47.45,1010.19,88.48,449.57 11.2,41.38,1021.65,61.89,476.87 9.13,39.16,1014.14,86.17,484.86 15.24,45.87,1009.46,85.95,456.33 5.68,40.35,1012.11,92.86,486.79 30.32,64.69,1006.35,51.36,436.72 17.89,44.6,1014.48,42.51,463.99 33.38,71.06,1008.1,64.83,430.98 26.19,65.61,1014.51,54.52,443.73 12.59,44.34,1017.01,85.57,474.11 17.62,43.69,1016.49,67.92,465.93 22.06,64.15,1021.07,68.66,451.44 18.28,45,1022.47,43.03,471.42 16.62,52.05,1011.96,67.81,457.89 22.83,65.18,1012.24,79.74,442.43 12.04,40.78,1025.21,85.97,463.51 19.51,50.16,1010.33,94.37,448.28 24.65,71.98,1006.46,91.11,431.77 16.14,44.63,1019.44,47.85,463.5 19.27,50.9,1011.72,83.14,455.09 6.5,38.68,1017.8,62.9,483.72 6.43,39.61,1017.51,83.8,480.58 23.46,57.85,1012.7,65.54,444.66 5.68,40.77,1022.49,90.6,487.58 20.12,56.53,1020.34,75.59,454.54 27.75,66.54,1010.21,46.37,437.58 14.32,45.08,1023.24,84.53,467.21 28.29,47.93,1002.6,53.23,437.13 15.08,42.77,1018.43,73.19,461.68 10.98,41.39,1017.54,85.31,476.31 31.85,73.91,1003.6,60.22,431.26 19.54,50.66,1014.7,84.53,456.61 23.17,62.39,1008.04,89.42,439.29 20.28,62.52,1017.89,75.67,452.45 10.08,41.16,1023.14,96.03,469.17 28.5,74.87,1009.67,53.78,444.88 15.16,40.73,1017.7,86.37,459.19 28.02,68.08,1013.44,44.46,434.95 25.38,65.34,1012.87,62.49,447.41 27.55,64.96,999.73,57.34,431.33 6.45,40.02,1032.08,79.7,481.36 14.43,43.5,1021.86,83.14,466.58 14.22,39.39,1014.16,80.22,470.98 12.1,40.27,1005.53,68.37,477.61 9.83,38.56,1017.35,62.8,480.47 32,73.17,1009.94,40.48,428.69 11.83,45.09,1013.11,88.52,470.32 29.92,67.22,1014.09,50.62,444.78 7.22,41.01,1025.19,97.27,476.15 13.07,38.47,1015.16,57.26,468.9 10.08,43.14,1010.67,85.9,478.73 23.89,70.04,1011.16,84.9,433.71 18.88,44.06,1013.81,68.54,451.13 20.68,68.61,1011.2,84.81,446.33 13.99,36.71,1013.43,83.13,473.2 7.4,41.03,1022.09,74.83,486.81 11.77,40,1021.08,85.08,475.49 22.64,63.73,1013.88,84.22,447.21 18.13,66.86,1012.9,78.84,454.85 23.18,72.99,1009.01,90.09,439.12 29.45,68.24,1007.45,32.81,432.53 10.2,41.17,1019.56,82.46,479.7 26.57,48.06,1013.23,40.24,439.54 22.78,49.16,1002.29,64.28,444.99 25.59,61.08,1013.19,77.28,443.91 18.66,56.53,1020.13,80.04,459.45 24.66,69.94,1006.56,60.91,432.68 21.9,66.54,1004.76,89.99,439.06 12.12,38.28,1013.65,90.19,471.19 14.95,42.99,1008.75,90.76,468.61 19.31,52.72,1024.93,53.93,455.25 30.93,73.42,1010.98,56.42,432.44 26.27,62.91,1011.97,48.06,447.76 19.46,66.86,1012.74,66.2,454.89 15.56,40.12,1013.72,89.78,461.21 8.99,41.26,1020.52,91.96,476.09 22.16,58.82,1009.61,87.16,444.76 24.43,59.87,1019.08,60.57,441.61 20.78,62.52,1017.58,73.3,452.3 29.51,76.09,1007.39,71.5,432.45 12.4,40.35,1011.46,79.49,476.44 28.92,72.43,1007.03,66.14,431.5 13.03,42.86,1014.39,86.25,475.03 28.73,73.91,1004.91,70.17,436.12 26.43,77.17,1008.67,92.59,431.26 17.61,56.53,1019.5,82.3,457.01 21.79,46.21,1012.89,72,449.99 5.11,42.07,1004.28,81.8,486.41 12.85,40.35,1011.29,81.27,472.69 25.03,47.93,1003.02,62.89,443.55 25.35,66.56,1008.75,66.88,436.51 28.95,73.4,1011.33,55.14,440.67 19.72,51.19,1008.51,95.28,446.01 30.03,67.9,1006.22,52.61,426.13 8.7,39.72,1020,78.75,479.03 14.94,42.77,1018.06,75.35,460.51 7.07,37.49,1010.35,87.19,481.58 21.12,47.24,1003.79,70.55,462.41 8.6,42.28,1008.58,80.15,484.21 10.33,44.92,1025.34,85.67,476.99 16.79,49.25,1021.21,68.8,458.42 16.16,41.79,1007.53,76.21,453.39 22.52,64.27,1014.34,82.77,445.4 22.11,59.8,1016.86,70.14,450.62 14.11,45.08,1023.27,83.22,464.7 24.97,68.61,1011.08,58.94,447.83 19.22,62.1,1019.43,79.19,451.8 13.72,44.47,1027.2,68.89,470.66 24.58,71.94,1006.85,89.02,433.99 9.16,42.44,1014.43,93.67,480.98 20.92,57.76,1017.22,75.86,453.96 26.7,70.32,1011.04,86.41,438.46 9.04,44.68,1023.14,90.73,479.53 10.16,39.3,1019.71,81.21,480.74 3.85,35.47,1016.78,85.31,489.78 22.7,64.05,1012.65,89.69,448.76 28.54,69.59,1008.84,78.62,433.3 31.54,72.58,1007.61,65.57,427.31 10.48,36.71,1023.18,81.37,473.3 16.77,42.28,1007.53,73.19,465.52 17.84,52.08,1006.65,100.09,450.67 21.76,60.27,1018.96,85.06,446.86 12.24,40.96,1023.52,81.09,474.76 13.25,49.83,1008.76,88.21,453.8 17.28,44.92,1024.39,76.08,459.26 34.96,68.94,1006.17,59.26,431.48 28.51,74.78,1009.84,59.06,434.43 32.29,64.96,1002.13,42.61,430.58 15.6,44.68,1018.35,85.91,463.82 26.91,71.64,1004.59,83.54,438.73 23.55,73.18,1011.85,87.97,437.88 15.49,54.3,1017.59,71.26,464.24 19.68,62.96,1020.41,82.26,453.58 24.87,60.37,1005.48,76.21,436.41 24.73,69.05,1003.25,66.44,437.93 11.31,39.61,1018.74,68.9,471.92 15.24,37.87,1020.52,84.49,463.09 23.16,57.69,1007.91,84.7,438.29 14.81,40.71,1018.54,73,467.66 13.97,41.16,1020.88,74.88,459.84 23.25,71.29,1008.05,71.36,442.21 22.47,59.43,1006.02,85.21,444.5 16.38,45.64,1020.47,89.28,462.58 19.73,68.63,1012.41,74.12,450.26 30.24,69.88,1007.9,61.46,436.37 28.13,61.25,1013.12,62.57,436.61 24.6,75.23,1012.04,76.77,434.07 21.64,50.32,1008.41,86.32,442.52 29.03,69.51,1009.8,47.04,435.09 25.02,59.44,1012.49,73.65,444.08 23.32,69.23,1011.75,75.59,436.18 11.48,44.6,1018.29,90.76,470.39 13.83,41.23,993.31,93.94,466.2 26.77,68.08,1010.83,63.48,432.91 15.34,40.73,1018.03,86.19,458.55 28.14,43.21,1011.82,69.32,436.53 8.6,36.66,1026.4,81.23,481.86 21.86,58.49,1010.88,76.79,449.9 7.71,36.25,1027.92,89.84,481.74 22.7,48.14,1014.06,60.09,448.96 27.21,66.49,1013.57,40.11,439.04 24.58,48.98,1014.96,38.75,459.79 10.06,39.61,1020.69,69.49,478.35 26.34,68.67,1006.54,72.48,437.52 20.48,51.43,1007.4,90.7,448.03 6.19,41.31,1002.48,88.8,485.08 13.08,44.9,1020.47,86.46,472.01 21.87,74.87,1009.28,85.4,442.37 18.91,43.14,1013.56,58.34,460.19 11.92,38.25,1013.13,84.92,472.5 12.27,41.17,1019.39,52.18,473.84 5.17,35.57,1026.68,79.86,491.32 15.93,25.88,1009.45,72.83,462.7 22.21,61.87,1010.9,54.22,446.62 20.84,65.06,1016.88,71.93,445.74 22.53,58.62,1016.28,72.78,449.02 16.27,56.89,1013.74,84.36,454.88 27.37,69.23,1013.25,48.02,433.18 13.18,43.72,1010.59,99.09,464.7 27.69,73.91,1005.23,75.71,435.08 14,41.78,1010.96,48.37,465.62 18.88,65.94,1010.43,85.54,445.61 24.18,59.92,1009.88,79.54,438.85 19.19,50.16,1011.12,99.91,449.52 28.37,67.07,1005.65,56.13,435.94 27.55,65.59,1011.6,63.99,440.53 5.96,36.25,1029.4,88.63,488.2 28.52,70.02,1010.34,54.21,441.98 26.49,59.44,1012.09,57.84,441.16 22.65,60.93,1006.43,85.13,440.52 7.04,39.37,1019.37,69.11,488 30.13,78.05,1010.99,61.5,434.14 29.32,71.29,1008.34,51.51,432.17 10.46,41.26,1020.65,92.24,473.76 19.62,52.05,1012.09,50.02,456.81 10.71,41.93,1018.23,90.88,478.76 26.06,64.05,1012,84.05,442.24 8.2,41.14,1025.24,96.26,474.04 25.32,60.37,1006.19,73.94,438.5 15.75,39.16,1016.31,77.99,468.87 30.26,76.2,1008.44,62.1,435.04 9.86,42.49,1009.16,81.41,477.78 20.56,43.79,1015.85,45.7,462.11 27.28,44.89,1009.02,49.9,441.94 22.89,62.39,1007.84,88.16,448.13 27.59,50.05,1005.71,57.03,437.98 31.11,72.25,1012.34,44.45,434.22 13.8,40.2,1013.12,90.59,466.29 21.8,62.39,1007.84,89.04,452.15 14.28,39.39,1013.82,77.52,469.92 9.99,41.82,1033.14,68.36,475.75 17.65,59.87,1018.58,94.65,450.93 19.47,50.9,1012.77,77.33,457.08 16.64,39.64,1008.7,81.79,463.49 16.95,40.12,1012.59,87.87,457.05 25.95,69.51,1009.36,66.82,434.38 14.09,41.2,1016.45,67.27,472.42 11.21,39.85,1013.01,75.55,480.61 20.25,55.5,1020.03,69.33,455.13 17.72,48.14,1013.26,65.09,457.44 13.78,38.28,1014.8,81.19,467.43 5.57,42.85,1013.55,92.14,488.85 18.23,60.95,1016.74,78.85,455.53 23.89,65.18,1012.46,78.29,438.97 32.16,66.25,1008.17,56.88,434.5 25.62,63.13,1013.84,83.49,439.13 21.69,42.23,1013.05,67.55,461.56 13.9,45.08,1023.29,83.43,465.31 25.88,74.67,1016.66,81.09,434.81 25.03,61.86,1012.84,80.85,439.55 17.7,50.88,1015.44,89.57,456.78 13.98,40.24,1017.19,87.45,467.2 23.36,72.24,1010.99,94.41,434.15 26.55,73.67,1005.74,79.41,433.44 25.16,47.01,1014.99,64,452.64 23.82,63.76,1009.8,68.94,440.52 29.86,70.8,1010.22,70.36,437.47 25.42,66.05,1016.74,68.92,442.6 8.33,39.72,1020.24,82.84,479.12 26.2,65.18,1011.42,47.82,440.07 31.49,73.5,1010.71,40.16,432.13 28.05,70.36,1006.73,64.42,434.06 9.7,37.14,1012.79,75.2,475.77 15.94,44.85,1014.29,67.57,462.54 18.52,58.41,1013.77,99.89,446.68 14.5,40.66,1016.81,82.93,463.53 25.66,71.77,1006.76,84.76,429.25 24.29,62.91,1013.04,65.85,442.18 13.87,49.83,1006.76,89.14,462.46 6.1,43.65,1018.07,75.85,485.24 21.91,70.32,1009.17,90.57,439.29 29.34,70.94,1007.82,62.43,433.57 23.93,65.59,1011.09,87.26,444.9 7.77,40.27,1010.25,83.65,485.54 28.07,74.33,1012,71.69,428.87 28.34,73.68,1015.05,76.73,432 18.59,65.06,1015.75,80.72,450.4 28.68,61.86,1011.78,62.67,440.57 19.01,58.46,1017.14,90.99,446.18 21.29,51.43,1011.31,90.12,452.94 9.78,52.75,1022.97,78.31,469.58 19.65,42.23,1013.04,75.9,461.16 8.54,38.08,1019.75,71.24,478.31 21.39,58.05,1013.03,86.44,449.76 13.25,43.7,1013.61,76.05,472.22 13.53,42.03,1017.52,84.02,466.71 5.35,35.79,1013.23,93.53,483.2 32,65.74,1011.22,46.16,440.26 26.92,68.27,1008.11,61.73,435.17 25.82,59.43,1008.08,65.25,436.67 26.41,65.59,1010.69,73.78,441.49 4.27,39.64,1010.99,84.85,487.19 17.79,44.9,1020.5,69.72,457.72 17.47,58.16,1016.36,82.26,456.97 28.53,76.86,999.08,75.77,431.64 28.37,68.12,1012.41,45.87,436.42 22.88,71.73,1010.11,86.96,436.36 10.16,41.62,1013.15,94.3,465.05 4.59,39.33,1010.85,71.78,494.9 9.23,39.66,1019.44,76.11,481.77 23.81,66.51,1016.96,70.16,438.32 17.98,60.1,1009.61,84.11,452.57 12.38,45.09,1013.26,90.55,467.47 12.88,44.34,1016.03,88.51,474.94 23.26,63.56,1013.64,71.3,446.67 25.98,68.12,1011.36,66.86,439 10.01,41.17,1018.78,86.84,479.4 8.55,36.25,1029.54,85.23,480.68 16.85,50.9,1013.26,83.94,460.68 23.48,66.49,1014.41,62.61,450.05 19.64,46.33,1013.33,98.99,451.45 22,59.54,1004.55,95.25,439.37 22.54,63.91,1012.15,84.91,446.64 28.18,77.54,1011.99,74.72,430.55 31.04,74.67,1015.85,43.32,435.17 10.81,45,1023.45,85.89,482.63 21.84,55.5,1019.28,62.17,454.99 24.96,69.68,1011.37,63.12,447.2 22.19,70.02,1011.03,82.49,444.85 31.01,74.16,1010.89,56.52,434.64 19.05,55.5,1020.25,75.76,457.5 17.37,58.49,1012.2,91.14,456.29 24.07,73.46,1006.61,73.46,438.41 23,66.05,1020.61,80.29,421.57 20.05,42.48,1012.29,85.09,457.01 24.03,45.87,1007.55,52.48,445.84 31.44,79.74,1006.95,56.99,431.69 7.36,41.01,1025.49,96.48,477.37 20.53,65.06,1016.69,73.47,446.64 29.21,72.25,1012.72,71.85,434.64 20.68,63.86,1015.73,74.36,447.84 32.96,69.75,1008.86,40.23,435.56 26.29,56.85,1012.68,60.33,439.86 29.25,78.87,1012.05,84.28,430.49 31.91,69.89,1014.59,54.51,429.29 6.67,39.33,1011.07,91.96,490.03 14.56,40.89,1010.94,79.57,467.53 20.3,58.41,1014.05,86.38,451.74 20.74,58.2,1017.54,70.66,450.4 23.51,58.79,1016.44,65.38,445.75 32.32,76.09,1006.63,62.96,432.53 25.79,75.6,1017.46,75.63,434.65 22.26,70.47,1008.32,84.22,440.21 5.53,35.79,1013.48,94.19,484.25 16.05,65.46,1013.92,87.99,456.94 9.98,41.62,1013.56,95.77,463.16 18.47,62.1,1019.86,82.57,452.51 26.55,69.45,1013.92,52.22,434.55 27.67,71.64,1004.41,78.14,433.29 29.63,66.75,1018.08,58.46,433.26 9.32,41.39,1020.03,70.21,481.88 29.04,76.09,1007.52,75.44,430.32 19.27,65.12,1015.63,73.48,449.42 21.55,44.05,1005.69,84.05,443.48 8.35,40.46,1019.23,73.26,474.79 24.71,61.9,1013.78,85.82,443.39 21.85,58.33,1013.03,66.39,447.31 11.2,41.54,1019.94,67.18,479.03 25.21,69.48,1010.99,75.27,436.02 21.75,50.12,1009.36,94.41,446.64 23.59,71.73,1009.69,87.06,435.67 27.57,68.31,1010.48,55.87,444.71 15.03,40.66,1016.58,84.08,459.46 3.6,35.19,1018.73,99.1,488.98 27.81,66.51,1016.11,48.48,439.48 21.41,50.32,1008.61,84.47,443.63 6.4,41.17,1019.54,85.37,488.82 31.03,69.98,1011.33,52.16,436.13 14.09,44.84,1023.65,94.29,466.12 31.38,71.32,1009.17,60.42,433.44 30.21,71.32,1006.19,67.57,434.91 23.81,73.17,1012.13,86.13,438.11 21.4,59.21,1017.84,78.01,444.15 15.14,37.85,1010.33,84.3,468.31 16.34,41.48,1015.92,48.24,453.6 25.64,63.47,1012.33,68.35,442.62 14.2,40.92,1022.26,71.71,460.42 29.91,74.33,1013.22,39.76,430.26 22.64,70.98,1005.71,95.65,441.99 32.5,73.68,1014.65,55.72,427.63 25.73,62.66,1010.15,54.66,444.85 32.35,77.95,1014.76,60.88,432.72 18.1,45,1023.05,48.41,465.46 15.32,45.01,1013.3,83.72,459.31 21.41,54.2,1011.37,82.28,448.11 18.87,52.05,1012.02,53.46,458.64 27.3,57.19,1008.08,63.48,438.65 14.2,45.51,1015.36,74.85,465.35 8.61,43.8,1021.9,74.35,478.25 27.98,74.78,1009.46,63.11,436.82 23.97,63.86,1018.09,57.62,441.65 20.63,43.77,1010.71,62.34,448.25 23.63,73.18,1012.29,88.81,437.7 24.84,71.73,1009.84,82.41,436.36 25.76,71.06,1007.93,90.4,433.75 6.77,38.18,1017.8,81.13,484.31 21.75,67.45,1014.89,67.09,445.1 18.21,41.85,1014.67,56.86,468.4 23.09,73.5,1011.4,89.76,438.56 21.28,70.32,1011.55,88.05,438.7 29.04,70.72,1009.55,66.58,437.95 11.98,39.35,1014.97,98.05,472.43 11.4,52.75,1023.31,75.7,465.79 4.32,35.47,1017.8,88.51,488.03 15.77,39.82,1013.01,79.1,468.78 17.75,42.24,1016.86,61.52,468.86 19.26,58.46,1015.74,84.64,450.66 23.85,69.45,1013.99,60.6,439.67 26.77,64.45,1013.26,44.56,449.1 25.2,61.08,1013.04,74.28,447.09 21.84,59.07,1008.84,96.5,448.61 20.17,58.12,1015.41,79.47,455.25 21.74,60.27,1015.82,88.96,441.22 27.53,70.32,1007.75,49.31,433.72 21.95,50.66,1013.92,70.94,455.23 8.03,37.8,1020.47,60.67,481.51 15.25,39.16,1016.18,79.39,471.05 32.16,71.32,1005.5,60.23,434.01 24.81,67.17,1007.71,84.37,442.75 14.85,43.13,1016.02,55.29,470.37 28.32,72.58,1007.77,78.35,428.06 22.21,61.5,1008.34,76.22,445.77 5.53,40.64,1020.78,97.25,479.88 25.31,60.75,1008.65,79.35,437.33 15.86,43.5,1021.22,75.38,459.42 23.47,60.77,1017.19,75.36,444.46 14.08,43.41,1015.59,54.15,466.99 20.15,49.5,1013.47,66.7,462.65 13.07,43.13,1016.93,70.02,471.47 26.75,69.45,1013.88,53.65,434.57 32.31,62.04,1010.41,39.39,450.13 30.18,61.5,1009.8,36.81,436.92 9.15,41.82,1032.88,75.11,477.78 8.57,40.23,1017.53,90.46,484.17 24.68,48.06,1013.83,54.97,447.96 5.97,40.35,1012.3,94.1,489.03 17.54,42.42,1008.97,67.67,471.28 24.98,60.32,1016.39,63.12,446.46 25.54,60.37,1006.49,71.54,436.14 27.45,64.34,1007.12,65.87,440 23.24,45.01,1012.21,45.23,457.01 11.04,45.51,1017.53,83.42,474.45 17.06,58.96,1013.83,73.95,461.15 3.82,35.47,1016.62,84.34,489.04 12.1,44.77,1019.1,75.85,463.11 11.72,40.55,1021.54,85.13,470.8 14.66,42.07,1018.14,84.68,462.77 22.45,63.77,1014.57,87.44,444.26 23.46,72.43,1008,90.55,435.36 30.15,70.32,1007.58,54.14,426.8 31.74,79.74,1007.07,61.47,431.72 21.4,74.93,1014.58,80.85,434.09 16.56,42.99,1007.48,74.45,464.62 27.45,59.74,1011.34,58.58,450.46 13.69,40.83,1008.53,84.81,471.26 12.67,42.86,1014.06,89.9,473.13 19.77,65.06,1016.22,74.95,448.26 28.04,70.32,1011.28,78.16,435.42 13.35,41.16,1011.32,89.12,474.57 20.54,68.12,1012.23,81.06,440.28 21.67,57.76,1018.32,68.21,452.56 25.61,52.36,1014.1,62.9,451.42 18.03,53.16,1013.1,81.42,457.73 5.85,40.77,1022.44,84.77,480.59 10.38,40.92,1021.53,95.18,466.46 23.36,73.18,1011.96,89.15,435.85 12.91,41.16,1011.9,89.19,472.71 15.35,41.79,1008.38,81.13,455.54 30.69,74.16,1012.71,60.89,435.17 30.58,65.18,1011.61,37.43,437.17 18.15,58.46,1017.42,88.24,449.48 12.38,40.6,1013.86,85.35,472.53 34.65,74.67,1016.03,26.67,427.69 10.99,43.5,1021.1,93.64,469.34 33.72,74.33,1011.4,37.51,428.96 19.09,44.63,1019.91,39.32,461.36 21.43,63.94,1012.68,99.68,445.29 34.33,74.34,1001.74,42.75,435.76 30.59,70.04,1010.28,50.56,429.13 32,73.17,1009.92,42.47,433.72 3.96,35.47,1016.79,83.81,489.68 32.45,66.44,1011.21,50.18,429.99 28.91,58.33,1013.84,39.72,437.53 32.26,71.29,1008.41,48.58,431.96 23.39,74.22,1009.83,86.05,439.92 29.27,69.89,1015.21,67.16,425.55 16.37,43.5,1021.26,72.4,459.18 18.68,43.69,1016.68,48.88,463.02 24.86,65.34,1012.99,60.33,447.25 5.12,40.78,1025.45,96.88,481.28 32.55,73.03,1014.36,44.83,439.81 19.81,43.56,1013.39,38.13,460.59 8.46,39.42,1025.05,69.36,474.42 23.71,68.63,1014.54,46.04,449.41 30.52,71.77,1006.22,56.4,426.14 22.79,68.63,1012.99,55.78,446.16 19.05,53.16,1013.22,82.8,455.76 25.72,66.86,1007.47,69.14,439.97 9.64,40.56,1022.51,78.62,483.39 29.49,70.98,1007.83,79.08,434.43 23.4,49.16,1002.85,69.82,446.05 10.36,43.67,1011.95,78.15,477.23 16.74,39.16,1005.68,71.17,460.47 17.07,41.35,1005.88,83.43,464.6 27.43,64.96,999.72,67.94,431.21 23.1,60.08,1017.69,65.44,451.01 28.25,71.77,1006.36,67.03,429.39 30.92,78.05,1011,59.62,434.12 26.75,58.33,1013.55,45.47,444.09 6.62,41.14,1027.33,86.24,479.74 12.69,40.75,1016.05,82.92,472.68 18.04,44.88,1017.96,66.3,461.13 19.15,56.53,1019.95,84.1,456.4 12.08,40.24,1016.63,92.32,474.07 15.67,48.78,1013.76,88.92,462.96 34.63,74.33,1011.7,31.45,428.54 7.46,41.26,1009.63,96.51,482.83 19.61,56.53,1019.69,77.13,454.22 10.96,41.93,1019.28,87.38,473.28 24.15,63.13,1013.8,92.1,440.15 8.09,38.5,1012.99,67.31,484.81 21.59,48.06,1012.72,77.13,446.83 25.03,59.21,1017.28,56.96,446.33 10.24,41.58,1021.17,94.34,465.86 24.2,57.85,1013.05,70.29,446.87 20.24,58.41,1013.73,99.59,449.49 31.82,73.68,1014.8,40.58,433.32 14.17,39.59,1010.99,94.08,464.17 10.07,34.69,1028.09,70.52,478.65 29.79,68.24,1009.19,65.49,428.44 12.51,43.67,1013.24,91.55,471.96 18.91,59.21,1017.76,90.49,450.24 7.98,39.61,1018.57,77.04,479.78 31.67,69.68,1012.38,46.52,439.72 17.59,65.48,1018.96,81.34,454.51 25.96,60.32,1016.17,55.51,443.44 15.35,35.4,1016.3,57.12,468.94 22.39,48.14,1014.56,64.31,448.58 30.85,67.45,1014.53,32.99,430.8 24.02,64.63,1020.49,55.17,449.66 16.25,40.89,1011.09,62.7,464.33 24.33,46.93,1013.51,52.63,449.07 28.78,64.96,999.75,56.43,432.66 25.01,59.54,1007.91,80.93,441.3 22.98,58.46,1016.06,72.69,445.05 17.85,46.48,1007.79,83.59,458.16 24.24,71.58,1010.15,91.14,437.75 5.09,42.85,1013.78,91.34,481.24 12.68,40.69,1014.46,79.77,475.37 29.56,52.84,1006.09,42.17,436.46 18.46,42.18,1001.47,97.61,458.67 10.07,40.46,1018.65,69.2,470.99 21.49,56.9,1007.47,66.66,452.46 16.69,53.82,1015.39,63.62,458.96 28.77,58.33,1013.73,36.6,448.06 15.03,42.44,1014.25,94.52,464.91 28.62,70.32,1008.87,46.67,431.03 14.84,71.14,1019.61,66.78,454.16 23.33,58.95,1017.93,66.37,442.71 26.1,66.25,1009.25,84.52,441.53 12.72,39.13,1008.36,92.59,467.28 26.34,69.45,1013.87,54.15,438.5 30.54,70.17,999.42,64.32,434.62 7.09,43.65,1019.6,72.1,483.42 23.47,59.22,1013.44,83.33,442.13 9.78,41.93,1023.18,75.05,484.03 13.61,41.74,1021.66,62.83,471.79 24.96,74.99,1008.25,80.52,440.91 25.68,59.44,1012.33,67.29,444.36 23.01,59.44,1012.82,82.62,445.72 30.28,58.9,1005.03,54.59,439.06 5.86,40.62,1017.03,85.06,480.71 9.68,39.61,1015.63,74.5,475.02 26.04,71.14,1011.66,68.95,433.78 12,39.35,1015.48,82.51,476.64 15.45,46.63,1012.6,85.47,464.37 30.09,69.48,1009.51,53.24,435.2 11.23,41.17,1019.36,56.85,475.85 10.59,41.93,1017.7,92.91,479.85 19.89,51.43,1007.33,92.08,448.98 14.35,40.71,1023.09,69.5,473.56 5.47,40.62,1018.66,83.61,481.56 16.11,44.92,1025.37,79.85,460.99 26.03,59.07,1007.3,82.52,440.6 30.61,68.84,1011.18,52.5,439.9 22.54,63.07,1011.71,81.64,442.28 11.67,40.23,1017.65,82.48,475.07 11.71,41.44,1015.37,79.95,474.22 10.91,39.61,1018.44,64.38,469.42 29.53,70.94,1007.22,70.68,432.43 30.54,69.14,1007.25,70.46,435.46 10.72,45,1023.22,86.95,480.62 25.54,48.41,1010.51,55.34,437.58 24.89,64.27,1013.52,64.65,444.21 29.33,52.84,1006.04,44.3,438.25 9.33,39.96,1024.55,98.58,473.78 20.76,58.18,1007.8,99.22,449.25 28.78,60.07,1014.54,49.03,439.74 19.62,43.56,1012.89,37.6,463.33 24.92,60.95,1014.88,60.58,445.44 11.33,41.16,1019.05,87.13,468.87 22.12,63.91,1009.61,90.83,447.77 18.27,51.43,1010.38,88.39,460.41 15.9,41.35,1005.35,92.89,464.93 14.67,71.14,1019.84,77.72,458.8 17.94,37.2,1012.64,68.11,467.65 18.92,44.63,1020.32,47.81,451.64 15.27,56.89,1013.28,86.92,456.72 16.31,68.28,1003.98,98.62,450.33 4.99,41.03,1022.33,83.11,493.16 24.07,71.97,1008.83,94.87,441.84 20.03,62.26,1012.15,82.54,447.4 15.83,41.67,1013.39,74.12,464.93 25.44,70.17,1000.65,91.89,433.02 23.38,52.84,1005.27,82.98,440.28 30.17,64.79,1017.06,43.81,439.75 29.97,73.06,1009.41,78.26,430.37 6.86,42.49,1007.95,93.96,486.14 21.87,49.39,1019.99,67.05,451.97 20.46,51.43,1007.31,93.25,444.88 12.03,40.1,1015.32,85.39,474.94 32.21,68.3,1014.94,49.38,429.66 33.08,69.75,1009.03,43.69,434.98 5.66,35.79,1013.86,94.42,484.15 19.35,50.12,1005.43,100.1,447.43 23.43,51.43,1011.31,73.55,444.09 11.18,37.5,1013.32,74.32,472.02 28.37,72.86,1004.81,53.52,441.37 11.49,39.22,1016.35,53.11,471.47 18.87,43.43,1009.16,69.5,454.58 20.3,59.8,1015.24,78.75,453.29 12.39,49.83,1007.6,92.43,468.43 33.13,74.34,999.57,48.34,433.73 18.26,59.15,1012.38,85.74,452.03 11.21,41.06,1021.75,77,474.03 18.19,44.06,1017.24,78.73,456.13 12.6,41.74,1022.13,67.89,474.23 20.18,43.43,1011.31,65.11,450.09 22.89,65.34,1015.53,61,450.53 12.19,44.63,1018.96,80.91,468.91 25.86,59.07,1008.59,81.28,440.9 15.33,52.05,1014.15,80.56,452.82 17.3,62.1,1020.28,88.06,450.83 11.52,40.75,1016.23,85.18,477.19 32.09,79.74,1006.92,61.5,432.85 24.82,72.99,1007.81,84.72,435.68 27.85,66.44,1008.48,77.15,429 25.72,74.67,1016.64,75.93,434.83 25.61,74.22,1010.26,75.15,438.45 22.18,45.09,1014.04,43.13,455.4 13.92,41.16,1003.83,88.69,465.33 14.26,44.2,1019.81,76.46,462.87 27.02,71.25,1000.48,87.86,438.33 14.29,37.85,1009.98,92.81,468.63 11.23,41.17,1019.36,56.85,475.85 17.57,43.7,1015.53,67.22,463.64 12.67,41.16,1016.92,92.8,462.35 27.42,65.74,1013.43,69.42,440.52 15.63,43.02,1012.57,40.32,466.69 13.74,44.21,1023.26,84.2,466.67 29.61,67.07,1005.91,39.28,434.14 30.39,66.54,1002.7,59.15,428.89 15.24,44.45,1020.56,66.13,460.94 12.52,42.34,1018.67,95.29,464.71 24.56,51.86,1014.43,68.85,447.57 16.39,58.59,1014.58,90.34,455.05 10.64,41.04,1025,93.59,468.88 18.06,65.48,1018.79,77.95,454.34 12.81,44.58,1016.49,80.76,475.5 10.03,42.18,1017.3,85.99,475.74 22.74,58.12,1015.16,79.58,447.86 20.65,41.67,1012.76,45.27,455.5 8.19,41.66,1016.57,75.38,485.2 14.08,39.31,1011.67,72,464.16 8.74,40.03,1016.81,93.37,481.07 28.9,68.84,1011.64,64.44,437.06 13.95,40.2,1013.18,90.77,464.79 7.89,40.46,1019.61,74.53,477.27 25.17,64.79,1017.87,63.26,442.15 26.94,68.24,1010.49,76.58,430.34 14.08,40.73,1017.52,91.49,461.58 14.32,40.78,1024.49,73.84,457.92 24.63,59.57,1010.45,85.36,440.67 26.59,69.13,1009.27,73.96,430.11 11.62,39.72,1018.4,68.06,471.56 17.32,43.7,1015.13,61.66,464.5 20.39,64.15,1021.31,62.35,457.37 11.64,41.39,1017.36,83.4,479.53 22.08,55.5,1018.42,58.46,455.79 17.77,52.9,1020.11,81.51,457.98 22.43,69.84,1006.94,75.54,436.19 21.87,66.86,1013.01,57.39,453.62 25.59,72.43,1007.88,82.98,432.49 15.24,40,1017.34,65.16,454.64 8.14,37.49,1009.04,80.33,480.66 21.2,59.39,1014.04,85.06,444.57 10.9,39.64,1010.58,64.88,477.04 17.23,41.1,1002.45,68.88,464.18 14.03,49.83,1006.64,90.01,463.71 8.42,42.28,1008.4,87.78,481.91 29.09,47.93,1003.05,48.13,438.97 4.08,35.19,1018.87,97.07,489.44 29.72,68.08,1010.72,53.46,430.36 5.98,41.31,1001.66,89.5,484.51 28.83,64.96,1000.05,63.57,429.13 12.9,43.41,1015.92,59.15,464.26 34.61,73.03,1013.61,36.91,438.56 18.32,47.83,1005.06,87.21,454.11 27.37,72.58,1008.16,79.94,428.05 16.02,44.21,1020.97,85.64,462.51 22.1,74.87,1009.4,85.78,442.83 6.93,39.81,1017.25,87.29,484.98 6.75,39.37,1020.26,70.99,486.26 25.42,67.25,1017.92,68.61,439.43 23.05,58.86,1013.84,62.21,445.46 7.23,41.22,1015.23,98.04,483.31 22.59,59.43,1005.85,84.02,442 9.06,39.66,1019.64,76.98,479.53 11.82,41.17,1019.5,55.74,475.61 25.14,60.93,1007.44,76.71,437.4 25.21,70.04,1009.51,76.13,432.93 10.54,41.93,1016.64,93.52,479.65 32.42,75.08,1004.82,41.62,436.26 19.88,44.6,1015.52,37.85,467.68 24.73,70.72,1009.82,88.79,439.3 12.67,48.14,1017.41,83.63,463.68 11.02,40.81,1016.31,78.13,474.01 18.09,48.92,1010.6,52.11,455.07 19.67,44.71,1015.46,31.46,464.99 19.96,56.03,1020.59,64.95,454.67 12.3,40.69,1015.74,82.58,474.46 21.99,51.19,1009.19,82.58,446.93 25.35,71.98,1006.83,88.44,435.72 6.22,38.68,1017.87,69.41,483.55 15.69,37.87,1021.18,84.38,465.41 21.44,60.32,1015.2,81.1,448.84 24.27,63.9,1013.5,61.09,450.26 21.55,60.27,1017.42,92.59,443.93 23.74,49.5,1013.2,49.51,463.4 11.94,44.2,1017.97,82.93,474.02 23.45,70.04,1010.99,79.2,436.46 17.36,44.63,1020.49,54.21,456.98 17.51,68.28,1004.36,94.87,449.59 22.23,46.93,1013.09,58.02,448.27 27.01,52.3,1007.78,60.38,439.51 19.96,39.53,1006.16,62.77,460.49 24.43,65.27,1013.25,55.4,440.99 24.26,61.02,1009.78,76.68,442.86 23.45,66.48,1003.66,75.83,435.13 15.95,42.24,1017.71,69.32,465.35 23.03,54.42,1014.42,74.98,453.77 15.47,48.98,1016.42,89.85,457.55 7.71,40.71,1021.53,95.48,471.38 14.27,41.48,1014.83,62.7,458.19 11.02,41.17,1018.18,86.86,477.62 23.25,72.99,1009.17,89.85,438.51 13.45,45.87,1008.42,87.74,464.59 12.87,39.3,1020.64,74.38,467.54 8.16,39.3,1019.39,85.38,483.17 27.93,73.68,1015.41,49.95,435.95 20.12,58.12,1015.47,79.38,453.33 16.5,39.72,1003.05,65.99,459.06 18.92,67.71,1008.19,64.53,446.77 26.04,74.67,1016.68,81.2,433.55 19.23,45.01,1012.24,72.91,450.77 31.11,74.87,1009.11,54.86,434.3 25.45,74.33,1015.53,80.95,435.12 14.56,25.88,1009.46,78.22,466.29 28.18,49.3,1003.97,55.56,438.91 21.9,57.76,1017.45,66.89,449.95 22.04,59.14,1017.34,84.75,442.45 29.83,71.98,1004.32,67.55,426.98 25.21,75.6,1017.19,69.84,445.84 31.11,71.8,1010.81,56.08,437.2 18.94,48.7,1008.5,94.83,451.38 23.34,59.44,1012.67,80.76,445.24 22.5,59.54,1007.99,93.63,445.22 32.38,77.24,1007.7,61.15,430.96 7.39,39.81,1019.45,85.02,482.99 21.84,59.39,1015.77,88.12,442.11 14.72,43.34,1013.07,85.61,464.22 24.67,49.5,1013.62,59.42,455.31 23.17,51.19,1009.5,76.15,441.77 19.66,59.87,1018.75,87.6,446.28 23.95,59.92,1010.15,86.37,435.92 31.07,64.96,1005.2,58.93,428.63 27.03,71.14,1010.33,66.25,430.41 10.96,37.5,1013.46,79.54,471.05 7.84,41.39,1018.21,91.92,485.66 31.3,67.17,1007.27,62.99,433.53 15.76,44.89,1010.33,85.06,459.67 23.09,45.01,1012.25,43.95,453.45 16.9,38.58,1014.09,70.11,459.87 17.98,59.15,1012.09,83.03,451.97 13.86,40.66,1017.15,83.82,463.49 15.47,46.48,1007.69,91.07,462.58 7.11,40.77,1022.4,90.95,475.55 29.52,77.24,1008.55,76.24,433.82 7.94,40.6,1015.3,92.14,486.33 29.7,57.35,1005.63,57.35,433.27 23.5,50.23,1017.51,75.15,457.51 20.03,60.77,1017.23,87.82,449.31 8.49,36.25,1029.7,84.41,480.35 12.48,40.67,1011.24,61.1,475.96 9.96,42.03,1017.78,82.39,477.85 16.64,44.9,1021.02,70.34,460.93 14.35,35.71,1016.1,60.86,468.9 9.07,40.67,1014.41,70.39,484.5 12.57,41.66,1009.11,70.74,475.61 9.32,37.73,1022.14,79.49,477.91 27.17,67.17,1006.76,81.59,431.73 24.48,50.23,1017.03,66.89,456.02 6.69,36.24,1013.35,91.09,483.82 14.89,39.58,1012.26,77.58,465.95 22.32,47.93,1004.07,86.95,440.21 7.64,39.85,1012.78,88.09,481.53 25.34,59.39,1014.02,73.58,439.8 6.05,42.85,1013.09,91.88,485.02 16.72,53.82,1015.46,66.9,458.25 20.82,52.84,1004.13,79.42,449.59 18.94,46.93,1010.22,75.45,441.41 22.72,69.84,1005.96,83.9,436.7 22.02,69.45,1013.84,75.75,440.26 15.67,38.62,1015.76,66.29,463.17 6.17,40.07,1013.7,58.99,495.21 20.14,46.33,1013.24,83.39,453.35 28.05,62.6,1017.01,46.46,449.73 9.77,41.44,1017.69,78.26,481.74 18.91,56.9,1006.98,84.07,448.24 15.55,43.02,1011.97,44.66,466.2 11.95,41.58,1015.83,89.35,464.57 15.33,37.2,1013.4,78.99,466.81 25.62,60.29,1017.81,51.24,444.94 26.75,56.57,1013.76,57.93,443.92 19.37,63.09,1018.79,81.52,450.18 10.32,41.46,1017.98,87.66,479.61 16.85,41.35,1006.14,79.21,463.37 12.42,43.8,1023.13,79.8,466.59 20.3,48.41,1007.48,89.66,446.68 14.1,42.74,1026.92,67.25,466.1 11.77,42.03,1017.63,79.35,472.22 26.16,59.87,1013.24,71.92,446.73 26.85,69.84,1002.84,81.31,426.58 12.86,40.6,1013.6,84.85,472.04 14.12,40.92,1022.46,73.28,459.76 12.87,39.3,1019.26,71.55,471.48 26.23,59.14,1016.98,75.54,437.85 10.63,40.67,1017.13,66.12,483.27 15.62,41.76,1023.82,66.17,459.72 25.95,73.77,1001.35,92.67,432.21 18.77,39.54,1009.39,63.35,458.58 10.22,45.01,1018.27,93.62,474.32 17.67,50.88,1015.64,90.55,456.16 20.89,70.32,1011.22,89.68,442.5 22.5,58.79,1017.48,73.02,443.35 32.45,68.3,1015.26,44.12,431.79 10.31,44.63,1020.55,88.62,471.78 20.08,63.09,1019,77.06,448.74 28.28,56.9,1006.38,64.99,445.61 8.4,38.5,1013.67,69.13,486.5 24.31,67.79,1010.64,76.15,444.72 7.53,41.16,1023.19,91.28,475.7 25.17,72.39,1001.69,90.51,432.45 6.9,40.62,1018.48,78.84,479.97 23.03,44.89,1010.26,59.85,447.81 13.17,38.91,1016.55,74.47,470.63 25.09,69.68,1012.18,91.33,439.77 19.13,40.79,1004.47,91.7,457.83 29.56,73.88,1005.77,66.45,436.6 31.93,70.4,1005.27,73.71,432.29 13.8,42.99,1007.16,67.28,470.93 27.61,49.16,1005.01,35.63,441.18 16.36,43.99,1021.34,85.13,465.81 27.27,72.24,1010.69,78.09,432.35 20.27,56.65,1020.75,67.12,454.29 22.28,60.27,1018.98,84.12,443.44 26.99,62.26,1011.13,71.27,436.89 25.79,67.17,1007.89,81.38,440.75 29.49,69.71,1009.34,56.35,440.99 25.85,67.69,1007.7,70.14,434 25.82,69.68,1012.69,89.94,439.58 24.67,68.14,1004.96,58.15,438.4 30.09,64.96,1001.29,56.04,430.3 11.27,40.62,1017.03,61.94,471.26 20.28,68.63,1012.42,70.31,454.36 19.36,39.54,1008.97,58.92,458.75 15.37,41.96,1011.58,96.76,466.02 13.79,45.08,1023.3,83.59,465.69 24.35,73.17,1012.2,85.88,435.66 20.51,63.09,1016.39,92.99,445.86 21.93,61.45,1008.92,98.54,443.91 28.24,71.58,1010.1,67.92,434.01 25.19,64.44,1014.75,64.38,444.35 31.71,73.5,1010.63,40.17,430.45 24.88,63.31,1014.23,55.76,441.54 30.65,71.98,1004.92,63.39,429.85 29.01,68.08,1010.74,52.51,427.91 10.06,42.02,999.37,98.65,477.82 14.66,41.92,1030.81,68.88,464.57 26.12,68.51,1013.06,68.96,433.11 23.92,61.87,1009.63,54.16,441.15 21.88,59.39,1015.58,87.19,442.92 16,42.86,1013.88,81.74,467.5 24.74,59.21,1012.18,74.2,440.36 6.93,40.67,1020.17,71.16,494.61 12.26,39.96,1011.79,79.06,470.87 14.44,40.8,1025.05,56.59,472.95 11.85,42.07,1017.92,93.45,467.25 21.35,57.76,1017.36,73.1,452.57 27.31,65.12,1016.05,45.98,440.06 23.59,43.77,1010.85,55.98,448.42 11.94,40.66,1016.61,96.11,467.99 24.97,50.23,1015.6,56.79,454.35 24.78,57.19,1008.08,65.4,443.62 8.18,43.69,1017.16,88.16,487.83 13.75,40.66,1016.41,93.31,461.81 15.52,43.7,1015.8,76.27,466.38 14.98,43.99,1022.66,83.34,462.32 13.42,40.78,1025.03,77.51,459.04 24.05,72.24,1011.32,88.94,437.81 29.75,74.87,1009.1,56.5,435.61 17.89,42.42,1008.92,65.08,467.59 27.84,72.39,1001.18,83.46,432.19 18.24,58.46,1017.38,86.92,449.63 12,41.17,1019.48,58.71,474.4 12.23,43.69,1016.46,84.4,471.62 22.67,64.15,1021.02,70.49,453.47 16.73,37.2,1012.94,74.04,463.89 21.65,56.89,1013.13,66.07,445.93 21.18,45.01,1012.57,48.05,451.62 21.06,67.07,1004.9,84.09,446.44 13.88,48.79,1017.28,79.4,464.14 19.08,46.93,1010.6,75.21,454.45 17.48,40.89,1011.39,62.45,462.59 16.23,43.69,1016.4,68.9,466.22 24.99,60.37,1005.66,74.87,437.67 12.53,44.03,1007.21,84.2,470.04 18.3,37.2,1012.23,68.09,470.42 7.51,41.66,1015.9,78.31,485.58 28.66,77.95,1009.56,69.07,431.23 25.6,63.9,1013.16,53.19,451.44 12.75,39.85,1012.51,62.37,475.61 17.19,58.86,1016.74,85.97,451.87 30.51,60.75,1009.86,51,435.57 8.23,40.77,1011.92,90.59,479.24 10.17,40.1,1014.05,91.9,479.58 27.04,73.67,1006.82,77.45,431.1 10.74,40.92,1021.74,94.97,466.77 21.96,58.79,1010.51,87.32,448.89 23.14,62.26,1011.87,66.44,444.38 27.41,69.98,1008.51,65.49,431.64 25.61,67.69,1009.22,68.76,437.78 18.55,61.87,1008.45,65.3,450.73 30.55,66.25,1009.15,63.52,440.74 24.4,41.1,1002.14,38.75,451.66 25.17,68.08,1012.83,60.87,437.01 22.1,65.06,1014.56,71.5,442.18 11.48,42.02,1000.29,94.76,471.43 24.04,59.43,1007.6,76.98,437.51 12.74,41.38,1021.92,56.67,475.63 20.65,57.5,1016.04,87.45,448.22 9.6,41.03,1021.01,69.03,481.73 28.61,69.84,1004.24,67.74,429.91 16.58,37.64,1015.23,81.59,460.48 16.81,38.52,1018.26,75.21,459.01 5.46,40.81,1025.73,93.52,474.87 23.19,49.82,1014.59,70.52,451.08 11.86,40.27,1008.06,72.91,474.57 20.36,66.05,1015.86,87.19,450.23 25.14,63.47,1012.58,70.27,443.93 28.42,75.23,1010.25,56.8,435.64 10.96,45.01,1017.97,95.82,468.64 18.48,52.05,1012.41,68.2,458.62 16.48,41.35,1005.61,89.07,465.64 14.04,40.2,1013.29,89.54,465.25 22.24,41.1,1001.96,42.6,451.95 11.77,40.71,1024.55,72.49,477.94 32.41,58.9,1003.26,45.33,439.11 17.8,62.26,1011.81,89.81,451.62 19.08,59.15,1013.1,81.82,451.33 11.72,40.35,1012.08,83.98,476.41 27.92,68.12,1011.54,49.8,437.51 22.73,66.75,1018.13,84.06,437.93 30.67,72.86,1004.25,52.72,432.76 26.81,61.47,1009.68,68.34,443.66 15.39,39.31,1008.78,66.67,461.39 22.92,61.9,1013.27,78.32,446.08 29.53,71.43,1011.79,57.41,438.78 32.84,68.14,1003.59,43.88,425.18 15.78,41.48,1015.55,52.17,454.25 6.65,40.69,1020.11,89.84,479.35 14.64,53.82,1016.33,60.59,463.18 15.12,41.79,1007.16,82.35,455.63 28.36,69.88,1007.75,84.17,434.03 24.27,74.93,1012.73,73.81,443.06 27.77,51.43,1006.58,69.01,438.7 11.17,39.72,1002.4,81.4,474.64 23.71,67.17,1007.27,90.2,440.65 28.12,73.42,1011.49,80.16,435.46 19.17,52.9,1016.56,65.23,458.59 19.67,44.89,1009.43,73.88,455.2 18.5,46.93,1015,66.81,455.63 16.36,39.99,1008.91,72.48,462.5 22.43,63.76,1009.84,75.27,442.85 30.8,73.56,1007.39,75.78,432.43 22.07,60.08,1017.68,71.23,452.56 15.51,41.76,1022.81,69.55,463.82 29.78,69.71,1008.96,67.46,434.33 9.61,39.04,1023.45,75.66,483.86 31.99,53.53,1004.98,53.53,432.43 29.72,74.78,1009.32,55.25,438.19 15.47,43.13,1015.11,50.5,466.63 4.62,38.44,1016.09,73.14,486.84 15.61,41.2,1016.12,75.28,467.81 7.35,41.66,1015.55,79.67,485.35 23.77,61.87,1009.8,54.83,445.72 10.88,44.63,1020.52,86.81,469.57 12.99,43.8,1023.16,64.65,466.95 22.99,46.93,1014.15,49.42,451.41 24.38,58.2,1016.93,51.61,444.36 25.14,69.13,1011.15,85.67,433.95 13.21,40.03,1018.12,82.98,469.75 13.56,39.18,1023.4,63.82,470.38 10.6,41.46,1021.23,89.02,481.3 12.78,41.04,1025.16,85.14,461.61 27.44,66.56,1005.51,69.28,428 23.09,51.19,1009.4,81.61,443.22 20.87,57.19,1006.5,77,445.95 14.58,42.07,1017.9,86.14,460.66 22.12,69.71,1009.7,90.22,434.42 16.73,65.94,1013.79,90.19,453.39 14.92,41.16,1004.83,83.7,465.72 21.38,65.12,1015.73,68.02,448.5 10.55,41.92,1030,91.23,470.95 3.31,39.42,1024.05,84.31,487.19 16.23,43.52,1020.13,76.3,464.74 27.86,65.18,1012.87,55.53,436.26 13.63,43.22,1012.71,72.85,464.62 6.91,37.49,1011.05,82.07,481.88 8.62,39.54,1011.64,82.86,483.03 8.51,42.32,1015.08,84.89,476.6 31.3,70.79,1004.3,54.37,428.75 16,43.02,1012.37,39.2,466.01 11.44,44.2,1018.14,84.9,476.12 5.15,45.87,1008.02,98.36,479.61 24.88,63.91,1009.41,77.75,447.28 27.52,74.67,1015.77,72.01,433.56 32.89,66.44,1009.94,60.55,431.54 9.98,39.66,1017.32,77.78,481.64 25.42,74.22,1009.04,88.55,433.97 26.04,52.84,1005.68,65.18,439.36 16,48.78,1013.9,88.64,458.27 14.4,40.2,1013.04,90.5,464.5 21.71,60.77,1017.95,85.07,444.59 27.72,69.88,1007.58,72.25,434.02 9.34,38.08,1019.56,67.74,482.06 31.12,68.14,1003.67,67.36,427.06 12.14,44.85,1014.36,60.04,476.68 12.24,40.96,1023.22,78.74,475.32 25.67,69.88,1007.84,83.32,441.35 28.6,61.86,1011.86,62.13,439.74 33.63,70.4,1004.02,53.6,430.05 20.23,57.76,1016.84,81.26,452.5 13.3,50.59,1019.38,92.96,469.13 20.77,45.87,1008.07,76.22,452.71 20,56.53,1020.43,75.94,454.86 7.34,40.72,1023.01,80.08,483.92 21.71,65.27,1013.24,63.58,444.91 25.16,58.82,1009.63,72.62,442 17.35,39.39,1013.18,67.67,467.85 21.6,66.86,1013.02,54.19,450.84 9.89,40.64,1020.59,98.35,478.13 13.32,44.9,1007.72,78.64,466.3 24.8,50.23,1016.62,63.13,453.56 26.38,44.89,1009.14,51.79,442.13 19.93,57.25,1010.6,89.34,455.15 9.33,36.3,1027.88,79.23,479.6 13.85,45.08,1024.86,83.85,468.35 24.51,62.08,1022.58,57.44,447.04 27.78,68.67,1005.59,59.17,439.92 23.85,52.3,1005.9,70.95,441.99 13.75,40.89,1011.21,82.8,471.42 34.2,68.14,1002.7,56.09,427.05 19.04,68.28,1004.52,86.16,444.54 24.85,67.9,1005.9,64.55,445.18 22.51,66.49,1014.59,63.03,453.08 26.88,60.96,1012.1,57.9,446.77 15.48,47.83,1004.88,81.68,463.67 23.56,73.67,1007.13,87.1,439.27 19.43,52.9,1018.35,61.12,456.08 29.97,67.9,1006.09,61.6,434.14 18.97,50.59,1016.01,74.9,459.68 21.37,81.56,1006.57,81.56,434.38 20.09,61.27,1020.05,70.71,451.43 22.41,66.56,1003.3,88.71,435.75 24.51,68.63,1014.15,45.1,447.66 26.01,74.33,1015.69,81.22,435.82 28.32,68.12,1011.62,46.75,433.59 13.68,45.08,1024.91,85.26,467.02 8.83,41.14,1025.37,94.36,474.51 24.75,58.79,1009.87,71.97,444.79 30.64,74.87,1009.44,59.01,437.43 26.68,49.02,1008.4,68.01,441.54 23.38,48.6,1004.45,69.19,440.9 23.48,70.79,1006.7,88.57,432.25 14.03,49.15,1020.5,83.65,467.16 24.26,47.93,1003.87,70.44,439.16 13.08,42.32,1016.63,83.72,462.41 23.78,69.71,1008.79,83.17,443.06 27.71,75.23,1010.21,59.75,440.7 21.97,65.61,1016.09,73.29,447.05 15.54,41.23,995.45,83.73,463.06 31.03,74.33,1011.55,63.45,429.35 31.12,69.13,1009.61,56.54,429.41 7.11,41.74,1022.35,90.68,487.85 13.07,42.18,1014.98,87.77,461.71 22.86,62.52,1016.23,70.67,447.96 6.14,40.62,1015.71,86.51,481.66 14.3,53.82,1016.64,63.9,465.42 17.93,44.63,1003.54,87.41,458.96 25.9,71.73,1010.18,74.83,434.84 23.72,58.62,1016.32,71.17,447.13 13.83,38.73,999.62,91.95,469.81 21.71,76.86,1006.71,76.86,438.41 28.76,66.56,1006.07,62.41,432.3 15.28,43.71,1024.32,81.24,463.44 13.95,38.73,1003.87,83.94,468.21 22.19,58.49,1010.91,77.03,449.4 22.75,58.86,1016,67.34,448.32 28.52,64.96,1005.9,70.79,431.36 23.9,61.47,1009.01,81.05,438.73 31.88,70.36,1006.2,57.51,438.42 10.4,42.44,1014.24,93.48,480.04 21.31,49.39,1020.18,71.35,455.34 29.72,71.97,1008.6,79.25,431.22 20.92,49.15,1021.15,49.76,455.32 13.48,40.35,1011.71,69.44,474.72 21.36,58.95,1018.35,78.87,443.93 6.75,39.9,1008.3,87.42,484.05 18.11,58.95,1016.61,89.17,454.29 26.2,71.73,1010.14,76.14,430.89 22.89,80.25,1006.38,80.25,446.15 26.12,63.94,1017.97,44.81,441.46 9.84,40.22,1009.5,85.38,479.65 14.13,48.92,1011.72,78.06,464.17 9.05,36.3,1027.44,74.85,479.43 22.21,60.77,1018.21,84.96,444.57 18.73,40.12,1013.19,74.12,454.71 10.53,40.64,1020.62,98.43,477.99 21.47,58.79,1017,76.97,446.33 6.03,41.17,1019.81,84.2,488.57 23.55,65.12,1016.23,66.65,446.44 9.26,40.78,1023.61,88.48,471.79 14.18,42.99,1007.19,73.21,468.35 6.67,39.37,1020.31,73.56,488.13 24.1,71.97,1009.92,91.27,443.09 25.35,72.99,1007.65,84.09,436.29 23.21,58.49,1010.97,74.34,448.09 11.44,43.13,1014.88,63.88,477.57 12.75,40.64,1020.44,83.17,466.93 30.01,68.27,1006.88,51.67,428.6 27.18,61.41,1012.17,46.11,449.7 8.3,43.13,1020.02,83.11,484.07 26.2,71.73,1009.99,74.99,434.08 22.4,68.31,1009.52,83.5,446.91 14.66,43.13,1014.97,46.31,467.87 24.96,70.47,1007.73,76.48,438.23 26.5,66.05,1017.03,61.34,440.15 24.39,58.41,1013.65,80.93,445.39 3.91,35.47,1016.92,86.03,488.67 14.8,44.92,1024.06,91.67,464.01 10.22,39.64,1010.72,63.05,477.22 13.48,41.92,1030.2,65.96,463.9 17.83,43.72,1008.64,78.72,453.86 31.63,65.74,1010.83,50.59,437.54 23.16,69.94,1004.92,68.68,438.48 21.7,64.69,1007.93,78.37,448.76 13.92,41.16,1000.98,83.89,454.15 12.22,41.2,1016.81,81.22,474.96 21.62,58.59,1012.93,67.05,445.92 9.3,38.18,1017.19,71.51,480.14 32.55,70.94,1006.75,43.15,432.07 13.32,38.73,1005.37,88.48,472.33 19.83,59.44,1012.98,91.24,446.15 22.16,64.63,1020.81,68.47,451.86 15.81,58.59,1014.41,90.03,456.91 24.46,68.61,1011.02,76.66,440.58 29.1,73.4,1011.35,57.31,436.85 24.37,70.02,1010.97,71.97,443.53 7.48,38.5,1014.01,77.35,488.43 8.58,40.72,1022.04,87.55,480.96 19.69,56.65,1020.82,71.54,453.96 18.14,43.56,1012.83,47.1,461.71 18.21,39.54,1009.81,70.92,461.73 27.07,77.95,1012.34,76.64,433.61 15.62,38.28,1014.5,77.01,465.7 25.61,47.43,1008.62,54.51,442.96 15.41,42.44,1012.6,86.74,472.28 20,63.31,1017.06,63.1,449.68 25.87,57.32,1012.06,44.13,442.87 14.43,38.91,1013.28,70.26,468.83 9.14,38.91,1018.62,89.88,476.57 25.24,68.28,1000.26,78.17,435.9 27.06,43.77,1011.02,42.61,442.15 18.06,52.08,1003.73,100.09,452.19 23.15,58.79,1011.11,82.49,447.71 25.38,74.67,1016.61,81.34,435.41 30.65,65.18,1012.51,42.32,436.79 8.49,43.69,1016.93,85.63,483.62 29.86,69.34,1009.61,61.27,438.5 29.12,66.56,1006.9,49.79,429.94 10.35,38.38,1020.77,74.55,477.76 30.3,73.9,1006.72,55.13,440.79 21.31,46.97,1014.08,62.57,455.76 15.17,54.3,1017.38,72.11,464.39 11.87,40.55,1019.06,94.11,473.79 24.1,68.61,1010.97,74.87,443.75 23.92,73.17,1011.81,92.33,433.78 13,48.79,1017.14,85.23,464.12 24.14,41.1,1002.1,38.49,450.13 30.19,66.54,1004.39,61.43,428.37 22.08,69.94,1008.41,72.86,441.57 26.86,72.58,1009.22,88.39,428.69 13.55,40.1,1014.57,81.48,469.57 13.18,43.8,1023.18,61.21,467 7.2,40.35,1011.83,95.59,484.9 11.37,41.5,1013.57,88.82,475.94 13.93,39.64,1011.8,82.64,470.84 10.32,40.35,1011.64,84.05,481.51 16.32,50.88,1013.37,97.19,458.28 4.16,35.47,1017.72,88.49,486.7 28.26,72.43,1006.68,72.3,426.2 29,69.68,1012.78,66.09,442.79 31.63,68.3,1014.8,42.02,426.86 28.19,68.08,1013.41,43.93,436.43 13.93,40.2,1013.41,89.86,466.47 30.92,80.18,1010.11,72.47,432.35 19.89,69.48,1011.06,86.73,447.63 25.86,76.2,1005.73,69.35,438.75 10.81,44.63,1020.61,88.29,473.86 18.26,69.94,1004.1,97.39,443.59 18.61,63.09,1019.37,83.08,449.81 25.34,65.61,1014.61,57.51,442.82 21.28,70.72,1010.29,86.22,445.54 12.88,43.8,1023.19,59.18,468.19 33.68,68.14,1002.75,56.05,427.53 8.66,44.68,1022.99,95.45,479.62 8.26,40.96,1025.23,89.22,485.73 9.03,40.71,1025.98,81.94,484.97 14.85,39.39,1013.93,76.27,468.84 3.21,38.44,1016.9,86.34,491.35 15.71,39.3,1019.2,62.28,462.84 26.52,43.77,1011.49,46.98,440.31 14.18,40.69,1014.73,74.88,471.52 13.89,45.08,1024.64,82.29,467.74 10.12,41.78,1013.43,73.47,477.67 21.12,63.91,1009.33,96.14,447.64 26.68,63.73,1009.7,71.55,439.69 19.65,62.1,1019.46,77.82,449.13 23.47,69.71,1009.66,88.83,442.23 16.71,40.55,1004.45,81.64,464.13 5.21,35.79,1012.44,94.35,485.17 28.13,68.12,1012.6,44.71,435.85 12.14,45,1023.9,89.2,476.6 23.7,69.23,1011.73,73.18,437.15 29.52,75.33,1002.62,70.64,433.39 13.49,41.78,1010.66,63.34,467.92 28.24,65.74,1013.4,64.87,438.47 16.48,68.28,1004.27,99.89,449.7 14.01,42.74,1029.16,68.31,466.15 24.56,66.75,1018.5,77.47,435.03 28.94,71.64,1006.59,69.24,438.96 19.71,43.43,1009.58,65.71,456.24 11.06,41.5,1013.09,89.8,476.24 22.99,60.77,1017.97,78.47,447.62 19.87,48.14,1016.94,81.56,451.14 23.77,59.21,1011.97,80.08,440.08 20.99,50.12,1008.82,95.97,448.07 10.32,41.01,1021.04,95.3,467.81 26.72,56.9,1007.12,58.54,435.16 14.55,44.84,1023.83,87.6,465.14 4.89,45.87,1007.58,99.35,482.69 19.49,46.63,1013.11,88.01,451.31 24.44,59.21,1017.36,61.45,445.82 7.99,36.08,1020.08,83.2,481.35 27.28,51.43,1011.46,51.38,450.53 26.23,59.07,1008.2,78.93,440.18 9.46,41.4,1026.78,87.58,480.82 15.01,39.52,1017.53,72,468.02 24.86,63.47,1011.5,71.78,441.68 20.47,58.16,1016.97,68.6,453.99 27.09,49.3,1003.93,61,437.44 11.48,36.18,1017.03,61.62,469.44 7.84,40.07,1016.68,47.63,488.7 15.97,52.72,1024.72,65.97,462.64 29.55,67.69,1004.88,48.68,428.77 11.63,40.55,1022.89,87.12,474.67 22.96,45.01,1012.21,50.81,450.37 13.61,40.71,1022.36,72.87,475.23 22.17,70.47,1011.07,82.57,441.14 15.45,61.27,1019.87,79.21,456.59 25.08,61.02,1010.01,73.21,437.31 24.98,71.98,1006.59,90.61,432.06 20.57,44.9,1008.39,62.69,456.18 12.33,38.91,1017.24,79.84,472.49 8.29,36.08,1020.38,81.53,483.26 25.47,59.92,1010.08,77.18,439.84 28.2,66.75,1018.35,60.18,433.46 29.05,70.32,1011.33,72.5,437.16 27.03,65.12,1015.94,45.1,441.62 27.25,73.03,1014.15,68.52,439.78 30.71,71.85,1008.07,72.05,425.16 20.94,49.02,1008.91,87.32,448.18 9.06,43.79,1016.05,81.32,482.8 26.8,58.84,1001.2,65.03,445.76 25.77,65.48,1018.07,51.47,440.96 16.77,50.9,1013.24,84.4,459.91 11.73,37.92,1008.02,72.68,472.51 19.72,65.94,1010.53,82.12,446.84 24.42,66.56,1002.04,84.7,434.18 18.68,59.14,1016.96,77.09,452.85 14.22,45.08,1023.26,84.41,466.47 23.81,57.5,1015.53,70.66,448.72 7.91,38.56,1016.48,68.94,485.95 21.32,45.01,1012.23,59.94,452.75 24.75,52.84,1005.47,69.61,442.6 26.81,56.57,1013.68,61.6,442.94 25.99,49.82,1015.95,58.56,452.09 10.59,41.26,1008.1,98.27,474.76 6.33,42.07,1004.25,77.1,484.57 22.26,44.89,1009.51,78.93,447.07 15.9,39.99,1007.03,78.49,465.5 23.14,58.18,1008.89,81.82,444.51 19.48,58.79,1017.6,88.72,450.55 13.19,44.88,1017.61,94.95,467.68 27.4,69.84,1002.98,76.48,430.54 29.41,59.27,1011.36,52.37,441.99 25.22,71.85,1009.78,68.96,438.71 22.31,70.32,1009.22,89.53,437.83 7.64,42.28,1008.49,83.42,483.74 14.68,43.99,1023.36,86.79,461.91 15.12,48.92,1011.8,72.93,462.59 20.96,61.27,1019.99,67.32,448.77 5.95,39.48,1005.16,63.6,486.07 25.13,57.69,1007.43,78.43,437.8 11.58,40.66,1017,97.13,466.42 20.21,59.14,1016,70.38,448.79 16.64,43.14,1019.03,82.88,459 8.86,36.71,1025.64,79.65,478.88 19.72,47.03,1012.1,90.36,458.59 8.27,38.56,1016.47,66.6,485.31 30.19,68.08,1010.95,50.34,431.25 20.06,56.53,1020.38,75.16,455.99 13.16,43.41,1016.43,79.47,465.6 24.01,65.46,1014.17,43.02,443.81 9.78,40.03,1017.33,92.11,480.59 16.85,42.24,1017.43,66.01,472.63 15.12,39.16,1006.55,76.99,463.78 24.45,66.49,1014.24,58.15,449.22 9.14,42.44,1014.48,92.03,481.46 26.02,68.67,1006.73,75.19,440.12 21.46,51.61,1010.91,76.41,457.28 13.18,40.24,1016.81,86.71,469.35 5.79,38.68,1017.19,70.46,487.4 13.56,49.83,1007.01,89.86,466.33 11.95,42.07,1018.52,84.73,467.91 9.15,44.03,1012.45,81.67,474.26 28.96,66.54,1002.54,56.33,429.48 21.23,50.59,1017.42,69.26,453.95 10.73,40.35,1012.27,89.65,477.23 6.1,39.33,1010.4,95.34,491.37 25.5,63.91,1009.4,75.22,444.26 29.1,76.2,1006.28,60.22,435.97 22.58,58.12,1014.88,80.59,448.32 19.53,66.54,1013.72,81.46,451.19 20.07,51.3,1011.9,94.62,450.46 24.96,77.54,1008.25,80.6,433.4 21.08,63.13,1013.53,98,443.51 12.54,43.69,1017.26,83.59,470.04 6.64,35.19,1019.83,76.01,484.03 16.78,37.2,1011.97,68.94,471.24 25.56,75.6,1017.37,69.31,442.2 14.02,40.75,1016.05,70.65,470.48 29.45,70.02,1010.28,65.93,437.82 28.97,78.92,1011.71,88.5,430.98 6.11,38.68,1017.53,79.23,482.97 28.53,49.3,1003.83,59.69,438.17 31.71,69.04,1008.79,49.32,441.15 32.45,44.37,1005.05,44.37,429.81 30.53,73.21,1000.37,74.17,430.2 15.02,41.48,1015.19,58.69,456.04 24.91,58.69,1008.22,82.81,435.96 22.21,69.71,1009.69,96.85,440.14 24.51,65.12,1016.18,62.39,447.46 18.9,60.07,1016.02,71.38,451.5 28.51,76.09,1007.88,78.2,438.28 27.88,75.23,1011.33,58.91,439.33 24.33,49.16,1003.46,61.04,441.2 20.36,57.5,1014.36,82.96,452.28 11.15,40.64,1020.65,97.95,477.79 21.16,50.66,1014.13,72.77,455.86 30.47,70.83,1010.91,46.94,444.39 31.68,74.16,1011.3,55.94,434.61 19.8,49.15,1020.88,61.88,461.78 32.33,67.83,1008.11,57.48,427.84 18.67,58.46,1016.73,87.7,447.16 29.42,69.14,1007.32,75.04,437.75 27.84,71.32,1007.72,79.25,431.37 22.59,65.06,1014.36,62.44,444.6 10.38,41.01,1020.8,94.26,465.9 8.32,39.64,1010.93,78.21,479.69 30.34,71.25,1000.94,67.29,431.18 12.38,45.51,1016.15,81.37,470.46 11.23,43.7,1016,91.75,476.04 24.19,46.93,1013.4,49.39,446.3 30.17,75.08,1005.17,55.89,438.89 28.5,71.32,1002.54,69.35,435.7 14.78,38.58,1017.02,82.4,460.54 11.48,41.2,1012.88,90.04,478.34 9.59,34.69,1027.65,75.32,478.88 20.42,60.77,1017.65,87.07,447.85 20.76,58.79,1017.22,78.75,447.07 13.53,40.71,1023.83,61.59,474.7 34.4,77.95,1009.83,57.86,430.87 33.6,74.33,1012.31,35.66,428.62 6.03,41.17,1019.81,84.2,488.57 28.62,69.71,1009.67,62.12,437.52 19.72,44.78,1009.27,39.18,464.54 11.54,40.77,1022.13,83.5,465.61 19.39,60.1,1010.28,83.31,452.57 9.59,37.14,1013.8,72.85,474.74 12.31,40.64,1020.71,94.6,475.65 23.61,63.94,1012.9,87.06,441.57 7.61,39.42,1024.93,74.77,475.55 18.51,58.46,1017.21,88.1,448.39 7.53,43.65,1018.58,64.85,479.15 10.5,52.72,1026.32,85.04,468.01 24.99,58.79,1016.37,67.16,439.2 6.15,40.07,1020.2,66.64,494.3 30.54,67.45,1014.37,32.97,431.35 13.44,39.39,1012.93,84.29,469.67 31.27,73.77,1003.27,71.48,430.32 16.13,39.99,1007.04,80.49,465.25 30.97,67.69,1005.61,50.88,425.35 15.37,43.34,1014.84,80.37,460.02 21.25,66.86,1012.99,60.65,455.72 14.89,39.82,1013.23,82.49,470.19 6.65,40.77,1021.79,88.84,482.9 30.26,72.58,1007,65.51,425.71 33.71,69.98,1013.09,42.62,431.99 8.6,40.77,1011.8,89.45,480.82 29,75.33,1001.6,71.43,432.65 10.02,41.44,1017.37,77.65,479.63 28.75,64.69,1007.1,60.37,437.94 37.11,68.94,1006.23,31.15,429.25 30.06,67.25,1017.63,53.59,435.02 30.68,69.68,1012.86,56.56,438.68 30.08,73.42,1011.17,63.86,434.95 6.98,40.35,1011.92,94.72,484.19 29.17,73.17,1009.87,60.97,432.07 21.93,60.84,1017.8,82.61,443.89 15.11,43.67,1012.06,91.75,467.82 25.68,70.17,1001.38,85.89,433.92 30.44,56.24,1005.19,56.24,429.34 20.36,65.27,1011.73,70.8,445.67 26.47,47.43,1009.09,54.94,439.4 13.9,39.54,1007.01,81.33,471.16 21.81,60.27,1015.93,91.38,441.85 9.08,42.49,1010.67,85.35,481.46 32.31,77.95,1010.15,62.17,430.15 27.96,73.42,1011.11,71.93,435.93 9.23,42.44,1014.34,94.2,481.29 25.66,61.08,1013,71.21,446.05 19.2,61.27,1020.02,65.53,455.2 24.81,59.87,1018.56,61.18,444.89 24.1,60.29,1008.2,61.81,449.79 28.33,68.14,1004.63,71.21,431.27 19.53,50.32,1009.71,94.46,449.59 29.37,74.78,1009.47,55.65,434.2 24.44,69.84,1005.34,80.37,430.3 31.35,67.32,1013.74,38.56,439.81 28.98,62.66,1009.1,52.62,438.45 21.05,63.09,1016.49,91.23,447.45 25.03,60.27,1017.9,72.04,438.24 14.78,54.3,1016.96,68.53,463.75 25.24,67.45,1013.56,50.91,438.99 16.7,50.88,1015.11,97.25,456.18 16.44,53.16,1014.82,75.29,458.49 25.18,71.98,1006.71,89.86,432.88 23.51,48.98,1014.63,41.56,454.06 20.56,64.45,1012.24,53.09,458.97 26.63,43.77,1011.33,49.3,440.95 27.4,69.13,1001.4,82.47,426.18 26.91,65.34,1014.19,50.7,443.6 23.75,67.9,1006.25,70.17,445.22 27.79,69.23,1012.86,45.71,435.06 27.41,63.07,1011.5,55.3,445.02 7.98,43.52,1022.45,97.68,481.93 11.98,44.58,1016.45,78.8,477.56 27.1,73.21,1002.97,89.68,430.87 12.93,45.51,1015.27,87.27,469.83 18.91,45.01,1012.9,59.81,456.12 26.9,66.48,1004.47,54.71,432.95 14.36,40,1016.16,68.79,460.42 8.81,43.56,1014.99,81.5,482.52 18.36,53.16,1013.31,83.18,458.47 11.48,37.92,1008.47,70.55,472.9 25.92,73.77,1001.27,94.28,432 11.01,43.69,1016.7,81.48,477.3 26.31,66.48,1005.93,63.9,432.89 9.99,42.07,1018.78,85.68,471.6 12.84,40.8,1026.95,69.86,475.59 21.07,67.07,1004.64,86.16,446.05 17.7,38.52,1020.15,69.8,455.5 14.36,41.26,1021.16,73.43,462.25 24,58.05,1011.28,74.32,447.16 12.17,41.58,1013.89,88.98,463.03 19.58,50.12,1009.82,100.1,449.44 25.73,66.54,1010.07,55.97,437.07 23.85,74.22,1009.99,82.72,441.66 26.45,73.5,1010.31,74.33,433.44 20.95,44.89,1010.48,67.97,450.39 21.29,59.04,1012.49,84.23,445.37 14.32,71.14,1019.87,79.15,460.02 19.65,63.91,1009.26,99.08,444.9 28.09,77.95,1017.07,70.98,436.94 33.87,71.32,1007.91,39.48,435.89 13.72,41.62,1011.14,75.79,455.52 9.47,41.4,1026.49,87.9,479.68 32.19,69.13,1000.45,48.22,425.21 18.73,46.48,1007.19,79.23,450.74 6.09,43.65,1020.95,71.15,485.96 24.43,67.25,1017.99,74.27,436.5 25.24,66.54,1002.07,81.22,433.86 26.26,71.73,1009.59,80.06,430.79 26.15,64.27,1013.03,59.77,439.11 7.77,41.82,1032.72,72.8,479.4 27.92,63.07,1010.75,45.26,442.87 31.62,64.05,1010.94,58.93,439.09 12.47,45.01,1017.8,95.25,467.18 31.41,74.16,1008.65,68.5,430.37 32.63,74.99,1002.42,40.07,432.79 21.97,58.12,1014.21,85.93,448.91 22.68,58.82,1010.11,82.8,443.86 10.82,44.63,1020.64,90.26,473.23 32.37,68.67,1005.45,47.98,430.35 10.89,40.81,1025.82,81.18,478.23 25.45,70.04,1011.2,82.48,430.2 10.91,42.34,1021.83,94.99,470.91 6.75,39.4,1011.28,90.84,483.77 21.36,45.61,1013.43,83.64,456.85 23.45,45.61,1012.84,73.42,454.92 4.04,35.47,1017.51,87.35,486.86 15.4,38.73,1000.67,79.71,469.18 25.54,49.16,1003.64,47.4,443.55 22.61,59.87,1019.12,66.12,441.2 8.62,39.66,1015.18,89.59,482.99 13.84,41.26,1020.92,74.74,462.46 21.31,69.05,1002.46,73.42,440.97 28.54,58.33,1013.9,49.4,439.28 20.35,67.45,1015.14,69.22,447.64 24.54,65.46,1014.27,40.77,446.26 5.84,40.62,1018.58,82.73,482.1 26.47,69.51,1009.51,65.02,433.89 10.79,43.56,1015.15,73.01,479.64 18.3,44.06,1017.95,63.24,456.32 28.79,68.51,1013.02,62.84,432.51 23.07,49.02,1009.07,84.1,444.22 31.25,74.34,999.06,69.85,432.22 18.16,39.99,1007.73,70.54,463.69 25.06,74.33,1014.05,69.02,437.27 26.71,59.39,1014.24,66.45,439.33 26.45,75.6,1017.42,74.5,436.89 18.67,47.83,1005.12,82.97,454.47 10.29,40,1021.46,90.6,479.58 5.52,39.33,1009.74,95.25,492.39 23.41,54.42,1012.86,70.12,454.68 29.91,74.9,1003.36,69.34,434.93 19.92,46.97,1014.32,69.17,459.39 26.85,63.56,1013.25,52.84,444.39 23.59,58.62,1017.81,66.68,448.09 22.72,63.73,1012.63,82.14,448.56 20.3,62.52,1017.96,75.17,451.86 17,45.09,1013.52,88.32,458.94 8.89,41.54,1019.27,82.87,483.82 12.61,41.79,1015.82,91.9,461.37 28.9,71.94,1007.29,64.77,427.41 5.49,38.5,1012.18,79.33,490.84 12.91,42.07,1018.4,86.5,466.05 9.45,41.4,1027.34,86.66,475.49 27.47,69.98,1008.53,58.72,431.11 5.79,39.61,1021.64,85.41,489.6 21.92,49.02,1009.29,88.56,443.31 27.07,65.59,1012.14,63.93,442.71 20.6,66.86,1013.08,62.48,451.44 30.73,69.89,1015,58.9,426.79 26.31,48.6,1002.64,60.04,440.06 19.98,49.15,1021.56,63.89,457.54 21.31,58.66,1012.67,69.36,451.96 11.48,44.58,1016.43,80.15,478.53 23.33,73.18,1012.51,91.29,436.33 14.05,40.71,1016.36,68.58,465.74 10.06,34.69,1027.9,71.73,477.68 6.86,41.17,1020.12,79.14,490.23 28.87,57.19,1008.09,64.29,435.57 24.83,62.4,1010.13,70.18,442.2 10.42,39.96,1025.21,95.69,470.81 27.51,63.73,1009.97,66.14,440.81 23.97,68.67,1006.63,76.83,441.53 27.22,68.3,1016.84,64.88,436.81 11.54,45,1022.77,80.79,482.34 21.44,48.98,1014.4,54.22,454.5 25.1,61.47,1007.84,75.75,447.27 22.84,61.87,1010.63,51.67,442.72 26.03,69.68,1011.61,60.75,449.54 18.9,58.46,1016.74,87.65,449.32 11.75,42.32,1015.28,77.25,470.44 27.37,76.09,1007.52,89.12,433.34 17.73,43.72,1009.33,76.68,453.94 20.01,56.65,1020.77,74.46,457.01 7.89,39.37,1016.28,84.66,483.82 11.53,41.14,1025.63,88.54,469.04 13.46,41.4,1019.46,71.73,467.4 13.74,39.35,1014.82,77.48,471.11 13.77,43.13,1016.63,62.13,468.45 20.25,59.8,1015.3,82.69,453.81 10.75,40.81,1015.93,79.27,474.71 11.77,39.39,1012.9,85.8,478.51 9.29,39.96,1026.2,97.55,473.51 15.15,41.35,1006.3,86.16,468.64 16.96,44.9,1020.5,77.53,458.1 27.01,65.06,1013.16,53.02,439.81 12.74,44.03,1007.62,97.64,463.96 5.21,43.65,1017.64,78.62,486.08 8.18,40.02,1031.45,73.66,478.81 20.13,60.07,1014.79,63.57,453.49 31.54,67.32,1013.79,36.99,433.02 19.79,64.45,1016.14,73.54,451.37 14.96,43.02,1012.77,42.93,467.16 9,40.78,1025.39,99.22,468.5 16.47,38.01,1022.3,72.29,461.54 16,45.09,1014.31,60.02,458.46 25.42,73.17,1012.29,85.86,437.06 9.27,39.64,1010.79,79.56,480.29 6.85,37.49,1011.01,84.53,483.12 30.49,64.44,1013.43,51.73,438.09 4.81,42.85,1013.96,86.94,479.8 29.93,69.48,1009.21,54.59,430.75 21.93,60.84,1018.96,76.8,440.76 13.35,41.44,1015.9,66.04,473.17 32.44,77.95,1014.83,50.69,434.97 11.8,43.22,1008.57,78.01,469.55 24.4,60.32,1016.5,70.96,447.73 21.92,58.79,1010.09,89.7,446.71 8.27,37.7,1015.09,73.64,479.16 7,36.24,1013.15,89.64,483.06 20.74,59.8,1015.46,76.39,452.99 12.58,43.67,1014.36,91.72,473.02 24.22,62.08,1022.53,60.79,449.11 18.43,44.63,1019.76,39.99,458.75 12.52,71.14,1019.49,76.11,463.22 19.18,50.12,1005.99,100.09,444.56 13.51,44.9,1019.29,77.24,464.86 26.38,70.47,1007.36,76.91,434.02 11.65,41.54,1020.09,67.96,476.4 10.31,37.5,1008.55,99.31,474.16 15.37,50.59,1019.02,98.2,463.35 29.89,65.74,1012.95,51.36,438.24 31.53,70.36,1006.29,57.11,438.71 6.25,39.48,1004.82,52.71,484.26 29.09,70.02,1010.13,48.06,443.27 12,41.5,1013.21,86.75,473.68 18.61,47.83,1006.43,78.89,454.21 16.34,36.99,1006.99,90.06,466.24 28.12,58.33,1013.61,39.67,448.72 12.64,41.26,1020.79,83.66,465.78 26.1,62.91,1012.44,60.91,446.05 8.07,43.41,1016.02,76.26,467.56 27.5,68.24,1010.38,73.44,430.9 28.44,77.54,1011.73,77.3,433.21 28.31,71.85,1009,77.56,429.57 22.72,64.15,1021.14,60.34,453.13 22.79,44.57,1007.31,69.36,448.91 17.08,40.12,1012.17,81.5,457.81 15.6,41.04,1025.48,64.43,457.49 22.07,48.41,1008.71,81.29,444.01 24.16,66.05,1016.45,73.27,443.75 14.93,39.16,1007.25,72.35,463.2 11.99,38.28,1013.65,91.31,469.23 16.85,52.9,1019.47,81.28,460.84 24.82,66.54,1010,60.36,440.88 21.67,69.71,1010.46,96.83,440.16 18.06,43.14,1013.95,62.21,461.27 30.05,66.44,1008.46,76.82,427.55 18.36,62.1,1019.9,79.09,453.5 32.02,67.83,1007.77,53.31,426.55 24.61,62.39,1006.39,79.08,437.01 8.41,39.16,1015.47,93.42,484.34 8.94,36.71,1025.5,80.45,477.62 22.57,63.94,1013.49,81.61,443.58 9.92,40.64,1020.39,95.41,469.65 26.51,50.05,1006.75,65.34,440.22 24.93,47.01,1015.12,64.8,455.39 24.43,58.95,1017.18,57.73,441.4 12.28,39.96,1011.76,77.07,468 9.75,35.76,1019.88,62.31,474.31 10.94,40.81,1026.03,80.79,476.32 25.37,68.31,1011.12,70.99,441.76 23.82,60.32,1016.61,75.29,445 9.26,40.11,1024.38,74.82,460.72 24.57,66.54,1004.44,83.15,432.41 29.55,72.29,1007.94,84.45,430.98 27.37,63.31,1012.89,60.11,439.15 11.83,38.25,1013.36,85.33,473.31 22.32,70.47,1010.97,83.16,441.87 5.8,45.87,1009.14,92.06,481.6 25.41,69.14,1006.4,87.4,436.59 24.89,66.49,1010.15,65.65,436.39 18.12,50.16,1009.82,100.09,453.29 28.14,61.47,1009.69,64.66,435.35 12,41.17,1019.48,58.71,474.4 15.62,35.4,1016.19,53.95,467.95 11.29,35.76,1019.32,58.91,473.74 17.99,50.16,1009.98,100.09,451.38 4.87,42.85,1013.6,92.3,482.22 19.25,43.43,1012.01,73.26,451.08 11.74,40.6,1013.91,90.57,473.84 13.43,43.69,1016.21,73.01,475.36 25.33,71.32,1007.05,85.31,434.68 19.26,44.34,1019.45,51.32,467.72 17.89,40.12,1011.99,76.52,451.79 30.57,58.9,1004.54,54.37,438.49 7.45,43.13,1019.31,86.32,485.6 24.03,66.54,1012.19,69.15,438.08 8.03,40.07,1016.06,47.46,488.02 28.06,70.04,1009.89,66.07,431.7 10.06,39.61,1018.22,70.22,471.86 9.68,40.77,1022.04,85.23,473.73 26.38,69.88,1008.42,86.25,432.25 10.84,39.18,1023.64,87.1,474.49 7.05,40.69,1020.53,89.67,476.75 13.34,41.79,1011.48,86.66,461.12 24.39,63.77,1013.3,77.53,443.65 24.26,69.71,1008.98,81.58,438.6 8.23,41.01,1022.89,98.03,474.52 13.15,40.78,1024.13,79.59,462.3 31.35,71.97,1008.29,72.26,430.16 22.88,65.48,1017.33,66.26,447.14 25.44,56.57,1013.8,66.72,444.61 27.79,71.85,1008.95,87.35,427.67 21.99,57.5,1015.87,80.72,446.96 13.35,40.27,1005.83,49.75,474.68 28.63,66.56,1005.88,64.73,427.35 12.78,44.6,1013.64,77.56,468.67 8.37,40.92,1021.82,86.03,476.02 11.93,38.78,1013.15,96.08,474.57 21.03,63.86,1014.84,71.72,450.64 27.2,65.12,1016.2,44.95,442.54 26.93,75.23,1010.19,62.12,434.1 12.76,42.32,1015.35,78.18,466.15 8.55,35.77,1016.15,73.32,481.44 14.66,40.89,1009.72,91.56,465.73 10.36,37.83,1005.87,98.56,472.62 21.54,66.54,1004.99,92.87,440.8 14.02,41.78,1011.26,48.62,465.87 12.35,40.8,1027.35,72.69,476.88 25.89,58.86,1014.16,52.95,445.17 22.05,61.27,1019.6,58.83,447.95 32.06,71.85,1007.9,56.44,426.07 24.55,57.5,1015.36,62.45,447.3 27.23,71.77,1006.59,77.94,427.39 24.29,57.5,1014.85,67.28,449.98 30.4,77.3,1002.44,59.42,438.43 26.5,66.75,1018.48,61.62,431.23 10.42,41.26,1008.48,96.76,472.54 15.79,44.89,1010.19,84.61,458.09 15.79,49.15,1020.62,76.22,465.62 30.3,73.67,1005.57,58.74,431.57 25.58,64.45,1011.07,61.47,447.16 12.36,48.04,1012.8,93.59,468.37 10.56,40.22,1005.08,89.71,478.02 30.01,69.13,1010.11,62.42,425.75 14.91,40.73,1017.44,86.91,458.99 15.9,41.35,1006.28,78.2,464.03 8.91,43.52,1022.78,98,478.38 26.88,61.5,1009.17,61.26,440.13 14.78,42.86,1015.32,84.75,471.17 30.95,71.58,1009.95,50.02,430.47 17.9,58.33,1013.6,85.81,452.28 13.96,39.54,1011.05,85.72,468.82 29.85,71.58,1010.04,58.66,432.26 14.07,40.78,1024.67,72.66,456.71 25.26,52.3,1006.65,64.64,442.76 10.07,40.92,1021.84,84.18,471.71 15.66,43.99,1021.18,88.62,467.57 6.25,40.02,1032.14,80.22,481.38 27.71,69.51,1009.65,58.38,435.04 12.75,42.34,1018.17,94.67,465.44 21.44,51.19,1009.1,84.94,446.17 32.98,73.88,1006.31,47.55,440.28 27.54,74.22,1007.44,75.91,430.72 11.68,40.55,1006.48,96.16,474.8 8.02,39.04,1018.49,68.07,479.53 19.15,44.34,1019.54,48.09,468.8 18.53,63.91,1010.26,97.8,440.64 30.82,76.2,1007.47,59.3,432.22 22.9,67.25,1017.74,74.53,438.62 22.18,62.39,1007.84,85.74,452.31 3.69,38.44,1016.74,82.87,490.78 19.89,44.9,1008.12,67.3,453.09 23.36,65.18,1012.35,78.09,436.39 13.58,44.47,1029.91,70.41,467.15 25.88,61.47,1007.93,68.71,445.65 6.57,39.37,1020.2,77.37,487.94 10.51,37.5,1010.7,96.29,474.24 26.14,72.99,1007.49,81.72,433.25 13.31,41.26,1020.83,79.55,462.87 14.01,42.99,1007.12,69.69,469.23 8.64,34.69,1026.79,80.88,482.15 24.88,73.17,1012.26,84.96,434.85 23.28,69.51,1013.31,53,444.17 25.6,58.46,1016.34,66.6,441.88 27,73.17,1009.82,64.43,434.94 25.69,62.26,1011.38,74.08,436.36 20.77,60.1,1011.11,81.09,450.32 12.45,40.81,1025.63,66.26,474.73 27.32,66.54,1004.95,72.58,431.33 25.51,67.69,1004.53,80.03,433.02 17.45,49.64,1026.4,66.67,454.67 24.4,60.37,1006.77,82.43,440.64 18.98,38.52,1018.85,63.16,454.6 9.48,44.68,1023.29,92.9,478.66 12.04,41.58,1018.02,88.91,464.45 26.11,47.43,1009.01,56.09,445.36 25.28,71.94,1006.73,86.69,432.26 27.46,61.86,1012.39,66.09,439.72 12.42,40.24,1016.59,90.01,469.59 32.49,74.99,1002.19,34.58,435.43 26.16,52.36,1013.62,58.52,453.08 23.39,61.87,1010.35,48.91,444.03 21.12,49.15,1021.29,52.9,456.92 19.94,65.46,1017.7,68.94,448.67 26.15,63.21,1012.31,76.44,441.23 13.93,38.91,1013.04,73.51,470.39 12.87,45.51,1015.3,86.67,475.77 28.29,68.08,1010.77,53.92,430.93 7.78,39.18,1024.62,85.15,484.65 21.11,58.12,1015.38,77.78,453.28 23.97,64.05,1012.23,90.18,447.44 25.71,66.05,1018.58,66.23,444.35 24.7,50.23,1016.23,62.03,454.42 10.32,38.91,1012.11,81.49,479.17 11.46,39.82,1012.09,86.2,477.99 10.53,41.26,1007.48,98.74,475.96 21.91,58.62,1015.95,72.87,450.23 25.35,65.18,1012.67,70.36,438.17 22.77,59.92,1009.67,94.09,437.9 22.28,59.92,1009.36,95.38,437.85 18.94,47.83,1005.18,78.59,455.19 6.92,41.26,1011.16,96.2,483.61 23.07,65.46,1014.07,46.77,446.19 13.89,43.7,1015.12,64.99,470.88 14.13,53.82,1016.72,64.85,467.08 7.4,40.72,1022.56,87.67,484.29 6.17,36.25,1028.68,90.59,483.77 10.8,41.62,1012.84,93.84,462.84 32.77,72.86,1003.6,52.87,433.84 29.56,70.4,1006.49,82.95,432.85 31.05,62.7,1009.35,55.27,441.67 8.85,41.06,1020.99,86.05,486.4 31.15,69.59,1007.82,64.96,431.37 28.18,66.56,1005.69,65.67,426.79 10.24,41.17,1019.73,82.04,479.78 28.38,72.39,998.93,73.85,432.02 15.46,44.88,1017.52,93.32,461.2 19.97,59.14,1016.05,70.58,450.06 28.36,68.08,1013.34,42.82,434.54 15.09,44.34,1019.46,60.49,468.8 10.72,40.81,1016.51,80.26,474.64 16.37,52.9,1015.14,73.11,461.15 24.66,57.43,1013.17,71.82,445.41 26.44,54.2,1012.65,48.02,444.78 6.3,41.14,1027.45,86.11,481.49 23.56,49.16,1002.54,69.07,443.02 8.73,39.42,1025.63,69.87,474.44 14.49,42.86,1013.94,88.2,468.4 20.26,50.32,1009.81,93.12,448.4 13.56,40.8,1024.8,63.6,475.89 29.01,70.04,1010.02,57.35,430.26 19.78,54.42,1011.74,89.34,456.84 19.24,56.89,1014.29,72.97,452.64 8.36,40.71,1026.34,82.76,487.79 27.08,66.05,1017.91,59.1,441.16 9.3,43.14,1010.99,88.12,477.02 6.29,43.65,1020.68,70.14,485.8 21.33,60.1,1010.97,78.36,451.95 14.55,40.73,1018.36,89.12,458.82 24.54,44.89,1010.05,59.13,445.11 24.28,71.98,1006.34,90.45,432.47 23.45,69.04,1010.5,80.77,442.48 5.62,40.62,1015.81,85.34,483.13 20.82,57.76,1019.15,72.46,454.62 6.06,43.65,1014.36,83.94,480.74 21.24,44.3,1014.34,83.39,444 18.32,66.86,1012.02,70,454.46 9.44,40,1015.62,81.16,471.32 17.36,43.96,1013.02,79.59,466.36 26.95,70.79,1004.09,75.35,430.07 21,66.86,1013.06,59.7,451.89 29.36,78.05,1011.12,64.17,434.29 14.84,41.23,995.02,88,464.85 27.21,67.45,1013.83,43.26,436.47 25.44,75.23,1010.71,66.44,436.67 30.84,66.75,1017.54,40.69,432.03 20.55,65.46,1013.87,58.09,448.83 12.27,49.83,1007.75,92.02,467.1 24.49,65.59,1011.52,85.12,441.8 26.65,74.16,1008.27,94.54,431.47 21.46,58.18,1007.45,95.33,444.12 27.24,71.25,1000.5,86.28,430.94 19.86,41.67,1012.31,53.9,462.86 34.48,74.34,1000.91,42.61,433.94 25.16,60.23,1011.21,68.31,444.98 18.93,59.39,1013.92,68.78,450.14 10.55,41.26,1007.77,99.1,473.6 21.86,63.09,1016.64,87.94,442.79 25.57,62.96,1019.92,58.34,444.81 13.73,50.59,1020.44,85.54,459.6 14.26,44.47,1028.11,66.81,465.22 31.28,69.51,1010.09,36.85,429.29 27.08,66.05,1017.33,54.68,439.47 11.87,44.6,1018.81,84.68,468.47 31.92,68.3,1015.58,41.55,430.07 25.42,75.6,1017.39,77.63,438.24 26.08,48.6,1003.61,57.8,438.61 16.88,43.67,1011.43,73.98,463.81 27.75,69.89,1015.41,73.01,430.33 27.37,71.06,1008.4,87.52,432.14 22.74,58.41,1013.92,84.03,447.85 27.17,73.5,1010.36,73.29,435.22 18.99,56.65,1020.46,77.16,457.55 27.19,71.32,1008.97,88.43,437.92 27.46,67.69,1004.7,70.15,432.64 16.66,41.16,1007.37,76.82,463.39 26.39,66.05,1018.24,61.27,442.22 14.31,42.86,1031.14,69.6,465.36 12.1,41.58,1014.41,90.22,462.28 11.56,39.28,1011.27,82.05,477.71 10.34,41.74,1020.07,79.17,480.84 20.76,59.21,1017.94,80.84,447.67 12.09,38.25,1013.61,81.28,469.29 7.68,38.06,1020.92,83.87,483.8 22.78,58.96,1013.65,57.06,452.03 15.42,40.56,1021.23,59.37,469.33 21.08,46.93,1014.49,63.33,453.87 7.25,41.14,1024.99,95.85,477.45 28.25,66.54,1011.02,43.77,439.67 29.82,43.21,1011.52,63.54,433.31 14.55,41.7,1018.58,80.8,454.14 21.88,69.71,1010.28,97.64,444.39 31.07,70.98,1007.24,72.03,432.96 23.08,64.44,1014.85,69.95,448.61 19.95,57.25,1011.08,88.04,453.03 21.89,63.94,1019.55,55.09,447.74 30.11,70.8,1008.57,69.25,432.33 15.1,41.35,1003.84,97.89,466.14 16.59,43.56,1012.88,59.61,465.03 14.71,44,1024.98,85.08,462.87 18.15,41.23,993.82,61.21,456.32 12.24,34.03,1018.44,69.27,474.18 7.71,38.06,1021,83.47,482.78 28.15,72.99,1007.62,70.03,431.83 25.11,56.89,1013.33,67.31,441.51 26.82,69.23,1013.28,50.86,436.36 20.58,54.5,1015.04,89.83,467.76 25.04,66.48,1004.12,63.01,433.83 29.56,51.43,1005.87,59.22,437.93 18.92,44.06,1017.47,68.75,453.72 14.72,41.23,997.91,82.69,467.11 22.76,57.5,1014.75,74.38,451.7 25.74,63.73,1010.88,70.87,441.9 10.34,37.5,1010.35,95.56,474.08 14.64,44.92,1025.54,91.12,462.64 9.41,34.69,1027.02,78.91,480.87 4.96,45.87,1007.32,98.78,481.88 32.73,69.88,1007.86,46.95,434.32 9.11,36.66,1026.47,74.79,480.74 21.52,46.21,1010.62,67.62,449.08 19.39,51.43,1011.06,94.35,456.25 26.99,68.12,1011.45,58.48,436.95 30.68,71.8,1010.81,61.4,435.4 31.23,75.08,1004.93,46.19,439.14 14.24,39.99,1009.3,83.75,466.2 9.31,43.56,1015.09,79.96,482.55 16.1,36.71,1013.58,74.41,471.46 21.33,50.32,1008.58,85.3,442.44 17.4,43.14,1018.51,75.31,457.59 10.59,25.36,1009.59,100.16,470.96 29.42,74.9,1004.11,64.53,434.66 18.48,50.16,1011.45,99.92,452.06 26.91,70.47,1007.55,72.59,434.24 9.59,38.91,1011.87,81.3,479.96 25.01,68.63,1013.76,43.65,447.12 22.71,59.43,1005.68,83.52,441.24 26.55,60.23,1009.88,79.54,438.95 13.78,42.03,1017.51,84.94,467.6 28.32,71.64,1004.73,72.71,436.31 23.49,73.18,1012.4,90.05,437.01 22.76,49.21,1014.35,48.85,448.73 24.96,60.84,1018.13,59.51,442.36 20.31,45.87,1007.89,73.7,449.54 14.57,44.84,1023.46,87.2,464.58 27.17,61.02,1011.38,65.32,437.06 18.96,47.83,1006.15,75.61,454.35 29.23,68.14,1004.31,81.46,428.87 16.49,41.93,1022.92,44.98,467.48 20.08,44.6,1014.91,36.27,461.07 31.41,64.44,1013.84,49.49,439.3 12.12,40,1018.72,84.42,462.1 25.32,54.5,1015.5,68.17,451.52 20.21,69.94,1009.33,83.96,447.06 10.67,45,1022.99,85.91,481.83 22.44,58.16,1017.28,63.68,452.71 17.81,45,1022.32,43.84,471 20.85,48.7,1007.11,87.2,449.57 18.34,62.1,1020.52,78.6,453.01 29.6,71.14,1011.46,52.69,430.55 9.68,38.16,1015.54,79.67,475.51 28.69,73.18,1012.23,68.57,431.36 24.47,57.85,1013.05,66.34,445.37 19.6,48.14,1013.18,68.71,456.57 17.57,62.1,1019.51,86.14,453.3 26.21,56.85,1011.45,41.37,439.55 8.68,41.82,1032.83,73.62,478.61 24.94,62.96,1019.76,58.44,443.48 20.58,50.78,1008.87,91.18,445.03 17.79,40.12,1012.74,79.03,459.13 22.71,48.06,1012.82,67.81,445.1 25.53,59.57,1010.65,82.04,445.59 26.7,49.02,1007.68,67.97,438.92 27.43,63.87,1017.6,43.33,442.71 30.26,71.77,1006.24,58.98,429.27 29.08,67.07,1005.73,57.18,435.57 22.64,62.44,1011.82,75.07,448.13 23.75,68.51,1013.21,76.01,441.61 15.6,43.71,1024.88,80.37,463.34 28.55,66.51,1015.46,34.04,432.59 29.86,59.57,1011.24,64.02,439.44 15.63,37.87,1020.4,74.77,465.28 7.79,42.03,1017.74,91.48,477.26 30.06,69.14,1007.5,72.48,436.89 10.12,38.38,1018.22,85.93,477.73 10.86,44.85,1014.15,88.36,476.87 26.37,70.79,1005.31,77.3,428.5 23.05,65.94,1010.99,69.73,442.39 25.89,48.41,1008.59,65.38,442.12 22.77,69.84,1005.75,84.26,436.75 21.5,44.58,1016.87,57.58,460.2 11.01,40.22,1011.13,83.09,476.69 13.53,42.86,1014,90.63,471.73 25.91,75.6,1018.23,62.65,443.2 13.93,42.86,1032.37,71.11,468.88 9.96,41.55,1002.59,65.86,475.91 18.25,60.1,1009.72,90.15,456.25 22.59,66.54,1005.11,92.62,436.69 24.99,48.92,1010.03,41.26,443.12 23.78,58.86,1015.7,62.95,443.79 10.31,42.49,1009.43,78.36,479.64 15.25,52.9,1014.86,76.87,463.93 22.49,61.27,1019.6,57.1,448.51 14.04,44.21,1021.93,86.12,468.64 20.65,48.41,1008.38,91.02,447.35 24.79,75.6,1017.07,68.23,440.05 19.7,54.42,1011.83,89.86,450.48 15.48,41.66,1009.55,66.74,467.06 11.09,41.58,1020.99,91.09,464.81 27.22,69.04,1008.89,70.62,440.85 26.64,62.44,1011.81,72.46,438.67 15.21,35.4,1016.31,58.26,468.18 31.85,73.21,1000.98,72.2,435.94 12.54,41.62,1010.86,83.42,461.08 14.17,42.99,1007.38,78.88,470.68 11.48,41.14,1027.67,90.5,464.07 14.87,41.2,1016.27,70.51,467.01 29.5,72.86,1004.63,52.17,439.43 25.77,63.31,1012.76,65.98,439.98 25.99,71.32,1007.17,83.23,432.41 18.8,44.71,1016.56,31.29,459.85 21.23,61.5,1008.98,82.14,450.92 25.09,65.38,1009.99,54.28,453.58 23.54,70.32,1010.89,80.76,434.45 13.71,43.41,1015.45,69.26,466.06 12.6,40.35,1011.89,80.88,475.42 21.19,52.3,1008.24,79.19,447.06 25.21,51.43,1006.43,78.55,439.01 25.87,63.47,1011.54,65.45,445.87 29.48,73.21,1000.67,79.35,433.53 11.62,41.54,1019.94,66.43,477.75 14.57,25.88,1008.92,69.16,464.11 9.73,41.01,1021.76,97.71,469.11 24.25,50.78,1008.82,60.55,443.8 19.44,60.07,1014.8,69.06,452.89 13.32,44.2,1020.02,78.78,465.57 30.57,69.82,1009.86,52.94,437.62 26.88,79.74,1006.54,93.7,434.77 13.93,40.24,1017.88,88.35,469.25 28.56,65.27,1013.28,49.95,437.45 27.26,66.56,1007.83,60.95,434.88 12.68,41.16,1020.09,83.32,464.93 17.03,58.49,1011.91,92.16,460.48 16.66,36.71,1013.68,70.66,466.07 14.07,42.86,1032.16,71.53,467.47 12.41,45.87,1004.78,80.02,468.14 6.06,41.17,1019.67,84.7,489.62 7.79,41.16,1023.17,97.11,471.82 26.8,72.58,1009.22,89.03,431.18 14.68,58.2,1018.5,83.3,458.51 27.3,56.85,1011.66,36.09,440.01 8.99,36.3,1027.08,73.98,478.95 21.39,51.3,1013.39,89.05,452.7 27.37,76.2,1006.03,67.07,435.64 25.02,50.78,1008.79,63.06,444.7 6.8,41.16,1023.17,95.4,477.8 11.01,40.05,1015.46,89.22,474.2 27.91,64.79,1017.7,48.29,440.53 16.52,42.24,1017.51,67.65,469.13 29.23,69.59,1009,71.41,437.95 25.91,68.08,1010.92,74.25,432.07 15.55,40.66,1016.21,88.5,457.53 32.67,67.83,1007.81,42.16,425.75 11.1,40.92,1021.98,94.14,462.07 21.89,45.38,1014.42,68.95,459.45 32.48,69.75,1009.05,40.47,438.17 9.99,43.52,1022.95,99.67,473.64 18.87,62.96,1020.55,82.87,455.22 20.77,52.05,1012.22,45.61,455.02 6.61,38.68,1017.5,63.88,483.88 31.53,70.94,1007.11,50.04,431.84 12.93,43.13,1014.91,55.7,474.88 12.38,43.52,1022.98,100,467.55 32.2,69.68,1012.12,42.47,437.35 7.65,40.67,1020.14,72.37,491.1 15.51,36.71,1014.05,72.92,465.85 13.26,41.74,1021.89,63.32,473.44 21.16,78.11,1006.73,78.11,435.71 21.61,64.63,1020.86,69.73,451.02 13.95,41.49,1019.95,86.46,465.24 27.97,68.31,1010.64,55.91,443.34 26.63,64.44,1012.66,61.19,442 24.2,63.21,1012.25,79.86,449.03 8.23,43.79,1016.11,82.11,484.67 21.06,62.91,1011.92,75.52,455.22 16.02,44.9,1009.3,82.62,455.48 23.15,66.48,1003.71,76,435.62 24.44,69.13,1011.1,87.62,434.34 26.19,49.3,1003.69,65.88,440.13 20.09,63.94,1020.82,74.16,449.47 26.71,70.4,1007.59,82.63,432.64 10.63,37.5,1008.93,98.14,474.81 26.14,71.98,1005.98,82.45,428.91 25.9,59.54,1007.3,78.38,439.36 15.93,52.75,1024.57,58.71,457.92 13.09,43.02,1013.17,46.73,470.14 21.47,60.77,1018.06,85.73,444.02 13.57,42.99,1007.51,88.95,472.04 22.32,64.27,1014.35,82.98,446.62 22.08,41.54,1014.21,73.73,458.74 32.13,74.34,1003.34,56.39,436.3 18.32,42.28,1007.86,45.62,460.27 10.18,35.76,1019.71,66.7,473.31 23.07,69.23,1011.78,76.06,437.08 15.16,50.88,1013.88,100.11,460.03 12.24,41.2,1012.48,89.85,473.22 31.04,68.31,1010.54,42.74,441.56 32.34,74.99,1002.77,42.83,433.07 13.97,45.01,1017.44,89.15,461.96 26.24,51.43,1011.32,59.52,447.91 13.82,41.62,1011.48,77.66,454.88 9.55,39.66,1018.8,74.88,480.74 16.9,54.3,1017.97,60.57,460.57 24.47,58.05,1011.27,71.7,446.93 11.6,40.69,1015.51,86.55,474.99 21.47,65.61,1015.92,76.22,447.42 4.15,39.9,1007.62,95.69,489.8 26.45,71.37,1008,77.06,438.36 33.6,77.17,1009.01,47.53,430.32 16.2,38.73,1002.14,75.03,467.89 23.73,63.94,1010.7,87.1,441.78 27.45,66.25,1009.3,77.58,437.37 33.42,68.51,1011.91,45.83,427.66 28.91,70.72,1009.7,67.5,439.94 26.51,67.25,1017.85,64.17,435.52 5.66,40,1022.08,93.03,475.54 17.99,50.59,1015.9,77.28,462.2 10.77,41.46,1021.42,87.18,479.22 10.03,41.79,1020.35,66.42,475.42 8.69,40.81,1026.19,86.25,484.55 17.67,43.96,1011.68,82.13,466.31 9.98,41.01,1017.83,98.07,466.05 31.87,70.94,1006.94,50.78,429.41 15.74,43.34,1013.38,81.45,463.24 22.49,62.96,1020.21,78.99,447.48 32.21,70.94,1006.76,47.56,430.06 25.4,69.59,1008.58,82.22,432.58 10.87,42.02,1002.08,95.22,472.63 23.55,51.95,1006,76.46,449.54 27.29,67.32,1013.92,33.41,437.26 19.36,68.61,1010.85,94.87,454.5 10.2,41.01,1021.39,96.64,468.27 11.03,44.78,1013.16,83.85,470.17 8.97,44.03,1013.16,80.39,474.61 8.48,36.18,1013.31,75.15,480.63 26.56,56.57,1013.73,63.9,442.74 30.65,71.06,1008.61,76.76,432.08 6.44,39.33,1011.8,93.5,490.57 21.6,43.43,1010.28,61.87,446.4 19.46,42.04,1011.3,60.45,466.24 12.19,40.05,1014.65,85.1,472.68 23.92,63.21,1012.52,86.51,445.26 27.11,66.49,1013.71,39.28,435.79 23.73,61.02,1009.71,78.7,442.22 28.36,60.23,1010.05,53.03,441.08 24.38,60.84,1017.85,62.23,440.85 23.07,57.17,1009.84,76.8,444.08 15.07,50.88,1014.33,100.12,464.37 29.58,66.51,1015.57,32.95,435.47 25.39,70.36,1006.76,73.62,436.5 14.79,47.83,1007.27,92.04,463.22 10.61,40.77,1022.09,83.62,471.26 19.12,44.85,1014.66,43.66,463.71 20.23,69.45,1013,89.79,445.82 29.03,43.21,1011.83,65.23,434.11 15.72,43.02,1011.98,45.74,466.33 20.72,68.61,1011.25,87.1,447.89 17.54,58.49,1012.35,91.56,453.02 27.71,72.99,1007.18,72.68,433.01 6.4,41.17,1019.54,85.37,488.82 24.49,65.06,1014.07,63.32,441.4 15.98,44.68,1018.48,85.94,462.77 28.85,71.32,1009.09,76.9,435.13 21.23,57.32,1010.99,75.17,443.87 27.78,73.56,1007.05,95.32,436.5 25.27,69.89,1015.21,79.33,436.33 30.46,66.75,1017.81,54.48,432.45 26.13,47.93,1002.81,66.19,441.28 25.95,59.14,1016.42,67.03,438.46 13.66,40.55,1005.46,96.02,467.7 17.79,45.01,1015.71,67.13,454.4 20.1,59.87,1018.97,87.23,444.71 23.21,62.44,1011.78,76.66,442.47 29.23,66.51,1011.11,53.12,439.61 20.16,60.1,1011.24,86.23,453.36 24.21,71.77,1004.52,84.96,433.42 26.13,57.32,1012.27,45.78,441.6 19.07,49.69,1007.22,76.79,453.09 9.68,41.06,1022.75,87.44,476.67 16.18,43.99,1021.97,80.96,460.81 11.57,39.72,1002.26,78.69,474.72 23.24,68.31,1009.71,80.8,440.78 5.02,40.64,1021.2,93.27,485.28 22.27,50.05,1007.1,89.34,442.24 34.51,73.03,1013.73,39.42,439.8 2.71,39.42,1026.66,81.11,489.3 12.93,36.71,1013.22,83.44,472.42 28.75,57.55,1004.77,57.55,435.33 10.03,42.02,998.6,99.9,471.07 13.33,39.39,1013.93,84.74,471.23 23.29,49.3,1003.88,74.12,442.11 9.43,41.4,1028.81,85.83,475.8 24.97,59.87,1018.7,59.94,443.7 8.95,38.56,1017.85,64.34,475.43 10.59,37.5,1013.14,81.56,471.38 29.33,64.84,1010.76,53.32,443.15 11.42,41.54,1020.21,71.57,477.5 27.66,69.75,1009.71,84.27,439.18 13.45,45.87,1008.73,87.06,464.88 27.76,65.59,1010.8,67.29,439.03 23.96,58.33,1013.37,59.97,446.01 13.04,45.09,1013,87.68,467.44 8.91,40.69,1015.11,89.65,481.59 24.22,49.82,1014.61,66.82,452.2 29.71,71.85,1008.81,70.86,428.49 21.96,69.94,1011.09,80.27,441.15 26.85,66.86,1006.78,69.4,438.26 22.91,68.63,1014.92,55.82,448.01 28.37,63.31,1013.18,49.02,437.64 9.04,40.11,1023.3,76.32,473.57 28.23,62.26,1010.88,60.86,435.76 28.84,74.9,1004.38,66.86,436.42 31.25,73.5,1010.81,45.2,432.25 13.04,40.69,1015.96,82.37,473.49 17.48,52.9,1020.03,76.47,458.34 26.78,73.06,1007.99,90.47,433.25 20.51,68.08,1012.73,78.05,445.96 19.8,67.71,1005.58,69.65,446.03 14.39,42.77,1017.36,83.28,463.65 26.35,59.87,1013.24,73.63,447.26 7.87,43.02,1014.67,83.58,485.61 27.56,65.59,1010.88,66.47,439.64 33.76,68.51,1011.33,38.35,429.83 23.74,62.96,1019.65,63.39,449.48 16.68,53.16,1014.32,78.02,456.29 13.58,39.28,1016.17,79.17,472.17 21.99,42.48,1011.77,74.04,456.65 23.68,59.27,1010.75,83.82,440.44 16.73,54.3,1017.96,59.44,460.54 11.12,44.92,1025.58,93.52,470.82 10.45,39.61,1020.23,73.39,477.41 6.38,40.07,1018.53,60.2,492.96 5.19,40.78,1025.24,95.07,482.46 14.66,47.83,1006.15,91.98,461.46 23.49,49.3,1003.35,77.96,442.76 24.31,65.34,1013.82,63.85,449.88 16.57,41.79,1005.82,72.25,452.84 14.43,44.84,1024.34,84,467.45 15.34,71.14,1019.79,77.56,457.1 9.75,52.72,1026.03,78.53,473.41 26.05,58.59,1012.32,49.83,452.41 10.5,40.8,1024.06,76.05,482.85 9.87,42.74,1024.61,87.74,470.9 24.31,65.94,1011.5,61.61,442.69 24.67,58.05,1011.31,69.95,444.57 24.18,66.48,1004,64.86,434.5 27.53,67.83,1009.4,53.73,429.05 15.21,52.75,1024.32,61.11,458.84 31.16,64.96,1001.71,44.85,425.82 20.15,65.59,1014.62,79.39,449.84 17.51,58.86,1016.78,83.63,453.2 25.56,60.32,1016.28,59.84,445.01 8.51,40.81,1015.54,83.16,481.02 8.96,40.05,1015.91,89.4,467.24 27.14,71.32,1007.8,87.99,431.96 29.23,75.6,1017.72,52.26,438.92 28.97,64.44,1014.55,54.67,438.08 5.21,41.31,1003.51,91.23,486.46 13.69,40.1,1014.38,83.57,470.76 18.34,45.64,1019.05,82.53,460.58 24.01,42.48,1011.39,55.1,453.12 25.54,69.13,1001.64,90.98,428.74 25.5,63.56,1013.85,64.69,442.28 29.07,72.51,1009.24,58.38,439.8 14.38,40.71,1023.46,66.12,473.41 25.89,66.49,1013.08,63.16,434.67 22.66,63.73,1013.24,83.95,444.41 17.29,52.72,1024.71,62.32,467.23 13.43,50.59,1020.38,86.3,469.33 13.94,44.84,1023.69,95.3,468.06 24.31,66.49,1011.38,54.35,440.79 28.45,52.84,1006.18,43.16,439.86 11.67,37.73,1021.2,68.88,473.54 26.09,49.3,1003.79,66.19,439.82 27.66,59.21,1013.12,51.58,438.57 8.01,40.46,1019.42,76.15,475.42 24.22,56.89,1013.81,70.02,440.79 14.77,58.2,1018.78,83.83,460.54 22.73,43.79,1015.61,42.66,460.2 8.95,43.13,1017.56,94.85,479.14 16.8,56.03,1020.65,85.26,461.96 21.8,51.3,1012.07,89.51,450.25 25.28,49.5,1013.95,52.79,454.01 23.19,67.07,1005.67,65.19,442.45 19.27,50.12,1007.61,100.11,447.63 25.87,44.57,1007.43,55.92,445.79 14.27,44.34,1018.95,71.44,470.98 15.66,41.7,1018,77,452.58 30.16,73.17,1010.74,58.99,434.43 13.42,40.35,1011.2,77,472.57 22.49,61.47,1009.14,90.23,437.01 27.2,59.74,1011.99,56.74,440.13 27.08,62.91,1011.9,62.58,442.91 23.5,50.78,1008.7,57.7,445.09 12.88,38.53,1010.95,87.16,466.92 30.05,69.34,1008.26,61.5,436.82 24.76,63.07,1012.73,70.39,443.04 21.51,65.48,1017.11,72.99,448.65 25.05,58.59,1013.37,66.14,442.93 30.81,71.97,1008.36,75,430.53 7.57,37.49,1009.73,83.07,481.98 25.23,58.82,1010.9,70.47,442.64 10.93,39.16,1016.54,90.56,479.83 25.08,58.49,1011.1,64.47,446.9 13.44,41.14,1026.41,77.26,461.44 16.05,41.96,1011.82,96.05,463.72 18.49,41.1,1001.9,59.99,460.76 20.85,56.89,1013.15,68.22,450.07 15.72,56.89,1013.35,85.06,456.33 12.93,38.73,1006.41,89.24,471.3 10.15,39.22,1020.09,68.75,474.87 26.12,68.94,1007.12,67.08,434.11 15.97,45.01,1016.58,83.24,456.91 25.6,71.73,1010.15,68.99,436.7 27.77,63.87,1017.97,38.77,444.06 15.63,40.56,1018.68,59.44,472.15 9.44,44.03,1009.59,86.27,473.61 30.63,53.3,1004.91,53.3,430.27 17.68,39.08,1002.77,74.24,454.18 23.16,57.76,1017.74,63.79,451.79 27.52,69.68,1011.67,56.94,444.83 7.97,39.04,1018.51,65.17,483.3 17.62,43.52,1021.01,71.52,457.45 25.8,44.57,1008,52.56,450.48 22.33,70.79,1006.02,93.35,436.74 28.94,68.67,1005.39,75.24,434.65 26.72,67.79,1010.35,63.31,444.68 27.58,66.48,1004.82,51.23,435.34 26.94,73.21,1002.83,91.25,431.19 17.74,49.78,1004.9,100.09,450.44 11.91,40.69,1014.41,83.71,476.71 7.46,39.81,1018.62,86.73,484.13 18.34,50.59,1018.42,83.95,457.17 25.18,69.23,1013.26,57.45,438.72 25.71,71.64,1008.85,77.31,438.16 24.48,66.25,1009.42,88.17,441.07 8.87,41.16,1023.17,94.13,472.45 23.51,70.04,1011.02,81.39,435.78 13.3,37.9,997.41,91.51,465.61 11.69,39.22,1017.05,55.51,472.76 25.06,78.92,1010.74,90.7,434.55 20.6,59.15,1013.32,91.07,443.76 25.79,59.43,1008.61,64.3,435.51 10.29,40.56,1017.28,69.13,481.7 26.06,58.59,1012.41,55.22,451.47 25.8,71.58,1010.08,85.14,435.2 31.14,67.32,1013.93,38.37,436.64 22.01,49.39,1019.6,75.8,451.84 26.05,65.38,1009.43,52.1,449.82 17.82,56.89,1014.24,77.73,453.83 20.76,69.05,1001.89,77.86,442.82 11.64,40.22,1010.58,80.84,477.52 16.33,42.44,1013.98,84.9,462.44 10.23,42.32,1017.53,89.93,473.59 23.35,47.01,1015.03,73.9,456.3 7.7,40.35,1011.72,92.88,484.57 22.06,59.39,1015.26,85.04,441.31 17.14,40.55,1000.05,71.41,461.21 27.75,66.51,1015.42,39,433.08 14.58,42.99,1007.55,93.56,468.43 10.86,37.5,1013.36,75.56,473.75 7.87,42.85,1012.18,94.21,480.54 30.96,64.44,1013.63,49.64,437.61 19.55,42.04,1009.99,67.87,466.4 20.26,51.19,1008.9,93.47,448.1 11.61,40.81,1025.68,72.08,473.08 21.92,64.63,1020.42,65.22,452.49 14.22,45.01,1014.17,70.14,464.06 29.77,69.98,1013.32,69.6,430.65 25.96,63.77,1013.24,65.43,445.26 27.78,77.17,1009.11,86.54,430.33 22.49,56.9,1007.65,63.34,449.64 30.34,75.08,1005.32,52.97,437.26 23.78,49.3,1003.3,76.56,439.83 9.06,40.02,1031.16,82.04,478.01 27.51,49.3,1003.74,61.27,437.09 30.76,59.57,1010.66,61.76,439.32 13.86,37.85,1011.4,89.7,469.94 30.98,67.48,1009.96,58.92,439.39 31.01,69.04,1009.14,52.81,442.07 16.58,45.87,1009.66,97.59,457.8 26.01,61.47,1009.54,75.01,435.78 32.42,65.74,1010.97,52.73,439.01 27.96,49.16,1004.8,35.64,442.49 22.73,63.73,1009.12,94.8,441.75 15.65,39.59,1012.8,87.63,461.94 18.22,49.25,1020.33,61.87,454.66 23.05,62.52,1016.5,65.65,449.98 22.95,70.98,1005.36,93.76,438.83 24.34,59.54,1004.01,87.07,440.63 17.44,44.88,1018.05,68.35,465.72 22.69,59.44,1012.97,83.47,446.43 21.31,50.78,1008.68,85.28,445.17 26.46,61.41,1012.41,56.58,448.83 26.06,65.34,1014.07,57.63,444.55 12.24,40.66,1017.4,96.22,464.7 3.95,35.47,1017.36,84.88,488.64 31.74,67.32,1013.69,36.59,436.17 27.01,43.21,1011.71,77.84,434.09 28.73,68.3,1016.53,55.73,434.15 24.34,50.16,1004.78,74,445.33 13,39.85,1012.57,61.56,477.71 18.62,65.48,1018.45,73.39,451.94 31.16,67.45,1014.69,32.25,428.35 21.75,60.27,1018.55,87.81,444.19 28.71,70.32,1011.78,76.53,435.95 23.7,70.04,1011.13,84.16,436.28 14.41,42.77,1019.84,82.54,465.89 23.83,64.15,1020.93,63.86,447.95 29.3,73.67,1005.64,65.31,431.07 23.38,48.78,1019.03,78.69,446.18 19.95,50.66,1013.21,81.98,458.72 9.68,40.22,1007.6,89.97,479.56 30.27,70.32,1007.93,51.61,430.22 25.82,66.49,1013.2,60.32,434.35 24.54,57.85,1013.02,65.61,444.93 19.82,46.63,1013.17,87.1,456.36 24.9,71.77,1006.24,85.25,427.77 18.83,58.46,1016.85,87.16,449.63 22.99,62.96,1019.6,65.05,449.4 14.28,37.2,1013.96,82.71,467.44 24.2,60.77,1016.92,71.65,439.13 22.91,61.86,1012.8,92.69,441.24 14.16,44.58,1020.75,77.42,473.22 21.46,50.59,1016.75,67.14,453.67 25.95,65.61,1014.36,52.54,443.88 10.36,43.67,1012.16,77.04,478.27 27,73.42,1012.2,87.28,432.79 8.14,39.96,1023.41,88.86,477.05 20.86,67.25,1017.45,81.45,444.5 25.82,57.19,1007.99,62.95,440.8 27.25,69.98,1008.55,59.55,431.44 10.11,42.49,1010.22,82.11,483.56 23.99,58.62,1016.91,66.36,449.4 21.55,44.58,1017.2,46.64,464.44 13.18,40.73,1017.62,94.4,465.96 9.26,44.68,1023.22,91.44,478.82 26.3,59.07,1007.84,78.32,441.94 10.18,43.5,1022.84,88.7,476.91 22.84,71.25,1001.9,96.45,433.85 20.36,60.1,1011.21,84.79,454.25 10.33,40,1021.35,90.84,479.32 20.46,66.05,1014.93,78.51,454.06 26,69.89,1015.12,73.06,433.5 13.16,40.71,1021.99,77.91,475.87 21.39,52.3,1009.52,88.67,447.77 14.82,44.2,1018.98,72.8,465.73 14.38,40.73,1017.48,90.64,462.98 9.27,38.56,1017.69,62.49,475.42 26.58,62.39,1006.36,68.98,438.66 13.85,48.06,1011.13,75.2,462.39 24.58,56.9,1007.08,68.24,437.16 20.57,60.1,1011.16,83.45,451.88 18.26,60.95,1016.94,78.91,457.03 20.45,48.41,1010.81,86.7,444.69 22.25,51.86,1013.08,83.64,451.04 19.82,57.85,1011.58,97.23,447.36 19.93,62.1,1019.94,76.41,450.57 28.97,73.5,1010.47,48.24,435.22 23.53,72.24,1010.84,94.33,436.69 4.47,35.19,1018.78,92.68,487.43 16.27,58.2,1018.47,80.03,453.66 22.32,69.48,1011.1,77.86,439.49 35.77,73.56,1006.36,36.31,430.14 14.42,48.92,1011.76,76.03,461.14 31.2,68.24,1005.71,34.84,428.67 29.16,55.68,1004.84,55.68,435.04 19.34,64.79,1018.03,84.77,454.59 25.31,65.48,1018.31,55.57,439.72 11.66,44.6,1018.39,89.98,471.3 17.16,58.86,1016.4,86.39,453.76 22.11,59.44,1012.82,84.67,448.15 23.35,59.92,1009.86,88.6,439.82 17.67,43.7,1015.26,58.76,465.06 24.11,68.3,1017.33,79.16,432.62 9.03,37.14,1012.79,76.27,478.95 20.2,50.9,1011.72,77.63,454.09 10.95,39.22,1015.69,62.3,474.07 6.92,39.61,1018.64,82.27,483.83 23.36,56.89,1014.23,78.34,440.51 16.63,39.16,1005.85,72.02,460.29 15.36,40.89,1007.59,86.08,464.12 9.15,39.61,1018.69,84.47,475.64 28.61,68.12,1011.71,47.57,432.94 12.45,40.1,1015.4,82.61,473.63 29.25,69.98,1010.74,57.42,430.45 25.24,63.47,1011.3,66.21,442.75 11.98,44.6,1018.59,86.71,470.02 12.62,34.03,1019.06,74.78,471.55 24.14,69.23,1012.4,73.26,433.92 24.3,69.23,1013.17,59.91,440.56 22.49,62.52,1016.57,63.69,451.87 28.77,75.23,1010.01,59,437.93 7.21,42.03,1017.81,90.12,482.26 24.13,48.98,1014.74,40.13,460.38 28.14,65.34,1014.44,46.17,443.11 28.04,69.14,1007.16,80.38,436.37 21.18,70.02,1010.27,96.46,442.51 6.84,39.4,1011.9,93.75,484.09 26.92,64.69,1006.66,76.14,437.62 33.83,67.9,1005.94,29.86,428.12 11.81,40.75,1016.13,84.14,477.22 10.28,41.46,1018.44,85.23,479.66 6.72,38.91,1016.89,90.47,485.89 10.02,38.18,1017.43,68.4,476.83 8.64,39.69,1001.57,98.27,473.55 20.45,58.96,1014.53,65.36,454.26 20.01,45.09,1014.21,38.19,453.96 31.61,69.04,1008.11,47.96,439.19 14.69,53.82,1016.54,63.49,463.52 26.89,49.16,1003.84,41.22,442.39 24.41,73.67,1007.39,86.92,435.56 16.36,53.82,1015.05,71.95,461.62 14.08,41.93,1023.02,59.41,475.15 17.32,44.34,1019.52,56.24,468.8 10.38,40.71,1025.27,80.87,481.3 11.6,40.27,1008.55,72.12,473.89 19.54,54.9,1017.15,70.37,455.86 17.5,42.23,1013.37,86.87,462.57 6.04,41.14,1027.8,86.4,480.39 7.28,39.81,1017.61,87.56,483 23.45,69.05,1003.03,66.41,440.24 16.75,36.99,1006.42,87.18,464.18 24.01,60.84,1018.83,63.82,436.32 26.67,70.94,1007.7,56.56,439.13 11.57,44.63,1020.7,91.11,469.64 27.33,66.17,1011.06,64.55,443.89 14.51,44.84,1023.23,82.33,465.09 18.1,48.06,1015.47,82.47,454.04 33.58,77.54,1010.19,53.49,433.75 30.04,64.44,1014.46,52.19,437.95 23.91,50.23,1017.25,68.57,455.41 15.27,39.54,1010.64,81.91,464.49 13.41,49.83,1008.83,87.14,466.38 29.95,67.25,1017.68,51.91,433.13 27,71.25,1002.66,70.59,437.22 24.56,58.82,1011.42,72.47,442.76 18.84,61.27,1019.64,71.95,454.47 22.7,61.41,1012.08,78.08,449.75 23.21,74.22,1009.68,88.46,440.46 14.54,41.17,1015.15,67.78,470.19 26.45,74.33,1013.81,61.7,433.16 1.81,39.42,1026.92,76.97,490.55 22.95,66.54,1004.53,88.06,434.41 8.88,36.3,1015.27,56.96,478.7 13.44,39.64,1013.23,73.43,474.79 8.83,36.25,1028.86,85.6,478.45 15.57,38.78,1013.51,95.38,463.47 16.69,43.52,1021.78,80.87,460.51 22.53,60.95,1015.12,75.1,449.43 18.55,52.84,1004.45,86.82,450.23 22.81,58.96,1013.5,55.66,452.89 30.13,71.98,1004.95,63.62,431 14.04,40.83,1008.98,82.04,469.75 12.14,48.04,1011.8,100.13,465.08 25.18,56.89,1012.26,64.46,442.42 7.82,41.16,1023.3,87.7,475.66 22.2,59.21,1017.87,73.34,445.29 26.42,59.39,1013.95,66.03,438.54 9.29,39.04,1022.72,74.29,482.55 29.31,68.67,1006.18,63.38,435.57 19.24,58.33,1013.65,85.47,449.26 27.22,66.49,1013.45,42.41,437.24 10.09,41.01,1019.89,96.55,471.15 30.47,68.24,1009.55,64.98,427.94 24.85,70.47,1006.64,85.37,434.47 17.75,55.5,1020.15,81.26,459.43 26.09,60.23,1010.74,60.88,445.88 12.21,44.34,1017.98,86.17,475.06 21.5,50.32,1008.65,81.68,442.71 9.18,42.44,1014.52,98.04,480.49 24.66,66.49,1010.83,70.06,438.01 18.56,67.71,1004.77,85.28,444.9 25.14,73.67,1006.94,88.51,430.89 12.08,49.83,1008.21,96.01,467.54 18.88,62.96,1020.62,82.01,456.18 26.59,60.96,1011.9,52.41,439.77 10.42,41.46,1021.04,89.16,479.24 13.03,39.35,1015.34,79.18,474.02 29.43,66.75,1017.63,42.72,434.6 27.86,61.5,1009.23,46.19,439.49 24.73,48.6,1004.03,63.37,439.99 20.74,58.12,1015.43,77.88,449.91 9.41,40.43,1025.68,79.49,492.88 19.33,58.96,1014.88,67.86,456.54 25.04,70.47,1006.82,84.75,433.1 19.35,43.43,1009.4,66.11,454.02 14.72,39,1016.42,76.42,464.93 26.88,74.78,1010.42,64.81,440.84 20.72,44.57,1008.96,72.57,449.76 9,39.18,1024.38,84.91,483.26 25.45,75.23,1011.41,73.33,441.65 13.23,52.72,1026.4,75.78,465.26 30.88,69.51,1011.48,46.58,433.14 23.32,66.48,1003.92,72.25,436.26 25.15,68.61,1011.03,53.59,447.91 19.67,60.77,1017.33,88.13,444.87 6.92,43.13,1018.26,89.23,486.36 14.74,43.71,1024.35,81.53,465.49 22.7,59.92,1011.05,90.84,436.7 13.85,41.39,1018.62,75.55,471.45 31.59,43.5,1005.12,43.5,429.96 17.27,40.55,1000.89,70.66,461.31 27.49,71.94,1006.62,73.35,435.29 26.71,70.72,1010.3,78.18,438.72 23.25,59.87,1018.69,66.4,444.23 30.13,68.94,1005.88,40.71,441.78 26.53,60.07,1016.55,54.79,438.54 12.02,43.69,1016.12,74.07,477.74 13.77,42.86,1030.72,77.3,471.38 26.97,67.32,1014.35,55.07,439.61 25.76,73.5,1011.44,81.36,437 14.43,35.85,1021.99,78.25,464.6 21.03,70.02,1010.21,95.69,444.53 24.45,70.02,1010.75,71.37,445.8 15.43,41.1,1005.2,85.06,467.21 17.48,46.21,1014.02,80.78,455.35 23.96,65.34,1015.52,56.82,449.23 25.77,71.37,1008.88,78.96,433.45 25.52,61.25,1012.84,75.98,435.48 14.52,40.35,1011.11,69.84,470.8 24.8,68.3,1018.01,80.41,436.17 30.8,73.17,1010.51,51.93,432.24 7.9,40,1018.74,79.55,474.5 10.25,41.46,1020.65,87.07,481.94 30.97,74.22,1007.93,49.74,431.58 10.7,44.77,1017.8,82.37,484.94 32.83,74.33,1011.44,50.42,427.36 11.35,40.66,1016.86,96.4,466.55 21.28,44.05,1005.69,83.2,444.56 12.9,44.63,1020.72,89.51,467.41 16.47,44.89,1010.04,82.01,459.69 31.18,77.95,1014.89,65.62,431.58 21.92,48.14,1013.44,67.8,449.65 9.46,36.66,1026.22,72.58,479.06 7.29,39.37,1019.24,73.46,478.19 24.05,61.87,1009.64,54.54,442.16 11.75,41.2,1012.7,89.86,475.35 28.82,71.8,1010.97,67.64,436.71 5.3,35.19,1019.33,93.86,484.42 14.17,41.67,1013.4,72.77,471.42 21.63,60.84,1018.16,77.53,445.93 12.62,40.92,1021.85,81.41,465.68 6.94,38.91,1018.94,90.64,485.12 24.73,65.34,1015.42,52.8,446.92 14.94,41.35,1004.82,98.04,466.73 16.88,38.58,1014.72,73.99,462.7 10.7,36.18,1018.16,63.15,475.08 25.21,50.23,1016,56.58,454.64 12.51,41.14,1027.36,87.86,463.79 30.7,74.22,1008.12,50.39,432.51 24.61,69.68,1012.06,92.47,438.51 22.4,58.12,1015.24,78.03,449.13 5.98,38.91,1016.5,91.83,488.85 20.06,62.1,1020.21,72.21,451.81 12.7,39.72,1017.89,62.97,467.77 11.42,40.43,1025.5,75.85,490.02 24.23,49.3,1003.61,74.44,440.65 29.91,70.02,1010.18,64.1,437.63 22.87,71.29,1008.1,73.1,442.27 23.79,58.59,1013.94,72.5,443.19 17.4,44.58,1018.9,60.58,468.01 27.21,64.05,1010.08,76.69,442.37 10.23,41.46,1018.89,83.06,479.48 26.54,69.48,1010.7,66.09,432.56 32.46,74.33,1012.61,37.07,427.87 21.31,42.8,1014.1,75.77,459.84 13.4,40.89,1010.67,91.66,472.36 31.87,68.67,1005.64,48.85,435.66 26.05,73.88,1005.67,82.08,439.96 24.4,69.94,1005.75,58.1,438.76 11.88,41.58,1016.56,90.18,465.47 11.3,40.55,1005.97,97.99,476.72 16.83,46.48,1007.21,87.23,455.64 19.72,46.21,1010.54,77.74,449.33 30.74,69.59,1008.69,68.04,437.81 6.9,40.71,1021.78,94.8,471.43 7.7,40.72,1022.81,81.97,482.79 19.18,65.06,1015.99,77.06,448.26 24.26,68.14,1005.09,59.49,438.79 5.66,40.62,1015.87,84.97,485.18 14.97,58.2,1019.52,81.13,458.68 14.96,39.31,1010.52,71.28,461.97 13.9,44,1025.1,87.17,466.24 22.97,42.48,1012.84,64.71,466.7 32.91,73.56,1007.02,55.03,434.03 26.56,65.59,1012.6,64.25,443.66 14.76,49.64,1026.31,75.67,461.16 12.5,41.38,1021.87,57.59,474.4 5.89,35.77,1019.78,79.58,479.86 25.11,58.79,1015.99,60.55,442.34 16.73,45,1023.44,60.68,467.08 6.93,41.14,1027.18,84.67,479.06 24.01,63.56,1014.19,64.31,444.1 10.33,40.62,1017.41,64.22,473.16 10.04,39.13,1011.26,88.91,474.61 7.73,37.8,1020.71,63.93,483.94 30.24,73.9,1006.74,56.39,441.31 10.35,39.82,1013.33,94.78,477.14 23.19,58.82,1009.96,81.05,446.44 24.55,67.07,1005.66,63.58,443.39 29.01,66.44,1011.21,71.56,430.61 12.04,42.34,1019.72,94.67,465.36 29.85,61.85,1005.45,61.85,436.46 22.19,60.37,1008.45,92.43,440.75 10.02,39.82,1012.86,89.47,482.47 28.09,63.31,1013.01,52.6,438.6 22.36,51.43,1007.47,87.33,442.53 30.7,69.59,1008.03,66.78,433.4 7.06,41.38,1021.94,83.55,487.71 14.07,45.09,1013.32,94.45,462.69 10.58,39.61,1020.39,71.69,477.18 20.59,59.8,1015.27,77.94,453.83 22.06,47.43,1009.85,76.85,453.5 31.61,75.08,1004.83,42.29,436.67 19.98,56.53,1020.22,73.53,454.89 11.02,40,1015.75,74.83,468.09 8.34,40.72,1023.62,83.75,483.14 14.69,35.71,1015.78,57.34,467.39 14.84,42.03,1017.47,79.27,466.2 7.67,35.77,1017.55,60.97,480.06 16.76,43.77,1012.25,77.95,457 18.21,49.69,1013.54,80.16,454.25 7.85,37.8,1020.9,59.19,478.68 17.81,37.2,1011.98,67.27,470.97 9.23,37.36,1015.01,67.38,481.08 30.2,71.85,1008.25,59.1,425.21 28.86,73.18,1012.46,68.8,427.01 26.05,46.21,1011.31,55.25,450.86 17.46,42.42,1008.97,69.19,469.63 25.65,43.77,1011.65,46.18,444.01 26.81,74.9,1003.99,79.88,435.56 10.3,41.79,1021.09,49.39,471.58 30.07,70.04,1010.84,55.74,426.35 16.25,58.86,1015.94,86.52,456.49 31.09,74.22,1007.56,46.36,430.3 9.06,41.92,1029.9,90.88,473.37 21.4,47.93,1005.16,88.44,445.2 7.68,42.85,1012.51,91.51,479.16 30.26,77.24,1008.39,74.25,430.51 15.93,40.89,1011.57,74.55,468.8 23.25,69.45,1013.85,70.14,437.18 10.59,41.46,1016.87,85.7,480.83 18.86,50.78,1008.46,91.67,446.7 27.97,69.48,1010.4,57.24,432.18 30.17,76.86,998.23,73.61,430.3 15.19,41.43,1011.34,89.67,470.41 13.88,39.39,1014.08,80.48,471.39 11.26,40.43,1025.68,74.67,489.66 25.36,74.99,1002.21,65.96,440.25 21.17,52.3,1009.67,88.88,444.5 30.62,66.54,1004.11,55.36,429.01 27.41,74.67,1016.57,80.16,429.21 11.82,41.74,1022.36,74.06,476.21 32.41,67.83,1008.54,55.96,426.85 12.59,39.18,1024.18,67.57,471.32 27.81,64.69,1006.59,71.75,437.02 25.1,71.77,1004.34,82.8,429.7 15.29,25.88,1009.21,66,464.25 16.37,39.99,1007.05,80.61,464.69 27.63,70.17,1000.42,85.22,432.46 21.11,74.78,1009.71,84.35,442.68 30.66,66.25,1007.67,63.03,439.55 14.57,37.86,1022.44,68.82,463.58 10.92,40.92,1021.84,83.03,467.05 16.23,43.72,1009.96,83.01,457.9 26.85,71.73,1010.06,65.24,429.97 33.5,70.8,1008.99,57.24,433.19 17.85,53.16,1013.05,82.72,456.49 7.54,37.7,1014.58,78.43,481.56 23.39,64.63,1020.45,58.22,449.27 18.03,53.16,1013.02,81.95,456.55 10.95,43.8,1022.61,63.46,473.2 18,52.08,1003.07,100.09,450.85 17.46,39.54,1008.21,74.24,462.52 11.88,40.64,1020.5,85.43,470.06 10.11,39.72,1019.1,69.68,476.8 26.36,54.5,1015.35,66.87,451.81 16.41,41.48,1016.28,45.19,451.93 18.81,45.01,1015.28,65.91,457.85 26.44,69.34,1009.55,73.18,440.43 20.6,44.58,1017.67,48.36,466.2 29.32,63.77,1013.24,55.1,438.09 19.15,44.89,1009.6,74.52,451.09 21.09,67.07,1004.38,89.01,444.75 34.1,73.03,1014.01,41.26,437.65 20.02,58.66,1011.5,76.74,454.21 12.97,40.75,1016.05,79.67,476.28 28.31,64.79,1016.58,60.88,440.96 28.31,50.05,1005.75,50.17,436.75 19.29,67.71,1007.94,63.71,449.28 12.09,40.6,1013.85,85.72,474.35 31.12,68.94,1006.05,68.46,431.92 13.94,38.47,1015.03,53.9,466.54 27.59,59.21,1012.93,51.46,437.49 11.68,40.23,1018.49,83.43,475.47 13.8,44.34,1019.43,66.74,468.8 9.82,39.96,1024.72,97.69,471.96 26.92,78.92,1011.65,96.22,434.64 23.66,62.08,1022.42,64.13,447.06 12.34,43.22,1009.28,78.23,468.52 23.81,46.93,1013.19,54.82,449.58 20.54,61.27,1019.6,61.87,451.95 14.79,41.04,1025.32,75.81,456.97 18.28,44.2,1018.83,52.88,458.59 26.9,69.59,1008.9,85.08,434.1 21.83,63.87,1018.93,63.07,452.21 21.85,59.8,1016.89,75.28,454.26 7.95,40.72,1023.7,84.19,486.14 16.09,50.59,1015.69,84.41,463.64 13.72,54.3,1017.89,79.08,467.05 9.56,41.55,1002.67,70.27,481.24 16.24,41.93,1021.66,44.91,467.69 31.91,67.83,1008.76,53.22,425.28 7.73,39.04,1018.61,68.23,482.39 28.35,71.14,1010.65,60.38,429.21 19.6,60.95,1015.4,84.26,456.06 14.13,41.23,994.6,93.02,467.84 16.84,56.03,1020.25,70.37,437.14 14.76,43.79,1016.17,75.72,464.14 28.43,68.08,1011.32,58.19,433.05 23.71,50.23,1017.55,73.24,458.59 19.44,48.7,1008.66,94.71,444.9 22.78,71.77,1005.26,89.23,435.46 32.84,77.95,1014.68,45.8,431.97 18.06,56.65,1020.2,81.59,459.14 16.41,47.24,1015.75,88.78,457.94 10.05,41.58,1021.35,95.19,469.03 24.06,71.25,1002.39,92.18,438.85 8.63,39.96,1024.39,99.47,475.79 29.77,69.48,1009.8,52.6,432.69 9.2,40.77,1011.88,89.86,479.82 20.18,43.56,1013.14,39.16,462.8 16.26,38.58,1016.04,76.7,462.54 15,41.35,1006.6,86.95,467.71 4,39.9,1009.64,97.16,490.79 17.47,58.59,1014.03,97.13,449.41 4.78,42.85,1013.39,93.36,481.47 25.33,73.21,1002.19,97.24,433.43 7.03,41.74,1021.92,86.44,486.91 31.33,73.03,1014.18,49.28,438.49 6.76,37.49,1011.66,80.91,484.85 4.61,40.27,1012.32,77.28,492.85 23.21,73.42,1010.34,88.29,439.66 23.28,48.92,1010.23,41.55,449.27 5.95,37.8,1022.03,67.97,479.2 3.21,38.44,1017.11,84.86,492.93 28.5,73.77,1002.82,86.38,431.7 12.93,41.39,1018.5,80.28,472.57 21.04,69.48,1011.07,89.92,439.53 23.84,49.21,1013.35,45.4,446.54 18.79,49.15,1021.69,70.16,458.75 13.83,44.45,1021.5,68.75,462.6 32.78,71.22,1005.12,48.77,438.77 24.79,75.6,1017.07,68.23,440.05 5.49,40.81,1014.43,90.41,487.36 21.67,61.45,1010.84,92.19,443.82 12.02,41.92,1030.1,84.45,465.82 10.46,41.06,1021.41,82.34,481.47 16,40.66,1016.12,89.23,457.12 29.35,68.51,1007.63,70.67,430.22 20.92,70.02,1011.06,85.63,437.96 32.39,74.16,1008.53,61.09,431.17 11.57,41.38,1021.71,61.49,473.94 19.13,66.86,1012.95,71.24,453.31 30.57,73.03,1013.75,73.68,437.42 8.27,40.69,1020.13,86.1,484.97 18.43,57.76,1016.13,87.34,452.65 29.79,67.69,1006.86,55.93,428.71 24.7,58.82,1009.4,75.91,442.98 13.57,41.4,1021.27,72.55,464.23 28.28,61.86,1012.07,64.49,439.65 32.07,67.83,1007.91,41.61,429.31 19.1,43.79,1016.02,77.34,462.28 22.69,54.2,1012.92,65.55,444.26 27.44,59.74,1010.99,56.42,452 9.81,71.14,1019.43,87.93,469.64 26.05,65.27,1013.69,56.46,440.75 25.96,71.64,1003.84,86.83,432.93 13.79,45.08,1025.02,84.36,469.55 20.13,43.43,1009.75,66.16,453.47 13.99,45,1023.83,77.92,472.55 23,57.76,1017.64,56.86,451.39 20.37,60.08,1017.44,76.33,454.47 19.16,63.09,1017.71,91.15,449.51 10.8,41.74,1020.24,78.62,479.32 19.12,45.01,1014,59.95,453.24 14.46,44.78,1007.64,67.03,459.31 17.75,49.78,1004.49,100.09,452.02 33.15,68.51,1012.9,51.91,428.89 32.16,68.14,1004.86,37.77,429.64 32.66,73.68,1014.64,40.88,425.17 24.34,66.05,1019.26,74.58,440.67 31.93,72.58,1006.9,56.27,425.14 9.18,42.18,1017.4,87.3,475.57 28.57,62.26,1010.75,62.12,437.41 16.63,53.82,1015.18,66.09,458.29 17.25,43.14,1018.34,76.17,462.8 32.06,69.88,1006.88,63.53,432.47 19.72,66.51,1015.07,74.7,458.07 10.22,41.74,1022.65,83.58,479.01 21.78,68.28,1001,79.3,443.24 16.34,47.45,1009.41,92.96,448.59 10.29,41.74,1019.9,80.51,480.62 13.5,44.92,1023.87,87.17,468.85 13.88,39.16,1010.8,75.69,464.37 31.26,76.09,1006.66,63.91,430.36 13.55,40.1,1015.7,86.68,474.59 12.8,44.9,1007.58,66.6,466.95 26.96,72.86,1004.86,59.17,441.12 11.49,35.76,1019.08,60.04,472.45 12.27,41.17,1019.39,52.18,473.84 30.95,73.06,1008.86,74.86,431.77 13.7,44.47,1027.51,70.77,468.79 30.28,79.74,1006.96,70.21,433.45 8.61,37.49,1009.35,82.62,477.13 27.18,59.27,1012.57,64.18,439.69 19.8,52.9,1017.75,66.67,456.64 12.88,40.64,1020.76,92.58,474.58 14.19,39.52,1018.34,77.25,467.14 15.15,39.58,1011.94,73.63,466.78 28.8,73.4,1011.34,54.01,439.65 6.69,40.64,1020.54,92.83,483.01 26.43,58.41,1013.57,64.67,444.74 20.13,47.03,1012.59,83.03,459.15 14.24,39.52,1018.22,77.19,468.51 15.92,41.79,1006.24,79.42,458.68 30.74,73.67,1005.79,57.89,428.92 16.55,54.3,1017.95,60.84,460.59 16.39,41.96,1011.7,94.85,463.99 19.73,56.65,1020.7,69.49,457.46 14.62,43.99,1023.6,86.7,461.88 10.12,40,1021.33,95.29,476.03 26.1,44.57,1007.47,55.15,446.49 11.23,39.72,1018.46,60.62,475.04 27.24,69.13,1009.28,70.85,432.36 21.48,61.27,1019.29,61.43,450.88 27.52,66.25,1008.21,78.8,438.51 13.74,43.71,1025.45,86.62,465.24 18.65,52.08,1005.48,99.94,449.55 17.38,43.14,1011.09,61.9,459.02 15.25,41.17,1016,62.05,468.76 8.04,40.64,1020.64,89.26,477.78 26.59,66.49,1013.32,49.76,439.72 8.49,39.61,1021.05,87.74,483.94 25.15,57.32,1012.41,41.84,440.1 22.02,46.93,1014.32,55.92,451.92 23.23,63.31,1012.52,75.1,441.5 7.78,40.8,1026.7,85.61,488.54 12.93,39.58,1010.93,75.9,473.09 6.87,40.07,1017.91,57.64,491.4 30.35,71.32,1009.17,64.61,434.62 25.89,48.41,1008.49,68.58,440.92 8.11,41.92,1029.61,91.92,483.52 26.22,67.45,1013.7,44.04,440.17 12.64,41.49,1019.78,94,468.78 27.89,73.17,1009.85,64.22,432.83 21.11,58.66,1011.7,68.71,457.89 13.51,43.41,1015.94,75.22,463.86 25.07,77.95,1012.87,83,438.55 26.53,69.71,1009.88,76.26,446.17 16.13,43.48,1014.41,50.05,459.47 31.4,66.54,1003.55,57.73,425.91 22.65,57.85,1012.6,68.52,445.36 10.22,39.16,1015.71,96.2,478.45 22.72,65.61,1014.64,70.53,449.04 25.77,58.59,1012.51,55.84,449.65 13.6,39.82,1013.34,86.1,470.69 29.59,70.17,999.71,71,434.85 14.09,43.99,1021.02,94.39,468.09 13.67,40.71,1016.19,66.15,467.62 14.94,42.77,1018.9,73.95,462.67 14.77,41.39,1018.95,65.61,470.21 20.77,69.51,1012.96,62.89,442.82 12.75,42.86,1014.9,88.44,475.09 16.34,42.28,1008.08,52.8,463.29 14.24,41.16,1010.16,87,471 10.11,39.35,1015.19,90.74,479.83 23.38,59.07,1009.29,92.4,442.83 21.97,58.79,1010.93,86.7,448.8 17.66,62.1,1019.49,86.3,452.03 5.53,35.79,1011.19,94.01,484.64 23.48,73.67,1007.07,88.49,437.19 11.91,41.49,1019.69,96.39,470.07 10.17,40.46,1018.54,68.21,470.33 21.96,48.78,1019.56,85.05,451.58 23.63,73.5,1011.46,89.39,438.21 32.28,75.33,1002.14,62.49,433.42 30.08,67.25,1017.57,47.77,432.1 30.25,68.24,1006.58,31.9,432.05 29.8,64.69,1006.6,54.43,437.85 16.58,41.79,1006.24,72.95,452.95 16.98,53.16,1013.95,82.8,458.93 29.83,71.43,1011.93,55.8,439.34 6.13,40.81,1026.31,91.66,483.8 15.85,46.18,1013.14,97.8,462.88 13.27,40.27,1006.1,40.04,473.88 29.09,75.33,1001.61,71.06,433.29 18.96,50.16,1010.72,100.09,451.2 18.22,44.34,1019.35,56.78,469.27 19.07,44.63,1020.23,44.93,456.37 24.02,70.94,1008,79.55,441.57 24.35,70.04,1010.92,73.88,438.4 16.82,45,1022.05,37.28,468.22 23.79,50.16,1005.32,75.82,435.49 25.48,65.12,1016.12,53.66,447.85 23.56,51.86,1014.04,73.9,448.04 15.09,41.76,1022.4,76.22,463.27 18.77,49.39,1021.06,82.95,454.53 18.64,52.08,1004.24,99.9,451.3 9.77,44.68,1023.37,91.4,477.56 26.43,51.43,1006.3,71.48,441.01 4.95,42.07,1004.87,80.88,485.67 10.39,40.22,1004.95,91.65,476.49 18.9,56.03,1020.77,71.83,457.66 17.14,41.66,1010.97,57.66,463.38 28.28,68.67,1006.36,69.9,435.29 18.07,44.92,1024.72,69.15,457.53 28.06,68.24,1010.27,69.72,429.47 24.88,49.16,1006.04,64.54,445.18 31.46,66.54,1002.86,53.75,427.76 27.14,64.27,1012.71,54.4,441.68 22.05,48.14,1015.81,69.94,447.37 15.77,41.79,1007.96,80.69,455.87 18.18,67.71,1004.5,87.26,449.24 15.33,36.71,1013.99,73.89,468.36 25.98,60.95,1014.5,48.01,442.9 18.12,44.63,1001.26,89.72,453.55 23.84,63.47,1012.54,76.33,444.48 21.67,62.39,1007.98,92.96,445.85 23.86,66.54,1005.23,90.89,432.17 31.95,67.17,1007.11,61.58,432.6 17.96,47.83,1005,85.72,454.59 15,50.88,1014.04,100.12,459.37 21.97,58.95,1017.78,76.95,443.61 19.27,43.14,1013.17,39.85,463.14 30.21,69.4,1003.69,62.89,438.18 8.51,38.5,1013.33,64.28,482.39 8.51,39.96,1026.34,96.1,475.96 7.8,43.65,1018.92,60.77,479.78 15.6,41.7,1019.15,84.1,461.38 10.03,43.13,1014.85,70.09,482.16 22.38,71.85,1009.56,74.91,441.47 11.77,40.92,1021.85,81.55,467.31 29.84,74.87,1009.64,61.39,435.05 32.51,73.56,1007.06,59.6,435.23 14.47,41.76,1021.98,78.41,464 21.93,62.91,1013.45,74.62,449.17 31.85,69.04,1008.35,46.09,434.79 23.66,61.86,1013.33,83.09,444.27 18.83,63.91,1010.8,96.18,448.15 26.54,69.34,1009.5,87.18,435.51 17.51,41.85,1016.25,72.03,465.05 14.14,39.59,1010.84,96.02,465.23 30.68,71.25,999.98,68.99,433.47 23.24,51.95,1006.21,78.08,448.5 29.77,67.07,1005.82,48.38,433.89 14.04,40.56,1018.4,65.79,472.98 26.38,59.92,1009.99,71.91,444.85 5.28,42.07,1003.82,80.84,485.24 12.37,46.97,1013.95,90.76,464.4 13.86,35.71,1015.21,63.16,471.63 14.73,39.82,1012.67,80.82,470.41 30.12,69.68,1012.89,60.64,436.34 19.68,44.34,1019.49,49.5,468.27 8.27,35.77,1015.3,73.36,478.13 5.21,35.79,1011.5,95.08,484.03 31.13,67.45,1015.02,41.34,435.14 28.93,72.99,1007.23,64.41,434.45 17.05,44.88,1017.69,88.19,459.63 12.61,43.22,1013.41,78.94,466.85 4.93,35.19,1018.04,92.94,486.39 5.73,40.35,1012.24,91.84,490.5 24.57,72.24,1011.44,79.19,434.93 15.55,39.63,1004.98,89.82,466.83 23.43,71.97,1009.42,94.27,442.19 20.67,63.56,1013.27,79.39,450.7 5.95,35.57,1025.84,77.61,487.72 18.11,43.43,1008.65,73.3,451.38 11.02,39.96,1025.64,93.58,467.41 23.37,63.87,1016.67,60.44,446.42 23.22,69.04,1009.65,89.05,448.6 12.31,41.06,1021.19,74.38,475.76 15.34,41.23,996.87,86.56,465.16 28.69,67.25,1017.71,44.6,436.21 11.34,43.67,1011.54,87.95,472.77 6.02,41.38,1021.2,88.71,490.57 11.2,42.02,999.99,96.69,472.27 9.09,41.92,1029.36,91,478.98 29.47,65.51,1014.71,58.28,444.8 23.12,69.71,1008.98,84.41,442.21 10.29,41.46,1020.84,89.03,480.32 13.36,39.64,1010.3,93.26,471.89 18.38,55.28,1020.22,68.33,451.29 22.76,49.02,1007.5,88.56,442.84 28.19,62.6,1017.34,46.95,449.61 24.16,48.98,1015.19,42.55,459.27 29.75,73.5,1011.13,67.31,433.63 25.38,62.96,1019.98,56.88,444.83 21.98,59.39,1015.25,84.52,446.79 9.82,36.18,1019.18,65.8,475.21 27.5,65.34,1014.93,47.46,439.59 7.84,43.52,1022.23,96.51,483.79 23.49,47.45,1008.46,66.18,446.72 10.91,37.92,1008.66,66.53,473.72 12.95,41.23,993.74,96.35,469.05 7.92,41.66,1014.84,76.12,483.38 21.98,55.5,1017.89,57.9,457.29 9.39,41.79,1021.6,50.09,473.73 30.04,67.25,1017.57,38.14,434.83 14.56,39.39,1014.23,80.61,471.72 12.26,43.48,1016.41,72.95,467.83 18.87,60.07,1015.15,70.91,453.27 21.16,45.38,1014.65,73.06,458.63 27.65,67.07,1005.65,60.42,439.03 16.03,65.46,1013.96,87.56,455.17 14.45,44.84,1023.28,82.79,461 11.76,39.28,1016.9,91.06,478.07 13.83,43.22,1010.62,70.8,464.39 6.18,41.55,1001.58,98.79,484.87 14.82,40,1016.32,66.3,458.46 32.1,69.98,1013.31,55.84,431.09 15.11,45.01,1014.35,65.03,460.91 28.76,69.48,1008.62,55.86,430.14 5.54,45.87,1008.69,95.91,478.02 23.97,62.44,1013.64,88.5,442.46 19.77,54.42,1011.73,89.26,458.21 22.42,71.77,1005.5,90.62,435.06 25.57,66.54,1005.22,83.48,430.92 22.29,43.79,1015.68,41.75,461.23 19.55,39.39,1013.55,57.82,464.36 6.13,40.64,1020.69,94.57,481.13 25.21,46.21,1010.87,59.35,439.55 16.78,58.95,1017.74,96.24,450.02 17.55,45.87,1008.07,80.98,454.29 18.88,40.79,1004.98,92.65,459.06 20.32,49.16,1007.47,91.12,443.59 2.64,39.64,1011.02,85.24,481.29 22.88,69.45,1014.02,65.13,441.76 9.47,36.54,1007.93,77.65,475.48 31.98,64.05,1010.49,58.01,439.56 5.84,41.38,1020.34,82.41,489.4 25.23,60.84,1017.79,56.42,442.02 18.99,44.6,1014.7,40.11,463.48 28.16,73.21,1002.27,88.26,432.78 21.53,52.84,1005.06,88.22,444.04 23.13,72.24,1010.92,92.3,437.67 23.46,59.27,1010.6,79.79,445.57 28.62,59.14,1016.36,53.1,436.09 15.79,38.28,1014.4,74.84,465.64 23.19,45.61,1013.18,73.46,454.62 25.43,60.95,1014.62,51.39,444.65 31.52,76.2,1008.31,57.35,435.31 10.67,40.56,1022.39,77.92,482.36 6.25,39.64,1010.98,83.45,483.43 14.33,43.41,1015.43,55.4,462.94 27.62,68.27,1008.04,63.04,427.67 25.4,70.4,1006.8,94.78,439.04 9.83,41.17,1019.34,72.29,478.21 20.24,56.65,1020.72,62.9,455.49 28.42,73.5,1011.23,72.79,435.59 22.72,58.82,1012.54,77.72,448.67 24.59,72.24,1011.42,81.5,433.31 16.37,36.99,1006.37,90.11,463.76 8.52,41.55,1002.09,86.81,483.63 18.01,62.26,1011.89,89.29,451.14 27.02,72.58,1009.21,89.13,437.8 19.68,51.19,1008.64,94.88,452.04 10.38,43.02,1013.37,78.53,474.44 26.64,69.13,1010.6,79.23,430.41 8.09,43.02,1014.79,81.06,484.35 25.24,57.17,1010.44,74,442.77 21.8,65.94,1012.02,63.52,448.66 17.39,42.44,1013.72,73.79,461.55 16.84,39.63,1004.67,82.98,466.06 20.65,66.51,1014.94,71.83,456.49 15.56,41.1,1004.65,84.58,467.32 12.27,43.8,1023.21,57,468.55 5.6,38.91,1019.31,85.33,491.1 15.54,41.96,1011.78,97.46,467.1 22.83,58.62,1017.82,69.76,450.96 25.1,43.77,1010.9,49.68,444.99 20.91,58.2,1018.1,62.8,446.19 14.03,44.88,1019.6,57.63,465.51 20.71,46.63,1013.1,74.49,453.05 16.15,44.21,1020.76,85.41,462.02 5.15,35.19,1018.63,93.94,488.42 25.89,74.22,1007.43,81.55,433.73 6.24,35.77,1019.24,70.7,483.36 26.35,69.48,1008.45,70.47,435.23 10.94,39.04,1021.62,86.41,479.8 7.61,39.37,1015.84,83.73,483.74 28.56,69.51,1012.45,46.59,434.35 13,39.28,1016.7,81.94,473.6 8.82,34.69,1026.81,82.54,481.44 27.22,66.48,1004.59,52.66,436.06 15.08,42.77,1018.67,73.89,461.6 7.67,42.85,1012.02,93.35,478.94 11.83,44.6,1018.49,89.06,469.96 29.44,64.33,1011.4,61.78,442.32 30.36,74.87,1008.96,61.87,435.31 32.26,73.68,1014.75,60.9,426.48 28.86,73.4,1011.37,58.76,439.33 9.28,40.22,1009.23,88.43,480.73 10.52,41.78,1013.54,71.52,474.58 26.9,60.93,1007.1,67.32,435.87 24.86,44.05,1005.69,66.65,447.2 13.39,49.83,1007.14,90.88,466.04 27.98,71.98,1005.58,81,428.44 26.95,70.8,1009.73,82.95,436.8 3.2,41.31,997.67,98.84,489.86 13.45,42.44,1012.79,83.12,473.96 20.08,54.42,1011.79,89.35,457.14 30.07,70.98,1007.74,75.68,437.55 7.5,40.02,1031.39,82.53,476.01 33.59,79.05,1007.79,63.55,436.51 30.39,70.98,1007.55,72.76,435.48 21.64,44.05,1007.73,74.79,447.96 13.08,39.28,1012.41,77.98,474.13 13.39,44.58,1016.5,79.26,474.7 22.94,58.05,1012.27,80.12,433.77 28.07,64.09,1005.41,64.09,436.61 20.27,63.09,1016.6,90.7,446.75 11.83,43.14,1010.06,88.14,471.98 21.25,67.71,1006.9,55.76,444.98 24.35,60.27,1017.6,75.45,441.74 12.41,41.44,1015.46,76.9,472.06 28.61,68.12,1012.23,46.45,435.28 25.6,66.48,1006.16,69.34,435.12 13.11,42.99,1007.6,97,472.84 21.39,63.9,1013.44,70.95,449.38 12.41,37.92,1008.09,65.23,470.49 29.06,64.96,1000.88,62.07,430.24 18.38,62.1,1020.12,77.27,452.91 16.6,41.93,1022.01,48.98,467.51 31.18,74.34,1003.81,63.59,434.15 27.88,62.66,1009.51,56.44,441.32 26.18,68.08,1012.92,55.7,436.51 15.07,39.82,1012.78,84.46,471.31 21.47,50.12,1009.19,93.68,448.11 10.35,44.2,1018.46,88.6,478.36 20.3,44.9,1008.25,64.08,457.6 26.94,66.48,1005.46,60.62,440.12 25.72,47.45,1007.74,58.35,442.78 24.19,58.95,1017.78,58.78,441.91 20.71,49.69,1010.26,69.97,455.69 7.81,39.64,1011.42,86.68,482.22 27.11,48.6,1002.78,53.39,439.4 21.26,51.43,1009.96,80.66,455.45 29.12,73.06,1009.98,80.21,434.9 17.3,43.72,1009.64,77.86,456.55 15.02,42.07,1017.89,83.68,460.82 12.79,41.62,1010.52,81.83,466.91 19.89,51.43,1007.38,91.79,448.85 18.39,38.52,1019.66,66.93,453.89 22.8,69.23,1011.8,76.95,439.3 21.98,58.79,1010.72,86.85,448.84 20.01,68.63,1012.34,69.49,454.5 27.2,77.95,1009.48,78.53,433.39 14.07,42.99,1007.57,96.05,468.87 20.29,49.69,1008.94,69.91,454.74 28.22,76.2,1006.11,62.17,437.62 29.98,47.93,1002.46,42.73,438.79 18.55,43.69,1016.84,47.95,465.2 23.74,49.21,1012.78,42.5,447.67 19.13,42.18,1001.45,98.77,456.04 28.85,68.12,1012.05,46.31,436.15 22.76,58.96,1013.85,55.95,454.05 33.2,70.8,1008.75,59.41,430.71 30.85,70.94,1007.47,54.79,431.77 8.07,43.69,1017.05,87.34,485.18 24.78,66.49,1010.55,68.12,436.62 12.45,43.67,1013.61,91.34,474.27 32.8,68.67,1005.27,44.53,432.28 29.7,57.19,1008.41,55.07,436.29 5.4,39.4,1011.45,91.84,485.86 15.85,42.28,1007.4,82.12,467.3 9.16,41.03,1021.3,76.08,484.96 21.53,59.8,1016.46,74.72,454.99 18.16,39.99,1008.13,68.5,461.16 12.31,44.03,1007.78,94.42,468.13 23.77,64.15,1021.02,55.87,448.43 24.94,67.69,1008.86,68.97,439.08 22.53,70.98,1005.48,93.95,440.96 17.04,56.03,1020.38,68.69,462.48 10.48,40,1021.35,88.52,478.86 7.08,39.99,1010.55,91.44,482.83 29.95,73.42,1011.44,66.32,432.81 13.56,42.34,1017.95,93.83,462.6 8.16,39.72,1020.54,82.11,480.21 18.95,46.21,1013.47,81.22,457.58 33.45,73.88,1006.23,44.14,435.48 28.03,60.23,1010.23,66.04,438.88 25.19,63.94,1012.78,75.15,438.73 29.9,64.79,1016.9,48.24,441.41 24.13,45.61,1012.63,71.36,453.19 25.6,56.9,1006.35,81.58,437.82 19.83,51.43,1007.36,91.64,449.45 11.75,40.55,1018.09,97.7,472.43 6.28,41.06,1020.96,90.91,489.79 26.12,70.47,1009.93,72.13,434.67 7.92,36.08,1021.01,81.84,482.98 13.63,40.92,1021.89,80.5,462.4 23.84,68.94,1007.45,71.35,436.05 5.25,40.07,1019.48,67.7,495.23 13.91,44.58,1021.36,78.98,472.67 10.63,44.2,1018.63,90.26,477.19 22.48,67.45,1014.77,63.9,445.55 27.36,66.54,1011.31,45.3,436.69 27.99,66.91,1008.47,59.63,439.74 30.93,71.85,1008.63,58.47,427.82 20.37,44.58,1016.77,66.22,463.2 7.01,37.8,1021.47,62.84,483.95 16.98,63.09,1020.44,95.18,450.55 30.03,70.02,1010.07,64.2,436.88 6.34,40.64,1020.62,94.39,478.78 14.59,35.71,1015.19,54.13,469.32 10.72,41.17,1019.68,60.71,479.21 26.89,56.85,1012.27,43.84,436.44 11.84,39.28,1016.97,90.52,477.51 29.59,71.77,1006.33,62.35,426.62 12.02,39.69,1006.05,84.66,470.17 18.89,43.56,1012.79,38.63,463.91 18.18,50.16,1010.22,99.73,451.14 27.82,52.84,1006.23,52.18,440.31 20.77,51.3,1013.89,88.72,450.97 28.21,73.06,1008.26,86.29,430.46 15.86,43.67,1011.11,82.24,465.46 25.65,69.23,1012.55,62.02,435.25 31.18,70.36,1006.38,56.74,438.46 10.05,40.23,1019.71,90.41,475.48 30.33,70.36,1006.72,70.31,438.47 26.19,73.77,1001.31,91.87,433.34 28.09,70.02,1010.84,51.29,437.83 19.02,47.45,1007.44,76.76,453.08 15.49,40.89,1007.16,82.16,465.37 23.26,64.05,1012.96,88.31,442.75 15.99,43.34,1014.2,78.66,465.96 23.95,60.37,1004.96,79.48,440.9 30.91,70.32,1011.92,65.59,433.71 8.35,42.85,1010.46,90.13,483.63 7,38.5,1014.09,81.32,489.52 20.53,49.16,1007.11,90.02,444.69 25.04,65.48,1017.66,57.08,440.92 24.51,51.95,1005.57,63.53,449.73 21.23,68.08,1012.82,74.57,445.41 7.01,40.72,1024,86.37,489.64 16.78,41.35,1000.23,70.52,459.64 9.08,40.02,1031.2,75.34,476.69 30.78,69.14,1007.27,62.77,433.96 23.02,63.47,1012.21,80.61,443.66 25.56,74.67,1016.62,76.1,435.81 17.53,42.24,1016.9,60.95,470.63 21.12,62.96,1020.83,69.96,454.65 13.01,41.49,1019.82,92.86,466.5 7.47,40.07,1015.45,50.3,489.59 13.17,36.71,1012.82,72.76,474.93 15.25,43.02,1012.04,41.43,467.23 28.89,70.72,1009.36,70.33,433.02 27.19,62.91,1011.57,53.66,444.8 21.46,74.87,1009.23,86.58,445.5 32.16,76.2,1008.04,51.74,433.29 25.42,68.08,1011.2,76.58,433.82 22.83,59.43,1005.51,83.93,440.76 15.63,41.79,1006.7,78.28,455.24 30.83,77.3,1001.7,57.85,435.87 15.78,43.99,1022.19,83.7,461.07 25.46,56.89,1012.59,62.9,443.5 20.57,44.78,1008.89,38.78,465.69 10.02,42.44,1014.57,99.16,478.5 11.61,52.75,1020.94,77.56,464.68 23.14,51.19,1009.56,77.2,443.87 15.04,38.01,1022.46,78.29,468.12 10.27,52.75,1026.19,76.78,470.76 21.19,74.93,1015.75,80.84,443.29 12.69,40.71,1021.62,80.19,477.14 28.37,71.64,1007.39,71.06,434.91 19.12,58.79,1017.34,92.45,447.02 23.49,64.63,1020.75,65.16,450.28 19,58.95,1018.05,83.38,451.96 11.58,41.74,1020.41,74.09,478.06 15.2,39,1016.1,72.76,463.88 15.71,40.12,1012.81,97.46,462.6 23.27,65.48,1019.05,61.36,443.43 19.78,62.1,1019.72,78.36,450.43 14.1,39.16,1008.19,74.05,464.07 19.62,58.79,1017.59,87.39,446.29 13.9,39.59,1011.84,94.74,465 31.37,74.87,1009.22,56.58,436.16 26.86,71.32,1007.38,81.14,430.44 18.35,57.76,1019.64,77.94,458.41 30.29,59.22,1013.05,60.46,441.57 25.91,58.98,1010.02,75.31,442.65 15.98,42.99,1008.24,83.78,467.42 15.72,41.76,1023.07,66.95,462.19 22.81,71.85,1009.61,75.17,440.4 13.73,41.78,1011.75,49.65,464.94 5.33,39.33,1009.61,94.97,491.17 14.71,52.72,1024.7,70.29,462.34 24.26,42.8,1013.72,61.62,459.65 27.78,72.43,1006.72,74.53,429.62 16.5,53.29,1017.7,95.66,458.37 8.51,39.66,1015.16,86.61,483.54 18.6,58.71,1009.8,86.42,430.38 6.52,39.85,1012.55,86.36,483.01 14.76,40.71,1017.37,71.07,465.58 28.8,70.02,1010.76,49.61,435.45 11.53,41.39,1018.39,85.52,474.49 12.15,45.01,1018.89,90.02,468.07 9.61,44.03,1008.3,91.36,473.54 13.67,38.53,1009.3,81.85,470.39 25.88,71.73,1010.01,72.8,430.86 26.82,66.51,1016.32,55.76,439.48 28.11,69.84,1004.68,67.08,427.33 28.9,60.07,1015.96,45.06,440.62 26.97,71.58,1010.13,75.16,433.88 26.84,71.94,1006.6,79.12,427.2 25.28,67.69,1009.05,68.54,445.34 9.02,38.08,1019.02,69.98,478.32 12.89,36.71,1013.36,87.29,475.13 17.35,39.72,1003,64.62,459.83 26.86,71.14,1007.11,76.61,426.97 15.43,39.16,1016.44,79.8,470.74 29.72,68.24,1009.92,66.42,426.54 31.4,70.32,1011.62,65.01,433.42 21.6,59.8,1016.9,76.59,450.14 7.06,41.74,1021.95,90.38,448.97 18.9,62.96,1020.69,80.57,455.88 27.77,63.9,1013.62,51.43,441.3 13.2,40.83,1007.75,94.98,472.41 22.59,60.32,1016.84,78.58,447.17 28.5,64.84,1011.47,54.41,441.74 27.98,67.9,1006.3,73.53,436.08 27.64,75.6,1017.35,54.78,441.04 9.6,37.73,1021.87,77.75,481.03 10.61,43.79,1016.03,76.33,480.28 31.41,76.09,1007.68,70.49,430.81 28.53,66.51,1015.9,40.68,436.16 7.24,41.17,1020.35,80.56,486.76 7.32,41.26,1010.11,95.18,482.1 26.93,67.07,1005.65,60.26,437.76 9.76,40.71,1020.88,91.82,470.95 22.85,59.15,1014.74,63.92,448.61 13.24,40.83,1007.9,87.53,472.22 29.14,61.5,1009.64,39.95,437.76 22.18,62.91,1012.14,68.86,449.77 15.07,43.48,1015.22,57.74,459.96 25.43,72.39,1002.65,88.13,436.1 14.64,39.58,1011.46,71.9,467.8 14.43,41.76,1024.02,83.57,467.33 8.44,41.17,1019.9,70.72,486.15 32.33,69.89,1014.18,50.93,427.29 23.62,61.87,1010.07,48.77,447.93 25.83,70.47,1006.24,81.83,434.45 17.74,49.69,1006.09,80.7,457.05 23.54,67.83,1009.44,65.48,426.24 26.07,69.23,1013.32,54.03,436.94 27.38,77.24,1008.25,82.49,435.81 23.54,41.1,1002.05,38.05,448.56 28.73,50.05,1005.79,52.4,436.35 14.93,43.02,1012.11,45.56,468.19 34.76,68.94,1006.75,41.31,427.42 23.64,63.31,1014.5,61.83,440.7 29.84,58.9,1005.24,56.18,440.93 10.33,40.6,1015,88.62,478.3 25.74,59.07,1007.37,79.89,441.05 31.92,75.33,1002.13,65.73,431.32 13.97,39.16,1016.05,84.6,470.96 25.44,61.25,1012.57,87.65,441.77 12.88,44.71,1018.73,51.95,469.12 7.74,42.49,1009.07,90.11,481.69 11.8,43.99,1020.86,98.44,466.75 11.87,40.67,1011.43,62.92,479.18 18.41,42.04,1011.69,64.88,465.64 12.65,44.34,1014.74,92.81,473.46 7.05,43.65,1018.41,72.36,480.47 12.6,41.5,1013.07,86.22,472.45 30.69,71.98,1004.53,65.86,430.33 27.76,72.58,1009.04,84.96,429.25 16.31,52.75,1024.4,55.69,456.58 25.21,63.21,1012.24,85.14,441.04 29.53,77.54,1010.39,66.13,432.89 26.71,76.86,1002.86,74.5,437.31 15.94,41.76,1023.32,67.17,462.44 7.33,41.16,1023.17,92.43,466.16 14.31,40.78,1024.3,76.41,463.54 12.57,41.79,1014.99,87.8,461.88 30.61,69.13,1009.32,55.17,429.1 14.94,40,1017.69,65.43,456.41 14.65,44.84,1023.39,87.76,467.18 25.76,74.87,1010.18,65.15,443.7 24.4,71.14,1009.7,59.26,436.68 34.18,78.05,1010.71,66.77,432.1 23.02,67.25,1017.17,72,443.44 8.22,40.77,1009.11,95.61,480.38 7.16,38.56,1019.17,70.1,486.12 28.32,77.95,1014.61,77.17,436.97 15.5,44.34,1019.21,65.21,468.53 26.79,62.44,1011.51,72.46,440.55 13.62,42.34,1017.87,89.67,464.79 8.86,40.23,1017.57,90.47,478.05 7.14,44.71,1019.98,71.9,487.71 27.29,64.45,1013.46,45.35,446.94 24.06,58.98,1010.66,81.16,443.75 18.36,56.65,1020.29,82,456.49 13.83,40.78,1024.85,73.08,458.85 21.43,60.95,1015.27,75.49,449.12 19.08,58.59,1013.42,68.88,451.05 31.46,71.29,1008.57,41.79,430.8 24.54,66.49,1011.1,69.14,437.38 10.41,41.01,1020.12,94.27,472.82 10.49,42.49,1009.81,78.92,478.75 15.03,44.45,1020.94,65.57,460.06 8.53,40.02,1031.27,85.57,476.73 14.64,39.31,1008.84,79.3,462.72 24.31,58.62,1017.29,64.44,449.12 33.95,80.18,1010.3,56.69,432.22 10.39,40.22,1006.59,87.77,479.14 19.69,56.65,1020.77,62.83,456.29 21.45,45.09,1013.83,52.26,453.15 26.04,72.43,1006.82,84.88,432.94 24.39,71.85,1009.73,72.24,438.2 19.69,39.72,1001.49,60.34,456.55 15.37,43.67,1011.9,91.48,468.23 22.3,57.19,1006.4,75.28,445.1 18.64,43.79,1016.01,51.17,465.13 7.3,39.72,1020.85,77.83,485.1 28.59,68.08,1013.2,42.96,436.7 14.48,44.06,1018.73,75.88,467.46 10.16,41.55,1005.69,58.04,477.27 30.75,71.25,1000.07,65.47,431.93 12.54,44.03,1007.05,84.03,471.86 27.28,78.92,1011.05,75.48,434.78 23.54,65.27,1013.78,64.28,445.19 26.68,62.91,1012.33,60.78,441.04 9.88,40,1021.4,92.06,481.58 9.27,40.22,1008.1,89.24,481.23 26.38,65.12,1016.1,47.57,441.07 26.64,58.69,1007.99,75.68,439.32 23.63,58.62,1016.45,69.97,445.51 24.39,51.86,1014.92,59.98,447.7 23.09,63.76,1009.82,72.36,443.86 32.38,67.17,1006.97,60.04,438.67 27.44,58.9,1003.86,66.74,442.19 9.37,44.77,1020.61,87.31,474.41 30.96,71.77,1006.26,52.76,425.66 12.06,48.04,1010.01,100.13,465.63 20.1,58.95,1018.46,80.87,446.7 9.64,36.66,1027.1,70.11,479.08 28.02,71.77,1006.5,72.41,428.58 25.24,71.14,1008.73,79.39,435.09 24.96,60.27,1018.68,69.97,442.67 27.5,49.3,1004.02,59.23,439.77 20.83,44.78,1008.51,35.9,460.6 28.44,69.84,1003.25,68.24,426.69 21.89,58.05,1011.31,85.71,441.76 16.87,52.05,1012.7,71.63,460.31 23.48,51.43,1007.13,84.83,441.78 15.23,37.87,1020.17,85.02,464.02 23.57,66.75,1018.06,80.19,439.71 22.17,60.27,1018.21,89.55,443.31 30.97,69.13,1009.78,58.92,435.6 23.84,49.21,1013.6,47.63,447.03 23.55,61.87,1009.65,54.83,443.54 17.32,42.24,1017.35,62.96,472.33 21.61,41.54,1014.5,75.62,458.47 12.85,41.14,1027.04,86.29,464.86 22.39,58.18,1008.52,87.48,448.37 22.22,66.05,1016.15,80.58,442.95 24.67,70.94,1007.99,75.64,443.51 6.76,39.22,1013.91,77,487.08 13.35,39.18,1023.24,61.98,469.34 11.43,44.78,1013.43,82.45,471.09 13.18,37.91,1018.09,88.84,469.63 29.53,71.14,1011.39,53.41,431.97 25.07,56.85,1011.25,51.99,442.44 28.36,66.75,1017.71,52.6,433.88 32.67,77.95,1014.62,50.73,432.32 22.3,74.87,1009.69,86.18,442.78 16.85,49.78,1005.61,100.1,455.33 7,39.81,1017.47,87.65,484.51 12.74,41.5,1012.94,86.28,469.92 32.88,72.29,1008.5,62.74,431.74 17.46,53.29,1018.07,91.01,458.06 29.05,64.84,1011.1,51.39,442.58 11.32,36.18,1015.03,64.68,472.67 19.65,57.85,1011.73,93.89,450.5 22.69,64.45,1012.82,45.03,450.65 28.31,74.34,998.42,79.23,431.95 27.97,66.17,1010.81,63.73,441.7 21.45,69.94,1010.5,82.17,443.31 21.45,66.05,1014.81,73.73,453.38 20.51,45.38,1014.29,69.14,461.87 14.57,44.45,1021.42,66.23,462.48 22.21,48.14,1015.08,66.8,448.33 15.06,41.85,1016.78,88.23,466.72 24.84,59.22,1013.18,83.08,442.7 24.44,47.93,1003.13,67.04,440.53 27.05,59.15,1012.83,56.31,441.39 33.92,77.95,1010.15,58.89,433.01 15.42,39.82,1012.89,83.54,469.9 26.87,74.99,1002.48,71.91,437.78 8.69,41.04,1026.87,80.28,477.2 14.19,49.83,1006.52,90.72,462.86 18.23,45.01,1012.24,73.86,454.06 25.47,56.89,1013.02,63.21,440.38 12.62,40.83,1010.06,81.52,470.94 13.61,42.34,1017.57,91.35,465.65 23.91,67.69,1008.28,66.71,439.84 14.73,39.52,1017.01,74.21,470.45 21.62,50.05,1007.2,92.9,444.16 15.29,38.73,1000.9,81.17,468.62 23.66,72.43,1008,89.49,439.02 25.14,60.29,1017.91,53.3,444.5 22.56,48.92,1010.7,51.63,445.07 13.56,39.58,1011.05,73.62,473.16 28.74,71.14,1011.53,48.6,430.12 6.93,38.68,1017.61,61.28,482.37 13.52,39.3,1018.99,69.22,469.41 28.69,67.79,1011.01,66.4,439.87 7.9,43.79,1016.14,83.05,485.26 19.5,65.12,1015.53,73.87,453.99 22.27,48.98,1014.47,49.33,451.74 27.83,59.57,1011.22,71.05,443.85 25.34,64.27,1013.38,66.02,443.94 23.57,67.9,1006.08,70.12,446.72 29.73,73.06,1010.27,84.84,432.73 27.63,64.96,1006.3,75.38,434.22 17.28,39.99,1007.09,74.25,463.28 20.58,39.53,1005.68,62.09,460.1 24.6,49.3,1003.72,72.26,439.46 29.98,76.09,1007.62,75.6,432 12.19,41.17,1019.43,65.47,475.64 30.71,68.27,1007.76,68.04,428.27 24.92,63.94,1017.7,44.92,441.07 25.94,60.75,1007.22,64.76,439.46 23.92,71.98,1006.22,92.96,433.23 11.04,39.96,1025.75,94.44,468.84 22.1,65.94,1009.79,67.57,443.95 19.45,41.1,1001.88,52.16,458.26 24.56,63.21,1013.79,82.38,444.34 31.86,73.88,1005.6,57.68,435.91 22.49,45.61,1013.1,75.69,455.12 19.13,50.78,1008.51,87.54,447.03 20.55,68.63,1012.5,67.07,453.47 15.92,41.2,1016.04,73.37,468.91 18.4,43.69,1016.59,52.44,462.05 12.73,44.34,1015.11,93.55,472.94 7.68,39.96,1023.73,87.48,477.84 14.02,44.85,1016.54,75.73,469.53 30.94,64.44,1014.36,53.76,439.84 9.42,41.4,1030.38,87.8,472.99 11.12,41.54,1020.13,75.07,477.69 3.92,41.31,999.22,95.26,487.35 20.38,66.54,1013.95,77.8,448.93 25.6,73.67,1005.78,84.82,433.25 23.22,59.15,1014.58,75.18,443.7 25.14,60.37,1006.63,77.17,438.39 7.92,42.28,1008.55,81.68,484.75 24.77,69.71,1009.86,85.56,441.29 30.36,69.82,1010.02,54.22,439.05 21.81,65.06,1014.6,66.41,447.13 27.12,70.32,1009.94,52.67,429.08 8.97,39.66,1021.63,78.94,482.62 23.31,60.37,1005.17,82.75,438.52 20.8,69.45,1013.7,82.48,443.77 9.31,41.39,1018.3,93.68,480.25 27.5,59.54,1004.88,72.7,438.81 10.47,41.06,1022.24,81.16,477.47 13.86,50.59,1019.2,97.22,467.23 23.42,50.05,1006.79,86.45,441.8 15.56,41.1,1003.55,76.92,464.42 16.96,46.36,1019.91,89.11,460.57 18.68,62.1,1019.78,83.67,453.25 18.33,49.64,1025.36,62.57,468.14 13.78,40.1,1014.49,81.86,445.98 12.19,41.06,1021.35,74.98,474.63 15.56,41.04,1025.8,64.81,457.11 32.87,70.8,1009.54,59.85,433.1 25.76,57.32,1011.93,43.61,440.26 11.27,40.69,1014.35,86.63,476.27 26.69,70.36,1006.82,68.29,435.04 6.45,35.77,1018.86,67.84,483.12 23.86,74.93,1016.88,71.44,444.38 27.16,47.43,1009.17,45.79,442.85 33.97,72.29,1008.98,44.32,432.33 10.37,40.03,1017.47,90.47,477.91 25.15,71.14,1011.68,70.33,434.99 10.52,41.48,1018,68.99,469.8 28.88,66.56,1006.26,59.15,426.66 19.89,68.08,1012.65,80.25,448.71 19.31,43.56,1013.65,41.54,463.35 7.14,41.22,1016.6,97.09,435.58 28.18,71.14,1011.56,48.03,432.72 26.08,57.32,1012.2,47.06,441.32 29.01,64.79,1017.62,44.31,442.12 21.84,58.86,1014.13,69.67,445.16 16.82,49.15,1020.68,72.07,462.22 29.03,67.79,1010.86,54.03,445.03 14.78,41.17,1016.42,67.42,469.69 15.55,43.71,1024.34,79.61,465.14 30.22,70.32,1011.63,65.97,435.98 25.97,68.12,1013.11,61.97,437.11 19.21,53.16,1013.18,81.64,454.01 18.94,48.7,1007.82,92.88,453.36 22.2,44.05,1007.34,75.13,445.32 26.9,77.95,1017.47,75.58,434.18 16.58,46.18,1010.4,96.29,463.51 10.72,35.76,1019.71,62.26,473.48 13.64,34.03,1018.32,62.2,469.61 24.34,70.79,1006.82,85.66,433.83 30.9,73.68,1014.95,40.9,430.29 7.76,39.61,1021.63,80.67,488.32 9.08,36.18,1020.24,68.37,477.26 9.45,39.04,1023.08,75.81,483.66 28.71,51.43,1006.4,64.79,440.17 25.3,49.3,1003.67,69.08,436.62 24.47,48.6,1002.49,75.04,442.08 15.59,52.05,1013.67,78.55,456.07 29.72,77.95,1014.9,72.73,434.99 32.81,71.32,1007.69,47.29,434.38 29.2,70.79,1004.8,63.74,425.2 25.34,70.47,1006.46,83.94,433.34 10.37,37.83,1006.5,90.99,470.66 13.12,52.75,1023.69,67.5,462.7 14.8,44.21,1021.59,89.24,466.21 11.51,41.06,1021.3,78.11,476.91 14.4,41.26,1021.41,73.11,462.78 22.36,58.79,1016.69,73.6,445.76 20.61,44.63,1008.54,77.54,456.68 13.86,41.78,1010.75,57.9,467.39 12.27,39.82,1012.18,85.58,477.54 13.13,50.59,1020.26,87.44,470.03 25.1,60.37,1005.83,72.53,438.44 8.47,42.02,1005.37,92.73,477.67 21.18,60.1,1011.02,78.19,452.39 11.02,43.02,1012.32,66.54,478.81 28.69,58.33,1013.67,34.1,448.54 18.85,41.1,1001.95,61.75,462.4 29.83,62.66,1007.98,47.07,438.71 27.63,71.98,1005.45,82.88,426 17.7,49.21,1015.16,67.91,455.97 22.69,48.14,1013.7,62.05,448.52 10.56,39.13,1010.19,87.12,463.14 14.86,44.85,1016.19,67.43,468.87 27.24,44.89,1009.61,51.89,442.84 22.74,61.87,1009.66,55.03,444.59 25.31,61.5,1009.31,63.31,437.03 29.13,68.3,1014.96,37.08,437.25 8.42,43.14,1011.62,80.32,483.49 30.76,73.17,1009.89,50.43,430.98 28.46,49.16,1004.61,38.1,438.02 18.15,41.67,1012.75,52.69,464.44 28.71,71.64,1005.21,71.11,432.05 9.65,44.68,1022.9,98.08,476.71 7.28,38.56,1018.96,67.98,485.57 16.26,44.89,1010.48,86.57,456.86 25.86,60.32,1015.91,53.37,446.58 11.6,39.96,1011.65,80.79,473.22 21.43,63.47,1011.95,94.47,448.17 28,74.22,1008.68,66,433.94 28.83,72.43,1006.69,67.04,428.85 12.42,43.14,1015.88,79.48,471.1 33.37,71.37,1003.75,45.26,432.67 7.41,40.81,1026.15,88.96,488.48 14.54,42.77,1019.61,81.82,466.37 26.63,61.47,1008.18,69,444.16 29.87,69.13,1001.08,72.75,426.47 14.97,42.28,1007.31,79.25,466.62 34.62,69.05,1000.68,38.35,425.41 32.11,78.05,1010.36,58.78,431.31 4.69,39.42,1024.58,79.35,486.34 17.1,48.98,1016.48,85.63,454.43 13.77,42.86,1012.86,88.83,471.94 21.75,59.8,1016.65,72.94,453.17 24.98,58.05,1011.69,69.97,447.15 26.48,73.06,1008.07,90.73,433.31 13.78,40,1018.38,68.67,458.74 5.54,41.38,1020.47,82.91,490.07 22.07,69.94,1011.18,80.86,440.09 30.45,43.21,1011.35,63.59,438.68 21.79,61.45,1011.11,91.78,446.99 15.81,54.3,1017.8,68.45,461.63 6.86,38.08,1019.62,77.37,486.92 10.23,43.72,1011.18,97.93,471.61 22.09,65.59,1015.54,72.44,447.28 28.37,75.6,1017.48,55.19,439.25 10.07,40.92,1021.43,97.15,467.01 26.02,59.57,1011.16,76.93,446.5 25.96,60.95,1014.52,50.03,444.19 11.3,25.36,1008.66,96.18,471.19 15.12,41.04,1025.95,69.67,460.58 15.08,37.85,1009.85,85.9,465.58 32.95,67.9,1005.88,45.15,425.89 23.8,48.6,1002.43,67.32,440.89 6.86,41.38,1021.35,90.78,487.49 17.3,58.59,1015.52,87.17,454.88 26.85,75.6,1017.43,74.55,433.48 26.82,60.96,1012.25,57.41,449.81 7.87,41.17,1020.33,77.77,486.2 15.58,40.66,1016.34,87.42,460.61 24.39,60.84,1018.5,61.73,442.72 11.93,41.38,1021.76,57.63,473.88 6.67,36.08,1022.31,83.51,486.52 29.45,68.84,1011.64,59.7,438.41 22.26,60.77,1018.26,85.94,442.58 25.64,47.01,1014.81,62.29,454.48 22.46,58.33,1013.21,68.68,445.9 24.12,51.43,1006.55,83.77,441.49 31.85,68.3,1014.76,47.06,428.72 25.63,58.86,1014.86,52.75,443.84 17.09,42.42,1009.03,72.01,464.11 26.22,69.89,1015.46,76.63,433.61 8.26,39.42,1025.89,70.53,474.72 23.2,73.17,1012,89.92,438.64 20.92,63.86,1020.49,72.98,449.09 6.67,39.37,1019.99,75.61,486.84 29.6,71.94,1007.07,62.65,429.02 23.27,67.9,1006.17,71.01,447.25 28.43,63.31,1013.44,49.99,432.62 13.84,42.18,1015.74,79.76,468.66 11.42,40.35,1011.55,82.71,478.7 23.66,69.51,1012.9,52.59,435.39 26.09,70.4,1007.41,85.37,432.52 18.5,47.03,1013.97,93.6,460.08 16.28,42.99,1007.5,77.27,464.13 8.61,41.04,1024.81,95.6,473.62 26.11,62.44,1010.68,72.59,438.87 5,40.64,1021.05,94.84,485.27 22.95,63.94,1013.91,81.52,438.33 15.92,39.16,1006.59,71.32,460.45 23.07,65.27,1013.24,58.38,443.42 26.42,59.54,1007.02,76.28,438.5 11.64,38.25,1013.33,85.79,472.34 17.11,49.78,1007.25,100.09,453.22 7.17,41.92,1031.97,83.86,485.08 27.52,66.48,1004.99,52.54,429.67 8.25,43.14,1011.3,87.1,479.95 24.49,59.87,1018.4,59.95,444.54 28.19,71.97,1008.85,84.67,438.8 17.76,40.55,1002.82,73.77,461.8 20.9,67.71,1007.16,59.02,446.57 22.31,61.45,1009.25,98.56,437.05 8.88,41.54,1019.05,80.77,484.99 20.01,52.9,1018.05,58.88,455.57 23.36,59.15,1013.71,86.64,442.53 25.54,61.08,1013.14,71.15,447.06 24.5,58.66,1011.54,57.92,451.03 12.68,43.7,1016.07,86.89,471.8 11.52,39.18,1023.43,83.29,474.35 28.08,64.44,1013.02,64.34,440.26 28.66,74.93,1014.04,51.26,440.79 30.02,69.04,1009.68,56.01,440.49 9.53,40.62,1015.57,75.49,469.9 18.58,63.78,1016.24,78.74,453.96 8.91,40.11,1022.87,78.39,475.43 26.44,59.15,1013.35,60.71,439.65 23.86,73.5,1011.34,87.32,438.62 30.02,73.5,1010.52,44.91,429.84 12.17,49.83,1008.05,96.44,469.52 25.58,61.08,1013.37,71.27,446.32 12.73,40.27,1005.68,68.77,475.61 10.74,44.85,1014.25,71.61,476.83 15.25,46.36,1019.69,95.83,461.68 27.35,77.95,1012.14,74.14,431.72 30.28,67.22,1014.39,53.32,447.67 24.88,51.43,1011.28,67.38,441.03 33.74,69.98,1012.51,43.3,425.35 32.57,65.74,1011.03,46.27,440.56 27.54,68.27,1008.12,56.42,433 16.09,44.71,1017.86,42.74,464.95 23.86,52.84,1006.56,48.94,444.66 27.78,70.8,1009.81,79.57,431.44 24.11,68.63,1014.34,45.28,448.45 6.39,35.57,1025.53,77.23,487.69 14.16,39.28,1015.63,77.29,471.27 13.43,43.56,1013.02,66.36,472.94 20.11,42.04,1010.79,60.31,464.13 7.32,39.42,1026.15,76.51,476.12 13.71,45.08,1023.35,82.93,468.43 21.49,68.28,1004.68,80.64,438 15.25,39.58,1012.1,73.05,466.21 19.81,56.65,1020.62,67.99,457.72 25.71,71.73,1009.72,75.29,434.16 9,36.3,1027.11,75.89,480.31 28.85,57.19,1008.2,58.4,436.8 14.66,40.73,1017.45,88.57,459.23 21.94,57.5,1014.64,78.52,451.1 26.48,66.54,1011.61,51.9,438.87 24.08,49.3,1003.23,70.42,443.46 25.95,63.47,1011.77,66.22,445.5 19.76,62.1,1020.07,73.55,450.44 5.07,40.07,1019.32,66.17,494.87 5.62,41.38,1020.91,86.21,490.83 6.8,37.8,1021.09,70.02,485.96 24.77,57.17,1010.66,73,441.12 18.59,44.63,1003.99,86.22,459.65 11.17,44.77,1018.2,79.6,470.85 25.87,47.01,1014.67,61.87,452.32 15.46,37.64,1014.57,87.53,462.96 22.63,58.41,1013.69,90.32,445.43 29.59,74.78,1009.45,55.75,436.77 22.25,60.84,1018.07,73.67,443.99 31.53,74.99,1003.93,58.29,432.34 17.95,49.21,1012.05,59.44,455.1 29.45,64.96,1005.52,59.92,433.04 31.31,64.44,1014.24,51.08,438.14 8.41,40.67,1019.97,69.2,489.25 22.85,60.08,1018.05,67.12,452.5 16.02,39.54,1007.73,72.81,466.15 15.12,43.79,1016.37,75.62,470.11 14.47,48.79,1017.05,69.87,466.25 12.1,41.17,1013.72,75.61,478.1 15.38,43.99,1022.42,83.41,462.48 22.16,65.48,1017.22,70.51,446 26.31,72.39,1001.16,88.43,434.53 15.14,39.72,1002.96,72.52,460.15 26.49,61.86,1012.55,74.24,440.21 23.06,56.85,1012.5,64.03,440.03 16.21,50.9,1012.46,84.45,462.68 8.76,41.82,1033.29,76.5,480.08 11.92,40.55,1016.91,100.07,472.45 28.64,73.4,1011.48,52.84,441.32 17.95,59.15,1012.73,84.27,449.14 33.82,73.03,1013.49,42.17,439.3 5.82,40.78,1024.82,96.01,470.02 20.41,48.06,1012.62,76.21,451.26 31.23,72.58,1006.61,60.8,427.58 6.58,40.07,1014.22,55.44,493.72 13.1,41.48,1009,87.41,460.34 20.13,40.33,1005.31,85.42,460.09 29.12,74.87,1009.85,62.51,435.51 19.57,68.61,1011.13,96.4,448.73 25.38,72.24,1010.76,89.64,432.3 12.56,41.4,1019.23,74.26,472.54 28.25,57.19,1007.99,67.9,436.99 27.24,77.17,1009.37,81.51,439.12 16.41,44.92,1024.27,84.16,462.12 26.1,63.56,1013.12,61,442.75 17.37,41.23,998.79,68.44,461.08 31.81,66.44,1011.21,53.55,426.84 13.83,45.08,1024.2,80.52,465.5 28.43,73.18,1012.52,71.05,427.11 12.07,38.25,1012.67,81.66,470.36 14.73,58.2,1019.45,82.48,458.56 16.65,56.89,1013.52,87.44,452.52 22.56,60.29,1018.19,67.53,447.15 23.76,61.5,1009.15,68.52,441.16 14.72,38.91,1015.17,61.75,468.87 22.63,58.49,1010.94,72.7,448.38 21.82,58.66,1011.71,64.37,452.16 20.88,47.45,1007.5,76.21,449.34 18.4,43.96,1012.4,77.81,464.63 23.29,65.61,1014.81,70.27,447.67 26.65,74.67,1015.73,77.32,435.9 24.62,72.43,1007.97,84.36,436.89 27.94,69.84,1003.11,70.47,428.67 27.96,68.51,1007.26,63.21,432.07 25.52,71.73,1009.91,79.55,434.67 9.28,41.38,1021.96,72.22,486.18 20.5,51.19,1009,91.79,445.35 24.38,47.01,1015.17,68.96,454.85 25.69,59.54,1004.05,81.69,439.06 13.86,44.21,1022.6,83.56,468.3 31.44,64.44,1014.04,49.15,437.6 26.88,69.51,1012.76,45.03,436.3 27.83,69.04,1009.69,63.79,443.24 29.66,59.22,1013.25,61.2,441.58 11.49,41.54,1020.17,70.91,476.74 5.62,41.31,1001.37,89.16,485.6 31,71.77,1006.29,48.56,431.07 28.18,71.85,1008.78,82.88,427.83 5.76,40.07,1013.22,62.99,494.67 14.73,36.99,1007.32,90.84,468.23 24.91,57.17,1010.88,72.97,446.01 25.12,77.95,1009.26,82.95,433.4 21.42,56.89,1014.39,84.05,444.86 26.06,54.5,1015.52,67.12,451.67 21.14,58.98,1009.05,94.36,448.31 6.91,39.37,1019.58,71.02,488.2 13.97,53.82,1016.81,62.32,465.24 14.64,42.77,1017.59,79.6,464.27 31.58,66.54,1003.26,54,429.73 10.27,41.44,1017.04,77.09,479.3 7.94,43.65,1018.75,59.45,479.8 9.32,36.3,1027.67,73.25,479.52 11.87,41.58,1017.29,90.3,464.77 22.58,43.79,1015.66,44.18,460.3 19.2,59.21,1017.84,89.56,450.86 30.18,68.24,1009.31,64.06,427.38 26.27,71.98,1005.72,86.15,427.65 19.39,43.14,1012.75,44.21,464.55 12.81,44.34,1015.55,90.37,474.03 30.93,69.98,1013.33,62.1,432.25 20.03,57.19,1007.31,81.69,446.46 27.34,71.29,1008.32,56.51,434.94 17.7,48.98,1015.79,83.18,454.41 20.61,65.61,1014.91,83.82,449.72 13.82,40.2,1013.19,90.11,466.99 31.77,76.09,1007.4,73.36,431.69 26.55,69.45,1013.88,55.39,435.64 20.42,62.96,1020.34,84,452.08 20.76,59.04,1012.51,85.39,448.92 26.08,76.86,1003.3,79.49,436.85 22.86,66.48,1003.77,71.22,435.56 30.33,70.32,1007.75,52.49,430.1 27.22,67.9,1005.73,57.29,441.22 25.22,69.88,1007.17,80.26,443.24 15.3,38.62,1017.19,70.63,462.65 24.01,50.16,1004.22,75.32,443.03 8.01,40.62,1015.62,86.43,476.22 19.31,44.71,1016.13,30.59,463 22.07,70.72,1010.52,82.96,442.88 27.31,68.14,1005.73,50.74,437.83 19.89,50.78,1008.85,92.97,446.35 14.07,46.18,1017.77,87.83,465.05 12.07,40.81,1025.63,68.02,475.96 31.19,69.68,1012.6,52.06,440.97 26.7,62.26,1011,71.64,435.03 21.94,58.79,1010.3,88.21,447.52 12.19,40.23,1017.76,81.44,474.92 13.03,41.26,1022.17,79.79,466.02 28.55,74.33,1011.77,73.34,426.48 15.73,38.73,1002.48,76.91,466.63 16.22,41.35,1000.96,79.59,462.21 27.44,47.93,1002.71,59.44,437.76 25.51,64.27,1013.28,61.85,444.76 19.14,56.65,1020.84,82.97,458.06 16.5,44.2,1018.94,63.59,458.3 13.78,45.51,1015.56,69.92,468.17 13.29,71.14,1019.63,75.09,464.18 27.06,77.17,1008.71,90.6,432.2 13.67,44.92,1023.6,85.35,467.71 14.7,44.9,1021.87,83.9,468.69 11.48,37.5,1014.38,69.75,472.9 16.95,58.86,1015.96,87.8,453.2 22.3,50.78,1008.85,81.27,449.86 27.37,70.72,1009.77,67.87,441.9 18.61,44.06,1016.91,75.01,452.68 27.98,74.87,1010.02,66.44,435.32 9.39,39.66,1019.22,75.33,482.16 22.19,48.78,1017.84,76.01,446.51 25.48,60.29,1017.55,51.22,443.77 27.51,71.32,1007.59,80.02,433.16 11.37,39.16,1016.54,87.05,480.54 8.68,43.14,1011.94,79.06,480.73 25.3,59.43,1009.15,58.3,442.5 12.82,48.14,1017.47,81.45,467.48 20.31,49.69,1011.57,69.03,455.37 23,49.5,1014.15,66.68,454.44 14.24,45.01,1013.54,88.68,461.64 20.17,50.66,1014.38,82.09,454.79 7.69,38.06,1020.72,83.47,483.54 30.36,69.04,1009.6,58.73,436.72 29.12,66.51,1015.69,37.9,432.88 27.01,67.98,1006.01,67.98,434.65 24.24,72.43,1008.02,86.4,436.6 22.49,58.71,1009.75,76.43,443.33 23.76,70.32,1012.13,78.84,434.64 18.09,43.72,1008.64,74.15,453.02 15.96,41.66,1011.93,55.47,466.39 25.54,61.08,1013.77,69.64,448.57 22.96,70.79,1005.68,93.93,434.47 14.76,39.64,1010.37,81.99,465.82 16.16,52.05,1013.19,75.37,463.09 22.36,59.44,1013.1,84.74,446.75 25.79,65.27,1013.26,55.35,440.04 18.78,63.09,1019.22,80.2,452.86 6.49,36.3,1016.52,69.1,483.43 19.4,49.69,1012.89,75.53,455.6 6.16,38.5,1012.83,93.68,490.92 15.31,41.35,1005.09,95.25,466.5 5.74,40.62,1016.31,84.91,481.15 30.31,77.24,1008.02,67.84,435.28 24.54,72.24,1011.43,74.1,435.08 22.97,72.24,1011.15,95.85,437.41 22.45,59.87,1018.92,72.73,445.34 13.9,41.17,1016.84,72.9,468.96 17.78,52.08,1006.9,100.09,453.31 9.59,40.11,1026.05,74.27,470.71 11.91,44.45,1021.39,84.49,466.52 31.26,70.36,1006.49,60.47,438.15 23.82,64.15,1020.96,60.11,447.37 25.02,69.75,1010.04,91.86,437.87 25.47,70.36,1005.79,77.73,437.02 27.13,59.54,1004.33,73.27,438.32 24.6,48.78,1018.1,73.71,442.23 24.95,76.16,1006.2,76.16,437.47 7.55,41.04,1027.03,83.32,476.58 34.24,74.67,1016.24,25.56,425.58 19.94,44.9,1008.52,74.69,459.47 27.14,63.13,1013.38,75.68,438.82 28.56,74.22,1007.45,69.6,434.54 13.05,44.34,1018.47,81.2,473.4 26.72,74.87,1010.18,70.74,441.93 12.5,43.67,1013.99,90.91,473.26 20.62,68.12,1012.33,79.88,447.16 16.17,38.01,1022.19,70.99,462.54 9.58,38.08,1019.49,67.54,478.5 25.42,73.21,1001.91,93.78,432.04 30.31,70.36,1006.55,59.92,439.11 23.76,51.19,1009.69,70.87,442.9 29.42,79.74,1007.24,61.26,437.61 8.8,42.32,1017.91,86.8,483.88 27.16,72.58,1009.24,90.26,429.59 19.75,49.02,1009.38,92.89,446.63 30.44,68.84,1010.97,55.34,438.31 18.6,41.67,1013.07,64.23,458.91 19.65,45.01,1014.18,56.77,451.63 15.99,49.21,1015.17,76.4,463.47 8.73,41.26,1020.54,91.37,476.42 15.99,39.63,1006.09,89.92,464.95 5.56,45.87,1006.99,96.48,476.61 8.88,39.66,1015.21,88.29,481.45 5.42,41.38,1020.77,86.02,491.38 8.97,36.24,1013.21,90.77,477.89 18.18,61.87,1008.64,66.28,453.1 12.87,41.5,1013.51,85.72,469.44 14.23,46.18,1017.39,87.29,463.86 18.17,66.86,1011.29,78.48,452.77 19.73,49.69,1007.78,73.02,454.28 25.36,61.41,1011.89,55.64,452.29 29.78,73.42,1011.27,52.79,445.58 32,58.9,1003.48,51.38,437.81 18.64,67.71,1003.84,89.63,442.26 13.16,43.71,1024.44,85.68,469.06 7.64,40.02,1031.58,71.19,479.43 11.87,41.78,1012.97,64.79,470.84 20.56,59.14,1016.02,68.59,448.82 11.41,39.61,1018.69,69.44,467.19 26.11,52.36,1013.9,59.62,453.76 19.06,56.65,1020.82,82.14,455.7 9.13,40.02,1031.08,74.76,473.47 8.44,41.17,1019.9,70.72,486.15 14.44,42.32,1015.61,76.85,462.13 6.3,39.33,1010.63,94.26,489.95 13.47,44.88,1017.56,93.23,476.67 20.66,41.54,1014.68,79.7,461.55 23.62,45.87,1007.75,58.69,445.55 16.69,46.18,1011,97.85,458.57 28.01,44.89,1008.98,48.52,444.76 21.73,64.63,1020.84,68.9,450.36 30.35,69.51,1009.95,39.24,430.07 8.67,36.66,1026.8,84.36,480.38 30.51,59.57,1011.08,61.94,436.92 26.12,66.75,1017.86,79.02,433.67 13.11,38.73,1005.89,89.02,473.38 21.41,62.39,1007.84,88.83,452.8 12.33,45.51,1016.49,79.2,471.16 24.02,77.54,1008.33,83.92,438.52 9.37,38.56,1016.84,62.07,482.77 11.26,44.92,1023.63,88.99,474.69 30.12,69.71,1009.1,52.02,435.85 4.65,35.19,1018.23,94.78,489.36 28.21,70.8,1010.45,77.92,435.99 30.83,71.58,1009.92,48.8,432.11 6.59,39.37,1020.34,77.92,488.17 21.84,64.69,1007.57,77.34,450.25 31.63,70.17,999.4,59.94,432.07 4.7,39.9,1007.45,91.02,487.78 31.11,75.33,1002.32,64.25,433.37 18.21,41.23,993.11,62.29,457.53 9.82,39.64,1010.79,69.22,477.93 16.77,38.01,1023.04,65.5,460.16 16.88,39.99,1007.08,74.29,462.83 21.08,70.32,1011.39,88.79,440.59 22.79,69.13,1010.87,91.47,438.08 26.96,62.39,1008.14,73.95,437.41 30.87,67.32,1013.78,34.54,436.96 19.74,45.38,1015.11,80.67,459.39 24.22,71.14,1009.38,64.53,438.88 16.27,44.21,1020.56,82.22,462.11 14.41,46.18,1016.25,88.88,462.49 10.48,41.38,1021.97,65.22,481.41 14.24,44.84,1023.6,94.06,466.67 23.08,74.78,1009.85,83.67,437.86 25.77,73.68,1014.18,87.53,429.84 17.94,62.1,1019.81,82.65,453.55 9.43,41.4,1028.42,84.92,479.28 13.98,41.79,1010.6,83.84,457.12 25.02,47.45,1008.07,60.42,446.62 30.99,69.82,1009.41,50.84,437.46 17.17,63.09,1020.54,95.98,446.75 19.4,42.44,1013.19,58.63,459.76 24.1,68.08,1012.73,65.24,440.33 12.07,39.99,1009.7,93.27,473.06 9.55,40.72,1023.12,68.06,481.08 9.57,52.75,1022.32,75.4,470.93 21.74,70.32,1011.88,85.95,439.19 30.99,68.51,1008,71.35,430.09 17.88,45.87,1008.39,93.63,455.83 17.51,53.16,1013.13,82.86,457.45 7.79,43.13,1019.67,85.35,484.42 31.56,66.44,1008.91,64.16,430.11 30.58,68.84,1011.34,51.29,439.71 13.35,39.64,1010.1,93.3,471.69 17.9,67.71,1004.3,89.59,449.73 21.94,50.32,1008.44,86.98,444.89 31.49,69.13,1009.33,53.9,425.74 8.48,42.49,1010.77,88.68,483.5 26.85,73.77,1001.2,90.13,431.24 26.75,60.96,1012.05,56.77,447.93 24.91,64.45,1013.02,42.34,450.84 23.03,68.08,1012.63,70.37,441.71 12.99,40.55,1007.52,94.15,472.18 23.79,48.06,1012.92,60.03,447.59 23.42,63.07,1011.72,75.81,444.23 32.09,69.4,1003.1,56.91,430.62 21.78,51.43,1007.45,88.71,446.56 31.92,69.13,1000.77,58.91,425.19 22.79,50.78,1008.65,58.39,447.12 10.52,42.18,1014.9,95.67,469.03 7.64,42.28,1008.46,84.29,484.78 15.8,41.2,1016.08,77.83,468.55 17.3,46.21,1013.56,87.57,456.77 18.26,61.27,1019.1,74.74,428.67 14.03,41.79,1008.07,83.32,457.98 24.55,58.86,1015.22,60.53,445.8 24.6,57.32,1012.48,45.14,442.64 25.04,70.36,1006.56,75.91,436.47 32.31,62.04,1010.45,38.01,449.65 21.17,64.15,1021.25,62.38,454.15 9.15,40.11,1023.82,75.4,475.01 27.34,63.78,1016.5,48.4,446.56 11.7,43.41,1016.08,62.27,467.51 27.58,73.06,1009.63,88.31,438.1 20.53,54.9,1016.61,61.28,454.67 9.55,41.44,1015.07,85.94,481.75 9.94,41.44,1015.21,87.02,481.24 6.71,40.72,1022.78,80.69,483.11 31.09,64.05,1011.32,61.14,440.62 17.23,40.12,1013.52,81.55,456.2 18.27,58.2,1018.34,72.73,448.17 9.06,36.3,1015.14,58.71,477.38 14.66,41.66,1012.89,62.41,466.87 23.79,58.2,1016.77,55.88,446.88 31.33,58.9,1003.77,52.34,439.54 10.26,43.14,1019.68,98.97,466.75 33.75,64.96,1002.54,39.28,432.62 18.72,60.07,1015.81,70.55,454.35 20.71,58.18,1007.63,98.44,447.06 28.87,71.97,1008.74,82.61,435.86 12.63,48.04,1013,100.13,464.6 13.69,34.03,1018.45,65.76,469.12 20.3,67.32,1013.49,80.9,441.51 14.93,42.44,1012.65,86.8,471.24 25.43,69.13,1002.2,86.44,431.53 24.85,71.98,1005.97,95.09,433.64 14.67,45.01,1014.28,67.91,460.47 3.63,38.44,1016.16,87.38,487.87 28.54,72.99,1007.42,67.87,432 15.26,41.2,1016,76.06,467.98 29.88,68.08,1011.14,55.78,429.33 5.65,40.72,1022.46,85.17,487.09 9.2,39.82,1013.19,91.25,482.89 18.85,44.63,1009.06,84.75,456.72 28.16,61.47,1009.19,62.53,442.48 13.15,42.44,1014.51,99.53,469.34 16.97,50.9,1012.31,82.65,463.28 17.33,42.28,1007.97,50.33,462.26 17.39,46.21,1013.94,82.73,454.06 26.26,65.06,1013.58,52.72,440.92 13.72,45.01,1014.07,77,464.59 10.99,44.63,1020.67,90.09,473.29 8.94,41.74,1022.55,90.74,483.53 22.5,59.43,1010.31,72.17,441.92 23.62,68.63,1013.18,50.57,447.3 17.17,44.68,1018.72,83.58,462.53 12.47,38.25,1012.74,82.89,469.56 16.65,46.18,1010.6,95.69,465.6 24.56,71.94,1006.81,89.59,437.97 25.49,47.45,1007.89,57.04,444.52 7.33,40,1018.96,80.76,478.16 20.52,43.79,1015.9,68.1,463.93 13.61,41.16,1020.49,75.09,462.67 22.5,45.38,1014.11,65.08,458.19 28.24,65.27,1013.43,48.74,439.36 30.04,67.25,1017.65,52.84,435.17 14.38,44.84,1024.59,81.68,471.6 24.78,68.63,1013.96,43.7,448.43 19.99,40.79,1003.15,87.55,455.28 16.01,43.69,1017.12,62.43,465.89 29.09,72.43,1006.86,65.47,427.3 13.31,40.03,1017.73,84.48,470.31 33.34,69.88,1007.65,42.72,437.84 26.88,59.21,1013.54,58.13,437.11 15.69,37.87,1022.63,87.71,462.16 27.58,78.05,1010.83,94.98,431.95 20.51,63.86,1020.65,75.36,447.18 13.56,39.52,1016.61,78.35,470.67 22.64,59.27,1012.58,83.55,446.2 30.29,71.58,1010.01,54.03,434.27 10.15,41.62,1015.86,97.4,463.89 23.07,57.5,1015.7,75.47,447.49 7.29,40.96,1023.01,90.78,488.65 25.34,69.48,1008.4,74.79,433.81 19.66,58.79,1017.17,84.16,447.93 17.77,56.53,1019.57,79.89,457.94 14.34,42.86,1031.75,66.81,466.17 14.4,42.99,1010.3,89.72,469.34 18.31,62.1,1020.38,79.02,455.24 13.56,40.03,1017.73,83.76,472.59 6.17,41.31,1002.49,87.59,481.27 25.04,51.95,1005.56,66.53,449.45 14.49,41.16,1000.5,82.17,465.24 22.31,43.43,1010.64,56.44,449.67 16.38,46.97,1013.6,73.67,459.87 23.48,65.12,1015.82,60.83,445.66 11.58,39.69,1005.17,86.55,469.6 14.74,43.99,1023.13,86.31,461.82 15.33,42.28,1008.19,66.15,465.2 26.14,69.14,1007.1,88.27,439.03 32.86,68.51,1008.43,46.78,432.38 28.88,63.76,1010.16,56.34,435.54 27.59,54.2,1013.1,51.61,439.31 21.85,69.94,1010.89,79.4,443 6.58,43.02,1014.03,84.95,488.22 20.38,62.52,1017.85,75.56,456.56 9.53,38.18,1018.43,75.33,476.54 16.76,53.16,1014.13,81.87,457.98 32.31,68.94,1006.11,71.78,431.14 10.22,39.96,1025.05,96.05,471.36 10.72,39.35,1015.35,86.43,480.18 21.68,64.15,1021.09,70.88,454.32 21.13,51.43,1007.43,88.72,445.4 29.14,75.23,1010.15,54.87,434.82 12.04,43.69,1016.58,80.16,474.97 10.1,41.4,1024.29,85.94,474.28 28.72,68.14,1005.82,46.52,443.26 28.84,60.23,1009.7,59,437.82 18.68,52.84,1004.65,88.27,450.19 16.5,44.63,1020.58,64.11,458.78 27.18,64.44,1012.81,61.27,440.3 20.08,58.79,1017.32,81.59,451.21 19.64,56.65,1020.79,73.88,456.03 27.77,62.26,1010.88,66.45,430.19 31.4,71.06,1008.44,74.77,433.34 3.68,39.64,1011.31,84.05,490.02 11.89,40.03,1019.53,89.48,471.85 7.63,40.56,1023.13,81.01,486.7 26.38,71.73,1010.04,69.45,431.66 22.89,48.98,1014.55,48.21,448.56 17.98,53.29,1018.29,83.46,455.71 14.22,48.6,1006.26,88.05,459.69 22.35,57.76,1017.92,68.18,453.74 22.2,57.17,1009.82,78.43,447.75 16.89,49.21,1015.19,70.39,458.25 22.51,59.21,1018.35,71.97,444.66 15.11,42.99,1007.53,85.75,466.25 25.15,73.67,1007.42,85.48,435.9 15.47,44.9,1021.59,81.74,465.61 11.1,40,1021.29,86.58,477.2 20.78,60.84,1018.66,80.4,445.82 20.94,68.12,1012.43,78.2,446.41 5.52,42.85,1012.77,93.82,478.98 16.19,36.99,1007.37,92.4,462.94 27.06,72.58,1009.24,90.31,429.18 19.92,48.98,1014.32,64.99,455.57 18.53,61.27,1019.84,75.22,454.72 12.21,41.67,1012.88,85.19,475.07 11.59,40.05,1014.96,86.22,474.46 26.61,72.43,1007.71,75.82,427.61 18.4,44.92,1024.88,64.89,458.36 24.8,66.51,1016.74,65.72,441.34 25.47,60.75,1007.27,65.91,438.42 28.57,75.33,1003.16,76.14,431.58 31.01,73.5,1010.92,48.61,432.41 24.38,57.17,1009.85,74.46,444.59 28.46,60.23,1010.2,63.38,439.88 18.16,43.72,1008.64,75.22,454.98 10.6,41.17,1018.38,87.92,478.47 24.19,68.94,1007.37,70.83,439.52 12.2,39.72,1018.07,54.83,471.33 27.95,73.5,1010.42,58.01,435.45 30.38,71.58,1010.17,50.45,433.75 28.48,54.2,1013.14,49.51,440.55 11.3,43.14,1019.56,99.83,469.73 29.19,70.32,1008.28,55.42,427.9 30.75,71.22,1006.47,48.06,437.96 12.37,43.22,1009.1,76.06,468.49 25.75,60.95,1014.75,53.3,443.73 28.18,67.17,1006.84,75.55,438.49 21.89,74.93,1016.11,77.88,448.47 24.79,50.78,1008.78,61.88,445.3 30.86,70.32,1011.88,62.68,433.71 13.51,43.22,1009.63,75.02,465.89 29.35,68.31,1010.46,46.2,445.86 19.98,60.77,1017.72,90.71,448.46 21.77,42.23,1013.03,67.44,462.51 12.43,41.62,1011.87,80.57,460.61 3.4,39.64,1011.1,83.43,459.86 24.73,74.22,1010.15,79.83,436.55 25.54,70.47,1009.28,73.5,436.16 25.88,63.73,1009.48,77.17,438.42 23.07,70.47,1008.64,83.37,439.04 30.66,70.98,1007.6,72.08,435.66 13.77,41.58,1020.63,72.94,459.75 12.57,43.8,1023.2,56.85,466.68 31.1,71.32,1008.09,45.87,437.54 22.24,64.27,1012.97,89.54,443.76 29.08,52.84,1006.14,40.09,438.24 19.35,39.72,1002.5,51.24,455.29 28.88,54.89,1007.16,46.6,440.99 31.7,70.36,1006.26,58.18,438.38 13.25,44.92,1024.11,89.34,469.18 18.55,41.1,1002.02,65.16,459.97 28.69,71.29,1009.22,68.35,433.07 13.74,42.74,1029.54,70,465.92 23.97,64.33,1010.54,84.65,443.87 18.44,39.72,1001.14,66.83,460.44 16.88,56.89,1014.01,82.1,457 12.82,46.18,1018.53,88.46,466.06 7.18,38.56,1016.49,70.37,487.63 24.34,62.96,1019.7,61.44,446.09 26.63,62.44,1010.86,70.82,438.25 11.43,41.16,1022.81,92.04,466.86 27.24,66.75,1017.78,69.6,433.65 15.01,42.77,1018.21,73.22,462.6 11.21,40.75,1016.45,86.14,479.2 31.46,71.8,1010.75,54.88,434.96 13.65,42.86,1015.41,87.67,471.75 9.57,39.82,1013.12,89.15,468.02 11.46,44.85,1014.3,63.24,475.33 25.03,60.84,1017.69,59.23,441.58 14.6,44.84,1023.58,88.21,464.88 28.88,73.68,1015.25,47.73,432.93 13.82,44.84,1023.72,95.24,467.95 7.87,41.06,1020.91,87.64,486.57 2.34,39.42,1028.47,69.68,490.34 23.58,70.04,1010.95,76.32,435.47 21.49,70.32,1009.07,92.25,443.04 15.84,41.66,1009.69,62.81,465.5 25.82,61.08,1013.64,66.4,448.46 10.18,40.81,1015.79,81.42,475.13 28.4,69.34,1009.76,70.4,436.5 12.35,41.38,1021.99,55.38,474.94 16.52,43.7,1015.08,58.36,466.73 9.6,42.03,1017.66,92.27,474.65 7.54,38.56,1016.49,69.1,486.76 8.04,41.92,1029.7,92.21,482.58 11.82,41.26,1020.74,91.14,466.95 21.62,48.78,1020.06,85.09,448.52 15.41,44.78,1007.69,65.17,456.83 26.47,63.13,1013.72,79.4,441.81 31.5,74.16,1011.72,56.42,436.43 12.24,49.83,1007.9,94.28,466.83 13.52,41.44,1015.81,65.97,472.11 10.02,39.66,1016.34,79.98,480.05 21.01,44.05,1010.61,64.12,445.07 8.35,43.52,1022.78,97.34,479.31 14.12,39.52,1016.79,75.89,472.32 35.2,73.56,1006.56,45.72,434.37 25.28,72.39,1002.28,89.43,432.52 14.3,41.93,1020.6,65.38,471.32 19.32,52.9,1016.86,68.2,457.66 22.04,69.51,1013.25,56.15,446.34 28.07,66.17,1010.58,64.11,443.77 23.09,60.95,1015.02,68.78,450.31 27.17,61.25,1013.03,70.43,435.9 26.44,71.64,1004.55,85.53,435.61 27.23,44.05,1005.69,58.91,440.2 17.68,40.89,1011.24,61.37,462.08 27.18,79.05,1008.99,94.32,434.01 27.89,68.12,1012.78,48.72,435.69 13.5,54.3,1016.2,77.46,468.92 28.11,66.17,1010.51,65.16,444.2 28.75,70.02,1010.33,46.55,440.31 25.56,74.99,1005.41,85.75,433.63 12.84,50.59,1020.08,88.08,470.96 20.18,56.53,1020.3,77.1,454.14 25.65,69.45,1013.95,50.42,436.24 21.08,52.05,1012.28,45.25,453.4 14.33,45.51,1015.42,71.55,468.92 29.13,62.26,1010.51,52.94,436.37 31.73,74.67,1016.38,44.51,425.34 18,53.16,1013.02,82.47,455.69 12.39,44.58,1016.38,84.95,475.37 28.26,63.13,1012,68.35,440.58 14.59,42.44,1012.7,83.92,470.86 16.22,46.36,1020.04,91.73,460.73 25.99,59.54,1007.78,74.48,441.32 20.84,59.8,1016.96,75.05,451.13 26.85,74.16,1008.66,93.8,431.16 7.24,39.04,1019,68.69,485.57 14.01,43.34,1016.95,83.41,463.81 17.66,44.9,1020.5,71.33,457.11 11.6,40.96,1023.95,86.83,473.66 16.72,44.78,1007.75,56.79,453.39 12.77,40.71,1014.66,72.81,471.59 11.08,38.16,1014.45,74.99,473.32 8.96,40.02,1031.21,82.32,475.47 9.86,41.01,1018.49,98.71,467.37 17.18,46,1002.74,100.1,454.02 14.5,53.82,1016.81,62.89,464.27 24.01,65.18,1012.57,76.02,437.27 24.79,67.83,1009.32,61.46,438.36 11.67,44.6,1018.09,92.53,467.96 21.28,70.32,1011.06,90.12,439 20.96,69.48,1011.04,82.63,444.31 26.57,73.21,1002.31,92.51,431.68 16.43,48.06,1010.73,61.26,459.63 26.22,65.34,1015.17,47.25,444.06 24.88,52.36,1014.45,68.39,452.31 12.22,40.71,1021.25,80.83,477.07 22.28,58.12,1014.54,83.27,448.97 9.14,37.36,1015.22,78.06,491.97 27.34,70.98,1008.82,71.42,438.73 24.9,58.49,1011.06,65.14,444.19 13.26,40.83,1007.97,90.63,472.14 21.86,64.45,1015.83,63.36,457.8 18.55,41.85,1015.24,62.47,467.51 26.26,74.9,1003.85,81.94,437.44 5.15,40.78,1025.34,95.84,483.03 10.8,39.58,1011.99,87.54,478.24 27.99,71.64,1007.79,72.67,437.81 18.4,50.16,1011.51,98.07,453.78 15.17,36.71,1013.5,77.44,471.93 13.18,40.83,1007.67,95.44,472.36 30.37,67.45,1015.35,45.6,431.38 24.88,71.94,1006.85,87.32,433.3 14.87,42.77,1017.94,75.06,462.03 20.34,69.45,1012.76,91.05,442.73 5.71,40.77,1022.51,89.58,485.75 28.62,79.74,1008.12,65.39,436.12 12.75,39.58,1010.8,77.31,473.46 19.76,48.92,1010.48,46.57,456.69 19.75,54.2,1011.43,83.5,448.89 11.61,41.17,1019.57,58.82,476.81 9.63,43.02,1012.4,68.41,480.21 26.65,63.78,1015.32,53.95,440.26 24.63,65.38,1010.43,40.68,446.23 19.94,56.53,1020.48,76.43,453.8 15.18,43.67,1011.59,92.58,467.74 25.79,63.9,1014.39,60.49,442.7 12.64,40.71,1024.2,65.21,476.37 21.7,70.32,1009.12,91.3,438.52 12.19,40.23,1017.45,82.07,474.91 27.73,67.69,1007.47,59.42,431.72 20.83,70.72,1009.56,89.37,446.48 16.7,46.18,1011.2,96.84,456.2 8.27,39.64,1011,84.64,479.91 27.17,67.45,1015.67,49.03,429.87 14.92,46.18,1014.21,98.82,465.63 27.47,66.86,1006.1,70.2,437.45 9.72,41.44,1015.17,84.41,481.85 19.97,50.78,1008.75,92.7,446.57 18.37,51.86,1018.8,74.3,461.14 14.85,40.8,1025.38,53.29,471.78 22.92,60.37,1007.05,89.94,438.86 15.2,40.55,1005,88.4,465.09 28.07,61.47,1008.68,64.83,442.59 10.72,41.17,1019.68,60.71,479.21 16.09,48.78,1015.78,91.12,454.23 18.68,53.29,1018.16,75.01,459.89 14.48,40.83,1009.42,81.74,469.64 28.41,61.47,1008.94,56.56,442.54 24.03,62.44,1010.96,79.88,430.66 28.31,74.33,1011.89,69.77,428.46 21.79,60.93,1006.44,87.68,443.01 28.53,69.84,1004.46,68.03,427.72 9.84,36.66,1026.7,70.02,477.62 34.66,74.33,1012,32.19,425.89 21.99,58.96,1014.09,61.3,453.38 23.69,73.67,1007.19,86.73,437.57 21.94,64.69,1007.39,77.58,449.36 14.51,49.83,1006.27,91.65,460.45 13.72,45.09,1012.95,87.41,466.24 15.03,43.71,1025.07,83.25,463.12 6.99,39.37,1020.19,75.06,487.18 28.03,68.67,1005.52,58.16,438.8 10.9,41.93,1014.96,96.24,477.93 5.51,41.03,1022.28,84.5,491.84 17.02,51.86,1021.53,81.28,460 14.39,44.21,1019.77,85.7,465.03 24.05,70.4,1006.83,92.35,442.07 20.99,50.78,1008.55,75.14,449.07 21.02,61.5,1008.52,77.74,448.08 31.01,69.13,1000.93,62.96,425.69 12.38,41.62,1012.37,84.15,461.07 23.37,70.94,1008.01,81.28,441.56 12.22,40.78,1024.02,85.46,464.12 15.28,48.14,1012.55,69.65,460.75 25.09,57.43,1013.2,70.42,446.11 23.87,50.39,1012.96,76.05,452.59 15.43,40.89,1010.63,73.03,468.35 24.34,48.78,1018,73.44,448.54 25.09,71.58,1010.17,86.01,434.51 16.37,53.16,1014.89,74.84,459.52 11.8,41.54,1020,65.85,476.12 24.85,68.37,1006.5,68.37,442.66 17.16,40.55,1000.26,72.21,461.58 13.09,54.3,1017.61,82.38,471 10.25,41.46,1018.67,84.41,479.28 28.39,65.51,1014.52,66.48,438.78 31.55,69.75,1010.12,58.36,435.01 23.84,49.21,1013.1,44.72,445.44 14.46,42.86,1031.34,69.84,464.44 24.16,65.06,1013.88,58.96,442.32 20.82,63.77,1014.28,86.37,448.9 17,49.78,1005.32,100.1,453.77 11.45,45.01,1018.88,92.12,470.4 18.26,58.96,1014.04,69.7,457.43 10.74,43.67,1011.75,80.1,477.32 20.89,67.71,1006.12,59.12,445.39 11.82,41.54,1019.96,67.65,476.97 25.44,65.06,1013.82,55.72,440.09 29.92,69.75,1009.12,67.15,441.5 21.11,58.49,1011.6,80.44,449.16 14.6,53.82,1016.28,64.83,462.86 25.96,63.78,1016.95,49.47,443.8 18.32,39.53,1008.15,64.85,454.44 21.36,68.28,1007.6,72.37,445.91 15.7,42.99,1007.51,76.05,464.59 26.82,75.08,1005.93,60.81,441.14 15.22,41.35,1003.12,95.45,464.56 27.68,69.34,1008.28,70.9,436.37 27.14,70.32,1007.08,73.08,427.21 28.99,54.2,1012.79,41.9,442.6 32.55,69.89,1013.87,40.09,428.84 27.01,63.78,1016.72,47.89,442.6 6.31,42.07,1004.61,77.74,483.27 23.31,60.08,1017.14,64.35,452.65 10.66,41.93,1016.12,94.16,479.61 26.82,64.96,999.72,63.55,427.51 12.36,45.09,1013.05,88.4,467.2 10.2,40.67,1016.15,73.2,482.26 29.17,74.34,1004.51,82.02,433.03 12.03,40.75,1015.93,85.07,474.97 31.27,69.13,1009.45,57.01,425.48 24.8,72.24,1011.58,83.61,435.25 24.43,72.43,1008.03,85.56,434.71 24.14,63.21,1012.28,89.08,440.74 28.13,56.9,1007.17,51.66,436.95 19.15,39.72,1001.49,58.62,457.45 11.05,40.75,1016.55,87.08,478.07 25.23,66.44,1011.37,51.3,438.28 26.86,70.47,1007.18,72.38,434.59 12.15,71.14,1019.56,86.06,462.51 18.5,41.85,1015.81,64.78,466.8 21.93,58.96,1014.23,58.58,453.42 10.14,45.01,1018.12,94.32,473.56 14.04,48.79,1017.62,75.25,464.09 24.14,60.07,1016.56,58.08,440.17 13.48,41.44,1015.64,71.46,471.39 14.26,43.34,1017.24,81.54,464.62 19.99,65.94,1012.28,75.42,447.22 16.52,53.16,1014.68,76.82,457.81 22.75,58.79,1011.44,84.47,445.67 15.31,40.66,1016.46,84.64,458.26 21.33,58.46,1016.17,79.73,445.27 30.28,74.67,1016.45,55.76,428.27 19.08,44.63,1020.05,41.07,455.95 23.94,51.95,1008.18,71.87,451.84 21.12,62.52,1015.62,78.98,450.93 22.61,60.27,1018.81,83.27,440.98 14.85,44.63,1020.67,75.76,460.06 27.26,63.77,1014.07,66.58,436.01 31.96,71.29,1008.39,47.51,433.04 25.3,58.46,1015.91,69.71,439.25 24.49,65.61,1014.71,63.47,447.26 24.44,72.99,1008.38,91.66,435.47 17.89,44.78,1010.03,53.78,457.74 11.92,43.8,1022.96,60.49,470.33 23.34,63.73,1012.1,79.11,443.68 18.89,66.86,1012.38,71.96,454.02 18.63,50.16,1010.21,97.13,450.14 24.43,60.07,1015.59,59.99,444.71 9.83,41.17,1019.34,72.29,478.21 16.68,43.14,1018.39,76.48,459.83 22.29,45.01,1012.4,51.58,449.08 5.63,39.22,1013.35,77.67,486.83 13.72,34.03,1018.57,65.95,469.25 13.02,45.51,1015.24,80.05,468.46 8.9,40.77,1011.67,90.26,479.18 26.44,71.73,1009.52,81.75,430.55 27.07,74.87,1010.09,58.97,440.47 27.74,70.32,1009.58,50.29,433.47 31.5,70.32,1011.44,64.09,435.13 21.81,43.77,1011.97,64.72,453.13 15.86,49.69,1015.59,87.26,462.84 20.31,69.94,1009.7,86.53,446.87 23.23,64.69,1008.12,76.6,444.01 18.39,52.08,1006.53,100.09,449.96 30.68,73.67,1005.63,57.05,429.64 29.09,67.07,1005.99,41.39,429.93 27.35,60.75,1008.98,67.56,435.14 28.46,73.67,1005.67,71.21,429.15 31.21,66.44,1008.57,65.76,430.7 18.89,63.09,1018.47,84.85,450 26.71,68.3,1015.07,62.7,436.66 13.52,42.07,1017.91,90.21,464.07 24.17,48.41,1008.46,76.19,442.62 7.67,41.66,1016.25,77,485.03 19.44,59.21,1018.5,88.35,448.04 27,69.4,1004.86,82.2,433.83 18.16,43.96,1012.78,78.33,465.26 19.28,65.46,1013.77,64.24,448.91 15.43,38.58,1016.58,81.17,463.44 16.32,43.5,1021.3,72.6,460.07 33.12,68.31,1010.3,42.29,441.13 8.48,38.5,1013.5,66.51,485.29 20.76,70.72,1009.73,89.04,448.85 18.76,52.9,1016.27,64.7,458.26 24.5,60.77,1017.15,73.66,439.91 32.4,68.14,1004.44,34.53,425.91 17.82,65.48,1019.64,86.6,449.21 27.27,67.9,1006.36,62.12,436.64 20.14,65.06,1014.81,80.01,444.84 24.8,65.48,1018.56,62.05,442.02 26.42,71.06,1008.12,87.32,435.6 15.34,41.96,1012.08,100.12,468.33 28.66,50.05,1006.08,47.74,435.94 14.2,52.75,1025.64,61.02,465.48 26.12,75.6,1017.41,72.31,439.68 24.14,62.66,1007.33,73.27,439.93 23.43,54.42,1013.58,70.99,454.86 10.41,36.71,1022.02,84.56,474.2 23.27,60.84,1019.13,67.24,440.22 18.36,53.16,1013.14,79.89,457.94 15.8,40.66,1016.15,88.24,458.55 22.95,63.94,1013.87,80.37,447.13 19.79,60.1,1010.47,84.04,452.41 34.43,68.51,1010.17,34.09,431.39 26.31,68.51,1013.26,68.66,435.91 11.94,44.6,1018.69,85.33,468.53 10.82,39.96,1025.53,95.89,468.57 17.49,40.55,1001.73,73.15,462.37 26.23,59.87,1012.93,66.62,447.16 7.26,41.22,1014.86,97.82,488.75 9.42,41.4,1029.21,86.4,474.75 16.85,39.64,1008.82,80.81,464.2 26.31,52.09,1013.39,53.59,447.04 30.69,69.89,1013.9,42.85,431.01 16.55,39.64,1009.07,77.8,465.29 16.29,50.88,1013.79,99.15,456.28 12.49,38.25,1012.61,83.32,470.63 10.15,41.46,1019.56,81.79,479.32 21.71,58.05,1013.07,85.75,449.38 13.92,44.47,1029.36,70.86,467.29 24.04,51.95,1006.13,73.92,450.07 20.03,69.45,1013.47,86.66,441.54 31.7,76.09,1007.06,72.39,441.36 26,69.88,1007.99,87.07,434.79 25.35,74.33,1015.29,77.84,435.66 24.49,49.82,1017.09,64.02,451.42 24.27,63.87,1018.88,53.96,420.26 24.51,58.79,1016.11,61.7,443.5 12.06,52.72,1024.53,80.05,467.21 18.53,48.98,1014.24,74.29,452.73 18.31,42.23,1012.88,79.32,464.45 24.97,63.86,1018.64,52.01,441.61 10.02,39.96,1024.88,96.85,473.22 25.45,72.24,1011.44,80.54,434.92 26.74,49.02,1008.18,67.59,438.06 23.45,51.95,1005.23,76.17,449.07 11.1,44.85,1014.27,65.08,477.03 24.16,60.29,1018.09,63.49,446.17 5.45,39.04,1020.07,77.05,487.33 24.99,51.43,1006.95,79.63,441.45 18.32,65.94,1012.74,86.77,450.5 21.63,71.85,1009.44,76.89,434.1 8.53,38.18,1017.54,76.49,480.86 28.85,59.27,1011.69,51.8,440.3 23.23,60.32,1016.73,78.35,447.09 4.93,38.44,1015.65,71.47,485.01 18.76,44.71,1015.15,30.83,462.18 25.52,67.17,1007.33,85.12,440.02 12.38,48.04,1012.78,100.13,465.99 16.05,43.14,1010.67,79.36,463.06 26.75,70.32,1007.61,54.09,433.46 30.03,68.84,1011.41,53.82,439.31 24.78,50.16,1004.56,70.22,448.51 26.97,64.45,1009.43,53.96,443.75 27.98,67.17,1007.32,75.29,440.68 26.33,61.41,1011.9,52.1,452.79 11.34,45.17,1018.32,96.24,472.13 18.8,44.78,1009.65,46,462.79 5.23,40.78,1025.13,92.74,483.12 10.8,39.28,1010.7,82.62,478.8 19.32,44.71,1015.3,28.81,464.38 33.15,70.4,1003.72,53.98,430.15 12.8,39.16,1015.94,89.83,472.47 19.3,46.93,1014.83,66.71,456.62 26.33,60.06,1005.86,41.57,450.16 30.8,70.94,1007.06,63.09,432.44 21.52,66.51,1015.32,72.85,444.87 18.63,45.87,1007.98,79.9,453.79 16.69,44.78,1010.41,58.18,456.17 12.49,41.62,1011.37,82.68,461.35 32.06,75.33,1001.96,63.15,432.92 8.82,43.56,1014.95,81.54,482.71 25.14,64.63,1020.63,54,446.63 21.71,60.27,1015.74,89.76,441.19 19.65,44.89,1009.76,75.36,451.35 22.63,58.96,1013.62,56.67,451.41 11.82,41.67,1012.94,84.51,476.73 18.41,44.89,1009.75,77.24,448.88 32.09,70.4,1003.73,55.65,434.64 33.4,70.8,1009.17,57.01,432.46 11.83,44.21,1019.37,85.31,463.62 6.33,39.33,1012.06,93.16,492.22 15.02,37.64,1016.49,83.28,463.93 28.93,74.78,1009.48,56.4,437.34 14.81,39.58,1011.62,73.64,467.32 13.25,41.62,1010.8,77.81,457.64 18.27,65.94,1013.09,84.72,450.33 23.77,51.43,1006.67,84.09,441.54 12.8,44.34,1016.52,86.73,473.42 13.94,47.83,1004.83,81.2,465.13 16.44,43.96,1013.66,76.31,468.57 29.53,64.44,1013.22,59.75,440.1 29.1,70.4,1003.97,77.57,430.98 6.04,41.14,1027.92,87.12,481.37 25.11,62.26,1011.12,78.01,434.97 17.13,42.86,1014.15,73.6,463.09 20.54,49.15,1021.02,56,458.6 14.02,44.47,1028.02,68.97,465.93 10.22,37.83,1005.94,93.53,471.79 31.46,77.17,1009.26,59.61,435.56 23.64,71.25,1004.92,93.87,442.26 26.69,59.21,1012.55,57.59,436.33 25.1,69.89,1015.42,85.81,434.98 6.23,40.96,1022.49,93.15,488.82 13.74,38.73,1004.34,82.82,470.06 27.35,61.47,1008.43,70.65,443.67 26.84,70.36,1007.41,71.47,442.17 23.69,77.54,1009.32,89.7,440.21 21.06,50.59,1016.42,66.12,454.15 12.28,43.67,1012.69,70.23,475.08 22.35,58.59,1013.99,79.78,444.04 6.12,40.81,1014.77,88.15,487.24 32.31,66.44,1009.6,63.92,428.44 9.1,39.42,1025.28,68.78,471.85 12.99,42.34,1018.04,96.25,465.98 25.75,71.14,1008.33,77.12,433.64 22.92,58.62,1016.37,71.38,447.48 12.33,39.28,1011.84,80.01,476.49 13.66,41.67,1013.43,80.56,469.17 22.24,60.07,1015.93,62.25,446.14 13.48,41.26,1021.92,78.24,466.88 26.6,63.07,1011.97,61.3,442.25 31.82,71.29,1008.44,41.7,431.23 18.35,62.1,1019.97,78.36,455.29 31.44,72.86,1003.74,61.45,433.59 19.94,50.78,1008.78,92.07,449.6 18.13,60.1,1009.67,84.75,455.82 12.28,42.34,1019.19,95.8,467.03 18.6,60.1,1009.91,87.13,453.94 21.01,60.1,1010.93,78.6,450.99 27.64,75.6,1017.35,54.78,441.04 13.47,41.14,1026.09,82.96,463.67 7.96,38.91,1016.35,89.17,482.17 16.81,45.87,1008.7,98,455.96 22.69,58.46,1017.74,75.21,443.47 25.74,68.94,1007.7,67.56,433.45 5.75,42.07,1004.24,78.23,485.23 29.54,74.99,1005,69.69,432.94 27.36,63.31,1013.7,51.58,440.4 11.75,35.76,1018.99,57.92,473.01 12.02,40.66,1017.27,96.72,464.5 31.02,69.51,1011.16,47.64,431.15 20.11,50.78,1008.73,93.24,447.42 12.24,41.62,1013.38,90.26,461.23 29.11,74.78,1009.6,56.93,438.75 12.58,43.67,1012.86,94.01,472.65 25.21,59.21,1013.19,62.85,438.7 25.64,68.08,1011.06,71.06,431.77 15.5,39.16,1016.24,78.13,469.52 28.61,70.36,1006.95,73.06,440.16 6.57,42.07,1004.48,74.82,483.86 29.5,71.14,1011.27,52.81,430.85 27.4,66.48,1004.71,51.5,439.66 22.06,43.43,1010.46,58.01,448.92 23.35,71.77,1005.99,90.79,434.6 6.76,40.62,1015.67,87.16,478.56 20.62,48.41,1007.37,87.51,445.4 27.2,65.18,1011.47,47.14,436.99 24.17,71.25,1003.9,90.36,435.66 12.88,44,1022.71,88.58,470.31 29.23,74.22,1008.49,57.88,428.9 11.62,43.48,1016.66,76.32,468.37 28.41,66.91,1008.22,57.93,440.52 29.25,67.32,1013.88,38.57,437.94 5.43,39.9,1007.5,86.27,487.84 10.28,39.64,1010.45,74.15,477.65 7.95,37.49,1009.32,80.8,479.78 17.33,53.16,1013.77,82.77,459.78 11.02,41.26,1020.69,92.13,471.93 14.41,43.13,1016.32,59.55,467.46 19.69,56.65,1020.72,70.86,456.18 6.65,38.5,1014.01,87.6,491.54 8.88,36.66,1026.61,76.16,480.2 16.46,48.6,1006.08,89,449.58 20.2,60.1,1010.66,84.24,451.17 22.87,74.22,1009.36,93.05,438.67 28.83,71.32,1006.28,75.65,437.99 16.7,36.99,1006.19,89.33,464.7 22.36,64.15,1021.05,68.43,453.94 23.96,46.93,1013.98,47.22,450.86 23.19,60.75,1008.33,82,439.43 25.65,68.08,1011.27,75.26,435.91 13.22,40.83,1007.82,92.72,472.72 18.75,44.9,1007.99,75.76,452.77 28.02,63.9,1013.96,46.2,444.42 23.09,63.91,1012.23,83.25,447.9 26.21,65.12,1016.06,44.31,444.44 33.8,64.96,1004.88,49.37,427.28 26.45,47.43,1008.87,53.25,442.12 30.82,78.87,1012.06,70.69,432.01 14.22,44.99,1012,75.28,460.53 29.45,75.6,1018.12,50.68,437.31 6.99,35.19,1019.32,68.95,480.05 22.43,55.97,1008.97,85.98,443.74 16.57,63.31,1016.19,81.02,454.78 23.75,66.54,1004.41,85.44,436.57 29.05,71.85,1008.6,78.69,428.39 13.28,43.8,1023.17,63.98,466.78 7.76,37.7,1014.82,76.47,480.7 14.93,39.39,1014.31,80.68,468.88 18.5,47.45,1009.23,83.21,450.22 24.35,58.79,1010.13,72.1,448.19 26.66,70.02,1010.88,58.37,439.99 12.05,48.04,1009.14,100.13,464.14 14.79,39.54,1007.25,82.54,469.23 10.33,43.99,1020.7,96.68,474.17 28.23,64.05,1011.98,75.23,442.3 24.91,69.89,1015.25,82.39,438.29 23.82,73.67,1007.26,88.16,438.42 10.44,37.83,1006.31,97.2,474.42 28.74,70.32,1008.15,45.99,431.93 30.7,67.69,1005.92,51.58,429.58 17.12,58.95,1016.74,90.41,451.67 6.71,40.96,1022.71,91.89,486.58 29.08,70.83,1007.98,51.95,430.91 12.48,39.85,1012.93,60.23,477.17 15.92,44.85,1015.84,59.99,467.41 16.37,54.3,1017.94,63.63,459.97 12.05,40.55,1016.63,100.14,472.19 21.55,44.57,1006.03,71.54,446.84 13.52,40.83,1009.94,87.53,470.47 24.21,70.98,1007.02,95.57,441.78 24.87,58.33,1013.76,54.55,440.79 28.55,72.43,1007.2,65.82,430.06 26.93,62.44,1011.02,70.05,435.11 18.59,41.1,1001.93,58.16,459.72 23.59,59.43,1009.96,65.8,440.61 23.83,50.32,1008.41,72.23,445.17 17.86,50.88,1015.59,88.28,457.33 17.01,50.59,1015.8,80.95,463.4 20.04,58.2,1017.56,74.31,448.92 27.32,76.09,1007.77,74.64,443.13 31.13,64.05,1011.51,61.27,439.24 19.69,56.65,1020.86,70.02,454.87 12,39.96,1011.73,77.77,471.42 7.97,38.5,1013.84,72.36,487.19 8.14,41.26,1020.61,91.28,477.57 28.07,68.08,1013.13,44.67,437.65 13.44,40.69,1014.54,77.97,473 14.8,43.99,1022.89,85.25,461.97 16.98,43.99,1021.65,81.17,456.07 15.29,44.88,1018.85,73.67,463.32 19.35,64.15,1021.37,68.53,457.74 21.65,58.18,1008.33,95.28,441.05 22.18,59.39,1014.82,85.31,440.94 28.15,74.9,1003.67,76.32,433.63 7.74,39.96,1025.78,95.81,475.23 26.48,51.43,1006.76,74.3,438.1 27.6,67.25,1017.78,54.25,438.42 10.57,41.26,1008.32,97.96,472.9 23.28,68.28,1000.79,81.35,442.04 14.6,44.47,1028.46,69.96,465.24 30.6,72.29,1010.54,41.52,441.5 25.4,65.34,1013.11,53.93,445.82 16.52,44.88,1017.61,90.08,459.73 10.42,44.85,1014.18,88.36,479.03 15.55,45.09,1014.33,62.19,457.36 14.12,41.39,1018.73,76.51,472.88 16.57,43.7,1015.67,71.95,465.78 34.09,68.51,1009,32.96,431.19 22.25,43.79,1015.78,52.68,461.93 21.51,48.92,1010.36,38.27,455.11 5.37,40.07,1012.75,63.58,494.21 26.94,71.14,1011.63,62.74,434.03 22.57,68.3,1017.43,87.69,440.81 24.33,46.93,1013.61,53.02,450.04 21.3,59.39,1013.83,84.53,444.21 30.9,69.4,1003.53,66.69,425.3 16.29,53.82,1014.97,73.15,459.95 12.46,40.73,1017.53,93.47,464.7 28.44,74.93,1013.88,52,441.52 17.85,45.64,1020.11,82.94,459.59 25.56,50.05,1005.67,69.29,442.49 23.85,72.43,1008.01,88.34,439.02 19.83,46.33,1013.27,96.4,451.22 24.12,62.44,1013.83,88.02,443.3 22.54,61.27,1019.12,54.02,450.01 8.94,41.38,1021.5,79.45,479.95 16,43.34,1013.58,78.87,461.7 32.83,74.16,1007.57,60.2,432.05 24.6,67.69,1008.67,67.69,440.22 17.9,52.08,1006.41,100.09,451.94 23.81,60.08,1017.29,62.66,450.33 30.55,68.24,1009.43,63.84,426.8 14.39,44.85,1014.19,75.16,465.88 8.36,40.67,1014.99,73.65,489.1 29.03,67.79,1010.67,55.42,444.09 17.68,44.92,1024.55,69.7,458.12 13.51,40.1,1014.29,86.34,470.65 19.11,60.29,1017.1,76.62,454.16 17.46,40.22,1006.7,91.96,461.74 23.7,64.45,1012.87,38.24,451.16 13.68,44.47,1027.81,69.53,469.37 26.39,49.02,1007.62,70.82,438.53 8.05,40.62,1018.16,73.67,477.2 18.4,40.79,1006.18,92.36,461.29 14.75,40.66,1016.7,81.65,463.83 31.66,73.91,1004.49,68.13,431.26 5.28,45.87,1008.25,97.88,479.91 24.42,65.94,1011.25,65.04,439.63 8.68,39.61,1021.54,77.98,486.31 25.68,68.27,1008.05,68.48,434.89 18.19,41.85,1014.93,61.37,466.86 4.44,38.44,1016.14,75.35,486.53 14.42,44.88,1019.35,59.17,462.72 10.57,41.55,1003.62,67.89,475.6 27.83,72.29,1012.04,48.86,445.73 28.94,62.26,1010.64,50.41,436.04 11.02,44.58,1016.4,83.57,481.85 29.05,75.6,1017.63,51.16,439.14 31.37,76.86,997.34,62.94,431.03 7.54,40.72,1023.82,85.15,485.92 27.57,70.36,1007.18,71.1,441.86 18.81,52.08,1004.43,99.6,450.87 14.54,41.16,1000,81.34,463.9 9.55,40.67,1018.56,70.72,486.34 18.55,46.48,1007.34,80.67,452.37 14.59,41.23,999.48,86.66,466.83 28.7,49.16,1004.42,36.51,439.45 14.63,40,1018.03,63.4,457.09 29.4,57.19,1008.34,53.95,436.92 20.76,57.25,1011.01,90.31,444.85 15.03,35.71,1015.26,56.55,467.61 13.42,40.92,1022.84,75.89,458.49 35.01,74.67,1016.1,26.3,428.48 17.34,47.03,1013.36,98.13,463.89 26.2,72.24,1011.3,78.29,432.65 17.48,44.71,1014.99,36.71,465.61 7.75,38.06,1020.83,83.39,483.56 18.99,59.27,1012.15,89.39,453.4 26.8,49.3,1003.86,62.75,438.56 31.7,69.13,1000.29,46.27,427.95 22.83,41.1,1002,38.62,449.99 22.42,62.52,1016.83,63.27,451.64 13.78,39.85,1012.7,71.99,474.9 24.81,60.95,1014.72,54.71,446.09 25.37,58.33,1013.49,51.42,444.46 21.24,44.57,1008.72,72.57,447.03 11.61,39.69,1006.85,83.69,470.78 15.79,49.21,1015.08,75.8,457.7 6.84,41.06,1021.04,89.59,489.96 25.53,71.85,1009.19,74.7,431.26 3.51,35.47,1017.53,86.56,489.07 7,35.77,1018.21,64.84,482.8 12.71,43.8,1023.15,71.16,466.2 25.33,71.73,1009.78,77.78,435.23 30.91,79.74,1006.92,56.32,433.84 17.79,43.52,1020.65,68.29,458.57 32.15,72.29,1010.13,50.19,435.71 16.96,63.31,1016.42,77.09,454.14 26.48,68.14,1004.83,55.96,432.19 19.88,47.03,1012.27,91.99,456.44 16.18,50.88,1014.06,100.09,455.14 10.59,38.38,1021.58,68.23,474.94 17.51,39.54,1010.22,71.53,462.12 23.63,63.57,1011.05,87.96,449.01 24.6,71.73,1010.08,78.77,436.28 28.01,73.18,1012.25,75.02,431.02 23.67,71.77,1004.76,86.13,434.47 15.21,43.5,1021.6,82.06,464.08 9.38,41.44,1015.09,86.8,481.96 14.93,41.79,1008.88,81.48,456.75 28.18,73.03,1014.18,67.72,439.74 24.86,60.77,1016.85,71.24,440.68 12.14,40.83,1010.56,78.31,474.82 31.24,72.39,999.47,68.17,430.7 25.2,65.59,1013,71.34,439.14 27.02,61.86,1012.38,70.28,442.67 27.09,59.15,1013.02,55.18,438.9 13.7,42.86,1030.68,79.77,470.28 6.61,38.91,1015.77,92.31,484.32 10.1,41.79,1019.36,78.07,474.09 23.02,69.94,1007.94,64.66,439.4 23.69,58.05,1012.08,74.26,444.46 22.5,64.69,1007.03,74.92,440.73 19.66,42.18,1001.51,95.75,454.46 24.71,60.77,1016.67,69.7,443.52 15.62,41.23,992.89,83.99,463.21 15.28,44.58,1016.45,83.07,467.92 20.67,57.5,1014.42,81.89,453.29 20.79,50.66,1013.39,77.93,454.78 24.54,48.41,1008.61,73.53,439.79 25.21,64.63,1020.56,51.31,448.66 34.18,67.9,1005.87,30.34,425.5 29.85,68.24,1007.01,30.99,433.43 18.37,44.89,1010.61,86.74,454.37 19.87,49.69,1012.23,68.57,456.03 25.28,66.25,1009.77,84.55,439.77 13.47,43.34,1012.75,87.04,468.8 13.7,43.22,1012.01,71.57,463.99 20.91,59.14,1017.25,74.7,442.67 19.09,65.94,1012.53,81.06,446.34 9.33,44.03,1011.73,86.04,474.15 10.11,44.85,1014.2,84.81,478.71 28.64,69.23,1013.11,37.13,434.4 29.86,69.34,1007.76,54.12,433.57 24.42,62.66,1007.65,71.57,443.09 13.49,43.41,1015.75,57.86,461.06 30.1,47.93,1002.64,42.06,435.27 9.43,43.69,1017.28,91.8,478.48 24.78,50.78,1008.81,62.97,443.98 20.6,60.08,1017.84,75.92,454.39 14.77,39.16,1016.12,81.88,470.39 17.26,49.78,1007.38,100.06,453.54 24.48,64.45,1014.69,51.43,452.82 25.57,44.05,1005.79,65.14,443.84 11.82,41.17,1019.5,55.74,475.61 25.46,70.32,1010.65,64.7,433.08 23.75,59.07,1007.73,88.82,443.54 24.2,59.43,1009.69,62.3,440.66 27.62,72.43,1007.54,71.33,428.76 14.4,42.18,1015.47,77.7,464.81 14.1,43.34,1012.91,86.45,465.22 6.07,41.14,1027.57,86.98,480.19 17.31,58.49,1011.8,92.77,456.84 9.19,42.44,1014.38,94.24,481.55 17.5,42.44,1012.55,76.85,466.78 20.57,63.78,1016.76,74,449.93 12.28,41.49,1019.73,94.79,467.44 22.99,61.02,1009.88,81.56,440.85 28.38,64.05,1010.19,71.84,439.83 17.57,44.06,1015.43,72.75,459.73 8.36,38.91,1016.27,88.82,482.09 4.86,39.4,1012.73,91.39,488.63 16.7,40.56,1019.04,50.9,470.84 6.22,39.33,1012.31,93.23,491.77 27.47,63.78,1016.07,48.47,446.69 21.99,71.85,1009.5,74.77,441.1 24.67,61.5,1009.06,72.77,437.37 8.62,42.49,1009.06,86.93,481.87 18.14,67.71,1003.82,95.69,442.45 20.33,57.76,1016.47,75.35,450.25 26.1,58.9,1004.18,71.63,444.4 4,39.9,1008.46,97.21,490.68 22.26,60.37,1008.14,92.37,441.33 23.57,64.15,1020.95,68.19,450.08 17.7,43.69,1016.98,61.98,462.63 9.47,41.4,1026.21,89.08,480.79 16.69,50.9,1013.21,84.98,460.75 9.82,41.04,1026.72,77.28,473.98 10.78,41.93,1015.56,95.71,478.88 25.63,48.92,1009.99,34.64,439.87 9.29,35.77,1015.34,63.29,475.88 9.86,37.83,1005.05,100.15,472.46 11.37,40.56,1017.56,64.8,478.88 25.79,70.4,1007.11,86.03,437.98 24.93,70.32,1007.34,61.25,436.03 28.41,75.6,1018.48,56.07,440.28 9.25,41.26,1020.51,91.21,473.87 26.49,71.73,1010.07,74.48,431.06 15.98,39.64,1009.31,81.21,467.22 20.77,56.85,1012.4,83.63,442.85 13.69,41.74,1021.19,60.86,471.84 26.03,64.44,1012.75,62.24,445.89 9.43,41.4,1028.03,84.98,474.16 26.37,69.84,1002.71,83.51,428.6 7.64,41.17,1020.01,75.14,488.53 28.76,51.43,1011.88,49.79,449.98 27.84,68.08,1013.34,46.19,436.37 9.42,39.64,1010.86,74.03,478.05 25.08,51.43,1011.8,71.98,446.67 21.73,61.45,1010.27,91.59,442.78 5.18,41.31,1000.59,92.14,485.2 21.17,58.46,1017.71,83.98,446.66 22.52,66.48,1003.87,78.29,435.02 12.76,41.48,1014.06,70.34,461.61 27.71,62.39,1006.43,68.21,435.84 24.66,48.78,1018.39,71.79,449.11 7.2,40.02,1031.71,69.89,480.53 6.14,39.4,1011.21,90.87,485.94 23,60.27,1018.72,84.25,442 13.26,42.99,1007.58,94.26,472.52 22.34,52.84,1004.05,73.96,449.06 12.31,37.73,1023.3,63.01,472.08 23.63,58.98,1010.99,81.16,444.43 23.39,68.51,1013.09,78.6,438.35 28.8,71.77,1006.41,66.03,426.87 23.28,72.24,1011.3,90.5,434.21 28.6,71.22,1003.15,58.33,443.01 15.89,41.7,1018.93,82.68,463.33 15.46,42.07,1017.9,81.12,459.15 22.86,62.4,1010.59,78.24,445.66 20.9,67.07,1005.43,82.85,443.46 17.75,49.25,1020.86,63.67,454.41 25.93,60.29,1017.62,50.03,444.04 23.99,50.32,1008.41,67.4,444.23 18.76,56.53,1020.04,86.62,452.5 7.44,38.5,1012.81,70.27,488.12 25.18,65.06,1013.64,55.77,440.27 9.12,41.49,1020.58,96.23,475.69 20.01,59.87,1019,84.12,448.39 30.66,73.77,1003.13,78.09,430 32.2,72.29,1008.61,69.94,432.52 14.77,44.47,1028.38,71.18,464.25 13.48,39.35,1014.56,81.25,470.66 20.64,61.86,1012.81,99.97,447.14 17.42,44.06,1016.63,82.15,456.57 18.76,58.79,1016.66,88.22,453.44 31.16,69.88,1007.01,68.28,433.24 18.05,56.03,1020.69,77.87,459.09 7.29,41.04,1024.06,89.19,474.71 30.36,68.08,1010.76,51.32,429.97 8.81,43.14,1012.46,73.99,481.56 21.17,59.8,1016.06,77.73,455.66 18,43.7,1015.4,61.28,464.26 13.2,44.9,1022.43,87.68,468.92 28.16,70.72,1009.81,65.32,441.37 14.84,43.69,1016.31,68.67,472.07 30.2,70.02,1009.85,63.39,437.48 6.53,42.85,1012.65,91.6,480.98 29.51,75.6,1017.92,50.61,431.18 12.58,39.72,1018.08,64.25,469.38 12.12,38.28,1013.7,91.27,469.59 3.74,35.19,1018.58,98.84,490.5 30.98,71.29,1008.78,47.7,432.99 14.09,44.47,1029.08,72.36,466.53 24.84,56.89,1012.15,67.24,440.36 14.79,44.06,1018.53,74.79,465.77 9.7,40.71,1025.63,80.34,483.19 28.55,65.27,1013.34,48.95,437.62 20.98,42.23,1012.9,70.7,462.27 15.86,39.82,1013.12,77.37,466.89 15.29,41.35,1006.32,82.56,466.27 13.31,42.18,1016,83.94,466.56 16.78,39.63,1005.84,87.91,465.97 19.66,45.01,1014.42,60.14,453.45 23.73,59.15,1014.08,62.65,444.07 33.63,77.54,1009.82,58.04,431.81 25.56,69.13,1002.46,68.26,434.48 27.95,77.54,1010.12,78.97,434.7 26.92,67.25,1017.74,61.68,434.05 10.2,41.46,1019.12,83.26,480.11 16.09,65.46,1013.84,85.52,454.88 33.82,77.17,1008.96,58.91,435.58 13.85,44.9,1019.11,76.79,467.2 15.24,39.39,1013.01,74.24,469.79 10.03,43.72,1011.46,96.89,473.26 17.2,58.49,1012.06,92.01,458.5 12.72,40.64,1021.11,93.24,475.73 25.97,70.32,1007.48,57.01,435.27 10.1,40.22,1007.1,90.36,478.43 10.48,37.5,1009.81,95.26,474.57 25.84,69.14,1009.22,88.47,431.35 18.51,48.06,1015.14,79.83,455.44 22.82,60.08,1017.95,65.71,450.86 8.76,40.96,1025.21,90.72,483.79 6.49,39.33,1010.85,91.85,489.22 21.01,50.9,1012.24,70.82,453.99 13.31,40.1,1014.81,82.11,468.74 26.13,71.64,1004.16,87.18,439.73 5.34,39.22,1012.73,81.42,472.66 8.72,40.72,1023.48,77.87,485.3 25.32,71.94,1009.94,62.93,435.06 25.68,58.41,1013.71,70.61,440.78 24.04,60.77,1017.62,75.23,442.25 20.21,60.84,1018.5,82.73,447.73 25.97,57.32,1012.13,47.48,442.73 25.68,46.21,1011.01,57.53,442.98 19.51,66.51,1015.28,80.75,448.04 27.57,71.32,1002.59,76.68,436.61 10.15,41.46,1019.78,83.56,481.31 13.75,41.49,1019.9,88.23,469.02 11.02,41.44,1015.28,83.53,476.68 19.44,39.53,1006.99,63.18,457.09 14.83,53.82,1016.57,63.47,464 25.59,61.5,1009.12,68,439.14 27.29,71.32,1006.39,81.59,435.25 31.04,66.54,1003.83,53.05,431.66 28.15,72.24,1010.88,62.39,431.75 25.3,71.29,1007.86,62.98,437.17 10.76,40.78,1023.81,87.96,469.97 6.81,37.49,1010.74,88.25,482.21 25.41,77.54,1009.68,89.09,434.09 9.82,37.83,1005.29,100.07,473.66 15.3,43.67,1011.75,95.31,468.14 12.64,40.69,1015.86,82.06,474.08 12.51,41.92,1031.21,64.66,468.41 17.78,58.95,1016.32,89.61,450.89 28.4,75.23,1011.12,55.01,441.78 7.49,39.81,1018.2,85.96,483.71 11.67,42.74,1025.92,79.57,474.75 28.68,70.32,1008.51,45.73,430.48 10.24,39.28,1010.13,81.61,477.53 22.95,45.61,1013.65,73.92,457.91 7.95,41.26,1008.48,97.92,480.6 5.72,40.81,1025.78,92.46,487.8 24.24,68.3,1018.03,81.51,437.12 30.01,73.18,1012.23,60.9,429.84 9.36,44.03,1010.3,87.2,474.68 22.44,63.86,1020,64.83,447.3 21.39,64.27,1011.71,95.39,445.12 26.78,66.54,1010.14,49.01,440 16.76,45.09,1014.28,57.71,458.67 10.12,43.72,1011.33,97.62,473.05 19.84,65.48,1019.54,76.6,449.85 28.32,66.54,1010.28,45.6,436.42 8.25,41.26,1020.59,91.84,475.17 24.2,68.67,1006.72,78.08,444.09 28.32,71.32,1008.02,78.82,433.82 22.29,61.27,1019.05,58.23,449.81 29.05,69.71,1009.03,64.25,434.05 17.34,46.48,1007.18,83.15,452.06 17.25,39.39,1014.27,67.8,465.74 13.82,42.32,1016.32,81.19,463.06 27.05,77.95,1009.57,76.56,434.09 15.99,43.5,1021.34,73.22,460.7 26.01,58.41,1013.56,70.84,443.74 31.31,67.48,1009.71,57.06,440.38 25.57,65.46,1014.81,38.58,444.46 16.74,38.01,1022.63,69.19,463.61 20.35,56.53,1020.23,70.05,456.04 6.71,39.37,1020.28,71.15,487.05 12.84,39.54,1011.47,89.86,468.22 29.57,67.83,1009.19,55.74,427.62 20.46,51.43,1010.06,83.79,456.7 29.29,71.14,1011.49,49.97,432.58 10.13,38.16,1013.57,79.04,474.92 26.93,59.54,1004.02,75.5,437.58 14.39,43.56,1012.97,59.17,469.35 5.18,40.27,1010.84,81.64,489.1 20.1,57.17,1011.96,87.68,452.67 8.53,43.14,1012.25,78.88,480.08 24.1,52.84,1006.47,47.58,444.69 9.29,34.03,1018.84,74.81,483.74 22.07,58.95,1017.98,75.83,442.4 23.57,61.47,1009.27,84.17,435.82 20.45,59.8,1015.13,79.21,452.96 9.97,41.62,1013.99,96.02,464.86 26.62,76.2,1006.06,69.13,437.81 27.11,69.59,1008.56,79.2,437.2 19.51,48.78,1021.03,86.33,453.27 18.01,54.9,1017.04,77.82,455.91 14.41,40.71,1016.78,69.77,467.01 24.66,72.24,1011.35,77.45,434.33 10.59,41.54,1019.94,73.88,477.05 12.28,40.55,1005.72,98.56,472.47 11.19,40.64,1020.57,84.49,472.86 14.62,42.86,1015.56,84.5,470.79 10.05,37.14,1012.64,75.97,474.16 24.91,71.29,1008.29,69.06,437.03 30.96,69.82,1009.6,51.55,438.74 30.31,74.16,1010.69,58.81,436.23 17.47,43.77,1012.25,76.78,456.41 30.36,71.8,1010.9,63.27,437.4 25.06,44.57,1007.39,56.07,443.66 20.57,42.8,1013.1,75.48,460.43 17.79,46.21,1010.38,85.25,448.74 18.51,50.9,1012.95,82.71,459.11 13.21,40.56,1018.12,64.49,475.86 30.24,68.3,1016.21,48.25,431.82 24.4,67.45,1015.63,57.1,435.47 8.72,40.02,1031.32,78.09,477.86 11.16,40.96,1023.49,83.7,478.3 20.28,48.78,1017.4,82.51,451.59 8.57,41.17,1020.18,72.47,484.2 31.2,73.17,1010.28,53.23,431.23 21.83,63.07,1011.57,87.02,443.1 14.43,44.47,1028.57,70.7,466.56 31.35,70.8,1010.11,66.37,432.19 12.27,41.17,1019.41,58.1,475.13 10.09,41.62,1015.21,96.56,463.86 5.24,38.68,1018.03,78.65,486.67 7.14,39.4,1011.68,91.84,482.82 6.63,39.42,1024.81,72.58,482.02 27.37,65.06,1013.09,50.92,440.5 30.39,71.8,1010.87,64.11,435.82 15.75,47.45,1009.86,86.68,451.5 28.82,71.43,1011.51,58.58,443.68 24,75.23,1010.69,72.46,443.78 28.17,72.43,1007.37,68.92,428.88 27.2,78.05,1010.15,90.2,430.55 30.08,68.14,1003.99,77.38,425.27 9.65,41.03,1021.09,64.97,481.68 28.15,70.72,1009.76,73.38,436.19 27.21,68.12,1012.96,54.69,435.2 14.65,41.92,1030.61,63.07,464.95 32.18,65.74,1010.89,46.52,435.58 7.57,41.14,1028.23,87.97,477.8 27.2,49.16,1005.33,46.73,440.57 25.89,59.22,1013.4,80.17,445.75 25.01,66.56,1009.68,64.94,435.73 26.68,68.08,1011.41,67.33,433.04 17.72,50.9,1012.02,85.55,456.4 28.62,70.94,1007.38,53,432.71 27.06,61.41,1011.99,45.23,452.85 24.27,74.99,1007.73,82.49,438.26 32.15,69.98,1013.3,55.13,429.86 17.08,38.58,1015.41,73.42,461.49 22.08,45.61,1014.02,75.71,456.71 13.27,52.75,1025.86,65.12,464.82 30.24,68.24,1009.68,64.67,426.25 13.13,40.75,1016.05,80.87,472.5 26.2,63.56,1013.39,67.07,442.4 9.74,41.01,1019.12,98.39,465.8 23.83,58.79,1009.77,78.13,444.34 24.49,60.27,1018.96,72.62,440.87 26.66,64.27,1012.83,58.88,437.87 14.42,44.66,1016.1,93.89,461.34 10.76,44.58,1016.41,79.24,483.54 21.79,58.2,1017.21,66.74,446.94 9.51,38.38,1022.77,73.82,474.93 11.06,41.16,1018.52,89.14,467.46 27.69,69.71,1009.9,69.91,440.43 20.48,39.72,1001.61,57.32,455.58 22.03,64.79,1017.95,76.2,450.25 5.81,45.87,1009.63,94.38,479.66 12.23,41.58,1018.76,87.66,464.45 6.29,40.78,1024.75,96.37,478.29 24.64,58.79,1009.82,73.96,444.26 24.05,67.83,1009.35,63.8,442.53 11.06,36.71,1021.67,80.44,473.85 32.49,71.32,1005.03,57.12,433.59 19.69,57.32,1012.41,75.51,449.59 23.82,44.89,1009.39,74.69,445.45 11,40.23,1019.08,86.5,475.9 10.15,41.14,1025.5,91.54,473.56 23.41,74.99,1007.22,84.55,442.51 19.31,67.71,1005.31,77.15,446.23 30.34,68.08,1010.85,49.4,428.34 25.2,57.5,1015.19,59.62,446.26 28.26,69.23,1013.01,42.1,436.31 23.39,73.5,1011.37,88.48,441.18 5.98,39.61,1017.27,84.86,482.17 29.62,73.18,1012.21,61.6,427.22 22.59,70.32,1007.07,74.39,437.39 21.53,58.05,1012.9,87.57,447.93 15.86,38.62,1016.65,67.51,462.58 12.36,40.56,1022.11,72.99,474.71 21.09,59.8,1016.94,76.95,451.98 25.07,60.27,1018.13,70.33,439.52 31.12,67.69,1005.3,50.46,425.21 30.27,64.69,1006.3,53.69,435.67 19.48,63.09,1019.28,78.04,449.6 12.95,43.71,1025.63,90.7,469.15 23.62,67.45,1014.63,59.8,439.45 18.93,67.71,1005.04,82.4,444.55 14.57,42.18,1015.13,74.89,465.75 22.75,57.76,1017.83,66.54,452.33 25.5,67.83,1009.29,61.29,437.49 29.67,66.51,1015.6,34.1,434.8 25.88,69.13,1002.44,85.67,426.14 14.57,39.28,1015.1,76.94,469.27 13.44,42.34,1018,96.65,459.6 18.67,44.06,1017.13,77.18,454.51 29.53,71.97,1008.6,79.25,434.96 18.31,52.9,1015.99,66.14,459.61 13.09,41.62,1011.82,83.14,457.29 26.56,52.3,1007.4,62.04,439.25 10.46,37.5,1013.12,76.74,472.16 20.73,41.1,1001.86,47.51,456.44 28.82,77.24,1008.35,78.93,433.69 28.52,70.72,1009.64,66.76,437.72 16.13,53.82,1015.63,63.08,459.16 22.82,64.63,1020.78,66.73,449.34 22.84,67.32,1013.77,64.67,438.36 30.56,69.04,1009.29,55.73,442.24 29.9,74.99,1002.28,59.76,436.77 8.47,41.03,1021.72,70.16,485.1 27.89,70.94,1007.54,49.18,435.21 12.12,41.17,1017.68,78.72,470.67 20.42,45.01,1012.23,66.5,451.28 33.2,73.88,1005.67,48.48,438.12 23.62,56.85,1011.11,64.44,442.96 14.79,46.48,1007.46,92.4,462.55 19.94,44.63,1004.73,78.48,455.58 17.16,53.16,1013.2,82.85,456.93 8.67,40.77,1011.81,89.4,479.23 21.41,56.9,1007.03,79.41,441.41 7.93,42.28,1008.43,85.57,484.75 29.7,67.17,1007.31,66.56,438.04 15.84,41.04,1025.64,63.43,456.21 25.63,69.89,1015.17,77.42,434.47 5.71,45.87,1012.04,93.42,482.49 25.31,67.9,1006.34,68.04,440.36 29.65,72.86,1004.26,69.63,434.67 20,69.48,1011.05,85.51,448.79 13.78,41.16,1021.65,75.77,460.44 14.14,43.34,1017.1,81.77,464.36 23.65,71.98,1006.09,93.39,434.11 15.33,43.13,1015.41,53.17,466.86 26.98,43.77,1010.95,40.8,446.05 29.29,70.36,1006.64,60.82,431.26 30.85,68.94,1007.31,68.99,426.1 11.35,38.91,1017.93,83.45,474.22 30.26,59.22,1013.18,61.08,442.98 28.16,71.94,1007.69,68.17,430.46 34.03,73.56,1006.49,51.07,440.29 20.15,58.59,1014.13,91.96,443.85 17.01,50.9,1013.23,82.03,460.14 9.88,40.71,1015.34,84.32,471.8 12.71,41.39,1019.3,74.2,475.13 30.89,74.87,1008.99,56.58,432.68 10.84,40.27,1005.24,87.27,479.22 27.34,59.87,1012.06,59.04,448.26 14.81,44.88,1019.1,66.7,464.65 18.2,45.01,1013.82,68.14,452.21 22.7,60.84,1019.15,71.48,438.59 22.43,63.94,1012.76,93.24,444.53 30,61.5,1009.4,48.63,435.6 25.72,59.21,1012.37,66.62,437.72 20.88,56.85,1010.91,84.28,440.08 28.31,66.17,1009.75,72.66,444.51 12.42,41.58,1019.49,86.31,466.05 21.35,58.16,1017.21,67.66,452.83 26.66,73.56,1006.9,99.27,433.62 16.61,45.87,1009.34,97.93,455.86 17.14,58.16,1018.59,77.22,458.61 20.98,42.23,1013.12,67.37,461.9 13.41,54.3,1016.48,79.28,467.88 11.99,49.83,1008.33,95.2,468.22 17.27,44.9,1007.85,78.8,454.19 22.58,59.14,1017.2,80.91,439.78 18.89,58.66,1010.96,84.07,453.33 22.41,70.98,1005.67,95.03,441.51 24.06,69.94,1005.47,60.46,436.88 30.37,76.09,1006.95,65.93,435.01 13.42,41.74,1020.96,61.8,473.45 10.63,42.28,1008.37,92.68,474.97 10.94,25.36,1009.47,100.1,470.9 31,77.95,1010.14,65.97,431.62 8.47,41.26,1020.57,91.28,477.14 18.33,52.08,1001.78,100.09,448.23 28.43,69.59,1008.79,73.33,439.26 24.97,58.95,1017.19,56.24,440.03 10.5,39.28,1016.55,91.75,480.92 27.35,77.95,1017.43,73.36,437.61 25.06,64.63,1020.66,54.93,446.57 29.39,68.24,1009.06,66.76,427.96 24.18,58.49,1011.3,77.82,445.49 15.75,39.99,1007.02,77.44,464.95 10.32,42.02,998.27,99.12,472.16 17.36,39.53,1008.28,68.87,456.57 12.27,41.17,1019.41,58.1,475.13 15.11,40.71,1017.96,69.31,465.42 22.2,63.94,1017.38,56.17,445.6 22.88,59.21,1011.51,86.93,440.25 28.96,75.23,1010.88,49.45,439.03 5.35,35.57,1027.12,80.81,488.65 20.2,64.45,1009.03,61.77,452.33 11.01,37.5,1015.08,73.36,474.36 15.5,44.92,1024.16,86.44,462.12 20.19,62.26,1011.37,89.69,443.58 24.95,64.33,1011.34,81.05,440.97 19.7,51.3,1014.88,88.1,454.94 28.57,65.27,1013.27,51.11,440.51 8.07,41.01,1023.26,97.5,474.09 19.68,68.28,1002.62,71.57,452.47 8.64,38.56,1016.51,66.03,484.45 10.53,37.5,1008.55,99.91,472.32 23.53,50.05,1005.63,78.4,443.71 24.9,67.25,1017.77,66.17,433.71 5.01,39.4,1003.69,91.9,475.34 22.66,69.84,1006.16,82.79,439.06 29.76,57.19,1008.59,51.1,436.21 26.3,61.41,1012.45,56.85,448.55 30.17,74.22,1007.46,49.27,432 8.02,40.23,1017.42,90.26,484.22 19.12,50.16,1011.52,99.71,451.49 14.87,42.18,1015.23,74.41,465.89 9.71,42.44,1014.29,94.03,481.03 24.33,77.54,1008.5,82.45,435.38 7.17,39.4,1011.48,90.38,484.33 24.61,62.96,1020.1,63.83,445.79 23.48,66.44,1011.28,61.11,443.21 23.7,70.32,1007.21,66.85,439.59 25.44,69.59,1008.22,80.73,433.97 17.46,62.1,1019.96,83.99,451.06 22.97,62.4,1010.25,75.18,445.3 26.22,49.82,1015.48,55.8,454.2 23.27,68.28,1005.01,74.83,444.86 11.76,41.58,1020.91,88.35,465.45 14.02,40.1,1015.56,82.44,467.32 16.65,49.69,1014.01,91,460.03 13.19,39.18,1023.67,66.78,469.62 31.32,74.33,1012.92,36.48,429.57 24.48,69.45,1013.86,62.39,435.74 21.6,62.52,1017.23,67.87,453.28 ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/README.rst ================================================ Python code for solving linear regression problems. The files ``simple_linear_regression.py`` and ``multiple_linear_regression.py`` are companions to a `blog post on linear regression `_, so they shouldn't change besides bug fixes. ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/multiple_linear_regression.py ================================================ # Example of solving multivariate linear regression in Python. # # Uses only Numpy, with Matplotlib for plotting. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import csv import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np from timer import Timer def read_CCPP_data(filename): """Read data from the given CCPP CSV file. Returns (data, header). data is a 2D Numpy array of type np.float32, with a sample per row. header is the names of the columns as read from the CSV file. """ with open(filename, 'rb') as file: reader = csv.reader(file) header = reader.next() return np.array(list(reader), dtype=np.float32), header def feature_normalize(X): """Normalize the feature matrix X. Given a feature matrix X, where each row is a vector of features, normalizes each feature. Returns (X_norm, mu, sigma) where mu and sigma are the mean and stddev of features (vectors). """ num_features = X.shape[1] mu = X.mean(axis=0) sigma = X.std(axis=0) X_norm = (X - mu) / sigma return X_norm, mu, sigma def compute_cost(X, y, theta): """Compute the MSE cost of a prediction based on theta, over the whole X. X: (k, n) each row is an input with n features (including an all-ones column that should have been added beforehead). y: (k, 1) observed output per input. theta: (n, 1) regression parameters. Note: expects y and theta to be proper column vectors. """ k = X.shape[0] # Vectorized computation of yhat per sample. yhat = np.dot(X, theta) diff = yhat - y # Vectorized computation using a dot product to compute sum of squares. cost = np.dot(diff.T, diff) / k # Cost is a 1x1 matrix, we need a scalar. return cost.flat[0] def gradient_descent(X, y, nsteps, learning_rate=0.1): """Runs gradient descent optimization to fit a line y^ = theta.dot(x). X: (k, n) each row is an input with n features (including an all-ones column that should have been added beforehead). y: (k, 1) observed output per input. nsteps: how many steps to run the optimization for. learning_rate: learning rate of gradient descent. Yields 'nsteps + 1' pairs of (theta, cost) where theta is the fit parameter shaped (n, 1) for that step, and its cost vs the real y. The first pair has the initial theta and cost; the rest carry results after each of the iteration steps. """ k, n = X.shape theta = np.zeros((n, 1)) yield theta, compute_cost(X, y, theta) for step in range(nsteps): # yhat becomes a (k, 1) array of predictions, per sample. yhat = np.dot(X, theta) diff = yhat - y dtheta = np.zeros((n, 1)) for j in range(n): # The sum over all samples is computed with a dot product between # (y^-y) and the jth feature across all of X. dtheta[j, 0] = learning_rate * np.dot(diff.T, X[:, j]) / k theta -= dtheta yield theta, compute_cost(X, y, theta) def compute_normal_eqn(X, y): """Compute theta using the normal equation. X is the input matrix with a leftmost column of 1s. Returns theta as a column vector. """ XTX = np.dot(X.T, X) # Using linalg.inv here, which will bomb for a singular matrix. # Alternatively, we could use linalg.pinv to compute a pseudo-inverse. XTX_inv = np.linalg.inv(XTX) xdot = np.dot(XTX_inv, X.T) return np.dot(xdot, y) def split_dataset_to_train_test(dataset, train_proportion=0.8): """Splits the dataset to a train set and test set. The split is done over a random shuffle of the rows of the dataset. Assumes each row in the data has the expected outcome in the last column. train_proportion: The proportion of data to keep in the training set. The rest goes to the test set. Returns (X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test) where y_train/y_test are column vectors taken from the last column of the dataset. """ shuffled_dataset = np.random.permutation(dataset) k_train = int(shuffled_dataset.shape[0] * train_proportion) X_train = shuffled_dataset[:k_train, :-1] y_train = shuffled_dataset[:k_train, -1].reshape(-1, 1) X_test = shuffled_dataset[k_train:, :-1] y_test = shuffled_dataset[k_train:, -1].reshape(-1, 1) return X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test def compute_rsquared(X, y, theta): """Compute R^2 - the coefficeint of determination for theta. X: (k, n) input. y: (k, 1) observed output per input. theta: (n, 1) regression parameters. Returns the R2 - a scalar. """ k = X.shape[0] yhat = np.dot(X, theta) diff = yhat - y SE_line = np.dot(diff.T, diff) SE_y = len(y) * y.var() return (1 - SE_line / SE_y).flat[0] def plot_cost_vs_step(costs): """Given an array of costs, plots them vs. index. Uses logarithmic scale for y be cause the cost tends to be very large initially. """ fig, ax = plt.subplots() ax.plot(range(len(costs)), costs) ax.set_yscale('log') plt.show() def plot_correlation_heatmap(X, header): """Plot a heatmap of the correlation matrix for X. This requires the seaborn package to be installed. """ import seaborn cm = np.corrcoef(X.T) hm = seaborn.heatmap(cm, cbar=True, annot=True, square=True, yticklabels=header, xticklabels=header) plt.show() def sample_predictions_vs_truth(X, y, theta, nsamples=10): """Display a sample of predictions vs. true values.""" print('Sample of predictions vs. true values') yhat = np.dot(X, theta) sample_indices = np.random.choice(X.shape[0], size=nsamples, replace=False) for index in sample_indices: print(' sample #{0}: yhat={1}, y={2}'.format(index, yhat[index][0], y[index][0])) if __name__ == '__main__': # Follow through the code here to see how the functions are used. No # plotting is done by default. Uncomment relevant lines to produce plots. # For reproducibility np.random.seed(42) # This file was dowloaded from: # https://archive.ics.uci.edu/ml/machine-learning-databases/00294/ and then # unzipped. filename = 'CCPP-dataset/data.csv' with Timer('reading data'): X, header = read_CCPP_data(filename) # Plot a heatmap for the correlation matrix of X. This requires the seaborn # package. This heatmap is a useful visualization for finding features that # are most correlated with the result, and features that are possibly # collinear. #plot_correlation_heatmap(X, header) print('Read {0} data samples from {1}'.format(len(X), filename)) X_train, y_train, X_test, y_test = split_dataset_to_train_test(X) print('Data shapes:') print(' X_train:', X_train.shape) print(' y_train:', y_train.shape) print(' X_test:', X_test.shape) print(' y_test:', y_test.shape) # Normalize X to bring all features into the same scale. Also, add a # all-ones column as the first column of X ("augmented X") to serve as the # bias term. ktrain = X_train.shape[0] X_train_normalized, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X_train) X_train_augmented = np.hstack((np.ones((ktrain, 1)), X_train_normalized)) # Run gradient descent. NSTEPS = 500 with Timer('Running gradient descent ({0} steps)'.format(NSTEPS)): thetas_and_costs = list(gradient_descent(X_train_augmented, y_train, NSTEPS)) # Plot cost vs. step for the last 100 steps (the first steps have an # enourmous errors compared to the final steps). #plot_cost_vs_step([cost for _, cost in thetas_and_costs][:100]) last_theta = thetas_and_costs[-1][0] print('Best theta found:', last_theta) print('Training set MSE:', compute_cost(X_train_augmented, y_train, last_theta)) print('Training set R^2:', compute_rsquared(X_train_augmented, y_train, last_theta)) # Normalize the test set using the mu/sigma computed from the training set, # and augment it with the bias column of 1s. ktest = X_test.shape[0] X_test_normalized = (X_test - mu) / sigma X_test_augmented = np.hstack((np.ones((ktest, 1)), X_test_normalized)) print('Test set MSE:', compute_cost(X_test_augmented, y_test, last_theta)) print('Test set R^2:', compute_rsquared(X_test_augmented, y_test, last_theta)) # To assess how good the fit is, print out a random sample of predictions # for the test set compared to the real y values for these inputs. sample_predictions_vs_truth(X_test_augmented, y_test, last_theta) # Compute theta using the normal equation and report MST / R^2. theta_from_normal_eqn = compute_normal_eqn(X_train_augmented, y_train) print('Theta from normal equation:', theta_from_normal_eqn) print('Test set MSE / normal:', compute_cost(X_test_augmented, y_test, theta_from_normal_eqn)) print('Test set R^2 / normal:', compute_rsquared(X_test_augmented, y_test, theta_from_normal_eqn)) ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/multiple_linear_regression_test.py ================================================ import numpy as np import unittest from multiple_linear_regression import feature_normalize class Test(unittest.TestCase): def test_feature_normalize(self): X = np.array([[1, 2, 3], [9, 4, 4]]) X_norm, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X) np.testing.assert_array_equal(mu, [5, 3, 3.5]) np.testing.assert_array_equal(sigma, [4, 1, 0.5]) self.assertEqual(X_norm[0][0], -1) self.assertEqual(X_norm[-1][-1], 1) if __name__ == '__main__': unittest.main() ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/simple_linear_regression.py ================================================ # Example of solving simple linear (y(x) = mx + b) regression in Python. # # Uses only Numpy, with Matplotlib for plotting. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function from matplotlib import cm from matplotlib.animation import FuncAnimation import matplotlib.pyplot as plt from mpl_toolkits.mplot3d import Axes3D import numpy as np from timer import Timer def generate_data(n, m=2.25, b=6.0, stddev=1.5): """Generate n data points approximating given line. m, b: line slope and intercept. stddev: standard deviation of added error. Returns pair x, y: arrays of length n. """ x = np.linspace(-2.0, 2.0, n) y = x * m + b + np.random.normal(loc=0, scale=stddev, size=n) return x, y def plot_data_scatterplot(x, y, mb_history=None): """Plot the data: y as a function of x, in a scatterplot. x, y: arrays of data. mb_history: if provided, it's a sequence of (m, b) pairs that are used to draw animated lines on top of the scatterplot. """ fig, ax = plt.subplots() fig.set_tight_layout(True) fig.set_size_inches((8, 6)) save_dpi = 80 ax.scatter(x, y, marker='x') ax.set_xlabel('x') ax.set_ylabel('y') if mb_history: m0, b0 = mb_history[0] line, = ax.plot(x, x * m0 + b0, 'r-', linewidth=2.0) # Downsample mb_history by 2 to reduce the number of frames shown. def update(frame_i): mi, bi = mb_history[frame_i * 2] line.set_ydata(x * mi + bi) ax.set_title('Fit at iteration {0}'.format(frame_i * 2)) return [line] anim = FuncAnimation(fig, update, frames=range(len(mb_history) // 2), interval=200) anim.save('regressionfit.gif', dpi=save_dpi, writer='imagemagick') else: fig.savefig('linreg-data.png', dpi=save_dpi) plt.show() def compute_cost(x, y, m, b): """Compute the MSE cost of a prediction based on m, b. x: inputs array. y: observed outputs array. m, b: regression parameters. Returns: a scalar cost. """ yhat = m * x + b diff = yhat - y # Vectorized computation using a dot product to compute sum of squares. cost = np.dot(diff.T, diff) / float(x.shape[0]) # Cost is a 1x1 matrix, we need a scalar. return cost.flat[0] def gradient_descent(x, y, nsteps, learning_rate=0.1): """Runs gradient descent optimization to fit a line y^ = x * m + b. x, y: input data and observed outputs, as array. nsteps: how many steps to run the optimization for. learning_rate: learning rate of gradient descent. Yields 'nsteps + 1' triplets of (m, b, cost) where m, b are the fit parameters for the given step, and cost is their cost vs. the real y. The first triplet has the initial m, b and cost; the rest carry results after each of the iteration steps. """ n = x.shape[0] # Start with m and b initialized to 0s for the first try. m, b = 0, 0 yield m, b, compute_cost(x, y, m, b) for step in range(nsteps): # Update m and b following the formulae for gradient updates. yhat = m * x + b diff = yhat - y dm = learning_rate * (diff * x).sum() * 2 / n db = learning_rate * diff.sum() * 2 / n m -= dm b -= db yield m, b, compute_cost(x, y, m, b) def plot_cost_3D(x, y, costfunc, mb_history=None): """Plot cost as 3D and contour. x, y: arrays of data. costfunc: cost function with signature like compute_cost. mb_history: if provided, it's a sequence of (m, b) pairs that are added as crosshairs markers on top of the contour plot. """ lim = 10.0 N = 250 ms = np.linspace(-lim, lim, N) bs = np.linspace(-lim, lim, N) cost = np.zeros((N, N)) for m_idx in range(N): for b_idx in range(N): cost[m_idx, b_idx] = costfunc(x, y, ms[m_idx], bs[b_idx]) # Configure 3D plot. fig = plt.figure() fig.set_tight_layout(True) ax1 = fig.add_subplot(1, 2, 1, projection='3d') ax1.set_xlabel('b') ax1.set_ylabel('m') msgrid, bsgrid = np.meshgrid(ms, bs) surf = ax1.plot_surface(msgrid, bsgrid, cost, cmap=cm.coolwarm) # Configure contour plot. ax2 = fig.add_subplot(1, 2, 2) ax2.contour(msgrid, bsgrid, cost) ax2.set_xlabel('b') ax2.set_ylabel('m') if mb_history: ms, bs = zip(*mb_history) plt.plot(bs, ms, 'rx', mew=3, ms=5) plt.show() def plot_cost_vs_step(costs): """Given an array of costs, plots them vs. index.""" plt.plot(range(len(costs)), costs) plt.show() def compute_mb_analytic(x, y): """Given arrays of x, y computes m, b analytically.""" xbar = np.average(x) ybar = np.average(y) m = (xbar * ybar - np.average(x * y)) / (xbar ** 2 - np.average(x ** 2)) b = ybar - m * xbar return m, b def compute_rsquared(x, y, m, b): """Compute R^2 - the coefficient of determination for m, b. x, y: arrays of input, output. m, b: regression parameters. Returns the R^2 - a scalar. """ yhat = m * x + b diff = yhat - y SE_line = np.dot(diff.T, diff) SE_y = len(y) * y.var() return 1 - SE_line / SE_y if __name__ == '__main__': # Follow through the code here to see how the functions are used. No # plotting is done by default. Uncomment relevant lines to produce plots. # For reproducibility. np.random.seed(42) # Generate some pseudo-random data we're goign to fit with linear # regression. N = 500 x, y = generate_data(N) print('Generated {0} data points'.format(N)) # Run gradient descent. NSTEPS = 50 with Timer('Running gradient descent [{0} steps]'.format(NSTEPS)): mbcost = list(gradient_descent(x, y, NSTEPS)) mb_history = [(m, b) for m, b, _ in mbcost] print('Final m={0}, b={1}; cost={2}'.format(mbcost[-1][0], mbcost[-1][1], mbcost[-1][2])) # Plot the data in a scatterplot, with an animated line fit. #plot_data_scatterplot(x, y, mb_history) # Plot the cost function in 3D and as contours; add markers for the costs # values returned by the gradient descent procedure. #plot_cost_3D(x, y, compute_cost, mb_history) m, b = compute_mb_analytic(x, y) print('Analytic: m={0}, b={1}'.format(m, b)) rsquared = compute_rsquared(x, y, m, b) print('Rsquared:', rsquared) ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/simple_linear_regression_test.py ================================================ import numpy as np import unittest from simple_linear_regression import compute_cost class Test(unittest.TestCase): def test_compute_cost(self): self.assertAlmostEqual( compute_cost( np.column_stack(([1, 2, 3], )), np.column_stack(([7, 3, 5], )), m=2, b=3), 12.0) if __name__ == '__main__': unittest.main() ================================================ FILE: linear-regression/timer.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import sys import time class Timer(object): def __init__(self, name=None): self.name = name def __enter__(self): self.tstart = time.time() if self.name: print('[%s] ' % self.name, end='') sys.stdout.flush() def __exit__(self, type, value, traceback): print('Elapsed: %s' % (time.time() - self.tstart)) ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/.gitignore ================================================ LICENSE USE_POLICY* llama-2-* tokenizer.model tokenizer_* ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/.python-version ================================================ 3.12 ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/README.md ================================================ Following Umar Jamil's https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oM4VmoabDAI ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/download.sh ================================================ #!/bin/bash # Taken from the official Llama2 repo # Custom URL pasted from the registration process at https://www.llama.com/llama-downloads/ # Copyright (c) Meta Platforms, Inc. and affiliates. # This software may be used and distributed according to the terms of the Llama 2 Community License Agreement. read -p "Enter the URL from email: " PRESIGNED_URL echo "" read -p "Enter the list of models to download without spaces (7B,13B,70B,7B-chat,13B-chat,70B-chat), or press Enter for all: " MODEL_SIZE TARGET_FOLDER="." # where all files should end up mkdir -p ${TARGET_FOLDER} if [[ $MODEL_SIZE == "" ]]; then MODEL_SIZE="7B,13B,70B,7B-chat,13B-chat,70B-chat" fi echo "Downloading LICENSE and Acceptable Usage Policy" wget ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"LICENSE"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/LICENSE" wget ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"USE_POLICY.md"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/USE_POLICY.md" echo "Downloading tokenizer" wget ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"tokenizer.model"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/tokenizer.model" wget ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"tokenizer_checklist.chk"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/tokenizer_checklist.chk" (cd ${TARGET_FOLDER} && md5sum -c tokenizer_checklist.chk) for m in ${MODEL_SIZE//,/ } do if [[ $m == "7B" ]]; then SHARD=0 MODEL_PATH="llama-2-7b" elif [[ $m == "7B-chat" ]]; then SHARD=0 MODEL_PATH="llama-2-7b-chat" elif [[ $m == "13B" ]]; then SHARD=1 MODEL_PATH="llama-2-13b" elif [[ $m == "13B-chat" ]]; then SHARD=1 MODEL_PATH="llama-2-13b-chat" elif [[ $m == "70B" ]]; then SHARD=7 MODEL_PATH="llama-2-70b" elif [[ $m == "70B-chat" ]]; then SHARD=7 MODEL_PATH="llama-2-70b-chat" fi echo "Downloading ${MODEL_PATH}" mkdir -p ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/${MODEL_PATH}" for s in $(seq -f "0%g" 0 ${SHARD}) do wget --retry-connrefused --waitretry=1 --read-timeout=20 --timeout=15 -t 0 --continue ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"${MODEL_PATH}/consolidated.${s}.pth"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/${MODEL_PATH}/consolidated.${s}.pth" done wget ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"${MODEL_PATH}/params.json"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/${MODEL_PATH}/params.json" wget ${PRESIGNED_URL/'*'/"${MODEL_PATH}/checklist.chk"} -O ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/${MODEL_PATH}/checklist.chk" echo "Checking checksums" (cd ${TARGET_FOLDER}"/${MODEL_PATH}" && md5sum -c checklist.chk) done ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/inference.py ================================================ from typing import Optional import torch import time from pathlib import Path import json from sentencepiece import SentencePieceProcessor from tqdm import tqdm from model import ModelArgs, Transformer class LLaMA: def __init__( self, model: Transformer, tokenizer: SentencePieceProcessor, model_args: ModelArgs, ): self.model = model self.tokenizer = tokenizer self.model_args = model_args @staticmethod def build( checkpoints_dir: str, tokenizer_path: str, load_model: bool, max_seq_len: int, max_batchsize: int, device: str, ): prev_time = time.time() if load_model: checkpoints = sorted(Path(checkpoints_dir).glob("*.pth")) assert len(checkpoints) > 0, f"No checkpoints found in {checkpoints_dir}" chk_path = checkpoints[0] print(f"Loading model from {chk_path}") checkpoint = torch.load(chk_path, weights_only=False, map_location="cpu") print(f"Model loaded in {time.time() - prev_time:.2f} seconds") prev_time = time.time() with open(Path(checkpoints_dir) / "params.json", "r") as f: params = json.load(f) model_args = ModelArgs( max_seq_len=max_seq_len, max_batchsize=max_batchsize, device=device, **params, ) tokenizer = SentencePieceProcessor() tokenizer.load(tokenizer_path) model_args.vocab_size = tokenizer.vocab_size() if device == "cuda": torch.set_default_dtype(torch.cuda.HalfTensor) else: torch.set_default_dtype(torch.bfloat16) model = Transformer(model_args).to(device) if load_model: del checkpoint["rope.freqs"] # we calculate these ourselves model.load_state_dict(checkpoint, strict=False) print(f"State dict loaded in {time.time() - prev_time:.2f} seconds") return LLaMA(model, tokenizer, model_args) def text_completion( self, prompts: list[str], temperature: float = 0.6, top_p: float = 0.9, max_gen_len: Optional[int] = None, ): if max_gen_len is None: max_gen_len = self.model_args.max_seq_len - 1 # convert each prompt into tokens prompt_tokens = [ self.tokenizer.encode(prompt, out_type=int, add_bos=True, add_eos=False) for prompt in prompts ] # make sure the batch size is not too large batch_size = len(prompt_tokens) assert ( batch_size <= self.model_args.max_batchsize ), f"Batch size {batch_size} exceeds max batch size {self.model_args.max_batchsize}" max_prompt_len = max(len(tokens) for tokens in prompt_tokens) # make sure the prompt length is not larger than the mex seq len assert max_prompt_len <= self.model_args.max_seq_len total_len = min(self.model_args.max_seq_len, max_prompt_len + max_gen_len) pad_id = self.tokenizer.pad_id() tokens = torch.full( (batch_size, total_len), pad_id, dtype=torch.long, device=self.model_args.device, ) for k, t in enumerate(prompt_tokens): tokens[k, : len(t)] = torch.tensor( t, dtype=torch.long, device=self.model_args.device ) eos_reached = torch.full((batch_size,), False, dtype=torch.bool) print(eos_reached.dtype) prompt_tokens_mask = ( tokens != pad_id ) # True if token is a prompt token, False otherwise print(prompt_tokens_mask.dtype) for cur_pos in tqdm(range(1, total_len), desc="Generating", unit="tokens"): with torch.no_grad(): logits = self.model.forward(tokens[:, cur_pos - 1 : cur_pos], cur_pos) if temperature > 0: probs = torch.softmax(logits[:, -1, :] / temperature, dim=-1) next_token = self._sample_top_p(probs, top_p) else: # Greedy sampling next_token = torch.argmax(logits[:, -1], dim=-1) next_token = next_token.reshape(-1) # only replace the token if it is a padding token next_token = torch.where( prompt_tokens_mask[:, cur_pos], tokens[:, cur_pos], next_token ) tokens[:, cur_pos] = next_token # EOS reached only if we found EOS token for a padding position eos_reached |= (~prompt_tokens_mask[:, cur_pos]) & ( next_token == self.tokenizer.eos_id() ) if all(eos_reached): break out_tokens = [] out_text = [] for prompt_index, current_prompt_tokens in enumerate(tokens.tolist()): # cut to the eos token, if present if self.tokenizer.eos_id() in current_prompt_tokens: eos_idx = current_prompt_tokens.index(self.tokenizer.eos_id()) current_prompt_tokens = current_prompt_tokens[:eos_idx] out_tokens.append(current_prompt_tokens) out_text.append(self.tokenizer.decode(current_prompt_tokens)) return (out_tokens, out_text) def _sample_top_p(self, probs, p): # (B, vocab_size) probs_sort, probs_idx = torch.sort(probs, dim=-1, descending=True) # (B, vocab_size) probs_sum = torch.cumsum(probs_sort, dim=-1) # (B, vocab_size) # (Substracting "probs_sort" shifts the cumulative sum by 1 position to the right before masking) mask = probs_sum - probs_sort > p # Zero out all the probabilities of tokens that are not selected by the Top P probs_sort[mask] = 0.0 # Redistribute the probabilities so that they sum up to 1. probs_sort.div_(probs_sort.sum(dim=-1, keepdim=True)) # Sample a token (its index) from the top p distribution next_token = torch.multinomial(probs_sort, num_samples=1) # Get the token position in the vocabulary corresponding to the sampled index next_token = torch.gather(probs_idx, -1, next_token) return next_token if __name__ == "__main__": torch.manual_seed(0) allow_cuda = False # OOM on my machine device = "cuda" if torch.cuda.is_available() and allow_cuda else "cpu" prompts = [ "Simply put, the theory of relativity states that", "If Google was an italian company founded in Milan, it would", "The meaning of life is", ] model = LLaMA.build( checkpoints_dir="llama-2-7b", tokenizer_path="tokenizer.model", load_model=True, max_seq_len=1024, max_batchsize=len(prompts), device=device, ) # Inference the model out_tokens, out_text = model.text_completion(prompts, max_gen_len=64) assert len(out_text) == len(prompts) for i in range(len(out_text)): print(f"Prompt: {prompts[i]}") print(f"Output: {out_text[i]}") print(f"Tokens: {out_tokens[i]}") print() ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/model.py ================================================ import torch import torch.nn as nn import torch.nn.functional as F import math from dataclasses import dataclass from typing import Optional, Tuple def precompute_theta_pos_frequencies( head_dim: int, seq_len: int, device: str, theta: float = 10000.0 ): # As written in the paragraph 3.2.2 of the paper # >> In order to generalize our results in 2D to any xi ∈ Rd where **d is even**, [...] assert head_dim % 2 == 0, "Dimension must be divisible by 2" # Build the theta parameter # According to the formula theta_i = 10000^(-2(i-1)/dim) for i = [1, 2, ... dim/2] # Shape: (Head_Dim / 2) theta_numerator = torch.arange(0, head_dim, 2).float() # Shape: (Head_Dim / 2) theta = 1.0 / (theta ** (theta_numerator / head_dim)).to(device) # (Dim / 2) # Construct the positions (the "m" parameter) # Shape: (Seq_Len) m = torch.arange(seq_len, device=device) # Multiply each theta by each position using the outer product. # Shape: (Seq_Len) outer_product* (Head_Dim / 2) -> (Seq_Len, Head_Dim / 2) freqs = torch.outer(m, theta).float() # We can compute complex numbers in the polar form c = R * exp(m * theta), where R = 1 as follows: # (Seq_Len, Head_Dim / 2) -> (Seq_Len, Head_Dim / 2) freqs_complex = torch.polar(torch.ones_like(freqs), freqs) return freqs_complex def apply_rotary_embeddings(x: torch.Tensor, freqs_complex: torch.Tensor, device: str): # Separate the last dimension pairs of two values, representing the real and imaginary parts of the complex number # Two consecutive values will become a single complex number # (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim) -> (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim/2) x_complex = torch.view_as_complex(x.float().reshape(*x.shape[:-1], -1, 2)) # Reshape the freqs_complex tensor to match the shape of the x_complex tensor. So we need to add the batch dimension and the head dimension # (Seq_Len, Head_Dim/2) --> (1, Seq_Len, 1, Head_Dim/2) freqs_complex = freqs_complex.unsqueeze(0).unsqueeze(2) # Multiply each complex number in the x_complex tensor by the corresponding complex number in the freqs_complex tensor # Which results in the rotation of the complex number as shown in the Figure 1 of the paper # (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim/2) * (1, Seq_Len, 1, Head_Dim/2) = (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim/2) x_rotated = x_complex * freqs_complex # Convert the complex number back to the real number # (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim/2) -> (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim/2, 2) x_out = torch.view_as_real(x_rotated) # (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim/2, 2) -> (B, Seq_Len, H, Head_Dim) x_out = x_out.reshape(*x.shape) return x_out.type_as(x).to(device) @dataclass class ModelArgs: dim: int = 4096 n_layers: int = 32 n_heads: int = 32 # number of heads for queries n_kv_heads: Optional[int] = None # number of heads for keys and values vocab_size: int = -1 # set when we load the tokenizer # hidden dim of FF layers. multiple_of: int = 256 ffn_dim_multiplier: Optional[float] = None norm_eps: float = 1e-5 # Needed for KV cache max_batchsize: int = 32 max_seq_len: int = 2048 device: str = None def repeat_kv(x: torch.Tensor, n_rep: int): batch_size, seq_len, n_heads, head_dim = x.shape if n_rep == 1: return x else: # (B, seq_len, n_heads, 1, head_dim) return ( x[:, :, :, None, :] .expand(batch_size, seq_len, n_heads, n_rep, head_dim) .reshape(batch_size, seq_len, n_heads * n_rep, head_dim) ) class RMSNorm(nn.Module): def __init__(self, dim: int, eps: float = 1e-6): super().__init__() self.eps = eps # The gamma parameter self.weight = nn.Parameter(torch.ones(dim)) def _norm(self, x: torch.Tensor): # (B, Seq_Len, Dim) * (B, Seq_Len, 1) = (B, Seq_Len, Dim) # rsqrt: 1 / sqrt(x) return x * torch.rsqrt(x.pow(2).mean(-1, keepdim=True) + self.eps) def forward(self, x: torch.Tensor): # (Dim) * (B, Seq_Len, Dim) = (B, Seq_Len, Dim) return self.weight * self._norm(x.float()).type_as(x) class SelfAttention(nn.Module): def __init__(self, args: ModelArgs): super().__init__() # number of key/value heads self.n_kv_heads = args.n_heads if args.n_kv_heads is None else args.n_kv_heads # number of query heads self.n_heads_q = args.n_heads # Ratio between the number of heads for queries and keys/values # (how many times the k/v heads should be repeated to match the q heads) self.n_rep = self.n_heads_q // self.n_kv_heads # dimension of each head self.head_dim = args.dim // self.n_heads_q self.wq = nn.Linear(args.dim, self.n_heads_q * self.head_dim, bias=False) self.wk = nn.Linear(args.dim, self.n_kv_heads * self.head_dim, bias=False) self.wv = nn.Linear(args.dim, self.n_kv_heads * self.head_dim, bias=False) self.wo = nn.Linear(self.n_heads_q * self.head_dim, args.dim, bias=False) self.cache_k = torch.zeros( (args.max_batchsize, args.max_seq_len, self.n_kv_heads, self.head_dim), device=args.device, ) self.cache_v = torch.zeros( (args.max_batchsize, args.max_seq_len, self.n_kv_heads, self.head_dim), device=args.device, ) def forward(self, x: torch.Tensor, start_pos: int, freqs_complex: torch.Tensor): batch_size, seq_len, _ = x.shape # (B, seq_len=1, dim) xq = self.wq(x) # (B, 1, n_heads_q * head_dim) xk = self.wk(x) # (B, 1, n_kv_heads * head_dim) xv = self.wv(x) # (B, 1, n_kv_heads * head_dim) xq = xq.view( batch_size, seq_len, self.n_heads_q, self.head_dim ) # (B, 1, n_heads_q, head_dim) xk = xk.view( batch_size, seq_len, self.n_kv_heads, self.head_dim ) # (B, 1, n_kv_heads, head_dim) xv = xv.view( batch_size, seq_len, self.n_kv_heads, self.head_dim ) # (B, 1, n_kv_heads, head_dim) # positional embeddings applied to q and k xq = apply_rotary_embeddings( xq, freqs_complex, device=x.device ) # (B, 1, n_heads_q, head_dim) xk = apply_rotary_embeddings( xk, freqs_complex, device=x.device ) # (B, 1, n_kv_heads, head_dim) # Replace the entry in the cache for this token self.cache_k[:batch_size, start_pos : start_pos + seq_len] = xk self.cache_v[:batch_size, start_pos : start_pos + seq_len] = xv # Retrieve all the cached keys and values so far # (B, Seq_Len, n_kv_heads, head_dim) keys = self.cache_k[:batch_size, : start_pos + seq_len] values = self.cache_v[:batch_size, : start_pos + seq_len] # Repeat the heads of the K and V to reach the number of heads of the Q # (this is not an optimized implementation, but it is the most readable) keys = repeat_kv(keys, self.n_rep) # (B, Seq_Len, n_heads_q, head_dim) values = repeat_kv(values, self.n_rep) # (B, Seq_Len, n_heads_q, head_dim) # Reshape to parallelize the heads # (B, 1, H_q, head_dim) -> (B, H_q, 1, head_dim) xq = xq.transpose(1, 2) keys = keys.transpose(1, 2) values = values.transpose(1, 2) scores = torch.matmul(xq, keys.transpose(2, 3)) / math.sqrt(self.head_dim) scores = F.softmax(scores.float(), dim=-1).type_as(xq) out = torch.matmul(scores, values) out = out.transpose(1, 2).contiguous().view(batch_size, seq_len, -1) return self.wo(out) # (B, 1, dim) class FeedForward(nn.Module): def __init__(self, args: ModelArgs): # FF layer with SwiGLU activation function super().__init__() self.args = args hidden_dim = 4 * args.dim hidden_dim = int(2 * hidden_dim / 3) if args.ffn_dim_multiplier is not None: hidden_dim = int(args.ffn_dim_multiplier * hidden_dim) # Round the hidden_dim to the nearest multiple_of parameter hidden_dim = args.multiple_of * ( (hidden_dim + args.multiple_of - 1) // args.multiple_of ) self.w1 = nn.Linear(args.dim, hidden_dim, bias=False) self.w2 = nn.Linear(hidden_dim, args.dim, bias=False) self.w3 = nn.Linear(args.dim, hidden_dim, bias=False) def forward(self, x: torch.Tensor): swish = F.silu(self.w1(x)) x_V = self.w3(x) x = swish * x_V x = self.w2(x) return x class EncoderBlock(nn.Module): def __init__(self, args: ModelArgs) -> None: super().__init__() self.args = args self.n_heads = args.n_heads self.dim = args.dim self.head_dim = args.dim // args.n_heads self.attention = SelfAttention(args) self.feed_forward = FeedForward(args) # Normalization before self-attention self.attention_norm = RMSNorm(args.dim, eps=args.norm_eps) # Normalization before feed-forward self.ffn_norm = RMSNorm(args.dim, eps=args.norm_eps) def forward(self, x: torch.Tensor, start_pos: int, freqs_complex: torch.Tensor): # (B, Seq_Len, Dim) -> (B, Seq_Len, Dim) h = x + self.attention.forward(self.attention_norm(x), start_pos, freqs_complex) out = h + self.feed_forward.forward(self.ffn_norm(h)) return out class Transformer(nn.Module): def __init__(self, args: ModelArgs) -> None: super().__init__() assert ( args.vocab_size > 0 ), "vocab_size must be set before initializing the model" self.args = args # Names have to align with the stored Llama2 checkpoints so PyTorch # knows how to load them self.vocab_size = args.vocab_size self.n_layers = args.n_layers self.tok_embedding = nn.Embedding(args.vocab_size, args.dim) self.layers = nn.ModuleList() for _ in range(args.n_layers): self.layers.append(EncoderBlock(args)) self.norm = RMSNorm(args.dim, eps=args.norm_eps) self.output = nn.Linear(args.dim, self.vocab_size, bias=False) self.freqs_complex = precompute_theta_pos_frequencies( self.args.dim // self.args.n_heads, self.args.max_seq_len * 2, device=self.args.device, ) def forward(self, tokens: torch.Tensor, start_pos: int): # (B, seq_len) batch_size, seq_len = tokens.shape assert seq_len == 1, "only one token at a time" # Embed the tokens # (B, seq_len) -> (B, seq_len, dim) h = self.tok_embedding(tokens) # Retrieve the position embeddings pairs (m, theta) corresponding # to the positions [start_pos, start_pos + seq_len] freqs_complex = self.freqs_complex[start_pos : start_pos + seq_len] # Apply all layers for layer in self.layers: h = layer(h, start_pos, freqs_complex) h = self.norm(h) output = self.output(h).float() return output ================================================ FILE: llama2-from-scratch/pyproject.toml ================================================ [project] name = "llama2-from-scratch" version = "0.1.0" description = "Add your description here" readme = "README.md" requires-python = ">=3.12" dependencies = [ "numpy>=2.2.5", "sentencepiece>=0.2.0", "torch>=2.7.0", "tqdm>=4.67.1", ] ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/.gitignore ================================================ *.gz *.png *.gif ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/.vimrc ================================================ " Force indentation styles for this directory autocmd FileType python set shiftwidth=4 autocmd FileType python set tabstop=4 autocmd FileType python set softtabstop=4 ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/README.rst ================================================ Python code for solving logistic regression problems. ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/mnist_binary_classifier.py ================================================ # A binary linear classifier for MNIST digits. # # Poses a binary classification problem - is this image showing digit D (for # some D, for example "4"); trains a linear classifier to solve the problem. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import argparse import numpy as np import sys from mnist_dataset import * from regression_lib import * if __name__ == '__main__': argparser = argparse.ArgumentParser() argparser.add_argument('--type', choices=['binary', 'logistic'], default='logistic', help='Type of classification: binary (yes/no result)' 'or logistic (probability of "yes" result).') argparser.add_argument('--set-seed', default=-1, type=int, help='Set random seed to this number (if > 0).') argparser.add_argument('--nsteps', default=150, type=int, help='Number of steps for gradient descent.') argparser.add_argument('--recognize-digit', default=4, type=int, help='Digit to recognize in training.') argparser.add_argument('--display-test', default=-1, type=int, help='Display this image from the test data ' 'set and exit.') argparser.add_argument('--normalize', action='store_true', default=False, help='Normalize data: (x-mu)/sigma.') argparser.add_argument('--report-mistakes', action='store_true', default=False, help='Report all mistakes made in classification.') args = argparser.parse_args() if args.set_seed > 0: np.random.seed(args.set_seed) # Load MNIST data into memory; this may download the MNIST dataset from # the web if not already on disk. (X_train, y_train), (X_valid, y_valid), (X_test, y_test) = get_mnist_data() if args.display_test > -1: display_mnist_image(X_test[args.display_test], y_test[args.display_test]) sys.exit(1) if args.normalize: print('Normalizing data...') X_train_normalized, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X_train) X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train_normalized) X_valid_augmented = augment_1s_column((X_valid - mu) / sigma) X_test_augmented = augment_1s_column((X_test - mu) / sigma) else: X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train) X_valid_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_valid) X_test_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_test) # Convert y_train to binary "is this a the digit D", with +1 for D, -1 # otherwise. Also reshape it into a column vector as regression_lib expects. D = args.recognize_digit print('Training for digit', D) y_train_binary = convert_y_to_binary(y_train, D) y_valid_binary = convert_y_to_binary(y_valid, D) y_test_binary = convert_y_to_binary(y_test, D) # Hyperparameters. LEARNING_RATE = 0.08 REG_BETA=0.03 if args.type == 'binary': print('Training binary classifier with hinge loss...') lossfunc = lambda X, y, theta: hinge_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=REG_BETA) else: print('Training logistic classifier with cross-entropy loss...') lossfunc = lambda X, y, theta: cross_entropy_loss_binary( X, y, theta, reg_beta=REG_BETA) n = X_train_augmented.shape[1] gi = gradient_descent(X_train_augmented, y_train_binary, init_theta=np.random.randn(n, 1), lossfunc=lossfunc, batch_size=256, nsteps=args.nsteps, learning_rate=LEARNING_RATE) for i, (theta, loss) in enumerate(gi): if i % 50 == 0 and i > 0: print(i, loss) # We use predict_binary for both binary and logistic classification. # See comment on predict_binary to understand why it works for # logistic as well. yhat = predict_binary(X_train_augmented, theta) yhat_valid = predict_binary(X_valid_augmented, theta) print('train accuracy =', np.mean(yhat == y_train_binary)) print('valid accuracy =', np.mean(yhat_valid == y_valid_binary)) print('After {0} training steps...'.format(args.nsteps)) print('loss =', loss) yhat_valid = predict_binary(X_valid_augmented, theta) yhat_test = predict_binary(X_test_augmented, theta) print('valid accuracy =', np.mean(yhat_valid == y_valid_binary)) print('test accuracy =', np.mean(yhat_test == y_test_binary)) # For logistic, get predicted probabilities as well. if args.type == 'logistic': yhat_test_prob = predict_logistic_probability(X_test_augmented, theta) if args.report_mistakes: for i in range(yhat_test.size): if yhat_test[i][0] != y_test_binary[i][0]: print('@ {0}: predict {1}, actual {2}'.format( i, yhat_test[i][0], y_test_binary[i][0]), end='') if args.type == 'logistic': print('; prob={0}'.format(yhat_test_prob[i][0])) else: print('') ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/mnist_dataset.py ================================================ # Helper code for downloading, unpickling and displaying MNIST data. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import cPickle as pickle import gzip import os from shutil import copyfileobj from urllib2 import urlopen from urlparse import urljoin import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np def maybe_download(base_url, filename, expected_size, force=False): """Download a file if not present, and make sure it's the right size.""" if force or not os.path.exists(filename): print('Attempting to download:', filename) in_stream = urlopen(urljoin(base_url, filename)) with open(filename, 'wb') as out_file: copyfileobj(in_stream, out_file) print('Download Complete!') statinfo = os.stat(filename) if statinfo.st_size == expected_size: print('Found and verified', filename) return True else: print('Unable to verify size: {0} vs. expected {1}'.format( statinfo.st_size, expected_size)) return False def load_pickle_from_gz(filename): """Load a pickle from a gzip archive.""" with gzip.open(filename, 'rb') as f: return pickle.loads(f.read()) def get_mnist_data(): """Get data sets for MNIST. If needed, downloads the data as a pickled .gz archive; Taken from my mirror of the archive at http://deeplearning.net/tutorial/gettingstarted.html. The pickle contains 3 sets in a tuple: training, validation and test data sets. Each data set is a pair of numpy arrays: data (N x 784) and numeric labels (N,) where N is the set size. """ baseurl = 'http://thegreenplace.net/files/' filename = 'mnist.pkl.gz' if maybe_download(baseurl, filename, expected_size=16168813): return load_pickle_from_gz(filename) else: return None def display_mnist_image(x, y=None): """Displays a single mnist image with a label. x: (784,) image vector, as stored in the mnist pickle. y: optional numeric label """ xmat = x.reshape(28, 28) plt.imshow(xmat, cmap='gray') if y is not None: plt.title('label={0}'.format(y)) plt.show() def display_multiple_images(xs): """Displays multiple images side-by-side in subplots.""" fig = plt.figure() fig.set_tight_layout(True) for i, x in enumerate(xs): ax = fig.add_subplot(1, len(xs), i + 1) ax.imshow(x.reshape(28, 28), cmap='gray') plt.show() def convert_y_to_binary(y, correct_digit): """Converts a vector y taken from MNIST data to binary "is it this digit". y: array of digits. correct_digit: the digit we expect to be "correct" Returns array of +1 or -1; +1 where the original y had the "correct" digit, and -1 otherwise. The returned array is always a column vector. """ return np.where(y == correct_digit, np.ones_like(y), -1 * np.ones_like(y)).reshape(y.size, 1) if __name__ == '__main__': train, valid, test = get_mnist_data() print('Train shapes:', train[0].shape, train[1].shape) print('Valid shapes:', valid[0].shape, valid[1].shape) print('Test shapes:', test[0].shape, test[1].shape) #display_mnist_image(train[0][20], train[1][20]) display_multiple_images((train[0][9974], train[0][9734], train[0][9161], train[0][8788])) ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/mnist_multinomial_classifier.py ================================================ # A multiclass logistic regression (OvA) for MNIST digits. # # Trains 10 different logistic regressions, one for each digit, and classifies # new inputs based on the highest probability among all the trained classifiers. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import argparse import numpy as np import sys from mnist_dataset import * from regression_lib import * def train_for_digit(X, y, digit, nsteps, learning_rate=0.12, reg_beta=0.02): """Train a logistic regression binary classifier for recognizing the digit. """ y_binary = convert_y_to_binary(y, digit) lossfunc = lambda X, y, theta: cross_entropy_loss_binary( X, y, theta, reg_beta=reg_beta) n = X.shape[1] gi = gradient_descent(X, y_binary, init_theta=np.random.randn(n, 1), lossfunc=lossfunc, batch_size=256, nsteps=nsteps, learning_rate=learning_rate) # Run GD to completion. for i, (theta, _) in enumerate(gi): if i % 100 == 0 and i > 0: print('{0}...'.format(i), end='') sys.stdout.flush() print('') return theta if __name__ == '__main__': argparser = argparse.ArgumentParser() argparser.add_argument('--normalize', action='store_true', default=False, help='Normalize data: (x-mu)/sigma.') argparser.add_argument('--nsteps', default=150, type=int, help='Number of steps for gradient descent.') argparser.add_argument('--set-seed', default=-1, type=int, help='Set random seed to this number (if > 0).') argparser.add_argument('--load-thetas', type=str, metavar='filename', help='Load trained thetas from this pickle file ' 'instead of training.') argparser.add_argument('--save-thetas', type=str, metavar='filename', help='Save trained thetas to this pickle file. ' 'Helpful since training can take a long time.') argparser.add_argument('--report-mistakes', action='store_true', default=False, help='Report all mistakes made in classification.') args = argparser.parse_args() if args.set_seed > 0: np.random.seed(args.set_seed) (X_train, y_train), (X_valid, y_valid), (X_test, y_test) = get_mnist_data() if args.normalize: print('Normalizing data...') X_train_normalized, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X_train) X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train_normalized) X_valid_augmented = augment_1s_column((X_valid - mu) / sigma) X_test_augmented = augment_1s_column((X_test - mu) / sigma) else: X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train) X_valid_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_valid) X_test_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_test) # Training may take a long time and we may want to experiment with a trained # model; therefore the save-thetas and load-thetas arguments let us save the # trained model parameters into a pickle file and quickly reload them on a # subsequent run. if args.load_thetas: print('Loading thetas from "{0}"'.format(args.load_thetas)) with open(args.load_thetas, 'rb') as f: thetas = pickle.load(f) else: # Train a logistic classifier for every image [0..9]; thetas[n] will # hold the regression parameters for recognizing digit n. thetas = [] for digit in range(10): print('Training for digit {0}...'.format(digit)) thetas.append(train_for_digit(X_train_augmented, y_train, digit=digit, nsteps=args.nsteps)) print('thetas shape:', ', '.join([str(theta.shape) for theta in thetas])) if args.save_thetas: print('Saving thetas to "{0}"'.format(args.save_thetas)) with open(args.save_thetas, 'wb') as f: pickle.dump(thetas, f) # Compute probabilities for every digit and stack them into a (k, 10) matrix # where allprobs[i, j] is the predicted probability for test sample i being # the digit j. Note that these probabilities come from different classifiers # so they don't add up to 1. probs = [predict_logistic_probability(X_test_augmented, theta) for theta in thetas] allprobs = np.hstack(probs) print(allprobs.shape) # Use argmax to find the highest probability for every row. predictions = np.argmax(allprobs, axis=1) print(predictions.shape) print(y_test.shape) print('test accuracy =', np.mean(predictions == y_test)) if args.report_mistakes: for i in range(y_test.size): if y_test[i] != predictions[i]: print('{0}: real={1} pred={2}'.format(i, y_test[i], predictions[i])) print(' probs=', ' '.join('{0:.2f}'.format(p) for p in allprobs[i, :])) ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/mnist_softmax_classifier.py ================================================ # A multiclass logistic regression using softmax for MNIST digits. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import argparse import numpy as np import sys from mnist_dataset import * from regression_lib import * def train(X, y, nsteps, learning_rate=0.09, reg_beta=0.01): """Train a logistic regression binary classifier for recognizing the digit. """ k, n = X.shape assert y.shape == (k,) lossfunc = lambda X, y, W: softmax_cross_entropy_loss( X, y, W, reg_beta=reg_beta) init_W = np.random.randn(n, 10) # The gradient_descent is generic across different algorithms, so it uses # the name "theta" for the regression parameters. Here we assign our W into # theta. gi = gradient_descent(X, y, init_theta=init_W, lossfunc=lossfunc, batch_size=256, nsteps=nsteps, learning_rate=learning_rate) # Run GD to completion. for i, (W, loss) in enumerate(gi): if i % 100 == 0 and i > 0: print('{0}... [loss={1}]'.format(i, loss)) sys.stdout.flush() print('') return W if __name__ == '__main__': argparser = argparse.ArgumentParser() argparser.add_argument('--normalize', action='store_true', default=False, help='Normalize data: (x-mu)/sigma.') argparser.add_argument('--nsteps', default=150, type=int, help='Number of steps for gradient descent.') argparser.add_argument('--set-seed', default=-1, type=int, help='Set random seed to this number (if > 0).') argparser.add_argument('--load-weights', type=str, metavar='filename', help='Load trained weights from this pickle file ' 'instead of training.') argparser.add_argument('--save-weights', type=str, metavar='filename', help='Save trained weights to this pickle file. ' 'Helpful since training can take a long time.') argparser.add_argument('--report-mistakes', action='store_true', default=False, help='Report all mistakes made in classification.') args = argparser.parse_args() if args.set_seed > 0: np.random.seed(args.set_seed) (X_train, y_train), (X_valid, y_valid), (X_test, y_test) = get_mnist_data() if args.normalize: print('Normalizing data...') X_train_normalized, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X_train) X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train_normalized) X_valid_augmented = augment_1s_column((X_valid - mu) / sigma) X_test_augmented = augment_1s_column((X_test - mu) / sigma) else: X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train) X_valid_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_valid) X_test_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_test) # Here "weights" is a matrix with N rows and 10 columns, where N is the # number of features (pixels) in every MNIST image. if args.load_weights: print('Loading weights from "{0}"'.format(args.load_weights)) with open(args.load_weights, 'rb') as f: W = pickle.load(f) else: # Train a softmax classifier for every image [0..9]; W is the trained # weights. W = train(X_train_augmented, y_train, nsteps=args.nsteps) print('W shape:', W.shape) if args.save_weights: print('Saving weights to "{0}"'.format(args.save_weights)) with open(args.save_weights, 'wb') as f: pickle.dump(W, f) probs = softmax_layer(X_test_augmented, W) print('Probs shape:', probs.shape) # Softmax assigns probabilities of each digits per data item; argmax will # pinpoint the column with the highest probability. predictions = np.argmax(probs, axis=1) print('Predictions shape:', predictions.shape) print('y_test shape:', y_test.shape) print('test accuracy =', np.mean(predictions == y_test)) if args.report_mistakes: for i in range(y_test.size): if y_test[i] != predictions[i]: print('{0}: real={1} pred={2}'.format(i, y_test[i], predictions[i])) print(' probs=', ' '.join('{0:.2f}'.format(p) for p in probs[i, :])) ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/plot_binary_decision.py ================================================ # Helper code to plot a binary decision region. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np if __name__ == '__main__': # Our input is (x,y) -- 2D. Output is the scalar y^ computed by the # dot-product of (1, x, y) with theta (1 is for the bias, and theta_0 is the # bias parameter). This is a plane equation in 3D. # Therefore, the plot we aim to produce is 3D -- some scalar as a function # of two parameters. The contours are then the equi-value lines of the 3D # plot, and we're only interested in the main contour at value 0 -- meaning # the line where the plane intersects the x/y plane. # # Note: if we flip all values here we get the same intersection. theta = np.array([[-4], [0.5], [1]]) fig, ax = plt.subplots() fig.set_tight_layout(True) xs = np.linspace(-4, 8, 200) ys = np.linspace(-4, 8, 200) xsgrid, ysgrid = np.meshgrid(xs, ys) plane = np.zeros_like(xsgrid) for i in range(xsgrid.shape[0]): for j in range(xsgrid.shape[1]): plane[i, j] = np.array([1, xsgrid[i, j], ysgrid[i, j]]).dot(theta) cs = ax.contour(xsgrid, ysgrid, plane, levels=[0]) cs.clabel(inline=1) ax.grid(True) ax.annotate(r'here $\hat{y}(x) > 0$', xy=(4, 4), fontsize=20) ax.annotate(r'here $\hat{y}(x) < 0$', xy=(0, 0), fontsize=20) fig.savefig('line.png', dpi=80) plt.show() ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/plot_binary_losses.py ================================================ # Helper code to plot binary losses. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np if __name__ == '__main__': fig, ax = plt.subplots() fig.set_tight_layout(True) xs = np.linspace(-2, 2, 500) # plot L0/1 loss ax.plot(xs, np.where(xs < 0, np.ones_like(xs), np.zeros_like(xs)), color='r', linewidth=2.0, label='$L_{01}$') # plot square loss ax.plot(xs, (xs - 1) ** 2, linestyle='-.', label='$L_2$') # plot hinge loss ax.plot(xs, np.maximum(np.zeros_like(xs), 1 - xs), color='g', linewidth=2.0, label='$L_h$') ax.grid(True) plt.ylim((-1, 4)) ax.legend() fig.savefig('loss.png', dpi=80) plt.show() ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/plot_sigmoid.py ================================================ # Helper code to plot the sigmoid function. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np from regression_lib import sigmoid if __name__ == '__main__': fig, ax = plt.subplots() fig.set_tight_layout(True) x = np.linspace(-6, 6, 200) y = sigmoid(x) ax.plot(x, y, 'b-', linewidth=2) ax.grid(True) fig.savefig('sigmoid.png', dpi=80) plt.show() ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/regression_lib.py ================================================ # Common library code for running logistic regressions and classifiers. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain import numpy as np def augment_1s_column(X): """Augments the given data matrix with a first column of ones. X: (k, n) k rows of data items, each having n features. Returns a (k, n+1) matrix with an additional column of 1s at the start. """ return np.hstack((np.ones((X.shape[0], 1)), X)) def feature_normalize(X): """Normalizes the feature matrix X. Given a feature matrix X, where each row is a vector of features, normalizes each feature. Returns (X_norm, mu, sigma) where mu and sigma are the mean and stddev of features (vectors). Where stddev is zero for a feature, it's clamped to one. In X that means all items had the same value for the feature. For normalizing other data, sigma=1 means the feature remains its value with mean subtracted, and no scaling. """ num_features = X.shape[1] mu = X.mean(axis=0) sigma = X.std(axis=0) sigma[sigma == 0] = 1 X_norm = (X - mu) / sigma return X_norm, mu, sigma def predict_binary(X, theta): """Makes classification predictions for the data in X using theta. For a given data item x, the prediction is +1 if x.dot(theta) >= 0, and -1 otherwise. Note that this also works for logistic regression since for x.dot(theta) >= 0 the sigmoid is >= 0.5 which we also consider +1. X: (k, n) k rows of data items, each having n features; augmented. theta: (n, 1) regression parameters. Returns yhat (k, 1) - either +1 or -1 classification for each item. """ yhat = X.dot(theta) # Fix the cases where yhat == 0 to be positive; otherwise np.sign would # return 0. Note that it should be exceedingly rare in practice to get an # exact 0 for some result. yhat[yhat == 0] = 1 return np.sign(yhat) def sigmoid(z): """Computes sigmoid function. z: array of input values. Returns array of outputs, sigmoid(z). """ # Note: this version of sigmoid tries to avoid overflows in the computation # of e^(-z), by using an alternative formulation when z is negative, to get # 0. e^z / (1+e^z) is equivalent to the definition of sigmoid, but we won't # get e^(-z) to overflow when z is very negative. # Since both the x and y arguments to np.where are evaluated by Python, we # may still get overflow warnings for large z elements; therefore we ignore # warnings during this computation. with np.errstate(over='ignore', invalid='ignore'): return np.where(z >= 0, 1 / (1 + np.exp(-z)), np.exp(z) / (1 + np.exp(z))) def softmax_layer(X, W): """Computes the softmax layer for inputs X and weights W. Works in a vectorized manner for a whole batch of k data items. X: (k, n) k rows of data items, each having n features; augmented. W: (n, t) t is the number of classes. Applies the softmax function to X.dot(W). Returns an array of probabilities with shape (k, t). Each row is the probabilities of the t classes for that datum. """ # Compute logits: (k, t) logits = X.dot(W) # Vectorized sofmax computation on every row of logits. The normalization # is done as a sum of columns, which is then broadcast over exp_logits. # The result is also (k, t) exp_logits = np.exp(logits) return exp_logits / np.sum(exp_logits, axis=1, keepdims=True) def softmax_cross_entropy_loss(X, y, W, reg_beta=0.0): """Softmax cross entropy loss and gradient computation. X: (k, n) k rows of data items, each having n features; augmented. y: (k,) a number in the closed interval [0..t-1] - the correct class, for each of the k inputs. W: (n, t) t is the number of classes. Applies the xent loss (comparing with y) for softmax_layer and computes its gradient w.r.t. W. Returns (loss, dW). """ softmax = softmax_layer(X, W) # y contains class IDs -- numbers in range [0, t) -- which is useful for the # selection we need for xent. # For each sample, we have to select the "right" softmax result and log it. # The right one comes at index for any given input. Since in softmax the # inputs are rows, [range(k), y] selects the yth in each row in a vectorized # manner. k = X.shape[0] logprobs = -np.log(softmax[range(k), y]) loss = np.sum(logprobs) / k # Add regularization loss. loss += np.sum(W * W) * reg_beta / 2 # Compute gradient for the weights in a vectorized way. Again for vectorized # indexing [range(k), y] selects the yth weight in each row. dW = softmax dW[range(k), y] -= 1 dW = np.dot(X.T, dW) / k # Gradient of regularization. dW += W * reg_beta return loss, dW def predict_logistic_probability(X, theta): """Makes classification predictions for the data in X using theta. X: (k, n) k rows of data items, each having n features; augmented. theta: (n, 1) logistic regression parameters. Computes the logistic regression prediction. Returns yhat (k, 1) - number in the range (0.0, 1.0) for each item. The number is the probability that the item is classified as +1. """ z = X.dot(theta) return sigmoid(z) def cross_entropy_loss_binary(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): """Computes the cross-entropy loss for binary classification. Applies the cross-entropy loss function to sigmoid activation for X and theta. See square_loss for arguments and return value. """ k, n = X.shape # Calls to predict_logistic_probability may produce probabilities that are # 0.0 and 1.0, due to the exponent in sigmoid and the large numbers # involved. np.log on 0.0 overflows, so we clip the input of np.log to # values very close to 0 instead. eps = np.finfo(np.float32).eps yhat_prob = np.clip(predict_logistic_probability(X, theta), a_min=eps, a_max=1.0-eps) loss = np.mean(np.where(y == 1, -np.log(yhat_prob), -np.log(1 - yhat_prob))) # Add regularization. loss += np.dot(theta.T, theta) * reg_beta / 2 yh = np.where(y == 1, yhat_prob - 1, yhat_prob) dtheta = np.dot(yh.T, X).T / k + reg_beta * theta return loss.flat[0], dtheta def square_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): """Computes squared loss and gradient. Based on mean square margin loss. X: (k, n) data items. y: (k, 1) result (+1 or -1) for each data item in X. theta: (n, 1) parameters. reg_beta: optional regularization strength, for L2 regularization. Returns (loss, dtheta) where loss is the aggregate numeric loss for this theta, and dtheta is (n, 1) gradients for theta based on that loss. Note: the mean (division by k) helps; otherwise, the loss is very large and a tiny learning rate is required to prevent divergence in the beginning of the search. """ k, n = X.shape margin = y * X.dot(theta) diff = margin - 1 loss = np.dot(diff.T, diff) / k + np.dot(theta.T, theta) * reg_beta / 2 dtheta = np.zeros_like(theta) for j in range(n): dtheta[j, 0] = (2 * np.dot((diff * y).T, X[:, j]) / k + reg_beta * theta[j, 0]) return loss.flat[0], dtheta def hinge_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): """Computes hinge loss and gradient. See square_loss for arguments and return value. """ k, n = X.shape # margin is (k, 1) margin = y * X.dot(theta) loss = (np.sum(np.maximum(np.zeros_like(margin), 1 - margin)) / k + np.dot(theta.T, theta) * reg_beta / 2) dtheta = np.zeros_like(theta) # yx is (k, n) where the elementwise multiplication by y is broadcast across # the whole X. yx = y * X # We're going to select columns of yx, and each column turns into a vector. # Precompute the margin_selector vector which has for each j whether the # margin for that j was < 1. # Note: still keeping an explicit loop over n since I don't expect the # number of features to be very large. It's possible to fully vectorize this # but that would make the computation even more obscure. I'll do that if # performance becomes an issue with this version. margin_selector = (margin < 1).ravel() for j in range(n): # Sum up the contributions to the jth theta element gradient from all # input samples. dtheta[j, 0] = (np.sum(np.where(margin_selector, -yx[:, j], 0)) / k + reg_beta * theta[j, 0]) return loss.flat[0], dtheta def generate_batch(X, y, batch_size=256): """Generate a randomized batch from X, y. X (k, n), y (k, 1): as usual. batch_size: size of the batch to create. Returns X_batch (batch_size, n), y_batch (batch_size, 1) pair. """ batch_indices = np.random.choice(X.shape[0], batch_size, replace=False) return X[batch_indices, :], y[batch_indices] def gradient_descent(X, y, init_theta, lossfunc=None, nsteps=100, batch_size=None, learning_rate=0.1): """Runs gradient descent optimization to minimize loss for X, y. Starts with init_theta. The shapes of X, y, init_theta have to work with the loss function provided. The actual theta array learned will have the same shape as init_theta. lossfunc: a function computing loss and gradients. Takes (X, y, theta). Returns (loss, dtheta) where loss is the numeric loss for this theta, and dtheta is the gradients for theta based on that loss (same shape as theta - every element is a gradient). nsteps: how many steps to run. batch_size: if None, the whole data set is used for every step. Otherwise batches of batch_size randomly-selected data items are used. learning_rate: learning rate update (multiplier of gradient). Yields 'nsteps + 1' pairs of (theta, loss). The first pair yielded is the initial theta and its loss; the rest carry results after each of the iteration steps. """ theta = init_theta.copy() if batch_size is None: loss, dtheta = lossfunc(X, y, theta) else: X_batch, y_batch = generate_batch(X, y, batch_size) loss, dtheta = lossfunc(X_batch, y_batch, theta) yield theta, loss for step in range(nsteps): theta -= learning_rate * dtheta if batch_size is None: loss, dtheta = lossfunc(X, y, theta) else: X_batch, y_batch = generate_batch(X, y, batch_size) loss, dtheta = lossfunc(X_batch, y_batch, theta) yield theta, loss ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/regression_lib_test.py ================================================ # Unit testing for regression_lib. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import unittest from regression_lib import * from timer import Timer def hinge_loss_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): """Unvectorized version of hinge loss. Closely follows the formulae without vectorizing optimizations, so it's easier to understand and correlate to the math. """ k, n = X.shape loss = 0 dtheta = np.zeros_like(theta) for i in range(k): # The contribution of each data item. x_i = X[i, :] y_i = y[i, 0] m_i = x_i.dot(theta).flat[0] * y_i # margin for i loss += np.maximum(0, 1 - m_i) / k for j in range(n): # This data item contributes gradients to each of the theta # components. dtheta[j, 0] += -y_i * x_i[j] / k if m_i < 1 else 0 # Add regularization. loss += np.dot(theta.T, theta) * reg_beta / 2 for j in range(n): dtheta[j, 0] += reg_beta * theta[j, 0] return loss, dtheta def cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): """Unvectorized cross-entropy loss for binary classification.""" k, n = X.shape yhat_prob = predict_logistic_probability(X, theta) loss = np.mean(np.where(y == 1, -np.log(yhat_prob), -np.log(1 - yhat_prob))) loss += np.dot(theta.T, theta) * reg_beta / 2 dtheta = np.zeros_like(theta) for i in range(k): for j in range(n): if y[i] == 1: dtheta[j, 0] += (yhat_prob[i, 0] - 1 ) * X[i, j] else: dtheta[j, 0] += yhat_prob[i, 0] * X[i, j] dtheta = dtheta / k + reg_beta * theta return loss, dtheta def softmax_gradient_simple(z): """Unvectorized computation of the gradient of softmax. z: (N, 1) column array of input values. Returns dz (N, N) the Jacobian matrix of softmax(z) at the given z. dz[i, j] is DjSi - the partial derivative of Si w.r.t. input j. """ Sz = softmax(z) N = z.shape[0] dz = np.zeros((N, N)) for i in range(N): for j in range(N): dz[i, j] = Sz[i, 0] * (np.float32(i == j) - Sz[j, 0]) return dz def eval_numerical_gradient(f, x, verbose=False, h=1e-5): """A naive implementation of numerical gradient of f at x. f: function taking a single array argument and returning a scalar. x: array starting point for evaluation. Based on http://cs231n.github.io/assignments2016/assignment1/, with a bit of cleanup. Returns a numerical gradient """ grad = np.zeros_like(x) # iterate over all indexes in x it = np.nditer(x, flags=['multi_index'], op_flags=['readwrite']) while not it.finished: ix = it.multi_index oldval = x[ix] x[ix] = oldval + h fxph = f(x) # evalute f(x + h) x[ix] = oldval - h fxmh = f(x) # evaluate f(x - h) x[ix] = oldval # restore # compute the partial derivative with centered formula grad[ix] = (fxph - fxmh) / (2 * h) if verbose: print(ix, grad[ix]) it.iternext() return grad class TestSquareLoss(unittest.TestCase): def test_simple_vs_numerical_noreg(self): X = np.array([ [0.1, 0.2, -0.3], [0.6, -0.5, 0.1], [0.6, -0.4, 0.3], [-0.2, 0.4, 2.2]]) theta = np.array([ [0.2], [-1.5], [2.35]]) y = np.array([ [1], [-1], [1], [1]]) loss, grad = square_loss(X, y, theta) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda theta: square_loss(X, y, theta)[0], theta, h=1e-8) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum, rtol=1e-4) def test_simple_vs_numerical_withreg(self): # Same test with a regularization factor. X = np.array([ [0.1, 0.2, -0.3], [0.6, -0.5, 0.1], [0.6, -0.4, 0.3], [-0.2, 0.4, 2.2]]) theta = np.array([ [0.2], [-1.5], [2.35]]) y = np.array([ [1], [-1], [1], [1]]) beta = 0.1 loss, grad = square_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=beta) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda theta: square_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=beta)[0], theta, h=1e-8) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum, rtol=1e-4) class TestHingeLoss(unittest.TestCase): def checkHingeLossSimpleVsVec(self, X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): loss_vec, dtheta_vec = hinge_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta) loss_simple, dtheta_simple = hinge_loss_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta) self.assertAlmostEqual(loss_vec, loss_simple) np.testing.assert_allclose(dtheta_vec, dtheta_simple) def test_hinge_loss_small(self): X = np.array([ [0.1, 0.2, -0.3], [0.6, -0.5, 0.1], [0.6, -0.4, 0.3], [-0.2, 0.4, 2.2]]) theta = np.array([ [0.2], [-1.5], [2.35]]) y = np.array([ [1], [-1], [1], [1]]) # Without regularization. self.checkHingeLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0) # With regularization. beta = 0.05 self.checkHingeLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=beta) # With regularization, compare to numerical gradient. loss, grad = hinge_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=beta) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda theta: hinge_loss(X, y, theta, reg_beta=beta)[0], theta, h=1e-8) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum, rtol=1e-4) def test_hinge_loss_larger_random(self): np.random.seed(1) k, n = 20, 5 X = np.random.uniform(low=0, high=1, size=(k,n)) theta = np.random.randn(n, 1) y = np.random.choice([-1, 1], size=(k,1)) self.checkHingeLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta) def test_hinge_loss_even_larger_random(self): np.random.seed(1) k, n = 350, 15 X = np.random.uniform(low=0, high=1, size=(k,n)) theta = np.random.randn(n, 1) * 2 y = np.random.choice([-1, 1], size=(k,1)) self.checkHingeLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta) class TestCrossEntropyBinaryLoss(unittest.TestCase): def checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(self, X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0): loss_vec, dtheta_vec = cross_entropy_loss_binary(X, y, theta, reg_beta) loss_simple, dtheta_simple = cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple( X, y, theta, reg_beta) self.assertAlmostEqual(loss_vec, loss_simple) np.testing.assert_allclose(dtheta_vec, dtheta_simple) def test_xent_no_overflow_from_0(self): X = np.array([[100, 200, 300]]) theta = np.array([ [-1.0], [-1.1], [-1.2]]) y = np.array([[1]]) loss, grad = cross_entropy_loss_binary(X, y, theta) self.assertTrue(np.isfinite(loss)) def test_xent_loss_oneitem(self): X = np.array([[0.1, 0.2, -0.3]]) theta = np.array([ [0.2], [-1.5], [2.35]]) y = np.array([[1]]) self.checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0) self.checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1) loss, grad = cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda theta: cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1)[0], theta, h=1e-8) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum, rtol=1e-4) def test_xent_loss_small(self): X = np.array([ [0.1, 0.2, -0.3], [0.6, -0.5, 0.1], [0.6, -0.4, 0.3], [-0.2, 0.4, 2.2]]) theta = np.array([ [0.2], [-1.5], [2.35]]) y = np.array([ [1], [-1], [1], [1]]) self.checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0) self.checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1) loss, grad = cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda theta: cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1)[0], theta, h=1e-8) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum, rtol=1e-4) def test_xent_loss_larger(self): X = np.array([ [0.1, 0.2, -0.3, 1.2], [0.6, -0.5, 0.1, -0.1], [0.6, -0.4, 0.3, 0.0], [0.4, -0.3, 0.3, 0.0], [-0.2, 0.4, 2.2, 0.7]]) theta = np.array([ [0.2], [0.3], [-1.5], [2.35]]) y = np.array([ [1], [-1], [-1], [1], [1]]) self.checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.0) self.checkXentLossSimpleVsVec(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1) loss, grad = cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda theta: cross_entropy_loss_binary_simple(X, y, theta, reg_beta=0.1)[0], theta, h=1e-8) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum, rtol=1e-4) class TestPredictBinary(unittest.TestCase): def test_simple(self): # Make sure positive gets +1, negative -1 and zero also gets +1. theta = np.array([[2], [-1]]) X = np.array([ [7, 3], [2, 4], [-1, 1]]) yhat = predict_binary(X, theta) np.testing.assert_equal(yhat, np.array([[1], [1], [-1]])) class TestPredictLogisticProbability(unittest.TestCase): def test_close_to_zero(self): # For very large negative z, predicted probability is close to zero. X = np.array([ [10.0, 20.0], [20.0, 30.0], [30.0, 40.0]]) theta = np.array([[-5], [-6]]) p = predict_logistic_probability(X, theta) np.testing.assert_allclose(p, np.zeros_like(p), atol=1e-8) def test_close_to_one(self): # For very large positive z, predicted probability is close to one. X = np.array([ [10.0, 20.0], [20.0, 30.0], [30.0, 40.0]]) theta = np.array([[3], [4]]) p = predict_logistic_probability(X, theta) np.testing.assert_allclose(p, np.ones_like(p), atol=1e-8) def test_half(self): # For z=0 we get probability 0.5 X = np.array([ [10.0, 20.0], [20.0, 40.0], [40.0, 80.0]]) theta = np.array([[-2], [1]]) p = predict_logistic_probability(X, theta) np.testing.assert_allclose(p, np.full(p.shape, 0.5)) def tuplize_2d_array(arr): """Returns a list of tuples, each tuple being one row of arr.""" return [tuple(row) for row in arr] class TestGenerateBatch(unittest.TestCase): def test_simple(self): X = np.array([ [10.0, 20.0], [12.0, 22.0], [13.0, 24.0], [20.0, 40.0], [40.0, 80.0]]) y = np.array([[3], [4], [5], [9], [10]]) Xt = tuplize_2d_array(X) yt = tuplize_2d_array(y) for _ in range(10): X_batch, y_batch = generate_batch(X, y, batch_size=3) Xbt = tuplize_2d_array(X_batch) ybt = tuplize_2d_array(yt) # Make sure the items in Xbt are unique and each comes from Xt. self.assertEqual(len(set(Xbt)), len(Xbt)) for row in Xbt: self.assertIn(row, Xt) # ... same for yt. self.assertEqual(len(set(ybt)), len(ybt)) for row in ybt: self.assertIn(row, yt) def test_with_row_y(self): # Test that generate_batch works well with y as a row vector X = np.array([ [10.0, 20.0], [12.0, 22.0], [13.0, 24.0], [20.0, 40.0], [40.0, 80.0]]) y = np.array([3, 4, 5, 9, 10]) for _ in range(10): _, y_batch = generate_batch(X, y, batch_size=2) ybt = tuple(y_batch) self.assertEqual(len(set(ybt)), len(ybt)) for yy in ybt: self.assertIn(yy, y) class TestGradientDescent(unittest.TestCase): def test_applies_dtheta(self): # Tests that gradient_descent applies dtheta to an initial theta as # expected k, n = 40, 3 t = 10 dtheta = np.random.randn(n, t) learning_rate = 0.1 def lossfunc(X, y, theta): return 0, dtheta init_theta = np.random.randn(n, t) gi = gradient_descent( X=np.ones((k, n)), y=np.ones((k, 1)), init_theta=init_theta, lossfunc=lossfunc, nsteps=10, learning_rate=learning_rate) # Take note of initial theta. first_theta, _ = gi.next() np.testing.assert_allclose(init_theta, first_theta) for i, (theta, _) in enumerate(gi, 1): expected = init_theta - i * learning_rate * dtheta np.testing.assert_allclose(expected, theta) class TestFeatureNormalize(unittest.TestCase): def test_simple(self): X = np.array([ [3, 6], [5, 14]]) X_norm, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X) np.testing.assert_equal(mu, np.array([4, 10])) np.testing.assert_equal(sigma, np.array([1, 4])) np.testing.assert_equal(X_norm, np.array([[-1, -1], [1, 1]])) def test_with_nans(self): # stddev of second feature is 0, so we'd get nan's if feature_normalize # wasn't fixing them. X = np.array([ [3, 6], [5, 6]]) X_norm, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X) np.testing.assert_equal(mu, np.array([4, 6])) np.testing.assert_equal(sigma, np.array([1, 1])) np.testing.assert_equal(X_norm, np.array([[-1, 0], [1, 0]])) class TestSoftmaxCrossEntropyLoss(unittest.TestCase): def checkGradientVsNumeric(self, X, y, W, reg_beta): _, dW = softmax_cross_entropy_loss(X, y, W, reg_beta) grad_num = eval_numerical_gradient( f=lambda WW: softmax_cross_entropy_loss(X, y, WW, reg_beta)[0], x=W) np.testing.assert_allclose(dW, grad_num) def test_trivial(self): # Compares loss with hard-coded results from the CS231n sample # at http://cs231n.github.io/linear-classify/ X = np.array([ [1.0, -15, 22, -44, 56]]) W = np.array([ [0.0, 0.2, -0.3], [0.01, 0.7, 0.0], [-0.05, 0.2, -0.45], [0.1, 0.05, -0.2], [0.05, 0.16, 0.03]]) y = np.array([2]) self.checkGradientVsNumeric(X, y, W, reg_beta=0.0) self.checkGradientVsNumeric(X, y, W, reg_beta=0.1) def test_random_small(self): np.random.seed(1) k, n = 20, 5 t = 10 X = np.random.uniform(low=-3.0, high=3.0, size=(k,n)) W = np.random.normal(size=(n,t)) y = np.random.randint(low=0, high=t, size=(1,k)) self.checkGradientVsNumeric(X, y, W, reg_beta=0.0) self.checkGradientVsNumeric(X, y, W, reg_beta=0.2) if __name__ == '__main__': unittest.main() ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/simple_binary_classifier.py ================================================ # Simple binary linear classifier with synthetic data. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import argparse import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np from timer import Timer import sys from regression_lib import * def generate_data(k, num_neg_outliers=0): """Generates k data items with correct labels (+1 or -1) for each item. k: number of data items to generate. num_neg_outliers: number of outliers for the negative samples. Returns X (k, 2) - k data items in 2D, and y (k, 1) - the correct label (+1 or -1) for each data item in X. """ kneg, kpos = k / 2, k / 2 kneg_regular = kneg - num_neg_outliers # Generate positive data items and negative data items; for negatives, the # "regulars" are generated using different parameters from "outliers". positives = (np.full((kpos, 2), 3.0) + np.random.normal(scale=0.9, size=(kpos, 2))) outliers = (np.hstack((np.ones((num_neg_outliers, 1)) * 3, np.ones((num_neg_outliers, 1)) * 5)) + np.random.normal(scale=0.8, size=(num_neg_outliers, 2))) negatives = (np.full((kneg_regular, 2), 1.0) + np.random.normal(scale=0.7, size=(kneg_regular, 2))) # Stack all items into the same array. To match y, first come all the # positives then all the negatives. X = np.vstack((positives, negatives, outliers)) # Create labels. We have kpos +1s followed by kneg -1s. y = np.vstack((np.full((kpos, 1), 1.0), np.full((kneg, 1), -1.0))) # Stack X and y together so we can shuffle them together. Xy = np.random.permutation(np.hstack((X, y))) return Xy[:, 0:2], Xy[:, 2].reshape(-1, 1) def plot_data_scatterplot(X, y, thetas=[]): """Plots data as a scatterplot, with contour lines for thetas. X: (k, 2) data items. y: (k, 1) result (+1 or -1) for each data item in X. thetas: list of (theta array, label) pairs to plot contours. Plots +1 data points as a green x, -1 as red o. """ fig, ax = plt.subplots() fig.set_tight_layout(True) pos = [(X[k, 0], X[k, 1]) for k in range(X.shape[0]) if y[k, 0] == 1] neg = [(X[k, 0], X[k, 1]) for k in range(X.shape[0]) if y[k, 0] == -1] ax.scatter(*zip(*pos), c='darkgreen', marker='x') ax.scatter(*zip(*neg), c='red', marker='o', linewidths=0) colors = iter(('blue', 'purple', 'black')) contours = [] for theta, _ in thetas: xs = np.linspace(-2, 6, 200) ys = np.linspace(-2, 6, 200) xsgrid, ysgrid = np.meshgrid(xs, ys) plane = np.zeros_like(xsgrid) for i in range(xsgrid.shape[0]): for j in range(xsgrid.shape[1]): plane[i, j] = np.array([1, xsgrid[i, j], ysgrid[i, j]]).dot( theta) contours.append(ax.contour(xsgrid, ysgrid, plane, colors=colors.next(), levels=[0])) if thetas: plt.legend([cs.collections[0] for cs in contours], [label for theta, label in thetas]) fig.savefig('binary.png', dpi=80) plt.show() def L01_loss(X, y, theta): """Computes the L0/1 loss for the data X using theta. X: (k, n) k rows of data items, each having n features; augmented. y: (k, 1) correct classifications (+1 or -1) for each item. theta: (n, 1) regression parameters. Returns the total L0/1 loss over the whole data set. The total L0/1 loss is the number of mispredicted items (where y doesn't match yhat). """ results = predict_binary(X, theta) return np.count_nonzero(results != y) def search_best_L01_loss(X, y, theta_start=None, npoints_per_t=150, tmargin=0.1): """Hacky exhaustive search for the best L0/1 loss for given X and y. X: (k, n) data items. y: (k, 1) result (+1 or -1) for each data item in X. theta_start: (3, 1) theta to start search from. npoints_per_t: number of points to search per dimension of theta. tmargin: search within [-tmargin, tmargin] of theta_start. Since the search is combinatorial, it is slow and works best when we begin with a reasonable good theta. When theta is already close to optimal, this search will do a good job finding the best theta in its vicinity. A realistic approach which I didn't commit to code (but it could be easily done) is to run this search on multiple "zoom" levels (kinda like simulated annealing). Returns a pair best_theta, best_loss. """ if theta_start is None: theta_start = np.array([[1], [1], [1]]) assert theta_start.shape == (3, 1) k = X.shape[0] best_loss = k best_theta = theta_start t0_range = np.linspace(theta_start[0, 0] + tmargin, theta_start[0, 0] - tmargin, npoints_per_t) t1_range = np.linspace(theta_start[1, 0] + tmargin, theta_start[1, 0] - tmargin, npoints_per_t) t2_range = np.linspace(theta_start[2, 0] + tmargin, theta_start[2, 0] - tmargin, npoints_per_t) for t0 in t0_range: for t1 in t1_range: for t2 in t2_range: theta = np.array([[t0], [t1], [t2]]) loss = L01_loss(X, y, theta) if loss < best_loss: best_loss = loss best_theta = theta return best_theta, best_loss def run_gradient_descent_search(X, y, lossfunc, max_nsteps, learning_rate, verbose=False): """Helper function to run GD search for the given data and loss function. For help on arguments, see the gradient_descent function. max_nsteps is like nsteps except that this function will stop once the loss isn't changing much any more, which may take fewer than max_nsteps steps. """ n = X.shape[1] gradient_descent_iter = gradient_descent(X, y, init_theta=np.random.randn(n, 1), lossfunc=lossfunc, nsteps=max_nsteps, learning_rate=learning_rate) # Run GD until the changes in loss converge to some small value, or until # max_nstepsis reached. prev_loss = sys.float_info.max converge_step = 0 for i, (theta, loss) in enumerate(gradient_descent_iter): if verbose: print(i, ':', loss) # Convergence of loss beneath a small threshold: this threshold can also # be made configurable, if needed. if abs(loss - prev_loss) < 1e-5: converge_step = i break prev_loss = loss print('... loss converged at step {0}'.format(converge_step)) return theta if __name__ == '__main__': argparser = argparse.ArgumentParser() argparser.add_argument('--plot', action='store_true', default=False, help='Produce scatterplot with fit contours') argparser.add_argument('--search01', action='store_true', default=False, help='Run combinatorial search for best L0/1 loss') argparser.add_argument('--verbose-gd', action='store_true', default=False, help='Verbose output from gradient-descent search') argparser.add_argument('--normalize', action='store_true', default=False, help='Normalize data: (x-mu)/sigma.') args = argparser.parse_args() # For reproducibility np.random.seed(42) X_train, y_train = generate_data(400, num_neg_outliers=10) print('X_train shape:', X_train.shape) print('y_train shape:', y_train.shape) if args.normalize: X_train_normalized, mu, sigma = feature_normalize(X_train) else: X_train_normalized, mu, sigma = X_train, 0, 1 X_train_augmented = augment_1s_column(X_train) print('X_train_augmented shape:', X_train_augmented.shape) # A pretty good theta determined by a long run of search_best_L01_loss with # coarse granularity. Works for the seed set above. For different data, # we'll need to find a new theta for good L01 loss. theta = np.array([-0.9647, 0.2545, 0.2416]).reshape(-1, 1) print('Initial theta:\n', theta) print('Initial loss:', L01_loss(X_train_augmented, y_train, theta)) if args.search01: with Timer('searching for best L01 loss'): best_theta, best_loss = search_best_L01_loss(X_train_augmented, y_train, theta) print('Best theta:\n', best_theta) print('Best loss:', best_loss) else: best_theta, best_loss = theta, L01_loss(X_train_augmented, y_train, theta) # Run GD with square loss. square_nsteps = 5000 square_learning_rate = 0.01 print('Running GD with square loss for {0} steps, learning_rate={1}'.format( square_nsteps, square_learning_rate)) theta_square = run_gradient_descent_search( X_train_augmented, y_train, lossfunc=square_loss, max_nsteps=square_nsteps, learning_rate=square_learning_rate, verbose=args.verbose_gd) print('Found theta:\n', theta_square) print('0/1 loss:', L01_loss(X_train_augmented, y_train, theta_square)) # Run GD with hinge loss. hinge_nsteps = 5000 hinge_learning_rate = 0.01 print('Running GD with hinge loss for {0} steps, learning_rate={1}'.format( hinge_nsteps, hinge_learning_rate)) theta_hinge = run_gradient_descent_search( X_train_augmented, y_train, lossfunc=hinge_loss, max_nsteps=hinge_nsteps, learning_rate=hinge_learning_rate, verbose=args.verbose_gd) print('Found theta:\n', theta_hinge) print('0/1 loss:', L01_loss(X_train_augmented, y_train, theta_hinge)) if args.plot: plot_data_scatterplot(X_train, y_train, [(best_theta, '$L_{01}$'), (theta_square, '$L_2$'), (theta_hinge, '$L_h$')]) ================================================ FILE: logistic-regression/timer.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import sys import time class Timer(object): def __init__(self, name=None): self.name = name def __enter__(self): self.tstart = time.time() if self.name: print('[%s] ' % self.name, end='') sys.stdout.flush() def __exit__(self, type, value, traceback): print('Elapsed: %s' % (time.time() - self.tstart)) ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/cnus-clean.txt ================================================ the complete sherlock holmes arthur conan doyle table of contents a study in scarlet the sign of the four the adventures of sherlock holmes a scandal in bohemia the red-headed league a case of identity the boscombe valley mystery the five orange pips the man with the twisted lip the adventure of the blue carbuncle the adventure of the speckled band the adventure of the engineer's thumb the adventure of the noble bachelor the adventure of the beryl coronet the adventure of the copper beeches the memoirs of sherlock holmes silver blaze the yellow face the stock-broker's clerk the "gloria scott" the musgrave ritual the reigate squires the crooked man the resident patient the greek interpreter the naval treaty the final problem the return of sherlock holmes the adventure of the empty house the adventure of the norwood builder the adventure of the dancing men the adventure of the solitary cyclist the adventure of the priory school the adventure of black peter the adventure of charles augustus milverton the adventure of the six napoleons the adventure of the three students the adventure of the golden pince-nez the adventure of the missing three-quarter the adventure of the abbey grange the adventure of the second stain the hound of the baskervilles the valley of fear his last bow preface the adventure of wisteria lodge the adventure of the cardboard box the adventure of the red circle the adventure of the bruce-partington plans the adventure of the dying detective the disappearance of lady frances carfax the adventure of the devil's foot his last bow a study in scarlet table of contents part i mr. sherlock holmes the science of deduction the lauriston garden mystery what john rance had to tell our advertisement brings a visitor tobias gregson shows what he can do light in the darkness part ii on the great alkali plain the flower of utah john ferrier talks with the prophet a flight for life the avenging angels a continuation of the reminiscences of john watson, m.d. the conclusion part i (being a reprint from the reminiscences of john h. watson, m.d., late of the army medical department.) chapter i mr. sherlock holmes in the year 1878 i took my degree of doctor of medicine of the university of london, and proceeded to netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. having completed my studies there, i was duly attached to the fifth northumberland fusiliers as assistant surgeon. the regiment was stationed in india at the time, and before i could join it, the second afghan war had broken out. on landing at bombay, i learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy's country. i followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching candahar in safety, where i found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties. the campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. i was removed from my brigade and attached to the berkshires, with whom i served at the fatal battle of maiwand. there i was struck on the shoulder by a jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. i should have fallen into the hands of the murderous ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the british lines. worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which i had undergone, i was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at peshawar. here i rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when i was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our indian possessions. for months my life was despaired of, and when at last i came to myself and became convalescent, i was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to england. i was dispatched, accordingly, in the troopship orontes, and landed a month later on portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it. i had neither kith nor kin in england, and was therefore as free as air--or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. under such circumstances, i naturally gravitated to london, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the empire are irresistibly drained. there i stayed for some time at a private hotel in the strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such money as i had, considerably more freely than i ought. so alarming did the state of my finances become, that i soon realized that i must either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that i must make a complete alteration in my style of living. choosing the latter alternative, i began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile. on the very day that i had come to this conclusion, i was standing at the criterion bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round i recognized young stamford, who had been a dresser under me at bart's. the sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of london is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. in old days stamford had never been a particular crony of mine, but now i hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. in the exuberance of my joy, i asked him to lunch with me at the holborn, and we started off together in a hansom. "whatever have you been doing with yourself, watson?" he asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded london streets. "you are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut." i gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination. "poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. "what are you up to now?" "looking for lodgings," i answered. "trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price." "that's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me." "and who was the first?" i asked. "a fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. he was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse." "by jove!" i cried, "if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, i am the very man for him. i should prefer having a partner to being alone." young stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. "you don't know sherlock holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion." "why, what is there against him?" "oh, i didn't say there was anything against him. he is a little queer in his ideas--an enthusiast in some branches of science. as far as i know he is a decent fellow enough." "a medical student, i suppose?" said i. "no--i have no idea what he intends to go in for. i believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as i know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. his studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish his professors." "did you never ask him what he was going in for?" i asked. "no; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him." "i should like to meet him," i said. "if i am to lodge with anyone, i should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. i am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. i had enough of both in afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. how could i meet this friend of yours?" "he is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion. "he either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to night. if you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon." "certainly," i answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels. as we made our way to the hospital after leaving the holborn, stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom i proposed to take as a fellow-lodger. "you mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said; "i know nothing more of him than i have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. you proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible." "if we don't get on it will be easy to part company," i answered. "it seems to me, stamford," i added, looking hard at my companion, "that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. is this fellow's temper so formidable, or what is it? don't be mealy-mouthed about it." "it is not easy to express the inexpressible," he answered with a laugh. "holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes--it approaches to cold-bloodedness. i could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. to do him justice, i think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. he appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge." "very right too." "yes, but it may be pushed to excess. when it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape." "beating the subjects!" "yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. i saw him at it with my own eyes." "and yet you say he is not a medical student?" "no. heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. but here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him." as he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. it was familiar ground to me, and i needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. near the further end a low arched passage branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory. this was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. there was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant table absorbed in his work. at the sound of our steps he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. "i've found it! i've found it," he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. "i have found a re-agent which is precipitated by hoemoglobin, and by nothing else." had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could not have shone upon his features. "dr. watson, mr. sherlock holmes," said stamford, introducing us. "how are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which i should hardly have given him credit. "you have been in afghanistan, i perceive." "how on earth did you know that?" i asked in astonishment. "never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "the question now is about hoemoglobin. no doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?" "it is interesting, chemically, no doubt," i answered, "but practically--" "why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. come over here now!" he seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working. "let us have some fresh blood," he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. "now, i add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. you perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. the proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. i have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction." as he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent fluid. in an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar. "ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. "what do you think of that?" "it seems to be a very delicate test," i remarked. "beautiful! beautiful! the old guiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. so is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. the latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. now, this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes." "indeed!" i murmured. "criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. a man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. his linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? that is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? because there was no reliable test. now we have the sherlock holmes' test, and there will no longer be any difficulty." his eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination. "you are to be congratulated," i remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm. "there was the case of von bischoff at frankfort last year. he would certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. then there was mason of bradford, and the notorious muller, and lefevre of montpellier, and samson of new orleans. i could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive." "you seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said stamford with a laugh. "you might start a paper on those lines. call it the 'police news of the past.'" "very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked sherlock holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. "i have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a smile, "for i dabble with poisons a good deal." he held out his hand as he spoke, and i noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strong acids. "we came here on business," said stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. "my friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, i thought that i had better bring you together." sherlock holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. "i have my eye on a suite in baker street," he said, "which would suit us down to the ground. you don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, i hope?" "i always smoke 'ship's' myself," i answered. "that's good enough. i generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. would that annoy you?" "by no means." "let me see--what are my other shortcomings. i get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. you must not think i am sulky when i do that. just let me alone, and i'll soon be right. what have you to confess now? it's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together." i laughed at this cross-examination. "i keep a bull pup," i said, "and i object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and i get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and i am extremely lazy. i have another set of vices when i'm well, but those are the principal ones at present." "do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?" he asked, anxiously. "it depends on the player," i answered. "a well-played violin is a treat for the gods--a badly-played one--" "oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "i think we may consider the thing as settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you." "when shall we see them?" "call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle everything," he answered. "all right--noon exactly," said i, shaking his hand. we left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel. "by the way," i asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon stamford, "how the deuce did he know that i had come from afghanistan?" my companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "that's just his little peculiarity," he said. "a good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out." "oh! a mystery is it?" i cried, rubbing my hands. "this is very piquant. i am much obliged to you for bringing us together. 'the proper study of mankind is man,' you know." "you must study him, then," stamford said, as he bade me good-bye. "you'll find him a knotty problem, though. i'll wager he learns more about you than you about him. good-bye." "good-bye," i answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably interested in my new acquaintance. chapter ii the science of deduction we met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at no. 221b, baker street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. they consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad windows. so desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession. that very evening i moved my things round from the hotel, and on the following morning sherlock holmes followed me with several boxes and portmanteaus. for a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best advantage. that done, we gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings. holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. he was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. it was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out before i rose in the morning. sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the city. nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. on these occasions i have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that i might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion. as the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. his very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. in height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. his eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which i have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. his chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. his hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as i frequently had occasion to observe when i watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments. the reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when i confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often i endeavoured to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. my health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and i had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. under these circumstances, i eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it. he was not studying medicine. he had himself, in reply to a question, confirmed stamford's opinion upon that point. neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in science or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance into the learned world. yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. surely no man would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view. desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning. no man burdens his mind with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so. his ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. upon my quoting thomas carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. my surprise reached a climax, however, when i found incidentally that he was ignorant of the copernican theory and of the composition of the solar system. that any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that i could hardly realize it. "you appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. "now that i do know it i shall do my best to forget it." "to forget it!" "you see," he explained, "i consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. a fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. he will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. it is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. it is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones." "but the solar system!" i protested. "what the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "you say that we go round the sun. if we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work." i was on the point of asking him what that work might be, but something in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. i pondered over our short conversation, however, and endeavoured to draw my deductions from it. he said that he would acquire no knowledge which did not bear upon his object. therefore all the knowledge which he possessed was such as would be useful to him. i enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was exceptionally well-informed. i even took a pencil and jotted them down. i could not help smiling at the document when i had completed it. it ran in this way-- sherlock holmes--his limits. 1. knowledge of literature.--nil. 2. philosophy.--nil. 3. astronomy.--nil. 4. politics.--feeble. 5. botany.--variable. well up in belladonna, opium, and poisons generally. knows nothing of practical gardening. 6. geology.--practical, but limited. tells at a glance different soils from each other. after walks has shown me splashes upon his trousers, and told me by their colour and consistence in what part of london he had received them. 7. chemistry.--profound. 8. anatomy.--accurate, but unsystematic. 9. sensational literature.--immense. he appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century. 10. plays the violin well. 11. is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman. 12. has a good practical knowledge of british law. when i had got so far in my list i threw it into the fire in despair. "if i can only find what the fellow is driving at by reconciling all these accomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all," i said to myself, "i may as well give up the attempt at once." i see that i have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. these were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. that he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, i knew well, because at my request he has played me some of mendelssohn's lieder, and other favourites. when left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than i could determine. i might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience. during the first week or so we had no callers, and i had begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as i was myself. presently, however, i found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society. there was one little sallow rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as mr. lestrade, and who came three or four times in a single week. one morning a young girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. the same afternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a jew pedlar, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely followed by a slipshod elderly woman. on another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. when any of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, sherlock holmes used to beg for the use of the sitting-room, and i would retire to my bed-room. he always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "i have to use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people are my clients." again i had an opportunity of asking him a point blank question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to confide in me. i imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject of his own accord. it was upon the 4th of march, as i have good reason to remember, that i rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that sherlock holmes had not yet finished his breakfast. the landlady had become so accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared. with the unreasonable petulance of mankind i rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that i was ready. then i picked up a magazine from the table and attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched silently at his toast. one of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and i naturally began to run my eye through it. its somewhat ambitious title was "the book of life," and it attempted to show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic examination of all that came in his way. it struck me as being a remarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. the reasoning was close and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. the writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man's inmost thoughts. deceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one trained to observation and analysis. his conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions of euclid. so startling would his results appear to the uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had arrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer. "from a drop of water," said the writer, "a logician could infer the possibility of an atlantic or a niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. so all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. like all other arts, the science of deduction and analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let the enquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what to look for. by a man's finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs--by each of these things a man's calling is plainly revealed. that all united should fail to enlighten the competent enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable." "what ineffable twaddle!" i cried, slapping the magazine down on the table, "i never read such rubbish in my life." "what is it?" asked sherlock holmes. "why, this article," i said, pointing at it with my egg spoon as i sat down to my breakfast. "i see that you have read it since you have marked it. i don't deny that it is smartly written. it irritates me though. it is evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. it is not practical. i should like to see him clapped down in a third class carriage on the underground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. i would lay a thousand to one against him." "you would lose your money," sherlock holmes remarked calmly. "as for the article i wrote it myself." "you!" "yes, i have a turn both for observation and for deduction. the theories which i have expressed there, and which appear to you to be so chimerical are really extremely practical--so practical that i depend upon them for my bread and cheese." "and how?" i asked involuntarily. "well, i have a trade of my own. i suppose i am the only one in the world. i'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. here in london we have lots of government detectives and lots of private ones. when these fellows are at fault they come to me, and i manage to put them on the right scent. they lay all the evidence before me, and i am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. there is a strong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if you can't unravel the thousand and first. lestrade is a well-known detective. he got himself into a fog recently over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here." "and these other people?" "they are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. they are all people who are in trouble about something, and want a little enlightening. i listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then i pocket my fee." "but do you mean to say," i said, "that without leaving your room you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?" "quite so. i have a kind of intuition that way. now and again a case turns up which is a little more complex. then i have to bustle about and see things with my own eyes. you see i have a lot of special knowledge which i apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully. those rules of deduction laid down in that article which aroused your scorn, are invaluable to me in practical work. observation with me is second nature. you appeared to be surprised when i told you, on our first meeting, that you had come from afghanistan." "you were told, no doubt." "nothing of the sort. i knew you came from afghanistan. from long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that i arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. there were such steps, however. the train of reasoning ran, 'here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. clearly an army doctor, then. he has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. he has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. his left arm has been injured. he holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. where in the tropics could an english army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? clearly in afghanistan.' the whole train of thought did not occupy a second. i then remarked that you came from afghanistan, and you were astonished." "it is simple enough as you explain it," i said, smiling. "you remind me of edgar allen poe's dupin. i had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories." sherlock holmes rose and lit his pipe. "no doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to dupin," he observed. "now, in my opinion, dupin was a very inferior fellow. that trick of his of breaking in on his friends' thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of an hour's silence is really very showy and superficial. he had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as poe appeared to imagine." "have you read gaboriau's works?" i asked. "does lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?" sherlock holmes sniffed sardonically. "lecoq was a miserable bungler," he said, in an angry voice; "he had only one thing to recommend him, and that was his energy. that book made me positively ill. the question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. i could have done it in twenty-four hours. lecoq took six months or so. it might be made a text-book for detectives to teach them what to avoid." i felt rather indignant at having two characters whom i had admired treated in this cavalier style. i walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. "this fellow may be very clever," i said to myself, "but he is certainly very conceited." "there are no crimes and no criminals in these days," he said, querulously. "what is the use of having brains in our profession? i know well that i have it in me to make my name famous. no man lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which i have done. and what is the result? there is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villany with a motive so transparent that even a scotland yard official can see through it." i was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. i thought it best to change the topic. "i wonder what that fellow is looking for?" i asked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly down the other side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. he had a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a message. "you mean the retired sergeant of marines," said sherlock holmes. "brag and bounce!" thought i to myself. "he knows that i cannot verify his guess." the thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway. we heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps ascending the stair. "for mr. sherlock holmes," he said, stepping into the room and handing my friend the letter. here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. he little thought of this when he made that random shot. "may i ask, my lad," i said, in the blandest voice, "what your trade may be?" "commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "uniform away for repairs." "and you were?" i asked, with a slightly malicious glance at my companion. "a sergeant, sir, royal marine light infantry, sir. no answer? right, sir." he clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute, and was gone. chapter iii the lauriston garden mystery i confess that i was considerably startled by this fresh proof of the practical nature of my companion's theories. my respect for his powers of analysis increased wondrously. there still remained some lurking suspicion in my mind, however, that the whole thing was a pre-arranged episode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly object he could have in taking me in was past my comprehension. when i looked at him he had finished reading the note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lack-lustre expression which showed mental abstraction. "how in the world did you deduce that?" i asked. "deduce what?" said he, petulantly. "why, that he was a retired sergeant of marines." "i have no time for trifles," he answered, brusquely; then with a smile, "excuse my rudeness. you broke the thread of my thoughts; but perhaps it is as well. so you actually were not able to see that that man was a sergeant of marines?" "no, indeed." "it was easier to know it than to explain why i knew it. if you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. even across the street i could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fellow's hand. that smacked of the sea. he had a military carriage, however, and regulation side whiskers. there we have the marine. he was a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command. you must have observed the way in which he held his head and swung his cane. a steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of him--all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant." "wonderful!" i ejaculated. "commonplace," said holmes, though i thought from his expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. "i said just now that there were no criminals. it appears that i am wrong--look at this!" he threw me over the note which the commissionaire had brought. "why," i cried, as i cast my eye over it, "this is terrible!" "it does seem to be a little out of the common," he remarked, calmly. "would you mind reading it to me aloud?" this is the letter which i read to him-- "my dear mr. sherlock holmes: "there has been a bad business during the night at 3, lauriston gardens, off the brixton road. our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and as the house was an empty one, suspected that something was amiss. he found the door open, and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well dressed, and having cards in his pocket bearing the name of 'enoch j. drebber, cleveland, ohio, u.s.a.' there had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. there are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. we are at a loss as to how he came into the empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler. if you can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find me there. i have left everything in statu quo until i hear from you. if you are unable to come i shall give you fuller details, and would esteem it a great kindness if you would favour me with your opinion. "yours faithfully, "tobias gregson." "gregson is the smartest of the scotland yarders," my friend remarked; "he and lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. they are both quick and energetic, but conventional--shockingly so. they have their knives into one another, too. they are as jealous as a pair of professional beauties. there will be some fun over this case if they are both put upon the scent." i was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. "surely there is not a moment to be lost," i cried, "shall i go and order you a cab?" "i'm not sure about whether i shall go. i am the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather--that is, when the fit is on me, for i can be spry enough at times." "why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for." "my dear fellow, what does it matter to me. supposing i unravel the whole matter, you may be sure that gregson, lestrade, and co. will pocket all the credit. that comes of being an unofficial personage." "but he begs you to help him." "yes. he knows that i am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person. however, we may as well go and have a look. i shall work it out on my own hook. i may have a laugh at them if i have nothing else. come on!" he hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one. "get your hat," he said. "you wish me to come?" "yes, if you have nothing better to do." a minute later we were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the brixton road. it was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets beneath. my companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away about cremona fiddles, and the difference between a stradivarius and an amati. as for myself, i was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits. "you don't seem to give much thought to the matter in hand," i said at last, interrupting holmes' musical disquisition. "no data yet," he answered. "it is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. it biases the judgment." "you will have your data soon," i remarked, pointing with my finger; "this is the brixton road, and that is the house, if i am not very much mistaken." "so it is. stop, driver, stop!" we were still a hundred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished our journey upon foot. number 3, lauriston gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. it was one of four which stood back some little way from the street, two being occupied and two empty. the latter looked out with three tiers of vacant melancholy windows, which were blank and dreary, save that here and there a "to let" card had developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. a small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants separated each of these houses from the street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway, yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently of a mixture of clay and of gravel. the whole place was very sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night. the garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by a small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and strained their eyes in the vain hope of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within. i had imagined that sherlock holmes would at once have hurried into the house and plunged into a study of the mystery. nothing appeared to be further from his intention. with an air of nonchalance which, under the circumstances, seemed to me to border upon affectation, he lounged up and down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line of railings. having finished his scrutiny, he proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. twice he stopped, and once i saw him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation of satisfaction. there were many marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey soil, but since the police had been coming and going over it, i was unable to see how my companion could hope to learn anything from it. still i had had such extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptive faculties, that i had no doubt that he could see a great deal which was hidden from me. at the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forward and wrung my companion's hand with effusion. "it is indeed kind of you to come," he said, "i have had everything left untouched." "except that!" my friend answered, pointing at the pathway. "if a herd of buffaloes had passed along there could not be a greater mess. no doubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions, gregson, before you permitted this." "i have had so much to do inside the house," the detective said evasively. "my colleague, mr. lestrade, is here. i had relied upon him to look after this." holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. "with two such men as yourself and lestrade upon the ground, there will not be much for a third party to find out," he said. gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. "i think we have done all that can be done," he answered; "it's a queer case though, and i knew your taste for such things." "you did not come here in a cab?" asked sherlock holmes. "no, sir." "nor lestrade?" "no, sir." "then let us go and look at the room." with which inconsequent remark he strode on into the house, followed by gregson, whose features expressed his astonishment. a short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen and offices. two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. one of these had obviously been closed for many weeks. the other belonged to the dining-room, which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred. holmes walked in, and i followed him with that subdued feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires. it was a large square room, looking all the larger from the absence of all furniture. a vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was blotched in places with mildew, and here and there great strips had become detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. opposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white marble. on one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. the solitary window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge to everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of dust which coated the whole apartment. all these details i observed afterwards. at present my attention was centred upon the single grim motionless figure which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant sightless eyes staring up at the discoloured ceiling. it was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and a short stubbly beard. he was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. a top hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. his hands were clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a grievous one. on his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as i have never seen upon human features. this malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly simious and ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural posture. i have seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimy apartment, which looked out upon one of the main arteries of suburban london. lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the doorway, and greeted my companion and myself. "this case will make a stir, sir," he remarked. "it beats anything i have seen, and i am no chicken." "there is no clue?" said gregson. "none at all," chimed in lestrade. sherlock holmes approached the body, and, kneeling down, examined it intently. "you are sure that there is no wound?" he asked, pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round. "positive!" cried both detectives. "then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual--presumably the murderer, if murder has been committed. it reminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death of van jansen, in utrecht, in the year '34. do you remember the case, gregson?" "no, sir." "read it up--you really should. there is nothing new under the sun. it has all been done before." as he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, and everywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyes wore the same far-away expression which i have already remarked upon. so swiftly was the examination made, that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness with which it was conducted. finally, he sniffed the dead man's lips, and then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots. "he has not been moved at all?" he asked. "no more than was necessary for the purposes of our examination." "you can take him to the mortuary now," he said. "there is nothing more to be learned." gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. at his call they entered the room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. as they raised him, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. lestrade grabbed it up and stared at it with mystified eyes. "there's been a woman here," he cried. "it's a woman's wedding-ring." he held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. we all gathered round him and gazed at it. there could be no doubt that that circlet of plain gold had once adorned the finger of a bride. "this complicates matters," said gregson. "heaven knows, they were complicated enough before." "you're sure it doesn't simplify them?" observed holmes. "there's nothing to be learned by staring at it. what did you find in his pockets?" "we have it all here," said gregson, pointing to a litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. "a gold watch, no. 97163, by barraud, of london. gold albert chain, very heavy and solid. gold ring, with masonic device. gold pin--bull-dog's head, with rubies as eyes. russian leather card-case, with cards of enoch j. drebber of cleveland, corresponding with the e. j. d. upon the linen. no purse, but loose money to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. pocket edition of boccaccio's 'decameron,' with name of joseph stangerson upon the fly-leaf. two letters--one addressed to e. j. drebber and one to joseph stangerson." "at what address?" "american exchange, strand--to be left till called for. they are both from the guion steamship company, and refer to the sailing of their boats from liverpool. it is clear that this unfortunate man was about to return to new york." "have you made any inquiries as to this man, stangerson?" "i did it at once, sir," said gregson. "i have had advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one of my men has gone to the american exchange, but he has not returned yet." "have you sent to cleveland?" "we telegraphed this morning." "how did you word your inquiries?" "we simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we should be glad of any information which could help us." "you did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared to you to be crucial?" "i asked about stangerson." "nothing else? is there no circumstance on which this whole case appears to hinge? will you not telegraph again?" "i have said all i have to say," said gregson, in an offended voice. sherlock holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about to make some remark, when lestrade, who had been in the front room while we were holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner. "mr. gregson," he said, "i have just made a discovery of the highest importance, and one which would have been overlooked had i not made a careful examination of the walls." the little man's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at having scored a point against his colleague. "come here," he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere of which felt clearer since the removal of its ghastly inmate. "now, stand there!" he struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall. "look at that!" he said, triumphantly. i have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. in this particular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse plastering. across this bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word-- rache. "what do you think of that?" cried the detective, with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. "this was overlooked because it was in the darkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking there. the murderer has written it with his or her own blood. see this smear where it has trickled down the wall! that disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. why was that corner chosen to write it on? i will tell you. see that candle on the mantelpiece. it was lit at the time, and if it was lit this corner would be the brightest instead of the darkest portion of the wall." "and what does it mean now that you have found it?" asked gregson in a depreciatory voice. "mean? why, it means that the writer was going to put the female name rachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. you mark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a woman named rachel has something to do with it. it's all very well for you to laugh, mr. sherlock holmes. you may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best, when all is said and done." "i really beg your pardon!" said my companion, who had ruffled the little man's temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. "you certainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out, and, as you say, it bears every mark of having been written by the other participant in last night's mystery. i have not had time to examine this room yet, but with your permission i shall do so now." as he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. with these two implements he trotted noiselessly about the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face. so engrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encouragement and of hope. as i watched him i was irresistibly reminded of a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards and forwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost scent. for twenty minutes or more he continued his researches, measuring with the most exact care the distance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. in one place he gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor, and packed it away in an envelope. finally, he examined with his glass the word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness. this done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket. "they say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," he remarked with a smile. "it's a very bad definition, but it does apply to detective work." gregson and lestrade had watched the manoeuvres of their amateur companion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. they evidently failed to appreciate the fact, which i had begun to realize, that sherlock holmes' smallest actions were all directed towards some definite and practical end. "what do you think of it, sir?" they both asked. "it would be robbing you of the credit of the case if i was to presume to help you," remarked my friend. "you are doing so well now that it would be a pity for anyone to interfere." there was a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "if you will let me know how your investigations go," he continued, "i shall be happy to give you any help i can. in the meantime i should like to speak to the constable who found the body. can you give me his name and address?" lestrade glanced at his note-book. "john rance," he said. "he is off duty now. you will find him at 46, audley court, kennington park gate." holmes took a note of the address. "come along, doctor," he said; "we shall go and look him up. i'll tell you one thing which may help you in the case," he continued, turning to the two detectives. "there has been murder done, and the murderer was a man. he was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked a trichinopoly cigar. he came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on his off fore leg. in all probability the murderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. these are only a few indications, but they may assist you." lestrade and gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile. "if this man was murdered, how was it done?" asked the former. "poison," said sherlock holmes curtly, and strode off. "one other thing, lestrade," he added, turning round at the door: "'rache,' is the german for 'revenge;' so don't lose your time looking for miss rachel." with which parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behind him. chapter iv what john rance had to tell it was one o'clock when we left no. 3, lauriston gardens. sherlock holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. he then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by lestrade. "there is nothing like first hand evidence," he remarked; "as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may as well learn all that is to be learned." "you amaze me, holmes," said i. "surely you are not as sure as you pretend to be of all those particulars which you gave." "there's no room for a mistake," he answered. "the very first thing which i observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts with its wheels close to the curb. now, up to last night, we have had no rain for a week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression must have been there during the night. there were the marks of the horse's hoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than that of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe. since the cab was there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morning--i have gregson's word for that--it follows that it must have been there during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those two individuals to the house." "that seems simple enough," said i; "but how about the other man's height?" "why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told from the length of his stride. it is a simple calculation enough, though there is no use my boring you with figures. i had this fellow's stride both on the clay outside and on the dust within. then i had a way of checking my calculation. when a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to write about the level of his own eyes. now that writing was just over six feet from the ground. it was child's play." "and his age?" i asked. "well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the smallest effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow. that was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. patent-leather boots had gone round, and square-toes had hopped over. there is no mystery about it at all. i am simply applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observation and deduction which i advocated in that article. is there anything else that puzzles you?" "the finger nails and the trichinopoly," i suggested. "the writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger dipped in blood. my glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the man's nail had been trimmed. i gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. it was dark in colour and flakey--such an ash as is only made by a trichinopoly. i have made a special study of cigar ashes--in fact, i have written a monograph upon the subject. i flatter myself that i can distinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. it is just in such details that the skilled detective differs from the gregson and lestrade type." "and the florid face?" i asked. "ah, that was a more daring shot, though i have no doubt that i was right. you must not ask me that at the present state of the affair." i passed my hand over my brow. "my head is in a whirl," i remarked; "the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. how came these two men--if there were two men--into an empty house? what has become of the cabman who drove them? how could one man compel another to take poison? where did the blood come from? what was the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? how came the woman's ring there? above all, why should the second man write up the german word rache before decamping? i confess that i cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts." my companion smiled approvingly. "you sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well," he said. "there is much that is still obscure, though i have quite made up my mind on the main facts. as to poor lestrade's discovery it was simply a blind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggesting socialism and secret societies. it was not done by a german. the a, if you noticed, was printed somewhat after the german fashion. now, a real german invariably prints in the latin character, so that we may safely say that this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part. it was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. i'm not going to tell you much more of the case, doctor. you know a conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick, and if i show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that i am a very ordinary individual after all." "i shall never do that," i answered; "you have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world." my companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which i uttered them. i had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty. "i'll tell you one other thing," he said. "patent-leathers and square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together as friendly as possible--arm-in-arm, in all probability. when they got inside they walked up and down the room--or rather, patent-leathers stood still while square-toes walked up and down. i could read all that in the dust; and i could read that as he walked he grew more and more excited. that is shown by the increased length of his strides. he was talking all the while, and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. then the tragedy occurred. i've told you all i know myself now, for the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. we have a good working basis, however, on which to start. we must hurry up, for i want to go to halle's concert to hear norman neruda this afternoon." this conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. in the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. "that's audley court in there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of dead-coloured brick. "you'll find me here when you come back." audley court was not an attractive locality. the narrow passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. we picked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we came to number 46, the door of which was decorated with a small slip of brass on which the name rance was engraved. on enquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming. he appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in his slumbers. "i made my report at the office," he said. holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it pensively. "we thought that we should like to hear it all from your own lips," he said. "i shall be most happy to tell you anything i can," the constable answered with his eyes upon the little golden disk. "just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred." rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows as though determined not to omit anything in his narrative. "i'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "my time is from ten at night to six in the morning. at eleven there was a fight at the 'white hart'; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. at one o'clock it began to rain, and i met harry murcher--him who has the holland grove beat--and we stood together at the corner of henrietta street a-talkin'. presently--maybe about two or a little after--i thought i would take a look round and see that all was right down the brixton road. it was precious dirty and lonely. not a soul did i meet all the way down, though a cab or two went past me. i was a strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window of that same house. now, i knew that them two houses in lauriston gardens was empty on account of him that owns them who won't have the drains seed to, though the very last tenant what lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever. i was knocked all in a heap therefore at seeing a light in the window, and i suspected as something was wrong. when i got to the door--" "you stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate," my companion interrupted. "what did you do that for?" rance gave a violent jump, and stared at sherlock holmes with the utmost amazement upon his features. "why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come to know it, heaven only knows. ye see, when i got up to the door it was so still and so lonesome, that i thought i'd be none the worse for some one with me. i ain't afeared of anything on this side o' the grave; but i thought that maybe it was him that died o' the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him. the thought gave me a kind o' turn, and i walked back to the gate to see if i could see murcher's lantern, but there wasn't no sign of him nor of anyone else." "there was no one in the street?" "not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. then i pulled myself together and went back and pushed the door open. all was quiet inside, so i went into the room where the light was a-burnin'. there was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece--a red wax one--and by its light i saw--" "yes, i know all that you saw. you walked round the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then--" john rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in his eyes. "where was you hid to see all that?" he cried. "it seems to me that you knows a deal more than you should." holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable. "don't get arresting me for the murder," he said. "i am one of the hounds and not the wolf; mr. gregson or mr. lestrade will answer for that. go on, though. what did you do next?" rance resumed his seat, without however losing his mystified expression. "i went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. that brought murcher and two more to the spot." "was the street empty then?" "well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes." "what do you mean?" the constable's features broadened into a grin. "i've seen many a drunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so cryin' drunk as that cove. he was at the gate when i came out, a-leanin' up ag'in the railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs about columbine's new-fangled banner, or some such stuff. he couldn't stand, far less help." "what sort of a man was he?" asked sherlock holmes. john rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. "he was an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "he'd ha' found hisself in the station if we hadn't been so took up." "his face--his dress--didn't you notice them?" holmes broke in impatiently. "i should think i did notice them, seeing that i had to prop him up--me and murcher between us. he was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled round--" "that will do," cried holmes. "what became of him?" "we'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. "i'll wager he found his way home all right." "how was he dressed?" "a brown overcoat." "had he a whip in his hand?" "a whip--no." "he must have left it behind," muttered my companion. "you didn't happen to see or hear a cab after that?" "no." "there's a half-sovereign for you," my companion said, standing up and taking his hat. "i am afraid, rance, that you will never rise in the force. that head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. you might have gained your sergeant's stripes last night. the man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. there is no use of arguing about it now; i tell you that it is so. come along, doctor." we started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable. "the blundering fool," holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to our lodgings. "just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of good luck, and not taking advantage of it." "i am rather in the dark still. it is true that the description of this man tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. but why should he come back to the house after leaving it? that is not the way of criminals." "the ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. if we have no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. i shall have him, doctor--i'll lay you two to one that i have him. i must thank you for it all. i might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study i ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? why shouldn't we use a little art jargon. there's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. and now for lunch, and then for norman neruda. her attack and her bowing are splendid. what's that little thing of chopin's she plays so magnificently: tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay." leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a lark while i meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind. chapter v our advertisement brings a visitor our morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health, and i was tired out in the afternoon. after holmes' departure for the concert, i lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hours' sleep. it was a useless attempt. my mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it. every time that i closed my eyes i saw before me the distorted baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. so sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me that i found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. if ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were certainly those of enoch j. drebber, of cleveland. still i recognized that justice must be done, and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law. the more i thought of it the more extraordinary did my companion's hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. i remembered how he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea. then, again, if not poison, what had caused the man's death, since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? but, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor? there were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. as long as all these questions were unsolved, i felt that sleep would be no easy matter, either for holmes or myself. his quiet self-confident manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all the facts, though what it was i could not for an instant conjecture. he was very late in returning--so late, that i knew that the concert could not have detained him all the time. dinner was on the table before he appeared. "it was magnificent," he said, as he took his seat. "do you remember what darwin says about music? he claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at. perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. there are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood." "that's rather a broad idea," i remarked. "one's ideas must be as broad as nature if they are to interpret nature," he answered. "what's the matter? you're not looking quite yourself. this brixton road affair has upset you." "to tell the truth, it has," i said. "i ought to be more case-hardened after my afghan experiences. i saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at maiwand without losing my nerve." "i can understand. there is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. have you seen the evening paper?" "no." "it gives a fairly good account of the affair. it does not mention the fact that when the man was raised up, a woman's wedding ring fell upon the floor. it is just as well it does not." "why?" "look at this advertisement," he answered. "i had one sent to every paper this morning immediately after the affair." he threw the paper across to me and i glanced at the place indicated. it was the first announcement in the "found" column. "in brixton road, this morning," it ran, "a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadway between the 'white hart' tavern and holland grove. apply dr. watson, 221b, baker street, between eight and nine this evening." "excuse my using your name," he said. "if i used my own some of these dunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair." "that is all right," i answered. "but supposing anyone applies, i have no ring." "oh yes, you have," said he, handing me one. "this will do very well. it is almost a facsimile." "and who do you expect will answer this advertisement." "why, the man in the brown coat--our florid friend with the square toes. if he does not come himself he will send an accomplice." "would he not consider it as too dangerous?" "not at all. if my view of the case is correct, and i have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. according to my notion he dropped it while stooping over drebber's body, and did not miss it at the time. after leaving the house he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in possession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. he had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. now put yourself in that man's place. on thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. what would he do, then? he would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. his eye, of course, would light upon this. he would be overjoyed. why should he fear a trap? there would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. he would come. he will come. you shall see him within an hour." "and then?" i asked. "oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. have you any arms?" "i have my old service revolver and a few cartridges." "you had better clean it and load it. he will be a desperate man, and though i shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything." i went to my bedroom and followed his advice. when i returned with the pistol the table had been cleared, and holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin. "the plot thickens," he said, as i entered; "i have just had an answer to my american telegram. my view of the case is the correct one." "and that is?" i asked eagerly. "my fiddle would be the better for new strings," he remarked. "put your pistol in your pocket. when the fellow comes speak to him in an ordinary way. leave the rest to me. don't frighten him by looking at him too hard." "it is eight o'clock now," i said, glancing at my watch. "yes. he will probably be here in a few minutes. open the door slightly. that will do. now put the key on the inside. thank you! this is a queer old book i picked up at a stall yesterday--de jure inter gentes--published in latin at liege in the lowlands, in 1642. charles' head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was struck off." "who is the printer?" "philippe de croy, whoever he may have been. on the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, is written 'ex libris guliolmi whyte.' i wonder who william whyte was. some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, i suppose. his writing has a legal twist about it. here comes our man, i think." as he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. sherlock holmes rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. we heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it. "does dr. watson live here?" asked a clear but rather harsh voice. we could not hear the servant's reply, but the door closed, and some one began to ascend the stairs. the footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. a look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. it came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door. "come in," i cried. at my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. she appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. i glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all i could do to keep my countenance. the old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. "it's this as has brought me, good gentlemen," she said, dropping another curtsey; "a gold wedding ring in the brixton road. it belongs to my girl sally, as was married only this time twelvemonth, which her husband is steward aboard a union boat, and what he'd say if he comes 'ome and found her without her ring is more than i can think, he being short enough at the best o' times, but more especially when he has the drink. if it please you, she went to the circus last night along with--" "is that her ring?" i asked. "the lord be thanked!" cried the old woman; "sally will be a glad woman this night. that's the ring." "and what may your address be?" i inquired, taking up a pencil. "13, duncan street, houndsditch. a weary way from here." "the brixton road does not lie between any circus and houndsditch," said sherlock holmes sharply. the old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. "the gentleman asked me for my address," she said. "sally lives in lodgings at 3, mayfield place, peckham." "and your name is--?" "my name is sawyer--her's is dennis, which tom dennis married her--and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he's at sea, and no steward in the company more thought of; but when on shore, what with the women and what with liquor shops--" "here is your ring, mrs. sawyer," i interrupted, in obedience to a sign from my companion; "it clearly belongs to your daughter, and i am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner." with many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. sherlock holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into his room. he returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. "i'll follow her," he said, hurriedly; "she must be an accomplice, and will lead me to him. wait up for me." the hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor before holmes had descended the stair. looking through the window i could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. "either his whole theory is incorrect," i thought to myself, "or else he will be led now to the heart of the mystery." there was no need for him to ask me to wait up for him, for i felt that sleep was impossible until i heard the result of his adventure. it was close upon nine when he set out. i had no idea how long he might be, but i sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of henri murger's vie de bohme. ten o'clock passed, and i heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed. eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same destination. it was close upon twelve before i heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. the instant he entered i saw by his face that he had not been successful. amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh. "i wouldn't have the scotland yarders know it for the world," he cried, dropping into his chair; "i have chaffed them so much that they would never have let me hear the end of it. i can afford to laugh, because i know that i will be even with them in the long run." "what is it then?" i asked. "oh, i don't mind telling a story against myself. that creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being foot-sore. presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. i managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but i need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street, 'drive to 13, duncan street, houndsditch,' she cried. this begins to look genuine, i thought, and having seen her safely inside, i perched myself behind. that's an art which every detective should be an expert at. well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we reached the street in question. i hopped off before we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy, lounging way. i saw the cab pull up. the driver jumped down, and i saw him open the door and stand expectantly. nothing came out though. when i reached him he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever i listened to. there was no sign or trace of his passenger, and i fear it will be some time before he gets his fare. on inquiring at number 13 we found that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, named keswick, and that no one of the name either of sawyer or dennis had ever been heard of there." "you don't mean to say," i cried, in amazement, "that that tottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while it was in motion, without either you or the driver seeing her?" "old woman be damned!" said sherlock holmes, sharply. "we were the old women to be so taken in. it must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. the get-up was inimitable. he saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. it shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as i imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. now, doctor, you are looking done-up. take my advice and turn in." i was certainly feeling very weary, so i obeyed his injunction. i left holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the night i heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel. chapter vi tobias gregson shows what he can do the papers next day were full of the "brixton mystery," as they termed it. each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. there was some information in them which was new to me. i still retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bearing upon the case. here is a condensation of a few of them:-- the daily telegraph remarked that in the history of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. the german name of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. the socialists had many branches in america, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and been tracked down by them. after alluding airily to the vehmgericht, aqua tofana, carbonari, the marchioness de brinvilliers, the darwinian theory, the principles of malthus, and the ratcliff highway murders, the article concluded by admonishing the government and advocating a closer watch over foreigners in england. the standard commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sort usually occurred under a liberal administration. they arose from the unsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening of all authority. the deceased was an american gentleman who had been residing for some weeks in the metropolis. he had stayed at the boarding-house of madame charpentier, in torquay terrace, camberwell. he was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, mr. joseph stangerson. the two bade adieu to their landlady upon tuesday, the 4th inst., and departed to euston station with the avowed intention of catching the liverpool express. they were afterwards seen together upon the platform. nothing more is known of them until mr. drebber's body was, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the brixton road, many miles from euston. how he came there, or how he met his fate, are questions which are still involved in mystery. nothing is known of the whereabouts of stangerson. we are glad to learn that mr. lestrade and mr. gregson, of scotland yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it is confidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily throw light upon the matter. the daily news observed that there was no doubt as to the crime being a political one. the despotism and hatred of liberalism which animated the continental governments had had the effect of driving to our shores a number of men who might have made excellent citizens were they not soured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. among these men there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which was punished by death. every effort should be made to find the secretary, stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of the deceased. a great step had been gained by the discovery of the address of the house at which he had boarded--a result which was entirely due to the acuteness and energy of mr. gregson of scotland yard. sherlock holmes and i read these notices over together at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable amusement. "i told you that, whatever happened, lestrade and gregson would be sure to score." "that depends on how it turns out." "oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. if the man is caught, it will be on account of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite of their exertions. it's heads i win and tails you lose. whatever they do, they will have followers. 'un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire.'" "what on earth is this?" i cried, for at this moment there came the pattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied by audible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady. "it's the baker street division of the detective police force," said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street arabs that ever i clapped eyes on. "'tention!" cried holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. "in future you shall send up wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must wait in the street. have you found it, wiggins?" "no, sir, we hain't," said one of the youths. "i hardly expected you would. you must keep on until you do. here are your wages." he handed each of them a shilling. "now, off you go, and come back with a better report next time." he waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street. "there's more work to be got out of one of those little beggars than out of a dozen of the force," holmes remarked. "the mere sight of an official-looking person seals men's lips. these youngsters, however, go everywhere and hear everything. they are as sharp as needles, too; all they want is organisation." "is it on this brixton case that you are employing them?" i asked. "yes; there is a point which i wish to ascertain. it is merely a matter of time. hullo! we are going to hear some news now with a vengeance! here is gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every feature of his face. bound for us, i know. yes, he is stopping. there he is!" there was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our sitting-room. "my dear fellow," he cried, wringing holmes' unresponsive hand, "congratulate me! i have made the whole thing as clear as day." a shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion's expressive face. "do you mean that you are on the right track?" he asked. "the right track! why, sir, we have the man under lock and key." "and his name is?" "arthur charpentier, sub-lieutenant in her majesty's navy," cried gregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest. sherlock holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into a smile. "take a seat, and try one of these cigars," he said. "we are anxious to know how you managed it. will you have some whiskey and water?" "i don't mind if i do," the detective answered. "the tremendous exertions which i have gone through during the last day or two have worn me out. not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind. you will appreciate that, mr. sherlock holmes, for we are both brain-workers." "you do me too much honour," said holmes, gravely. "let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying result." the detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacently at his cigar. then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. "the fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool lestrade, who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether. he is after the secretary stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babe unborn. i have no doubt that he has caught him by this time." the idea tickled gregson so much that he laughed until he choked. "and how did you get your clue?" "ah, i'll tell you all about it. of course, doctor watson, this is strictly between ourselves. the first difficulty which we had to contend with was the finding of this american's antecedents. some people would have waited until their advertisements were answered, or until parties came forward and volunteered information. that is not tobias gregson's way of going to work. you remember the hat beside the dead man?" "yes," said holmes; "by john underwood and sons, 129, camberwell road." gregson looked quite crest-fallen. "i had no idea that you noticed that," he said. "have you been there?" "no." "ha!" cried gregson, in a relieved voice; "you should never neglect a chance, however small it may seem." "to a great mind, nothing is little," remarked holmes, sententiously. "well, i went to underwood, and asked him if he had sold a hat of that size and description. he looked over his books, and came on it at once. he had sent the hat to a mr. drebber, residing at charpentier's boarding establishment, torquay terrace. thus i got at his address." "smart--very smart!" murmured sherlock holmes. "i next called upon madame charpentier," continued the detective. "i found her very pale and distressed. her daughter was in the room, too--an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips trembled as i spoke to her. that didn't escape my notice. i began to smell a rat. you know the feeling, mr. sherlock holmes, when you come upon the right scent--a kind of thrill in your nerves. 'have you heard of the mysterious death of your late boarder mr. enoch j. drebber, of cleveland?' i asked. "the mother nodded. she didn't seem able to get out a word. the daughter burst into tears. i felt more than ever that these people knew something of the matter. "'at what o'clock did mr. drebber leave your house for the train?' i asked. "'at eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in her throat to keep down her agitation. 'his secretary, mr. stangerson, said that there were two trains--one at 9.15 and one at 11. he was to catch the first.' "'and was that the last which you saw of him?' "a terrible change came over the woman's face as i asked the question. her features turned perfectly livid. it was some seconds before she could get out the single word 'yes'--and when it did come it was in a husky unnatural tone. "there was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in a calm clear voice. "'no good can ever come of falsehood, mother,' she said. 'let us be frank with this gentleman. we did see mr. drebber again.' "'god forgive you!' cried madame charpentier, throwing up her hands and sinking back in her chair. 'you have murdered your brother.' "'arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' the girl answered firmly. "'you had best tell me all about it now,' i said. 'half-confidences are worse than none. besides, you do not know how much we know of it.' "'on your head be it, alice!' cried her mother; and then, turning to me, 'i will tell you all, sir. do not imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair. he is utterly innocent of it. my dread is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be compromised. that however is surely impossible. his high character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it.' "'your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,' i answered. 'depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be none the worse.' "'perhaps, alice, you had better leave us together,' she said, and her daughter withdrew. 'now, sir,' she continued, 'i had no intention of telling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it i have no alternative. having once decided to speak, i will tell you all without omitting any particular.' "'it is your wisest course,' said i. "'mr. drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. he and his secretary, mr. stangerson, had been travelling on the continent. i noticed a "copenhagen" label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had been their last stopping place. stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but his employer, i am sorry to say, was far otherwise. he was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways. the very night of his arrival he became very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. his manners towards the maid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent to understand. on one occasion he actually seized her in his arms and embraced her--an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct.' "'but why did you stand all this,' i asked. 'i suppose that you can get rid of your boarders when you wish.' "mrs. charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. 'would to god that i had given him notice on the very day that he came,' she said. 'but it was a sore temptation. they were paying a pound a day each--fourteen pounds a week, and this is the slack season. i am a widow, and my boy in the navy has cost me much. i grudged to lose the money. i acted for the best. this last was too much, however, and i gave him notice to leave on account of it. that was the reason of his going.' "'well?' "'my heart grew light when i saw him drive away. my son is on leave just now, but i did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. when i closed the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. alas, in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and i learned that mr. drebber had returned. he was much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. he forced his way into the room, where i was sitting with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed his train. he then turned to alice, and before my very face, proposed to her that she should fly with him. "you are of age," he said, "and there is no law to stop you. i have money enough and to spare. never mind the old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. you shall live like a princess." poor alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards the door. i screamed, and at that moment my son arthur came into the room. what happened then i do not know. i heard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle. i was too terrified to raise my head. when i did look up i saw arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand. "i don't think that fine fellow will trouble us again," he said. "i will just go after him and see what he does with himself." with those words he took his hat and started off down the street. the next morning we heard of mr. drebber's mysterious death.' "this statement came from mrs. charpentier's lips with many gasps and pauses. at times she spoke so low that i could hardly catch the words. i made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should be no possibility of a mistake." "it's quite exciting," said sherlock holmes, with a yawn. "what happened next?" "when mrs. charpentier paused," the detective continued, "i saw that the whole case hung upon one point. fixing her with my eye in a way which i always found effective with women, i asked her at what hour her son returned. "'i do not know,' she answered. "'not know?' "'no; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.' "'after you went to bed?' "'yes.' "'when did you go to bed?' "'about eleven.' "'so your son was gone at least two hours?' "'yes.' "'possibly four or five?' "'yes.' "'what was he doing during that time?' "'i do not know,' she answered, turning white to her very lips. "of course after that there was nothing more to be done. i found out where lieutenant charpentier was, took two officers with me, and arrested him. when i touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, 'i suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel drebber,' he said. we had said nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect." "very," said holmes. "he still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him as having with him when he followed drebber. it was a stout oak cudgel." "what is your theory, then?" "well, my theory is that he followed drebber as far as the brixton road. when there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course of which drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach, perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. the night was so wet that no one was about, so charpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house. as to the candle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent." "well done!" said holmes in an encouraging voice. "really, gregson, you are getting along. we shall make something of you yet." "i flatter myself that i have managed it rather neatly," the detective answered proudly. "the young man volunteered a statement, in which he said that after following drebber some time, the latter perceived him, and took a cab in order to get away from him. on his way home he met an old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. on being asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. i think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. what amuses me is to think of lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. i am afraid he won't make much of--why, by jove, here's the very man himself!" it was indeed lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and who now entered the room. the assurance and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting. his face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and untidy. he had evidently come with the intention of consulting with sherlock holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out. he stood in the centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. "this is a most extraordinary case," he said at last--"a most incomprehensible affair." "ah, you find it so, mr. lestrade!" cried gregson, triumphantly. "i thought you would come to that conclusion. have you managed to find the secretary, mr. joseph stangerson?" "the secretary, mr. joseph stangerson," said lestrade gravely, "was murdered at halliday's private hotel about six o'clock this morning." chapter vii light in the darkness the intelligence with which lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so unexpected, that we were all three fairly dumbfounded. gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water. i stared in silence at sherlock holmes, whose lips were compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes. "stangerson too!" he muttered. "the plot thickens." "it was quite thick enough before," grumbled lestrade, taking a chair. "i seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war." "are you--are you sure of this piece of intelligence?" stammered gregson. "i have just come from his room," said lestrade. "i was the first to discover what had occurred." "we have been hearing gregson's view of the matter," holmes observed. "would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?" "i have no objection," lestrade answered, seating himself. "i freely confess that i was of the opinion that stangerson was concerned in the death of drebber. this fresh development has shown me that i was completely mistaken. full of the one idea, i set myself to find out what had become of the secretary. they had been seen together at euston station about half-past eight on the evening of the third. at two in the morning drebber had been found in the brixton road. the question which confronted me was to find out how stangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of him afterwards. i telegraphed to liverpool, giving a description of the man, and warning them to keep a watch upon the american boats. i then set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of euston. you see, i argued that if drebber and his companion had become separated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again next morning." "they would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand," remarked holmes. "so it proved. i spent the whole of yesterday evening in making enquiries entirely without avail. this morning i began very early, and at eight o'clock i reached halliday's private hotel, in little george street. on my enquiry as to whether a mr. stangerson was living there, they at once answered me in the affirmative. "'no doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said. 'he has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.' "'where is he now?' i asked. "'he is upstairs in bed. he wished to be called at nine.' "'i will go up and see him at once,' i said. "it seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves and lead him to say something unguarded. the boots volunteered to show me the room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor leading up to it. the boots pointed out the door to me, and was about to go downstairs again when i saw something that made me feel sickish, in spite of my twenty years' experience. from under the door there curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage and formed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. i gave a cry, which brought the boots back. he nearly fainted when he saw it. the door was locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked it in. the window of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddled up, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. he was quite dead, and had been for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. when we turned him over, the boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman who had engaged the room under the name of joseph stangerson. the cause of death was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated the heart. and now comes the strangest part of the affair. what do you suppose was above the murdered man?" i felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror, even before sherlock holmes answered. "the word rache, written in letters of blood," he said. "that was it," said lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were all silent for a while. there was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to his crimes. my nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle tingled as i thought of it. "the man was seen," continued lestrade. "a milk boy, passing on his way to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the mews at the back of the hotel. he noticed that a ladder, which usually lay there, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, which was wide open. after passing, he looked back and saw a man descend the ladder. he came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. he took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. he has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. he must have stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife." i glanced at holmes on hearing the description of the murderer, which tallied so exactly with his own. there was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon his face. "did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to the murderer?" he asked. "nothing. stangerson had drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seems that this was usual, as he did all the paying. there was eighty odd pounds in it, but nothing had been taken. whatever the motives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. there were no papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a single telegram, dated from cleveland about a month ago, and containing the words, 'j. h. is in europe.' there was no name appended to this message." "and there was nothing else?" holmes asked. "nothing of any importance. the man's novel, with which he had read himself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chair beside him. there was a glass of water on the table, and on the window-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills." sherlock holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight. "the last link," he cried, exultantly. "my case is complete." the two detectives stared at him in amazement. "i have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently, "all the threads which have formed such a tangle. there are, of course, details to be filled in, but i am as certain of all the main facts, from the time that drebber parted from stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of the body of the latter, as if i had seen them with my own eyes. i will give you a proof of my knowledge. could you lay your hand upon those pills?" "i have them," said lestrade, producing a small white box; "i took them and the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place of safety at the police station. it was the merest chance my taking these pills, for i am bound to say that i do not attach any importance to them." "give them here," said holmes. "now, doctor," turning to me, "are those ordinary pills?" they certainly were not. they were of a pearly grey colour, small, round, and almost transparent against the light. "from their lightness and transparency, i should imagine that they are soluble in water," i remarked. "precisely so," answered holmes. "now would you mind going down and fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long, and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday." i went downstairs and carried the dog upstair in my arms. it's laboured breathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end. indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded the usual term of canine existence. i placed it upon a cushion on the rug. "i will now cut one of these pills in two," said holmes, and drawing his penknife he suited the action to the word. "one half we return into the box for future purposes. the other half i will place in this wine glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water. you perceive that our friend, the doctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves." "this may be very interesting," said lestrade, in the injured tone of one who suspects that he is being laughed at, "i cannot see, however, what it has to do with the death of mr. joseph stangerson." "patience, my friend, patience! you will find in time that it has everything to do with it. i shall now add a little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he laps it up readily enough." as he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into a saucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. sherlock holmes' earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat in silence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling effect. none such appeared, however. the dog continued to lie stretched upon the cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparently neither the better nor the worse for its draught. holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute without result, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared upon his features. he gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. so great was his emotion, that i felt sincerely sorry for him, while the two detectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check which he had met. "it can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last springing from his chair and pacing wildly up and down the room; "it is impossible that it should be a mere coincidence. the very pills which i suspected in the case of drebber are actually found after the death of stangerson. and yet they are inert. what can it mean? surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot have been false. it is impossible! and yet this wretched dog is none the worse. ah, i have it! i have it!" with a perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to the terrier. the unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning. sherlock holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "i should have more faith," he said; "i ought to know by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation. of the two pills in that box one was of the most deadly poison, and the other was entirely harmless. i ought to have known that before ever i saw the box at all." this last statement appeared to me to be so startling, that i could hardly believe that he was in his sober senses. there was the dead dog, however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. it seemed to me that the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and i began to have a dim, vague perception of the truth. "all this seems strange to you," continued holmes, "because you failed at the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single real clue which was presented to you. i had the good fortune to seize upon that, and everything which has occurred since then has served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence of it. hence things which have perplexed you and made the case more obscure, have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. it is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. the most commonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it presents no new or special features from which deductions may be drawn. this murder would have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body of the victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of those outr and sensational accompaniments which have rendered it remarkable. these strange details, far from making the case more difficult, have really had the effect of making it less so." mr. gregson, who had listened to this address with considerable impatience, could contain himself no longer. "look here, mr. sherlock holmes," he said, "we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and that you have your own methods of working. we want something more than mere theory and preaching now, though. it is a case of taking the man. i have made my case out, and it seems i was wrong. young charpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. lestrade went after his man, stangerson, and it appears that he was wrong too. you have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know more than we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right to ask you straight how much you do know of the business. can you name the man who did it?" "i cannot help feeling that gregson is right, sir," remarked lestrade. "we have both tried, and we have both failed. you have remarked more than once since i have been in the room that you had all the evidence which you require. surely you will not withhold it any longer." "any delay in arresting the assassin," i observed, "might give him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity." thus pressed by us all, holmes showed signs of irresolution. he continued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought. "there will be no more murders," he said at last, stopping abruptly and facing us. "you can put that consideration out of the question. you have asked me if i know the name of the assassin. i do. the mere knowing of his name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of laying our hands upon him. this i expect very shortly to do. i have good hopes of managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing which needs delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to deal with, who is supported, as i have had occasion to prove, by another who is as clever as himself. as long as this man has no idea that anyone can have a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had the slightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great city. without meaning to hurt either of your feelings, i am bound to say that i consider these men to be more than a match for the official force, and that is why i have not asked your assistance. if i fail i shall, of course, incur all the blame due to this omission; but that i am prepared for. at present i am ready to promise that the instant that i can communicate with you without endangering my own combinations, i shall do so." gregson and lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. the former had flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity and resentment. neither of them had time to speak, however, before there was a tap at the door, and the spokesman of the street arabs, young wiggins, introduced his insignificant and unsavoury person. "please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "i have the cab downstairs." "good boy," said holmes, blandly. "why don't you introduce this pattern at scotland yard?" he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer. "see how beautifully the spring works. they fasten in an instant." "the old pattern is good enough," remarked lestrade, "if we can only find the man to put them on." "very good, very good," said holmes, smiling. "the cabman may as well help me with my boxes. just ask him to step up, wiggins." i was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it. there was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and began to strap. he was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the room. "just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," he said, kneeling over his task, and never turning his head. the fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and put down his hands to assist. at that instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and sherlock holmes sprang to his feet again. "gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let me introduce you to mr. jefferson hope, the murderer of enoch drebber and of joseph stangerson." the whole thing occurred in a moment--so quickly that i had no time to realize it. i have a vivid recollection of that instant, of holmes' triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman's dazed, savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. for a second or two we might have been a group of statues. then, with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched himself free from holmes's grasp, and hurled himself through the window. woodwork and glass gave way before him; but before he got quite through, gregson, lestrade, and holmes sprang upon him like so many staghounds. he was dragged back into the room, and then commenced a terrific conflict. so powerful and so fierce was he, that the four of us were shaken off again and again. he appeared to have the convulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. his face and hands were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. it was not until lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and half-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were of no avail; and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well as his hands. that done, we rose to our feet breathless and panting. "we have his cab," said sherlock holmes. "it will serve to take him to scotland yard. and now, gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasant smile, "we have reached the end of our little mystery. you are very welcome to put any questions that you like to me now, and there is no danger that i will refuse to answer them." part ii the country of the saints. chapter i on the great alkali plain in the central portion of the great north american continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilisation. from the sierra nevada to nebraska, and from the yellowstone river in the north to the colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. nor is nature always in one mood throughout this grim district. it comprises snow-capped and lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. there are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged caons; and there are enormous plains, which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are grey with the saline alkali dust. they all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery. there are no inhabitants of this land of despair. a band of pawnees or of blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies. the coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines, and picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. these are the sole dwellers in the wilderness. in the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from the northern slope of the sierra blanco. as far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, and intersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. on the extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks, with their rugged summits flecked with snow. in this great stretch of country there is no sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. there is no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, grey earth--above all, there is absolute silence. listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness; nothing but silence--complete and heart-subduing silence. it has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broad plain. that is hardly true. looking down from the sierra blanco, one sees a pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is lost in the extreme distance. it is rutted with wheels and trodden down by the feet of many adventurers. here and there there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. approach, and examine them! they are bones: some large and coarse, others smaller and more delicate. the former have belonged to oxen, and the latter to men. for fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains of those who had fallen by the wayside. looking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of may, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. his appearance was such that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region. an observer would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty or to sixty. his face was lean and haggard, and the brown parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones; his long, brown hair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in his head, and burned with an unnatural lustre; while the hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. as he stood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet his tall figure and the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorous constitution. his gaunt face, however, and his clothes, which hung so baggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it was that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance. the man was dying--dying from hunger and from thirst. he had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this little elevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. now the great salt plain stretched before his eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains, without a sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might indicate the presence of moisture. in all that broad landscape there was no gleam of hope. north, and east, and west he looked with wild questioning eyes, and then he realised that his wanderings had come to an end, and that there, on that barren crag, he was about to die. "why not here, as well as in a feather bed, twenty years hence," he muttered, as he seated himself in the shelter of a boulder. before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up in a grey shawl, which he had carried slung over his right shoulder. it appeared to be somewhat too heavy for his strength, for in lowering it, it came down on the ground with some little violence. instantly there broke from the grey parcel a little moaning cry, and from it there protruded a small, scared face, with very bright brown eyes, and two little speckled, dimpled fists. "you've hurt me!" said a childish voice reproachfully. "have i though," the man answered penitently, "i didn't go for to do it." as he spoke he unwrapped the grey shawl and extricated a pretty little girl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock with its little linen apron all bespoke a mother's care. the child was pale and wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that she had suffered less than her companion. "how is it now?" he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing the towsy golden curls which covered the back of her head. "kiss it and make it well," she said, with perfect gravity, shoving the injured part up to him. "that's what mother used to do. where's mother?" "mother's gone. i guess you'll see her before long." "gone, eh!" said the little girl. "funny, she didn't say good-bye; she 'most always did if she was just goin' over to auntie's for tea, and now she's been away three days. say, it's awful dry, ain't it? ain't there no water, nor nothing to eat?" "no, there ain't nothing, dearie. you'll just need to be patient awhile, and then you'll be all right. put your head up agin me like that, and then you'll feel bullier. it ain't easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but i guess i'd best let you know how the cards lie. what's that you've got?" "pretty things! fine things!" cried the little girl enthusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of mica. "when we goes back to home i'll give them to brother bob." "you'll see prettier things than them soon," said the man confidently. "you just wait a bit. i was going to tell you though--you remember when we left the river?" "oh, yes." "well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d'ye see. but there was somethin' wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin', and it didn't turn up. water ran out. just except a little drop for the likes of you and--and--" "and you couldn't wash yourself," interrupted his companion gravely, staring up at his grimy visage. "no, nor drink. and mr. bender, he was the fust to go, and then indian pete, and then mrs. mcgregor, and then johnny hones, and then, dearie, your mother." "then mother's a deader too," cried the little girl dropping her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly. "yes, they all went except you and me. then i thought there was some chance of water in this direction, so i heaved you over my shoulder and we tramped it together. it don't seem as though we've improved matters. there's an almighty small chance for us now!" "do you mean that we are going to die too?" asked the child, checking her sobs, and raising her tear-stained face. "i guess that's about the size of it." "why didn't you say so before?" she said, laughing gleefully. "you gave me such a fright. why, of course, now as long as we die we'll be with mother again." "yes, you will, dearie." "and you too. i'll tell her how awful good you've been. i'll bet she meets us at the door of heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like bob and me was fond of. how long will it be first?" "i don't know--not very long." the man's eyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. in the blue vault of the heaven there had appeared three little specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly did they approach. they speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds, which circled over the heads of the two wanderers, and then settled upon some rocks which overlooked them. they were buzzards, the vultures of the west, whose coming is the forerunner of death. "cocks and hens," cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their ill-omened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. "say, did god make this country?" "of course he did," said her companion, rather startled by this unexpected question. "he made the country down in illinois, and he made the missouri," the little girl continued. "i guess somebody else made the country in these parts. it's not nearly so well done. they forgot the water and the trees." "what would ye think of offering up prayer?" the man asked diffidently. "it ain't night yet," she answered. "it don't matter. it ain't quite regular, but he won't mind that, you bet. you say over them ones that you used to say every night in the waggon when we was on the plains." "why don't you say some yourself?" the child asked, with wondering eyes. "i disremember them," he answered. "i hain't said none since i was half the height o' that gun. i guess it's never too late. you say them out, and i'll stand by and come in on the choruses." "then you'll need to kneel down, and me too," she said, laying the shawl out for that purpose. "you've got to put your hands up like this. it makes you feel kind o' good." it was a strange sight had there been anything but the buzzards to see it. side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little prattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. her chubby face, and his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom they were face to face, while the two voices--the one thin and clear, the other deep and harsh--united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. the prayer finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder until the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. he watched over her slumber for some time, but nature proved to be too strong for him. for three days and three nights he had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast, until the man's grizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, and both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber. had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a strange sight would have met his eyes. far away on the extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually growing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. this cloud continued to increase in size until it became evident that it could only be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. in more fertile spots the observer would have come to the conclusion that one of those great herds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land was approaching him. this was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. as the whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of waggons and the figures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze, and the apparition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for the west. but what a caravan! when the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. right across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, waggons and carts, men on horseback, and men on foot. innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, and children who toddled beside the waggons or peeped out from under the white coverings. this was evidently no ordinary party of immigrants, but rather some nomad people who had been compelled from stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new country. there rose through the clear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this great mass of humanity, with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. loud as it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them. at the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave ironfaced men, clad in sombre homespun garments and armed with rifles. on reaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held a short council among themselves. "the wells are to the right, my brothers," said one, a hard-lipped, clean-shaven man with grizzly hair. "to the right of the sierra blanco--so we shall reach the rio grande," said another. "fear not for water," cried a third. "he who could draw it from the rocks will not now abandon his own chosen people." "amen! amen!" responded the whole party. they were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest and keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag above them. from its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showing up hard and bright against the grey rocks behind. at the sight there was a general reining up of horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. the word "redskins" was on every lip. "there can't be any number of injuns here," said the elderly man who appeared to be in command. "we have passed the pawnees, and there are no other tribes until we cross the great mountains." "shall i go forward and see, brother stangerson," asked one of the band. "and i," "and i," cried a dozen voices. "leave your horses below and we will await you here," the elder answered. in a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened their horses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to the object which had excited their curiosity. they advanced rapidly and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts. the watchers from the plain below could see them flit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against the skyline. the young man who had first given the alarm was leading them. suddenly his followers saw him throw up his hands, as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining him they were affected in the same way by the sight which met their eyes. on the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, long-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. his placid face and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. beside him lay a little child, with her round white arms encircling his brown sinewy neck, and her golden haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. her rosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of snow-white teeth within, and a playful smile played over her infantile features. her plump little white legs terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles, offered a strange contrast to the long shrivelled members of her companion. on the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the new comers uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flapped sullenly away. the cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who stared about them in bewilderment. the man staggered to his feet and looked down upon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and of beasts. his face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and he passed his boney hand over his eyes. "this is what they call delirium, i guess," he muttered. the child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of his coat, and said nothing but looked all round her with the wondering questioning gaze of childhood. the rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castaways that their appearance was no delusion. one of them seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported her gaunt companion, and assisted him towards the waggons. "my name is john ferrier," the wanderer explained; "me and that little un are all that's left o' twenty-one people. the rest is all dead o' thirst and hunger away down in the south." "is she your child?" asked someone. "i guess she is now," the other cried, defiantly; "she's mine 'cause i saved her. no man will take her from me. she's lucy ferrier from this day on. who are you, though?" he continued, glancing with curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; "there seems to be a powerful lot of ye." "nigh upon ten thousand," said one of the young men; "we are the persecuted children of god--the chosen of the angel merona." "i never heard tell on him," said the wanderer. "he appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye." "do not jest at that which is sacred," said the other sternly. "we are of those who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in egyptian letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy joseph smith at palmyra. we have come from nauvoo, in the state of illinois, where we had founded our temple. we have come to seek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert." the name of nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to john ferrier. "i see," he said, "you are the mormons." "we are the mormons," answered his companions with one voice. "and where are you going?" "we do not know. the hand of god is leading us under the person of our prophet. you must come before him. he shall say what is to be done with you." they had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims--pale-faced meek-looking women, strong laughing children, and anxious earnest-eyed men. many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when they perceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of the other. their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by a great crowd of mormons, until they reached a waggon, which was conspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others were furnished with two, or, at most, four a-piece. beside the driver there sat a man who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but whose massive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. he was reading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid it aside, and listened attentively to an account of the episode. then he turned to the two castaways. "if we take you with us," he said, in solemn words, "it can only be as believers in our own creed. we shall have no wolves in our fold. better far that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you should prove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the whole fruit. will you come with us on these terms?" "guess i'll come with you on any terms," said ferrier, with such emphasis that the grave elders could not restrain a smile. the leader alone retained his stern, impressive expression. "take him, brother stangerson," he said, "give him food and drink, and the child likewise. let it be your task also to teach him our holy creed. we have delayed long enough. forward! on, on to zion!" "on, on to zion!" cried the crowd of mormons, and the words rippled down the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they died away in a dull murmur in the far distance. with a cracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great waggons got into motion, and soon the whole caravan was winding along once more. the elder to whose care the two waifs had been committed, led them to his waggon, where a meal was already awaiting them. "you shall remain here," he said. "in a few days you will have recovered from your fatigues. in the meantime, remember that now and forever you are of our religion. brigham young has said it, and he has spoken with the voice of joseph smith, which is the voice of god." chapter ii the flower of utah this is not the place to commemorate the trials and privations endured by the immigrant mormons before they came to their final haven. from the shores of the mississippi to the western slopes of the rocky mountains they had struggled on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history. the savage man, and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease--every impediment which nature could place in the way--had all been overcome with anglo-saxon tenacity. yet the long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken the hearts of the stoutest among them. there was not one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer when they saw the broad valley of utah bathed in the sunlight beneath them, and learned from the lips of their leader that this was the promised land, and that these virgin acres were to be theirs for evermore. young speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator as well as a resolute chief. maps were drawn and charts prepared, in which the future city was sketched out. all around farms were apportioned and allotted in proportion to the standing of each individual. the tradesman was put to his trade and the artisan to his calling. in the town streets and squares sprang up, as if by magic. in the country there was draining and hedging, planting and clearing, until the next summer saw the whole country golden with the wheat crop. everything prospered in the strange settlement. above all, the great temple which they had erected in the centre of the city grew ever taller and larger. from the first blush of dawn until the closing of the twilight, the clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the saw was never absent from the monument which the immigrants erected to him who had led them safe through many dangers. the two castaways, john ferrier and the little girl who had shared his fortunes and had been adopted as his daughter, accompanied the mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage. little lucy ferrier was borne along pleasantly enough in elder stangerson's waggon, a retreat which she shared with the mormon's three wives and with his son, a headstrong forward boy of twelve. having rallied, with the elasticity of childhood, from the shock caused by her mother's death, she soon became a pet with the women, and reconciled herself to this new life in her moving canvas-covered home. in the meantime ferrier having recovered from his privations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and an indefatigable hunter. so rapidly did he gain the esteem of his new companions, that when they reached the end of their wanderings, it was unanimously agreed that he should be provided with as large and as fertile a tract of land as any of the settlers, with the exception of young himself, and of stangerson, kemball, johnston, and drebber, who were the four principal elders. on the farm thus acquired john ferrier built himself a substantial log-house, which received so many additions in succeeding years that it grew into a roomy villa. he was a man of a practical turn of mind, keen in his dealings and skilful with his hands. his iron constitution enabled him to work morning and evening at improving and tilling his lands. hence it came about that his farm and all that belonged to him prospered exceedingly. in three years he was better off than his neighbours, in six he was well-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelve there were not half a dozen men in the whole of salt lake city who could compare with him. from the great inland sea to the distant wahsatch mountains there was no name better known than that of john ferrier. there was one way and only one in which he offended the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. no argument or persuasion could ever induce him to set up a female establishment after the manner of his companions. he never gave reasons for this persistent refusal, but contented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to his determination. there were some who accused him of lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who put it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense. others, again, spoke of some early love affair, and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on the shores of the atlantic. whatever the reason, ferrier remained strictly celibate. in every other respect he conformed to the religion of the young settlement, and gained the name of being an orthodox and straight-walking man. lucy ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted her adopted father in all his undertakings. the keen air of the mountains and the balsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother to the young girl. as year succeeded to year she grew taller and stronger, her cheek more rudy, and her step more elastic. many a wayfarer upon the high road which ran by ferrier's farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revive in their mind as they watched her lithe girlish figure tripping through the wheatfields, or met her mounted upon her father's mustang, and managing it with all the ease and grace of a true child of the west. so the bud blossomed into a flower, and the year which saw her father the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of american girlhood as could be found in the whole pacific slope. it was not the father, however, who first discovered that the child had developed into the woman. it seldom is in such cases. that mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. least of all does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has awoken within her. there are few who cannot recall that day and remember the one little incident which heralded the dawn of a new life. in the case of lucy ferrier the occasion was serious enough in itself, apart from its future influence on her destiny and that of many besides. it was a warm june morning, and the latter day saints were as busy as the bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem. in the fields and in the streets rose the same hum of human industry. down the dusty high roads defiled long streams of heavily-laden mules, all heading to the west, for the gold fever had broken out in california, and the overland route lay through the city of the elect. there, too, were droves of sheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying pasture lands, and trains of tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable journey. through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the skill of an accomplished rider, there galloped lucy ferrier, her fair face flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floating out behind her. she had a commission from her father in the city, and was dashing in as she had done many a time before, with all the fearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be performed. the travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even the unemotional indians, journeying in with their pelties, relaxed their accustomed stoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden. she had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. in her impatience she endeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. scarcely had she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind her, and she found herself completely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. accustomed as she was to deal with cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her way through the cavalcade. unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either by accident or design, came in violent contact with the flank of the mustang, and excited it to madness. in an instant it reared up upon its hind legs with a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that would have unseated any but a most skilful rider. the situation was full of peril. every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it to fresh madness. it was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle to relax. choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair, but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance. at the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by the curb, and forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the outskirts. "you're not hurt, i hope, miss," said her preserver, respectfully. she looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. "i'm awful frightened," she said, naively; "whoever would have thought that poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?" "thank god you kept your seat," the other said earnestly. he was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. "i guess you are the daughter of john ferrier," he remarked, "i saw you ride down from his house. when you see him, ask him if he remembers the jefferson hopes of st. louis. if he's the same ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick." "hadn't you better come and ask yourself?" she asked, demurely. the young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. "i'll do so," he said, "we've been in the mountains for two months, and are not over and above in visiting condition. he must take us as he finds us." "he has a good deal to thank you for, and so have i," she answered, "he's awful fond of me. if those cows had jumped on me he'd have never got over it." "neither would i," said her companion. "you! well, i don't see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow. you ain't even a friend of ours." the young hunter's dark face grew so gloomy over this remark that lucy ferrier laughed aloud. "there, i didn't mean that," she said; "of course, you are a friend now. you must come and see us. now i must push along, or father won't trust me with his business any more. good-bye!" "good-bye," he answered, raising his broad sombrero, and bending over her little hand. she wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut with her riding-whip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of dust. young jefferson hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn. he and they had been among the nevada mountains prospecting for silver, and were returning to salt lake city in the hope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which they had discovered. he had been as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into another channel. the sight of the fair young girl, as frank and wholesome as the sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. when she had vanished from his sight, he realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neither silver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. the love which had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper. he had been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. he swore in his heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and human perseverance could render him successful. he called on john ferrier that night, and many times again, until his face was a familiar one at the farm-house. john, cooped up in the valley, and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning the news of the outside world during the last twelve years. all this jefferson hope was able to tell him, and in a style which interested lucy as well as her father. he had been a pioneer in california, and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. he had been a scout too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. wherever stirring adventures were to be had, jefferson hope had been there in search of them. he soon became a favourite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. on such occasions, lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes, showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own. her honest father may not have observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections. it was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road and pulled up at the gate. she was at the doorway, and came down to meet him. he threw the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway. "i am off, lucy," he said, taking her two hands in his, and gazing tenderly down into her face; "i won't ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to come when i am here again?" "and when will that be?" she asked, blushing and laughing. "a couple of months at the outside. i will come and claim you then, my darling. there's no one who can stand between us." "and how about father?" she asked. "he has given his consent, provided we get these mines working all right. i have no fear on that head." "oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all, there's no more to be said," she whispered, with her cheek against his broad breast. "thank god!" he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. "it is settled, then. the longer i stay, the harder it will be to go. they are waiting for me at the caon. good-bye, my own darling--good-bye. in two months you shall see me." he tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at what he was leaving. she stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanished from her sight. then she walked back into the house, the happiest girl in all utah. chapter iii john ferrier talks with the prophet three weeks had passed since jefferson hope and his comrades had departed from salt lake city. john ferrier's heart was sore within him when he thought of the young man's return, and of the impending loss of his adopted child. yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to the arrangement more than any argument could have done. he had always determined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would ever induce him to allow his daughter to wed a mormon. such a marriage he regarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. whatever he might think of the mormon doctrines, upon that one point he was inflexible. he had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for to express an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in the land of the saints. yes, a dangerous matter--so dangerous that even the most saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with bated breath, lest something which fell from their lips might be misconstrued, and bring down a swift retribution upon them. the victims of persecution had now turned persecutors on their own account, and persecutors of the most terrible description. not the inquisition of seville, nor the german vehmgericht, nor the secret societies of italy, were ever able to put a more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the state of utah. its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, made this organization doubly terrible. it appeared to be omniscient and omnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. the man who held out against the church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen him. his wife and his children awaited him at home, but no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges. a rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power which was suspended over them. no wonder that men went about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them. at first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the recalcitrants who, having embraced the mormon faith, wished afterwards to pervert or to abandon it. soon, however, it took a wider range. the supply of adult women was running short, and polygamy without a female population on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed. strange rumours began to be bandied about--rumours of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where indians had never been seen. fresh women appeared in the harems of the elders--women who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror. belated wanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. these tales and rumours took substance and shape, and were corroborated and re-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name. to this day, in the lonely ranches of the west, the name of the danite band, or the avenging angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one. fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terrible results served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. none knew who belonged to this ruthless society. the names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret. the very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the prophet and his mission, might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. hence every man feared his neighbour, and none spoke of the things which were nearest his heart. one fine morning, john ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields, when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. his heart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great brigham young himself. full of trepidation--for he knew that such a visit boded him little good--ferrier ran to the door to greet the mormon chief. the latter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room. "brother ferrier," he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes, "the true believers have been good friends to you. we picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we shared our food with you, led you safe to the chosen valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our protection. is not this so?" "it is so," answered john ferrier. "in return for all this we asked but one condition: that was, that you should embrace the true faith, and conform in every way to its usages. this you promised to do, and this, if common report says truly, you have neglected." "and how have i neglected it?" asked ferrier, throwing out his hands in expostulation. "have i not given to the common fund? have i not attended at the temple? have i not--?" "where are your wives?" asked young, looking round him. "call them in, that i may greet them." "it is true that i have not married," ferrier answered. "but women were few, and there were many who had better claims than i. i was not a lonely man: i had my daughter to attend to my wants." "it is of that daughter that i would speak to you," said the leader of the mormons. "she has grown to be the flower of utah, and has found favour in the eyes of many who are high in the land." john ferrier groaned internally. "there are stories of her which i would fain disbelieve--stories that she is sealed to some gentile. this must be the gossip of idle tongues. what is the thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted joseph smith? 'let every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; for if she wed a gentile, she commits a grievous sin.' this being so, it is impossible that you, who profess the holy creed, should suffer your daughter to violate it." john ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his riding-whip. "upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested--so it has been decided in the sacred council of four. the girl is young, and we would not have her wed grey hairs, neither would we deprive her of all choice. we elders have many heifers*1, but our children must also be provided. stangerson has a son, and drebber has a son, and either of them would gladly welcome your daughter to their house. let her choose between them. they are young and rich, and of the true faith. what say you to that?" ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted. "you will give us time," he said at last. "my daughter is very young--she is scarce of an age to marry." "she shall have a month to choose," said young, rising from his seat. "at the end of that time she shall give her answer." he was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushed face and flashing eyes. "it were better for you, john ferrier," he thundered, "that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the sierra blanco, than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of the holy four!" with a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door, and ferrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path. he was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, considering how he should broach the matter to his daughter when a soft hand was laid upon his, and looking up, he saw her standing beside him. one glance at her pale, frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed. "i could not help it," she said, in answer to his look. "his voice rang through the house. oh, father, father, what shall we do?" "don't you scare yourself," he answered, drawing her to him, and passing his broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. "we'll fix it up somehow or another. you don't find your fancy kind o' lessening for this chap, do you?" a sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer. "no; of course not. i shouldn't care to hear you say you did. he's a likely lad, and he's a christian, which is more than these folk here, in spite o' all their praying and preaching. there's a party starting for nevada to-morrow, and i'll manage to send him a message letting him know the hole we are in. if i know anything o' that young man, he'll be back here with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs." lucy laughed through her tears at her father's description. "when he comes, he will advise us for the best. but it is for you that i am frightened, dear. one hears--one hears such dreadful stories about those who oppose the prophet: something terrible always happens to them." "but we haven't opposed him yet," her father answered. "it will be time to look out for squalls when we do. we have a clear month before us; at the end of that, i guess we had best shin out of utah." "leave utah!" "that's about the size of it." "but the farm?" "we will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go. to tell the truth, lucy, it isn't the first time i have thought of doing it. i don't care about knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their darned prophet. i'm a free-born american, and it's all new to me. guess i'm too old to learn. if he comes browsing about this farm, he might chance to run up against a charge of buckshot travelling in the opposite direction." "but they won't let us leave," his daughter objected. "wait till jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage that. in the meantime, don't you fret yourself, my dearie, and don't get your eyes swelled up, else he'll be walking into me when he sees you. there's nothing to be afeared about, and there's no danger at all." john ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone, but she could not help observing that he paid unusual care to the fastening of the doors that night, and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom. ----- *1: heber c kemball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet. chapter iv a flight for life on the morning which followed his interview with the mormon prophet, john ferrier went in to salt lake city, and having found his acquaintance, who was bound for the nevada mountains, he entrusted him with his message to jefferson hope. in it he told the young man of the imminent danger which threatened them, and how necessary it was that he should return. having done thus he felt easier in his mind, and returned home with a lighter heart. as he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. still more surprised was he on entering to find two young men in possession of his sitting-room. one, with a long pale face, was leaning back in the rocking-chair, with his feet cocked up upon the stove. the other, a bull-necked youth with coarse bloated features, was standing in front of the window with his hands in his pocket, whistling a popular hymn. both of them nodded to ferrier as he entered, and the one in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation. "maybe you don't know us," he said. "this here is the son of elder drebber, and i'm joseph stangerson, who travelled with you in the desert when the lord stretched out his hand and gathered you into the true fold." "as he will all the nations in his own good time," said the other in a nasal voice; "he grindeth slowly but exceeding small." john ferrier bowed coldly. he had guessed who his visitors were. "we have come," continued stangerson, "at the advice of our fathers to solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. as i have but four wives and brother drebber here has seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one." "nay, nay, brother stangerson," cried the other; "the question is not how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. my father has now given over his mills to me, and i am the richer man." "but my prospects are better," said the other, warmly. "when the lord removes my father, i shall have his tanning yard and his leather factory. then i am your elder, and am higher in the church." "it will be for the maiden to decide," rejoined young drebber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. "we will leave it all to her decision." during this dialogue, john ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors. "look here," he said at last, striding up to them, "when my daughter summons you, you can come, but until then i don't want to see your faces again." the two young mormons stared at him in amazement. in their eyes this competition between them for the maiden's hand was the highest of honours both to her and her father. "there are two ways out of the room," cried ferrier; "there is the door, and there is the window. which do you care to use?" his brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening, that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. the old farmer followed them to the door. "let me know when you have settled which it is to be," he said, sardonically. "you shall smart for this!" stangerson cried, white with rage. "you have defied the prophet and the council of four. you shall rue it to the end of your days." "the hand of the lord shall be heavy upon you," cried young drebber; "he will arise and smite you!" "then i'll start the smiting," exclaimed ferrier furiously, and would have rushed upstairs for his gun had not lucy seized him by the arm and restrained him. before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses' hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach. "the young canting rascals!" he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead; "i would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them." "and so should i, father," she answered, with spirit; "but jefferson will soon be here." "yes. it will not be long before he comes. the sooner the better, for we do not know what their next move may be." it was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. in the whole history of the settlement there had never been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the elders. if minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch rebel. ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no avail to him. others as well known and as rich as himself had been spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the church. he was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerving. he concealed his fears from his daughter, however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease. he expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from young as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in an unlooked-for manner. upon rising next morning he found, to his surprise, a small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bed just over his chest. on it was printed, in bold straggling letters:-- "twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then--" the dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been. how this warning came into his room puzzled john ferrier sorely, for his servants slept in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all been secured. he crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into his heart. the twenty-nine days were evidently the balance of the month which young had promised. what strength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with such mysterious powers? the hand which fastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him. still more shaken was he next morning. they had sat down to their breakfast when lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards. in the centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently, the number 28. to his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not enlighten her. that night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. he saw and he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27 had been painted upon the outside of his door. thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that his unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the month of grace. sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placards stuck upon the garden gate or the railings. with all his vigilance john ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. a horror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight of them. he became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature. he had but one hope in life now, and that was for the arrival of the young hunter from nevada. twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to ten, but there was no news of the absentee. one by one the numbers dwindled down, and still there came no sign of him. whenever a horseman clattered down the road, or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate thinking that help had arrived at last. at last, when he saw five give way to four and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope of escape. single-handed, and with his limited knowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. the more-frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass along them without an order from the council. turn which way he would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him. yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life itself before he consented to what he regarded as his daughter's dishonour. he was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his troubles, and searching vainly for some way out of them. that morning had shown the figure 2 upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last of the allotted time. what was to happen then? all manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his imagination. and his daughter--what was to become of her after he was gone? was there no escape from the invisible network which was drawn all round them. he sank his head upon the table and sobbed at the thought of his own impotence. what was that? in the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound--low, but very distinct in the quiet of the night. it came from the door of the house. ferrier crept into the hall and listened intently. there was a pause for a few moments, and then the low insidious sound was repeated. someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the panels of the door. was it some midnight assassin who had come to carry out the murderous orders of the secret tribunal? or was it some agent who was marking up that the last day of grace had arrived. john ferrier felt that instant death would be better than the suspense which shook his nerves and chilled his heart. springing forward he drew the bolt and threw the door open. outside all was calm and quiet. the night was fine, and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. the little front garden lay before the farmer's eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neither there nor on the road was any human being to be seen. with a sigh of relief, ferrier looked to right and to left, until happening to glance straight down at his own feet he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his face upon the ground, with arms and legs all asprawl. so unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the wall with his hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to call out. his first thought was that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying man, but as he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground and into the hall with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. once within the house the man sprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealed to the astonished farmer the fierce face and resolute expression of jefferson hope. "good god!" gasped john ferrier. "how you scared me! whatever made you come in like that." "give me food," the other said, hoarsely. "i have had no time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours." he flung himself upon the cold meat and bread which were still lying upon the table from his host's supper, and devoured it voraciously. "does lucy bear up well?" he asked, when he had satisfied his hunger. "yes. she does not know the danger," her father answered. "that is well. the house is watched on every side. that is why i crawled my way up to it. they may be darned sharp, but they're not quite sharp enough to catch a washoe hunter." john ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that he had a devoted ally. he seized the young man's leathery hand and wrung it cordially. "you're a man to be proud of," he said. "there are not many who would come to share our danger and our troubles." "you've hit it there, pard," the young hunter answered. "i have a respect for you, but if you were alone in this business i'd think twice before i put my head into such a hornet's nest. it's lucy that brings me here, and before harm comes on her i guess there will be one less o' the hope family in utah." "what are we to do?" "to-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you are lost. i have a mule and two horses waiting in the eagle ravine. how much money have you?" "two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes." "that will do. i have as much more to add to it. we must push for carson city through the mountains. you had best wake lucy. it is as well that the servants do not sleep in the house." while ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for the approaching journey, jefferson hope packed all the eatables that he could find into a small parcel, and filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by experience that the mountain wells were few and far between. he had hardly completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with his daughter all dressed and ready for a start. the greeting between the lovers was warm, but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was much to be done. "we must make our start at once," said jefferson hope, speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it. "the front and back entrances are watched, but with caution we may get away through the side window and across the fields. once on the road we are only two miles from the ravine where the horses are waiting. by daybreak we should be half-way through the mountains." "what if we are stopped," asked ferrier. hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of his tunic. "if they are too many for us we shall take two or three of them with us," he said with a sinister smile. the lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from the darkened window ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own, and which he was now about to abandon for ever. he had long nerved himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour and happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes. all looked so peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad silent stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that the spirit of murder lurked through it all. yet the white face and set expression of the young hunter showed that in his approach to the house he had seen enough to satisfy him upon that head. ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, jefferson hope had the scanty provisions and water, while lucy had a small bundle containing a few of her more valued possessions. opening the window very slowly and carefully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the night, and then one by one passed through into the little garden. with bated breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and gained the shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap which opened into the cornfields. they had just reached this point when the young man seized his two companions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they lay silent and trembling. it was as well that his prairie training had given jefferson hope the ears of a lynx. he and his friends had hardly crouched down before the melancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards of them, which was immediately answered by another hoot at a small distance. at the same moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry again, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity. "to-morrow at midnight," said the first who appeared to be in authority. "when the whip-poor-will calls three times." "it is well," returned the other. "shall i tell brother drebber?" "pass it on to him, and from him to the others. nine to seven!" "seven to five!" repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away in different directions. their concluding words had evidently been some form of sign and countersign. the instant that their footsteps had died away in the distance, jefferson hope sprang to his feet, and helping his companions through the gap, led the way across the fields at the top of his speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her strength appeared to fail her. "hurry on! hurry on!" he gasped from time to time. "we are through the line of sentinels. everything depends on speed. hurry on!" once on the high road they made rapid progress. only once did they meet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field, and so avoid recognition. before reaching the town the hunter branched away into a rugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. two dark jagged peaks loomed above them through the darkness, and the defile which led between them was the eagle caon in which the horses were awaiting them. with unerring instinct jefferson hope picked his way among the great boulders and along the bed of a dried-up watercourse, until he came to the retired corner, screened with rocks, where the faithful animals had been picketed. the girl was placed upon the mule, and old ferrier upon one of the horses, with his money-bag, while jefferson hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous path. it was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to face nature in her wildest moods. on the one side a great crag towered up a thousand feet or more, black, stern, and menacing, with long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified monster. on the other hand a wild chaos of boulders and debris made all advance impossible. between the two ran the irregular track, so narrow in places that they had to travel in indian file, and so rough that only practised riders could have traversed it at all. yet in spite of all dangers and difficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for every step increased the distance between them and the terrible despotism from which they were flying. they soon had a proof, however, that they were still within the jurisdiction of the saints. they had reached the very wildest and most desolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startled cry, and pointed upwards. on a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark and plain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. he saw them as soon as they perceived him, and his military challenge of "who goes there?" rang through the silent ravine. "travellers for nevada," said jefferson hope, with his hand upon the rifle which hung by his saddle. they could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their reply. "by whose permission?" he asked. "the holy four," answered ferrier. his mormon experiences had taught him that that was the highest authority to which he could refer. "nine from seven," cried the sentinel. "seven from five," returned jefferson hope promptly, remembering the countersign which he had heard in the garden. "pass, and the lord go with you," said the voice from above. beyond his post the path broadened out, and the horses were able to break into a trot. looking back, they could see the solitary watcher leaning upon his gun, and knew that they had passed the outlying post of the chosen people, and that freedom lay before them. chapter v the avenging angels all night their course lay through intricate defiles and over irregular and rock-strewn paths. more than once they lost their way, but hope's intimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once more. when morning broke, a scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before them. in every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, peeping over each other's shoulders to the far horizon. so steep were the rocky banks on either side of them, that the larch and the pine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and to need only a gust of wind to come hurtling down upon them. nor was the fear entirely an illusion, for the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulders which had fallen in a similar manner. even as they passed, a great rock came thundering down with a hoarse rattle which woke the echoes in the silent gorges, and startled the weary horses into a gallop. as the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of the great mountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at a festival, until they were all ruddy and glowing. the magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy. at a wild torrent which swept out of a ravine they called a halt and watered their horses, while they partook of a hasty breakfast. lucy and her father would fain have rested longer, but jefferson hope was inexorable. "they will be upon our track by this time," he said. "everything depends upon our speed. once safe in carson we may rest for the remainder of our lives." during the whole of that day they struggled on through the defiles, and by evening they calculated that they were more than thirty miles from their enemies. at night-time they chose the base of a beetling crag, where the rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and there huddled together for warmth, they enjoyed a few hours' sleep. before daybreak, however, they were up and on their way once more. they had seen no signs of any pursuers, and jefferson hope began to think that they were fairly out of the reach of the terrible organization whose enmity they had incurred. he little knew how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soon it was to close upon them and crush them. about the middle of the second day of their flight their scanty store of provisions began to run out. this gave the hunter little uneasiness, however, for there was game to be had among the mountains, and he had frequently before had to depend upon his rifle for the needs of life. choosing a sheltered nook, he piled together a few dried branches and made a blazing fire, at which his companions might warm themselves, for they were now nearly five thousand feet above the sea level, and the air was bitter and keen. having tethered the horses, and bade lucy adieu, he threw his gun over his shoulder, and set out in search of whatever chance might throw in his way. looking back he saw the old man and the young girl crouching over the blazing fire, while the three animals stood motionless in the back-ground. then the intervening rocks hid them from his view. he walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after another without success, though from the marks upon the bark of the trees, and other indications, he judged that there were numerous bears in the vicinity. at last, after two or three hours' fruitless search, he was thinking of turning back in despair, when casting his eyes upwards he saw a sight which sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. on the edge of a jutting pinnacle, three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a creature somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but armed with a pair of gigantic horns. the big-horn--for so it is called--was acting, probably, as a guardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter; but fortunately it was heading in the opposite direction, and had not perceived him. lying on his face, he rested his rifle upon a rock, and took a long and steady aim before drawing the trigger. the animal sprang into the air, tottered for a moment upon the edge of the precipice, and then came crashing down into the valley beneath. the creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter contented himself with cutting away one haunch and part of the flank. with this trophy over his shoulder, he hastened to retrace his steps, for the evening was already drawing in. he had hardly started, however, before he realized the difficulty which faced him. in his eagerness he had wandered far past the ravines which were known to him, and it was no easy matter to pick out the path which he had taken. the valley in which he found himself divided and sub-divided into many gorges, which were so like each other that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. he followed one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent which he was sure that he had never seen before. convinced that he had taken the wrong turn, he tried another, but with the same result. night was coming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last found himself in a defile which was familiar to him. even then it was no easy matter to keep to the right track, for the moon had not yet risen, and the high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound. weighed down with his burden, and weary from his exertions, he stumbled along, keeping up his heart by the reflection that every step brought him nearer to lucy, and that he carried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder of their journey. he had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he had left them. even in the darkness he could recognize the outline of the cliffs which bounded it. they must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, for he had been absent nearly five hours. in the gladness of his heart he put his hands to his mouth and made the glen re-echo to a loud halloo as a signal that he was coming. he paused and listened for an answer. none came save his own cry, which clattered up the dreary silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in countless repetitions. again he shouted, even louder than before, and again no whisper came back from the friends whom he had left such a short time ago. a vague, nameless dread came over him, and he hurried onwards frantically, dropping the precious food in his agitation. when he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot where the fire had been lit. there was still a glowing pile of wood ashes there, but it had evidently not been tended since his departure. the same dead silence still reigned all round. with his fears all changed to convictions, he hurried on. there was no living creature near the remains of the fire: animals, man, maiden, all were gone. it was only too clear that some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred during his absence--a disaster which had embraced them all, and yet had left no traces behind it. bewildered and stunned by this blow, jefferson hope felt his head spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle to save himself from falling. he was essentially a man of action, however, and speedily recovered from his temporary impotence. seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering fire, he blew it into a flame, and proceeded with its help to examine the little camp. the ground was all stamped down by the feet of horses, showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken the fugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved that they had afterwards turned back to salt lake city. had they carried back both of his companions with them? jefferson hope had almost persuaded himself that they must have done so, when his eye fell upon an object which made every nerve of his body tingle within him. a little way on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which had assuredly not been there before. there was no mistaking it for anything but a newly-dug grave. as the young hunter approached it, he perceived that a stick had been planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it. the inscription upon the paper was brief, but to the point: john ferrier, formerly of salt lake city, died august 4th, 1860. the sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before, was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. jefferson hope looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave, but there was no sign of one. lucy had been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original destiny, by becoming one of the harem of the elder's son. as the young fellow realized the certainty of her fate, and his own powerlessness to prevent it, he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer in his last silent resting-place. again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy which springs from despair. if there was nothing else left to him, he could at least devote his life to revenge. with indomitable patience and perseverance, jefferson hope possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which he may have learned from the indians amongst whom he had lived. as he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and complete retribution, brought by his own hand upon his enemies. his strong will and untiring energy should, he determined, be devoted to that one end. with a grim, white face, he retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food, and having stirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for a few days. this he made up into a bundle, and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk back through the mountains upon the track of the avenging angels. for five days he toiled footsore and weary through the defiles which he had already traversed on horseback. at night he flung himself down among the rocks, and snatched a few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he was always well on his way. on the sixth day, he reached the eagle caon, from which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. thence he could look down upon the home of the saints. worn and exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the silent widespread city beneath him. as he looked at it, he observed that there were flags in some of the principal streets, and other signs of festivity. he was still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard the clatter of horse's hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding towards him. as he approached, he recognized him as a mormon named cowper, to whom he had rendered services at different times. he therefore accosted him when he got up to him, with the object of finding out what lucy ferrier's fate had been. "i am jefferson hope," he said. "you remember me." the mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment--indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this tattered, unkempt wanderer, with ghastly white face and fierce, wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days. having, however, at last, satisfied himself as to his identity, the man's surprise changed to consternation. "you are mad to come here," he cried. "it is as much as my own life is worth to be seen talking with you. there is a warrant against you from the holy four for assisting the ferriers away." "i don't fear them, or their warrant," hope said, earnestly. "you must know something of this matter, cowper. i conjure you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions. we have always been friends. for god's sake, don't refuse to answer me." "what is it?" the mormon asked uneasily. "be quick. the very rocks have ears and the trees eyes." "what has become of lucy ferrier?" "she was married yesterday to young drebber. hold up, man, hold up, you have no life left in you." "don't mind me," said hope faintly. he was white to the very lips, and had sunk down on the stone against which he had been leaning. "married, you say?" "married yesterday--that's what those flags are for on the endowment house. there was some words between young drebber and young stangerson as to which was to have her. they'd both been in the party that followed them, and stangerson had shot her father, which seemed to give him the best claim; but when they argued it out in council, drebber's party was the stronger, so the prophet gave her over to him. no one won't have her very long though, for i saw death in her face yesterday. she is more like a ghost than a woman. are you off, then?" "yes, i am off," said jefferson hope, who had risen from his seat. his face might have been chiselled out of marble, so hard and set was its expression, while its eyes glowed with a baleful light. "where are you going?" "never mind," he answered; and, slinging his weapon over his shoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away into the heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts. amongst them all there was none so fierce and so dangerous as himself. the prediction of the mormon was only too well fulfilled. whether it was the terrible death of her father or the effects of the hateful marriage into which she had been forced, poor lucy never held up her head again, but pined away and died within a month. her sottish husband, who had married her principally for the sake of john ferrier's property, did not affect any great grief at his bereavement; but his other wives mourned over her, and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the mormon custom. they were grouped round the bier in the early hours of the morning, when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment, the door was flung open, and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in tattered garments strode into the room. without a glance or a word to the cowering women, he walked up to the white silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of lucy ferrier. stooping over her, he pressed his lips reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger. "she shall not be buried in that," he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an alarm could be raised sprang down the stairs and was gone. so strange and so brief was the episode, that the watchers might have found it hard to believe it themselves or persuade other people of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been a bride had disappeared. for some months jefferson hope lingered among the mountains, leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the fierce desire for vengeance which possessed him. tales were told in the city of the weird figure which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and which haunted the lonely mountain gorges. once a bullet whistled through stangerson's window and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. on another occasion, as drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing himself upon his face. the two young mormons were not long in discovering the reason of these attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditions into the mountains in the hope of capturing or killing their enemy, but always without success. then they adopted the precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. after a time they were able to relax these measures, for nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness. far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. the hunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge had taken such complete possession of it that there was no room for any other emotion. he was, however, above all things practical. he soon realized that even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant strain which he was putting upon it. exposure and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. if he died like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of his revenge then? and yet such a death was sure to overtake him if he persisted. he felt that that was to play his enemy's game, so he reluctantly returned to the old nevada mines, there to recruit his health and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his object without privation. his intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the mines for nearly five. at the end of that time, however, his memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by john ferrier's grave. disguised, and under an assumed name, he returned to salt lake city, careless what became of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice. there he found evil tidings awaiting him. there had been a schism among the chosen people a few months before, some of the younger members of the church having rebelled against the authority of the elders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had left utah and become gentiles. among these had been drebber and stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. rumour reported that drebber had managed to convert a large part of his property into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his companion, stangerson, was comparatively poor. there was no clue at all, however, as to their whereabouts. many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but jefferson hope never faltered for a moment. with the small competence he possessed, eked out by such employment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town through the united states in quest of his enemies. year passed into year, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object upon which he had devoted his life. at last his perseverance was rewarded. it was but a glance of a face in a window, but that one glance told him that cleveland in ohio possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. he returned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all arranged. it chanced, however, that drebber, looking from his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street, and had read murder in his eyes. he hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by stangerson, who had become his private secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival. that evening jefferson hope was taken into custody, and not being able to find sureties, was detained for some weeks. when at last he was liberated, it was only to find that drebber's house was deserted, and that he and his secretary had departed for europe. again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. funds were wanting, however, and for some time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for his approaching journey. at last, having collected enough to keep life in him, he departed for europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city, working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives. when he reached st. petersburg they had departed for paris; and when he followed them there he learned that they had just set off for copenhagen. at the danish capital he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to london, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth. as to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the old hunter's own account, as duly recorded in dr. watson's journal, to which we are already under such obligations. chapter vi a continuation of the reminiscences of john watson, m.d. our prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate any ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. "i guess you're going to take me to the police-station," he remarked to sherlock holmes. "my cab's at the door. if you'll loose my legs i'll walk down to it. i'm not so light to lift as i used to be." gregson and lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this proposition rather a bold one; but holmes at once took the prisoner at his word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his ankles. he rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they were free once more. i remember that i thought to myself, as i eyed him, that i had seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was as formidable as his personal strength. "if there's a vacant place for a chief of the police, i reckon you are the man for it," he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. "the way you kept on my trail was a caution." "you had better come with me," said holmes to the two detectives. "i can drive you," said lestrade. "good! and gregson can come inside with me. you too, doctor, you have taken an interest in the case and may as well stick to us." i assented gladly, and we all descended together. our prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his, and we followed him. lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a very short time to our destination. we were ushered into a small chamber where a police inspector noted down our prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged. the official was a white-faced unemotional man, who went through his duties in a dull mechanical way. "the prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the course of the week," he said; "in the mean time, mr. jefferson hope, have you anything that you wish to say? i must warn you that your words will be taken down, and may be used against you." "i've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly. "i want to tell you gentlemen all about it." "hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" asked the inspector. "i may never be tried," he answered. "you needn't look startled. it isn't suicide i am thinking of. are you a doctor?" he turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question. "yes; i am," i answered. "then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning with his manacled wrists towards his chest. i did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. the walls of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. in the silence of the room i could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source. "why," i cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!" "that's what they call it," he said, placidly. "i went to a doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before many days passed. it has been getting worse for years. i got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among the salt lake mountains. i've done my work now, and i don't care how soon i go, but i should like to leave some account of the business behind me. i don't want to be remembered as a common cut-throat." the inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story. "do you consider, doctor, that there is immediate danger?" the former asked. "most certainly there is," i answered. "in that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to take his statement," said the inspector. "you are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which i again warn you will be taken down." "i'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting the action to the word. "this aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. i'm on the brink of the grave, and i am not likely to lie to you. every word i say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me." with these words, jefferson hope leaned back in his chair and began the following remarkable statement. he spoke in a calm and methodical manner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace enough. i can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for i have had access to lestrade's note-book, in which the prisoner's words were taken down exactly as they were uttered. "it don't much matter to you why i hated these men," he said; "it's enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings--a father and a daughter--and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own lives. after the lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. i knew of their guilt though, and i determined that i should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. you'd have done the same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had been in my place. "that girl that i spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago. she was forced into marrying that same drebber, and broke her heart over it. i took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and i vowed that his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts should be of the crime for which he was punished. i have carried it about with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two continents until i caught them. they thought to tire me out, but they could not do it. if i die to-morrow, as is likely enough, i die knowing that my work in this world is done, and well done. they have perished, and by my hand. there is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire. "they were rich and i was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me to follow them. when i got to london my pocket was about empty, and i found that i must turn my hand to something for my living. driving and riding are as natural to me as walking, so i applied at a cabowner's office, and soon got employment. i was to bring a certain sum a week to the owner, and whatever was over that i might keep for myself. there was seldom much over, but i managed to scrape along somehow. the hardest job was to learn my way about, for i reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived, this city is the most confusing. i had a map beside me though, and when once i had spotted the principal hotels and stations, i got on pretty well. "it was some time before i found out where my two gentlemen were living; but i inquired and inquired until at last i dropped across them. they were at a boarding-house at camberwell, over on the other side of the river. when once i found them out i knew that i had them at my mercy. i had grown my beard, and there was no chance of their recognizing me. i would dog them and follow them until i saw my opportunity. i was determined that they should not escape me again. "they were very near doing it for all that. go where they would about london, i was always at their heels. sometimes i followed them on my cab, and sometimes on foot, but the former was the best, for then they could not get away from me. it was only early in the morning or late at night that i could earn anything, so that i began to get behind hand with my employer. i did not mind that, however, as long as i could lay my hand upon the men i wanted. "they were very cunning, though. they must have thought that there was some chance of their being followed, for they would never go out alone, and never after nightfall. during two weeks i drove behind them every day, and never once saw them separate. drebber himself was drunk half the time, but stangerson was not to be caught napping. i watched them late and early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but i was not discouraged, for something told me that the hour had almost come. my only fear was that this thing in my chest might burst a little too soon and leave my work undone. "at last, one evening i was driving up and down torquay terrace, as the street was called in which they boarded, when i saw a cab drive up to their door. presently some luggage was brought out, and after a time drebber and stangerson followed it, and drove off. i whipped up my horse and kept within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for i feared that they were going to shift their quarters. at euston station they got out, and i left a boy to hold my horse, and followed them on to the platform. i heard them ask for the liverpool train, and the guard answer that one had just gone and there would not be another for some hours. stangerson seemed to be put out at that, but drebber was rather pleased than otherwise. i got so close to them in the bustle that i could hear every word that passed between them. drebber said that he had a little business of his own to do, and that if the other would wait for him he would soon rejoin him. his companion remonstrated with him, and reminded him that they had resolved to stick together. drebber answered that the matter was a delicate one, and that he must go alone. i could not catch what stangerson said to that, but the other burst out swearing, and reminded him that he was nothing more than his paid servant, and that he must not presume to dictate to him. on that the secretary gave it up as a bad job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed the last train he should rejoin him at halliday's private hotel; to which drebber answered that he would be back on the platform before eleven, and made his way out of the station. "the moment for which i had waited so long had at last come. i had my enemies within my power. together they could protect each other, but singly they were at my mercy. i did not act, however, with undue precipitation. my plans were already formed. there is no satisfaction in vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him, and why retribution has come upon him. i had my plans arranged by which i should have the opportunity of making the man who had wronged me understand that his old sin had found him out. it chanced that some days before a gentleman who had been engaged in looking over some houses in the brixton road had dropped the key of one of them in my carriage. it was claimed that same evening, and returned; but in the interval i had taken a moulding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. by means of this i had access to at least one spot in this great city where i could rely upon being free from interruption. how to get drebber to that house was the difficult problem which i had now to solve. "he walked down the road and went into one or two liquor shops, staying for nearly half-an-hour in the last of them. when he came out he staggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty well on. there was a hansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. i followed it so close that the nose of my horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way. we rattled across waterloo bridge and through miles of streets, until, to my astonishment, we found ourselves back in the terrace in which he had boarded. i could not imagine what his intention was in returning there; but i went on and pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from the house. he entered it, and his hansom drove away. give me a glass of water, if you please. my mouth gets dry with the talking." i handed him the glass, and he drank it down. "that's better," he said. "well, i waited for a quarter of an hour, or more, when suddenly there came a noise like people struggling inside the house. next moment the door was flung open and two men appeared, one of whom was drebber, and the other was a young chap whom i had never seen before. this fellow had drebber by the collar, and when they came to the head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which sent him half across the road. 'you hound,' he cried, shaking his stick at him; 'i'll teach you to insult an honest girl!' he was so hot that i think he would have thrashed drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered away down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. he ran as far as the corner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in. 'drive me to halliday's private hotel,' said he. "when i had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with joy that i feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might go wrong. i drove along slowly, weighing in my own mind what it was best to do. i might take him right out into the country, and there in some deserted lane have my last interview with him. i had almost decided upon this, when he solved the problem for me. the craze for drink had seized him again, and he ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace. he went in, leaving word that i should wait for him. there he remained until closing time, and when he came out he was so far gone that i knew the game was in my own hands. "don't imagine that i intended to kill him in cold blood. it would only have been rigid justice if i had done so, but i could not bring myself to do it. i had long determined that he should have a show for his life if he chose to take advantage of it. among the many billets which i have filled in america during my wandering life, i was once janitor and sweeper out of the laboratory at york college. one day the professor was lecturing on poisons, and he showed his students some alkaloid, as he called it, which he had extracted from some south american arrow poison, and which was so powerful that the least grain meant instant death. i spotted the bottle in which this preparation was kept, and when they were all gone, i helped myself to a little of it. i was a fairly good dispenser, so i worked this alkaloid into small, soluble pills, and each pill i put in a box with a similar pill made without the poison. i determined at the time that when i had my chance, my gentlemen should each have a draw out of one of these boxes, while i ate the pill that remained. it would be quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy than firing across a handkerchief. from that day i had always my pill boxes about with me, and the time had now come when i was to use them. "it was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night, blowing hard and raining in torrents. dismal as it was outside, i was glad within--so glad that i could have shouted out from pure exultation. if any of you gentlemen have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twenty long years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you would understand my feelings. i lit a cigar, and puffed at it to steady my nerves, but my hands were trembling, and my temples throbbing with excitement. as i drove, i could see old john ferrier and sweet lucy looking at me out of the darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as i see you all in this room. all the way they were ahead of me, one on each side of the horse until i pulled up at the house in the brixton road. "there was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, except the dripping of the rain. when i looked in at the window, i found drebber all huddled together in a drunken sleep. i shook him by the arm, 'it's time to get out,' i said. "'all right, cabby,' said he. "i suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had mentioned, for he got out without another word, and followed me down the garden. i had to walk beside him to keep him steady, for he was still a little top-heavy. when we came to the door, i opened it, and led him into the front room. i give you my word that all the way, the father and the daughter were walking in front of us. "'it's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about. "'we'll soon have a light,' i said, striking a match and putting it to a wax candle which i had brought with me. 'now, enoch drebber,' i continued, turning to him, and holding the light to my own face, 'who am i?' "he gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and then i saw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole features, which showed me that he knew me. he staggered back with a livid face, and i saw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his teeth chattered in his head. at the sight, i leaned my back against the door and laughed loud and long. i had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but i had never hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed me. "'you dog!' i said; 'i have hunted you from salt lake city to st. petersburg, and you have always escaped me. now, at last your wanderings have come to an end, for either you or i shall never see to-morrow's sun rise.' he shrunk still further away as i spoke, and i could see on his face that he thought i was mad. so i was for the time. the pulses in my temples beat like sledge-hammers, and i believe i would have had a fit of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose and relieved me. "'what do you think of lucy ferrier now?' i cried, locking the door, and shaking the key in his face. 'punishment has been slow in coming, but it has overtaken you at last.' i saw his coward lips tremble as i spoke. he would have begged for his life, but he knew well that it was useless. "'would you murder me?' he stammered. "'there is no murder,' i answered. 'who talks of murdering a mad dog? what mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you dragged her from her slaughtered father, and bore her away to your accursed and shameless harem.' "'it was not i who killed her father,' he cried. "'but it was you who broke her innocent heart,' i shrieked, thrusting the box before him. 'let the high god judge between us. choose and eat. there is death in one and life in the other. i shall take what you leave. let us see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.' "he cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but i drew my knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed me. then i swallowed the other, and we stood facing one another in silence for a minute or more, waiting to see which was to live and which was to die. shall i ever forget the look which came over his face when the first warning pangs told him that the poison was in his system? i laughed as i saw it, and held lucy's marriage ring in front of his eyes. it was but for a moment, for the action of the alkaloid is rapid. a spasm of pain contorted his features; he threw his hands out in front of him, staggered, and then, with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. i turned him over with my foot, and placed my hand upon his heart. there was no movement. he was dead! "the blood had been streaming from my nose, but i had taken no notice of it. i don't know what it was that put it into my head to write upon the wall with it. perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting the police upon a wrong track, for i felt light-hearted and cheerful. i remembered a german being found in new york with rache written up above him, and it was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret societies must have done it. i guessed that what puzzled the new yorkers would puzzle the londoners, so i dipped my finger in my own blood and printed it on a convenient place on the wall. then i walked down to my cab and found that there was nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. i had driven some distance when i put my hand into the pocket in which i usually kept lucy's ring, and found that it was not there. i was thunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that i had of her. thinking that i might have dropped it when i stooped over drebber's body, i drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, i went boldly up to the house--for i was ready to dare anything rather than lose the ring. when i arrived there, i walked right into the arms of a police-officer who was coming out, and only managed to disarm his suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk. "that was how enoch drebber came to his end. all i had to do then was to do as much for stangerson, and so pay off john ferrier's debt. i knew that he was staying at halliday's private hotel, and i hung about all day, but he never came out. i fancy that he suspected something when drebber failed to put in an appearance. he was cunning, was stangerson, and always on his guard. if he thought he could keep me off by staying indoors he was very much mistaken. i soon found out which was the window of his bedroom, and early next morning i took advantage of some ladders which were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way into his room in the grey of the dawn. i woke him up and told him that the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he had taken so long before. i described drebber's death to him, and i gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills. instead of grasping at the chance of safety which that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my throat. in self-defence i stabbed him to the heart. it would have been the same in any case, for providence would never have allowed his guilty hand to pick out anything but the poison. "i have little more to say, and it's as well, for i am about done up. i went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep at it until i could save enough to take me back to america. i was standing in the yard when a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there called jefferson hope, and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221b, baker street. i went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing i knew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly snackled as ever i saw in my life. that's the whole of my story, gentlemen. you may consider me to be a murderer; but i hold that i am just as much an officer of justice as you are." so thrilling had the man's narrative been, and his manner was so impressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. even the professional detectives, blase as they were in every detail of crime, appeared to be keenly interested in the man's story. when he finished we sat for some minutes in a stillness which was only broken by the scratching of lestrade's pencil as he gave the finishing touches to his shorthand account. "there is only one point on which i should like a little more information," sherlock holmes said at last. "who was your accomplice who came for the ring which i advertised?" the prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "i can tell my own secrets," he said, "but i don't get other people into trouble. i saw your advertisement, and i thought it might be a plant, or it might be the ring which i wanted. my friend volunteered to go and see. i think you'll own he did it smartly." "not a doubt of that," said holmes heartily. "now, gentlemen," the inspector remarked gravely, "the forms of the law must be complied with. on thursday the prisoner will be brought before the magistrates, and your attendance will be required. until then i will be responsible for him." he rang the bell as he spoke, and jefferson hope was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and i made our way out of the station and took a cab back to baker street. chapter vii the conclusion we had all been warned to appear before the magistrates upon the thursday; but when the thursday came there was no occasion for our testimony. a higher judge had taken the matter in hand, and jefferson hope had been summoned before a tribunal where strict justice would be meted out to him. on the very night after his capture the aneurism burst, and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor of the cell, with a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able in his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well done. "gregson and lestrade will be wild about his death," holmes remarked, as we chatted it over next evening. "where will their grand advertisement be now?" "i don't see that they had very much to do with his capture," i answered. "what you do in this world is a matter of no consequence," returned my companion, bitterly. "the question is, what can you make people believe that you have done. never mind," he continued, more brightly, after a pause. "i would not have missed the investigation for anything. there has been no better case within my recollection. simple as it was, there were several most instructive points about it." "simple!" i ejaculated. "well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise," said sherlock holmes, smiling at my surprise. "the proof of its intrinsic simplicity is, that without any help save a few very ordinary deductions i was able to lay my hand upon the criminal within three days." "that is true," said i. "i have already explained to you that what is out of the common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance. in solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. that is a very useful accomplishment, and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much. in the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to reason forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected. there are fifty who can reason synthetically for one who can reason analytically." "i confess," said i, "that i do not quite follow you." "i hardly expected that you would. let me see if i can make it clearer. most people, if you describe a train of events to them, will tell you what the result would be. they can put those events together in their minds, and argue from them that something will come to pass. there are few people, however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to evolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were which led up to that result. this power is what i mean when i talk of reasoning backwards, or analytically." "i understand," said i. "now this was a case in which you were given the result and had to find everything else for yourself. now let me endeavour to show you the different steps in my reasoning. to begin at the beginning. i approached the house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all impressions. i naturally began by examining the roadway, and there, as i have already explained to you, i saw clearly the marks of a cab, which, i ascertained by inquiry, must have been there during the night. i satisfied myself that it was a cab and not a private carriage by the narrow gauge of the wheels. the ordinary london growler is considerably less wide than a gentleman's brougham. "this was the first point gained. i then walked slowly down the garden path, which happened to be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable for taking impressions. no doubt it appeared to you to be a mere trampled line of slush, but to my trained eyes every mark upon its surface had a meaning. there is no branch of detective science which is so important and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps. happily, i have always laid great stress upon it, and much practice has made it second nature to me. i saw the heavy footmarks of the constables, but i saw also the track of the two men who had first passed through the garden. it was easy to tell that they had been before the others, because in places their marks had been entirely obliterated by the others coming upon the top of them. in this way my second link was formed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number, one remarkable for his height (as i calculated from the length of his stride), and the other fashionably dressed, to judge from the small and elegant impression left by his boots. "on entering the house this last inference was confirmed. my well-booted man lay before me. the tall one, then, had done the murder, if murder there was. there was no wound upon the dead man's person, but the agitated expression upon his face assured me that he had foreseen his fate before it came upon him. men who die from heart disease, or any sudden natural cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their features. having sniffed the dead man's lips i detected a slightly sour smell, and i came to the conclusion that he had had poison forced upon him. again, i argued that it had been forced upon him from the hatred and fear expressed upon his face. by the method of exclusion, i had arrived at this result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts. do not imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. the forcible administration of poison is by no means a new thing in criminal annals. the cases of dolsky in odessa, and of leturier in montpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist. "and now came the great question as to the reason why. robbery had not been the object of the murder, for nothing was taken. was it politics, then, or was it a woman? that was the question which confronted me. i was inclined from the first to the latter supposition. political assassins are only too glad to do their work and to fly. this murder had, on the contrary, been done most deliberately, and the perpetrator had left his tracks all over the room, showing that he had been there all the time. it must have been a private wrong, and not a political one, which called for such a methodical revenge. when the inscription was discovered upon the wall i was more inclined than ever to my opinion. the thing was too evidently a blind. when the ring was found, however, it settled the question. clearly the murderer had used it to remind his victim of some dead or absent woman. it was at this point that i asked gregson whether he had enquired in his telegram to cleveland as to any particular point in mr. drebber's former career. he answered, you remember, in the negative. "i then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room, which confirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer's height, and furnished me with the additional details as to the trichinopoly cigar and the length of his nails. i had already come to the conclusion, since there were no signs of a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst from the murderer's nose in his excitement. i could perceive that the track of blood coincided with the track of his feet. it is seldom that any man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this way through emotion, so i hazarded the opinion that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-faced man. events proved that i had judged correctly. "having left the house, i proceeded to do what gregson had neglected. i telegraphed to the head of the police at cleveland, limiting my enquiry to the circumstances connected with the marriage of enoch drebber. the answer was conclusive. it told me that drebber had already applied for the protection of the law against an old rival in love, named jefferson hope, and that this same hope was at present in europe. i knew now that i held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was to secure the murderer. "i had already determined in my own mind that the man who had walked into the house with drebber, was none other than the man who had driven the cab. the marks in the road showed me that the horse had wandered on in a way which would have been impossible had there been anyone in charge of it. where, then, could the driver be, unless he were inside the house? again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a third person, who was sure to betray him. lastly, supposing one man wished to dog another through london, what better means could he adopt than to turn cabdriver. all these considerations led me to the irresistible conclusion that jefferson hope was to be found among the jarveys of the metropolis. "if he had been one there was no reason to believe that he had ceased to be. on the contrary, from his point of view, any sudden chance would be likely to draw attention to himself. he would, probably, for a time at least, continue to perform his duties. there was no reason to suppose that he was going under an assumed name. why should he change his name in a country where no one knew his original one? i therefore organized my street arab detective corps, and sent them systematically to every cab proprietor in london until they ferreted out the man that i wanted. how well they succeeded, and how quickly i took advantage of it, are still fresh in your recollection. the murder of stangerson was an incident which was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in any case have been prevented. through it, as you know, i came into possession of the pills, the existence of which i had already surmised. you see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw." "it is wonderful!" i cried. "your merits should be publicly recognized. you should publish an account of the case. if you won't, i will for you." "you may do what you like, doctor," he answered. "see here!" he continued, handing a paper over to me, "look at this!" it was the echo for the day, and the paragraph to which he pointed was devoted to the case in question. "the public," it said, "have lost a sensational treat through the sudden death of the man hope, who was suspected of the murder of mr. enoch drebber and of mr. joseph stangerson. the details of the case will probably be never known now, though we are informed upon good authority that the crime was the result of an old standing and romantic feud, in which love and mormonism bore a part. it seems that both the victims belonged, in their younger days, to the latter day saints, and hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from salt lake city. if the case has had no other effect, it, at least, brings out in the most striking manner the efficiency of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson to all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds at home, and not to carry them on to british soil. it is an open secret that the credit of this smart capture belongs entirely to the well-known scotland yard officials, messrs. lestrade and gregson. the man was apprehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain mr. sherlock holmes, who has himself, as an amateur, shown some talent in the detective line, and who, with such instructors, may hope in time to attain to some degree of their skill. it is expected that a testimonial of some sort will be presented to the two officers as a fitting recognition of their services." "didn't i tell you so when we started?" cried sherlock holmes with a laugh. "that's the result of all our study in scarlet: to get them a testimonial!" "never mind," i answered, "i have all the facts in my journal, and the public shall know them. in the meantime you must make yourself contented by the consciousness of success, like the roman miser-- "'populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.'" the sign of the four table of contents the science of deduction the statement of the case in quest of a solution the story of the bald-headed man the tragedy of pondicherry lodge sherlock holmes gives a demonstration the episode of the barrel the baker street irregulars a break in the chain the end of the islander the great agra treasure the strange story of jonathan small chapter i the science of deduction sherlock holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. with his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. for some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction. three times a day for many months i had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. on the contrary, from day to day i had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that i had lacked the courage to protest. again and again i had registered a vow that i should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. his great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which i had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him. yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the beaune which i had taken with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, i suddenly felt that i could hold out no longer. "which is it to-day?" i asked,--"morphine or cocaine?" he raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened. "it is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-per-cent solution. would you care to try it?" "no, indeed," i answered, brusquely. "my constitution has not got over the afghan campaign yet. i cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it." he smiled at my vehemence. "perhaps you are right, watson," he said. "i suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. i find it, however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment." "but consider!" i said, earnestly. "count the cost! your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a permanent weakness. you know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. surely the game is hardly worth the candle. why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed? remember that i speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to some extent answerable." he did not seem offended. on the contrary, he put his fingertips together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who has a relish for conversation. "my mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and i am in my own proper atmosphere. i can dispense then with artificial stimulants. but i abhor the dull routine of existence. i crave for mental exaltation. that is why i have chosen my own particular profession,--or rather created it, for i am the only one in the world." "the only unofficial detective?" i said, raising my eyebrows. "the only unofficial consulting detective," he answered. "i am the last and highest court of appeal in detection. when gregson or lestrade or athelney jones are out of their depths--which, by the way, is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. i examine the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. i claim no credit in such cases. my name figures in no newspaper. the work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. but you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the jefferson hope case." "yes, indeed," said i, cordially. "i was never so struck by anything in my life. i even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat fantastic title of 'a study in scarlet.'" he shook his head sadly. "i glanced over it," said he. "honestly, i cannot congratulate you upon it. detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. you have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of euclid." "but the romance was there," i remonstrated. "i could not tamper with the facts." "some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. the only point in the case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which i succeeded in unraveling it." i was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially designed to please him. i confess, too, that i was irritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own special doings. more than once during the years that i had lived with him in baker street i had observed that a small vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. i made no remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. i had a jezail bullet through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me from walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather. "my practice has extended recently to the continent," said holmes, after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "i was consulted last week by francois le villard, who, as you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in the french detective service. he has all the celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher developments of his art. the case was concerned with a will, and possessed some features of interest. i was able to refer him to two parallel cases, the one at riga in 1857, and the other at st. louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the true solution. here is the letter which i had this morning acknowledging my assistance." he tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. i glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with stray magnifiques, coup-de-matres and tours-de-force, all testifying to the ardent admiration of the frenchman. "he speaks as a pupil to his master," said i. "oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said sherlock holmes, lightly. "he has considerable gifts himself. he possesses two out of the three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. he has the power of observation and that of deduction. he is only wanting in knowledge; and that may come in time. he is now translating my small works into french." "your works?" "oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "yes, i have been guilty of several monographs. they are all upon technical subjects. here, for example, is one 'upon the distinction between the ashes of the various tobaccoes.' in it i enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with colored plates illustrating the difference in the ash. it is a point which is continually turning up in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. if you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search. to the trained eye there is as much difference between the black ash of a trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato." "you have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," i remarked. "i appreciate their importance. here is my monograph upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of paris as a preserver of impresses. here, too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers, and diamond-polishers. that is a matter of great practical interest to the scientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of criminals. but i weary you with my hobby." "not at all," i answered, earnestly. "it is of the greatest interest to me, especially since i have had the opportunity of observing your practical application of it. but you spoke just now of observation and deduction. surely the one to some extent implies the other." "why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his armchair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "for example, observation shows me that you have been to the wigmore street post-office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there you dispatched a telegram." "right!" said i. "right on both points! but i confess that i don't see how you arrived at it. it was a sudden impulse upon my part, and i have mentioned it to no one." "it is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my surprise,--"so absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous; and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation and of deduction. observation tells me that you have a little reddish mould adhering to your instep. just opposite the seymour street office they have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering. the earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which is found, as far as i know, nowhere else in the neighborhood. so much is observation. the rest is deduction." "how, then, did you deduce the telegram?" "why, of course i knew that you had not written a letter, since i sat opposite to you all morning. i see also in your open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of postcards. what could you go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire? eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth." "in this case it certainly is so," i replied, after a little thought. "the thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest. would you think me impertinent if i were to put your theories to a more severe test?" "on the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from taking a second dose of cocaine. i should be delighted to look into any problem which you might submit to me." "i have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any object in daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality upon it in such a way that a trained observer might read it. now, i have here a watch which has recently come into my possession. would you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the late owner?" i handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in my heart, for the test was, as i thought, an impossible one, and i intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed. he balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. i could hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and handed it back. "there are hardly any data," he remarked. "the watch has been recently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts." "you are right," i answered. "it was cleaned before being sent to me." in my heart i accused my companion of putting forward a most lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. what data could he expect from an uncleaned watch? "though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren," he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes. "subject to your correction, i should judge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it from your father." "that you gather, no doubt, from the h. w. upon the back?" "quite so. the w. suggests your own name. the date of the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so it was made for the last generation. jewelry usually descents to the eldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as the father. your father has, if i remember right, been dead many years. it has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother." "right, so far," said i. "anything else?" "he was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. he was left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink, he died. that is all i can gather." i sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with considerable bitterness in my heart. "this is unworthy of you, holmes," i said. "i could not have believed that you would have descended to this. you have made inquires into the history of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fanciful way. you cannot expect me to believe that you have read all this from his old watch! it is unkind, and, to speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it." "my dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept my apologies. viewing the matter as an abstract problem, i had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. i assure you, however, that i never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch." "then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these facts? they are absolutely correct in every particular." "ah, that is good luck. i could only say what was the balance of probability. i did not at all expect to be so accurate." "but it was not mere guess-work?" "no, no: i never guess. it is a shocking habit,--destructive to the logical faculty. what seems strange to you is only so because you do not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which large inferences may depend. for example, i began by stating that your brother was careless. when you observe the lower part of that watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket. surely it is no great feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a careless man. neither is it a very far-fetched inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty well provided for in other respects." i nodded, to show that i followed his reasoning. "it is very customary for pawnbrokers in england, when they take a watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point upon the inside of the case. it is more handy than a label, as there is no risk of the number being lost or transposed. there are no less than four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case. inference,--that your brother was often at low water. secondary inference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could not have redeemed the pledge. finally, i ask you to look at the inner plate, which contains the key-hole. look at the thousands of scratches all round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. what sober man's key could have scored those grooves? but you will never see a drunkard's watch without them. he winds it at night, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. where is the mystery in all this?" "it is as clear as daylight," i answered. "i regret the injustice which i did you. i should have had more faith in your marvellous faculty. may i ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot at present?" "none. hence the cocaine. i cannot live without brain-work. what else is there to live for? stand at the window here. was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? see how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the duncolored houses. what could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? what is the use of having powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those which are commonplace have any function upon earth." i had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver. "a young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion. "miss mary morstan," he read. "hum! i have no recollection of the name. ask the young lady to step up, mrs. hudson. don't go, doctor. i should prefer that you remain." chapter ii the statement of the case miss morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. she was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. there was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. the dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. in an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, i have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. i could not but observe that as she took the seat which sherlock holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation. "i have come to you, mr. holmes," she said, "because you once enabled my employer, mrs. cecil forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication. she was much impressed by your kindness and skill." "mrs. cecil forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "i believe that i was of some slight service to her. the case, however, as i remember it, was a very simple one." "she did not think so. but at least you cannot say the same of mine. i can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which i find myself." holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. he leaned forward in his chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his clear-cut, hawklike features. "state your case," said he, in brisk, business tones. i felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "you will, i am sure, excuse me," i said, rising from my chair. to my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me. "if your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me." i relapsed into my chair. "briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. my father was an officer in an indian regiment who sent me home when i was quite a child. my mother was dead, and i had no relative in england. i was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at edinburgh, and there i remained until i was seventeen years of age. in the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came home. he telegraphed to me from london that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving the langham hotel as his address. his message, as i remember, was full of kindness and love. on reaching london i drove to the langham, and was informed that captain morstan was staying there, but that he had gone out the night before and had not yet returned. i waited all day without news of him. that night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, i communicated with the police, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. our inquiries let to no result; and from that day to this no word has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. he came home with his heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--" she put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence. "the date?" asked holmes, opening his note-book. "he disappeared upon the 3d of december, 1878,--nearly ten years ago." "his luggage?" "remained at the hotel. there was nothing in it to suggest a clue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of curiosities from the andaman islands. he had been one of the officers in charge of the convict-guard there." "had he any friends in town?" "only one that we know of,--major sholto, of his own regiment, the 34th bombay infantry. the major had retired some little time before, and lived at upper norwood. we communicated with him, of course, but he did not even know that his brother officer was in england." "a singular case," remarked holmes. "i have not yet described to you the most singular part. about six years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of may, 1882--an advertisement appeared in the times asking for the address of miss mary morstan and stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. there was no name or address appended. i had at that time just entered the family of mrs. cecil forrester in the capacity of governess. by her advice i published my address in the advertisement column. the same day there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed to me, which i found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. no word of writing was enclosed. since then every year upon the same date there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue as to the sender. they have been pronounced by an expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. you can see for yourselves that they are very handsome." she opened a flat box as she spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that i had ever seen. "your statement is most interesting," said sherlock holmes. "has anything else occurred to you?" "yes, and no later than to-day. that is why i have come to you. this morning i received this letter, which you will perhaps read for yourself." "thank you," said holmes. "the envelope too, please. postmark, london, s.w. date, july 7. hum! man's thumb-mark on corner,--probably postman. best quality paper. envelopes at sixpence a packet. particular man in his stationery. no address. 'be at the third pillar from the left outside the lyceum theatre to-night at seven o'clock. if you are distrustful, bring two friends. you are a wronged woman, and shall have justice. do not bring police. if you do, all will be in vain. your unknown friend.' well, really, this is a very pretty little mystery. what do you intend to do, miss morstan?" "that is exactly what i want to ask you." "then we shall most certainly go. you and i and--yes, why, dr. watson is the very man. your correspondent says two friends. he and i have worked together before." "but would he come?" she asked, with something appealing in her voice and expression. "i should be proud and happy," said i, fervently, "if i can be of any service." "you are both very kind," she answered. "i have led a retired life, and have no friends whom i could appeal to. if i am here at six it will do, i suppose?" "you must not be later," said holmes. "there is one other point, however. is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box addresses?" "i have them here," she answered, producing half a dozen pieces of paper. "you are certainly a model client. you have the correct intuition. let us see, now." he spread out the papers upon the table, and gave little darting glances from one to the other. "they are disguised hands, except the letter," he said, presently, "but there can be no question as to the authorship. see how the irrepressible greek e will break out, and see the twirl of the final s. they are undoubtedly by the same person. i should not like to suggest false hopes, miss morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of your father?" "nothing could be more unlike." "i expected to hear you say so. we shall look out for you, then, at six. pray allow me to keep the papers. i may look into the matter before then. it is only half-past three. au revoir, then." "au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and hurried away. standing at the window, i watched her walking briskly down the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but a speck in the sombre crowd. "what a very attractive woman!" i exclaimed, turning to my companion. he had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids. "is she?" he said, languidly. "i did not observe." "you really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" i cried. "there is something positively inhuman in you at times." he smiled gently. "it is of the first importance," he said, "not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. a client is to me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. the emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. i assure you that the most winning woman i ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the london poor." "in this case, however--" "i never make exceptions. an exception disproves the rule. have you ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? what do you make of this fellow's scribble?" "it is legible and regular," i answered. "a man of business habits and some force of character." holmes shook his head. "look at his long letters," he said. "they hardly rise above the common herd. that d might be an a, and that l an e. men of character always differentiate their long letters, however illegibly they may write. there is vacillation in his k's and self-esteem in his capitals. i am going out now. i have some few references to make. let me recommend this book,--one of the most remarkable ever penned. it is winwood reade's martyrdom of man. i shall be back in an hour." i sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the writer. my mind ran upon our late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. if she were seventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,--a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience. so i sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that i hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. what was i, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that i should dare to think of such things? she was a unit, a factor,--nothing more. if my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination. chapter iii in quest of a solution it was half-past five before holmes returned. he was bright, eager, and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with fits of the blackest depression. "there is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking the cup of tea which i had poured out for him. "the facts appear to admit of only one explanation." "what! you have solved it already?" "well, that would be too much to say. i have discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. it is, however, very suggestive. the details are still to be added. i have just found, on consulting the back files of the times, that major sholto, of upper norword, late of the 34th bombay infantry, died upon the 28th of april, 1882." "i may be very obtuse, holmes, but i fail to see what this suggests." "no? you surprise me. look at it in this way, then. captain morstan disappears. the only person in london whom he could have visited is major sholto. major sholto denies having heard that he was in london. four years later sholto dies. within a week of his death captain morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a wronged woman. what wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of her father? and why should the presents begin immediately after sholto's death, unless it is that sholto's heir knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? have you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?" "but what a strange compensation! and how strangely made! why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? again, the letter speaks of giving her justice. what justice can she have? it is too much to suppose that her father is still alive. there is no other injustice in her case that you know of." "there are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said sherlock holmes, pensively. "but our expedition of to-night will solve them all. ah, here is a four-wheeler, and miss morstan is inside. are you all ready? then we had better go down, for it is a little past the hour." i picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but i observed that holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. it was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious one. miss morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was composed, but pale. she must have been more than woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered the few additional questions which sherlock holmes put to her. "major sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said. "his letters were full of allusions to the major. he and papa were in command of the troops at the andaman islands, so they were thrown a great deal together. by the way, a curious paper was found in papa's desk which no one could understand. i don't suppose that it is of the slightest importance, but i thought you might care to see it, so i brought it with me. it is here." holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his knee. he then very methodically examined it all over with his double lens. "it is paper of native indian manufacture," he remarked. "it has at some time been pinned to a board. the diagram upon it appears to be a plan of part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages. at one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is '3.37 from left,' in faded pencil-writing. in the left-hand corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with their arms touching. beside it is written, in very rough and coarse characters, 'the sign of the four,--jonathan small, mahomet singh, abdullah khan, dost akbar.' no, i confess that i do not see how this bears upon the matter. yet it is evidently a document of importance. it has been kept carefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other." "it was in his pocket-book that we found it." "preserve it carefully, then, miss morstan, for it may prove to be of use to us. i begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than i at first supposed. i must reconsider my ideas." he leaned back in the cab, and i could see by his drawn brow and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. miss morstan and i chatted in an undertone about our present expedition and its possible outcome, but our companion maintained his impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey. it was a september evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city. mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. down the strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. the yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare. there was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. like all human kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom once more. i am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy evening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. i could see from miss morstan's manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. holmes alone could rise superior to petty influences. he held his open note-book upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern. at the lyceum theatre the crowds were already thick at the side-entrances. in front a continuous stream of hansoms and four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. we had hardly reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us. "are you the parties who come with miss morstan?" he asked. "i am miss morstan, and these two gentlemen are my friends," said she. he bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon us. "you will excuse me, miss," he said with a certain dogged manner, "but i was to ask you to give me your word that neither of your companions is a police-officer." "i give you my word on that," she answered. he gave a shrill whistle, on which a street arab led across a four-wheeler and opened the door. the man who had addressed us mounted to the box, while we took our places inside. we had hardly done so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pace through the foggy streets. the situation was a curious one. we were driving to an unknown place, on an unknown errand. yet our invitation was either a complete hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good reason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey. miss morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. i endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, i was myself so excited at our situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were slightly involved. to this day she declares that i told her one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how i fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. at first i had some idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of london, i lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going a very long way. sherlock holmes was never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets. "rochester row," said he. "now vincent square. now we come out on the vauxhall bridge road. we are making for the surrey side, apparently. yes, i thought so. now we are on the bridge. you can catch glimpses of the river." we did indeed bet a fleeting view of a stretch of the thames with the lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on, and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side. "wordsworth road," said my companion. "priory road. lark hall lane. stockwell place. robert street. cold harbor lane. our quest does not appear to take us to very fashionable regions." we had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood. long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. then came rows of two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then again interminable lines of new staring brick buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giant city was throwing out into the country. at last the cab drew up at the third house in a new terrace. none of the other houses were inhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen window. on our knocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open by a hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban, white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. there was something strangely incongruous in this oriental figure framed in the commonplace door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house. "the sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke there came a high piping voice from some inner room. "show them in to me, khitmutgar," it cried. "show them straight in to me." chapter iv the story of the bald-headed man we followed the indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threw open. a blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. he writhed his hands together as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose. nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part of his face. in spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression of youth. in point of fact he had just turned his thirtieth year. "your servant, miss morstan," he kept repeating, in a thin, high voice. "your servant, gentlemen. pray step into my little sanctum. a small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking. an oasis of art in the howling desert of south london." we were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into which he invited us. in that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. the richest and glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting or oriental vase. the carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the corner. a lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. as it burned it filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor. "mr. thaddeus sholto," said the little man, still jerking and smiling. "that is my name. you are miss morstan, of course. and these gentlemen--" "this is mr. sherlock holmes, and this is dr. watson." "a doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "have you your stethoscope? might i ask you--would you have the kindness? i have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. the aortic i may rely upon, but i should value your opinion upon the mitral." i listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he shivered from head to foot. "it appears to be normal," i said. "you have no cause for uneasiness." "you will excuse my anxiety, miss morstan," he remarked, airily. "i am a great sufferer, and i have long had suspicions as to that valve. i am delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. had your father, miss morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have been alive now." i could have struck the man across the face, so hot was i at this callous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. miss morstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips. "i knew in my heart that he was dead," said she. "i can give you every information," said he, "and, what is more, i can do you justice; and i will, too, whatever brother bartholomew may say. i am so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to you, but also as witnesses to what i am about to do and say. the three of us can show a bold front to brother bartholomew. but let us have no outsiders,--no police or officials. we can settle everything satisfactorily among ourselves, without any interference. nothing would annoy brother bartholomew more than any publicity." he sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes. "for my part," said holmes, "whatever you may choose to say will go no further." i nodded to show my agreement. "that is well! that is well!" said he. "may i offer you a glass of chianti, miss morstan? or of tokay? i keep no other wines. shall i open a flask? no? well, then, i trust that you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the eastern tobacco. i am a little nervous, and i find my hookah an invaluable sedative." he applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily through the rose-water. we sat all three in a semicircle, with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands, while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the centre. "when i first determined to make this communication to you," said he, "i might have given you my address, but i feared that you might disregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. i took the liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my man williams might be able to see you first. i have complete confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter. you will excuse these precautions, but i am a man of somewhat retiring, and i might even say refined, tastes, and there is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. i have a natural shrinking from all forms of rough materialism. i seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. i live, as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around me. i may call myself a patron of the arts. it is my weakness. the landscape is a genuine corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt upon that salvator rosa, there cannot be the least question about the bouguereau. i am partial to the modern french school." "you will excuse me, mr. sholto," said miss morstan, "but i am here at your request to learn something which you desire to tell me. it is very late, and i should desire the interview to be as short as possible." "at the best it must take some time," he answered; "for we shall certainly have to go to norwood and see brother bartholomew. we shall all go and try if we can get the better of brother bartholomew. he is very angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to me. i had quite high words with him last night. you cannot imagine what a terrible fellow he is when he is angry." "if we are to go to norwood it would perhaps be as well to start at once," i ventured to remark. he laughed until his ears were quite red. "that would hardly do," he cried. "i don't know what he would say if i brought you in that sudden way. no, i must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to each other. in the first place, i must tell you that there are several points in the story of which i am myself ignorant. i can only lay the facts before you as far as i know them myself. "my father was, as you may have guessed, major john sholto, once of the indian army. he retired some eleven years ago, and came to live at pondicherry lodge in upper norwood. he had prospered in india, and brought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. with these advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. my twin-brother bartholomew and i were the only children. "i very well remember the sensation which was caused by the disappearance of captain morstan. we read the details in the papers, and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's, we discussed the case freely in his presence. he used to join in our speculations as to what could have happened. never for an instant did we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast,--that of all men he alone knew the fate of arthur morstan. "we did know, however, that some mystery--some positive danger--overhung our father. he was very fearful of going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at pondicherry lodge. williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them. he was once light-weight champion of england. our father would never tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with wooden legs. on one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. we had to pay a large sum to hush the matter up. my brother and i used to think this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us to change our opinion. "early in 1882 my father received a letter from india which was a great shock to him. he nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death. what was in the letter we could never discover, but i could see as he held it that it was short and written in a scrawling hand. he had suffered for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of april we were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a last communication to us. "when we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and breathing heavily. he besought us to lock the door and to come upon either side of the bed. then, grasping our hands, he made a remarkable statement to us, in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as by pain. i shall try and give it to you in his own very words. "'i have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind at this supreme moment. it is my treatment of poor morstan's orphan. the cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers. and yet i have made no use of it myself,--so blind and foolish a thing is avarice. the mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that i could not bear to share it with another. see that chaplet dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. even that i could not bear to part with, although i had got it out with the design of sending it to her. you, my sons, will give her a fair share of the agra treasure. but send her nothing--not even the chaplet--until i am gone. after all, men have been as bad as this and have recovered. "'i will tell you how morstan died,' he continued. 'he had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. i alone knew it. when in india, he and i, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. i brought it over to england, and on the night of morstan's arrival he came straight over here to claim his share. he walked over from the station, and was admitted by my faithful lal chowdar, who is now dead. morstan and i had a difference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came to heated words. morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest. when i stooped over him i found, to my horror, that he was dead. "'for a long time i sat half distracted, wondering what i should do. my first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but i could not but recognize that there was every chance that i would be accused of his murder. his death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head, would be black against me. again, an official inquiry could not be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which i was particularly anxious to keep secret. he had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he had gone. there seemed to be no necessity why any soul ever should know. "'i was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, i saw my servant, lal chowdar, in the doorway. he stole in and bolted the door behind him. "do not fear, sahib," he said. "no one need know that you have killed him. let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "i did not kill him," said i. lal chowdar shook his head and smiled. "i heard it all, sahib," said he. "i heard you quarrel, and i heard the blow. but my lips are sealed. all are asleep in the house. let us put him away together." that was enough to decide met. if my own servant could not believe my innocence, how could i hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? lal chowdar and i disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the london papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of captain morstan. you will see from what i say that i can hardly be blamed in the matter. my fault lies in the fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure, and that i have clung to morstan's share as well as to my own. i wish you, therefore, to make restitution. put your ears down to my mouth. the treasure is hidden in--at this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which i can never forget, 'keep him out! for christ's sake keep him out'! we both stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. a face was looking in at us out of the darkness. we could see the whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. it was a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. my brother and i rushed towards the window, but the man was gone. when we returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat. "we searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the intruder, save that just under the window a single footmark was visible in the flower-bed. but for that one trace, we might have thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. we soon, however, had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies at work all round us. the window of my father's room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the words 'the sign of the four' scrawled across it. what the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, we never knew. as far as we can judge, none of my father's property had been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out. my brother and i naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery to us." the little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. we had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinary narrative. at the short account of her father's death miss morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment i feared that she was about to faint. she rallied however, on drinking a glass of water which i quietly poured out for her from a venetian carafe upon the side-table. sherlock holmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes. as i glanced at him i could not but think how on that very day he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. here at least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. mr. thaddeus sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe. "my brother and i," said he, "were, as you may imagine, much excited as to the treasure which my father had spoken of. for weeks and for months we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without discovering its whereabouts. it was maddening to think that the hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died. we could judge the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out. over this chaplet my brother bartholomew and i had some little discussion. the pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse to part with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a little inclined to my father's fault. he thought, too, that if we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. it was all that i could do to persuade him to let me find out miss morstan's address and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so that at least she might never feel destitute." "it was a kindly thought," said our companion, earnestly. "it was extremely good of you." the little man waved his hand deprecatingly. "we were your trustees," he said. "that was the view which i took of it, though brother bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. we had plenty of money ourselves. i desired no more. besides, it would have been such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion. 'le mauvais got mne au crime.' the french have a very neat way of putting these things. our difference of opinion on this subject went so far that i thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so i left pondicherry lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and williams with me. yesterday, however, i learn that an event of extreme importance has occurred. the treasure has been discovered. i instantly communicated with miss morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to norwood and demand our share. i explained my views last night to brother bartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors." mr. thaddeus sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious settee. we all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new development which the mysterious business had taken. holmes was the first to spring to his feet. "you have done well, sir, from first to last," said he. "it is possible that we may be able to make you some small return by throwing some light upon that which is still dark to you. but, as miss morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the matter through without delay." our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoat with astrakhan collar and cuffs. this he buttoned tightly up, in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peaky face. "my health is somewhat fragile," he remarked, as he led the way down the passage. "i am compelled to be a valetudinarian." our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace. thaddeus sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above the rattle of the wheels. "bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "how do you think he found out where the treasure was? he had come to the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house, and made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be unaccounted for. among other things, he found that the height of the building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of all the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total to more than seventy feet. there were four feet unaccounted for. these could only be at the top of the building. he knocked a hole, therefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was known to no one. in the centre stood the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. he lowered it through the hole, and there it lies. he computes the value of the jewels at not less than half a million sterling." at the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another open-eyed. miss morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from a needy governess to the richest heiress in england. surely it was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet i am ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavy as lead within me. i stammered out some few halting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. he was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and i was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his pocket. i trust that he may not remember any of the answers which i gave him that night. holmes declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil, while i recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. however that may be, i was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door. "this, miss morstan, is pondicherry lodge," said mr. thaddeus sholto, as he handed her out. chapter v the tragedy of pondicherry lodge it was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage of our night's adventures. we had left the damp fog of the great city behind us, and the night was fairly fine. a warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping occasionally through the rifts. it was clear enough to see for some distance, but thaddeus sholto took down one of the side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon our way. pondicherry lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a very high stone wall topped with broken glass. a single narrow iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. on this our guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat. "who is there?" cried a gruff voice from within. "it is i, mcmurdo. you surely know my knock by this time." there was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. the door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his protruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes. "that you, mr. thaddeus? but who are the others? i had no orders about them from the master." "no, mcmurdo? you surprise me! i told my brother last night that i should bring some friends. "he ain't been out o' his room to-day, mr. thaddeus, and i have no orders. you know very well that i must stick to regulations. i can let you in, but your friends must just stop where they are." this was an unexpected obstacle. thaddeus sholto looked about him in a perplexed and helpless manner. "this is too bad of you, mcmurdo!" he said. "if i guarantee them, that is enough for you. there is the young lady, too. she cannot wait on the public road at this hour." "very sorry, mr. thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably. "folk may be friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the master's. he pays me well to do my duty, and my duty i'll do. i don't know none o' your friends." "oh, yes you do, mcmurdo," cried sherlock holmes, genially. "i don't think you can have forgotten me. don't you remember the amateur who fought three rounds with you at alison's rooms on the night of your benefit four years back?" "not mr. sherlock holmes!" roared the prize-fighter. "god's truth! how could i have mistook you? if instead o' standin' there so quiet you had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, i'd ha' known you without a question. ah, you're one that has wasted your gifts, you have! you might have aimed high, if you had joined the fancy." "you see, watson, if all else fails me i have still one of the scientific professions open to me," said holmes, laughing. "our friend won't keep us out in the cold now, i am sure." "in you come, sir, in you come,--you and your friends," he answered. "very sorry, mr. thaddeus, but orders are very strict. had to be certain of your friends before i let them in." inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. the vast size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to the heart. even thaddeus sholto seemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand. "i cannot understand it," he said. "there must be some mistake. i distinctly told bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is no light in his window. i do not know what to make of it." "does he always guard the premises in this way?" asked holmes. "yes; he has followed my father's custom. he was the favorite son, you know, and i sometimes think that my father may have told him more than he ever told me. that is bartholomew's window up there where the moonshine strikes. it is quite bright, but there is no light from within, i think." "none," said holmes. "but i see the glint of a light in that little window beside the door." "ah, that is the housekeeper's room. that is where old mrs. bernstone sits. she can tell us all about it. but perhaps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go in together and she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed. but hush! what is that?" he held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light flickered and wavered all round us. miss morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. from the great black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman. "it is mrs. bernstone," said sholto. "she is the only woman in the house. wait here. i shall be back in a moment." he hurried for the door, and knocked in his peculiar way. we could see a tall old woman admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him. "oh, mr. thaddeus, sir, i am so glad you have come! i am so glad you have come, mr. thaddeus, sir!" we heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and her voice died away into a muffled monotone. our guide had left us the lantern. holmes swung it slowly round, and peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. miss morstan and i stood together, and her hand was in mine. a wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. i have marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that i should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. so we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us. "what a strange place!" she said, looking round. "it looks as though all the moles in england had been let loose in it. i have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work." "and from the same cause," said holmes. "these are the traces of the treasure-seekers. you must remember that they were six years looking for it. no wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit." at that moment the door of the house burst open, and thaddeus sholto came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his eyes. "there is something amiss with bartholomew!" he cried. "i am frightened! my nerves cannot stand it." he was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping out from the great astrakhan collar had the helpless appealing expression of a terrified child. "come into the house," said holmes, in his crisp, firm way. "yes, do!" pleaded thaddeus sholto. "i really do not feel equal to giving directions." we all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood upon the left-hand side of the passage. the old woman was pacing up and down with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of miss morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her. "god bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with an hysterical sob. "it does me good to see you. oh, but i have been sorely tried this day!" our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the others bloodless cheeks. "master has locked himself in and will now answer me," she explained. "all day i have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be alone; but an hour ago i feared that something was amiss, so i went up and peeped through the key-hole. you must go up, mr. thaddeus,--you must go up and look for yourself. i have seen mr. bartholomew sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but i never saw him with such a face on him as that." sherlock holmes took the lamp and led the way, for thaddeus sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. so shaken was he that i had to pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling under him. twice as we ascended holmes whipped his lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting which served as a stair-carpet. he walked slowly from step to step, holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. miss morstan had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper. the third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some length, with a great picture in indian tapestry upon the right of it and three doors upon the left. holmes advanced along it in the same slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. the third door was that which we were seeking. holmes knocked without receiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and force it open. it was locked on the inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we set our lamp up against it. the key being turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed. sherlock holmes bent down to it, and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath. "there is something devilish in this, watson," said he, more moved than i had ever before seen him. "what do you make of it?" i stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. moonlight was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty radiance. looking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the very face of our companion thaddeus. there was the same high, shining head, the same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. the features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. so like was the face to that of our little friend that i looked round at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. then i recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins. "this is terrible!" i said to holmes. "what is to be done?" "the door must come down," he answered, and, springing against it, he put all his weight upon the lock. it creaked and groaned, but did not yield. together we flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within bartholomew sholto's chamber. it appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. a double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was littered over with bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts. in the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. one of these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. a set of steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there was an opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. at the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelessly together. by the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. he was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead many hours. it seemed to me that not only his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion. by his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me. "you see," he said, with a significant raising of the eyebrows. in the light of the lantern i read, with a thrill of horror, "the sign of the four." "in god's name, what does it all mean?" i asked. "it means murder," said he, stooping over the dead man. "ah, i expected it. look here!" he pointed to what looked like a long, dark thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear. "it looks like a thorn," said i. "it is a thorn. you may pick it out. but be careful, for it is poisoned." i took it up between my finger and thumb. it came away from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. one tiny speck of blood showed where the puncture had been. "this is all an insoluble mystery to me," said i. "it grows darker instead of clearer." "on the contrary," he answered, "it clears every instant. i only require a few missing links to have an entirely connected case." we had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we entered the chamber. he was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. suddenly, however, he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry. "the treasure is gone!" he said. "they have robbed him of the treasure! there is the hole through which we lowered it. i helped him to do it! i was the last person who saw him! i left him here last night, and i heard him lock the door as i came down-stairs." "what time was that?" "it was ten o'clock. and now he is dead, and the police will be called in, and i shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. oh, yes, i am sure i shall. but you don't think so, gentlemen? surely you don't think that it was i? is it likely that i would have brought you here if it were i? oh, dear! oh, dear! i know that i shall go mad!" he jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive frenzy. "you have no reason for fear, mr. sholto," said holmes, kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder. "take my advice, and drive down to the station to report this matter to the police. offer to assist them in every way. we shall wait here until your return." the little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark. chapter vi sherlock holmes gives a demonstration "now, watson," said holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour to ourselves. let us make good use of it. my case is, as i have told you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of over-confidence. simple as the case seems now, there may be something deeper underlying it." "simple!" i ejaculated. "surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor expounding to his class. "just sit in the corner there, that your footprints may not complicate matters. now to work! in the first place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? the door has not been opened since last night. how of the window?" he carried the lamp across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but addressing them to himself rather than to me. "window is snibbed on the inner side. framework is solid. no hinges at the side. let us open it. no water-pipe near. roof quite out of reach. yet a man has mounted by the window. it rained a little last night. here is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. and here is a circular muddy mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. see here, watson! this is really a very pretty demonstration." i looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "this is not a footmark," said i. "it is something much more valuable to us. it is the impression of a wooden stump. you see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the timber-toe." "it is the wooden-legged man." "quite so. but there has been some one else,--a very able and efficient ally. could you scale that wall, doctor?" i looked out of the open window. the moon still shone brightly on that angle of the house. we were a good sixty feet from the ground, and, look where i would, i could see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brick-work. "it is absolutely impossible," i answered. "without aid it is so. but suppose you had a friend up here who lowered you this good stout rope which i see in the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the wall. then, i think, if you were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. you would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. as a minor point it may be noted," he continued, fingering the rope, "that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional sailor. his hands were far from horny. my lens discloses more than one blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which i gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off his hand." "this is all very well," said i, "but the thing becomes more unintelligible than ever. how about this mysterious ally? how came he into the room?" "yes, the ally!" repeated holmes, pensively. "there are features of interest about this ally. he lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace. i fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggest themselves from india, and, if my memory serves me, from senegambia." "how came he, then?" i reiterated. "the door is locked, the window is inaccessible. was it through the chimney?" "the grate is much too small," he answered. "i had already considered that possibility." "how then?" i persisted. "you will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "how often have i said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? we know that he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. we also know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible. whence, then, did he come?" "he came through the hole in the roof," i cried. "of course he did. he must have done so. if you will have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches to the room above,--the secret room in which the treasure was found." he mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung himself up into the garret. then, lying on his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it while i followed him. the chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way and six the other. the floor was formed by the rafters, with thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from beam to beam. the roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house. there was no furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor. "here you are, you see," said sherlock holmes, putting his hand against the sloping wall. "this is a trap-door which leads out on to the roof. i can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. this, then, is the way by which number one entered. let us see if we can find one other traces of his individuality." he held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so i saw for the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face. for myself, as i followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes. the floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man. "holmes," i said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid thing." he had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "i was staggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite natural. my memory failed me, or i should have been able to foretell it. there is nothing more to be learned here. let us go down." "what is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" i asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more. "my dear watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a touch of impatience. "you know my methods. apply them, and it will be instructive to compare results." "i cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," i answered. "it will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand way. "i think that there is nothing else of importance here, but i will look." he whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. so swift, silent, and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound picking out a scent, that i could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. as he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight. "we are certainly in luck," said he. "we ought to have very little trouble now. number one has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote. you can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling mess. the carboy has been cracked, you see, and the stuff has leaked out." "what then?" i asked. "why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "i know a dog that would follow that scent to the world's end. if a pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow so pungent a smell as this? it sounds like a sum in the rule of three. the answer should give us the--but halloo! here are the accredited representatives of the law." heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash. "before they come," said holmes, "just put your hand here on this poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. what do you feel?" "the muscles are as hard as a board," i answered. "quite so. they are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor mortis. coupled with this distortion of the face, this hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?" "death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," i answered,--"some strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus." "that was the idea which occurred to me the instant i saw the drawn muscles of the face. on getting into the room i at once looked for the means by which the poison had entered the system. as you saw, i discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force into the scalp. you observe that the part struck was that which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in his chair. now examine the thorn." i took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. it was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though some gummy substance had dried upon it. the blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife. "is that an english thorn?" he asked. "no, it certainly is not." "with all these data you should be able to draw some just inference. but here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a retreat." as he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavily into the room. he was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. he was closely followed by an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating thaddeus sholto. "here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. "here's a pretty business! but who are all these? why, the house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!" "i think you must recollect me, mr. athelney jones," said holmes, quietly. "why, of course i do!" he wheezed. "it's mr. sherlock holmes, the theorist. remember you! i'll never forget how you lectured us all on causes and inferences and effects in the bishopgate jewel case. it's true you set us on the right track; but you'll own now that it was more by good luck than good guidance." "it was a piece of very simple reasoning." "oh, come, now, come! never be ashamed to own up. but what is all this? bad business! bad business! stern facts here,--no room for theories. how lucky that i happened to be out at norwood over another case! i was at the station when the message arrived. what d'you think the man died of?" "oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said holmes, dryly. "no, no. still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head sometimes. dear me! door locked, i understand. jewels worth half a million missing. how was the window?" "fastened; but there are steps on the sill." "well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do with the matter. that's common sense. man might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing. ha! i have a theory. these flashes come upon me at times.--just step outside, sergeant, and you, mr. sholto. your friend can remain.--what do you think of this, holmes? sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. the brother died in a fit, on which sholto walked off with the treasure. how's that?" "on which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door on the inside." "hum! there's a flaw there. let us apply common sense to the matter. this thaddeus sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel; so much we know. the brother is dead and the jewels are gone. so much also we know. no one saw the brother from the time thaddeus left him. his bed had not been slept in. thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed state of mind. his appearance is--well, not attractive. you see that i am weaving my web round thaddeus. the net begins to close upon him." "you are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said holmes. "this splinter of wood, which i have every reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument. how does all that fit into your theory?" "confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective, pompously. "house is full of indian curiosities. thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous thaddeus may as well have made murderous use of it as any other man. the card is some hocus-pocus,--a blind, as like as not. the only question is, how did he depart? ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof." with great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door. "he can find something," remarked holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "he has occasional glimmerings of reason. il n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!" "you see!" said athelney jones, reappearing down the steps again. "facts are better than mere theories, after all. my view of the case is confirmed. there is a trap-door communicating with the roof, and it is partly open." "it was i who opened it." "oh, indeed! you did notice it, then?" he seemed a little crestfallen at the discovery. "well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away. inspector!" "yes, sir," from the passage. "ask mr. sholto to step this way.--mr. sholto, it is my duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be used against you. i arrest you in the queen's name as being concerned in the death of your brother." "there, now! didn't i tell you!" cried the poor little man, throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the other of us. "don't trouble yourself about it, mr. sholto," said holmes. "i think that i can engage to clear you of the charge." "don't promise too much, mr. theorist,--don't promise too much!" snapped the detective. "you may find it a harder matter than you think." "not only will i clear him, mr. jones, but i will make you a free present of the name and description of one of the two people who were in this room last night. his name, i have every reason to believe, is jonathan small. he is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the inner side. his left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an iron band round the heel. he is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict. these few indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his hand. the other man--" "ah! the other man--?" asked athelney jones, in a sneering voice, but impressed none the less, as i could easily see, by the precision of the other's manner. "is a rather curious person," said sherlock holmes, turning upon his heel. "i hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the pair of them. a word with you, watson." he led me out to the head of the stair. "this unexpected occurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose of our journey." "i have just been thinking so," i answered. "it is not right that miss morstan should remain in this stricken house." "no. you must escort her home. she lives with mrs. cecil forrester, in lower camberwell: so it is not very far. i will wait for you here if you will drive out again. or perhaps you are too tired?" "by no means. i don't think i could rest until i know more of this fantastic business. i have seen something of the rough side of life, but i give you my word that this quick succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. i should like, however, to see the matter through with you, now that i have got so far." "your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "we shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow jones to exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct. when you have dropped miss morstan i wish you to go on to no. 3 pinchin lane, down near the water's edge at lambeth. the third house on the right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: sherman is the name. you will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. knock old sherman up, and tell him, with my compliments, that i want toby at once. you will bring toby back in the cab with you." "a dog, i suppose." "yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. i would rather have toby's help than that of the whole detective force of london." "i shall bring him, then," said i. "it is one now. i ought to be back before three, if i can get a fresh horse." "and i," said holmes, "shall see what i can learn from mrs. bernstone, and from the indian servant, who, mr. thaddeus tell me, sleeps in the next garret. then i shall study the great jones's methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. 'wir sind gewohnt, da die menschen verhhnen was sie nicht verstehen.' goethe is always pithy." chapter vii the episode of the barrel the police had brought a cab with them, and in this i escorted miss morstan back to her home. after the angelic fashion of women, she had borne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weaker than herself to support, and i had found her bright and placid by the side of the frightened housekeeper. in the cab, however, she first turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely had she been tried by the adventures of the night. she has told me since that she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. she little guessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me back. my sympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in the garden. i felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of strange experiences. yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my lips. she was weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. it was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. worse still, she was rich. if holmes's researches were successful, she would be an heiress. was it fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? i could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind. this agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us. it was nearly two o'clock when we reached mrs. cecil forrester's. the servants had retired hours ago, but mrs. forrester had been so interested by the strange message which miss morstan had received that she had sat up in the hope of her return. she opened the door herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was the voice in which she greeted her. she was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an honored friend. i was introduced, and mrs. forrester earnestly begged me to step in and tell her our adventures. i explained, however, the importance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report any progress which we might make with the case. as we drove away i stole a glance back, and i still seem to see that little group on the step, the two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the hall light shining through stained glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. it was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a tranquil english home in the midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed us. and the more i thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it grew. i reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as i rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. there was the original problem: that at least was pretty clear now. the death of captain morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,--we had had light upon all those events. they had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. the indian treasure, the curious plan found among morstan's baggage, the strange scene at major sholto's death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those upon captain morstan's chart,--here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue. pinchin lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the lower quarter of lambeth. i had to knock for some time at no. 3 before i could make my impression. at last, however, there was the glint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window. "go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face. "if you kick up any more row i'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon you." "if you'll let one out it's just what i have come for," said i. "go on!" yelled the voice. "so help me gracious, i have a wiper in the bag, an' i'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook it." "but i want a dog," i cried. "i won't be argued with!" shouted mr. sherman. "now stand clear, for when i say 'three,' down goes the wiper." "mr. sherlock holmes--" i began, but the words had a most magical effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute the door was unbarred and open. mr. sherman was a lanky, lean old man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses. "a friend of mr. sherlock is always welcome," said he. "step in, sir. keep clear of the badger; for he bites. ah, naughty, naughty, would you take a nip at the gentleman?" this to a stoat which thrust its wicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. "don't mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. it hain't got no fangs, so i gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the bettles down. you must not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for i'm guyed at by the children, and there's many a one just comes down this lane to knock me up. what was it that mr. sherlock holmes wanted, sir?" "he wanted a dog of yours." "ah! that would be toby." "yes, toby was the name." "toby lives at no. 7 on the left here." he moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animal family which he had gathered round him. in the uncertain, shadowy light i could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny and corner. even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other as our voices disturbed their slumbers. toby proved to an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy waddling gait. it accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about accompanying me. it had just struck three on the palace clock when i found myself back once more at pondicherry lodge. the ex-prize-fighter mcmurdo had, i found, been arrested as an accessory, and both he and mr. sholto had been marched off to the station. two constables guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detective's name. holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets, smoking his pipe. "ah, you have him there!" said he. "good dog, then! athelney jones has gone. we have had an immense display of energy since you left. he has arrested not only friend thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the indian servant. we have the place to ourselves, but for a sergeant up-stairs. leave the dog here, and come up." we tied toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. the room was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the central figure. a weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner. "lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion. "now tie this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. thank you. now i must kick off my boots and stockings.--just you carry them down with you, watson. i am going to do a little climbing. and dip my handkerchief into the creasote. that will do. now come up into the garret with me for a moment." we clambered up through the hole. holmes turned his light once more upon the footsteps in the dust. "i wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "do you observe anything noteworthy about them?" "they belong," i said, "to a child or a small woman." "apart from their size, though. is there nothing else?" "they appear to be much as other footmarks." "not at all. look here! this is the print of a right foot in the dust. now i make one with my naked foot beside it. what is the chief difference?" "your toes are all cramped together. the other print has each toe distinctly divided." "quite so. that is the point. bear that in mind. now, would you kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the wood-work? i shall stay here, as i have this handkerchief in my hand." i did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry smell. "that is where he put his foot in getting out. if you can trace him, i should think that toby will have no difficulty. now run down-stairs, loose the dog, and look out for blondin." by the time that i got out into the grounds sherlock holmes was on the roof, and i could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling very slowly along the ridge. i lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon the opposite side. when i made my way round there i found him seated at one of the corner eaves. "that you, watson?" he cried. "yes." "this is the place. what is that black thing down there?" "a water-barrel." "top on it?" "yes." "no sign of a ladder?" "no." "confound the fellow! it's a most break-neck place. i ought to be able to come down where he could climb up. the water-pipe feels pretty firm. here goes, anyhow." there was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadily down the side of the wall. then with a light spring he came on to the barrel, and from there to the earth. "it was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings and boots. "tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he had dropped this. it confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it." the object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. in shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. inside were half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like that which had struck bartholomew sholto. "they are hellish things," said he. "look out that you don't prick yourself. i'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they are all he has. there is the less fear of you or me finding one in our skin before long. i would sooner face a martini bullet, myself. are you game for a six-mile trudge, watson?" "certainly," i answered. "your leg will stand it?" "oh, yes." "here you are, doggy! good old toby! smell it, toby, smell it!" he pushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage. holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and let him to the foot of the water-barrel. the creature instantly broke into a succession of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at a pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed. the east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some distance in the cold gray light. the square, massive house, with its black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behind us. our course let right across the grounds, in and out among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred and intersected. the whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung over it. on reaching the boundary wall toby ran along, whining eagerly, underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a young beech. where the two walls joined, several bricks had been loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder. holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over upon the other side. "there's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked, as i mounted up beside him. "you see the slight smudge of blood upon the white plaster. what a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain since yesterday! the scent will lie upon the road in spite of their eight-and-twenty hours' start." i confess that i had my doubts myself when i reflected upon the great traffic which had passed along the london road in the interval. my fears were soon appeased, however. toby never hesitated or swerved, but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. clearly, the pungent smell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents. "do not imagine," said holmes, "that i depend for my success in this case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot in the chemical. i have knowledge now which would enable me to trace them in many different ways. this, however, is the readiest and, since fortune has put it into our hands, i should be culpable if i neglected it. it has, however, prevented the case from becoming the pretty little intellectual problem which it at one time promised to be. there might have been some credit to be gained out of it, but for this too palpable clue." "there is credit, and to spare," said i. "i assure you, holmes, that i marvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case, even more than i did in the jefferson hope murder. the thing seems to me to be deeper and more inexplicable. how, for example, could you describe with such confidence the wooden-legged man?" "pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. i don't wish to be theatrical. it is all patent and above-board. two officers who are in command of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried treasure. a map is drawn for them by an englishman named jonathan small. you remember that we saw the name upon the chart in captain morstan's possession. he had signed it in behalf of himself and his associates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called it. aided by this chart, the officers--or one of them--gets the treasure and brings it to england, leaving, we will suppose, some condition under which he received it unfulfilled. now, then, why did not jonathan small get the treasure himself? the answer is obvious. the chart is dated at a time when morstan was brought into close association with convicts. jonathan small did not get the treasure because he and his associates were themselves convicts and could not get away." "but that is mere speculation," said i. "it is more than that. it is the only hypothesis which covers the facts. let us see how it fits in with the sequel. major sholto remains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of his treasure. then he receives a letter from india which gives him a great fright. what was that?" "a letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free." "or had escaped. that is much more likely, for he would have known what their term of imprisonment was. it would not have been a surprise to him. what does he do then? he guards himself against a wooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. now, only one white man's name is on the chart. the others are hindoos or mohammedans. there is no other white man. therefore we may say with confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with jonathan small. does the reasoning strike yo as being faulty?" "no: it is clear and concise." "well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of jonathan small. let us look at it from his point of view. he comes to england with the double idea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him. he found out where sholto lived, and very possibly he established communications with some one inside the house. there is this butler, lal rao, whom we have not seen. mrs. bernstone gives him far from a good character. small could not find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no one ever knew, save the major and one faithful servant who had died. suddenly small learns that the major is on his death-bed. in a frenzy lest the secret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is only deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons. mad with hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the room that night, searches his private papers in the hope of discovering some memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a memento of his visit in the short inscription upon the card. he had doubtless planned beforehand that should he slay the major he would leave some such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a common murder, but, from the point of view of the four associates, something in the nature of an act of justice. whimsical and bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in the annals of crime, and usually afford valuable indications as to the criminal. do you follow all this?" "very clearly." "now, what could jonathan small do? he could only continue to keep a secret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. possibly he leaves england and only comes back at intervals. then comes the discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. we again trace the presence of some confederate in the household. jonathan, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty room of bartholomew sholto. he takes with him, however, a rather curious associate, who gets over this difficulty, but dips his naked foot into creasote, whence come toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a damaged tendo achillis." "but it was the associate, and not jonathan, who committed the crime." "quite so. and rather to jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way the stamped about when he got into the room. he bore no grudge against bartholomew sholto, and would have preferred if he could have been simply bound and gagged. he did not wish to put his head in a halter. there was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his companion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so jonathan small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground, and followed it himself. that was the train of events as far as i can decipher them. of course as to his personal appearance he must be middle-aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the andamans. his height is readily calculated from the length of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. his hairiness was the one point which impressed itself upon thaddeus sholto when he saw him at the window. i don't know that there is anything else." "the associate?" "ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. but you will know all about it soon enough. how sweet the morning air is! see how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the london cloud-bank. it shines on a good many folk, but on none, i dare bet, who are on a stranger errand than you and i. how small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces of nature! are you well up in your jean paul?" "fairly so. i worked back to him through carlyle." "that was like following the brook to the parent lake. he makes one curious but profound remark. it is that the chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. it argues, you see, a power of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a proof of nobility. there is much food for thought in richter. you have not a pistol, have you?" "i have my stick." "it is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get to their lair. jonathan i shall leave to you, but if the other turns nasty i shall shoot him dead." he took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into the right-hand pocket of his jacket. we had during this time been following the guidance of toby down the half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. now, however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where laborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were taking down shutters and brushing door-steps. at the square-topped corner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after their morning wet. strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as we passed, but our inimitable toby looked neither to the right nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the ground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent. we had traversed streatham, brixton, camberwell, and now found ourselves in kennington lane, having borne away through the side-streets to the east of the oval. the men whom we pursued seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of escaping observation. they had never kept to the main road if a parallel side-street would serve their turn. at the foot of kennington lane they had edged away to the left through bond street and miles street. where the latter street turns into knight's place, toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture of canine indecision. then he waddled round in circles, looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his embarrassment. "what the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled holmes. "they surely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon." "perhaps they stood here for some time," i suggested. "ah! it's all right. he's off again," said my companion, in a tone of relief. he was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up his mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he had not yet shown. the scent appeared to be much hotter than before, for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his leash and tried to break into a run. i cold see by the gleam in holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey. our course now ran down nine elms until we came to broderick and nelson's large timber-yard, just past the white eagle tavern. here the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. on the dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which it had been brought. with lolling tongue and blinking eyes, toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. the staves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creasote. sherlock holmes and i looked blankly at each other, and then burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. chapter viii the baker street irregulars "what now?" i asked. "toby has lost his character for infallibility." "he acted according to his lights," said holmes, lifting him down from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "if you consider how much creasote is carted about london in one day, it is no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. it is much used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. poor toby is not to blame." "we must get on the main scent again, i suppose." "yes. and, fortunately, we have no distance to go. evidently what puzzled the dog at the corner of knight's place was that there were two different trails running in opposite directions. we took the wrong one. it only remains to follow the other." there was no difficulty about this. on leading toby to the place where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally dashed off in a fresh direction. "we must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where the creasote-barrel came from," i observed. "i had thought of that. but you notice that he keeps on the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. no, we are on the true scent now." it tended down towards the river-side, running through belmont place and prince's street. at the end of broad street it ran right down to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. toby led us to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the dark current beyond. "we are out of luck," said holmes. "they have taken to a boat here." several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on the edge of the wharf. we took toby round to each in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign. close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a wooden placard slung out through the second window. "mordecai smith" was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, "boats to hire by the hour or day." a second inscription above the door informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement which was confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. sherlock holmes looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression. "this looks bad," said he. "these fellows are sharper than i expected. they seem to have covered their tracks. there has, i fear, been preconcerted management here." he was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand. "you come back and be washed, jack," she shouted. "come back, you young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of it." "dear little chap!" said holmes, strategically. "what a rosy-cheeked young rascal! now, jack, is there anything you would like?" the youth pondered for a moment. "i'd like a shillin'," said he. "nothing you would like better?" "i'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after some thought. "here you are, then! catch!--a fine child, mrs. smith!" "lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. he gets a'most too much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a time." "away, is he?" said holmes, in a disappointed voice. "i am sorry for that, for i wanted to speak to mr. smith." "he's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, i am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. but if it was about a boat, sir, maybe i could serve as well." "i wanted to hire his steam launch." "why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone. that's what puzzles me; for i know there ain't more coals in her than would take her to about woolwich and back. if he'd been away in the barge i'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as far as gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha' stayed over. but what good is a steam launch without coals?" "he might have bought some at a wharf down the river." "he might, sir, but it weren't his way. many a time i've heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. besides, i don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish talk. what did he want always knockin' about here for?" "a wooden-legged man?" said holmes, with bland surprise. "yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for my old man. it was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. i tell you straight, sir, i don't feel easy in my mind about it." "but, my dear mrs. smith," said holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "you are frightening yourself about nothing. how could you possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? i don't quite understand how you can be so sure." "his voice, sir. i knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy. he tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'show a leg, matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' my old man woke up jim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a word to me. i could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones." "and was this wooden-legged man alone?" "couldn't say, i am sure, sir. i didn't hear no one else." "i am sorry, mrs. smith, for i wanted a steam launch, and i have heard good reports of the--let me see, what is her name?" "the aurora, sir." "ah! she's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad in the beam?" "no, indeed. she's as trim a little thing as any on the river. she's been fresh painted, black with two red streaks." "thanks. i hope that you will hear soon from mr. smith. i am going down the river; and if i should see anything of the aurora i shall let him know that you are uneasy. a black funnel, you say?" "no, sir. black with a white band." "ah, of course. it was the sides which were black. good-morning, mrs. smith.--there is a boatman here with a wherry, watson. we shall take it and cross the river. "the main thing with people of that sort," said holmes, as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that their information can be of the slightest importance to you. if you do, they will instantly shut up like an oyster. if you listen to them under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want." "our course now seems pretty clear," said i. "what would you do, then?" "i would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the aurora." "my dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. she may have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream between here and greenwich. below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. it would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set about it alone." "employ the police, then." "no. i shall probably call athelney jones in at the last moment. he is not a bad fellow, and i should not like to do anything which would injure him professionally. but i have a fancy for working it out myself, now that we have gone so far." "could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?" "worse and worse! our men would know that the chase was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the country. as it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in no hurry. jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong scent." "what are we to do, then?" i asked, as we landed near millbank penitentiary. "take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's sleep. it is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again. stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! we will keep toby, for he may be of use to us yet." we pulled up at the great peter street post-office, and holmes despatched his wire. "whom do you think that is to?" he asked, as we resumed our journey. "i am sure i don't know." "you remember the baker street division of the detective police force whom i employed in the jefferson hope case?" "well," said i, laughing. "this is just the case where they might be invaluable. if they fail, i have other resources; but i shall try them first. that wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, wiggins, and i expect that he and his gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast." it was between eight and nine o'clock now, and i was conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. i was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. i had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could i look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. as far as the death of bartholomew sholto went, i had heard little good of him, and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. the treasure, however, was a different matter. that, or part of it, belonged rightfully to miss morstan. while there was a chance of recovering it i was ready to devote my life to the one object. true, if i found it it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as that. if holmes could work to find the criminals, i had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure. a bath at baker street and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully. when i came down to our room i found the breakfast laid and holmes pouring out the coffee. "here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper. "the energetic jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up between them. but you have had enough of the case. better have your ham and eggs first." i took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed "mysterious business at upper norwood." "about twelve o'clock last night," said the standard, "mr. bartholomew sholto, of pondicherry lodge, upper norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. as far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon mr. sholto's person, but a valuable collection of indian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried off. the discovery was first made by mr. sherlock holmes and dr. watson, who had called at the house with mr. thaddeus sholto, brother of the deceased. by a singular piece of good fortune, mr. athelney jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened to be at the norwood police station, and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. his trained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, thaddeus sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, mrs. bernstone, an indian butler named lal rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named mcmurdo. it is quite certain that the thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for mr. jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their way across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room which communicated with that in which the body was found. this fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary. the prompt and energetic action of the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. we cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate." "isn't it gorgeous!" said holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. "what do you think of it?" "i think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested for the crime." "so do i. i wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should happen to have another of his attacks of energy." at this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and i could hear mrs. hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and dismay. "by heaven, holmes," i said, half rising, "i believe that they are really after us." "no, it's not quite so bad as that. it is the unofficial force,--the baker street irregulars." as he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and ragged little street-arabs. there was some show of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing us with expectant faces. one of their number, taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable little carecrow. "got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp. three bob and a tanner for tickets." "here you are," said holmes, producing some silver. "in future they can report to you, wiggins, and you to me. i cannot have the house invaded in this way. however, it is just as well that you should all hear the instructions. i want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch called the aurora, owner mordecai smith, black with two red streaks, funnel black with a white band. she is down the river somewhere. i want one boy to be at mordecai smith's landing-stage opposite millbank to say if the boat comes back. you must divide it out among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. let me know the moment you have news. is that all clear?" "yes, guv'nor," said wiggins. "the old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat. here's a day in advance. now off you go!" he handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and i saw them a moment later streaming down the street. "if the launch is above water they will find her," said holmes, as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. "they can go everywhere, see everything, overhear every one. i expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her. in the mean while, we can do nothing but await results. we cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the aurora or mr. mordecai smith." "toby could eat these scraps, i dare say. are you going to bed, holmes?" "no: i am not tired. i have a curious constitution. i never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. i am going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair client has introduced us. if ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought to be. wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, i should think, be absolutely unique." "that other man again!" "i have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. but you must have formed your own opinion. now, do consider the data. diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. what do you make of all this?" "a savage!" i exclaimed. "perhaps one of those indians who were the associates of jonathan small." "hardly that," said he. "when first i saw signs of strange weapons i was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. some of the inhabitants of the indian peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks as that. the hindoo proper has long and thin feet. the sandal-wearing mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others, because the thong is commonly passed between. these little darts, too, could only be shot in one way. they are from a blow-pipe. now, then, where are we to find our savage?" "south american," i hazarded. he stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf. "this is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published. it may be looked upon as the very latest authority. what have we here? 'andaman islands, situated 340 miles to the north of sumatra, in the bay of bengal.' hum! hum! what's all this? moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, port blair, convict-barracks, rutland island, cottonwoods--ah, here we are. 'the aborigines of the andaman islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though some anthropologists prefer the bushmen of africa, the digger indians of america, and the terra del fuegians. the average height is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this. they are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been gained.' mark that, watson. now, then, listen to this. 'they are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distorted features. their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. so intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the british official have failed to win them over in any degree. they have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. these massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.' nice, amiable people, watson! if this fellow had been left to his own unaided devices this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. i fancy that, even as it is, jonathan small would give a good deal not to have employed him." "but how came he to have so singular a companion?" "ah, that is more than i can tell. since, however, we had already determined that small had come from the andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander should be with him. no doubt we shall know all about it in time. look here, watson; you look regularly done. lie down there on the sofa, and see if i can put you to sleep." he took up his violin from the corner, and as i stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. i have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow. then i seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound, until i found myself in dream-land, with the sweet face of mary morstan looking down upon me. chapter ix a break in the chain it was late in the afternoon before i woke, strengthened and refreshed. sherlock holmes still sat exactly as i had left him, save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. he looked across at me, as i stirred, and i noticed that his face was dark and troubled. "you have slept soundly," he said. "i feared that our talk would wake you." "i heard nothing," i answered. "have you had fresh news, then?" "unfortunately, no. i confess that i am surprised and disappointed. i expected something definite by this time. wiggins has just been up to report. he says that no trace can be found of the launch. it is a provoking check, for every hour is of importance." "can i do anything? i am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for another night's outing." "no, we can do nothing. we can only wait. if we go ourselves, the message might come in our absence, and delay be caused. you can do what you will, but i must remain on guard." "then i shall run over to camberwell and call upon mrs. cecil forrester. she asked me to, yesterday." "on mrs. cecil forrester?" asked holmes, with the twinkle of a smile in his eyes. "well, of course miss morstan too. they were anxious to hear what happened." "i would not tell them too much," said holmes. "women are never to be entirely trusted,--not the best of them." i did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. "i shall be back in an hour or two," i remarked. "all right! good luck! but, i say, if you are crossing the river you may as well return toby, for i don't think it is at all likely that we shall have any use for him now." i took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a half-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in pinchin lane. at camberwell i found miss morstan a little weary after her night's adventures, but very eager to hear the news. mrs. forrester, too, was full of curiosity. i told them all that we had done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. thus, although i spoke of mr. sholto's death, i said nothing of the exact manner and method of it. with all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and amaze them. "it is a romance!" cried mrs. forrester. "an injured lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian. they take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl." "and two knight-errants to the rescue," added miss morstan, with a bright glance at me. "why, mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. i don't think that you are nearly excited enough. just imagine what it must be to be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!" it sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no sign of elation at the prospect. on the contrary, she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took small interest. "it is for mr. thaddeus sholto that i am anxious," she said. "nothing else is of any consequence; but i think that he has behaved most kindly and honorably throughout. it is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge." it was evening before i left camberwell, and quite dark by the time i reached home. my companion's book and pipe lay by his chair, but he had disappeared. i looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was none. "i suppose that mr. sherlock holmes has gone out," i said to mrs. hudson as she came up to lower the blinds. "no, sir. he has gone to his room, sir. do you know, sir," sinking her voice into an impressive whisper, "i am afraid for his health?" "why so, mrs. hudson?" "well, he's that strange, sir. after you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until i was weary of the sound of his footstep. then i heard him talking to himself and muttering, and every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with 'what is that, mrs. hudson?' and now he has slammed off to his room, but i can hear him walking away the same as ever. i hope he's not going to be ill, sir. i ventured to say something to him about cooling medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that i don't know how ever i got out of the room." "i don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, mrs. hudson," i answered. "i have seen him like this before. he has some small matter upon his mind which makes him restless." i tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but i was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night i still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this involuntary inaction. at breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of feverish color upon either cheek. "you are knocking yourself up, old man," i remarked. "i heard you marching about in the night." "no, i could not sleep," he answered. "this infernal problem is consuming me. it is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle, when all else had been overcome. i know the men, the launch, everything; and yet i can get no news. i have set other agencies at work, and used every means at my disposal. the whole river has been searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has mrs. smith heard of her husband. i shall come to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled the craft. but there are objections to that." "or that mrs. smith has put us on a wrong scent." "no, i think that may be dismissed. i had inquiries made, and there is a launch of that description." "could it have gone up the river?" "i have considered that possibility too, and there is a search-party who will work up as far as richmond. if no news comes to-day, i shall start off myself to-morrow, and go for the men rather than the boat. but surely, surely, we shall hear something." we did not, however. not a word came to us either from wiggins or from the other agencies. there were articles in most of the papers upon the norwood tragedy. they all appeared to be rather hostile to the unfortunate thaddeus sholto. no fresh details were to be found, however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the following day. i walked over to camberwell in the evening to report our ill success to the ladies, and on my return i found holmes dejected and somewhat morose. he would hardly reply to my questions, and busied himself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved much heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. up to the small hours of the morning i could hear the clinking of his test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous experiment. in the early dawn i woke with a start, and was surprised to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his neck. "i am off down the river, watson," said he. "i have been turning it over in my mind, and i can see only one way out of it. it is worth trying, at all events." "surely i can come with you, then?" said i. "no; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my representative. i am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that some message may come during the day, though wiggins was despondent about it last night. i want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to act on your own judgment if any news should come. can i rely upon you?" "most certainly." "i am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for i can hardly tell yet where i may find myself. if i am in luck, however, i may not be gone so very long. i shall have news of some sort or other before i get back." i had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. on opening the standard, however, i found that there was a fresh allusion to the business. "with reference to the upper norwood tragedy," it remarked, "we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed. fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that mr. thaddeus sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter. he and the housekeeper, mrs. bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. it is believed, however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by mr. athelney jones, of scotland yard, with all his well-known energy and sagacity. further arrests may be expected at any moment." "that is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought i. "friend sholto is safe, at any rate. i wonder what the fresh clue may be; though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder." i tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony column. it ran in this way: "lost.--whereas mordecai smith, boatman, and his son, jim, left smith's wharf at or about three o'clock last tuesday morning in the steam launch aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can give information to mrs. smith, at smith's wharf, or at 221b baker street, as to the whereabouts of the said mordecai smith and the launch aurora." this was clearly holmes's doing. the baker street address was enough to prove that. it struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband. it was a long day. every time that a knock came to the door, or a sharp step passed in the street, i imagined that it was either holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. i tried to read, but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. could there be, i wondered, some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning. might he be suffering from some huge self-deception? was it not possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? i had never known him to be wrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. he was likely, i thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his logic,--his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. yet, on the other hand, i had myself seen the evidence, and i had heard the reasons for his deductions. when i looked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, i could not disguise from myself that even if holmes's explanation were incorrect the true theory must be equally outr and startling. at three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person than mr. athelney jones was shown up to me. very different was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at upper norwood. his expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic. "good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "mr. sherlock holmes is out, i understand." "yes, and i cannot be sure when he will be back. but perhaps you would care to wait. take that chair and try one of these cigars." "thank you; i don't mind if i do," said he, mopping his face with a red bandanna handkerchief. "and a whiskey-and-soda?" "well, half a glass. it is very hot for the time of year; and i have had a good deal to worry and try me. you know my theory about this norwood case?" "i remember that you expressed one." "well, i have been obliged to reconsider it. i had my net drawn tightly round mr. sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of it. he was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. from the time that he left his brother's room he was never out of sight of some one or other. so it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through trap-doors. it's a very dark case, and my professional credit is at stake. i should be very glad of a little assistance." "we all need help sometimes," said i. "your friend mr. sherlock holmes is a wonderful man, sir," said he, in a husky and confidential voice. "he's a man who is not to be beat. i have known that young man go into a good many cases, but i never saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. he is irregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on the whole, i think he would have made a most promising officer, and i don't care who knows it. i have had a wire from him this morning, by which i understand that he has got some clue to this sholto business. here is the message." he took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. it was dated from poplar at twelve o'clock. "go to baker street at once," it said. "if i have not returned, wait for me. i am close on the track of the sholto gang. you can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish." "this sounds well. he has evidently picked up the scent again," said i. "ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed jones, with evident satisfaction. "even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. of course this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. but there is some one at the door. perhaps this is he." a heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered. his appearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. he was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat. his back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic. as he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. he had a colored scarf round his chin, and i could see little of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long gray side-whiskers. altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty. "what is it, my man?" i asked. he looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age. "is mr. sherlock holmes here?" said he. "no; but i am acting for him. you can tell me any message you have for him." "it was to him himself i was to tell it," said he. "but i tell you that i am acting for him. was it about mordecai smith's boat?" "yes. i knows well where it is. an' i knows where the men he is after are. an' i knows where the treasure is. i knows all about it." "then tell me, and i shall let him know." "it was to him i was to tell it," he repeated, with the petulant obstinacy of a very old man. "well, you must wait for him." "no, no; i ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. if mr. holmes ain't here, then mr. holmes must find it all out for himself. i don't care about the look of either of you, and i won't tell a word." he shuffled towards the door, but athelney jones got in front of him. "wait a bit, my friend," said he. "you have important information, and you must not walk off. we shall keep you, whether you like or not, until our friend returns." the old man made a little run towards the door, but, as athelney jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness of resistance. "pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried, stamping his stick. "i come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who i never saw in my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!" "you will be none the worse," i said. "we shall recompense you for the loss of your time. sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have long to wait." he came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face resting on his hands. jones and i resumed our cigars and our talk. suddenly, however, holmes's voice broke in upon us. "i think that you might offer me a cigar too," he said. we both started in our chairs. there was holmes sitting close to us with an air of quiet amusement. "holmes!" i exclaimed. "you here! but where is the old man?" "here is the old man," said he, holding out a heap of white hair. "here he is,--wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. i thought my disguise was pretty good, but i hardly expected that it would stand that test." "ah, you rogue!" cried jones, highly delighted. "you would have made an actor, and a rare one. you had the proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. i thought i knew the glint of your eye, though. you didn't get away from us so easily, you see." "i have been working in that get-up all day," said he, lighting his cigar. "you see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know me,--especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my cases: so i can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise like this. you got my wire?" "yes; that was what brought me here." "how has your case prospered?" "it has all come to nothing. i have had to release two of my prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two." "never mind. we shall give you two others in the place of them. but you must put yourself under my orders. you are welcome to all the official credit, but you must act on the line that i point out. is that agreed?" "entirely, if you will help me to the men." "well, then, in the first place i shall want a fast police-boat--a steam launch--to be at the westminster stairs at seven o'clock." "that is easily managed. there is always one about there; but i can step across the road and telephone to make sure." "then i shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance." "there will be two or three in the boat. what else?" "when we secure the men we shall get the treasure. i think that it would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. let her be the first to open it.--eh, watson?" "it would be a great pleasure to me." "rather an irregular proceeding," said jones, shaking his head. "however, the whole thing is irregular, and i suppose we must wink at it. the treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities until after the official investigation." "certainly. that is easily managed. one other point. i should much like to have a few details about this matter from the lips of jonathan small himself. you know i like to work the detail of my cases out. there is no objection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?" "well, you are master of the situation. i have had no proof yet of the existence of this jonathan small. however, if you can catch him i don't see how i can refuse you an interview with him." "that is understood, then?" "perfectly. is there anything else?" "only that i insist upon your dining with us. it will be ready in half an hour. i have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little choice in white wines.--watson, you have never yet recognized my merits as a housekeeper." chapter x the end of the islander our meal was a merry one. holmes coud talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. he appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. i have never known him so brilliant. he spoke on a quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, on medieval pottery, on stradivarius violins, on the buddhism of ceylon, and on the war-ships of the future,--handling each as though he had made a special study of it. his bright humor marked the reaction from his black depression of the preceding days. athelney jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hours of relaxation, and face his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. for myself, i felt elated at the thought that we were nearing the end of our task, and i caught something of holmes's gaiety. none of us alluded during dinner to the cause which had brought us together. when the cloth was cleared, holmes glanced at this watch, and filled up three glasses with port. "one bumper," said he, "to the success of our little expedition. and now it is high time we were off. have you a pistol, watson?" "i have my old service-revolver in my desk." "you had best take it, then. it is well to be prepared. i see that the cab is at the door. i ordered it for half-past six." it was a little past seven before we reached the westminster wharf, and found our launch awaiting us. holmes eyed it critically. "is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?" "yes,--that green lamp at the side." "then take it off." the small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast off. jones, holmes, and i sat in the stern. there was one man at the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward. "where to?" asked jones. "to the tower. tell them to stop opposite jacobson's yard." our craft was evidently a very fast one. we shot past the long lines of loaded barges as though they were stationary. holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us. "we ought to be able to catch anything on the river," he said. "well, hardly that. but there are not many launches to beat us." "we shall have to catch the aurora, and she has a name for being a clipper. i will tell you how the land lies, watson. you recollect how annoyed i was at being balked by so small a thing?" "yes." "well, i gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical analysis. one of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work is the best rest. so it is. when i had succeeded in dissolving the hydrocarbon which i was at work at, i came back to our problem of the sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. my boys had been up the river and down the river without result. the launch was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hide their traces,--though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if all else failed. i knew this man small had a certain degree of low cunning, but i did not think him capable of anything in the nature of delicate finesse. that is usually a product of higher education. i then reflected that since he had certainly been in london some time--as we had evidence that he maintained a continual watch over pondicherry lodge--he could hardly leave at a moment's notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a day, to arrange his affairs. that was the balance of probability, at any rate." "it seems to me to be a little weak," said i. "it is more probable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his expedition." "no, i hardly think so. this lair of his would be too valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he could do without it. but a second consideration struck me. jonathan small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion, however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and possibly be associated with this norwood tragedy. he was quite sharp enough to see that. they had started from their head-quarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad light. now, it was past three o'clock, according to mrs. smith, when they got the boat. it would be quite bright, and people would be about in an hour or so. therefore, i argued, they did not go very far. they paid smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. in a couple of nights, when they had time to see what view the papers took, and whether there was any suspicion, they would make their way under cover of darkness to some ship at gravesend or in the downs, where no doubt they had already arranged for passages to america or the colonies." "but the launch? they could not have taken that to their lodgings." "quite so. i argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite of its invisibility. i then put myself in the place of small, and looked at it as a man of his capacity would. he would probably consider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. how, then, could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted? i wondered what i should do myself if i were in his shoes. i could only think of one way of doing it. i might land the launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling change in her. she would then be removed to his shed or hard, and so be effectually concealed, while at the same time i could have her at a few hours' notice." "that seems simple enough." "it is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be overlooked. however, i determined to act on the idea. i started at once in this harmless seaman's rig and inquired at all the yards down the river. i drew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth--jacobson's--i learned that the aurora had been handed over to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to her rudder. 'there ain't naught amiss with her rudder,' said the foreman. 'there she lies, with the red streaks.' at that moment who should come down but mordecai smith, the missing owner? he was rather the worse for liquor. i should not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of his launch. 'i want her to-night at eight o'clock,' said he,--'eight o'clock sharp, mind, for i have two gentlemen who won't be kept waiting.' they had evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of money, chucking shillings about to the men. i followed him some distance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so i went back to the yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the way, i stationed him as a sentry over the launch. he is to stand at water's edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. we shall be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not take men, treasure, and all." "you have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men or not," said jones; "but if the affair were in my hands i should have had a body of police in jacobson's yard, and arrested them when they came down." "which would have been never. this man small is a pretty shrewd fellow. he would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him suspicious lie snug for another week." "but you might have stuck to mordecai smith, and so been led to their hiding-place," said i. "in that case i should have wasted my day. i think that it is a hundred to one against smith knowing where they live. as long as he has liquor and good pay, why should he ask questions? they send him messages what to do. no, i thought over every possible course, and this is the best." while this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the long series of bridges which span the thames. as we passed the city the last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of st. paul's. it was twilight before we reached the tower. "that is jacobson's yard," said holmes, pointing to a bristle of masts and rigging on the surrey side. "cruise gently up and down here under cover of this string of lighters." he took a pair of night-glasses from his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. "i see my sentry at his post," he remarked, "but no sign of a handkerchief." "suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them," said jones, eagerly. we were all eager by this time, even the policemen and stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going forward. "we have no right to take anything for granted," holmes answered. "it is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be certain. from this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they can hardly see us. it will be a clear night and plenty of light. we must stay where we are. see how the folk swarm over yonder in the gaslight." "they are coming from work in the yard." "dirty-looking rascals, but i suppose every one has some little immortal spark concealed about him. you would not think it, to look at them. there is no a priori probability about it. a strange enigma is man!" "some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal," i suggested. "winwood reade is good upon the subject," said holmes. "he remarks that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. you can, for example, never foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with precision what an average number will be up to. individuals vary, but percentages remain constant. so says the statistician. but do i see a handkerchief? surely there is a white flutter over yonder." "yes, it is your boy," i cried. "i can see him plainly." "and there is the aurora," exclaimed holmes, "and going like the devil! full speed ahead, engineer. make after that launch with the yellow light. by heaven, i shall never forgive myself if she proves to have the heels of us!" she had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before we saw her. now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore, going at a tremendous rate. jones looked gravely at her and shook his head. "she is very fast," he said. "i doubt if we shall catch her." "we must catch her!" cried holmes, between his teeth. "heap it on, stokers! make her do all she can! if we burn the boat we must have them!" we were fairly after her now. the furnaces roared, and the powerful engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. her sharp, steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to right and to left of us. with every throb of the engines we sprang and quivered like a living thing. one great yellow lantern in our bows threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. right ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where the aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. we flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind this one and round the other. voices hailed us out of the darkness, but still the aurora thundered on, and still we followed close upon her track. "pile it on, men, pile it on!" cried holmes, looking down into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager, aquiline face. "get every pound of steam you can." "i think we gain a little," said jones, with his eyes on the aurora. "i am sure of it," said i. "we shall be up with her in a very few minutes." at that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with three barges in tow blundered in between us. it was only by putting our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could round them and recover our way the aurora had gained a good two hundred yards. she was still, however, well in view, and the murky uncertain twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was driving us along. we had shot through the pool, past the west india docks, down the long deptford reach, and up again after rounding the isle of dogs. the dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty aurora. jones turned our search-light upon her, so that we could plainly see the figures upon her deck. one man sat by the stern, with something black between his knees over which he stooped. beside him lay a dark mass which looked like a newfoundland dog. the boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace i could see old smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. they may have had some doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as we followed every winding and turning which they took there could no longer be any question about it. at greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind them. at blackwall we could not have been more than two hundred and fifty. i have coursed many creatures in many countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the thames. steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard. in the silence of the night we could hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. the man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a glance the distance which still separated us. nearer we came and nearer. jones yelled to them to stop. we were not more than four boat's lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. it was a clear reach of the river, with barking level upon one side and the melancholy plumstead marshes upon the other. at our hail the man in the stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. he was a good-sized, powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride i could see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump upon the right side. at the sound of his strident, angry cries there was movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. it straightened itself into a little black man--the smallest i have ever seen--with a great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. holmes had already drawn his revolver, and i whipped out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature. he was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that face was enough to give a man a sleepless night. never have i seen features so deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. his small eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a half animal fury. "fire if he raises his hand," said holmes, quietly. we were within a boat's-length by this time, and almost within touch of our quarry. i can see the two of them now as they stood, the white man with his legs far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light of our lantern. it was well that we had so clear a view of him. even as we looked he plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. our pistols rang out together. he whirled round, threw up his arms, and with a kind of choking cough fell sideways into the stream. i caught one glimpse of his venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. at the same moment the wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put it hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the southern bank, while we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. we were round after her in an instant, but she was already nearly at the bank. it was a wild and desolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide expanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant water and beds of decaying vegetation. the launch with a dull thud ran up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush with the water. the fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank its whole length into the sodden soil. in vain he struggled and writhed. not one step could he possibly take either forwards or backwards. he yelled in impotent rage, and kicked frantically into the mud with his other foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeper into the sticky bank. when we brought our launch alongside he was so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing the end of a rope over his shoulders that we were able to haul him out, and to drag him, like some evil fish, over our side. the two smiths, father and son, sat sullenly in their launch, but came aboard meekly enough when commanded. the aurora herself we hauled off and made fast to our stern. a solid iron chest of indian workmanship stood upon the deck. this, there could be no question, was the same that had contained the ill-omened treasure of the sholtos. there was no key, but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred it carefully to our own little cabin. as we steamed slowly up-stream again, we flashed our search-light in every direction, but there was no sign of the islander. somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom of the thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our shores. "see here," said holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. "we were hardly quick enough with our pistols." there, sure enough, just behind where we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts which we knew so well. it must have whizzed between us at the instant that we fired. holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy fashion, but i confess that it turned me sick to think of the horrible death which had passed so close to us that night. chapter xi the great agra treasure our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had done so much and waited so long to gain. he was a sunburned, reckless-eyed fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles all over his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life. there was a singular prominence about his bearded chin which marked a man who was not to be easily turned from his purpose. his age may have been fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with gray. his face in repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy brows and aggressive chin gave him, as i had lately seen, a terrible expression when moved to anger. he sat now with his handcuffed hands upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with his keen, twinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings. it seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and contained countenance. once he looked up at me with a gleam of something like humour in his eyes. "well, jonathan small," said holmes, lighting a cigar, "i am sorry that it has come to this." "and so am i, sir," he answered, frankly. "i don't believe that i can swing over the job. i give you my word on the book that i never raised hand against mr. sholto. it was that little hell-hound tonga who shot one of his cursed darts into him. i had no part in it, sir. i was as grieved as if it had been my blood-relation. i welted the little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done, and i could not undo it again." "have a cigar," said holmes; "and you had best take a pull out of my flask, for you are very wet. how could you expect so small and weak a man as this black fellow to overpower mr. sholto and hold him while you were climbing the rope?" "you seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir. the truth is that i hoped to find the room clear. i knew the habits of the house pretty well, and it was the time when mr. sholto usually went down to his supper. i shall make no secret of the business. the best defence that i can make is just the simple truth. now, if it had been the old major i would have swung for him with a light heart. i would have thought no more of knifing him than of smoking this cigar. but it's cursed hard that i should be lagged over this young sholto, with whom i had no quarrel whatever." "you are under the charge of mr. athelney jones, of scotland yard. he is going to bring you up to my rooms, and i shall ask you for a true account of the matter. you must make a clean breast of it, for if you do i hope that i may be of use to you. i think i can prove that the poison acts so quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached the room." "that he was, sir. i never got such a turn in my life as when i saw him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder as i climbed through the window. it fairly shook me, sir. i'd have half killed tonga for it if he had not scrambled off. that was how he came to leave his club, and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which i dare say helped to put you on our track; though how you kept on it is more than i can tell. i don't feel no malice against you for it. but it does seem a queer thing," he added, with a bitter smile, "that i who have a fair claim to nigh upon half a million of money should spend the first half of my life building a breakwater in the andamans, and am like to spend the other half digging drains at dartmoor. it was an evil day for me when first i clapped eyes upon the merchant achmet and had to do with the agra treasure, which never brought anything but a curse yet upon the man who owned it. to him it brought murder, to major sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery for life." at this moment athelney jones thrust his broad face and heavy shoulders into the tiny cabin. "quite a family party," he remarked. "i think i shall have a pull at that flask, holmes. well, i think we may all congratulate each other. pity we didn't take the other alive; but there was no choice. i say, holmes, you must confess that you cut it rather fine. it was all we could do to overhaul her." "all is well that ends well," said holmes. "but i certainly did not know that the aurora was such a clipper." "smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, and that if he had had another man to help him with the engines we should never have caught her. he swears he knew nothing of this norwood business." "neither he did," cried our prisoner,--"not a word. i chose his launch because i heard that she was a flier. we told him nothing, but we paid him well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached our vessel, the esmeralda, at gravesend, outward bound for the brazils." "well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comes to him. if we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not so quick in condemning them." it was amusing to notice how the consequential jones was already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of the capture. from the slight smile which played over sherlock holmes's face, i could see that the speech had not been lost upon him. "we will be at vauxhall bridge presently," said jones, "and shall land you, dr. watson, with the treasure-box. i need hardly tell you that i am taking a very grave responsibility upon myself in doing this. it is most irregular; but of course an agreement is an agreement. i must, however, as a matter of duty, send an inspector with you, since you have so valuable a charge. you will drive, no doubt?" "yes, i shall drive." "it is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventory first. you will have to break it open. where is the key, my man?" "at the bottom of the river," said small, shortly. "hum! there was no use your giving this unnecessary trouble. we have had work enough already through you. however, doctor, i need not warn you to be careful. bring the box back with you to the baker street rooms. you will find us there, on our way to the station." they landed me at vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff, genial inspector as my companion. a quarter of an hour's drive brought us to mrs. cecil forrester's. the servant seemed surprised at so late a visitor. mrs. cecil forrester was out for the evening, she explained, and likely to be very late. miss morstan, however, was in the drawing-room: so to the drawing-room i went, box in hand, leaving the obliging inspector in the cab. she was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of white diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and waist. the soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned back in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, and tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant hair. one white arm and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. at the sound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however, and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale cheeks. "i heard a cab drive up," she said. "i thought that mrs. forrester had come back very early, but i never dreamed that it might be you. what news have you brought me?" "i have brought something better than news," said i, putting down the box upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously, though my heart was heavy within me. "i have brought you something which is worth all the news in the world. i have brought you a fortune." she glanced at iron box. "is that the treasure, then?" she asked, coolly enough. "yes, this is the great agra treasure. half of it is yours and half is thaddeus sholto's. you will have a couple of hundred thousand each. think of that! an annuity of ten thousand pounds. there will be few richer young ladies in england. is it not glorious?" i think that i must have been rather overacting my delight, and that she detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for i saw her eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously. "if i have it," said she, "i owe it to you." "no, no," i answered, "not to me, but to my friend sherlock holmes. with all the will in the world, i could never have followed up a clue which has taxed even his analytical genius. as it was, we very nearly lost it at the last moment." "pray sit down and tell me all about it, dr. watson," said she. i narrated briefly what had occurred since i had seen her last,--holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the aurora, the appearance of athelney jones, our expedition in the evening, and the wild chase down the thames. she listened with parted lips and shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. when i spoke of the dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that i feared that she was about to faint. "it is nothing," she said, as i hastened to pour her out some water. "i am all right again. it was a shock to me to hear that i had placed my friends in such horrible peril." "that is all over," i answered. "it was nothing. i will tell you no more gloomy details. let us turn to something brighter. there is the treasure. what could be brighter than that? i got leave to bring it with me, thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see it." "it would be of the greatest interest to me," she said. there was no eagerness in her voice, however. it had struck her, doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize which had cost so much to win. "what a pretty box!" she said, stooping over it. "this is indian work, i suppose?" "yes; it is benares metal-work." "and so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. "the box alone must be of some value. where is the key?" "small threw it into the thames," i answered. "i must borrow mrs. forrester's poker." there was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought in the image of a sitting buddha. under this i thrust the end of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. the hasp sprang open with a loud snap. with trembling fingers i flung back the lid. we both stood gazing in astonishment. the box was empty! no wonder that it was heavy. the iron-work was two-thirds of an inch thick all round. it was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or crumb of metal or jewelry lay within it. it was absolutely and completely empty. "the treasure is lost," said miss morstan, calmly. as i listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great shadow seemed to pass from my soul. i did not know how this agra treasure had weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed. it was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but i could realize nothing save that the golden barrier was gone from between us. "thank god!" i ejaculated from my very heart. she looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "why do you say that?" she asked. "because you are within my reach again," i said, taking her hand. she did not withdraw it. "because i love you, mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. now that they are gone i can tell you how i love you. that is why i said, 'thank god.'" "then i say, 'thank god,' too," she whispered, as i drew her to my side. whoever had lost a treasure, i knew that night that i had gained one. chapter xii the strange story of jonathan small a very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary time before i rejoined him. his face clouded over when i showed him the empty box. "there goes the reward!" said he, gloomily. "where there is no money there is no pay. this night's work would have been worth a tenner each to sam brown and me if the treasure had been there." "mr. thaddeus sholto is a rich man," i said. "he will see that you are rewarded, treasure or no." the inspector shook his head despondently, however. "it's a bad job," he repeated; "and so mr. athelney jones will think." his forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank enough when i got to baker street and showed him the empty box. they had only just arrived, holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had changed their plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon the way. my companion lounged in his arm-chair with his usual listless expression, while small sat stolidly opposite to him with his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. as i exhibited the empty box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. "this is your doing, small," said athelney jones, angrily. "yes, i have put it away where you shall never lay hand upon it," he cried, exultantly. "it is my treasure; and if i can't have the loot i'll take darned good care that no one else does. i tell you that no living man has any right to it, unless it is three men who are in the andaman convict-barracks and myself. i know now that i cannot have the use of it, and i know that they cannot. i have acted all through for them as much as for myself. it's been the sign of four with us always. well i know that they would have had me do just what i have done, and throw the treasure into the thames rather than let it go to kith or kin of sholto or of morstan. it was not to make them rich that we did for achmet. you'll find the treasure where the key is, and where little tonga is. when i saw that your launch must catch us, i put the loot away in a safe place. there are no rupees for you this journey." "you are deceiving us, small," said athelney jones, sternly. "if you had wished to throw the treasure into the thames it would have been easier for you to have thrown box and all." "easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover," he answered, with a shrewd, sidelong look. "the man that was clever enough to hunt me down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of a river. now that they are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a harder job. it went to my heart to do it, though. i was half mad when you came up with us. however, there's no good grieving over it. i've had ups in my life, and i've had downs, but i've learned not to cry over spilled milk." "this is a very serious matter, small," said the detective. "if you had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, you would have had a better chance at your trial." "justice!" snarled the ex-convict. "a pretty justice! whose loot is this, if it is not ours? where is the justice that i should give it up to those who have never earned it? look how i have earned it! twenty long years in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the mangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts, bitten by mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed black-faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white man. that was how i earned the agra treasure; and you talk to me of justice because i cannot bear to feel that i have paid this price only that another may enjoy it! i would rather swing a score of times, or have one of tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a convict's cell and feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the money that should be mine." small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned movement of his hands. i could understand, as i saw the fury and the passion of the man, that it was no groundless or unnatural terror which had possessed major sholto when he first learned that the injured convict was upon his track. "you forget that we know nothing of all this," said holmes quietly. "we have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how far justice may originally have been on your side." "well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though i can see that i have you to thank that i have these bracelets upon my wrists. still, i bear no grudge for that. it is all fair and above-board. if you want to hear my story i have no wish to hold it back. what i say to you is god's truth, every word of it. thank you; you can put the glass beside me here, and i'll put my lips to it if i am dry. "i am a worcestershire man myself,--born near pershore. i dare say you would find a heap of smalls living there now if you were to look. i have often thought of taking a look round there, but the truth is that i was never much of a credit to the family, and i doubt if they would be so very glad to see me. they were all steady, chapel-going folk, small farmers, well known and respected over the country-side, while i was always a bit of a rover. at last, however, when i was about eighteen, i gave them no more trouble, for i got into a mess over a girl, and could only get out of it again by taking the queen's shilling and joining the 3d buffs, which was just starting for india. "i wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. i had just got past the goose-step, and learned to handle my musket, when i was fool enough to go swimming in the ganges. luckily for me, my company sergeant, john holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was one of the finest swimmers in the service. a crocodile took me, just as i was half-way across, and nipped off my right leg as clean as a surgeon could have done it, just above the knee. what with the shock and the loss of blood, i fainted, and should have drowned if holder had not caught hold of me and paddled for the bank. i was five months in hospital over it, and when at last i was able to limp out of it with this timber toe strapped to my stump i found myself invalided out of the army and unfitted for any active occupation. "i was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time, for i was a useless cripple though not yet in my twentieth year. however, my misfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. a man named abelwhite, who had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an overseer to look after his coolies and keep them up to their work. he happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken an interest in me since the accident. to make a long story short, the colonel recommended me strongly for the post and, as the work was mostly to be done on horseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for i had enough knee left to keep good grip on the saddle. what i had to do was to ride over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked, and to report the idlers. the pay was fair, i had comfortable quarters, and altogether i was content to spend the remainder of my life in indigo-planting. mr. abelwhite was a kind man, and he would often drop into my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white folk out there feel their hearts warm to each other as they never do here at home. "well, i was never in luck's way long. suddenly, without a note of warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. one month india lay as still and peaceful, to all appearance, as surrey or kent; the next there were two hundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country was a perfect hell. of course you know all about it, gentlemen,--a deal more than i do, very like, since reading is not in my line. i only know what i saw with my own eyes. our plantation was at a place called muttra, near the border of the northwest provinces. night after night the whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows, and day after day we had small companies of europeans passing through our estate with their wives and children, on their way to agra, where were the nearest troops. mr. abelwhite was an obstinate man. he had it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated, and that it would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up. there he sat on his veranda, drinking whiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots, while the country was in a blaze about him. of course we stuck by him, i and dawson, who, with his wife, used to do the book-work and the managing. well, one fine day the crash came. i had been away on a distant plantation, and was riding slowly home in the evening, when my eye fell upon something all huddled together at the bottom of a steep nullah. i rode down to see what it was, and the cold struck through my heart when i found it was dawson's wife, all cut into ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and native dogs. a little further up the road dawson himself was lying on his face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his hand and four sepoys lying across each other in front of him. i reined up my horse, wondering which way i should turn, but at that moment i saw thick smoke curling up from abelwhite's bungalow and the flames beginning to burst through the roof. i knew then that i could do my employer no good, but would only throw my own life away if i meddled in the matter. from where i stood i could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats still on their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house. some of them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my head; so i broke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night safe within the walls at agra. "as it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either. the whole country was up like a swarm of bees. wherever the english could collect in little bands they held just the ground that their guns commanded. everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. it was a fight of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of it was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught and trained, handling our own weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls. at agra there were the 3d bengal fusiliers, some sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery of artillery. a volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had been formed, and this i joined, wooden leg and all. we went out to meet the rebels at shahgunge early in july, and we beat them back for a time, but our powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the city. nothing but the worst news came to us from every side,--which is not to be wondered at, for if you look at the map you will see that we were right in the heart of it. lucknow is rather better than a hundred miles to the east, and cawnpore about as far to the south. from every point on the compass there was nothing but torture and murder and outrage. "the city of agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics and fierce devil-worshippers of all sorts. our handful of men were lost among the narrow, winding streets. our leader moved across the river, therefore, and took up his position in the old fort at agra. i don't know if any of you gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that old fort. it is a very queer place,--the queerest that ever i was in, and i have been in some rum corners, too. first of all, it is enormous in size. i should think that the enclosure must be acres and acres. there is a modern part, which took all our garrison, women, children, stores, and everything else, with plenty of room over. but the modern part is nothing like the size of the old quarter, where nobody goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and the centipedes. it is all full of great deserted halls, and winding passages, and long corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy enough for folk to get lost in it. for this reason it was seldom that any one went into it, though now and again a party with torches might go exploring. "the river washes along the front of the old fort, and so protects it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors, and these had to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in that which was actually held by our troops. we were short-handed, with hardly men enough to man the angles of the building and to serve the guns. it was impossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at every one of the innumerable gates. what we did was to organize a central guard-house in the middle of the fort, and to leave each gate under the charge of one white man and two or three natives. i was selected to take charge during certain hours of the night of a small isolated door upon the southwest side of the building. two sikh troopers were placed under my command, and i was instructed if anything went wrong to fire my musket, when i might rely upon help coming at once from the central guard. as the guard was a good two hundred paces away, however, and as the space between was cut up into a labyrinth of passages and corridors, i had great doubts as to whether they could arrive in time to be of any use in case of an actual attack. "well, i was pretty proud at having this small command given me, since i was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that. for two nights i kept the watch with my punjaubees. they were tall, fierce-looking chaps, mahomet singh and abdullah khan by name, both old fighting-men who had borne arms against us at chilian-wallah. they could talk english pretty well, but i could get little out of them. they preferred to stand together and jabber all night in their queer sikh lingo. for myself, i used to stand outside the gate-way, looking down on the broad, winding river and on the twinkling lights of the great city. the beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang, were enough to remind us all night of our dangerous neighbors across the stream. every two hours the officer of the night used to come round to all the posts, to make sure that all was well. "the third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small, driving rain. it was dreary work standing in the gate-way hour after hour in such weather. i tried again and again to make my sikhs talk, but without much success. at two in the morning the rounds passed, and broke for a moment the weariness of the night. finding that my companions would not be led into conversation, i took out my pipe, and laid down my musket to strike the match. in an instant the two sikhs were upon me. one of them snatched my firelock up and levelled it at my head, while the other held a great knife to my throat and swore between his teeth that he would plunge it into me if i moved a step. "my first thought was that these fellows were in league with the rebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault. if our door were in the hands of the sepoys the place must fall, and the women and children be treated as they were in cawnpore. maybe you gentlemen think that i am just making out a case for myself, but i give you my word that when i thought of that, though i felt the point of the knife at my throat, i opened my mouth with the intention of giving a scream, if it was my last one, which might alarm the main guard. the man who held me seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as i braced myself to it, he whispered, 'don't make a noise. the fort is safe enough. there are no rebel dogs on this side of the river.' there was the ring of truth in what he said, and i knew that if i raised my voice i was a dead man. i could read it in the fellow's brown eyes. i waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was that they wanted from me. "'listen to me, sahib,' said the taller and fiercer of the pair, the one whom they called abdullah khan. 'you must either be with us now or you must be silenced forever. the thing is too great a one for us to hesitate. either you are heart and soul with us on your oath on the cross of the christians, or your body this night shall be thrown into the ditch and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel army. there is no middle way. which is it to be, death or life? we can only give you three minutes to decide, for the time is passing, and all must be done before the rounds come again.' "'how can i decide?' said i. 'you have not told me what you want of me. but i tell you now that if it is anything against the safety of the fort i will have no truck with it, so you can drive home your knife and welcome.' "'it is nothing against the fort,' said he. 'we only ask you to do that which your countrymen come to this land for. we ask you to be rich. if you will be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon the naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no sikh was ever known to break, that you shall have your fair share of the loot. a quarter of the treasure shall be yours. we can say no fairer.' "'but what is the treasure, then?' i asked. 'i am as ready to be rich as you can be, if you will but show me how it can be done.' "'you will swear, then,' said he, 'by the bones of your father, by the honor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise no hand and speak no word against us, either now or afterwards?' "'i will swear it,' i answered, 'provided that the fort is not endangered.' "'then my comrade and i will swear that you shall have a quarter of the treasure which shall be equally divided among the four of us.' "'there are but three,' said i. "'no; dost akbar must have his share. we can tell the tale to you while we await them. do you stand at the gate, mahomet singh, and give notice of their coming. the thing stands thus, sahib, and i tell it to you because i know that an oath is binding upon a feringhee, and that we may trust you. had you been a lying hindoo, though you had sworn by all the gods in their false temples, your blood would have been upon the knife, and your body in the water. but the sikh knows the englishman, and the englishman knows the sikh. hearken, then, to what i have to say. "'there is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much wealth, though his lands are small. much has come to him from his father, and more still he has set by himself, for he is of a low nature and hoards his gold rather than spend it. when the troubles broke out he would be friends both with the lion and the tiger,--with the sepoy and with the company's raj. soon, however, it seemed to him that the white men's day was come, for through all the land he could hear of nothing but of their death and their overthrow. yet, being a careful man, he made such plans that, come what might, half at least of his treasure should be left to him. that which was in gold and silver he kept by him in the vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones and the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron box, and sent it by a trusty servant who, under the guise of a merchant, should take it to the fort at agra, there to lie until the land is at peace. thus, if the rebels won he would have his money, but if the company conquered his jewels would be saved to him. having thus divided his hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the sepoys, since they were strong upon his borders. by doing this, mark you, sahib, his property becomes the due of those who have been true to their salt. "'this pretended merchant, who travels under the name of achmet, is now in the city of agra, and desires to gain his way into the fort. he has with him as travelling-companion my foster-brother dost akbar, who knows his secret. dost akbar has promised this night to lead him to a side-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one for his purpose. here he will come presently, and here he will find mahomet singh and myself awaiting him. the place is lonely, and none shall know of his coming. the world shall know of the merchant achmet no more, but the great treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us. what say you to it, sahib?' "in worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacred thing; but it is very different when there is fire and blood all round you and you have been used to meeting death at every turn. whether achmet the merchant lived or died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the talk about the treasure my heart turned to it, and i thought of what i might do in the old country with it, and how my folk would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-well coming back with his pockets full of gold moidores. i had, therefore, already made up my mind. abdullah khan, however, thinking that i hesitated, pressed the matter more closely. "'consider, sahib,' said he, 'that if this man is taken by the commandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels taken by the government, so that no man will be a rupee the better for them. now, since we do the taking of him, why should we not do the rest as well? the jewels will be as well with us as in the company's coffers. there will be enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs. no one can know about the matter, for here we are cut off from all men. what could be better for the purpose? say again, then, sahib, whether you are with us, or if we must look upon you as an enemy.' "'i am with you heart and soul,' said i. "'it is well,' he answered, handing me back my firelock. 'you see that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to be broken. we have now only to wait for my brother and the merchant.' "'does your brother know, then, of what you will do?' i asked. "'the plan is his. he has devised it. we will go to the gate and share the watch with mahomet singh.' "the rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the beginning of the wet season. brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky, and it was hard to see more than a stone-cast. a deep moat lay in front of our door, but the water was in places nearly dried up, and it could easily be crossed. it was strange to me to be standing there with those two wild punjaubees waiting for the man who was coming to his death. "suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at the other side of the moat. it vanished among the mound-heaps, and then appeared again coming slowly in our direction. "'here they are!' i exclaimed. "'you will challenge him, sahib, as usual,' whispered abdullah. 'give him no cause for fear. send us in with him, and we shall do the rest while you stay here on guard. have the lantern ready to uncover, that we may be sure that it is indeed the man.' "the light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now advancing, until i could see two dark figures upon the other side of the moat. i let them scramble down the sloping bank, splash through the mire, and climb half-way up to the gate, before i challenged them. "'who goes there?' said i, in a subdued voice. "'friends,' came the answer. i uncovered my lantern and threw a flood of light upon them. the first was an enormous sikh, with a black beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund. outside of a show i have never seen so tall a man. the other was a little, fat, round fellow, with a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done up in a shawl. he seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turning to left and right with two bright little twinkling eyes, like a mouse when he ventures out from his hole. it gave me the chills to think of killing him, but i thought of the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a flint within me. when he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of joy and came running up towards me. "'your protection, sahib,' he panted,--'your protection for the unhappy merchant achmet. i have travelled across rajpootana that i might seek the shelter of the fort at agra. i have been robbed and beaten and abused because i have been the friend of the company. it is a blessed night this when i am once more in safety,--i and my poor possessions.' "'what have you in the bundle?' i asked. "'an iron box,' he answered, 'which contains one or two little family matters which are of no value to others, but which i should be sorry to lose. yet i am not a beggar; and i shall reward you, young sahib, and your governor also, if he will give me the shelter i ask.' "i could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. the more i looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem that we should slay him in cold blood. it was best to get it over. "'take him to the main guard,' said i. the two sikhs closed in upon him on each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched in through the dark gate-way. never was a man so compassed round with death. i remained at the gate-way with the lantern. "i could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps sounding through the lonely corridors. suddenly it ceased, and i heard voices, and a scuffle, with the sound of blows. a moment later there came, to my horror, a rush of footsteps coming in my direction, with the loud breathing of a running man. i turned my lantern down the long, straight passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind, with a smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels, bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded sikh, with a knife flashing in his hand. i have never seen a man run so fast as that little merchant. he was gaining on the sikh, and i could see that if he once passed me and got to the open air he would save himself yet. my heart softened to him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hard and bitter. i cast my firelock between his legs as he raced past, and he rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. ere he could stagger to his feet the sikh was upon him, and buried his knife twice in his side. the man never uttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay were he had fallen. i think myself that he may have broken his neck with the fall. you see, gentlemen, that i am keeping my promise. i am telling you every work of the business just exactly as it happened, whether it is in my favor or not." he stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the whiskey-and-water which holmes had brewed for him. for myself, i confess that i had now conceived the utmost horror of the man, not only for this cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned, but even more for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated it. whatever punishment was in store for him, i felt that he might expect no sympathy from me. sherlock holmes and jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply interested in the story, but with the same disgust written upon their faces. he may have observed it, for there was a touch of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded. "it was all very bad, no doubt," said he. "i should like to know how many fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of this loot when they knew that they would have their throats cut for their pains. besides, it was my life or his when once he was in the fort. if he had got out, the whole business would come to light, and i should have been court-martialled and shot as likely as not; for people were not very lenient at a time like that." "go on with your story," said holmes, shortly. "well, we carried him in, abdullah, akbar, and i. a fine weight he was, too, for all that he was so short. mahomet singh was left to guard the door. we took him to a place which the sikhs had already prepared. it was some distance off, where a winding passage leads to a great empty hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces. the earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural grave, so we left achmet the merchant there, having first covered him over with loose bricks. this done, we all went back to the treasure. "it lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. the box was the same which now lies open upon your table. a key was hung by a silken cord to that carved handle upon the top. we opened it, and the light of the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as i have read of and thought about when i was a little lad at pershore. it was blinding to look upon them. when we had feasted our eyes we took them all out and made a list of them. there were one hundred and forty-three diamonds of the first water, including one which has been called, i believe, 'the great mogul' and is said to be the second largest stone in existence. then there were ninety-seven very fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which, however, were small. there were forty carbuncles, two hundred and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls, onyxes, cats'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names of which i did not know at the time, though i have become more familiar with them since. besides this, there were nearly three hundred very fine pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet. by the way, these last had been taken out of the chest and were not there when i recovered it. "after we had counted our treasures we put them back into the chest and carried them to the gate-way to show them to mahomet singh. then we solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other and be true to our secret. we agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the country should be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among ourselves. there was no use dividing it at present, for if gems of such value were found upon us it would cause suspicion, and there was no privacy in the fort nor any place where we could keep them. we carried the box, therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the body, and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall, we made a hollow and put our treasure. we made careful note of the place, and next day i drew four plans, one for each of us, and put the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn that we should each always act for all, so that none might take advantage. that is an oath that i can put my hand to my heart and swear that i have never broken. "well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what came of the indian mutiny. after wilson took delhi and sir colin relieved lucknow the back of the business was broken. fresh troops came pouring in, and nana sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. a flying column under colonel greathed came round to agra and cleared the pandies away from it. peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and we four were beginning to hope that the time was at hand when we might safely go off with our shares of the plunder. in a moment, however, our hopes were shattered by our being arrested as the murderers of achmet. "it came about in this way. when the rajah put his jewels into the hands of achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trusty man. they are suspicious folk in the east, however: so what does this rajah do but take a second even more trusty servant and set him to play the spy upon the first? this second man was ordered never to let achmet out of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. he went after him that night and saw him pass through the doorway. of course he thought he had taken refuge in the fort, and applied for admission there himself next day, but could find no trace of achmet. this seemed to him so strange that he spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who brought it to the ears of the commandant. a thorough search was quickly made, and the body was discovered. thus at the very moment that we thought that all was safe we were all four seized and brought to trial on a charge of murder,--three of us because we had held the gate that night, and the fourth because he was known to have been in the company of the murdered man. not a word about the jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and driven out of india: so no one had any particular interest in them. the murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain that we must all have been concerned in it. the three sikhs got penal servitude for life, and i was condemned to death, though my sentence was afterwards commuted into the same as the others. "it was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then. there we were all four tied by the leg and with precious little chance of ever getting out again, while we each held a secret which might have put each of us in a palace if we could only have made use of it. it was enough to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. it might have driven me mad; but i was always a pretty stubborn one, so i just held on and bided my time. "at last it seemed to me to have come. i was changed from agra to madras, and from there to blair island in the andamans. there are very few white convicts at this settlement, and, as i had behaved well from the first, i soon found myself a sort of privileged person. i was given a hut in hope town, which is a small place on the slopes of mount harriet, and i was left pretty much to myself. it is a dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little clearings was infested with wild cannibal natives, who were ready enough to blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance. there was digging, and ditching, and yam-planting, and a dozen other things to be done, so we were busy enough all day; though in the evening we had a little time to ourselves. among other things, i learned to dispense drugs for the surgeon, and picked up a smattering of his knowledge. all the time i was on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds of miles from any other land, and there is little or no wind in those seas: so it was a terribly difficult job to get away. "the surgeon, dr. somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, and the other young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening and play cards. the surgery, where i used to make up my drugs, was next to his sitting-room, with a small window between us. often, if i felt lonesome, i used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then, standing there, i could hear their talk and watch their play. i am fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good as having one to watch the others. there was major sholto, captain morstan, and lieutenant bromley brown, who were in command of the native troops, and there was the surgeon himself, and two or three prison-officials, crafty old hands who played a nice sly safe game. a very snug little party they used to make. "well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and that was that the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win. mind, i don't say that there was anything unfair, but so it was. these prison-chaps had done little else than play cards ever since they had been at the andamans, and they knew each other's game to a point, while the others just played to pass the time and threw their cards down anyhow. night after night the soldiers got up poorer men, and the poorer they got the more keen they were to play. major sholto was the hardest hit. he used to pay in notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand and for big sums. he sometimes would win for a few deals, just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in against him worse than ever. all day he would wander about as black as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal more than was good for him. "one night he lost even more heavily than usual. i was sitting in my hut when he and captain morstan came stumbling along on the way to their quarters. they were bosom friends, those two, and never far apart. the major was raving about his losses. "'it's all up, morstan,' he was saying, as they passed my hut. 'i shall have to send in my papers. i am a ruined man.' "'nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping him upon the shoulder. 'i've had a nasty facer myself, but--' that was all i could hear, but it was enough to set me thinking. a couple of days later major sholto was strolling on the beach: so i took the chance of speaking to him. "'i wish to have your advice, major,' said i. "'well, small, what is it?' he asked, taking his cheroot from his lips. "'i wanted to ask you, sir,' said i, 'who is the proper person to whom hidden treasure should be handed over. i know where half a million worth lies, and, as i cannot use it myself, i thought perhaps the best thing that i could do would be to hand it over to the proper authorities, and then perhaps they would get my sentence shortened for me.' "'half a million, small?' he gasped, looking hard at me to see if i was in earnest. "'quite that, sir,--in jewels and pearls. it lies there ready for anyone. and the queer thing about it is that the real owner is outlawed and cannot hold property, so that it belongs to the first comer.' "'to government, small,' he stammered,--'to government.' but he said it in a halting fashion, and i knew in my heart that i had got him. "'you think, then, sir, that i should give the information to the governor-general?' said i, quietly. "'well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you might repent. let me hear all about it, small. give me the facts.' "i told him the whole story, with small changes so that he could not identify the places. when i had finished he stood stock still and full of thought. i could see by the twitch of his lip that there was a struggle going on within him. "'this is a very important matter, small,' he said, at last. 'you must not say a word to any one about it, and i shall see you again soon.' "two nights later he and his friend captain morstan came to my hut in the dead of the night with a lantern. "'i want you just to let captain morstan hear that story from your own lips, small,' said he. "i repeated it as i had told it before. "'it rings true, eh?' said he. 'it's good enough to act upon?' "captain morstan nodded. "'look here, small,' said the major. 'we have been talking it over, my friend here and i, and we have come to the conclusion that this secret of yours is hardly a government matter, after all, but is a private concern of your own, which of course you have the power of disposing of as you think best. now, the question is, what price would you ask for it? we might be inclined to take it up, and at least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.' he tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were shining with excitement and greed. "'why, as to that, gentlemen,' i answered, trying also to be cool, but feeling as excited as he did, 'there is only one bargain which a man in my position can make. i shall want you to help me to my freedom, and to help my three companions to theirs. we shall then take yo into partnership, and give you a fifth share to divide between you.' "'hum!' said he. 'a fifth share! that is not very tempting.' "'it would come to fifty thousand apiece,' said i. "'but how can we gain your freedom? you know very well that you ask an impossibility.' "'nothing of the sort,' i answered. 'i have thought it all out to the last detail. the only bar to our escape is that we can get no boat fit for the voyage, and no provisions to last us for so long a time. there are plenty of little yachts and yawls at calcutta or madras which would serve our turn well. do you bring one over. we shall engage to get aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any part of the indian coast you will have done your part of the bargain.' "'if there were only one,' he said. "'none or all,' i answered. 'we have sworn it. the four of us must always act together.' "'you see, morstan,' said he, 'small is a man of his word. he does not flinch from his friend. i think we may very well trust him.' "'it's a dirty business,' the other answered. 'yet, as you say, the money would save our commissions handsomely.' "'well, small,' said the major, 'we must, i suppose, try and meet you. we must first, of course, test the truth of your story. tell me where the box is hid, and i shall get leave of absence and go back to india in the monthly relief-boat to inquire into the affair.' "'not so fast,' said i, growing colder as he got hot. 'i must have the consent of my three comrades. i tell you that it is four or none with us.' "'nonsense!' he broke in. 'what have three black fellows to do with our agreement?' "'black or blue,' said i, 'they are in with me, and we all go together.' "well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which mahomet singh, abdullah khan, and dost akbar were all present. we talked the matter over again, and at last we came to an arrangement. we were to provide both the officers with charts of the part of the agra fort and mark the place in the wall where the treasure was hid. major sholto was to go to india to test our story. if he found the box he was to leave it there, to send out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was to lie off rutland island, and to which we were to make our way, and finally to return to his duties. captain morstan was then to apply for leave of absence, to meet us at agra, and there we were to have a final division of the treasure, he taking the major's share as well as his own. all this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind could think or the lips utter. i sat up all night with paper and ink, and by the morning i had the two charts all ready, signed with the sign of four,--that is, of abdullah, akbar, mahomet, and myself. "well, gentlemen, i weary you with my long story, and i know that my friend mr. jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey. i'll make it as short as i can. the villain sholto went off to india, but he never came back again. captain morstan showed me his name among a list of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards. his uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the army, yet he could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. morstan went over to agra shortly afterwards, and found, as we expected, that the treasure was indeed gone. the scoundrel had stolen it all, without carrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold him the secret. from that day i lived only for vengeance. i thought of it by day and i nursed it by night. it became an overpowering, absorbing passion with me. i cared nothing for the law,--nothing for the gallows. to escape, to track down sholto, to have my hand upon his throat,--that was my one thought. even the agra treasure had come to be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of sholto. "well, i have set my mind on many things in this life, and never one which i did not carry out. but it was weary years before my time came. i have told you that i had picked up something of medicine. one day when dr. somerton was down with a fever a little andaman islander was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. he was sick to death, and had gone to a lonely place to die. i took him in hand, though he was as venomous as a young snake, and after a couple of months i got him all right and able to walk. he took a kind of fancy to me then, and would hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about my hut. i learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him all the fonder of me. "tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and owned a big, roomy canoe of his own. when i found that he was devoted to me and would do anything to serve me, i saw my chance of escape. i talked it over with him. he was to bring his boat round on a certain night to an old wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up. i gave him directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes. "he was stanch and true, was little tonga. no man ever had a more faithful mate. at the night named he had his boat at the wharf. as it chanced, however, there was one of the convict-guard down there,--a vile pathan who had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring me. i had always vowed vengeance, and now i had my chance. it was as if fate had placed him in my way that i might pay my debt before i left the island. he stood on the bank with his back to me, and his carbine on his shoulder. i looked about for a stone to beat out his brains with, but none could i see. "then a queer thought came into my head and showed me where i could lay my hand on a weapon. i sat down in the darkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. with three long hops i was on him. he put his carbine to his shoulder, but i struck him full, and knocked the whole front of his skull in. you can see the split in the wood now where i hit him. we both went down together, for i could not keep my balance, but when i got up i found him still lying quiet enough. i made for the boat, and in an hour we were well out at sea. tonga had brought all his earthly possessions with him, his arms and his gods. among other things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some andaman cocoa-nut matting, with which i made a sort of sail. for ten days we were beating about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were picked up by a trader which was going from singapore to jiddah with a cargo of malay pilgrims. they were a rum crowd, and tonga and i soon managed to settle down among them. they had one very good quality: they let you alone and asked no questions. "well, if i were to tell you all the adventures that my little chum and i went through, you would not thank me, for i would have you here until the sun was shining. here and there we drifted about the world, something always turning up to keep us from london. all the time, however, i never lost sight of my purpose. i would dream of sholto at night. a hundred times i have killed him in my sleep. at last, however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in england. i had no great difficulty in finding where sholto lived, and i set to work to discover whether he had realized the treasure, or if he still had it. i made friends with someone who could help me,--i name no names, for i don't want to get any one else in a hole,--and i soon found that he still had the jewels. then i tried to get at him in many ways; but he was pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters, besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on guard over him. "one day, however, i got word that he was dying. i hurried at once to the garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches like that, and, looking through the window, i saw him lying in his bed, with his sons on each side of him. i'd have come through and taken my chance with the three of them, only even as i looked at him his jaw dropped, and i knew that he was gone. i got into his room that same night, though, and i searched his papers to see if there was any record of where he had hidden our jewels. there was not a line, however: so i came away, bitter and savage as a man could be. before i left i bethought me that if i ever met my sikh friends again it would be a satisfaction to know that i had left some mark of our hatred: so i scrawled down the sign of the four of us, as it had been on the chart, and i pinned it on his bosom. it was too much that he should be taken to the grave without some token from the men whom he had robbed and befooled. "we earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor tonga at fairs and other such places as the black cannibal. he would eat raw meat and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of pennies after a day's work. i still heard all the news from pondicherry lodge, and for some years there was no news to hear, except that they were hunting for the treasure. at last, however, came what we had waited for so long. the treasure had been found. it was up at the top of the house, in mr. bartholomew sholto's chemical laboratory. i came at once and had a look at the place, but i could not see how with my wooden leg i was to make my way up to it. i learned, however, about a trap-door in the roof, and also about mr. sholto's supper-hour. it seemed to me that i could manage the thing easily through tonga. i brought him out with me with a long rope wound round his waist. he could climb like a cat, and he soon made his way through the roof, but, as ill luck would have it, bartholomew sholto was still in the room, to his cost. tonga thought he had done something very clever in killing him, for when i came up by the rope i found him strutting about as proud as a peacock. very much surprised was he when i made at him with the rope's end and cursed him for a little blood-thirsty imp. i took the treasure-box and let it down, and then slid down myself, having first left the sign of the four upon the table, to show that the jewels had come back at last to those who had most right to them. tonga then pulled up the rope, closed the window, and made off the way that he had come. "i don't know that i have anything else to tell you. i had heard a waterman speak of the speed of smith's launch, the aurora, so i thought she would be a handy craft for our escape. i engaged with old smith, and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to our ship. he knew, no doubt, that there was some screw loose, but he was not in our secrets. all this is the truth, and if i tell it to you, gentlemen, it is not to amuse you,--for you have not done me a very good turn,--but it is because i believe the best defence i can make is just to hold back nothing, but let all the world know how badly i have myself been served by major sholto, and how innocent i am of the death of his son." "a very remarkable account," said sherlock holmes. "a fitting wind-up to an extremely interesting case. there is nothing at all new to me in the latter part of your narrative, except that you brought your own rope. that i did not know. by the way, i had hoped that tonga had lost all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat." "he had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his blow-pipe at the time." "ah, of course," said holmes. "i had not thought of that." "is there any other point which you would like to ask about?" asked the convict, affably. "i think not, thank you," my companion answered. "well, holmes," said athelney jones, "you are a man to be humored, and we all know that you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is duty, and i have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend asked me. i shall feel more at ease when we have our story-teller here safe under lock and key. the cab still waits, and there are two inspectors down-stairs. i am much obliged to you both for your assistance. of course you will be wanted at the trial. good-night to you." "good-night, gentlemen both," said jonathan small. "you first, small," remarked the wary jones as they left the room. "i'll take particular care that you don't club me with your wooden leg, whatever you may have done to the gentleman at the andaman isles." "well, and there is the end of our little drama," i remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. "i fear that it may be the last investigation in which i shall have the chance of studying your methods. miss morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband in prospective." he gave a most dismal groan. "i feared as much," said he. "i really cannot congratulate you." i was a little hurt. "have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" i asked. "not at all. i think she is one of the most charming young ladies i ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. she had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that agra plan from all the other papers of her father. but love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which i place above all things. i should never marry myself, lest i bias my judgment." "i trust," said i, laughing, "that my judgment may survive the ordeal. but you look weary." "yes, the reaction is already upon me. i shall be as limp as a rag for a week." "strange," said i, "how terms of what in another man i should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor." "yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. i often think of those lines of old goethe,-- schade, da die natur nur einen mensch aus dir schuf, denn zum wrdigen mann war und zum schelmen der stoff. "by the way, a propos of this norwood business, you see that they had, as i surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than lal rao, the butler: so jones actually has the undivided honor of having caught one fish in his great haul." "the division seems rather unfair," i remarked. "you have done all the work in this business. i get a wife out of it, jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?" "for me," said sherlock holmes, "there still remains the cocaine-bottle." and he stretched his long white hand up for it. the adventures of sherlock holmes a scandal in bohemia table of contents chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter i to sherlock holmes she is always the woman. i have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. in his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. it was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for irene adler. all emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. he was, i take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. he never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. they were admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. but for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. and yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late irene adler, of dubious and questionable memory. i had seen little of holmes lately. my marriage had drifted us away from each other. my own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in baker street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. he was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. from time to time i heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to odessa in the case of the trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the atkinson brothers at trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of holland. beyond these signs of his activity, however, which i merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, i knew little of my former friend and companion. one night--it was on the twentieth of march, 1888--i was returning from a journey to a patient (for i had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through baker street. as i passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the study in scarlet, i was seized with a keen desire to see holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. his rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as i looked up, i saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. he was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. to me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. he was at work again. he had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. i rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own. his manner was not effusive. it seldom was; but he was glad, i think, to see me. with hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion. "wedlock suits you," he remarked. "i think, watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since i saw you." "seven!" i answered. "indeed, i should have thought a little more. just a trifle more, i fancy, watson. and in practice again, i observe. you did not tell me that you intended to go into harness." "then, how do you know?" "i see it, i deduce it. how do i know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?" "my dear holmes," said i, "this is too much. you would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. it is true that i had a country walk on thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as i have changed my clothes i can't imagine how you deduce it. as to mary jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there, again, i fail to see how you work it out." he chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together. "it is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the london slavey. as to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, i must be dull, indeed, if i do not pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession." i could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction. "when i hear you give your reasons," i remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that i could easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning i am baffled until you explain your process. and yet i believe that my eyes are as good as yours." "quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down into an armchair. "you see, but you do not observe. the distinction is clear. for example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room." "frequently." "how often?" "well, some hundreds of times." "then how many are there?" "how many? i don't know." "quite so! you have not observed. and yet you have seen. that is just my point. now, i know that there are seventeen steps, because i have both seen and observed. by-the-way, since you are interested in these little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this." he threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table. "it came by the last post," said he. "read it aloud." the note was undated, and without either signature or address. "there will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. your recent services to one of the royal houses of europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. this account of you we have from all quarters received. be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask." "this is indeed a mystery," i remarked. "what do you imagine that it means?" "i have no data yet. it is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. but the note itself. what do you deduce from it?" i carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was written. "the man who wrote it was presumably well to do," i remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. it is peculiarly strong and stiff." "peculiar--that is the very word," said holmes. "it is not an english paper at all. hold it up to the light." i did so, and saw a large "e" with a small "g," a "p," and a large "g" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper. "what do you make of that?" asked holmes. "the name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather." "not at all. the 'g' with the small 't' stands for 'gesellschaft,' which is the german for 'company.' it is a customary contraction like our 'co.' 'p,' of course, stands for 'papier.' now for the 'eg.' let us glance at our continental gazetteer." he took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. "eglow, eglonitz--here we are, egria. it is in a german-speaking country--in bohemia, not far from carlsbad. 'remarkable as being the scene of the death of wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.' ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?" his eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette. "the paper was made in bohemia," i said. "precisely. and the man who wrote the note is a german. do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence--'this account of you we have from all quarters received.' a frenchman or russian could not have written that. it is the german who is so uncourteous to his verbs. it only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this german who writes upon bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. and here he comes, if i am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts." as he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. holmes whistled. "a pair, by the sound," said he. "yes," he continued, glancing out of the window. "a nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. a hundred and fifty guineas apiece. there's money in this case, watson, if there is nothing else." "i think that i had better go, holmes." "not a bit, doctor. stay where you are. i am lost without my boswell. and this promises to be interesting. it would be a pity to miss it." "but your client--" "never mind him. i may want your help, and so may he. here he comes. sit down in that armchair, doctor, and give us your best attention." a slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. then there was a loud and authoritative tap. "come in!" said holmes. a man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a hercules. his dress was rich with a richness which would, in england, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. he carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. from the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy. "you had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked german accent. "i told you that i would call." he looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address. "pray take a seat," said holmes. "this is my friend and colleague, dr. watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. whom have i the honour to address?" "you may address me as the count von kramm, a bohemian nobleman. i understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom i may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. if not, i should much prefer to communicate with you alone." i rose to go, but holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. "it is both, or none," said he. "you may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me." the count shrugged his broad shoulders. "then i must begin," said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. at present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon european history." "i promise," said holmes. "and i." "you will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "the august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and i may confess at once that the title by which i have just called myself is not exactly my own." "i was aware of it," said holmes dryly. "the circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of europe. to speak plainly, the matter implicates the great house of ormstein, hereditary kings of bohemia." "i was also aware of that," murmured holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes. our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in europe. holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client. "if your majesty would condescend to state your case," he remarked, "i should be better able to advise you." the man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. "you are right," he cried; "i am the king. why should i attempt to conceal it?" "why, indeed?" murmured holmes. "your majesty had not spoken before i was aware that i was addressing wilhelm gottsreich sigismond von ormstein, grand duke of cassel-felstein, and hereditary king of bohemia." "but you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, "you can understand that i am not accustomed to doing such business in my own person. yet the matter was so delicate that i could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. i have come incognito from prague for the purpose of consulting you." "then, pray consult," said holmes, shutting his eyes once more. "the facts are briefly these: some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to warsaw, i made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, irene adler. the name is no doubt familiar to you." "kindly look her up in my index, doctor," murmured holmes without opening his eyes. for many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. in this case i found her biography sandwiched in between that of a hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes. "let me see!" said holmes. "hum! born in new jersey in the year 1858. contralto--hum! la scala, hum! prima donna imperial opera of warsaw--yes! retired from operatic stage--ha! living in london--quite so! your majesty, as i understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back." "precisely so. but how--" "was there a secret marriage?" "none." "no legal papers or certificates?" "none." "then i fail to follow your majesty. if this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?" "there is the writing." "pooh, pooh! forgery." "my private note-paper." "stolen." "my own seal." "imitated." "my photograph." "bought." "we were both in the photograph." "oh, dear! that is very bad! your majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion." "i was mad--insane." "you have compromised yourself seriously." "i was only crown prince then. i was young. i am but thirty now." "it must be recovered." "we have tried and failed." "your majesty must pay. it must be bought." "she will not sell." "stolen, then." "five attempts have been made. twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. twice she has been waylaid. there has been no result." "no sign of it?" "absolutely none." holmes laughed. "it is quite a pretty little problem," said he. "but a very serious one to me," returned the king reproachfully. "very, indeed. and what does she propose to do with the photograph?" "to ruin me." "but how?" "i am about to be married." "so i have heard." "to clotilde lothman von saxe-meningen, second daughter of the king of scandinavia. you may know the strict principles of her family. she is herself the very soul of delicacy. a shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end." "and irene adler?" "threatens to send them the photograph. and she will do it. i know that she will do it. you do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. she has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. rather than i should marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go--none." "you are sure that she has not sent it yet?" "i am sure." "and why?" "because she has said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. that will be next monday." "oh, then we have three days yet," said holmes with a yawn. "that is very fortunate, as i have one or two matters of importance to look into just at present. your majesty will, of course, stay in london for the present?" "certainly. you will find me at the langham under the name of the count von kramm." "then i shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress." "pray do so. i shall be all anxiety." "then, as to money?" "you have carte blanche." "absolutely?" "i tell you that i would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph." "and for present expenses?" the king took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid it on the table. "there are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes," he said. holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it to him. "and mademoiselle's address?" he asked. "is briony lodge, serpentine avenue, st. john's wood." holmes took a note of it. "one other question," said he. "was the photograph a cabinet?" "it was." "then, good-night, your majesty, and i trust that we shall soon have some good news for you. and good-night, watson," he added, as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "if you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock i should like to chat this little matter over with you." chapter ii at three o'clock precisely i was at baker street, but holmes had not yet returned. the landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. i sat down beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. i was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the two crimes which i have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. so accustomed was i to his invariable success that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head. it was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. accustomed as i was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, i had to look three times before i was certain that it was indeed he. with a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes. "well, really!" he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair. "what is it?" "it's quite too funny. i am sure you could never guess how i employed my morning, or what i ended by doing." "i can't imagine. i suppose that you have been watching the habits, and perhaps the house, of miss irene adler." "quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. i will tell you, however. i left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning in the character of a groom out of work. there is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know. i soon found briony lodge. it is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. chubb lock to the door. large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous english window fasteners which a child could open. behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the coach-house. i walked round it and examined it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of interest. "i then lounged down the street and found, as i expected, that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. i lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as i could desire about miss adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom i was not in the least interested, but whose biographies i was compelled to listen to." "and what of irene adler?" i asked. "oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. she is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. so say the serpentine-mews, to a man. she lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings. has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. he is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and often twice. he is a mr. godfrey norton, of the inner temple. see the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. they had driven him home a dozen times from serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. when i had listened to all they had to tell, i began to walk up and down near briony lodge once more, and to think over my plan of campaign. "this godfrey norton was evidently an important factor in the matter. he was a lawyer. that sounded ominous. what was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits? was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? if the former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his keeping. if the latter, it was less likely. on the issue of this question depended whether i should continue my work at briony lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in the temple. it was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. i fear that i bore you with these details, but i have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation." "i am following you closely," i answered. "i was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to briony lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. he was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently the man of whom i had heard. he appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home. "he was in the house about half an hour, and i could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. of her i could see nothing. presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. as he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly, 'drive like the devil,' he shouted, 'first to gross & hankey's in regent street, and then to the church of st. monica in the edgeware road. half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!' "away they went, and i was just wondering whether i should not do well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. it hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. i only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for. "'the church of st. monica, john,' she cried, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.' "this was quite too good to lose, watson. i was just balancing whether i should run for it, or whether i should perch behind her landau when a cab came through the street. the driver looked twice at such a shabby fare, but i jumped in before he could object. 'the church of st. monica,' said i, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.' it was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind. "my cabby drove fast. i don't think i ever drove faster, but the others were there before us. the cab and the landau with their steaming horses were in front of the door when i arrived. i paid the man and hurried into the church. there was not a soul there save the two whom i had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them. they were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. i lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church. suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and godfrey norton came running as hard as he could towards me. "'thank god,' he cried. 'you'll do. come! come!' "'what then?' i asked. "'come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be legal.' "i was half-dragged up to the altar, and before i knew where i was i found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which i knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tying up of irene adler, spinster, to godfrey norton, bachelor. it was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. it was the most preposterous position in which i ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just now. it seems that there had been some informality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in search of a best man. the bride gave me a sovereign, and i mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion." "this is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said i; "and what then?" "well, i found my plans very seriously menaced. it looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part. at the church door, however, they separated, he driving back to the temple, and she to her own house. 'i shall drive out in the park at five as usual,' she said as she left him. i heard no more. they drove away in different directions, and i went off to make my own arrangements." "which are?" "some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing the bell. "i have been too busy to think of food, and i am likely to be busier still this evening. by the way, doctor, i shall want your co-operation." "i shall be delighted." "you don't mind breaking the law?" "not in the least." "nor running a chance of arrest?" "not in a good cause." "oh, the cause is excellent!" "then i am your man." "i was sure that i might rely on you." "but what is it you wish?" "when mrs. turner has brought in the tray i will make it clear to you. now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady had provided, "i must discuss it while i eat, for i have not much time. it is nearly five now. in two hours we must be on the scene of action. miss irene, or madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. we must be at briony lodge to meet her." "and what then?" "you must leave that to me. i have already arranged what is to occur. there is only one point on which i must insist. you must not interfere, come what may. you understand?" "i am to be neutral?" "to do nothing whatever. there will probably be some small unpleasantness. do not join in it. it will end in my being conveyed into the house. four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will open. you are to station yourself close to that open window." "yes." "you are to watch me, for i will be visible to you." "yes." "and when i raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what i give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. you quite follow me?" "entirely." "it is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. "it is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. your task is confined to that. when you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of people. you may then walk to the end of the street, and i will rejoin you in ten minutes. i hope that i have made myself clear?" "i am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street." "precisely." "then you may entirely rely on me." "that is excellent. i think, perhaps, it is almost time that i prepare for the new role i have to play." he disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded nonconformist clergyman. his broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as mr. john hare alone could have equalled. it was not merely that holmes changed his costume. his expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. the stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime. it was a quarter past six when we left baker street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in serpentine avenue. it was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and down in front of briony lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. the house was just such as i had pictured it from sherlock holmes' succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less private than i expected. on the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. there was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths. "you see," remarked holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. the photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. the chances are that she would be as averse to its being seen by mr. godfrey norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his princess. now the question is--where are we to find the photograph?" "where, indeed?" "it is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. it is cabinet size. too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. she knows that the king is capable of having her waylaid and searched. two attempts of the sort have already been made. we may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her." "where, then?" "her banker or her lawyer. there is that double possibility. but i am inclined to think neither. women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. why should she hand it over to anyone else? she could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a business man. besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. it must be where she can lay her hands upon it. it must be in her own house." "but it has twice been burgled." "pshaw! they did not know how to look." "but how will you look?" "i will not look." "what then?" "i will get her to show me." "but she will refuse." "she will not be able to. but i hear the rumble of wheels. it is her carriage. now carry out my orders to the letter." as he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. it was a smart little landau which rattled up to the door of briony lodge. as it pulled up, one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. a fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. a blow was struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. at his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. irene adler, as i will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street. "is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked. "he is dead," cried several voices. "no, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "but he'll be gone before you can get him to hospital." "he's a brave fellow," said a woman. "they would have had the lady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. they were a gang, and a rough one, too. ah, he's breathing now." "he can't lie in the street. may we bring him in, marm?" "surely. bring him into the sitting-room. there is a comfortable sofa. this way, please!" slowly and solemnly he was borne into briony lodge and laid out in the principal room, while i still observed the proceedings from my post by the window. the lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn, so that i could see holmes as he lay upon the couch. i do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but i know that i never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when i saw the beautiful creature against whom i was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. and yet it would be the blackest treachery to holmes to draw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. i hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. after all, i thought, we are not injuring her. we are but preventing her from injuring another. holmes had sat up upon the couch, and i saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. a maid rushed across and threw open the window. at the same instant i saw him raise his hand and at the signal i tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of "fire!" the word was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and servant-maids--joined in a general shriek of "fire!" thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. i caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice of holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. slipping through the shouting crowd i made my way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. he walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the edgeware road. "you did it very nicely, doctor," he remarked. "nothing could have been better. it is all right." "you have the photograph?" "i know where it is." "and how did you find out?" "she showed me, as i told you she would." "i am still in the dark." "i do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "the matter was perfectly simple. you, of course, saw that everyone in the street was an accomplice. they were all engaged for the evening." "i guessed as much." "then, when the row broke out, i had a little moist red paint in the palm of my hand. i rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle. it is an old trick." "that also i could fathom." "then they carried me in. she was bound to have me in. what else could she do? and into her sitting-room, which was the very room which i suspected. it lay between that and her bedroom, and i was determined to see which. they laid me on a couch, i motioned for air, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance." "how did that help you?" "it was all-important. when a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. it is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and i have more than once taken advantage of it. in the case of the darlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the arnsworth castle business. a married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. she would rush to secure it. the alarm of fire was admirably done. the smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. she responded beautifully. the photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. she was there in an instant, and i caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. when i cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and i have not seen her since. i rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. i hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to wait. a little over-precipitance may ruin all." "and now?" i asked. "our quest is practically finished. i shall call with the king to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. we will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. it might be a satisfaction to his majesty to regain it with his own hands." "and when will you call?" "at eight in the morning. she will not be up, so that we shall have a clear field. besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete change in her life and habits. i must wire to the king without delay." we had reached baker street and had stopped at the door. he was searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said: "good-night, mister sherlock holmes." there were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by. "i've heard that voice before," said holmes, staring down the dimly lit street. "now, i wonder who the deuce that could have been." chapter iii i slept at baker street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning when the king of bohemia rushed into the room. "you have really got it!" he cried, grasping sherlock holmes by either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face. "not yet." "but you have hopes?" "i have hopes." "then, come. i am all impatience to be gone." "we must have a cab." "no, my brougham is waiting." "then that will simplify matters." we descended and started off once more for briony lodge. "irene adler is married," remarked holmes. "married! when?" "yesterday." "but to whom?" "to an english lawyer named norton." "but she could not love him." "i am in hopes that she does." "and why in hopes?" "because it would spare your majesty all fear of future annoyance. if the lady loves her husband, she does not love your majesty. if she does not love your majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with your majesty's plan." "it is true. and yet--well! i wish she had been of my own station! what a queen she would have made!" he relapsed into a moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in serpentine avenue. the door of briony lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the steps. she watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the brougham. "mr. sherlock holmes, i believe?" said she. "i am mr. holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with a questioning and rather startled gaze. "indeed! my mistress told me that you were likely to call. she left this morning with her husband by the 5.15 train from charing cross for the continent." "what!" sherlock holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise. "do you mean that she has left england?" "never to return." "and the papers?" asked the king hoarsely. "all is lost." "we shall see." he pushed past the servant and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the king and myself. the furniture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. the photograph was of irene adler herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to "sherlock holmes, esq. to be left till called for." my friend tore it open and we all three read it together. it was dated at midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way: "my dear mr. sherlock holmes: "you really did it very well. you took me in completely. until after the alarm of fire, i had not a suspicion. but then, when i found how i had betrayed myself, i began to think. i had been warned against you months ago. i had been told that if the king employed an agent it would certainly be you. and your address had been given me. yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. even after i became suspicious, i found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. but, you know, i have been trained as an actress myself. male costume is nothing new to me. i often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. i sent john, the coachman, to watch you, ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as i call them, and came down just as you departed. "well, i followed you to your door, and so made sure that i was really an object of interest to the celebrated mr. sherlock holmes. then i, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the temple to see my husband. "we both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call to-morrow. as to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. i love and am loved by a better man than he. the king may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. i keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. i leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and i remain, dear mr. sherlock holmes, "very truly yours, "irene norton, ne adler." "what a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the king of bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. "did i not tell you how quick and resolute she was? would she not have made an admirable queen? is it not a pity that she was not on my level?" "from what i have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your majesty," said holmes coldly. "i am sorry that i have not been able to bring your majesty's business to a more successful conclusion." "on the contrary, my dear sir," cried the king; "nothing could be more successful. i know that her word is inviolate. the photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire." "i am glad to hear your majesty say so." "i am immensely indebted to you. pray tell me in what way i can reward you. this ring--" he slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand. "your majesty has something which i should value even more highly," said holmes. "you have but to name it." "this photograph!" the king stared at him in amazement. "irene's photograph!" he cried. "certainly, if you wish it." "i thank your majesty. then there is no more to be done in the matter. i have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." he bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the king had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers. and that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of bohemia, and how the best plans of mr. sherlock holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. he used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but i have not heard him do it of late. and when he speaks of irene adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman. the red-headed league i had called upon my friend, mr. sherlock holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. with an apology for my intrusion, i was about to withdraw when holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me. "you could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear watson," he said cordially. "i was afraid that you were engaged." "so i am. very much so." "then i can wait in the next room." "not at all. this gentleman, mr. wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and i have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also." the stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes. "try the settee," said holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. "i know, my dear watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. you have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures." "your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," i observed. "you will remember that i remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by miss mary sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination." "a proposition which i took the liberty of doubting." "you did, doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise i shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. now, mr. jabez wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular which i have listened to for some time. you have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. as far as i have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among the most singular that i have ever listened to. perhaps, mr. wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. i ask you not merely because my friend dr. watson has not heard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips. as a rule, when i have heard some slight indication of the course of events, i am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. in the present instance i am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique." the portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. as he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, i took a good look at the man and endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance. i did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. our visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace british tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. he wore rather baggy grey shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. a frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. altogether, look as i would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features. sherlock holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a freemason, that he has been in china, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, i can deduce nothing else." mr. jabez wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion. "how, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, mr. holmes?" he asked. "how did you know, for example, that i did manual labour. it's as true as gospel, for i began as a ship's carpenter." "your hands, my dear sir. your right hand is quite a size larger than your left. you have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed." "well, the snuff, then, and the freemasonry?" "i won't insult your intelligence by telling you how i read that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arc-and-compass breastpin." "ah, of course, i forgot that. but the writing?" "what else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk?" "well, but china?" "the fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist could only have been done in china. i have made a small study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. that trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to china. when, in addition, i see a chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple." mr. jabez wilson laughed heavily. "well, i never!" said he. "i thought at first that you had done something clever, but i see that there was nothing in it, after all." "i begin to think, watson," said holmes, "that i make a mistake in explaining. 'omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if i am so candid. can you not find the advertisement, mr. wilson?" "yes, i have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger planted halfway down the column. "here it is. this is what began it all. you just read it for yourself, sir." i took the paper from him and read as follows: "to the red-headed league: on account of the bequest of the late ezekiah hopkins, of lebanon, pennsylvania, u. s. a., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the league to a salary of 4 a week for purely nominal services. all red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. apply in person on monday, at eleven o'clock, to duncan ross, at the offices of the league, 7 pope's court, fleet street." "what on earth does this mean?" i ejaculated after i had twice read over the extraordinary announcement. holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits. "it is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said he. "and now, mr. wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. you will first make a note, doctor, of the paper and the date." "it is the morning chronicle of april 27, 1890. just two months ago." "very good. now, mr. wilson?" "well, it is just as i have been telling you, mr. sherlock holmes," said jabez wilson, mopping his forehead; "i have a small pawnbroker's business at coburg square, near the city. it's not a very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. i used to be able to keep two assistants, but now i only keep one; and i would have a job to pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the business." "what is the name of this obliging youth?" asked sherlock holmes. "his name is vincent spaulding, and he's not such a youth, either. it's hard to say his age. i should not wish a smarter assistant, mr. holmes; and i know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what i am able to give him. but, after all, if he is satisfied, why should i put ideas in his head?" "why, indeed? you seem most fortunate in having an employee who comes under the full market price. it is not a common experience among employers in this age. i don't know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement." "oh, he has his faults, too," said mr. wilson. "never was such a fellow for photography. snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. that is his main fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. there's no vice in him." "he is still with you, i presume?" "yes, sir. he and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place clean--that's all i have in the house, for i am a widower and never had any family. we live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothing more. "the first thing that put us out was that advertisement. spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says: "'i wish to the lord, mr. wilson, that i was a red-headed man.' "'why that?' i asks. "'why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the league of the red-headed men. it's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and i understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the money. if my hair would only change colour, here's a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.' "'why, what is it, then?' i asked. you see, mr. holmes, i am a very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to go to it, i was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the door-mat. in that way i didn't know much of what was going on outside, and i was always glad of a bit of news. "'have you never heard of the league of the red-headed men?' he asked with his eyes open. "'never.' "'why, i wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the vacancies.' "'and what are they worth?' i asked. "'oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it need not interfere very much with one's other occupations.' "well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple of hundred would have been very handy. "'tell me all about it,' said i. "'well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for yourself that the league has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should apply for particulars. as far as i can make out, the league was founded by an american millionaire, ezekiah hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. he was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so when he died it was found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of that colour. from all i hear it is splendid pay and very little to do.' "'but,' said i, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who would apply.' "'not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'you see it is really confined to londoners, and to grown men. this american had started from london when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn. then, again, i have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red. now, if you cared to apply, mr. wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.' "now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter i stood as good a chance as any man that i had ever met. vincent spaulding seemed to know so much about it that i thought he might prove useful, so i just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to come right away with me. he was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the address that was given us in the advertisement. "i never hope to see such a sight as that again, mr. holmes. from north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. fleet street was choked with red-headed folk, and pope's court looked like a coster's orange barrow. i should not have thought there were so many in the whole country as were brought together by that single advertisement. every shade of colour they were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. when i saw how many were waiting, i would have given it up in despair; but spaulding would not hear of it. how he did it i could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office. there was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in the office." "your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff. "pray continue your very interesting statement." "there was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than mine. he said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualify them. getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, after all. however, when our turn came the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us. "'this is mr. jabez wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is willing to fill a vacancy in the league.' "'and he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'he has every requirement. i cannot recall when i have seen anything so fine.' he took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until i felt quite bashful. then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success. "'it would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'you will, however, i am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.' with that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until i yelled with the pain. 'there is water in your eyes,' said he as he released me. 'i perceive that all is as it should be. but we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. i could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which would disgust you with human nature.' he stepped over to the window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. a groan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager. "'my name,' said he, 'is mr. duncan ross, and i am myself one of the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. are you a married man, mr. wilson? have you a family?' "i answered that i had not. "his face fell immediately. "'dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! i am sorry to hear you say that. the fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. it is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.' "my face lengthened at this, mr. holmes, for i thought that i was not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes he said that it would be all right. "'in the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours. when shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?' "'well, it is a little awkward, for i have a business already,' said i. "'oh, never mind about that, mr. wilson!' said vincent spaulding. 'i should be able to look after that for you.' "'what would be the hours?' i asked. "'ten to two.' "now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, mr. holmes, especially thursday and friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. besides, i knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything that turned up. "'that would suit me very well,' said i. 'and the pay?' "'is 4 a week.' "'and the work?' "'is purely nominal.' "'what do you call purely nominal?' "'well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. if you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. the will is very clear upon that point. you don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time.' "'it's only four hours a day, and i should not think of leaving,' said i. "'no excuse will avail,' said mr. duncan ross; 'neither sickness nor business nor anything else. there you must stay, or you lose your billet.' "'and the work?' "'is to copy out the "encyclopaedia britannica." there is the first volume of it in that press. you must find your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. will you be ready to-morrow?' "'certainly,' i answered. "'then, good-bye, mr. jabez wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.' he bowed me out of the room and i went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, i was so pleased at my own good fortune. "well, i thought over the matter all day, and by evening i was in low spirits again; for i had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be i could not imagine. it seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the 'encyclopaedia britannica.' vincent spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime i had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. however, in the morning i determined to have a look at it anyhow, so i bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, i started off for pope's court. "well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible. the table was set out ready for me, and mr. duncan ross was there to see that i got fairly to work. he started me off upon the letter a, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me. at two o'clock he bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that i had written, and locked the door of the office after me. "this went on day after day, mr. holmes, and on saturday the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week's work. it was the same next week, and the same the week after. every morning i was there at ten, and every afternoon i left at two. by degrees mr. duncan ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. still, of course, i never dared to leave the room for an instant, for i was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that i would not risk the loss of it. "eight weeks passed away like this, and i had written about abbots and archery and armour and architecture and attica, and hoped with diligence that i might get on to the b's before very long. it cost me something in foolscap, and i had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. and then suddenly the whole business came to an end." "to an end?" "yes, sir. and no later than this morning. i went to my work as usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. here it is, and you can read for yourself." he held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of note-paper. it read in this fashion: the red-headed league is dissolved october 9, 1890. sherlock holmes and i surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter. "i cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "if you can do nothing better than laugh at me, i can go elsewhere." "no, no," cried holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had half risen. "i really wouldn't miss your case for the world. it is most refreshingly unusual. but there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the door?" "i was staggered, sir. i did not know what to do. then i called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. finally, i went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and i asked him if he could tell me what had become of the red-headed league. he said that he had never heard of any such body. then i asked him who mr. duncan ross was. he answered that the name was new to him. "'well,' said i, 'the gentleman at no. 4.' "'what, the red-headed man?' "'yes.' "'oh,' said he, 'his name was william morris. he was a solicitor and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were ready. he moved out yesterday.' "'where could i find him?' "'oh, at his new offices. he did tell me the address. yes, 17 king edward street, near st. paul's.' "i started off, mr. holmes, but when i got to that address it was a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of either mr. william morris or mr. duncan ross." "and what did you do then?" asked holmes. "i went home to saxe-coburg square, and i took the advice of my assistant. but he could not help me in any way. he could only say that if i waited i should hear by post. but that was not quite good enough, mr. holmes. i did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as i had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, i came right away to you." "and you did very wisely," said holmes. "your case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and i shall be happy to look into it. from what you have told me i think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear." "grave enough!" said mr. jabez wilson. "why, i have lost four pound a week." "as far as you are personally concerned," remarked holmes, "i do not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. on the contrary, you are, as i understand, richer by some 30, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter a. you have lost nothing by them." "no, sir. but i want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon me. it was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds." "we shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. and, first, one or two questions, mr. wilson. this assistant of yours who first called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he been with you?" "about a month then." "how did he come?" "in answer to an advertisement." "was he the only applicant?" "no, i had a dozen." "why did you pick him?" "because he was handy and would come cheap." "at half-wages, in fact." "yes." "what is he like, this vincent spaulding?" "small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he's not short of thirty. has a white splash of acid upon his forehead." holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "i thought as much," said he. "have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for earrings?" "yes, sir. he told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a lad." "hum!" said holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "he is still with you?" "oh, yes, sir; i have only just left him." "and has your business been attended to in your absence?" "nothing to complain of, sir. there's never very much to do of a morning." "that will do, mr. wilson. i shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. to-day is saturday, and i hope that by monday we may come to a conclusion." "well, watson," said holmes when our visitor had left us, "what do you make of it all?" "i make nothing of it," i answered frankly. "it is a most mysterious business." "as a rule," said holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. it is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. but i must be prompt over this matter." "what are you going to do, then?" i asked. "to smoke," he answered. "it is quite a three pipe problem, and i beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." he curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. i had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece. "sarasate plays at the st. james's hall this afternoon," he remarked. "what do you think, watson? could your patients spare you for a few hours?" "i have nothing to do to-day. my practice is never very absorbing." "then put on your hat and come. i am going through the city first, and we can have some lunch on the way. i observe that there is a good deal of german music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than italian or french. it is introspective, and i want to introspect. come along!" we travelled by the underground as far as aldersgate; and a short walk took us to saxe-coburg square, the scene of the singular story which we had listened to in the morning. it was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. three gilt balls and a brown board with "jabez wilson" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his business. sherlock holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up to the door and knocked. it was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in. "thank you," said holmes, "i only wished to ask you how you would go from here to the strand." "third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly, closing the door. "smart fellow, that," observed holmes as we walked away. "he is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in london, and for daring i am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. i have known something of him before." "evidently," said i, "mr. wilson's assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the red-headed league. i am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him." "not him." "what then?" "the knees of his trousers." "and what did you see?" "what i expected to see." "why did you beat the pavement?" "my dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. we are spies in an enemy's country. we know something of saxe-coburg square. let us now explore the parts which lie behind it." the road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from the retired saxe-coburg square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. it was one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the city to the north and west. the roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. it was difficult to realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted. "let me see," said holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the line, "i should like just to remember the order of the houses here. it is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of london. there is mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the coburg branch of the city and suburban bank, the vegetarian restaurant, and mcfarlane's carriage-building depot. that carries us right on to the other block. and now, doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums." my friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. all the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of holmes the sleuth-hound, holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. in his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as i have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. the swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as i knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions. then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. when i saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at st. james's hall i felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down. "you want to go home, no doubt, doctor," he remarked as we emerged. "yes, it would be as well." "and i have some business to do which will take some hours. this business at coburg square is serious." "why serious?" "a considerable crime is in contemplation. i have every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. but to-day being saturday rather complicates matters. i shall want your help to-night." "at what time?" "ten will be early enough." "i shall be at baker street at ten." "very well. and, i say, doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." he waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd. i trust that i am not more dense than my neighbours, but i was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with sherlock holmes. here i had heard what he had heard, i had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. as i drove home to my house in kensington i thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the "encyclopaedia" down to the visit to saxe-coburg square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. what was this nocturnal expedition, and why should i go armed? where were we going, and what were we to do? i had the hint from holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. i tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation. it was a quarter-past nine when i started from home and made my way across the park, and so through oxford street to baker street. two hansoms were standing at the door, and as i entered the passage i heard the sound of voices from above. on entering his room i found holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom i recognised as peter jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat. "ha! our party is complete," said holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "watson, i think you know mr. jones, of scotland yard? let me introduce you to mr. merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure." "we're hunting in couples again, doctor, you see," said jones in his consequential way. "our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a chase. all he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down." "i hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase," observed mr. merryweather gloomily. "you may place considerable confidence in mr. holmes, sir," said the police agent loftily. "he has his own little methods, which are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. it is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the sholto murder and the agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official force." "oh, if you say so, mr. jones, it is all right," said the stranger with deference. "still, i confess that i miss my rubber. it is the first saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that i have not had my rubber." "i think you will find," said sherlock holmes, "that you will play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play will be more exciting. for you, mr. merryweather, the stake will be some 30,000; and for you, jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands." "john clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. he's a young man, mr. merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and i would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in london. he's a remarkable man, is young john clay. his grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been to eton and oxford. his brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. he'll crack a crib in scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in cornwall the next. i've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him yet." "i hope that i may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. i've had one or two little turns also with mr. john clay, and i agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. it is past ten, however, and quite time that we started. if you two will take the first hansom, watson and i will follow in the second." sherlock holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. we rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into farrington street. "we are close there now," my friend remarked. "this fellow merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. i thought it as well to have jones with us also. he is not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. he has one positive virtue. he is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. here we are, and they are waiting for us." we had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found ourselves in the morning. our cabs were dismissed, and, following the guidance of mr. merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us. within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. this also was opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. mr. merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes. "you are not very vulnerable from above," holmes remarked as he held up the lantern and gazed about him. "nor from below," said mr. merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags which lined the floor. "why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise. "i must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said holmes severely. "you have already imperilled the whole success of our expedition. might i beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?" the solemn mr. merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very injured expression upon his face, while holmes fell upon his knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. a few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket. "we have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they will have for their escape. we are at present, doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of the city branch of one of the principal london banks. mr. merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of london should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present." "it is our french gold," whispered the director. "we have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it." "your french gold?" "yes. we had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the bank of france. it has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. the crate upon which i sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject." "which were very well justified," observed holmes. "and now it is time that we arranged our little plans. i expect that within an hour matters will come to a head. in the meantime mr. merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern." "and sit in the dark?" "i am afraid so. i had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and i thought that, as we were a partie carre, you might have your rubber after all. but i see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. and, first of all, we must choose our positions. these are daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful. i shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those. then, when i flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. if they fire, watson, have no compunction about shooting them down." i placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which i crouched. holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute darkness as i have never before experienced. the smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment's notice. to me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault. "they have but one retreat," whispered holmes. "that is back through the house into saxe-coburg square. i hope that you have done what i asked you, jones?" "i have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door." "then we have stopped all the holes. and now we must be silent and wait." what a time it seemed! from comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. my limbs were weary and stiff, for i feared to change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that i could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but i could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. from my position i could look over the case in the direction of the floor. suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light. at first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of light. for a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between the stones. its disappearance, however, was but momentary. with a rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. in another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair. "it's all clear," he whispered. "have you the chisel and the bags? great scott! jump, archie, jump, and i'll swing for it!" sherlock holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. the other dived down the hole, and i heard the sound of rending cloth as jones clutched at his skirts. the light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but holmes' hunting crop came down on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor. "it's no use, john clay," said holmes blandly. "you have no chance at all." "so i see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "i fancy that my pal is all right, though i see you have got his coat-tails." "there are three men waiting for him at the door," said holmes. "oh, indeed! you seem to have done the thing very completely. i must compliment you." "and i you," holmes answered. "your red-headed idea was very new and effective." "you'll see your pal again presently," said jones. "he's quicker at climbing down holes than i am. just hold out while i fix the derbies." "i beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands," remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. "you may not be aware that i have royal blood in my veins. have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and 'please.'" "all right," said jones with a stare and a snigger. "well, would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your highness to the police-station?" "that is better," said john clay serenely. he made a sweeping bow to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective. "really, mr. holmes," said mr. merryweather as we followed them from the cellar, "i do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. there is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience." "i have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with mr. john clay," said holmes. "i have been at some small expense over this matter, which i shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that i am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the red-headed league." "you see, watson," he explained in the early hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in baker street, "it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the league, and the copying of the 'encyclopaedia,' must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. it was a curious way of managing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. the method was no doubt suggested to clay's ingenious mind by the colour of his accomplice's hair. the 4 a week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? they put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the week. from the time that i heard of the assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for securing the situation." "but how could you guess what the motive was?" "had there been women in the house, i should have suspected a mere vulgar intrigue. that, however, was out of the question. the man's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure as they were at. it must, then, be something out of the house. what could it be? i thought of the assistant's fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. the cellar! there was the end of this tangled clue. then i made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that i had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in london. he was doing something in the cellar--something which took many hours a day for months on end. what could it be, once more? i could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some other building. "so far i had got when we went to visit the scene of action. i surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. i was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. it was not in front. then i rang the bell, and, as i hoped, the assistant answered it. we have had some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. i hardly looked at his face. his knees were what i wished to see. you must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. they spoke of those hours of burrowing. the only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. i walked round the corner, saw the city and suburban bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that i had solved my problem. when you drove home after the concert i called upon scotland yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen." "and how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?" i asked. "well, when they closed their league offices that was a sign that they cared no longer about mr. jabez wilson's presence--in other words, that they had completed their tunnel. but it was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be removed. saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape. for all these reasons i expected them to come to-night." "you reasoned it out beautifully," i exclaimed in unfeigned admiration. "it is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true." "it saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "alas! i already feel it closing in upon me. my life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. these little problems help me to do so." "and you are a benefactor of the race," said i. he shrugged his shoulders. "well, perhaps, after all, it is of some little use," he remarked. "'l'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre c'est tout,' as gustave flaubert wrote to george sand." a case of identity "my dear fellow," said sherlock holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at baker street, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. we would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. if we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outr results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable." "and yet i am not convinced of it," i answered. "the cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. we have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic." "a certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect," remarked holmes. "this is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace." i smiled and shook my head. "i can quite understand your thinking so." i said. "of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. but here"--i picked up the morning paper from the ground--"let us put it to a practical test. here is the first heading upon which i come. 'a husband's cruelty to his wife.' there is half a column of print, but i know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. there is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. the crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude." "indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument," said holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. "this is the dundas separation case, and, as it happens, i was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. the husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. take a pinch of snuff, doctor, and acknowledge that i have scored over you in your example." he held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that i could not help commenting upon it. "ah," said he, "i forgot that i had not seen you for some weeks. it is a little souvenir from the king of bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the irene adler papers." "and the ring?" i asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger. "it was from the reigning family of holland, though the matter in which i served them was of such delicacy that i cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems." "and have you any on hand just now?" i asked with interest. "some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest. they are important, you understand, without being interesting. indeed, i have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. the larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. in these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest. it is possible, however, that i may have something better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, or i am much mistaken." he had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted london street. looking over his shoulder, i saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish duchess of devonshire fashion over her ear. from under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell. "i have seen those symptoms before," said holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire. "oscillation upon the pavement always means an affaire de coeur. she would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. and yet even here we may discriminate. when a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. but here she comes in person to resolve our doubts." as he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce miss mary sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. sherlock holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him. "do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so much typewriting?" "i did at first," she answered, "but now i know where the letters are without looking." then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "you've heard about me, mr. holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?" "never mind," said holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know things. perhaps i have trained myself to see what others overlook. if not, why should you come to consult me?" "i came to you, sir, because i heard of you from mrs. etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead. oh, mr. holmes, i wish you would do as much for me. i'm not rich, but still i have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that i make by the machine, and i would give it all to know what has become of mr. hosmer angel." "why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked sherlock holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling. again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of miss mary sutherland. "yes, i did bang out of the house," she said, "for it made me angry to see the easy way in which mr. windibank--that is, my father--took it all. he would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and i just on with my things and came right away to you." "your father," said holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the name is different." "yes, my stepfather. i call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself." "and your mother is alive?" "oh, yes, mother is alive and well. i wasn't best pleased, mr. holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. father was a plumber in the tottenham court road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with mr. hardy, the foreman; but when mr. windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines. they got 4700 for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been alive." i had expected to see sherlock holmes impatient under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention. "your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the business?" "oh, no, sir. it is quite separate and was left me by my uncle ned in auckland. it is in new zealand stock, paying 4 per cent. two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but i can only touch the interest." "you interest me extremely," said holmes. "and since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. i believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60." "i could do with much less than that, mr. holmes, but you understand that as long as i live at home i don't wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while i am staying with them. of course, that is only just for the time. mr. windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and i find that i can do pretty well with what i earn at typewriting. it brings me twopence a sheet, and i can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day." "you have made your position very clear to me," said holmes. "this is my friend, dr. watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. kindly tell us now all about your connection with mr. hosmer angel." a flush stole over miss sutherland's face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of her jacket. "i met him first at the gasfitters' ball," she said. "they used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and sent them to mother. mr. windibank did not wish us to go. he never did wish us to go anywhere. he would get quite mad if i wanted so much as to join a sunday-school treat. but this time i was set on going, and i would go; for what right had he to prevent? he said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father's friends were to be there. and he said that i had nothing fit to wear, when i had my purple plush that i had never so much as taken out of the drawer. at last, when nothing else would do, he went off to france upon the business of the firm, but we went, mother and i, with mr. hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there i met mr. hosmer angel." "i suppose," said holmes, "that when mr. windibank came back from france he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball." "oh, well, he was very good about it. he laughed, i remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way." "i see. then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as i understand, a gentleman called mr. hosmer angel." "yes, sir. i met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is to say, mr. holmes, i met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and mr. hosmer angel could not come to the house any more." "no?" "well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. he wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. but then, as i used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and i had not got mine yet." "but how about mr. hosmer angel? did he make no attempt to see you?" "well, father was going off to france again in a week, and hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone. we could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. i took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know." "were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?" "oh, yes, mr. holmes. we were engaged after the first walk that we took. hosmer--mr. angel--was a cashier in an office in leadenhall street--and--" "what office?" "that's the worst of it, mr. holmes, i don't know." "where did he live, then?" "he slept on the premises." "and you don't know his address?" "no--except that it was leadenhall street." "where did you address your letters, then?" "to the leadenhall street post office, to be left till called for. he said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady, so i offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't have that, for he said that when i wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the machine had come between us. that will just show you how fond he was of me, mr. holmes, and the little things that he would think of." "it was most suggestive," said holmes. "it has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. can you remember any other little things about mr. hosmer angel?" "he was a very shy man, mr. holmes. he would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous. very retiring and gentlemanly he was. even his voice was gentle. he'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. he was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare." "well, and what happened when mr. windibank, your stepfather, returned to france?" "mr. hosmer angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. he was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the testament, that whatever happened i would always be true to him. mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion. mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder of him than i was. then, when they talked of marrying within the week, i began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him. i didn't quite like that, mr. holmes. it seemed funny that i should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than me; but i didn't want to do anything on the sly, so i wrote to father at bordeaux, where the company has its french offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding." "it missed him, then?" "yes, sir; for he had started to england just before it arrived." "ha! that was unfortunate. your wedding was arranged, then, for the friday. was it to be in church?" "yes, sir, but very quietly. it was to be at st. saviour's, near king's cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the st. pancras hotel. hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the street. we got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there! the cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. that was last friday, mr. holmes, and i have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him." "it seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated," said holmes. "oh, no, sir! he was too good and kind to leave me so. why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, i was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, i was always to remember that i was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. it seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it." "most certainly it does. your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?" "yes, sir. i believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so. and then i think that what he foresaw happened." "but you have no notion as to what it could have been?" "none." "one more question. how did your mother take the matter?" "she was angry, and said that i was never to speak of the matter again." "and your father? did you tell him?" "yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that i should hear of hosmer again. as he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leaving me? now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason, but hosmer was very independent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine. and yet, what could have happened? and why could he not write? oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and i can't sleep a wink at night." she pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it. "i shall glance into the case for you," said holmes, rising, "and i have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further. above all, try to let mr. hosmer angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life." "then you don't think i'll see him again?" "i fear not." "then what has happened to him?" "you will leave that question in my hands. i should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can spare." "i advertised for him in last saturday's chronicle," said she. "here is the slip and here are four letters from him." "thank you. and your address?" "no. 31 lyon place, camberwell." "mr. angel's address you never had, i understand. where is your father's place of business?" "he travels for westhouse & marbank, the great claret importers of fenchurch street." "thank you. you have made your statement very clearly. you will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which i have given you. let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life." "you are very kind, mr. holmes, but i cannot do that. i shall be true to hosmer. he shall find me ready when he comes back." for all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. she laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned. sherlock holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face. "quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "i found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trite one. you will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in andover in '77, and there was something of the sort at the hague last year. old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. but the maiden herself was most instructive." "you appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me," i remarked. "not invisible but unnoticed, watson. you did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important. i can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? describe it." "well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a brickish red. her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. her gloves were greyish and were worn through at the right forefinger. her boots i didn't observe. she had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way." sherlock holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled. "'pon my word, watson, you are coming along wonderfully. you have really done very well indeed. it is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour. never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. my first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. in a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. as you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. the double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined. the sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. i then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, i ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise her." "it surprised me." "but, surely, it was obvious. i was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. one was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry." "and what else?" i asked, keenly interested, as i always was, by my friend's incisive reasoning. "i noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being fully dressed. you observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. she had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. it must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. all this is amusing, though rather elementary, but i must go back to business, watson. would you mind reading me the advertised description of mr. hosmer angel?" i held the little printed slip to the light. "missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named hosmer angel. about five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold albert chain, and grey harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. known to have been employed in an office in leadenhall street. anybody bringing--" "that will do," said holmes. "as to the letters," he continued, glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. absolutely no clue in them to mr. angel, save that he quotes balzac once. there is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you." "they are typewritten," i remarked. "not only that, but the signature is typewritten. look at the neat little 'hosmer angel' at the bottom. there is a date, you see, but no superscription except leadenhall street, which is rather vague. the point about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it conclusive." "of what?" "my dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?" "i cannot say that i do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted." "no, that was not the point. however, i shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. one is to a firm in the city, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, mr. windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. it is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. and now, doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim." i had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that i felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. once only had i known him to fail, in the case of the king of bohemia and of the irene adler photograph; but when i looked back to the weird business of the sign of four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with the study in scarlet, i felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel. i left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when i came again on the next evening i would find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of miss mary sutherland. a professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and the whole of next day i was busy at the bedside of the sufferer. it was not until close upon six o'clock that i found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to baker street, half afraid that i might be too late to assist at the dnouement of the little mystery. i found sherlock holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. a formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him. "well, have you solved it?" i asked as i entered. "yes. it was the bisulphate of baryta." "no, no, the mystery!" i cried. "oh, that! i thought of the salt that i have been working upon. there was never any mystery in the matter, though, as i said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. the only drawback is that there is no law, i fear, that can touch the scoundrel." "who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting miss sutherland?" the question was hardly out of my mouth, and holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door. "this is the girl's stepfather, mr. james windibank," said holmes. "he has written to me to say that he would be here at six. come in!" the man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. he shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair. "good-evening, mr. james windibank," said holmes. "i think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me for six o'clock?" "yes, sir. i am afraid that i am a little late, but i am not quite my own master, you know. i am sorry that miss sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for i think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public. it was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. of course, i did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this hosmer angel?" "on the contrary," said holmes quietly; "i have every reason to believe that i will succeed in discovering mr. hosmer angel." mr. windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "i am delighted to hear it," he said. "it is a curious thing," remarked holmes, "that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. now, you remark in this note of yours, mr. windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' there are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious." "we do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered, glancing keenly at holmes with his bright little eyes. "and now i will show you what is really a very interesting study, mr. windibank," holmes continued. "i think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. it is a subject to which i have devoted some little attention. i have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man. they are all typewritten. in each case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other characteristics to which i have alluded are there as well." mr. windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. "i cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, mr. holmes," he said. "if you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it." "certainly," said holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. "i let you know, then, that i have caught him!" "what! where?" shouted mr. windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap. "oh, it won't do--really it won't," said holmes suavely. "there is no possible getting out of it, mr. windibank. it is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. that's right! sit down and let us talk it over." our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. "it--it's not actionable," he stammered. "i am very much afraid that it is not. but between ourselves, windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if i go wrong." the man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us. "the man married a woman very much older than himself for her money," said he, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. it was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. it was worth an effort to preserve it. the daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long. now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? he takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. but soon he found that that would not answer forever. she became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. what does her clever stepfather do then? he conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. with the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl's short sight, he appears as mr. hosmer angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself." "it was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "we never thought that she would have been so carried away." "very likely not. however that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in france, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. she was flattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. then mr. angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. there were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. but the deception could not be kept up forever. these pretended journeys to france were rather cumbrous. the thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. james windibank wished miss sutherland to be so bound to hosmer angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not listen to another man. as far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. i think that was the chain of events, mr. windibank!" our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face. "it may be so, or it may not, mr. holmes," said he, "but if you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. i have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint." "the law cannot, as you say, touch you," said holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more. if the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. by jove!" he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a hunting crop handy, and i think i shall just treat myself to--" he took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see mr. james windibank running at the top of his speed down the road. "there's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into his chair once more. "that fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on a gallows. the case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest." "i cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," i remarked. "well, of course it was obvious from the first that this mr. hosmer angel must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. so were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. my suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even the smallest sample of it. you see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction." "and how did you verify them?" "having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. i knew the firm for which this man worked. having taken the printed description, i eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and i sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. i had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and i wrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if he would come here. as i expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. the same post brought me a letter from westhouse & marbank, of fenchurch street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employee, james windibank. voil tout!" "and miss sutherland?" "if i tell her she will not believe me. you may remember the old persian saying, 'there is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.' there is as much sense in hafiz as in horace, and as much knowledge of the world." the boscombe valley mystery we were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and i, when the maid brought in a telegram. it was from sherlock holmes and ran in this way: "have you a couple of days to spare? have just been wired for from the west of england in connection with boscombe valley tragedy. shall be glad if you will come with me. air and scenery perfect. leave paddington by the 11.15." "what do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "will you go?" "i really don't know what to say. i have a fairly long list at present." "oh, anstruther would do your work for you. you have been looking a little pale lately. i think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in mr. sherlock holmes' cases." "i should be ungrateful if i were not, seeing what i gained through one of them," i answered. "but if i am to go, i must pack at once, for i have only half an hour." my experience of camp life in afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. my wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated i was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to paddington station. sherlock holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap. "it is really very good of you to come, watson," said he. "it makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom i can thoroughly rely. local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. if you will keep the two corner seats i shall get the tickets." we had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which holmes had brought with him. among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past reading. then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack. "have you heard anything of the case?" he asked. "not a word. i have not seen a paper for some days." "the london press has not had very full accounts. i have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. it seems, from what i gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult." "that sounds a little paradoxical." "but it is profoundly true. singularity is almost invariably a clue. the more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. in this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man." "it is a murder, then?" "well, it is conjectured to be so. i shall take nothing for granted until i have the opportunity of looking personally into it. i will explain the state of things to you, as far as i have been able to understand it, in a very few words. "boscombe valley is a country district not very far from ross, in herefordshire. the largest landed proprietor in that part is a mr. john turner, who made his money in australia and returned some years ago to the old country. one of the farms which he held, that of hatherley, was let to mr. charles mccarthy, who was also an ex-australian. the men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. turner was apparently the richer man, so mccarthy became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. mccarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. they appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring english families and to have led retired lives, though both the mccarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. mccarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl. turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. that is as much as i have been able to gather about the families. now for the facts. "on june 3rd, that is, on monday last, mccarthy left his house at hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the boscombe pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the boscombe valley. he had been out with his serving-man in the morning at ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three. from that appointment he never came back alive. "from hatherley farm-house to the boscombe pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. one was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was william crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of mr. turner. both these witnesses depose that mr. mccarthy was walking alone. the game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing mr. mccarthy pass he had seen his son, mr. james mccarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. to the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him. he thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred. "the two mccarthys were seen after the time when william crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. the boscombe pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. a girl of fourteen, patience moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the boscombe valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. she states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, mr. mccarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. she heard mr. mccarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. she was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two mccarthys quarrelling near boscombe pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. she had hardly said the words when young mr. mccarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. he was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. on following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. the head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. the injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on tuesday, he was on wednesday brought before the magistrates at ross, who have referred the case to the next assizes. those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court." "i could hardly imagine a more damning case," i remarked. "if ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here." "circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered holmes thoughtfully. "it may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. it must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. there are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them miss turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who have retained lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the study in scarlet, to work out the case in his interest. lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home." "i am afraid," said i, "that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case." "there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he answered, laughing. "besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to mr. lestrade. you know me too well to think that i am boasting when i say that i shall either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. to take the first example to hand, i very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet i question whether mr. lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that." "how on earth--" "my dear fellow, i know you well. i know the military neatness which characterises you. you shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other. i could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. i only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. therein lies my mtier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. there are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering." "what are they?" "it appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to hatherley farm. on the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. this observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury." "it was a confession," i ejaculated. "no, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence." "coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark." "on the contrary," said holmes, "it is the brightest rift which i can at present see in the clouds. however innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, i should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. his frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. as to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. the self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one." i shook my head. "many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence," i remarked. "so they have. and many men have been wrongfully hanged." "what is the young man's own account of the matter?" "it is, i am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. you will find it here, and may read it for yourself." he picked out from his bundle a copy of the local herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. i settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. it ran in this way: "mr. james mccarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows: 'i had been away from home for three days at bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last monday, the 3rd. my father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and i was informed by the maid that he had driven over to ross with john cobb, the groom. shortly after my return i heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, i saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though i was not aware in which direction he was going. i then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the boscombe pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. on my way i saw william crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that i was following my father. i had no idea that he was in front of me. when about a hundred yards from the pool i heard a cry of "cooee!" which was a usual signal between my father and myself. i then hurried forward, and found him standing by the pool. he appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what i was doing there. a conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, i left him and returned towards hatherley farm. i had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when i heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again. i found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured. i dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired. i knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to mr. turner's lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. i saw no one near my father when i returned, and i have no idea how he came by his injuries. he was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as i know, no active enemies. i know nothing further of the matter.' "the coroner: did your father make any statement to you before he died? "witness: he mumbled a few words, but i could only catch some allusion to a rat. "the coroner: what did you understand by that? "witness: it conveyed no meaning to me. i thought that he was delirious. "the coroner: what was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel? "witness: i should prefer not to answer. "the coroner: i am afraid that i must press it. "witness: it is really impossible for me to tell you. i can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed. "the coroner: that is for the court to decide. i need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise. "witness: i must still refuse. "the coroner: i understand that the cry of 'cooee' was a common signal between you and your father? "witness: it was. "the coroner: how was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from bristol? "witness (with considerable confusion): i do not know. "a juryman: did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured? "witness: nothing definite. "the coroner: what do you mean? "witness: i was so disturbed and excited as i rushed out into the open, that i could think of nothing except of my father. yet i have a vague impression that as i ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. it seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. when i rose from my father i looked round for it, but it was gone. "'do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?' "'yes, it was gone.' "'you cannot say what it was?' "'no, i had a feeling something was there.' "'how far from the body?' "'a dozen yards or so.' "'and how far from the edge of the wood?' "'about the same.' "'then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?' "'yes, but with my back towards it.' "this concluded the examination of the witness." "i see," said i as i glanced down the column, "that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young mccarthy. he calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father's dying words. they are all, as he remarks, very much against the son." holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat. "both you and the coroner have been at some pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the young man's favour. don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and too little? too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outr as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. no, sir, i shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. and now here is my pocket petrarch, and not another word shall i say of this case until we are on the scene of action. we lunch at swindon, and i see that we shall be there in twenty minutes." it was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful stroud valley, and over the broad gleaming severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of ross. a lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. in spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, i had no difficulty in recognising lestrade, of scotland yard. with him we drove to the hereford arms where a room had already been engaged for us. "i have ordered a carriage," said lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. "i knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime." "it was very nice and complimentary of you," holmes answered. "it is entirely a question of barometric pressure." lestrade looked startled. "i do not quite follow," he said. "how is the glass? twenty-nine, i see. no wind, and not a cloud in the sky. i have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. i do not think that it is probable that i shall use the carriage to-night." lestrade laughed indulgently. "you have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "the case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. she has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though i repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which i had not already done. why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door." he had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that i have ever seen in my life. her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern. "oh, mr. sherlock holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, "i am so glad that you have come. i have driven down to tell you so. i know that james didn't do it. i know it, and i want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. never let yourself doubt upon that point. we have known each other since we were little children, and i know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him." "i hope we may clear him, miss turner," said sherlock holmes. "you may rely upon my doing all that i can." "but you have read the evidence. you have formed some conclusion? do you not see some loophole, some flaw? do you not yourself think that he is innocent?" "i think that it is very probable." "there, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at lestrade. "you hear! he gives me hopes." lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "i am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said. "but he is right. oh! i know that he is right. james never did it. and about his quarrel with his father, i am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because i was concerned in it." "in what way?" asked holmes. "it is no time for me to hide anything. james and his father had many disagreements about me. mr. mccarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. james and i have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. so there were quarrels, and this, i am sure, was one of them." "and your father?" asked holmes. "was he in favour of such a union?" "no, he was averse to it also. no one but mr. mccarthy was in favour of it." a quick blush passed over her fresh young face as holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her. "thank you for this information," said he. "may i see your father if i call to-morrow?" "i am afraid the doctor won't allow it." "the doctor?" "yes, have you not heard? poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. he has taken to his bed, and dr. willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. mr. mccarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in victoria." "ha! in victoria! that is important." "yes, at the mines." "quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as i understand, mr. turner made his money." "yes, certainly." "thank you, miss turner. you have been of material assistance to me." "you will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. no doubt you will go to the prison to see james. oh, if you do, mr. holmes, do tell him that i know him to be innocent." "i will, miss turner." "i must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if i leave him. good-bye, and god help you in your undertaking." she hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street. "i am ashamed of you, holmes," said lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. "why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? i am not over-tender of heart, but i call it cruel." "i think that i see my way to clearing james mccarthy," said holmes. "have you an order to see him in prison?" "yes, but only for you and me." "then i shall reconsider my resolution about going out. we have still time to take a train to hereford and see him to-night?" "ample." "then let us do so. watson, i fear that you will find it very slow, but i shall only be away a couple of hours." i walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where i lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. the puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and i found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that i at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? it was something terrible and deadly. what could it be? might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? i rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. in the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. i marked the spot upon my own head. clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. that was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. still, it might be worth while to call holmes' attention to it. then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. what could that mean? it could not be delirium. a man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. no, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. but what could it indicate? i cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. and then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young mccarthy. if that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. what a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! i did not wonder at lestrade's opinion, and yet i had so much faith in sherlock holmes' insight that i could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young mccarthy's innocence. it was late before sherlock holmes returned. he came back alone, for lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town. "the glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down. "it is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. on the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and i did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. i have seen young mccarthy." "and what did you learn from him?" "nothing." "could he throw no light?" "none at all. i was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but i am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. he is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, i should think, sound at heart." "i cannot admire his taste," i remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this miss turner." "ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. this fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in bristol and marry her at a registry office? no one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. it was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to miss turner. on the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. it was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in bristol, and his father did not know where he was. mark that point. it is of importance. good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the bermuda dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. i think that that bit of news has consoled young mccarthy for all that he has suffered." "but if he is innocent, who has done it?" "ah! who? i would call your attention very particularly to two points. one is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. the second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. and now let us talk about george meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow." there was no rain, as holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. at nine o'clock lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for hatherley farm and the boscombe pool. "there is serious news this morning," lestrade observed. "it is said that mr. turner, of the hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of." "an elderly man, i presume?" said holmes. "about sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. this business has had a very bad effect upon him. he was an old friend of mccarthy's, and, i may add, a great benefactor to him, for i have learned that he gave him hatherley farm rent free." "indeed! that is interesting," said holmes. "oh, yes! in a hundred other ways he has helped him. everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him." "really! does it not strike you as a little singular that this mccarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to turner, should still talk of marrying his son to turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? it is the more strange, since we know that turner himself was averse to the idea. the daughter told us as much. do you not deduce something from that?" "we have got to the deductions and the inferences," said lestrade, winking at me. "i find it hard enough to tackle facts, holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies." "you are right," said holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to tackle the facts." "anyhow, i have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of," replied lestrade with some warmth. "and that is--" "that mccarthy senior met his death from mccarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine." "well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said holmes, laughing. "but i am very much mistaken if this is not hatherley farm upon the left." "yes, that is it." it was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the grey walls. the drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. we called at the door, when the maid, at holmes' request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to boscombe pool. sherlock holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of baker street would have failed to recognise him. his face flushed and darkened. his brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. his face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. his nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the boscombe pool. it was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. sometimes holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. lestrade and i walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while i watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end. the boscombe pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the hatherley farm and the private park of the wealthy mr. turner. above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling. on the hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that i could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. to holmes, as i could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. he ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion. "what did you go into the pool for?" he asked. "i fished about with a rake. i thought there might be some weapon or other trace. but how on earth--" "oh, tut, tut! i have no time! that left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. a mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. oh, how simple it would all have been had i been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. but here are three separate tracks of the same feet." he drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. "these are young mccarthy's feet. twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. that bears out his story. he ran when he saw his father on the ground. then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. what is this, then? it is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. and this? ha, ha! what have we here? tiptoes! tiptoes! square, too, quite unusual boots! they come, they go, they come again--of course that was for the cloak. now where did they come from?" he ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. for a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. a jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost. "it has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked, returning to his natural manner. "i fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. i think that i will go in and have a word with moran, and perhaps write a little note. having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. you may walk to the cab, and i shall be with you presently." it was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into ross, holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood. "this may interest you, lestrade," he remarked, holding it out. "the murder was done with it." "i see no marks." "there are none." "how do you know, then?" "the grass was growing under it. it had only lain there a few days. there was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. it corresponds with the injuries. there is no sign of any other weapon." "and the murderer?" "is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. there are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search." lestrade laughed. "i am afraid that i am still a sceptic," he said. "theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed british jury." "nous verrons," answered holmes calmly. "you work your own method, and i shall work mine. i shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to london by the evening train." "and leave your case unfinished?" "no, finished." "but the mystery?" "it is solved." "who was the criminal, then?" "the gentleman i describe." "but who is he?" "surely it would not be difficult to find out. this is not such a populous neighbourhood." lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "i am a practical man," he said, "and i really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. i should become the laughing-stock of scotland yard." "all right," said holmes quietly. "i have given you the chance. here are your lodgings. good-bye. i shall drop you a line before i leave." having left lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position. "look here, watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. i don't know quite what to do, and i should value your advice. light a cigar and let me expound." "pray do so." "well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young mccarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. one was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'cooee!' before seeing him. the other was his singular dying reference to a rat. he mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true." "what of this 'cooee!' then?" "well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. the son, as far as he knew, was in bristol. it was mere chance that he was within earshot. the 'cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. but 'cooee' is a distinctly australian cry, and one which is used between australians. there is a strong presumption that the person whom mccarthy expected to meet him at boscombe pool was someone who had been in australia." "what of the rat, then?" sherlock holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. "this is a map of the colony of victoria," he said. "i wired to bristol for it last night." he put his hand over part of the map. "what do you read?" "arat," i read. "and now?" he raised his hand. "ballarat." "quite so. that was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. he was trying to utter the name of his murderer. so and so, of ballarat." "it is wonderful!" i exclaimed. "it is obvious. and now, you see, i had narrowed the field down considerably. the possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty. we have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an australian from ballarat with a grey cloak." "certainly." "and one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander." "quite so." "then comes our expedition of to-day. by an examination of the ground i gained the trifling details which i gave to that imbecile lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal." "but how did you gain them?" "you know my method. it is founded upon the observation of trifles." "his height i know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. his boots, too, might be told from their traces." "yes, they were peculiar boots." "but his lameness?" "the impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. he put less weight upon it. why? because he limped--he was lame." "but his left-handedness." "you were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. the blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? he had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. he had even smoked there. i found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an indian cigar. i have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. having found the ash, i then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. it was an indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in rotterdam." "and the cigar-holder?" "i could see that the end had not been in his mouth. therefore he used a holder. the tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so i deduced a blunt pen-knife." "holmes," i said, "you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. i see the direction in which all this points. the culprit is--" "mr. john turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor. the man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. his slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. his tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. it was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease. "pray sit down on the sofa," said holmes gently. "you had my note?" "yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. you said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal." "i thought people would talk if i went to the hall." "and why did you wish to see me?" he looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered. "yes," said holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "it is so. i know all about mccarthy." the old man sank his face in his hands. "god help me!" he cried. "but i would not have let the young man come to harm. i give you my word that i would have spoken out if it went against him at the assizes." "i am glad to hear you say so," said holmes gravely. "i would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. it would break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears that i am arrested." "it may not come to that," said holmes. "what?" "i am no official agent. i understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and i am acting in her interests. young mccarthy must be got off, however." "i am a dying man," said old turner. "i have had diabetes for years. my doctor says it is a question whether i shall live a month. yet i would rather die under my own roof than in a jail." holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. "just tell us the truth," he said. "i shall jot down the facts. you will sign it, and watson here can witness it. then i could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young mccarthy. i promise you that i shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed." "it's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether i shall live to the assizes, so it matters little to me, but i should wish to spare alice the shock. and now i will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell. "you didn't know this dead man, mccarthy. he was a devil incarnate. i tell you that. god keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. his grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. i'll tell you first how i came to be in his power. "it was in the early '60's at the diggings. i was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; i got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. there were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. black jack of ballarat was the name i went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the ballarat gang. "one day a gold convoy came down from ballarat to melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. there were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. i put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man mccarthy. i wish to the lord that i had shot him then, but i spared him, though i saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. we got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to england without being suspected. there i parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. i bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and i set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which i had earned it. i married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little alice. even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. in a word, i turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. all was going well when mccarthy laid his grip upon me. "i had gone up to town about an investment, and i met him in regent street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot. "'here we are, jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as good as a family to you. there's two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. if you don't--it's a fine, law-abiding country is england, and there's always a policeman within hail.' "well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. there was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where i would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. it grew worse as alice grew up, for he soon saw i was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was i gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which i could not give. he asked for alice. "his son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as i was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. but there i was firm. i would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that i had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. i stood firm. mccarthy threatened. i braved him to do his worst. we were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over. "when i went down there i found him talking with his son, so i smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. but as i listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. he was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. it drove me mad to think that i and all that i held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. could i not snap the bond? i was already a dying and a desperate man. though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, i knew that my own fate was sealed. but my memory and my girl! both could be saved if i could but silence that foul tongue. i did it, mr. holmes. i would do it again. deeply as i have sinned, i have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. but that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than i could suffer. i struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. his cry brought back his son; but i had gained the cover of the wood, though i was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which i had dropped in my flight. that is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred." "well, it is not for me to judge you," said holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. "i pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation." "i pray not, sir. and what do you intend to do?" "in view of your health, nothing. you are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the assizes. i will keep your confession, and if mccarthy is condemned i shall be forced to use it. if not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us." "farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine." tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room. "god help us!" said holmes after a long silence. "why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? i never hear of such a case as this that i do not think of baxter's words, and say, 'there, but for the grace of god, goes sherlock holmes.'" james mccarthy was acquitted at the assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. old turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past. the five orange pips when i glance over my notes and records of the sherlock holmes cases between the years '82 and '90, i am faced by so many which present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and which to leave. some, however, have already gained publicity through the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of these papers to illustrate. some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. there is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its details and so startling in its results that i am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are points in connection with it which never have been, and probably never will be, entirely cleared up. the year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less interest, of which i retain the records. among my headings under this one twelve months i find an account of the adventure of the paradol chamber, of the amateur mendicant society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the british barque "sophy anderson", of the singular adventures of the grice patersons in the island of uffa, and finally of the camberwell poisoning case. in the latter, as may be remembered, sherlock holmes was able, by winding up the dead man's watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time--a deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the case. all these i may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the strange train of circumstances which i have now taken up my pen to describe. it was in the latter days of september, and the equinoctial gales had set in with exceptional violence. all day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made london we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like untamed beasts in a cage. as evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. sherlock holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while i at the other was deep in one of clark russell's fine sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. my wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days i was a dweller once more in my old quarters at baker street. "why," said i, glancing up at my companion, "that was surely the bell. who could come to-night? some friend of yours, perhaps?" "except yourself i have none," he answered. "i do not encourage visitors." "a client, then?" "if so, it is a serious case. nothing less would bring a man out on such a day and at such an hour. but i take it that it is more likely to be some crony of the landlady's." sherlock holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. he stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit. "come in!" said he. the man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the outside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in his bearing. the streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he had come. he looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and i could see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great anxiety. "i owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden pince-nez to his eyes. "i trust that i am not intruding. i fear that i have brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber." "give me your coat and umbrella," said holmes. "they may rest here on the hook and will be dry presently. you have come up from the south-west, i see." "yes, from horsham." "that clay and chalk mixture which i see upon your toe caps is quite distinctive." "i have come for advice." "that is easily got." "and help." "that is not always so easy." "i have heard of you, mr. holmes. i heard from major prendergast how you saved him in the tankerville club scandal." "ah, of course. he was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards." "he said that you could solve anything." "he said too much." "that you are never beaten." "i have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a woman." "but what is that compared with the number of your successes?" "it is true that i have been generally successful." "then you may be so with me." "i beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case." "it is no ordinary one." "none of those which come to me are. i am the last court of appeal." "and yet i question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you have ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those which have happened in my own family." "you fill me with interest," said holmes. "pray give us the essential facts from the commencement, and i can afterwards question you as to those details which seem to me to be most important." the young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towards the blaze. "my name," said he, "is john openshaw, but my own affairs have, as far as i can understand, little to do with this awful business. it is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, i must go back to the commencement of the affair. "you must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle elias and my father joseph. my father had a small factory at coventry, which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. he was a patentee of the openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence. "my uncle elias emigrated to america when he was a young man and became a planter in florida, where he was reported to have done very well. at the time of the war he fought in jackson's army, and afterwards under hood, where he rose to be a colonel. when lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where he remained for three or four years. about 1869 or 1870 he came back to europe and took a small estate in sussex, near horsham. he had made a very considerable fortune in the states, and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike of the republican policy in extending the franchise to them. he was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring disposition. during all the years that he lived at horsham, i doubt if ever he set foot in the town. he had a garden and two or three fields round his house, and there he would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave his room. he drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily, but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own brother. "he didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time when he saw me first i was a youngster of twelve or so. this would be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in england. he begged my father to let me live with him and he was very kind to me in his way. when he was sober he used to be fond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would make me his representative both with the servants and with the tradespeople, so that by the time that i was sixteen i was quite master of the house. i kept all the keys and could go where i liked and do what i liked, so long as i did not disturb him in his privacy. there was one singular exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or anyone else to enter. with a boy's curiosity i have peeped through the keyhole, but i was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such a room. "one day--it was in march, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate. it was not a common thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. 'from india!' said he as he took it up, 'pondicherry postmark! what can this be?' opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. i began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face. his lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand, 'k. k. k.!' he shrieked, and then, 'my god, my god, my sins have overtaken me!' "'what is it, uncle?' i cried. "'death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room, leaving me palpitating with horror. i took up the envelope and saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter k three times repeated. there was nothing else save the five dried pips. what could be the reason of his overpowering terror? i left the breakfast-table, and as i ascended the stair i met him coming down with an old rusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other. "'they may do what they like, but i'll checkmate them still,' said he with an oath. 'tell mary that i shall want a fire in my room to-day, and send down to fordham, the horsham lawyer.' "i did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived i was asked to step up to the room. the fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. as i glanced at the box i noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed the treble k which i had read in the morning upon the envelope. "'i wish you, john,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. i leave my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. if you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! if you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. i am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but i can't say what turn things are going to take. kindly sign the paper where mr. fordham shows you.' "i signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him. the singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me, and i pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. yet i could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. i could see a change in my uncle, however. he drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. most of his time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. when these hot fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. at such times i have seen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were new raised from a basin. "well, to come to an end of the matter, mr. holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from which he never came back. we found him, when we went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. there was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of 'suicide.' but i, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. the matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of some 14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank." "one moment," holmes interposed, "your statement is, i foresee, one of the most remarkable to which i have ever listened. let me have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed suicide." "the letter arrived on march 10, 1883. his death was seven weeks later, upon the night of may 2nd." "thank you. pray proceed." "when my father took over the horsham property, he, at my request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. we found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. on the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of k. k. k. repeated upon it, and 'letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath. these, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed by colonel openshaw. for the rest, there was nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in america. some of them were of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier. others were of a date during the reconstruction of the southern states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the north. "well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the january of '85. on the fourth day after the new year i heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. there he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one. he had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself. "'why, what on earth does this mean, john?' he stammered. "my heart had turned to lead. 'it is k. k. k.,' said i. "he looked inside the envelope. 'so it is,' he cried. 'here are the very letters. but what is this written above them?' "'put the papers on the sundial,' i read, peeping over his shoulder. "'what papers? what sundial?' he asked. "'the sundial in the garden. there is no other,' said i; 'but the papers must be those that are destroyed.' "'pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage. 'we are in a civilised land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind. where does the thing come from?' "'from dundee,' i answered, glancing at the postmark. "'some preposterous practical joke,' said he. 'what have i to do with sundials and papers? i shall take no notice of such nonsense.' "'i should certainly speak to the police,' i said. "'and be laughed at for my pains. nothing of the sort.' "'then let me do so?' "'no, i forbid you. i won't have a fuss made about such nonsense.' "it was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. i went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings. "on the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home to visit an old friend of his, major freebody, who is in command of one of the forts upon portsdown hill. i was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger when he was away from home. in that, however, i was in error. upon the second day of his absence i received a telegram from the major, imploring me to come at once. my father had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. i hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered his consciousness. he had, as it appears, been returning from fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of 'death from accidental causes.' carefully as i examined every fact connected with his death, i was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. there were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads. and yet i need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, and that i was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been woven round him. "in this sinister way i came into my inheritance. you will ask me why i did not dispose of it? i answer, because i was well convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another. "it was in january, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two years and eight months have elapsed since then. during that time i have lived happily at horsham, and i had begun to hope that this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. i had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father." the young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips. "this is the envelope," he continued. "the postmark is london--eastern division. within are the very words which were upon my father's last message: 'k. k. k.'; and then 'put the papers on the sundial.'" "what have you done?" asked holmes. "nothing." "nothing?" "to tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, white hands--"i have felt helpless. i have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. i seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against." "tut! tut!" cried sherlock holmes. "you must act, man, or you are lost. nothing but energy can save you. this is no time for despair." "i have seen the police." "ah!" "but they listened to my story with a smile. i am convinced that the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings." holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. "incredible imbecility!" he cried. "they have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house with me." "has he come with you to-night?" "no. his orders were to stay in the house." again holmes raved in the air. "why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did you not come at once?" "i did not know. it was only to-day that i spoke to major prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you." "it is really two days since you had the letter. we should have acted before this. you have no further evidence, i suppose, than that which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail which might help us?" "there is one thing," said john openshaw. he rummaged in his coat pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it out upon the table. "i have some remembrance," said he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers i observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. i found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and i am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. beyond the mention of pips, i do not see that it helps us much. i think myself that it is a page from some private diary. the writing is undoubtedly my uncle's." holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. it was headed, "march, 1869," and beneath were the following enigmatical notices: 4th. hudson came. same old platform. 7th. set the pips on mccauley, paramore, and john swain, of st. augustine. 9th. mccauley cleared. 10th. john swain cleared. 12th. visited paramore. all well. "thank you!" said holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our visitor. "and now you must on no account lose another instant. we cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. you must get home instantly and act." "what shall i do?" "there is but one thing to do. it must be done at once. you must put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have described. you must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. you must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. having done this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. do you understand?" "entirely." "do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. i think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while theirs is already woven. the first consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you. the second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the guilty parties." "i thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat. "you have given me fresh life and hope. i shall certainly do as you advise." "do not lose an instant. and, above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for i do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. how do you go back?" "by train from waterloo." "it is not yet nine. the streets will be crowded, so i trust that you may be in safety. and yet you cannot guard yourself too closely." "i am armed." "that is well. to-morrow i shall set to work upon your case." "i shall see you at horsham, then?" "no, your secret lies in london. it is there that i shall seek it." "then i shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the box and the papers. i shall take your advice in every particular." he shook hands with us and took his leave. outside the wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. this strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet of sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them once more. sherlock holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling. "i think, watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this." "save, perhaps, the sign of four." "well, yes. save, perhaps, that. and yet this john openshaw seems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the sholtos." "but have you," i asked, "formed any definite conception as to what these perils are?" "there can be no question as to their nature," he answered. "then what are they? who is this k. k. k., and why does he pursue this unhappy family?" sherlock holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. "the ideal reasoner," he remarked, "would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it but also all the results which would follow from it. as cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both before and after. we have not yet grasped the results which the reason alone can attain to. problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the aid of their senses. to carry the art, however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to utilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. it is not so impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this i have endeavoured in my case to do. if i remember rightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits in a very precise fashion." "yes," i answered, laughing. "it was a singular document. philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, i remember. botany variable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. those, i think, were the main points of my analysis." holmes grinned at the last item. "well," he said, "i say now, as i said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it. now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster all our resources. kindly hand me down the letter k of the 'american encyclopaedia' which stands upon the shelf beside you. thank you. now let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced from it. in the first place, we may start with a strong presumption that colonel openshaw had some very strong reason for leaving america. men at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of florida for the lonely life of an english provincial town. his extreme love of solitude in england suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from america. as to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and his successors. did you remark the postmarks of those letters?" "the first was from pondicherry, the second from dundee, and the third from london." "from east london. what do you deduce from that?" "they are all seaports. that the writer was on board of a ship." "excellent. we have already a clue. there can be no doubt that the probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was on board of a ship. and now let us consider another point. in the case of pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfilment, in dundee it was only some three or four days. does that suggest anything?" "a greater distance to travel." "but the letter had also a greater distance to come." "then i do not see the point." "there is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men are is a sailing-ship. it looks as if they always send their singular warning or token before them when starting upon their mission. you see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from dundee. if they had come from pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. but, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. i think that those seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which brought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer." "it is possible." "more than that. it is probable. and now you see the deadly urgency of this new case, and why i urged young openshaw to caution. the blow has always fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to travel the distance. but this one comes from london, and therefore we cannot count upon delay." "good god!" i cried. "what can it mean, this relentless persecution?" "the papers which openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. i think that it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. a single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner's jury. there must have been several in it, and they must have been men of resource and determination. their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may. in this way you see k. k. k. ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of a society." "but of what society?" "have you never--" said sherlock holmes, bending forward and sinking his voice--"have you never heard of the ku klux klan?" "i never have." holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. "here it is," said he presently: "'ku klux klan. a name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the sound produced by cocking a rifle. this terrible secret society was formed by some ex-confederate soldiers in the southern states after the civil war, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of the country, notably in tennessee, louisiana, the carolinas, georgia, and florida. its power was used for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of the negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country of those who were opposed to its views. its outrages were usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognised shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. on receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the country. if he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. so perfect was the organisation of the society, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the perpetrators. for some years the organisation flourished in spite of the efforts of the united states government and of the better classes of the community in the south. eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.' "you will observe," said holmes, laying down the volume, "that the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of openshaw from america with their papers. it may well have been cause and effect. it is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track. you can understand that this register and diary may implicate some of the first men in the south, and that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered." "then the page we have seen--" "is such as we might expect. it ran, if i remember right, 'sent the pips to a, b, and c'--that is, sent the society's warning to them. then there are successive entries that a and b cleared, or left the country, and finally that c was visited, with, i fear, a sinister result for c. well, i think, doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place, and i believe that the only chance young openshaw has in the meantime is to do what i have told him. there is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellow-men." it had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city. sherlock holmes was already at breakfast when i came down. "you will excuse me for not waiting for you," said he; "i have, i foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young openshaw's." "what steps will you take?" i asked. "it will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. i may have to go down to horsham, after all." "you will not go there first?" "no, i shall commence with the city. just ring the bell and the maid will bring up your coffee." as i waited, i lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced my eye over it. it rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart. "holmes," i cried, "you are too late." "ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "i feared as much. how was it done?" he spoke calmly, but i could see that he was deeply moved. "my eye caught the name of openshaw, and the heading 'tragedy near waterloo bridge.' here is the account: "between nine and ten last night police-constable cook, of the h division, on duty near waterloo bridge, heard a cry for help and a splash in the water. the night, however, was extremely dark and stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was quite impossible to effect a rescue. the alarm, however, was given, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually recovered. it proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was john openshaw, and whose residence is near horsham. it is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from waterloo station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small landing-places for river steamboats. the body exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages." we sat in silence for some minutes, holmes more depressed and shaken than i had ever seen him. "that hurts my pride, watson," he said at last. "it is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. it becomes a personal matter with me now, and, if god sends me health, i shall set my hand upon this gang. that he should come to me for help, and that i should send him away to his death--!" he sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands. "they must be cunning devils," he exclaimed at last. "how could they have decoyed him down there? the embankment is not on the direct line to the station. the bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. well, watson, we shall see who will win in the long run. i am going out now!" "to the police?" "no; i shall be my own police. when i have spun the web they may take the flies, but not before." all day i was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the evening before i returned to baker street. sherlock holmes had not come back yet. it was nearly ten o'clock before he entered, looking pale and worn. he walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of water. "you are hungry," i remarked. "starving. it had escaped my memory. i have had nothing since breakfast." "nothing?" "not a bite. i had no time to think of it." "and how have you succeeded?" "well." "you have a clue?" "i have them in the hollow of my hand. young openshaw shall not long remain unavenged. why, watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark upon them. it is well thought of!" "what do you mean?" he took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he squeezed out the pips upon the table. of these he took five and thrust them into an envelope. on the inside of the flap he wrote "s. h. for j. o." then he sealed it and addressed it to "captain james calhoun, barque lone star, savannah, georgia." "that will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling. "it may give him a sleepless night. he will find it as sure a precursor of his fate as openshaw did before him." "and who is this captain calhoun?" "the leader of the gang. i shall have the others, but he first." "how did you trace it, then?" he took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with dates and names. "i have spent the whole day," said he, "over lloyd's registers and files of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which touched at pondicherry in january and february in '83. there were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those months. of these, one, the lone star, instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported as having cleared from london, the name is that which is given to one of the states of the union." "texas, i think." "i was not and am not sure which; but i knew that the ship must have an american origin." "what then?" "i searched the dundee records, and when i found that the barque lone star was there in january, '85, my suspicion became a certainty. i then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of london." "yes?" "the lone star had arrived here last week. i went down to the albert dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide this morning, homeward bound to savannah. i wired to gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly i have no doubt that she is now past the goodwins and not very far from the isle of wight." "what will you do, then?" "oh, i have my hand upon him. he and the two mates, are as i learn, the only native-born americans in the ship. the others are finns and germans. i know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last night. i had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. by the time that their sailing-ship reaches savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and the cable will have informed the police of savannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder." there is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the murderers of john openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves, was upon their track. very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales that year. we waited long for news of the lone star of savannah, but none ever reached us. we did at last hear that somewhere far out in the atlantic a shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with the letters "l. s." carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate of the lone star. the man with the twisted lip isa whitney, brother of the late elias whitney, d.d., principal of the theological college of st. george's, was much addicted to opium. the habit grew upon him, as i understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college; for having read de quincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the same effects. he found, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. i can see him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man. one night--it was in june, '89--there came a ring to my bell, about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. i sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment. "a patient!" said she. "you'll have to go out." i groaned, for i was newly come back from a weary day. we heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum. our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room. "you will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "oh, i'm in such trouble!" she cried; "i do so want a little help." "why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is kate whitney. how you startled me, kate! i had not an idea who you were when you came in." "i didn't know what to do, so i came straight to you." that was always the way. folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a light-house. "it was very sweet of you to come. now, you must have some wine and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. or should you rather that i sent james off to bed?" "oh, no, no! i want the doctor's advice and help, too. it's about isa. he has not been home for two days. i am so frightened about him!" it was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school companion. we soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find. did she know where her husband was? was it possible that we could bring him back to her? it seems that it was. she had the surest information that of late he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the farthest east of the city. hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. but now the spell had been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. there he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the bar of gold, in upper swandam lane. but what was she to do? how could she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him? there was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it. might i not escort her to this place? and then, as a second thought, why should she come at all? i was isa whitney's medical adviser, and as such i had influence over him. i could manage it better if i were alone. i promised her on my word that i would send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the address which she had given me. and so in ten minutes i had left my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to be. but there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure. upper swandam lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which line the north side of the river to the east of london bridge. between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, i found the den of which i was in search. ordering my cab to wait, i passed down the steps, worn hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door i found the latch and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship. through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. out of the black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. the most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. at the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire. as i entered, a sallow malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth. "thank you. i have not come to stay," said i. "there is a friend of mine here, mr. isa whitney, and i wish to speak with him." there was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering through the gloom, i saw whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me. "my god! it's watson," said he. he was in a pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "i say, watson, what o'clock is it?" "nearly eleven." "of what day?" "of friday, june 19th." "good heavens! i thought it was wednesday. it is wednesday. what d'you want to frighten a chap for?" he sank his face onto his arms and began to sob in a high treble key. "i tell you that it is friday, man. your wife has been waiting this two days for you. you should be ashamed of yourself!" "so i am. but you've got mixed, watson, for i have only been here a few hours, three pipes, four pipes--i forget how many. but i'll go home with you. i wouldn't frighten kate--poor little kate. give me your hand! have you a cab?" "yes, i have one waiting." "then i shall go in it. but i must owe something. find what i owe, watson. i am all off colour. i can do nothing for myself." i walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. as i passed the tall man who sat by the brazier i felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered, "walk past me, and then look back at me." the words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. i glanced down. they could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. i took two steps forward and looked back. it took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. he had turned his back so that none could see him but i. his form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than sherlock holmes. he made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility. "holmes!" i whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?" "as low as you can," he answered; "i have excellent ears. if you would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours i should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you." "i have a cab outside." "then pray send him home in it. you may safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. i should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you have thrown in your lot with me. if you will wait outside, i shall be with you in five minutes." it was difficult to refuse any of sherlock holmes' requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery. i felt, however, that when whitney was once confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, i could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. in a few minutes i had written my note, paid whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. in a very short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and i was walking down the street with sherlock holmes. for two streets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot. then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "i suppose, watson," said he, "that you imagine that i have added opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little weaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical views." "i was certainly surprised to find you there." "but not more so than i to find you." "i came to find a friend." "and i to find an enemy." "an enemy?" "yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall i say, my natural prey. briefly, watson, i am in the midst of a very remarkable inquiry, and i have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings of these sots, as i have done before now. had i been recognised in that den my life would not have been worth an hour's purchase; for i have used it before now for my own purposes, and the rascally lascar who runs it has sworn to have vengeance upon me. there is a trap-door at the back of that building, near the corner of paul's wharf, which could tell some strange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless nights." "what! you do not mean bodies?" "ay, bodies, watson. we should be rich men if we had 1000 for every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. it is the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and i fear that neville st. clair has entered it never to leave it more. but our trap should be here." he put his two forefingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by a similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses' hoofs. "now, watson," said holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through the gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side lanterns. "you'll come with me, won't you?" "if i can be of use." "oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more so. my room at the cedars is a double-bedded one." "the cedars?" "yes; that is mr. st. clair's house. i am staying there while i conduct the inquiry." "where is it, then?" "near lee, in kent. we have a seven-mile drive before us." "but i am all in the dark." "of course you are. you'll know all about it presently. jump up here. all right, john; we shall not need you. here's half a crown. look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. give her her head. so long, then!" he flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through the endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which widened gradually, until we were flying across a broad balustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of revellers. a dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a star or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of the clouds. holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his breast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while i sat beside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the current of his thoughts. we had driven several miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he is acting for the best. "you have a grand gift of silence, watson," said he. "it makes you quite invaluable as a companion. 'pon my word, it is a great thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant. i was wondering what i should say to this dear little woman to-night when she meets me at the door." "you forget that i know nothing about it." "i shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get to lee. it seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow i can get nothing to go upon. there's plenty of thread, no doubt, but i can't get the end of it into my hand. now, i'll state the case clearly and concisely to you, watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me." "proceed, then." "some years ago--to be definite, in may, 1884--there came to lee a gentleman, neville st. clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of money. he took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and lived generally in good style. by degrees he made friends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. he had no occupation, but was interested in several companies and went into town as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5.14 from cannon street every night. mr. st. clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know him. i may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to 88 10s., while he has 220 standing to his credit in the capital and counties bank. there is no reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been weighing upon his mind. "last monday mr. neville st. clair went into town rather earlier than usual, remarking before he started that he had two important commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a box of bricks. now, by the merest chance, his wife received a telegram upon this same monday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect that a small parcel of considerable value which she had been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of the aberdeen shipping company. now, if you are well up in your london, you will know that the office of the company is in fresno street, which branches out of upper swandam lane, where you found me to-night. mrs. st. clair had her lunch, started for the city, did some shopping, proceeded to the company's office, got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4.35 walking through swandam lane on her way back to the station. have you followed me so far?" "it is very clear." "if you remember, monday was an exceedingly hot day, and mrs. st. clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. while she was walking in this way down swandam lane, she suddenly heard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floor window. the window was open, and she distinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. he waved his hands frantically to her, and then vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind. one singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that although he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor necktie. "convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which you found me to-night--and running through the front room she attempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. at the foot of the stairs, however, she met this lascar scoundrel of whom i have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a dane, who acts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. filled with the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in fresno street a number of constables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. the inspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to the room in which mr. st. clair had last been seen. there was no sign of him there. in fact, in the whole of that floor there was no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. both he and the lascar stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room during the afternoon. so determined was their denial that the inspector was staggered, and had almost come to believe that mrs. st. clair had been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. out there fell a cascade of children's bricks. it was the toy which he had promised to bring home. "this discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. the rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. the front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the wharves. between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. the bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. on examination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill, and several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of the bedroom. thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were all the clothes of mr. neville st. clair, with the exception of his coat. his boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all were there. there were no signs of violence upon any of these garments, and there were no other traces of mr. neville st. clair. out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy. "and now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated in the matter. the lascar was known to be a man of the vilest antecedents, but as, by mrs. st. clair's story, he was known to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of her husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. his defence was one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings of hugh boone, his lodger, and that he could not account in any way for the presence of the missing gentleman's clothes. "so much for the lascar manager. now for the sinister cripple who lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon neville st. clair. his name is hugh boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man who goes much to the city. he is a professional beggar, though in order to avoid the police regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. some little distance down threadneedle street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the wall. here it is that this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. i have watched the fellow more than once before ever i thought of making his professional acquaintance, and i have been surprised at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. his appearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him. a shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by. this is the man whom we now learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest." "but a cripple!" said i. "what could he have done single-handed against a man in the prime of life?" "he is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. surely your medical experience would tell you, watson, that weakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others." "pray continue your narrative." "mrs. st. clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presence could be of no help to them in their investigations. inspector barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. one mistake had been made in not arresting boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he might have communicated with his friend the lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched, without anything being found which could incriminate him. there were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came doubtless from the same source. he denied strenuously having ever seen mr. neville st. clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. as to mrs. st. clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband at the window, he declared that she must have been either mad or dreaming. he was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue. "and it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had feared to find. it was neville st. clair's coat, and not neville st. clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. and what do you think they found in the pockets?" "i cannot imagine." "no, i don't think you would guess. every pocket stuffed with pennies and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. it was no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. but a human body is a different matter. there is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the house. it seemed likely enough that the weighted coat had remained when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river." "but i understand that all the other clothes were found in the room. would the body be dressed in a coat alone?" "no, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. suppose that this man boone had thrust neville st. clair through the window, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed. what would he do then? it would of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of the tell-tale garments. he would seize the coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it would occur to him that it would swim and not sink. he has little time, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried to force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his lascar confederate that the police are hurrying up the street. there is not an instant to be lost. he rushes to some secret hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the pockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. he throws it out, and would have done the same with the other garments had not he heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the window when the police appeared." "it certainly sounds feasible." "well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better. boone, as i have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but it could not be shown that there had ever before been anything against him. he had for years been known as a professional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one. there the matter stands at present, and the questions which have to be solved--what neville st. clair was doing in the opium den, what happened to him when there, where is he now, and what hugh boone had to do with his disappearance--are all as far from a solution as ever. i confess that i cannot recall any case within my experience which looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties." while sherlock holmes had been detailing this singular series of events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us. just as he finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages, where a few lights still glimmered in the windows. "we are on the outskirts of lee," said my companion. "we have touched on three english counties in our short drive, starting in middlesex, passing over an angle of surrey, and ending in kent. see that light among the trees? that is the cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, i have little doubt, caught the clink of our horse's feet." "but why are you not conducting the case from baker street?" i asked. "because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. mrs. st. clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and colleague. i hate to meet her, watson, when i have no news of her husband. here we are. whoa, there, whoa!" we had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds. a stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and springing down, i followed holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the house. as we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. she stood with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question. "well?" she cried, "well?" and then, seeing that there were two of us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "no good news?" "none." "no bad?" "no." "thank god for that. but come in. you must be weary, for you have had a long day." "this is my friend, dr. watson. he has been of most vital use to me in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me to bring him out and associate him with this investigation." "i am delighted to see you," said she, pressing my hand warmly. "you will, i am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenly upon us." "my dear madam," said i, "i am an old campaigner, and if i were not i can very well see that no apology is needed. if i can be of any assistance, either to you or to my friend here, i shall be indeed happy." "now, mr. sherlock holmes," said the lady as we entered a well-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out, "i should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which i beg that you will give a plain answer." "certainly, madam." "do not trouble about my feelings. i am not hysterical, nor given to fainting. i simply wish to hear your real, real opinion." "upon what point?" "in your heart of hearts, do you think that neville is alive?" sherlock holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. "frankly, now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair. "frankly, then, madam, i do not." "you think that he is dead?" "i do." "murdered?" "i don't say that. perhaps." "and on what day did he meet his death?" "on monday." "then perhaps, mr. holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is that i have received a letter from him to-day." sherlock holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised. "what!" he roared. "yes, to-day." she stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in the air. "may i see it?" "certainly." he snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. i had left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. the envelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the gravesend postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably after midnight. "coarse writing," murmured holmes. "surely this is not your husband's writing, madam." "no, but the enclosure is." "i perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and inquire as to the address." "how can you tell that?" "the name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself. the rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that blotting-paper has been used. if it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. this man has written the name, and there has then been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not familiar with it. it is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important as trifles. let us now see the letter. ha! there has been an enclosure here!" "yes, there was a ring. his signet-ring." "and you are sure that this is your husband's hand?" "one of his hands." "one?" "his hand when he wrote hurriedly. it is very unlike his usual writing, and yet i know it well." "dearest do not be frightened. all will come well. there is a huge error which it may take some little time to rectify. wait in patience. "neville. written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no water-mark. hum! posted to-day in gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. ha! and the flap has been gummed, if i am not very much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco. and you have no doubt that it is your husband's hand, madam?" "none. neville wrote those words." "and they were posted to-day at gravesend. well, mrs. st. clair, the clouds lighten, though i should not venture to say that the danger is over." "but he must be alive, mr. holmes." "unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent. the ring, after all, proves nothing. it may have been taken from him." "no, no; it is, it is his very own writing!" "very well. it may, however, have been written on monday and only posted to-day." "that is possible." "if so, much may have happened between." "oh, you must not discourage me, mr. holmes. i know that all is well with him. there is so keen a sympathy between us that i should know if evil came upon him. on the very day that i saw him last he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet i in the dining-room rushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that something had happened. do you think that i would respond to such a trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?" "i have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman may be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. and in this letter you certainly have a very strong piece of evidence to corroborate your view. but if your husband is alive and able to write letters, why should he remain away from you?" "i cannot imagine. it is unthinkable." "and on monday he made no remarks before leaving you?" "no." "and you were surprised to see him in swandam lane?" "very much so." "was the window open?" "yes." "then he might have called to you?" "he might." "he only, as i understand, gave an inarticulate cry?" "yes." "a call for help, you thought?" "yes. he waved his hands." "but it might have been a cry of surprise. astonishment at the unexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?" "it is possible." "and you thought he was pulled back?" "he disappeared so suddenly." "he might have leaped back. you did not see anyone else in the room?" "no, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and the lascar was at the foot of the stairs." "quite so. your husband, as far as you could see, had his ordinary clothes on?" "but without his collar or tie. i distinctly saw his bare throat." "had he ever spoken of swandam lane?" "never." "had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?" "never." "thank you, mrs. st. clair. those are the principal points about which i wished to be absolutely clear. we shall now have a little supper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day to-morrow." a large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our disposal, and i was quickly between the sheets, for i was weary after my night of adventure. sherlock holmes was a man, however, who, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view until he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his data were insufficient. it was soon evident to me that he was now preparing for an all-night sitting. he took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and armchairs. with these he constructed a sort of eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him. in the dim light of the lamp i saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. so he sat as i dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and i found the summer sun shining into the apartment. the pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which i had seen upon the previous night. "awake, watson?" he asked. "yes." "game for a morning drive?" "certainly." "then dress. no one is stirring yet, but i know where the stable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out." he chuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the sombre thinker of the previous night. as i dressed i glanced at my watch. it was no wonder that no one was stirring. it was twenty-five minutes past four. i had hardly finished when holmes returned with the news that the boy was putting in the horse. "i want to test a little theory of mine," said he, pulling on his boots. "i think, watson, that you are now standing in the presence of one of the most absolute fools in europe. i deserve to be kicked from here to charing cross. but i think i have the key of the affair now." "and where is it?" i asked, smiling. "in the bathroom," he answered. "oh, yes, i am not joking," he continued, seeing my look of incredulity. "i have just been there, and i have taken it out, and i have got it in this gladstone bag. come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will not fit the lock." we made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into the bright morning sunshine. in the road stood our horse and trap, with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. we both sprang in, and away we dashed down the london road. a few country carts were stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but the lines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as some city in a dream. "it has been in some points a singular case," said holmes, flicking the horse on into a gallop. "i confess that i have been as blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all." in town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily from their windows as we drove through the streets of the surrey side. passing down the waterloo bridge road we crossed over the river, and dashing up wellington street wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves in bow street. sherlock holmes was well known to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted him. one of them held the horse's head while the other led us in. "who is on duty?" asked holmes. "inspector bradstreet, sir." "ah, bradstreet, how are you?" a tall, stout official had come down the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. "i wish to have a quiet word with you, bradstreet." "certainly, mr. holmes. step into my room here." it was a small, office-like room, with a huge ledger upon the table, and a telephone projecting from the wall. the inspector sat down at his desk. "what can i do for you, mr. holmes?" "i called about that beggarman, boone--the one who was charged with being concerned in the disappearance of mr. neville st. clair, of lee." "yes. he was brought up and remanded for further inquiries." "so i heard. you have him here?" "in the cells." "is he quiet?" "oh, he gives no trouble. but he is a dirty scoundrel." "dirty?" "yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his face is as black as a tinker's. well, when once his case has been settled, he will have a regular prison bath; and i think, if you saw him, you would agree with me that he needed it." "i should like to see him very much." "would you? that is easily done. come this way. you can leave your bag." "no, i think that i'll take it." "very good. come this way, if you please." he led us down a passage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side. "the third on the right is his," said the inspector. "here it is!" he quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced through. "he is asleep," said he. "you can see him very well." we both put our eyes to the grating. the prisoner lay with his face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. he was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. he was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. a broad wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. a shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead. "he's a beauty, isn't he?" said the inspector. "he certainly needs a wash," remarked holmes. "i had an idea that he might, and i took the liberty of bringing the tools with me." he opened the gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my astonishment, a very large bath-sponge. "he! he! you are a funny one," chuckled the inspector. "now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure." "well, i don't know why not," said the inspector. "he doesn't look a credit to the bow street cells, does he?" he slipped his key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. the sleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner's face. "let me introduce you," he shouted, "to mr. neville st. clair, of lee, in the county of kent." never in my life have i seen such a sight. the man's face peeled off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. gone was the coarse brown tint! gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! a twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. then suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow. "great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, the missing man. i know him from the photograph." the prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny. "be it so," said he. "and pray what am i charged with?" "with making away with mr. neville st.--oh, come, you can't be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it," said the inspector with a grin. "well, i have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake." "if i am mr. neville st. clair, then it is obvious that no crime has been committed, and that, therefore, i am illegally detained." "no crime, but a very great error has been committed," said holmes. "you would have done better to have trusted your wife." "it was not the wife; it was the children," groaned the prisoner. "god help me, i would not have them ashamed of their father. my god! what an exposure! what can i do?" sherlock holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him kindly on the shoulder. "if you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up," said he, "of course you can hardly avoid publicity. on the other hand, if you convince the police authorities that there is no possible case against you, i do not know that there is any reason that the details should find their way into the papers. inspector bradstreet would, i am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit it to the proper authorities. the case would then never go into court at all." "god bless you!" cried the prisoner passionately. "i would have endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my miserable secret as a family blot to my children. "you are the first who have ever heard my story. my father was a schoolmaster in chesterfield, where i received an excellent education. i travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally became a reporter on an evening paper in london. one day my editor wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis, and i volunteered to supply them. there was the point from which all my adventures started. it was only by trying begging as an amateur that i could get the facts upon which to base my articles. when an actor i had, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had been famous in the green-room for my skill. i took advantage now of my attainments. i painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as possible i made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. then with a red head of hair, and an appropriate dress, i took my station in the business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a beggar. for seven hours i plied my trade, and when i returned home in the evening i found to my surprise that i had received no less than 26s. 4d. "i wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until, some time later, i backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served upon me for 25. i was at my wit's end where to get the money, but a sudden idea came to me. i begged a fortnight's grace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent the time in begging in the city under my disguise. in ten days i had the money and had paid the debt. "well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work at 2 a week when i knew that i could earn as much in a day by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground, and sitting still. it was a long fight between my pride and the money, but the dollars won at last, and i threw up reporting and sat day after day in the corner which i had first chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers. only one man knew my secret. he was the keeper of a low den in which i used to lodge in swandam lane, where i could every morning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a well-dressed man about town. this fellow, a lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that i knew that my secret was safe in his possession. "well, very soon i found that i was saving considerable sums of money. i do not mean that any beggar in the streets of london could earn 700 a year--which is less than my average takings--but i had exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made me quite a recognised character in the city. all day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in which i failed to take 2. "as i grew richer i grew more ambitious, took a house in the country, and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my real occupation. my dear wife knew that i had business in the city. she little knew what. "last monday i had finished for the day and was dressing in my room above the opium den when i looked out of my window and saw, to my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street, with her eyes fixed full upon me. i gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from coming up to me. i heard her voice downstairs, but i knew that she could not ascend. swiftly i threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. even a wife's eyes could not pierce so complete a disguise. but then it occurred to me that there might be a search in the room, and that the clothes might betray me. i threw open the window, reopening by my violence a small cut which i had inflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. then i seized my coat, which was weighted by the coppers which i had just transferred to it from the leather bag in which i carried my takings. i hurled it out of the window, and it disappeared into the thames. the other clothes would have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of constables up the stair, and a few minutes after i found, rather, i confess, to my relief, that instead of being identified as mr. neville st. clair, i was arrested as his murderer. "i do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. i was determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence my preference for a dirty face. knowing that my wife would be terribly anxious, i slipped off my ring and confided it to the lascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together with a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to fear." "that note only reached her yesterday," said holmes. "good god! what a week she must have spent!" "the police have watched this lascar," said inspector bradstreet, "and i can quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a letter unobserved. probably he handed it to some sailor customer of his, who forgot all about it for some days." "that was it," said holmes, nodding approvingly; "i have no doubt of it. but have you never been prosecuted for begging?" "many times; but what was a fine to me?" "it must stop here, however," said bradstreet. "if the police are to hush this thing up, there must be no more of hugh boone." "i have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take." "in that case i think that it is probable that no further steps may be taken. but if you are found again, then all must come out. i am sure, mr. holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for having cleared the matter up. i wish i knew how you reach your results." "i reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting upon five pillows and consuming an ounce of shag. i think, watson, that if we drive to baker street we shall just be in time for breakfast." the adventure of the blue carbuncle i had called upon my friend sherlock holmes upon the second morning after christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. he was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. a lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination. "you are engaged," said i; "perhaps i interrupt you." "not at all. i am glad to have a friend with whom i can discuss my results. the matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction." i seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with the ice crystals. "i suppose," i remarked, "that, homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to it--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some crime." "no, no. no crime," said sherlock holmes, laughing. "only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. we have already had experience of such." "so much so," i remarked, "that of the last six cases which i have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime." "precisely. you allude to my attempt to recover the irene adler papers, to the singular case of miss mary sutherland, and to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. well, i have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category. you know peterson, the commissionaire?" "yes." "it is to him that this trophy belongs." "it is his hat." "no, no, he found it. its owner is unknown. i beg that you will look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. and, first, as to how it came here. it arrived upon christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, i have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of peterson's fire. the facts are these: about four o'clock on christmas morning, peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down tottenham court road. in front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. as he reached the corner of goodge street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. one of the latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of tottenham court road. the roughs had also fled at the appearance of peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable christmas goose." "which surely he restored to their owner?" "my dear fellow, there lies the problem. it is true that 'for mrs. henry baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'h. b.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of bakers, and some hundreds of henry bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them." "what, then, did peterson do?" "he brought round both hat and goose to me on christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. the goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary delay. its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose, while i continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who lost his christmas dinner." "did he not advertise?" "no." "then, what clue could you have as to his identity?" "only as much as we can deduce." "from his hat?" "precisely." "but you are joking. what can you gather from this old battered felt?" "here is my lens. you know my methods. what can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this article?" i took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. it was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. the lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. there was no maker's name; but, as holmes had remarked, the initials "h. b." were scrawled upon one side. it was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. for the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink. "i can see nothing," said i, handing it back to my friend. "on the contrary, watson, you can see everything. you fail, however, to reason from what you see. you are too timid in drawing your inferences." "then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?" he picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. "it is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. that the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. he had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. this may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him." "my dear holmes!" "he has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. "he is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. these are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house." "you are certainly joking, holmes." "not in the least. is it possible that even now, when i give you these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?" "i have no doubt that i am very stupid, but i must confess that i am unable to follow you. for example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?" for answer holmes clapped the hat upon his head. it came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "it is a question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a brain must have something in it." "the decline of his fortunes, then?" "this hat is three years old. these flat brims curled at the edge came in then. it is a hat of the very best quality. look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. if this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world." "well, that is clear enough, certainly. but how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?" sherlock holmes laughed. "here is the foresight," said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. "they are never sold upon hats. if this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. but since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. on the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect." "your reasoning is certainly plausible." "the further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. the lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. they all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. this dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training." "but his wife--you said that she had ceased to love him." "this hat has not been brushed for weeks. when i see you, my dear watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, i shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's affection." "but he might be a bachelor." "nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. remember the card upon the bird's leg." "you have an answer to everything. but how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?" "one tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when i see no less than five, i think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. are you satisfied?" "well, it is very ingenious," said i, laughing; "but since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy." sherlock holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open, and peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with astonishment. "the goose, mr. holmes! the goose, sir!" he gasped. "eh? what of it, then? has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?" holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face. "see here, sir! see what my wife found in its crop!" he held out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of his hand. sherlock holmes sat up with a whistle. "by jove, peterson!" said he, "this is treasure trove indeed. i suppose you know what you have got?" "a diamond, sir? a precious stone. it cuts into glass as though it were putty." "it's more than a precious stone. it is the precious stone." "not the countess of morcar's blue carbuncle!" i ejaculated. "precisely so. i ought to know its size and shape, seeing that i have read the advertisement about it in the times every day lately. it is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of 1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price." "a thousand pounds! great lord of mercy!" the commissionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us. "that is the reward, and i have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the countess to part with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem." "it was lost, if i remember aright, at the hotel cosmopolitan," i remarked. "precisely so, on december 22nd, just five days ago. john horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady's jewel-case. the evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred to the assizes. i have some account of the matter here, i believe." he rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out, doubled it over, and read the following paragraph: "hotel cosmopolitan jewel robbery. john horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst. abstracted from the jewel-case of the countess of morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. james ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown horner up to the dressing-room of the countess of morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. he had remained with horner some little time, but had finally been called away. on returning, he found that horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. ryder instantly gave the alarm, and horner was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. catherine cusack, maid to the countess, deposed to having heard ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters as described by the last witness. inspector bradstreet, b division, gave evidence as to the arrest of horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the assizes. horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court." "hum! so much for the police-court," said holmes thoughtfully, tossing aside the paper. "the question for us now to solve is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of a goose in tottenham court road at the other. you see, watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. here is the stone; the stone came from the goose, and the goose came from mr. henry baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics with which i have bored you. so now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. to do this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. if this fail, i shall have recourse to other methods." "what will you say?" "give me a pencil and that slip of paper. now, then: 'found at the corner of goodge street, a goose and a black felt hat. mr. henry baker can have the same by applying at 6.30 this evening at 221b, baker street.' that is clear and concise." "very. but will he see it?" "well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor man, the loss was a heavy one. he was clearly so scared by his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird. then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. here you are, peterson, run down to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers." "in which, sir?" "oh, in the globe, star, pall mall, st. james's, evening news, standard, echo, and any others that occur to you." "very well, sir. and this stone?" "ah, yes, i shall keep the stone. thank you. and, i say, peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now devouring." when the commissionaire had gone, holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. "it's a bonny thing," said he. "just see how it glints and sparkles. of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. every good stone is. they are the devil's pet baits. in the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. this stone is not yet twenty years old. it was found in the banks of the amoy river in southern china and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. in spite of its youth, it has already a sinister history. there have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? i'll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the countess to say that we have it." "do you think that this man horner is innocent?" "i cannot tell." "well, then, do you imagine that this other one, henry baker, had anything to do with the matter?" "it is, i think, much more likely that henry baker is an absolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made of solid gold. that, however, i shall determine by a very simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement." "and you can do nothing until then?" "nothing." "in that case i shall continue my professional round. but i shall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for i should like to see the solution of so tangled a business." "very glad to see you. i dine at seven. there is a woodcock, i believe. by the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps i ought to ask mrs. hudson to examine its crop." i had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past six when i found myself in baker street once more. as i approached the house i saw a tall man in a scotch bonnet with a coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. just as i arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to holmes' room. "mr. henry baker, i believe," said he, rising from his armchair and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. "pray take this chair by the fire, mr. baker. it is a cold night, and i observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter. ah, watson, you have just come at the right time. is that your hat, mr. baker?" "yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat." he was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. a touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight tremor of his extended hand, recalled holmes' surmise as to his habits. his rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. he spoke in a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had ill-usage at the hands of fortune. "we have retained these things for some days," said holmes, "because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. i am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise." our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "shillings have not been so plentiful with me as they once were," he remarked. "i had no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the bird. i did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt at recovering them." "very naturally. by the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat it." "to eat it!" our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement. "yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so. but i presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well?" "oh, certainly, certainly," answered mr. baker with a sigh of relief. "of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your own bird, so if you wish--" the man burst into a hearty laugh. "they might be useful to me as relics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond that i can hardly see what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are going to be to me. no, sir, i think that, with your permission, i will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which i perceive upon the sideboard." sherlock holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "there is your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "by the way, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from? i am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and i have seldom seen a better grown goose." "certainly, sir," said baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gained property under his arm. "there are a few of us who frequent the alpha inn, near the museum--we are to be found in the museum itself during the day, you understand. this year our good host, windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which, on consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to receive a bird at christmas. my pence were duly paid, and the rest is familiar to you. i am much indebted to you, sir, for a scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity." with a comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off upon his way. "so much for mr. henry baker," said holmes when he had closed the door behind him. "it is quite certain that he knows nothing whatever about the matter. are you hungry, watson?" "not particularly." "then i suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this clue while it is still hot." "by all means." it was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats. outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots. our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter, wimpole street, harley street, and so through wigmore street into oxford street. in a quarter of an hour we were in bloomsbury at the alpha inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one of the streets which runs down into holborn. holmes pushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord. "your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese," said he. "my geese!" the man seemed surprised. "yes. i was speaking only half an hour ago to mr. henry baker, who was a member of your goose club." "ah! yes, i see. but you see, sir, them's not our geese." "indeed! whose, then?" "well, i got the two dozen from a salesman in covent garden." "indeed? i know some of them. which was it?" "breckinridge is his name." "ah! i don't know him. well, here's your good health landlord, and prosperity to your house. good-night." "now for mr. breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coat as we came out into the frosty air. "remember, watson that though we have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penal servitude unless we can establish his innocence. it is possible that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we have a line of investigation which has been missed by the police, and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. let us follow it out to the bitter end. faces to the south, then, and quick march!" we passed across holborn, down endell street, and so through a zigzag of slums to covent garden market. one of the largest stalls bore the name of breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor a horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to put up the shutters. "good-evening. it's a cold night," said holmes. the salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion. "sold out of geese, i see," continued holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble. "let you have five hundred to-morrow morning." "that's no good." "well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare." "ah, but i was recommended to you." "who by?" "the landlord of the alpha." "oh, yes; i sent him a couple of dozen." "fine birds they were, too. now where did you get them from?" to my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman. "now, then, mister," said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, "what are you driving at? let's have it straight, now." "it is straight enough. i should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the alpha." "well then, i shan't tell you. so now!" "oh, it is a matter of no importance; but i don't know why you should be so warm over such a trifle." "warm! you'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as i am. when i pay good money for a good article there should be an end of the business; but it's 'where are the geese?' and 'who did you sell the geese to?' and 'what will you take for the geese?' one would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss that is made over them." "well, i have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries," said holmes carelessly. "if you won't tell us the bet is off, that is all. but i'm always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fowls, and i have a fiver on it that the bird i ate is country bred." "well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred," snapped the salesman. "it's nothing of the kind." "i say it is." "i don't believe it." "d'you think you know more about fowls than i, who have handled them ever since i was a nipper? i tell you, all those birds that went to the alpha were town bred." "you'll never persuade me to believe that." "will you bet, then?" "it's merely taking your money, for i know that i am right. but i'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be obstinate." the salesman chuckled grimly. "bring me the books, bill," said he. the small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp. "now then, mr. cocksure," said the salesman, "i thought that i was out of geese, but before i finish you'll find that there is still one left in my shop. you see this little book?" "well?" "that's the list of the folk from whom i buy. d'you see? well, then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger. now, then! you see this other page in red ink? well, that is a list of my town suppliers. now, look at that third name. just read it out to me." "mrs. oakshott, 117, brixton road--249," read holmes. "quite so. now turn that up in the ledger." holmes turned to the page indicated. "here you are, 'mrs. oakshott, 117, brixton road, egg and poultry supplier.'" "now, then, what's the last entry?" "'december 22nd. twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.'" "quite so. there you are. and underneath?" "'sold to mr. windigate of the alpha, at 12s.'" "what have you to say now?" sherlock holmes looked deeply chagrined. he drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. a few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him. "when you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the 'pink 'un' protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet," said he. "i daresay that if i had put 100 down in front of him, that man would not have given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a wager. well, watson, we are, i fancy, nearing the end of our quest, and the only point which remains to be determined is whether we should go on to this mrs. oakshott to-night, or whether we should reserve it for to-morrow. it is clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxious about the matter, and i should--" his remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke out from the stall which we had just left. turning round we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure. "i've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "i wish you were all at the devil together. if you come pestering me any more with your silly talk i'll set the dog at you. you bring mrs. oakshott here and i'll answer her, but what have you to do with it? did i buy the geese off you?" "no; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the little man. "well, then, ask mrs. oakshott for it." "she told me to ask you." "well, you can ask the king of proosia, for all i care. i've had enough of it. get out of this!" he rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirer flitted away into the darkness. "ha! this may save us a visit to brixton road," whispered holmes. "come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this fellow." striding through the scattered knots of people who lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man and touched him upon the shoulder. he sprang round, and i could see in the gas-light that every vestige of colour had been driven from his face. "who are you, then? what do you want?" he asked in a quavering voice. "you will excuse me," said holmes blandly, "but i could not help overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now. i think that i could be of assistance to you." "you? who are you? how could you know anything of the matter?" "my name is sherlock holmes. it is my business to know what other people don't know." "but you can know nothing of this?" "excuse me, i know everything of it. you are endeavouring to trace some geese which were sold by mrs. oakshott, of brixton road, to a salesman named breckinridge, by him in turn to mr. windigate, of the alpha, and by him to his club, of which mr. henry baker is a member." "oh, sir, you are the very man whom i have longed to meet," cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. "i can hardly explain to you how interested i am in this matter." sherlock holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. "in that case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-swept market-place," said he. "but pray tell me, before we go farther, who it is that i have the pleasure of assisting." the man hesitated for an instant. "my name is john robinson," he answered with a sidelong glance. "no, no; the real name," said holmes sweetly. "it is always awkward doing business with an alias." a flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "well then," said he, "my real name is james ryder." "precisely so. head attendant at the hotel cosmopolitan. pray step into the cab, and i shall soon be able to tell you everything which you would wish to know." the little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. then he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in the sitting-room at baker street. nothing had been said during our drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous tension within him. "here we are!" said holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. "the fire looks very seasonable in this weather. you look cold, mr. ryder. pray take the basket-chair. i will just put on my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. now, then! you want to know what became of those geese?" "yes, sir." "or rather, i fancy, of that goose. it was one bird, i imagine in which you were interested--white, with a black bar across the tail." ryder quivered with emotion. "oh, sir," he cried, "can you tell me where it went to?" "it came here." "here?" "yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. i don't wonder that you should take an interest in it. it laid an egg after it was dead--the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen. i have it here in my museum." our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand. holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointed radiance. ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it. "the game's up, ryder," said holmes quietly. "hold up, man, or you'll be into the fire! give him an arm back into his chair, watson. he's not got blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. give him a dash of brandy. so! now he looks a little more human. what a shrimp it is, to be sure!" for a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring with frightened eyes at his accuser. "i have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which i could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case complete. you had heard, ryder, of this blue stone of the countess of morcar's?" "it was catherine cusack who told me of it," said he in a crackling voice. "i see--her ladyship's waiting-maid. well, the temptation of sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous in the means you used. it seems to me, ryder, that there is the making of a very pretty villain in you. you knew that this man horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him. what did you do, then? you made some small job in my lady's room--you and your confederate cusack--and you managed that he should be the man sent for. then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. you then--" ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. "for god's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "think of my father! of my mother! it would break their hearts. i never went wrong before! i never will again. i swear it. i'll swear it on a bible. oh, don't bring it into court! for christ's sake, don't!" "get back into your chair!" said holmes sternly. "it is very well to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing." "i will fly, mr. holmes. i will leave the country, sir. then the charge against him will break down." "hum! we will talk about that. and now let us hear a true account of the next act. how came the stone into the goose, and how came the goose into the open market? tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope of safety." ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "i will tell you it just as it happened, sir," said he. "when horner had been arrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for i did not know at what moment the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my room. there was no place about the hotel where it would be safe. i went out, as if on some commission, and i made for my sister's house. she had married a man named oakshott, and lived in brixton road, where she fattened fowls for the market. all the way there every man i met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective; and, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down my face before i came to the brixton road. my sister asked me what was the matter, and why i was so pale; but i told her that i had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. then i went into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would be best to do. "i had a friend once called maudsley, who went to the bad, and has just been serving his time in pentonville. one day he had met me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they could get rid of what they stole. i knew that he would be true to me, for i knew one or two things about him; so i made up my mind to go right on to kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my confidence. he would show me how to turn the stone into money. but how to get to him in safety? i thought of the agonies i had gone through in coming from the hotel. i might at any moment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat pocket. i was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head which showed me how i could beat the best detective that ever lived. "my sister had told me some weeks before that i might have the pick of her geese for a christmas present, and i knew that she was always as good as her word. i would take my goose now, and in it i would carry my stone to kilburn. there was a little shed in the yard, and behind this i drove one of the birds--a fine big one, white, with a barred tail. i caught it, and prying its bill open, i thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach. the bird gave a gulp, and i felt the stone pass along its gullet and down into its crop. but the creature flapped and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the matter. as i turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and fluttered off among the others. "'whatever were you doing with that bird, jem?' says she. "'well,' said i, 'you said you'd give me one for christmas, and i was feeling which was the fattest.' "'oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--jem's bird, we call it. it's the big white one over yonder. there's twenty-six of them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen for the market.' "'thank you, maggie,' says i; 'but if it is all the same to you, i'd rather have that one i was handling just now.' "'the other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we fattened it expressly for you.' "'never mind. i'll have the other, and i'll take it now,' said i. "'oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'which is it you want, then?' "'that white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.' "'oh, very well. kill it and take it with you.' "well, i did what she said, mr. holmes, and i carried the bird all the way to kilburn. i told my pal what i had done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. he laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. my heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and i knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. i left the bird, rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. there was not a bird to be seen there. "'where are they all, maggie?' i cried. "'gone to the dealer's, jem.' "'which dealer's?' "'breckinridge, of covent garden.' "'but was there another with a barred tail?' i asked, 'the same as the one i chose?' "'yes, jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and i could never tell them apart.' "well, then, of course i saw it all, and i ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this man breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. you heard him yourselves to-night. well, he has always answered me like that. my sister thinks that i am going mad. sometimes i think that i am myself. and now--and now i am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which i sold my character. god help me! god help me!" he burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands. there was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of sherlock holmes' finger-tips upon the edge of the table. then my friend rose and threw open the door. "get out!" said he. "what, sir! oh, heaven bless you!" "no more words. get out!" and no more words were needed. there was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street. "after all, watson," said holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, "i am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. if horner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. i suppose that i am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that i am saving a soul. this fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. send him to jail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life. besides, it is the season of forgiveness. chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. if you will have the goodness to touch the bell, doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief feature." the adventure of the speckled band on glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which i have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend sherlock holmes, i find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. of all these varied cases, however, i cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known surrey family of the roylotts of stoke moran. the events in question occurred in the early days of my association with holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in baker street. it is possible that i might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which i have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. it is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for i have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of dr. grimesby roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth. it was early in april in the year '83 that i woke one morning to find sherlock holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. he was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, i blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for i was myself regular in my habits. "very sorry to knock you up, watson," said he, "but it's the common lot this morning. mrs. hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and i on you." "what is it, then--a fire?" "no; a client. it seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. she is waiting now in the sitting-room. now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, i presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, i am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. i thought, at any rate, that i should call you and give you the chance." "my dear fellow, i would not miss it for anything." i had no keener pleasure than in following holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. i rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. a lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered. "good-morning, madam," said holmes cheerily. "my name is sherlock holmes. this is my intimate friend and associate, dr. watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. ha! i am glad to see that mrs. hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. pray draw up to it, and i shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for i observe that you are shivering." "it is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested. "what, then?" "it is fear, mr. holmes. it is terror." she raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. sherlock holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances. "you must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. "we shall soon set matters right, i have no doubt. you have come in by train this morning, i see." "you know me, then?" "no, but i observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. you must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station." the lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion. "there is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "the left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. the marks are perfectly fresh. there is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver." "whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said she. "i started from home before six, reached leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to waterloo. sir, i can stand this strain no longer; i shall go mad if it continues. i have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. i have heard of you, mr. holmes; i have heard of you from mrs. farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. it was from her that i had your address. oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? at present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks i shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful." holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he consulted. "farintosh," said he. "ah yes, i recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. i think it was before your time, watson. i can only say, madam, that i shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as i did to that of your friend. as to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses i may be put to, at the time which suits you best. and now i beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter." "alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of all others i have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that i tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. he does not say so, but i can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. but i have heard, mr. holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. you may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me." "i am all attention, madam." "my name is helen stoner, and i am living with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest saxon families in england, the roylotts of stoke moran, on the western border of surrey." holmes nodded his head. "the name is familiar to me," said he. "the family was at one time among the richest in england, and the estates extended over the borders into berkshire in the north, and hampshire in the west. in the last century, however, four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the regency. nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. the last squire dragged out his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to calcutta, where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. in a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. as it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to england a morose and disappointed man. "when dr. roylott was in india he married my mother, mrs. stoner, the young widow of major-general stoner, of the bengal artillery. my sister julia and i were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother's re-marriage. she had a considerable sum of money--not less than 1000 a year--and this she bequeathed to dr. roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. shortly after our return to england my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near crewe. dr. roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in london and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at stoke moran. the money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness. "but a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a roylott of stoke moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. violence of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather's case it had, i believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics. a series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger. "last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which i could gather together that i was able to avert another public exposure. he had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. he has a passion also for indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master. "you can imagine from what i say that my poor sister julia and i had no great pleasure in our lives. no servant would stay with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. she was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has." "your sister is dead, then?" "she died just two years ago, and it is of her death that i wish to speak to you. you can understand that, living the life which i have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. we had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister, miss honoria westphail, who lives near harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. julia went there at christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. my stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only companion." sherlock holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his visitor. "pray be precise as to details," said he. "it is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. the manor-house is, as i have already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. the bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the buildings. of these bedrooms the first is dr. roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third my own. there is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor. do i make myself plain?" "perfectly so." "the windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. that fatal night dr. roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. she left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. at eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back. "'tell me, helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?' "'never,' said i. "'i suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep?' "'certainly not. but why?' "'because during the last few nights i have always, about three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. i am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. i cannot tell where it came from--perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. i thought that i would just ask you whether you had heard it.' "'no, i have not. it must be those wretched gipsies in the plantation.' "'very likely. and yet if it were on the lawn, i wonder that you did not hear it also.' "'ah, but i sleep more heavily than you.' "'well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' she smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later i heard her key turn in the lock." "indeed," said holmes. "was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at night?" "always." "and why?" "i think that i mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. we had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked." "quite so. pray proceed with your statement." "i could not sleep that night. a vague feeling of impending misfortune impressed me. my sister and i, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely allied. it was a wild night. the wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows. suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. i knew that it was my sister's voice. i sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. as i opened my door i seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. as i ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges. i stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. by the light of the corridor-lamp i saw my sister appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. i ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. she writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. at first i thought that she had not recognised me, but as i bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which i shall never forget, 'oh, my god! helen! it was the band! the speckled band!' there was something else which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. i rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and i met him hastening from his room in his dressing-gown. when he reached my sister's side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister." "one moment," said holmes, "are you sure about this whistle and metallic sound? could you swear to it?" "that was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. it is my strong impression that i heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the creaking of an old house, i may possibly have been deceived." "was your sister dressed?" "no, she was in her night-dress. in her right hand was found the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box." "showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place. that is important. and what conclusions did the coroner come to?" "he investigated the case with great care, for dr. roylott's conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. my evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night. the walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. the chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. it is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end. besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her." "how about poison?" "the doctors examined her for it, but without success." "what do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?" "it is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was that frightened her i cannot imagine." "were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?" "yes, there are nearly always some there." "ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a speckled band?" "sometimes i have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. i do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she used." holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied. "these are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your narrative." "two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than ever. a month ago, however, a dear friend, whom i have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage. his name is armitage--percy armitage--the second son of mr. armitage, of crane water, near reading. my stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that i have had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as i lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, i suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death. i sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. i was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so i dressed, and as soon as it was daylight i slipped down, got a dog-cart at the crown inn, which is opposite, and drove to leatherhead, from whence i have come on this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice." "you have done wisely," said my friend. "but have you told me all?" "yes, all." "miss roylott, you have not. you are screening your stepfather." "why, what do you mean?" for answer holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist. "you have been cruelly used," said holmes. the lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. "he is a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength." there was a long silence, during which holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire. "this is a very deep business," he said at last. "there are a thousand details which i should desire to know before i decide upon our course of action. yet we have not a moment to lose. if we were to come to stoke moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?" "as it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important business. it is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. we have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and i could easily get her out of the way." "excellent. you are not averse to this trip, watson?" "by no means." "then we shall both come. what are you going to do yourself?" "i have one or two things which i would wish to do now that i am in town. but i shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to be there in time for your coming." "and you may expect us early in the afternoon. i have myself some small business matters to attend to. will you not wait and breakfast?" "no, i must go. my heart is lightened already since i have confided my trouble to you. i shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon." she dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room. "and what do you think of it all, watson?" asked sherlock holmes, leaning back in his chair. "it seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business." "dark enough and sinister enough." "yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end." "what becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?" "i cannot think." "when you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that miss helen stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place, i think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines." "but what, then, did the gipsies do?" "i cannot imagine." "i see many objections to any such theory." "and so do i. it is precisely for that reason that we are going to stoke moran this day. i want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. but what in the name of the devil!" the ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. his costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. so tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. a large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey. "which of you is holmes?" asked this apparition. "my name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my companion quietly. "i am dr. grimesby roylott, of stoke moran." "indeed, doctor," said holmes blandly. "pray take a seat." "i will do nothing of the kind. my stepdaughter has been here. i have traced her. what has she been saying to you?" "it is a little cold for the time of the year," said holmes. "what has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man furiously. "but i have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued my companion imperturbably. "ha! you put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. "i know you, you scoundrel! i have heard of you before. you are holmes, the meddler." my friend smiled. "holmes, the busybody!" his smile broadened. "holmes, the scotland yard jack-in-office!" holmes chuckled heartily. "your conversation is most entertaining," said he. "when you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught." "i will go when i have said my say. don't you dare to meddle with my affairs. i know that miss stoner has been here. i traced her! i am a dangerous man to fall foul of! see here." he stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands. "see that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room. "he seems a very amiable person," said holmes, laughing. "i am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained i might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own." as he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again. "fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! this incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and i only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. and now, watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards i shall walk down to doctors' commons, where i hope to get some data which may help us in this matter." it was nearly one o'clock when sherlock holmes returned from his excursion. he held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures. "i have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he. "to determine its exact meaning i have been obliged to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. the total income, which at the time of the wife's death was little short of 1100, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than 750. each daughter can claim an income of 250, in case of marriage. it is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. my morning's work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. and now, watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to waterloo. i should be very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. an eley's no. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. that and a tooth-brush are, i think, all that we need." at waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely surrey lanes. it was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. the trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. to me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. my companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows. "look there!" said he. a heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. from amid the branches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion. "stoke moran?" said he. "yes, sir, that be the house of dr. grimesby roylott," remarked the driver. "there is some building going on there," said holmes; "that is where we are going." "there's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; "but if you want to get to the house, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the fields. there it is, where the lady is walking." "and the lady, i fancy, is miss stoner," observed holmes, shading his eyes. "yes, i think we had better do as you suggest." we got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to leatherhead. "i thought it as well," said holmes as we climbed the stile, "that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. it may stop his gossip. good-afternoon, miss stoner. you see that we have been as good as our word." our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. "i have been waiting so eagerly for you," she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. "all has turned out splendidly. dr. roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening." "we have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance," said holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. miss stoner turned white to the lips as she listened. "good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then." "so it appears." "he is so cunning that i never know when i am safe from him. what will he say when he returns?" "he must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. you must lock yourself up from him to-night. if he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt's at harrow. now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine." the building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. in one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. the central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows. "this, i take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the main building to dr. roylott's chamber?" "exactly so. but i am now sleeping in the middle one." "pending the alterations, as i understand. by the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall." "there were none. i believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room." "ah! that is suggestive. now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. there are windows in it, of course?" "yes, but very small ones. too narrow for anyone to pass through." "as you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?" miss stoner did so, and holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. there was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. "hum!" said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, "my theory certainly presents some difficulties. no one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter." a small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which miss stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. it was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. a brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. these articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of wilton carpet in the centre. the boards round and the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of the house. holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment. "where does that bell communicate with?" he asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow. "it goes to the housekeeper's room." "it looks newer than the other things?" "yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago." "your sister asked for it, i suppose?" "no, i never heard of her using it. we used always to get what we wanted for ourselves." "indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. you will excuse me for a few minutes while i satisfy myself as to this floor." he threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug. "why, it's a dummy," said he. "won't it ring?" "no, it is not even attached to a wire. this is very interesting. you can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is." "how very absurd! i never noticed that before." "very strange!" muttered holmes, pulling at the rope. "there are one or two very singular points about this room. for example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!" "that is also quite modern," said the lady. "done about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarked holmes. "yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time." "they seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. with your permission, miss stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment." dr. grimesby roylott's chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. a camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye. holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest. "what's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe. "my stepfather's business papers." "oh! you have seen inside, then?" "only once, some years ago. i remember that it was full of papers." "there isn't a cat in it, for example?" "no. what a strange idea!" "well, look at this!" he took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it. "no; we don't keep a cat. but there is a cheetah and a baboon." "ah, yes, of course! well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, i daresay. there is one point which i should wish to determine." he squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention. "thank you. that is quite settled," said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. "hullo! here is something interesting!" the object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. the lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord. "what do you make of that, watson?" "it's a common enough lash. but i don't know why it should be tied." "that is not quite so common, is it? ah, me! it's a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. i think that i have seen enough now, miss stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn." i had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. we had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither miss stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie. "it is very essential, miss stoner," said he, "that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect." "i shall most certainly do so." "the matter is too serious for any hesitation. your life may depend upon your compliance." "i assure you that i am in your hands." "in the first place, both my friend and i must spend the night in your room." both miss stoner and i gazed at him in astonishment. "yes, it must be so. let me explain. i believe that that is the village inn over there?" "yes, that is the crown." "very good. your windows would be visible from there?" "certainly." "you must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when your stepfather comes back. then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. i have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night." "oh, yes, easily." "the rest you will leave in our hands." "but what will you do?" "we shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you." "i believe, mr. holmes, that you have already made up your mind," said miss stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's sleeve. "perhaps i have." "then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister's death." "i should prefer to have clearer proofs before i speak." "you can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from some sudden fright." "no, i do not think so. i think that there was probably some more tangible cause. and now, miss stoner, we must leave you for if dr. roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain. good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what i have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you." sherlock holmes and i had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the crown inn. they were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of stoke moran manor house. at dusk we saw dr. grimesby roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who drove him. the boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him. the trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms. "do you know, watson," said holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, "i have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. there is a distinct element of danger." "can i be of assistance?" "your presence might be invaluable." "then i shall certainly come." "it is very kind of you." "you speak of danger. you have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me." "no, but i fancy that i may have deduced a little more. i imagine that you saw all that i did." "i saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer i confess is more than i can imagine." "you saw the ventilator, too?" "yes, but i do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. it was so small that a rat could hardly pass through." "i knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to stoke moran." "my dear holmes!" "oh, yes, i did. you remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell dr. roylott's cigar. now, of course that suggested at once that there must be a communication between the two rooms. it could only be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. i deduced a ventilator." "but what harm can there be in that?" "well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. a ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. does not that strike you?" "i cannot as yet see any connection." "did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?" "no." "it was clamped to the floor. did you ever see a bed fastened like that before?" "i cannot say that i have." "the lady could not move her bed. it must always be in the same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope--or so we may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull." "holmes," i cried, "i seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. we are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime." "subtle enough and horrible enough. when a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. he has nerve and he has knowledge. palmer and pritchard were among the heads of their profession. this man strikes even deeper, but i think, watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. but we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful." about nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in the direction of the manor house. two hours passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us. "that is our signal," said holmes, springing to his feet; "it comes from the middle window." as we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. a moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand. there was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness. "my god!" i whispered; "did you see it?" holmes was for the moment as startled as i. his hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear. "it is a nice household," he murmured. "that is the baboon." i had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. there was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. i confess that i felt easier in my mind when, after following holmes' example and slipping off my shoes, i found myself inside the bedroom. my companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. all was as we had seen it in the daytime. then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that i could do to distinguish the words: "the least sound would be fatal to our plans." i nodded to show that i had heard. "we must sit without light. he would see it through the ventilator." i nodded again. "do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. have your pistol ready in case we should need it. i will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair." i took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table. holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. by it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness. how shall i ever forget that dreadful vigil? i could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet i knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which i was myself. the shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness. from outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. how long they seemed, those quarters! twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall. suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. i heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. for half an hour i sat with straining ears. then suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. the instant that we heard it, holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull. "you see it, watson?" he yelled. "you see it?" but i saw nothing. at the moment when holmes struck the light i heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. i could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. he had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which i have ever listened. it swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. they say that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. it struck cold to our hearts, and i stood gazing at holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose. "what can it mean?" i gasped. "it means that it is all over," holmes answered. "and perhaps, after all, it is for the best. take your pistol, and we will enter dr. roylott's room." with a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. then he turned the handle and entered, i at his heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand. it was a singular sight which met our eyes. on the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat dr. grimesby roylott clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless turkish slippers. across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. his chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. as we entered he made neither sound nor motion. "the band! the speckled band!" whispered holmes. i took a step forward. in an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent. "it is a swamp adder!" cried holmes; "the deadliest snake in india. he has died within ten seconds of being bitten. violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove miss stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has happened." as he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it. such are the true facts of the death of dr. grimesby roylott, of stoke moran. it is not necessary that i should prolong a narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. the little which i had yet to learn of the case was told me by sherlock holmes as we travelled back next day. "i had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data. the presence of the gipsies, and the use of the word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. i can only claim the merit that i instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the door. my attention was speedily drawn, as i have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. the discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the bed. the idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when i coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from india, i felt that i was probably on the right track. the idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an eastern training. the rapidity with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be an advantage. it would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done their work. then i thought of the whistle. of course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. he had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned. he would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. it might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim. "i had come to these conclusions before ever i had entered his room. an inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. the sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. the metallic clang heard by miss stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. having once made up my mind, you know the steps which i took in order to put the matter to the proof. i heard the creature hiss as i have no doubt that you did also, and i instantly lit the light and attacked it." "with the result of driving it through the ventilator." "and also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side. some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. in this way i am no doubt indirectly responsible for dr. grimesby roylott's death, and i cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience." the adventure of the engineer's thumb of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, mr. sherlock holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy, there were only two which i was the means of introducing to his notice--that of mr. hatherley's thumb, and that of colonel warburton's madness. of these the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. the story has, i believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but, like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads on to the complete truth. at the time the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served to weaken the effect. it was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, that the events occurred which i am now about to summarise. i had returned to civil practice and had finally abandoned holmes in his baker street rooms, although i continually visited him and occasionally even persuaded him to forgo his bohemian habits so far as to come and visit us. my practice had steadily increased, and as i happened to live at no very great distance from paddington station, i got a few patients from among the officials. one of these, whom i had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence. one morning, at a little before seven o'clock, i was awakened by the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come from paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. i dressed hurriedly, for i knew by experience that railway cases were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. as i descended, my old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behind him. "i've got him here," he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder; "he's all right." "what is it, then?" i asked, for his manner suggested that it was some strange creature which he had caged up in my room. "it's a new patient," he whispered. "i thought i'd bring him round myself; then he couldn't slip away. there he is, all safe and sound. i must go now, doctor; i have my dooties, just the same as you." and off he went, this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him. i entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the table. he was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. round one of his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all over with bloodstains. he was young, not more than five-and-twenty, i should say, with a strong, masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his strength of mind to control. "i am sorry to knock you up so early, doctor," said he, "but i have had a very serious accident during the night. i came in by train this morning, and on inquiring at paddington as to where i might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. i gave the maid a card, but i see that she has left it upon the side-table." i took it up and glanced at it. "mr. victor hatherley, hydraulic engineer, 16a, victoria street (3rd floor)." that was the name, style, and abode of my morning visitor. "i regret that i have kept you waiting," said i, sitting down in my library-chair. "you are fresh from a night journey, i understand, which is in itself a monotonous occupation." "oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, and laughed. he laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. all my medical instincts rose up against that laugh. "stop it!" i cried; "pull yourself together!" and i poured out some water from a caraffe. it was useless, however. he was off in one of those hysterical outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone. presently he came to himself once more, very weary and pale-looking. "i have been making a fool of myself," he gasped. "not at all. drink this." i dashed some brandy into the water, and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks. "that's better!" said he. "and now, doctor, perhaps you would kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be." he unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. it gave even my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. there were four protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have been. it had been hacked or torn right out from the roots. "good heavens!" i cried, "this is a terrible injury. it must have bled considerably." "yes, it did. i fainted when it was done, and i think that i must have been senseless for a long time. when i came to i found that it was still bleeding, so i tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig." "excellent! you should have been a surgeon." "it is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own province." "this has been done," said i, examining the wound, "by a very heavy and sharp instrument." "a thing like a cleaver," said he. "an accident, i presume?" "by no means." "what! a murderous attack?" "very murderous indeed." "you horrify me." i sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered it over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. he lay back without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time. "how is that?" i asked when i had finished. "capital! between your brandy and your bandage, i feel a new man. i was very weak, but i have had a good deal to go through." "perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. it is evidently trying to your nerves." "oh, no, not now. i shall have to tell my tale to the police; but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound of mine, i should be surprised if they believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and i have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and, even if they believe me, the clues which i can give them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will be done." "ha!" cried i, "if it is anything in the nature of a problem which you desire to see solved, i should strongly recommend you to come to my friend, mr. sherlock holmes, before you go to the official police." "oh, i have heard of that fellow," answered my visitor, "and i should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course i must use the official police as well. would you give me an introduction to him?" "i'll do better. i'll take you round to him myself." "i should be immensely obliged to you." "we'll call a cab and go together. we shall just be in time to have a little breakfast with him. do you feel equal to it?" "yes; i shall not feel easy until i have told my story." "then my servant will call a cab, and i shall be with you in an instant." i rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my new acquaintance to baker street. sherlock holmes was, as i expected, lounging about his sitting-room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of the times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantelpiece. he received us in his quietly genial fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal. when it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy and water within his reach. "it is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, mr. hatherley," said he. "pray, lie down there and make yourself absolutely at home. tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant." "thank you," said my patient. "but i have felt another man since the doctor bandaged me, and i think that your breakfast has completed the cure. i shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so i shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences." holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while i sat opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor detailed to us. "you must know," said he, "that i am an orphan and a bachelor, residing alone in lodgings in london. by profession i am a hydraulic engineer, and i have had considerable experience of my work during the seven years that i was apprenticed to venner & matheson, the well-known firm, of greenwich. two years ago, having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of money through my poor father's death, i determined to start in business for myself and took professional chambers in victoria street. "i suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business a dreary experience. to me it has been exceptionally so. during two years i have had three consultations and one small job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought me. my gross takings amount to 27 10s. every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, i waited in my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and i came to believe that i should never have any practice at all. "yesterday, however, just as i was thinking of leaving the office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see me upon business. he brought up a card, too, with the name of 'colonel lysander stark' engraved upon it. close at his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. i do not think that i have ever seen so thin a man. his whole face sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over his outstanding bones. yet this emaciation seemed to be his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk, and his bearing assured. he was plainly but neatly dressed, and his age, i should judge, would be nearer forty than thirty. "'mr. hatherley?' said he, with something of a german accent. 'you have been recommended to me, mr. hatherley, as being a man who is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable of preserving a secret.' "i bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an address. 'may i ask who it was who gave me so good a character?' "'well, perhaps it is better that i should not tell you that just at this moment. i have it from the same source that you are both an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in london.' "'that is quite correct,' i answered; 'but you will excuse me if i say that i cannot see how all this bears upon my professional qualifications. i understand that it was on a professional matter that you wished to speak to me?' "'undoubtedly so. but you will find that all i say is really to the point. i have a professional commission for you, but absolute secrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the bosom of his family.' "'if i promise to keep a secret,' said i, 'you may absolutely depend upon my doing so.' "he looked very hard at me as i spoke, and it seemed to me that i had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye. "'do you promise, then?' said he at last. "'yes, i promise.' "'absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? no reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?' "'i have already given you my word.' "'very good.' he suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across the room he flung open the door. the passage outside was empty. "'that's all right,' said he, coming back. 'i know that clerks are sometimes curious as to their master's affairs. now we can talk in safety.' he drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look. "a feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from showing my impatience. "'i beg that you will state your business, sir,' said i; 'my time is of value.' heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came to my lips. "'how would fifty guineas for a night's work suit you?' he asked. "'most admirably.' "'i say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the mark. i simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which has got out of gear. if you show us what is wrong we shall soon set it right ourselves. what do you think of such a commission as that?' "'the work appears to be light and the pay munificent.' "'precisely so. we shall want you to come to-night by the last train.' "'where to?' "'to eyford, in berkshire. it is a little place near the borders of oxfordshire, and within seven miles of reading. there is a train from paddington which would bring you there at about 11.15.' "'very good.' "'i shall come down in a carriage to meet you.' "'there is a drive, then?' "'yes, our little place is quite out in the country. it is a good seven miles from eyford station.' "'then we can hardly get there before midnight. i suppose there would be no chance of a train back. i should be compelled to stop the night.' "'yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.' "'that is very awkward. could i not come at some more convenient hour?' "'we have judged it best that you should come late. it is to recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of your profession. still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do so.' "i thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they would be to me. 'not at all,' said i, 'i shall be very happy to accommodate myself to your wishes. i should like, however, to understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to do.' "'quite so. it is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. i have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. i suppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?' "'entirely.' "'then the matter stands thus. you are probably aware that fuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in england?' "'i have heard so.' "'some little time ago i bought a small place--a very small place--within ten miles of reading. i was fortunate enough to discover that there was a deposit of fuller's-earth in one of my fields. on examining it, however, i found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two very much larger ones upon the right and left--both of them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours. these good people were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was quite as valuable as a gold-mine. naturally, it was to my interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value, but unfortunately i had no capital by which i could do this. i took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little deposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. this we have now been doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we erected a hydraulic press. this press, as i have already explained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the subject. we guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these fields and carrying out our plans. that is why i have made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are going to eyford to-night. i hope that i make it all plain?' "'i quite follow you,' said i. 'the only point which i could not quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in excavating fuller's-earth, which, as i understand, is dug out like gravel from a pit.' "'ah!' said he carelessly, 'we have our own process. we compress the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they are. but that is a mere detail. i have taken you fully into my confidence now, mr. hatherley, and i have shown you how i trust you.' he rose as he spoke. 'i shall expect you, then, at eyford at 11.15.' "'i shall certainly be there.' "'and not a word to a soul.' he looked at me with a last long, questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp, he hurried from the room. "well, when i came to think it all over in cool blood i was very much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which had been intrusted to me. on the one hand, of course, i was glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what i should have asked had i set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that this order might lead to other ones. on the other hand, the face and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon me, and i could not think that his explanation of the fuller's-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest i should tell anyone of my errand. however, i threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper, drove to paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue. "at reading i had to change not only my carriage but my station. however, i was in time for the last train to eyford, and i reached the little dim-lit station after eleven o'clock. i was the only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the platform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. as i passed out through the wicket gate, however, i found my acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. without a word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door of which was standing open. he drew up the windows on either side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horse could go." "one horse?" interjected holmes. "yes, only one." "did you observe the colour?" "yes, i saw it by the side-lights when i was stepping into the carriage. it was a chestnut." "tired-looking or fresh?" "oh, fresh and glossy." "thank you. i am sorry to have interrupted you. pray continue your most interesting statement." "away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. colonel lysander stark had said that it was only seven miles, but i should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. he sat at my side in silence all the time, and i was aware, more than once when i glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me with great intensity. the country roads seem to be not very good in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. i tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we were, but they were made of frosted glass, and i could make out nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. now and then i hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. at last, however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to a stand. colonel lysander stark sprang out, and, as i followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us. we stepped, as it were, right out of the carriage and into the hall, so that i failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front of the house. the instant that i had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us, and i heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away. "it was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled about looking for matches and muttering under his breath. suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a long, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. it grew broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us. i could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the light shone upon her dark dress i knew that it was a rich material. she spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. colonel stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the lamp in his hand. "'perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few minutes,' said he, throwing open another door. it was a quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre, on which several german books were scattered. colonel stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the door. 'i shall not keep you waiting an instant,' said he, and vanished into the darkness. "i glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of german i could see that two of them were treatises on science, the others being volumes of poetry. then i walked across to the window, hoping that i might catch some glimpse of the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it. it was a wonderfully silent house. there was an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise everything was deadly still. a vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal over me. who were these german people, and what were they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? and where was the place? i was ten miles or so from eyford, that was all i knew, but whether north, south, east, or west i had no idea. for that matter, reading, and possibly other large towns, were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded, after all. yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness, that we were in the country. i paced up and down the room, humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling that i was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee. "suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. the woman was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. i could see at a glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. she held up one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few whispered words of broken english at me, her eyes glancing back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her. "'i would go,' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to speak calmly; 'i would go. i should not stay here. there is no good for you to do.' "'but, madam,' said i, 'i have not yet done what i came for. i cannot possibly leave until i have seen the machine.' "'it is not worth your while to wait,' she went on. 'you can pass through the door; no one hinders.' and then, seeing that i smiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step forward, with her hands wrung together. 'for the love of heaven!' she whispered, 'get away from here before it is too late!' "but i am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. i thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. was it all to go for nothing? why should i slink away without having carried out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? this woman might, for all i knew, be a monomaniac. with a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than i cared to confess, i still shook my head and declared my intention of remaining where i was. she was about to renew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps was heard upon the stairs. she listened for an instant, threw up her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly as she had come. "the newcomers were colonel lysander stark and a short thick man with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, who was introduced to me as mr. ferguson. "'this is my secretary and manager,' said the colonel. 'by the way, i was under the impression that i left this door shut just now. i fear that you have felt the draught.' "'on the contrary,' said i, 'i opened the door myself because i felt the room to be a little close.' "he shot one of his suspicious looks at me. 'perhaps we had better proceed to business, then,' said he. 'mr. ferguson and i will take you up to see the machine.' "'i had better put my hat on, i suppose.' "'oh, no, it is in the house.' "'what, you dig fuller's-earth in the house?' "'no, no. this is only where we compress it. but never mind that. all we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what is wrong with it.' "we went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat manager and i behind him. it was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed them. there were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. i tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but i had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though i disregarded them, and i kept a keen eye upon my two companions. ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but i could see from the little that he said that he was at least a fellow-countryman. "colonel lysander stark stopped at last before a low door, which he unlocked. within was a small, square room, in which the three of us could hardly get at one time. ferguson remained outside, and the colonel ushered me in. "'we are now,' said he, 'actually within the hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn it on. the ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metal floor. there are small lateral columns of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. the machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. perhaps you will have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set it right.' "i took the lamp from him, and i examined the machine very thoroughly. it was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous pressure. when i passed outside, however, and pressed down the levers which controlled it, i knew at once by the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. an examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to fill the socket along which it worked. this was clearly the cause of the loss of power, and i pointed it out to my companions, who followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. when i had made it clear to them, i returned to the main chamber of the machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity. it was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller's-earth was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a purpose. the walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough, and when i came to examine it i could see a crust of metallic deposit all over it. i had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly what it was when i heard a muttered exclamation in german and saw the cadaverous face of the colonel looking down at me. "'what are you doing there?' he asked. "i felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that which he had told me. 'i was admiring your fuller's-earth,' said i; 'i think that i should be better able to advise you as to your machine if i knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used.' "the instant that i uttered the words i regretted the rashness of my speech. his face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes. "'very well,' said he, 'you shall know all about the machine.' he took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. i rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and shoves. 'hullo!' i yelled. 'hullo! colonel! let me out!' "and then suddenly in the silence i heard a sound which sent my heart into my mouth. it was the clank of the levers and the swish of the leaking cylinder. he had set the engine at work. the lamp still stood upon the floor where i had placed it when examining the trough. by its light i saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp. i threw myself, screaming, against the door, and dragged with my nails at the lock. i implored the colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. the ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand upraised i could feel its hard, rough surface. then it flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend very much upon the position in which i met it. if i lay on my face the weight would come upon my spine, and i shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. easier the other way, perhaps; and yet, had i the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black shadow wavering down upon me? already i was unable to stand erect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope back to my heart. "i have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls were of wood. as i gave a last hurried glance around, i saw a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. for an instant i could hardly believe that here was indeed a door which led away from death. the next instant i threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. the panel had closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had been my escape. "i was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and i found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held a candle in her right. it was the same good friend whose warning i had so foolishly rejected. "'come! come!' she cried breathlessly. 'they will be here in a moment. they will see that you are not there. oh, do not waste the so-precious time, but come!' "this time, at least, i did not scorn her advice. i staggered to my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding stair. the latter led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we were and from the one beneath. my guide stopped and looked about her like one who is at her wit's end. then she threw open a door which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon was shining brightly. "'it is your only chance,' said she. 'it is high, but it may be that you can jump it.' "as she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the passage, and i saw the lean figure of colonel lysander stark rushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a butcher's cleaver in the other. i rushed across the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked out. how quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be more than thirty feet down. i clambered out upon the sill, but i hesitated to jump until i should have heard what passed between my saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. if she were ill-used, then at any risks i was determined to go back to her assistance. the thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried to hold him back. "'fritz! fritz!' she cried in english, 'remember your promise after the last time. you said it should not be again. he will be silent! oh, he will be silent!' "'you are mad, elise!' he shouted, struggling to break away from her. 'you will be the ruin of us. he has seen too much. let me pass, i say!' he dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. i had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. i was conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and i fell into the garden below. "i was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so i picked myself up and rushed off among the bushes as hard as i could run, for i understood that i was far from being out of danger yet. suddenly, however, as i ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me. i glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. i endeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my ears, and next moment i fell in a dead faint among the rose-bushes. "how long i remained unconscious i cannot tell. it must have been a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was breaking when i came to myself. my clothes were all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. the smarting of it recalled in an instant all the particulars of my night's adventure, and i sprang to my feet with the feeling that i might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. but to my astonishment, when i came to look round me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. i had been lying in an angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the very station at which i had arrived upon the previous night. were it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream. "half dazed, i went into the station and asked about the morning train. there would be one to reading in less than an hour. the same porter was on duty, i found, as had been there when i arrived. i inquired of him whether he had ever heard of colonel lysander stark. the name was strange to him. had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for me? no, he had not. was there a police-station anywhere near? there was one about three miles off. "it was too far for me to go, weak and ill as i was. i determined to wait until i got back to town before telling my story to the police. it was a little past six when i arrived, so i went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. i put the case into your hands and shall do exactly what you advise." we both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. then sherlock holmes pulled down from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his cuttings. "here is an advertisement which will interest you," said he. "it appeared in all the papers about a year ago. listen to this: "'lost, on the 9th inst., mr. jeremiah hayling, aged twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. left his lodgings at ten o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. was dressed in--' etc., etc. ha! that represents the last time that the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, i fancy." "good heavens!" cried my patient. "then that explains what the girl said." "undoubtedly. it is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. well, every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down to scotland yard at once as a preliminary to starting for eyford." some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together, bound from reading to the little berkshire village. there were sherlock holmes, the hydraulic engineer, inspector bradstreet, of scotland yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself. bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with eyford for its centre. "there you are," said he. "that circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles from the village. the place we want must be somewhere near that line. you said ten miles, i think, sir." "it was an hour's good drive." "and you think that they brought you back all that way when you were unconscious?" "they must have done so. i have a confused memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed somewhere." "what i cannot understand," said i, "is why they should have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden. perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's entreaties." "i hardly think that likely. i never saw a more inexorable face in my life." "oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said bradstreet. "well, i have drawn my circle, and i only wish i knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found." "i think i could lay my finger on it," said holmes quietly. "really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your opinion! come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. i say it is south, for the country is more deserted there." "and i say east," said my patient. "i am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "there are several quiet little villages up there." "and i am for north," said i, "because there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any." "come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty diversity of opinion. we have boxed the compass among us. who do you give your casting vote to?" "you are all wrong." "but we can't all be." "oh, yes, you can. this is my point." he placed his finger in the centre of the circle. "this is where we shall find them." "but the twelve-mile drive?" gasped hatherley. "six out and six back. nothing simpler. you say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. how could it be that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?" "indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed bradstreet thoughtfully. "of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang." "none at all," said holmes. "they are coiners on a large scale, and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver." "we have known for some time that a clever gang was at work," said the inspector. "they have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. we even traced them as far as reading, but could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old hands. but now, thanks to this lucky chance, i think that we have got them right enough." but the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined to fall into the hands of justice. as we rolled into eyford station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape. "a house on fire?" asked bradstreet as the train steamed off again on its way. "yes, sir!" said the station-master. "when did it break out?" "i hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and the whole place is in a blaze." "whose house is it?" "dr. becher's." "tell me," broke in the engineer, "is dr. becher a german, very thin, with a long, sharp nose?" the station-master laughed heartily. "no, sir, dr. becher is an englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a better-lined waistcoat. but he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as i understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good berkshire beef would do him no harm." the station-master had not finished his speech before we were all hastening in the direction of the fire. the road topped a low hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under. "that's it!" cried hatherley, in intense excitement. "there is the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where i lay. that second window is the one that i jumped from." "well, at least," said holmes, "you have had your revenge upon them. there can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time. now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though i very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now." and holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister german, or the morose englishman. early that morning a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of reading, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even holmes' ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts. the firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. about sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred to. how our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. he had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. on the whole, it was most probable that the silent englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out of the way of danger. "well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once more to london, "it has been a pretty business for me! i have lost my thumb and i have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have i gained?" "experience," said holmes, laughing. "indirectly it may be of value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence." the adventure of the noble bachelor the lord st. simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old drama. as i have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend sherlock holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, i feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode. it was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when i was still sharing rooms with holmes in baker street, that he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. i had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the jezail bullet which i had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. with my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, i had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, i tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be. "here is a very fashionable epistle," i remarked as he entered. "your morning letters, if i remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tide-waiter." "yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," he answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more interesting. this looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie." he broke the seal and glanced over the contents. "oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all." "not social, then?" "no, distinctly professional." "and from a noble client?" "one of the highest in england." "my dear fellow, i congratulate you." "i assure you, watson, without affectation, that the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. it is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation. you have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not?" "it looks like it," said i ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the corner. "i have had nothing else to do." "it is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. i read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. the latter is always instructive. but if you have followed recent events so closely you must have read about lord st. simon and his wedding?" "oh, yes, with the deepest interest." "that is well. the letter which i hold in my hand is from lord st. simon. i will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. this is what he says: "'my dear mr. sherlock holmes: "'lord backwater tells me that i may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. i have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. mr. lestrade, of scotland yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that it might be of some assistance. i will call at four o'clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time, i hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance. "'yours faithfully, "'st. simon.' "it is dated from grosvenor mansions, written with a quill pen, and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of his right little finger," remarked holmes as he folded up the epistle. "he says four o'clock. it is three now. he will be here in an hour." "then i have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the subject. turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of time, while i take a glance as to who our client is." he picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece. "here he is," said he, sitting down and flattening it out upon his knee. "'lord robert walsingham de vere st. simon, second son of the duke of balmoral.' hum! 'arms: azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. born in 1846.' he's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. was under-secretary for the colonies in a late administration. the duke, his father, was at one time secretary for foreign affairs. they inherit plantagenet blood by direct descent, and tudor on the distaff side. ha! well, there is nothing very instructive in all this. i think that i must turn to you watson, for something more solid." "i have very little difficulty in finding what i want," said i, "for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. i feared to refer them to you, however, as i knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters." "oh, you mean the little problem of the grosvenor square furniture van. that is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it was obvious from the first. pray give me the results of your newspaper selections." "here is the first notice which i can find. it is in the personal column of the morning post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back: "'a marriage has been arranged [it says] and will, if rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between lord robert st. simon, second son of the duke of balmoral, and miss hatty doran, the only daughter of aloysius doran. esq., of san francisco, cal., u.s.a.' that is all." "terse and to the point," remarked holmes, stretching his long, thin legs towards the fire. "there was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the same week. ah, here it is: "'there will soon be a call for protection in the marriage market, for the present free-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. one by one the management of the noble houses of great britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across the atlantic. an important addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by these charming invaders. lord st. simon, who has shown himself for over twenty years proof against the little god's arrows, has now definitely announced his approaching marriage with miss hatty doran, the fascinating daughter of a california millionaire. miss doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at the westbury house festivities, is an only child, and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. as it is an open secret that the duke of balmoral has been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years, and as lord st. simon has no property of his own save the small estate of birchmoor, it is obvious that the californian heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to make the easy and common transition from a republican lady to a british peeress.'" "anything else?" asked holmes, yawning. "oh, yes; plenty. then there is another note in the morning post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at st. george's, hanover square, that only half a dozen intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house at lancaster gate which has been taken by mr. aloysius doran. two days later--that is, on wednesday last--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at lord backwater's place, near petersfield. those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride." "before the what?" asked holmes with a start. "the vanishing of the lady." "when did she vanish, then?" "at the wedding breakfast." "indeed. this is more interesting than it promised to be; quite dramatic, in fact." "yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common." "they often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon; but i cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this. pray let me have the details." "i warn you that they are very incomplete." "perhaps we may make them less so." "such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which i will read to you. it is headed, 'singular occurrence at a fashionable wedding': "'the family of lord robert st. simon has been thrown into the greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken place in connection with his wedding. the ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently floating about. in spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation. "'the ceremony, which was performed at st. george's, hanover square, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the father of the bride, mr. aloysius doran, the duchess of balmoral, lord backwater, lord eustace and lady clara st. simon (the younger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and lady alicia whittington. the whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of mr. aloysius doran, at lancaster gate, where breakfast had been prepared. it appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging that she had some claim upon lord st. simon. it was only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler and the footman. the bride, who had fortunately entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room. her prolonged absence having caused some comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. one of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress, believing her to be with the company. on ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, mr. aloysius doran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business. up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. there are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the bride.'" "and is that all?" "only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a suggestive one." "and it is--" "that miss flora millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has actually been arrested. it appears that she was formerly a danseuse at the allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years. there are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now--so far as it has been set forth in the public press." "and an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. i would not have missed it for worlds. but there is a ring at the bell, watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, i have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. do not dream of going, watson, for i very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory." "lord robert st. simon," announced our page-boy, throwing open the door. a gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. his manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. his hair, too, as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top. as to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. he advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses. "good-day, lord st. simon," said holmes, rising and bowing. "pray take the basket-chair. this is my friend and colleague, dr. watson. draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over." "a most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, mr. holmes. i have been cut to the quick. i understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though i presume that they were hardly from the same class of society." "no, i am descending." "i beg pardon." "my last client of the sort was a king." "oh, really! i had no idea. and which king?" "the king of scandinavia." "what! had he lost his wife?" "you can understand," said holmes suavely, "that i extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which i promise to you in yours." "of course! very right! very right! i'm sure i beg pardon. as to my own case, i am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion." "thank you. i have already learned all that is in the public prints, nothing more. i presume that i may take it as correct--this article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride." lord st. simon glanced over it. "yes, it is correct, as far as it goes." "but it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an opinion. i think that i may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you." "pray do so." "when did you first meet miss hatty doran?" "in san francisco, a year ago." "you were travelling in the states?" "yes." "did you become engaged then?" "no." "but you were on a friendly footing?" "i was amused by her society, and she could see that i was amused." "her father is very rich?" "he is said to be the richest man on the pacific slope." "and how did he make his money?" "in mining. he had nothing a few years ago. then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds." "now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--your wife's character?" the nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the fire. "you see, mr. holmes," said he, "my wife was twenty before her father became a rich man. during that time she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has come from nature rather than from the schoolmaster. she is what we call in england a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions. she is impetuous--volcanic, i was about to say. she is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions. on the other hand, i would not have given her the name which i have the honour to bear"--he gave a little stately cough--"had not i thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. i believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her." "have you her photograph?" "i brought this with me." he opened a locket and showed us the full face of a very lovely woman. it was not a photograph but an ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. then he closed the locket and handed it back to lord st. simon. "the young lady came to london, then, and you renewed your acquaintance?" "yes, her father brought her over for this last london season. i met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her." "she brought, i understand, a considerable dowry?" "a fair dowry. not more than is usual in my family." "and this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a fait accompli?" "i really have made no inquiries on the subject." "very naturally not. did you see miss doran on the day before the wedding?" "yes." "was she in good spirits?" "never better. she kept talking of what we should do in our future lives." "indeed! that is very interesting. and on the morning of the wedding?" "she was as bright as possible--at least until after the ceremony." "and did you observe any change in her then?" "well, to tell the truth, i saw then the first signs that i had ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. the incident however, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case." "pray let us have it, for all that." "oh, it is childish. she dropped her bouquet as we went towards the vestry. she was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into the pew. there was a moment's delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worse for the fall. yet when i spoke to her of the matter, she answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause." "indeed! you say that there was a gentleman in the pew. some of the general public were present, then?" "oh, yes. it is impossible to exclude them when the church is open." "this gentleman was not one of your wife's friends?" "no, no; i call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking person. i hardly noticed his appearance. but really i think that we are wandering rather far from the point." "lady st. simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. what did she do on re-entering her father's house?" "i saw her in conversation with her maid." "and who is her maid?" "alice is her name. she is an american and came from california with her." "a confidential servant?" "a little too much so. it seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to take great liberties. still, of course, in america they look upon these things in a different way." "how long did she speak to this alice?" "oh, a few minutes. i had something else to think of." "you did not overhear what they said?" "lady st. simon said something about 'jumping a claim.' she was accustomed to use slang of the kind. i have no idea what she meant." "american slang is very expressive sometimes. and what did your wife do when she finished speaking to her maid?" "she walked into the breakfast-room." "on your arm?" "no, alone. she was very independent in little matters like that. then, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. she never came back." "but this maid, alice, as i understand, deposes that she went to her room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went out." "quite so. and she was afterwards seen walking into hyde park in company with flora millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who had already made a disturbance at mr. doran's house that morning." "ah, yes. i should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and your relations to her." lord st. simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. "we have been on a friendly footing for some years--i may say on a very friendly footing. she used to be at the allegro. i have not treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but you know what women are, mr. holmes. flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. she wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that i was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the reason why i had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that i feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. she came to mr. doran's door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her, but i had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and i had two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon pushed her out again. she was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a row." "did your wife hear all this?" "no, thank goodness, she did not." "and she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?" "yes. that is what mr. lestrade, of scotland yard, looks upon as so serious. it is thought that flora decoyed my wife out and laid some terrible trap for her." "well, it is a possible supposition." "you think so, too?" "i did not say a probable one. but you do not yourself look upon this as likely?" "i do not think flora would hurt a fly." "still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. pray what is your own theory as to what took place?" "well, really, i came to seek a theory, not to propound one. i have given you all the facts. since you ask me, however, i may say that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife." "in short, that she had become suddenly deranged?" "well, really, when i consider that she has turned her back--i will not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without success--i can hardly explain it in any other fashion." "well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis," said holmes, smiling. "and now, lord st. simon, i think that i have nearly all my data. may i ask whether you were seated at the breakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?" "we could see the other side of the road and the park." "quite so. then i do not think that i need to detain you longer. i shall communicate with you." "should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem," said our client, rising. "i have solved it." "eh? what was that?" "i say that i have solved it." "where, then, is my wife?" "that is a detail which i shall speedily supply." lord st. simon shook his head. "i am afraid that it will take wiser heads than yours or mine," he remarked, and bowing in a stately, old-fashioned manner he departed. "it is very good of lord st. simon to honour my head by putting it on a level with his own," said sherlock holmes, laughing. "i think that i shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this cross-questioning. i had formed my conclusions as to the case before our client came into the room." "my dear holmes!" "i have notes of several similar cases, though none, as i remarked before, which were quite as prompt. my whole examination served to turn my conjecture into a certainty. circumstantial evidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote thoreau's example." "but i have heard all that you have heard." "without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which serves me so well. there was a parallel instance in aberdeen some years back, and something on very much the same lines at munich the year after the franco-prussian war. it is one of these cases--but, hullo, here is lestrade! good-afternoon, lestrade! you will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box." the official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag in his hand. with a short greeting he seated himself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him. "what's up, then?" asked holmes with a twinkle in his eye. "you look dissatisfied." "and i feel dissatisfied. it is this infernal st. simon marriage case. i can make neither head nor tail of the business." "really! you surprise me." "who ever heard of such a mixed affair? every clue seems to slip through my fingers. i have been at work upon it all day." "and very wet it seems to have made you," said holmes laying his hand upon the arm of the pea-jacket. "yes, i have been dragging the serpentine." "in heaven's name, what for?" "in search of the body of lady st. simon." sherlock holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. "have you dragged the basin of trafalgar square fountain?" he asked. "why? what do you mean?" "because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one as in the other." lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. "i suppose you know all about it," he snarled. "well, i have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up." "oh, indeed! then you think that the serpentine plays no part in the matter?" "i think it very unlikely." "then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it?" he opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a bride's wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. "there," said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. "there is a little nut for you to crack, master holmes." "oh, indeed!" said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. "you dragged them from the serpentine?" "no. they were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. they have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes were there the body would not be far off." "by the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be found in the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. and pray what did you hope to arrive at through this?" "at some evidence implicating flora millar in the disappearance." "i am afraid that you will find it difficult." "are you, indeed, now?" cried lestrade with some bitterness. "i am afraid, holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions and your inferences. you have made two blunders in as many minutes. this dress does implicate miss flora millar." "and how?" "in the dress is a pocket. in the pocket is a card-case. in the card-case is a note. and here is the very note." he slapped it down upon the table in front of him. "listen to this: "'you will see me when all is ready. come at once. "'f.h.m.' now my theory all along has been that lady st. simon was decoyed away by flora millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door and which lured her within their reach." "very good, lestrade," said holmes, laughing. "you really are very fine indeed. let me see it." he took up the paper in a listless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of satisfaction. "this is indeed important," said he. "ha! you find it so?" "extremely so. i congratulate you warmly." lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. "why," he shrieked, "you're looking at the wrong side!" "on the contrary, this is the right side." "the right side? you're mad! here is the note written in pencil over here." "and over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me deeply." "there's nothing in it. i looked at it before," said lestrade. "'oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s. 6d., glass sherry, 8d.' i see nothing in that." "very likely not. it is most important, all the same. as to the note, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so i congratulate you again." "i've wasted time enough," said lestrade, rising. "i believe in hard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. good-day, mr. holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first." he gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door. "just one hint to you, lestrade," drawled holmes before his rival vanished; "i will tell you the true solution of the matter. lady st. simon is a myth. there is not, and there never has been, any such person." lestrade looked sadly at my companion. then he turned to me, tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away. he had hardly shut the door behind him when holmes rose to put on his overcoat. "there is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work," he remarked, "so i think, watson, that i must leave you to your papers for a little." it was after five o'clock when sherlock holmes left me, but i had no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner's man with a very large flat box. this he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. there were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pt de foie gras pie with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the arabian nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered to this address. just before nine o'clock sherlock holmes stepped briskly into the room. his features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions. "they have laid the supper, then," he said, rubbing his hands. "you seem to expect company. they have laid for five." "yes, i fancy we may have some company dropping in," said he. "i am surprised that lord st. simon has not already arrived. ha! i fancy that i hear his step now upon the stairs." it was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in, dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features. "my messenger reached you, then?" asked holmes. "yes, and i confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. have you good authority for what you say?" "the best possible." lord st. simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead. "what will the duke say," he murmured, "when he hears that one of the family has been subjected to such humiliation?" "it is the purest accident. i cannot allow that there is any humiliation." "ah, you look on these things from another standpoint." "i fail to see that anyone is to blame. i can hardly see how the lady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. having no mother, she had no one to advise her at such a crisis." "it was a slight, sir, a public slight," said lord st. simon, tapping his fingers upon the table. "you must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented a position." "i will make no allowance. i am very angry indeed, and i have been shamefully used." "i think that i heard a ring," said holmes. "yes, there are steps on the landing. if i cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter, lord st. simon, i have brought an advocate here who may be more successful." he opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman. "lord st. simon," said he "allow me to introduce you to mr. and mrs. francis hay moulton. the lady, i think, you have already met." at the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his seat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. the lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. it was as well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist. "you're angry, robert," said she. "well, i guess you have every cause to be." "pray make no apology to me," said lord st. simon bitterly. "oh, yes, i know that i have treated you real bad and that i should have spoken to you before i went; but i was kind of rattled, and from the time when i saw frank here again i just didn't know what i was doing or saying. i only wonder i didn't fall down and do a faint right there before the altar." "perhaps, mrs. moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave the room while you explain this matter?" "if i may give an opinion," remarked the strange gentleman, "we've had just a little too much secrecy over this business already. for my part, i should like all europe and america to hear the rights of it." he was a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner. "then i'll tell our story right away," said the lady. "frank here and i met in '84, in mcquire's camp, near the rockies, where pa was working a claim. we were engaged to each other, frank and i; but then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor frank here had a claim that petered out and came to nothing. the richer pa grew the poorer was frank; so at last pa wouldn't hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took me away to 'frisco. frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though; so he followed me there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything about it. it would only have made him mad to know, so we just fixed it all up for ourselves. frank said that he would go and make his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had as much as pa. so then i promised to wait for him to the end of time and pledged myself not to marry anyone else while he lived. 'why shouldn't we be married right away, then,' said he, 'and then i will feel sure of you; and i won't claim to be your husband until i come back?' well, we talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting, that we just did it right there; and then frank went off to seek his fortune, and i went back to pa. "the next i heard of frank was that he was in montana, and then he went prospecting in arizona, and then i heard of him from new mexico. after that came a long newspaper story about how a miners' camp had been attacked by apache indians, and there was my frank's name among the killed. i fainted dead away, and i was very sick for months after. pa thought i had a decline and took me to half the doctors in 'frisco. not a word of news came for a year and more, so that i never doubted that frank was really dead. then lord st. simon came to 'frisco, and we came to london, and a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but i felt all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place in my heart that had been given to my poor frank. "still, if i had married lord st. simon, of course i'd have done my duty by him. we can't command our love, but we can our actions. i went to the altar with him with the intention to make him just as good a wife as it was in me to be. but you may imagine what i felt when, just as i came to the altar rails, i glanced back and saw frank standing and looking at me out of the first pew. i thought it was his ghost at first; but when i looked again there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask me whether i were glad or sorry to see him. i wonder i didn't drop. i know that everything was turning round, and the words of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my ear. i didn't know what to do. should i stop the service and make a scene in the church? i glanced at him again, and he seemed to know what i was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to tell me to be still. then i saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and i knew that he was writing me a note. as i passed his pew on the way out i dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he returned me the flowers. it was only a line asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so. of course i never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now to him, and i determined to do just whatever he might direct. "when i got back i told my maid, who had known him in california, and had always been his friend. i ordered her to say nothing, but to get a few things packed and my ulster ready. i know i ought to have spoken to lord st. simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all those great people. i just made up my mind to run away and explain afterwards. i hadn't been at the table ten minutes before i saw frank out of the window at the other side of the road. he beckoned to me and then began walking into the park. i slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. some woman came talking something or other about lord st. simon to me--seemed to me from the little i heard as if he had a little secret of his own before marriage also--but i managed to get away from her and soon overtook frank. we got into a cab together, and away we drove to some lodgings he had taken in gordon square, and that was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. frank had been a prisoner among the apaches, had escaped, came on to 'frisco, found that i had given him up for dead and had gone to england, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the very morning of my second wedding." "i saw it in a paper," explained the american. "it gave the name and the church but not where the lady lived." "then we had a talk as to what we should do, and frank was all for openness, but i was so ashamed of it all that i felt as if i should like to vanish away and never see any of them again--just sending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that i was alive. it was awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. so frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that i should not be traced, and dropped them away somewhere where no one could find them. it is likely that we should have gone on to paris to-morrow, only that this good gentleman, mr. holmes, came round to us this evening, though how he found us is more than i can think, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that i was wrong and that frank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so secret. then he offered to give us a chance of talking to lord st. simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at once. now, robert, you have heard it all, and i am very sorry if i have given you pain, and i hope that you do not think very meanly of me." lord st. simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long narrative. "excuse me," he said, "but it is not my custom to discuss my most intimate personal affairs in this public manner." "then you won't forgive me? you won't shake hands before i go?" "oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure." he put out his hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him. "i had hoped," suggested holmes, "that you would have joined us in a friendly supper." "i think that there you ask a little too much," responded his lordship. "i may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but i can hardly be expected to make merry over them. i think that with your permission i will now wish you all a very good-night." he included us all in a sweeping bow and stalked out of the room. "then i trust that you at least will honour me with your company," said sherlock holmes. "it is always a joy to meet an american, mr. moulton, for i am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a quartering of the union jack with the stars and stripes." "the case has been an interesting one," remarked holmes when our visitors had left us, "because it serves to show very clearly how simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable. nothing could be more natural than the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by mr. lestrade of scotland yard." "you were not yourself at fault at all, then?" "from the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home. obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her to change her mind. what could that something be? she could not have spoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. had she seen someone, then? if she had, it must be someone from america because she had spent so short a time in this country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans so completely. you see we have already arrived, by a process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an american. then who could this american be, and why should he possess so much influence over her? it might be a lover; it might be a husband. her young womanhood had, i knew, been spent in rough scenes and under strange conditions. so far i had got before i ever heard lord st. simon's narrative. when he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in the bride's manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping--which in miners' parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a prior claim to--the whole situation became absolutely clear. she had gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous husband--the chances being in favour of the latter." "and how in the world did you find them?" "it might have been difficult, but friend lestrade held information in his hands the value of which he did not himself know. the initials were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most select london hotels." "how did you deduce the select?" "by the select prices. eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. there are not many in london which charge at that rate. in the second one which i visited in northumberland avenue, i learned by an inspection of the book that francis h. moulton, an american gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking over the entries against him, i came upon the very items which i had seen in the duplicate bill. his letters were to be forwarded to 226 gordon square; so thither i travelled, and being fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, i ventured to give them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be better in every way that they should make their position a little clearer both to the general public and to lord st. simon in particular. i invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, i made him keep the appointment." "but with no very good result," i remarked. "his conduct was certainly not very gracious." "ah, watson," said holmes, smiling, "perhaps you would not be very gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. i think that we may judge lord st. simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings." the adventure of the beryl coronet "holmes," said i as i stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the street, "here is a madman coming along. it seems rather sad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone." my friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. it was a bright, crisp february morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. down the centre of baker street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as when it fell. the grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer passengers than usual. indeed, from the direction of the metropolitan station no one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention. he was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. he was dressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. as he ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most extraordinary contortions. "what on earth can be the matter with him?" i asked. "he is looking up at the numbers of the houses." "i believe that he is coming here," said holmes, rubbing his hands. "here?" "yes; i rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. i think that i recognise the symptoms. ha! did i not tell you?" as he spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the clanging. a few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. for a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason. then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room. sherlock holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ. "you have come to me to tell your story, have you not?" said he. "you are fatigued with your haste. pray wait until you have recovered yourself, and then i shall be most happy to look into any little problem which you may submit to me." the man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against his emotion. then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us. "no doubt you think me mad?" said he. "i see that you have had some great trouble," responded holmes. "god knows i have!--a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so sudden and so terrible is it. public disgrace i might have faced, although i am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain. private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. besides, it is not i alone. the very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair." "pray compose yourself, sir," said holmes, "and let me have a clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you." "my name," answered our visitor, "is probably familiar to your ears. i am alexander holder, of the banking firm of holder & stevenson, of threadneedle street." the name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in the second largest private banking concern in the city of london. what could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of london to this most pitiable pass? we waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced himself to tell his story. "i feel that time is of value," said he; "that is why i hastened here when the police inspector suggested that i should secure your co-operation. i came to baker street by the underground and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. that is why i was so out of breath, for i am a man who takes very little exercise. i feel better now, and i will put the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as i can. "it is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our depositors. one of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. we have done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and there are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate. "yesterday morning i was seated in my office at the bank when a card was brought in to me by one of the clerks. i started when i saw the name, for it was that of none other than--well, perhaps even to you i had better say no more than that it was a name which is a household word all over the earth--one of the highest, noblest, most exalted names in england. i was overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task. "'mr. holder,' said he, 'i have been informed that you are in the habit of advancing money.' "'the firm does so when the security is good.' i answered. "'it is absolutely essential to me,' said he, 'that i should have 50,000 at once. i could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over from my friends, but i much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. in my position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place one's self under obligations.' "'for how long, may i ask, do you want this sum?' i asked. "'next monday i have a large sum due to me, and i shall then most certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it right to charge. but it is very essential to me that the money should be paid at once.' "'i should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own private purse,' said i, 'were it not that the strain would be rather more than it could bear. if, on the other hand, i am to do it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner i must insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution should be taken.' "'i should much prefer to have it so,' said he, raising up a square, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. 'you have doubtless heard of the beryl coronet?' "'one of the most precious public possessions of the empire,' said i. "'precisely.' he opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft, flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he had named. 'there are thirty-nine enormous beryls,' said he, 'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. the lowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the sum which i have asked. i am prepared to leave it with you as my security.' "i took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity from it to my illustrious client. "'you doubt its value?' he asked. "'not at all. i only doubt--' "'the propriety of my leaving it. you may set your mind at rest about that. i should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain that i should be able in four days to reclaim it. it is a pure matter of form. is the security sufficient?' "'ample.' "'you understand, mr. holder, that i am giving you a strong proof of the confidence which i have in you, founded upon all that i have heard of you. i rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to preserve this coronet with every possible precaution because i need not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any harm were to befall it. any injury to it would be almost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the world to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them. i leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and i shall call for it in person on monday morning.' "seeing that my client was anxious to leave, i said no more but, calling for my cashier, i ordered him to pay over fifty 1000 notes. when i was alone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table in front of me, i could not but think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility which it entailed upon me. there could be no doubt that, as it was a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any misfortune should occur to it. i already regretted having ever consented to take charge of it. however, it was too late to alter the matter now, so i locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to my work. "when evening came i felt that it would be an imprudence to leave so precious a thing in the office behind me. bankers' safes had been forced before now, and why should not mine be? if so, how terrible would be the position in which i should find myself! i determined, therefore, that for the next few days i would always carry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might never be really out of my reach. with this intention, i called a cab and drove out to my house at streatham, carrying the jewel with me. i did not breathe freely until i had taken it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room. "and now a word as to my household, mr. holmes, for i wish you to thoroughly understand the situation. my groom and my page sleep out of the house, and may be set aside altogether. i have three maid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliability is quite above suspicion. another, lucy parr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few months. she came with an excellent character, however, and has always given me satisfaction. she is a very pretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally hung about the place. that is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way. "so much for the servants. my family itself is so small that it will not take me long to describe it. i am a widower and have an only son, arthur. he has been a disappointment to me, mr. holmes--a grievous disappointment. i have no doubt that i am myself to blame. people tell me that i have spoiled him. very likely i have. when my dear wife died i felt that he was all i had to love. i could not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from his face. i have never denied him a wish. perhaps it would have been better for both of us had i been sterner, but i meant it for the best. "it was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my business, but he was not of a business turn. he was wild, wayward, and, to speak the truth, i could not trust him in the handling of large sums of money. when he was young he became a member of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long purses and expensive habits. he learned to play heavily at cards and to squander money on the turf, until he had again and again to come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. he tried more than once to break away from the dangerous company which he was keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, sir george burnwell, was enough to draw him back again. "and, indeed, i could not wonder that such a man as sir george burnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently brought him to my house, and i have found myself that i could hardly resist the fascination of his manner. he is older than arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of great personal beauty. yet when i think of him in cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, i am convinced from his cynical speech and the look which i have caught in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. so i think, and so, too, thinks my little mary, who has a woman's quick insight into character. "and now there is only she to be described. she is my niece; but when my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world i adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. she is a sunbeam in my house--sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman could be. she is my right hand. i do not know what i could do without her. in only one matter has she ever gone against my wishes. twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for he loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. i think that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late--forever too late! "now, mr. holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and i shall continue with my miserable story. "when we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after dinner, i told arthur and mary my experience, and of the precious treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name of my client. lucy parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, i am sure, left the room; but i cannot swear that the door was closed. mary and arthur were much interested and wished to see the famous coronet, but i thought it better not to disturb it. "'where have you put it?' asked arthur. "'in my own bureau.' "'well, i hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during the night.' said he. "'it is locked up,' i answered. "'oh, any old key will fit that bureau. when i was a youngster i have opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.' "he often had a wild way of talking, so that i thought little of what he said. he followed me to my room, however, that night with a very grave face. "'look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you let me have 200?' "'no, i cannot!' i answered sharply. 'i have been far too generous with you in money matters.' "'you have been very kind,' said he, 'but i must have this money, or else i can never show my face inside the club again.' "'and a very good thing, too!' i cried. "'yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,' said he. 'i could not bear the disgrace. i must raise the money in some way, and if you will not let me have it, then i must try other means.' "i was very angry, for this was the third demand during the month. 'you shall not have a farthing from me,' i cried, on which he bowed and left the room without another word. "when he was gone i unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasure was safe, and locked it again. then i started to go round the house to see that all was secure--a duty which i usually leave to mary but which i thought it well to perform myself that night. as i came down the stairs i saw mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as i approached. "'tell me, dad,' said she, looking, i thought, a little disturbed, 'did you give lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?' "'certainly not.' "'she came in just now by the back door. i have no doubt that she has only been to the side gate to see someone, but i think that it is hardly safe and should be stopped.' "'you must speak to her in the morning, or i will if you prefer it. are you sure that everything is fastened?' "'quite sure, dad.' "'then, good-night.' i kissed her and went up to my bedroom again, where i was soon asleep. "i am endeavouring to tell you everything, mr. holmes, which may have any bearing upon the case, but i beg that you will question me upon any point which i do not make clear." "on the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid." "i come to a part of my story now in which i should wish to be particularly so. i am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. about two in the morning, then, i was awakened by some sound in the house. it had ceased ere i was wide awake, but it had left an impression behind it as though a window had gently closed somewhere. i lay listening with all my ears. suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in the next room. i slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear, and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door. "'arthur!' i screamed, 'you villain! you thief! how dare you touch that coronet?' "the gas was half up, as i had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding the coronet in his hands. he appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. at my cry he dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. i snatched it up and examined it. one of the gold corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing. "'you blackguard!' i shouted, beside myself with rage. 'you have destroyed it! you have dishonoured me forever! where are the jewels which you have stolen?' "'stolen!' he cried. "'yes, thief!' i roared, shaking him by the shoulder. "'there are none missing. there cannot be any missing,' said he. "'there are three missing. and you know where they are. must i call you a liar as well as a thief? did i not see you trying to tear off another piece?' "'you have called me names enough,' said he, 'i will not stand it any longer. i shall not say another word about this business, since you have chosen to insult me. i will leave your house in the morning and make my own way in the world.' "'you shall leave it in the hands of the police!' i cried half-mad with grief and rage. 'i shall have this matter probed to the bottom.' "'you shall learn nothing from me,' said he with a passion such as i should not have thought was in his nature. 'if you choose to call the police, let the police find what they can.' "by this time the whole house was astir, for i had raised my voice in my anger. mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of the coronet and of arthur's face, she read the whole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the ground. i sent the house-maid for the police and put the investigation into their hands at once. when the inspector and a constable entered the house, arthur, who had stood sullenly with his arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge him with theft. i answered that it had ceased to be a private matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was national property. i was determined that the law should have its way in everything. "'at least,' said he, 'you will not have me arrested at once. it would be to your advantage as well as mine if i might leave the house for five minutes.' "'that you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you have stolen,' said i. and then, realising the dreadful position in which i was placed, i implored him to remember that not only my honour but that of one who was far greater than i was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would convulse the nation. he might avert it all if he would but tell me what he had done with the three missing stones. "'you may as well face the matter,' said i; 'you have been caught in the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. if you but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.' "'keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,' he answered, turning away from me with a sneer. i saw that he was too hardened for any words of mine to influence him. there was but one way for it. i called in the inspector and gave him into custody. a search was made at once not only of his person but of his room and of every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our threats. this morning he was removed to a cell, and i, after going through all the police formalities, have hurried round to you to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. the police have openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. you may go to any expense which you think necessary. i have already offered a reward of 1000. my god, what shall i do! i have lost my honour, my gems, and my son in one night. oh, what shall i do!" he put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words. sherlock holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire. "do you receive much company?" he asked. "none save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of arthur's. sir george burnwell has been several times lately. no one else, i think." "do you go out much in society?" "arthur does. mary and i stay at home. we neither of us care for it." "that is unusual in a young girl." "she is of a quiet nature. besides, she is not so very young. she is four-and-twenty." "this matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her also." "terrible! she is even more affected than i." "you have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?" "how can we have when i saw him with my own eyes with the coronet in his hands." "i hardly consider that a conclusive proof. was the remainder of the coronet at all injured?" "yes, it was twisted." "do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straighten it?" "god bless you! you are doing what you can for him and for me. but it is too heavy a task. what was he doing there at all? if his purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?" "precisely. and if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? his silence appears to me to cut both ways. there are several singular points about the case. what did the police think of the noise which awoke you from your sleep?" "they considered that it might be caused by arthur's closing his bedroom door." "a likely story! as if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as to wake a household. what did they say, then, of the disappearance of these gems?" "they are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the hope of finding them." "have they thought of looking outside the house?" "yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. the whole garden has already been minutely examined." "now, my dear sir," said holmes. "is it not obvious to you now that this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the police were at first inclined to think? it appeared to you to be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. consider what is involved by your theory. you suppose that your son came down from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main force a small portion of it, went off to some other place, concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six into the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger of being discovered. i ask you now, is such a theory tenable?" "but what other is there?" cried the banker with a gesture of despair. "if his motives were innocent, why does he not explain them?" "it is our task to find that out," replied holmes; "so now, if you please, mr. holder, we will set off for streatham together, and devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into details." my friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which i was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. i confess that the guilt of the banker's son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still i had such faith in holmes' judgment that i felt that there must be some grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted explanation. he hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. our client appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope which had been presented to him, and he even broke into a desultory chat with me over his business affairs. a short railway journey and a shorter walk brought us to fairbank, the modest residence of the great financier. fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back a little from the road. a double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates which closed the entrance. on the right side was a small wooden thicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the tradesmen's entrance. on the left ran a lane which led to the stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a public, though little used, thoroughfare. holmes left us standing at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the front, down the tradesmen's path, and so round by the garden behind into the stable lane. so long was he that mr. holder and i went into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should return. we were sitting there in silence when the door opened and a young lady came in. she was rather above the middle height, slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against the absolute pallor of her skin. i do not think that i have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman's face. her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. as she swept silently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of grief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the more striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong character, with immense capacity for self-restraint. disregarding my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her hand over his head with a sweet womanly caress. "you have given orders that arthur should be liberated, have you not, dad?" she asked. "no, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom." "but i am so sure that he is innocent. you know what woman's instincts are. i know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorry for having acted so harshly." "why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?" "who knows? perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspect him." "how could i help suspecting him, when i actually saw him with the coronet in his hand?" "oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. oh, do, do take my word for it that he is innocent. let the matter drop and say no more. it is so dreadful to think of our dear arthur in a prison!" "i shall never let it drop until the gems are found--never, mary! your affection for arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. far from hushing the thing up, i have brought a gentleman down from london to inquire more deeply into it." "this gentleman?" she asked, facing round to me. "no, his friend. he wished us to leave him alone. he is round in the stable lane now." "the stable lane?" she raised her dark eyebrows. "what can he hope to find there? ah! this, i suppose, is he. i trust, sir, that you will succeed in proving, what i feel sure is the truth, that my cousin arthur is innocent of this crime." "i fully share your opinion, and i trust, with you, that we may prove it," returned holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow from his shoes. "i believe i have the honour of addressing miss mary holder. might i ask you a question or two?" "pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up." "you heard nothing yourself last night?" "nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. i heard that, and i came down." "you shut up the windows and doors the night before. did you fasten all the windows?" "yes." "were they all fastened this morning?" "yes." "you have a maid who has a sweetheart? i think that you remarked to your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?" "yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may have heard uncle's remarks about the coronet." "i see. you infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery." "but what is the good of all these vague theories," cried the banker impatiently, "when i have told you that i saw arthur with the coronet in his hands?" "wait a little, mr. holder. we must come back to that. about this girl, miss holder. you saw her return by the kitchen door, i presume?" "yes; when i went to see if the door was fastened for the night i met her slipping in. i saw the man, too, in the gloom." "do you know him?" "oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round. his name is francis prosper." "he stood," said holmes, "to the left of the door--that is to say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?" "yes, he did." "and he is a man with a wooden leg?" something like fear sprang up in the young lady's expressive black eyes. "why, you are like a magician," said she. "how do you know that?" she smiled, but there was no answering smile in holmes' thin, eager face. "i should be very glad now to go upstairs," said he. "i shall probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. perhaps i had better take a look at the lower windows before i go up." he walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. this he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill with his powerful magnifying lens. "now we shall go upstairs," said he at last. the banker's dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. holmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock. "which key was used to open it?" he asked. "that which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard of the lumber-room." "have you it here?" "that is it on the dressing-table." sherlock holmes took it up and opened the bureau. "it is a noiseless lock," said he. "it is no wonder that it did not wake you. this case, i presume, contains the coronet. we must have a look at it." he opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it upon the table. it was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller's art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that i have ever seen. at one side of the coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems had been torn away. "now, mr. holder," said holmes, "here is the corner which corresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. might i beg that you will break it off." the banker recoiled in horror. "i should not dream of trying," said he. "then i will." holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but without result. "i feel it give a little," said he; "but, though i am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my time to break it. an ordinary man could not do it. now, what do you think would happen if i did break it, mr. holder? there would be a noise like a pistol shot. do you tell me that all this happened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard nothing of it?" "i do not know what to think. it is all dark to me." "but perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. what do you think, miss holder?" "i confess that i still share my uncle's perplexity." "your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?" "he had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt." "thank you. we have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. with your permission, mr. holder, i shall now continue my investigations outside." he went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any unnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. for an hour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever. "i think that i have seen now all that there is to see, mr. holder," said he; "i can serve you best by returning to my rooms." "but the gems, mr. holmes. where are they?" "i cannot tell." the banker wrung his hands. "i shall never see them again!" he cried. "and my son? you give me hopes?" "my opinion is in no way altered." "then, for god's sake, what was this dark business which was acted in my house last night?" "if you can call upon me at my baker street rooms to-morrow morning between nine and ten i shall be happy to do what i can to make it clearer. i understand that you give me carte blanche to act for you, provided only that i get back the gems, and that you place no limit on the sum i may draw." "i would give my fortune to have them back." "very good. i shall look into the matter between this and then. good-bye; it is just possible that i may have to come over here again before evening." it was obvious to me that my companion's mind was now made up about the case, although what his conclusions were was more than i could even dimly imagine. several times during our homeward journey i endeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always glided away to some other topic, until at last i gave it over in despair. it was not yet three when we found ourselves in our rooms once more. he hurried to his chamber and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a common loafer. with his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class. "i think that this should do," said he, glancing into the glass above the fireplace. "i only wish that you could come with me, watson, but i fear that it won't do. i may be on the trail in this matter, or i may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but i shall soon know which it is. i hope that i may be back in a few hours." he cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition. i had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. he chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a cup of tea. "i only looked in as i passed," said he. "i am going right on." "where to?" "oh, to the other side of the west end. it may be some time before i get back. don't wait up for me in case i should be late." "how are you getting on?" "oh, so so. nothing to complain of. i have been out to streatham since i saw you last, but i did not call at the house. it is a very sweet little problem, and i would not have missed it for a good deal. however, i must not sit gossiping here, but must get these disreputable clothes off and return to my highly respectable self." i could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfaction than his words alone would imply. his eyes twinkled, and there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. he hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later i heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon his congenial hunt. i waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so i retired to my room. it was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness caused me no surprise. i do not know at what hour he came in, but when i came down to breakfast in the morning there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim as possible. "you will excuse my beginning without you, watson," said he, "but you remember that our client has rather an early appointment this morning." "why, it is after nine now," i answered. "i should not be surprised if that were he. i thought i heard a ring." it was, indeed, our friend the financier. i was shocked by the change which had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. he entered with a weariness and lethargy which was even more painful than his violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into the armchair which i pushed forward for him. "i do not know what i have done to be so severely tried," said he. "only two days ago i was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in the world. now i am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. one sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. my niece, mary, has deserted me." "deserted you?" "yes. her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. i had said to her last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all might have been well with him. perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so. it is to that remark that she refers in this note: "'my dearest uncle: "'i feel that i have brought trouble upon you, and that if i had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never have occurred. i cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again be happy under your roof, and i feel that i must leave you forever. do not worry about my future, for that is provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. in life or in death, i am ever "'your loving "'mary.' "what could she mean by that note, mr. holmes? do you think it points to suicide?" "no, no, nothing of the kind. it is perhaps the best possible solution. i trust, mr. holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles." "ha! you say so! you have heard something, mr. holmes; you have learned something! where are the gems?" "you would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for them?" "i would pay ten." "that would be unnecessary. three thousand will cover the matter. and there is a little reward, i fancy. have you your check-book? here is a pen. better make it out for 4000." with a dazed face the banker made out the required check. holmes walked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table. with a shriek of joy our client clutched it up. "you have it!" he gasped. "i am saved! i am saved!" the reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he hugged his recovered gems to his bosom. "there is one other thing you owe, mr. holder," said sherlock holmes rather sternly. "owe!" he caught up a pen. "name the sum, and i will pay it." "no, the debt is not to me. you owe a very humble apology to that noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as i should be proud to see my own son do, should i ever chance to have one." "then it was not arthur who took them?" "i told you yesterday, and i repeat to-day, that it was not." "you are sure of it! then let us hurry to him at once to let him know that the truth is known." "he knows it already. when i had cleared it all up i had an interview with him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, i told it to him, on which he had to confess that i was right and to add the very few details which were not yet quite clear to me. your news of this morning, however, may open his lips." "for heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary mystery!" "i will do so, and i will show you the steps by which i reached it. and let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding between sir george burnwell and your niece mary. they have now fled together." "my mary? impossible!" "it is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. neither you nor your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into your family circle. he is one of the most dangerous men in england--a ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. your niece knew nothing of such men. when he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she alone had touched his heart. the devil knows best what he said, but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing him nearly every evening." "i cannot, and i will not, believe it!" cried the banker with an ashen face. "i will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. your niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down and talked to her lover through the window which leads into the stable lane. his footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he stood there. she told him of the coronet. his wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. i have no doubt that she loved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all other loves, and i think that she must have been one. she had hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you about one of the servants' escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectly true. "your boy, arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. in the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin walking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into your dressing-room. petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see what would come of this strange affair. presently she emerged from the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. she passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. he saw her stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close to where he stood hid behind the curtain. "as long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. but the instant that she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it right. he rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane, where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. sir george burnwell tried to get away, but arthur caught him, and there was a struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the coronet, and his opponent at the other. in the scuffle, your son struck sir george and cut him over the eye. then something suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your room, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you appeared upon the scene." "is it possible?" gasped the banker. "you then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. he could not explain the true state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. he took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her secret." "and that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet," cried mr. holder. "oh, my god! what a blind fool i have been! and his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! the dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle. how cruelly i have misjudged him!" "when i arrived at the house," continued holmes, "i at once went very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow which might help me. i knew that none had fallen since the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost to preserve impressions. i passed along the tradesmen's path, but found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. just beyond it, however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. i could even tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. i thought at the time that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. i passed round the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks, which i took to be the police; but when i got into the stable lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in front of me. "there was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second double line which i saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. i was at once convinced from what you had told me that the latter was your son. the first had walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed after the other. i followed them up and found they led to the hall window, where boots had worn all the snow away while waiting. then i walked to the other end, which was a hundred yards or more down the lane. i saw where boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me that i was not mistaken. boots had then run down the lane, and another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been hurt. when he came to the highroad at the other end, i found that the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue. "on entering the house, however, i examined, as you remember, the sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and i could at once see that someone had passed out. i could distinguish the outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming in. i was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what had occurred. a man had waited outside the window; someone had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. he had returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. so far i was clear. the question now was, who was the man and who was it brought him the coronet? "it is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. now, i knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there only remained your niece and the maids. but if it were the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? there could be no possible reason. as he loved his cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should retain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. when i remembered that you had seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty. "and who could it be who was her confederate? a lover evidently, for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to you? i knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends was a very limited one. but among them was sir george burnwell. i had heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. it must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems. even though he knew that arthur had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his own family. "well, your own good sense will suggest what measures i took next. i went in the shape of a loafer to sir george's house, managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. with these i journeyed down to streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the tracks." "i saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," said mr. holder. "precisely. it was i. i found that i had my man, so i came home and changed my clothes. it was a delicate part which i had to play then, for i saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and i knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the matter. i went and saw him. at first, of course, he denied everything. but when i gave him every particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. i knew my man, however, and i clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. then he became a little more reasonable. i told him that we would give him a price for the stones he held--1000 apiece. that brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'why, dash it all!' said he, 'i've let them go at six hundred for the three!' i soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. off i set to him, and after much chaffering i got our stones at 1000 pounds apiece. then i looked in upon your son, told him that all was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what i may call a really hard day's work." "a day which has saved england from a great public scandal," said the banker, rising. "sir, i cannot find words to thank you, but you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. your skill has indeed exceeded all that i have heard of it. and now i must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which i have done him. as to what you tell me of poor mary, it goes to my very heart. not even your skill can inform me where she is now." "i think that we may safely say," returned holmes, "that she is wherever sir george burnwell is. it is equally certain, too, that whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment." the adventure of the copper beeches "to the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked sherlock holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the daily telegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. it is pleasant to me to observe, watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in these little records of our cases which you have been good enough to draw up, and, i am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much to the many causes clbres and sensational trials in which i have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which i have made my special province." "and yet," said i, smiling, "i cannot quite hold myself absolved from the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records." "you have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is really the only notable feature about the thing." "it seems to me that i have done you full justice in the matter," i remarked with some coldness, for i was repelled by the egotism which i had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friend's singular character. "no, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, as was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "if i claim full justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a thing beyond myself. crime is common. logic is rare. therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell. you have degraded what should have been a course of lectures into a series of tales." it was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at baker street. a thick fog rolled down between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. our gas was lit and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for the table had not been cleared yet. sherlock holmes had been silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last, having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings. "at the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which he had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, "you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense, at all. the small matter in which i endeavoured to help the king of bohemia, the singular experience of miss mary sutherland, the problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are outside the pale of the law. but in avoiding the sensational, i fear that you may have bordered on the trivial." "the end may have been so," i answered, "but the methods i hold to have been novel and of interest." "pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of analysis and deduction! but, indeed, if you are trivial, i cannot blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. as to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. i think that i have touched bottom at last, however. this note i had this morning marks my zero-point, i fancy. read it!" he tossed a crumpled letter across to me. it was dated from montague place upon the preceding evening, and ran thus: dear mr. holmes: i am very anxious to consult you as to whether i should or should not accept a situation which has been offered to me as governess. i shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if i do not inconvenience you. yours faithfully, violet hunter. "do you know the young lady?" i asked. "not i." "it is half-past ten now." "yes, and i have no doubt that is her ring." "it may turn out to be of more interest than you think. you remember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation. it may be so in this case, also." "well, let us hope so. but our doubts will very soon be solved, for here, unless i am much mistaken, is the person in question." as he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room. she was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like a plover's egg, and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her own way to make in the world. "you will excuse my troubling you, i am sure," said she, as my companion rose to greet her, "but i have had a very strange experience, and as i have no parents or relations of any sort from whom i could ask advice, i thought that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what i should do." "pray take a seat, miss hunter. i shall be happy to do anything that i can to serve you." i could see that holmes was favourably impressed by the manner and speech of his new client. he looked her over in his searching fashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tips together, to listen to her story. "i have been a governess for five years," said she, "in the family of colonel spence munro, but two months ago the colonel received an appointment at halifax, in nova scotia, and took his children over to america with him, so that i found myself without a situation. i advertised, and i answered advertisements, but without success. at last the little money which i had saved began to run short, and i was at my wit's end as to what i should do. "there is a well-known agency for governesses in the west end called westaway's, and there i used to call about once a week in order to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me. westaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it is really managed by miss stoper. she sits in her own little office, and the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything which would suit them. "well, when i called last week i was shown into the little office as usual, but i found that miss stoper was not alone. a prodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered. as i came in he gave quite a jump in his chair and turned quickly to miss stoper. "'that will do,' said he; 'i could not ask for anything better. capital! capital!' he seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands together in the most genial fashion. he was such a comfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at him. "'you are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked. "'yes, sir.' "'as governess?' "'yes, sir.' "'and what salary do you ask?' "'i had 4 a month in my last place with colonel spence munro.' "'oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!' he cried, throwing his fat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. 'how could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions and accomplishments?' "'my accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,' said i. 'a little french, a little german, music, and drawing--' "'tut, tut!' he cried. 'this is all quite beside the question. the point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a lady? there it is in a nutshell. if you have not, you are not fitted for the rearing of a child who may some day play a considerable part in the history of the country. but if you have why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to accept anything under the three figures? your salary with me, madam, would commence at 100 a year.' "you may imagine, mr. holmes, that to me, destitute as i was, such an offer seemed almost too good to be true. the gentleman, however, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and took out a note. "'it is also my custom,' said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white creases of his face, 'to advance to my young ladies half their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little expenses of their journey and their wardrobe.' "it seemed to me that i had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful a man. as i was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a great convenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know a little more before i quite committed myself. "'may i ask where you live, sir?' said i. "'hampshire. charming rural place. the copper beeches, five miles on the far side of winchester. it is the most lovely country, my dear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.' "'and my duties, sir? i should be glad to know what they would be.' "'one child--one dear little romper just six years old. oh, if you could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! smack! smack! smack! three gone before you could wink!' he leaned back in his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again. "i was a little startled at the nature of the child's amusement, but the father's laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking. "'my sole duties, then,' i asked, 'are to take charge of a single child?' "'no, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,' he cried. 'your duty would be, as i am sure your good sense would suggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, provided always that they were such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. you see no difficulty, heh?' "'i should be happy to make myself useful.' "'quite so. in dress now, for example. we are faddy people, you know--faddy but kind-hearted. if you were asked to wear any dress which we might give you, you would not object to our little whim. heh?' "'no,' said i, considerably astonished at his words. "'or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?' "'oh, no.' "'or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?' "i could hardly believe my ears. as you may observe, mr. holmes, my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut. it has been considered artistic. i could not dream of sacrificing it in this offhand fashion. "'i am afraid that that is quite impossible,' said i. he had been watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and i could see a shadow pass over his face as i spoke. "'i am afraid that it is quite essential,' said he. 'it is a little fancy of my wife's, and ladies' fancies, you know, madam, ladies' fancies must be consulted. and so you won't cut your hair?' "'no, sir, i really could not,' i answered firmly. "'ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. it is a pity, because in other respects you would really have done very nicely. in that case, miss stoper, i had best inspect a few more of your young ladies.' "the manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance upon her face that i could not help suspecting that she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal. "'do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' she asked. "'if you please, miss stoper.' "'well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most excellent offers in this fashion,' said she sharply. 'you can hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you. good-day to you, miss hunter.' she struck a gong upon the table, and i was shown out by the page. "well, mr. holmes, when i got back to my lodgings and found little enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table. i began to ask myself whether i had not done a very foolish thing. after all, if these people had strange fads and expected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were at least ready to pay for their eccentricity. very few governesses in england are getting 100 a year. besides, what use was my hair to me? many people are improved by wearing it short and perhaps i should be among the number. next day i was inclined to think that i had made a mistake, and by the day after i was sure of it. i had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open when i received this letter from the gentleman himself. i have it here and i will read it to you: "'the copper beeches, near winchester. "'dear miss hunter: "'miss stoper has very kindly given me your address, and i write from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered your decision. my wife is very anxious that you should come, for she has been much attracted by my description of you. we are willing to give 30 a quarter, or 120 a year, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which our fads may cause you. they are not very exacting, after all. my wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. you need not, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear daughter alice (now in philadelphia), which would, i should think, fit you very well. then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. as regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as i could not help remarking its beauty during our short interview, but i am afraid that i must remain firm upon this point, and i only hope that the increased salary may recompense you for the loss. your duties, as far as the child is concerned, are very light. now do try to come, and i shall meet you with the dog-cart at winchester. let me know your train. "'yours faithfully, "'jephro rucastle.' "that is the letter which i have just received, mr. holmes, and my mind is made up that i will accept it. i thought, however, that before taking the final step i should like to submit the whole matter to your consideration." "well, miss hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the question," said holmes, smiling. "but you would not advise me to refuse?" "i confess that it is not the situation which i should like to see a sister of mine apply for." "what is the meaning of it all, mr. holmes?" "ah, i have no data. i cannot tell. perhaps you have yourself formed some opinion?" "well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. mr. rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. is it not possible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an outbreak?" "that is a possible solution--in fact, as matters stand, it is the most probable one. but in any case it does not seem to be a nice household for a young lady." "but the money, mr. holmes, the money!" "well, yes, of course the pay is good--too good. that is what makes me uneasy. why should they give you 120 a year, when they could have their pick for 40? there must be some strong reason behind." "i thought that if i told you the circumstances you would understand afterwards if i wanted your help. i should feel so much stronger if i felt that you were at the back of me." "oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. i assure you that your little problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my way for some months. there is something distinctly novel about some of the features. if you should find yourself in doubt or in danger--" "danger! what danger do you foresee?" holmes shook his head gravely. "it would cease to be a danger if we could define it," said he. "but at any time, day or night, a telegram would bring me down to your help." "that is enough." she rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety all swept from her face. "i shall go down to hampshire quite easy in my mind now. i shall write to mr. rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for winchester to-morrow." with a few grateful words to holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon her way. "at least," said i as we heard her quick, firm steps descending the stairs, "she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care of herself." "and she would need to be," said holmes gravely. "i am much mistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past." it was not very long before my friend's prediction was fulfilled. a fortnight went by, during which i frequently found my thoughts turning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human experience this lonely woman had strayed into. the unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to determine. as to holmes, i observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his hand when i mentioned it. "data! data! data!" he cried impatiently. "i can't make bricks without clay." and yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation. the telegram which we eventually received came late one night just as i was thinking of turning in and holmes was settling down to one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when i would leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and find him in the same position when i came down to breakfast in the morning. he opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me. "just look up the trains in bradshaw," said he, and turned back to his chemical studies. the summons was a brief and urgent one. please be at the black swan hotel at winchester at midday to-morrow [it said]. do come! i am at my wit's end. hunter. "will you come with me?" asked holmes, glancing up. "i should wish to." "just look it up, then." "there is a train at half-past nine," said i, glancing over my bradshaw. "it is due at winchester at 11.30." "that will do very nicely. then perhaps i had better postpone my analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning." by eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old english capital. holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the way down, but after we had passed the hampshire border he threw them down and began to admire the scenery. it was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east. the sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a man's energy. all over the countryside, away to the rolling hills around aldershot, the little red and grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light green of the new foliage. "are they not fresh and beautiful?" i cried with all the enthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of baker street. but holmes shook his head gravely. "do you know, watson," said he, "that it is one of the curses of a mind with a turn like mine that i must look at everything with reference to my own special subject. you look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. i look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there." "good heavens!" i cried. "who would associate crime with these dear old homesteads?" "they always fill me with a certain horror. it is my belief, watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in london do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside." "you horrify me!" "but the reason is very obvious. the pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. there is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. but look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. had this lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in winchester, i should never have had a fear for her. it is the five miles of country which makes the danger. still, it is clear that she is not personally threatened." "no. if she can come to winchester to meet us she can get away." "quite so. she has her freedom." "what can be the matter, then? can you suggest no explanation?" "i have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover the facts as far as we know them. but which of these is correct can only be determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt find waiting for us. well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that miss hunter has to tell." the black swan is an inn of repute in the high street, at no distance from the station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. she had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon the table. "i am so delighted that you have come," she said earnestly. "it is so very kind of you both; but indeed i do not know what i should do. your advice will be altogether invaluable to me." "pray tell us what has happened to you." "i will do so, and i must be quick, for i have promised mr. rucastle to be back before three. i got his leave to come into town this morning, though he little knew for what purpose." "let us have everything in its due order." holmes thrust his long thin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen. "in the first place, i may say that i have met, on the whole, with no actual ill-treatment from mr. and mrs. rucastle. it is only fair to them to say that. but i cannot understand them, and i am not easy in my mind about them." "what can you not understand?" "their reasons for their conduct. but you shall have it all just as it occurred. when i came down, mr. rucastle met me here and drove me in his dog-cart to the copper beeches. it is, as he said, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp and bad weather. there are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which slopes down to the southampton highroad, which curves past about a hundred yards from the front door. this ground in front belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part of lord southerton's preserves. a clump of copper beeches immediately in front of the hall door has given its name to the place. "i was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. there was no truth, mr. holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable in your rooms at baker street. mrs. rucastle is not mad. i found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not more than thirty, i should think, while he can hardly be less than forty-five. from their conversation i have gathered that they have been married about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to philadelphia. mr. rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. as the daughter could not have been less than twenty, i can quite imagine that her position must have been uncomfortable with her father's young wife. "mrs. rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in feature. she impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. she was a nonentity. it was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to her husband and to her little son. her light grey eyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every little want and forestalling it if possible. he was kind to her also in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple. and yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. she would often be lost in deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. more than once i have surprised her in tears. i have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for i have never met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. he is small for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. his whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and insects. but i would rather not talk about the creature, mr. holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my story." "i am glad of all details," remarked my friend, "whether they seem to you to be relevant or not." "i shall try not to miss anything of importance. the one unpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and conduct of the servants. there are only two, a man and his wife. toller, for that is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell of drink. twice since i have been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet mr. rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. his wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as silent as mrs. rucastle and much less amiable. they are a most unpleasant couple, but fortunately i spend most of my time in the nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of the building. "for two days after my arrival at the copper beeches my life was very quiet; on the third, mrs. rucastle came down just after breakfast and whispered something to her husband. "'oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much obliged to you, miss hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair. i assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your appearance. we shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become you. you will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.' "the dress which i found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of blue. it was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. it could not have been a better fit if i had been measured for it. both mr. and mrs. rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. they were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching along the entire front of the house, with three long windows reaching down to the floor. a chair had been placed close to the central window, with its back turned towards it. in this i was asked to sit, and then mr. rucastle, walking up and down on the other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that i have ever listened to. you cannot imagine how comical he was, and i laughed until i was quite weary. mrs. rucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so much as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious look upon her face. after an hour or so, mr. rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the day, and that i might change my dress and go to little edward in the nursery. "two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly similar circumstances. again i changed my dress, again i sat in the window, and again i laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which my employer had an immense rpertoire, and which he told inimitably. then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. i read for about ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease and to change my dress. "you can easily imagine, mr. holmes, how curious i became as to what the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. they were always very careful, i observed, to turn my face away from the window, so that i became consumed with the desire to see what was going on behind my back. at first it seemed to be impossible, but i soon devised a means. my hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and i concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. on the next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, i put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that there was behind me. i confess that i was disappointed. there was nothing. at least that was my first impression. at the second glance, however, i perceived that there was a man standing in the southampton road, a small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in my direction. the road is an important highway, and there are usually people there. this man, however, was leaning against the railings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. i lowered my handkerchief and glanced at mrs. rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. she said nothing, but i am convinced that she had divined that i had a mirror in my hand and had seen what was behind me. she rose at once. "'jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon the road there who stares up at miss hunter.' "'no friend of yours, miss hunter?' he asked. "'no, i know no one in these parts.' "'dear me! how very impertinent! kindly turn round and motion to him to go away.' "'surely it would be better to take no notice.' "'no, no, we should have him loitering here always. kindly turn round and wave him away like that.' "i did as i was told, and at the same instant mrs. rucastle drew down the blind. that was a week ago, and from that time i have not sat again in the window, nor have i worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the road." "pray continue," said holmes. "your narrative promises to be a most interesting one." "you will find it rather disconnected, i fear, and there may prove to be little relation between the different incidents of which i speak. on the very first day that i was at the copper beeches, mr. rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. as we approached it i heard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving about. "'look in here!' said mr. rucastle, showing me a slit between two planks. 'is he not a beauty?' "i looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a vague figure huddled up in the darkness. "'don't be frightened,' said my employer, laughing at the start which i had given. 'it's only carlo, my mastiff. i call him mine, but really old toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. we feed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as keen as mustard. toller lets him loose every night, and god help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. for goodness' sake don't you ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it's as much as your life is worth.' "the warning was no idle one, for two nights later i happened to look out of my bedroom window about two o'clock in the morning. it was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was silvered over and almost as bright as day. i was standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when i was aware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper beeches. as it emerged into the moonshine i saw what it was. it was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. it walked slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side. that dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which i do not think that any burglar could have done. "and now i have a very strange experience to tell you. i had, as you know, cut off my hair in london, and i had placed it in a great coil at the bottom of my trunk. one evening, after the child was in bed, i began to amuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things. there was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked. i had filled the first two with my linen, and as i had still much to pack away i was naturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. it struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so i took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. the very first key fitted to perfection, and i drew the drawer open. there was only one thing in it, but i am sure that you would never guess what it was. it was my coil of hair. "i took it up and examined it. it was of the same peculiar tint, and the same thickness. but then the impossibility of the thing obtruded itself upon me. how could my hair have been locked in the drawer? with trembling hands i undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. i laid the two tresses together, and i assure you that they were identical. was it not extraordinary? puzzle as i would, i could make nothing at all of what it meant. i returned the strange hair to the drawer, and i said nothing of the matter to the rucastles as i felt that i had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had locked. "i am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, mr. holmes, and i soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. there was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. a door which faced that which led into the quarters of the tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked. one day, however, as i ascended the stair, i met mr. rucastle coming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on his face which made him a very different person to the round, jovial man to whom i was accustomed. his cheeks were red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his temples with passion. he locked the door and hurried past me without a word or a look. "this aroused my curiosity, so when i went out for a walk in the grounds with my charge, i strolled round to the side from which i could see the windows of this part of the house. there were four of them in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up. they were evidently all deserted. as i strolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, mr. rucastle came out to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever. "'ah!' said he, 'you must not think me rude if i passed you without a word, my dear young lady. i was preoccupied with business matters.' "i assured him that i was not offended. 'by the way,' said i, 'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has the shutters up.' "he looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my remark. "'photography is one of my hobbies,' said he. 'i have made my dark room up there. but, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon. who would have believed it? who would have ever believed it?' he spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at me. i read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest. "well, mr. holmes, from the moment that i understood that there was something about that suite of rooms which i was not to know, i was all on fire to go over them. it was not mere curiosity, though i have my share of that. it was more a feeling of duty--a feeling that some good might come from my penetrating to this place. they talk of woman's instinct; perhaps it was woman's instinct which gave me that feeling. at any rate, it was there, and i was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the forbidden door. "it was only yesterday that the chance came. i may tell you that, besides mr. rucastle, both toller and his wife find something to do in these deserted rooms, and i once saw him carrying a large black linen bag with him through the door. recently he has been drinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when i came upstairs there was the key in the door. i have no doubt at all that he had left it there. mr. and mrs. rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was with them, so that i had an admirable opportunity. i turned the key gently in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through. "there was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end. round this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third of which were open. they each led into an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through them. the centre door was closed, and across the outside of it had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with stout cord. the door itself was locked as well, and the key was not there. this barricaded door corresponded clearly with the shuttered window outside, and yet i could see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room was not in darkness. evidently there was a skylight which let in light from above. as i stood in the passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it might veil, i suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room and saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little slit of dim light which shone out from under the door. a mad, unreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, mr. holmes. my overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and i turned and ran--ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. i rushed down the passage, through the door, and straight into the arms of mr. rucastle, who was waiting outside. "'so,' said he, smiling, 'it was you, then. i thought that it must be when i saw the door open.' "'oh, i am so frightened!' i panted. "'my dear young lady! my dear young lady!'--you cannot think how caressing and soothing his manner was--'and what has frightened you, my dear young lady?' "but his voice was just a little too coaxing. he overdid it. i was keenly on my guard against him. "'i was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,' i answered. 'but it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that i was frightened and ran out again. oh, it is so dreadfully still in there!' "'only that?' said he, looking at me keenly. "'why, what did you think?' i asked. "'why do you think that i lock this door?' "'i am sure that i do not know.' "'it is to keep people out who have no business there. do you see?' he was still smiling in the most amiable manner. "'i am sure if i had known--' "'well, then, you know now. and if you ever put your foot over that threshold again'--here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon--'i'll throw you to the mastiff.' "i was so terrified that i do not know what i did. i suppose that i must have rushed past him into my room. i remember nothing until i found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. then i thought of you, mr. holmes. i could not live there longer without some advice. i was frightened of the house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants, even of the child. they were all horrible to me. if i could only bring you down all would be well. of course i might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was almost as strong as my fears. my mind was soon made up. i would send you a wire. i put on my hat and cloak, went down to the office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then returned, feeling very much easier. a horrible doubt came into my mind as i approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but i remembered that toller had drunk himself into a state of insensibility that evening, and i knew that he was the only one in the household who had any influence with the savage creature, or who would venture to set him free. i slipped in in safety and lay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you. i had no difficulty in getting leave to come into winchester this morning, but i must be back before three o'clock, for mr. and mrs. rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the evening, so that i must look after the child. now i have told you all my adventures, mr. holmes, and i should be very glad if you could tell me what it all means, and, above all, what i should do." holmes and i had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. my friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon his face. "is toller still drunk?" he asked. "yes. i heard his wife tell mrs. rucastle that she could do nothing with him." "that is well. and the rucastles go out to-night?" "yes." "is there a cellar with a good strong lock?" "yes, the wine-cellar." "you seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave and sensible girl, miss hunter. do you think that you could perform one more feat? i should not ask it of you if i did not think you a quite exceptional woman." "i will try. what is it?" "we shall be at the copper beeches by seven o'clock, my friend and i. the rucastles will be gone by that time, and toller will, we hope, be incapable. there only remains mrs. toller, who might give the alarm. if you could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate matters immensely." "i will do it." "excellent! we shall then look thoroughly into the affair. of course there is only one feasible explanation. you have been brought there to personate someone, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber. that is obvious. as to who this prisoner is, i have no doubt that it is the daughter, miss alice rucastle, if i remember right, who was said to have gone to america. you were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height, figure, and the colour of your hair. hers had been cut off, very possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of course, yours had to be sacrificed also. by a curious chance you came upon her tresses. the man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of hers--possibly her fianc--and no doubt, as you wore the girl's dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture, that miss rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. the dog is let loose at night to prevent him from endeavouring to communicate with her. so much is fairly clear. the most serious point in the case is the disposition of the child." "what on earth has that to do with it?" i ejaculated. "my dear watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. don't you see that the converse is equally valid. i have frequently gained my first real insight into the character of parents by studying their children. this child's disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty's sake, and whether he derives this from his smiling father, as i should suspect, or from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their power." "i am sure that you are right, mr. holmes," cried our client. "a thousand things come back to me which make me certain that you have hit it. oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor creature." "we must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. we can do nothing until seven o'clock. at that hour we shall be with you, and it will not be long before we solve the mystery." we were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the copper beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house. the group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even had miss hunter not been standing smiling on the door-step. "have you managed it?" asked holmes. a loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. "that is mrs. toller in the cellar," said she. "her husband lies snoring on the kitchen rug. here are his keys, which are the duplicates of mr. rucastle's." "you have done well indeed!" cried holmes with enthusiasm. "now lead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business." we passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which miss hunter had described. holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. then he tried the various keys in the lock, but without success. no sound came from within, and at the silence holmes' face clouded over. "i trust that we are not too late," said he. "i think, miss hunter, that we had better go in without you. now, watson, put your shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our way in." it was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united strength. together we rushed into the room. it was empty. there was no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. the skylight above was open, and the prisoner gone. "there has been some villainy here," said holmes; "this beauty has guessed miss hunter's intentions and has carried his victim off." "but how?" "through the skylight. we shall soon see how he managed it." he swung himself up onto the roof. "ah, yes," he cried, "here's the end of a long light ladder against the eaves. that is how he did it." "but it is impossible," said miss hunter; "the ladder was not there when the rucastles went away." "he has come back and done it. i tell you that he is a clever and dangerous man. i should not be very much surprised if this were he whose step i hear now upon the stair. i think, watson, that it would be as well for you to have your pistol ready." the words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his hand. miss hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of him, but sherlock holmes sprang forward and confronted him. "you villain!" said he, "where's your daughter?" the fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight. "it is for me to ask you that," he shrieked, "you thieves! spies and thieves! i have caught you, have i? you are in my power. i'll serve you!" he turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go. "he's gone for the dog!" cried miss hunter. "i have my revolver," said i. "better close the front door," cried holmes, and we all rushed down the stairs together. we had hardly reached the hall when we heard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. an elderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering out at a side door. "my god!" he cried. "someone has loosed the dog. it's not been fed for two days. quick, quick, or it'll be too late!" holmes and i rushed out and round the angle of the house, with toller hurrying behind us. there was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle buried in rucastle's throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the ground. running up, i blew its brains out, and it fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. with much labour we separated them and carried him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. we laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered toller to bear the news to his wife, i did what i could to relieve his pain. we were all assembled round him when the door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room. "mrs. toller!" cried miss hunter. "yes, miss. mr. rucastle let me out when he came back before he went up to you. ah, miss, it is a pity you didn't let me know what you were planning, for i would have told you that your pains were wasted." "ha!" said holmes, looking keenly at her. "it is clear that mrs. toller knows more about this matter than anyone else." "yes, sir, i do, and i am ready enough to tell what i know." "then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several points on which i must confess that i am still in the dark." "i will soon make it clear to you," said she; "and i'd have done so before now if i could ha' got out from the cellar. if there's police-court business over this, you'll remember that i was the one that stood your friend, and that i was miss alice's friend too. "she was never happy at home, miss alice wasn't, from the time that her father married again. she was slighted like and had no say in anything, but it never really became bad for her until after she met mr. fowler at a friend's house. as well as i could learn, miss alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them but just left everything in mr. rucastle's hands. he knew he was safe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming forward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. he wanted her to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use her money. when she wouldn't do it, he kept on worrying her until she got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death's door. then she got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her beautiful hair cut off; but that didn't make no change in her young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be." "ah," said holmes, "i think that what you have been good enough to tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that i can deduce all that remains. mr. rucastle then, i presume, took to this system of imprisonment?" "yes, sir." "and brought miss hunter down from london in order to get rid of the disagreeable persistence of mr. fowler." "that was it, sir." "but mr. fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should be, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain arguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests were the same as his." "mr. fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman," said mrs. toller serenely. "and in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master had gone out." "you have it, sir, just as it happened." "i am sure we owe you an apology, mrs. toller," said holmes, "for you have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. and here comes the country surgeon and mrs. rucastle, so i think, watson, that we had best escort miss hunter back to winchester, as it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a questionable one." and thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper beeches in front of the door. mr. rucastle survived, but was always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife. they still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of rucastle's past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. mr. fowler and miss rucastle were married, by special license, in southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in the island of mauritius. as to miss violet hunter, my friend holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at walsall, where i believe that she has met with considerable success. the memoirs of sherlock holmes silver blaze "i am afraid, watson, that i shall have to go," said holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning. "go! where to?" "to dartmoor; to king's pyland." i was not surprised. indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of england. for a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. yet, silent as he was, i knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. there was but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the wessex cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. when, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only what i had both expected and hoped for. "i should be most happy to go down with you if i should not be in the way," said i. "my dear watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming. and i think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. we have, i think, just time to catch our train at paddington, and i will go further into the matter upon our journey. you would oblige me by bringing with you your very excellent field-glass." and so it happened that an hour or so later i found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for exeter, while sherlock holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procured at paddington. we had left reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his cigar-case. "we are going well," said he, looking out the window and glancing at his watch. "our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour." "i have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said i. "nor have i. but the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. i presume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of john straker and the disappearance of silver blaze?" "i have seen what the telegraph and the chronicle have to say." "it is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence. the tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. the difficulty is to detach the framework of fact--of absolute undeniable fact--from the embellishments of theorists and reporters. then, having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. on tuesday evening i received telegrams from both colonel ross, the owner of the horse, and from inspector gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my cooperation. "tuesday evening!" i exclaimed. "and this is thursday morning. why didn't you go down yesterday?" "because i made a blunder, my dear watson--which is, i am afraid, a more common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your memoirs. the fact is that i could not believe it possible that the most remarkable horse in england could long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of dartmoor. from hour to hour yesterday i expected to hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was the murderer of john straker. when, however, another morning had come, and i found that beyond the arrest of young fitzroy simpson nothing had been done, i felt that it was time for me to take action. yet in some ways i feel that yesterday has not been wasted." "you have formed a theory, then?" "at least i have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. i shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person, and i can hardly expect your co-operation if i do not show you the position from which we start." i lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had led to our journey. "silver blaze," said he, "is from the somomy stock, and holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. he is now in his fifth year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to colonel ross, his fortunate owner. up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first favorite for the wessex cup, the betting being three to one on him. he has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of money have been laid upon him. it is obvious, therefore, that there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing silver blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next tuesday. "the fact was, of course, appreciated at king's pyland, where the colonel's training-stable is situated. every precaution was taken to guard the favorite. the trainer, john straker, is a retired jockey who rode in colonel ross's colors before he became too heavy for the weighing-chair. he has served the colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant. under him were three lads; for the establishment was a small one, containing only four horses in all. one of these lads sat up each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. all three bore excellent characters. john straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. he has no children, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. the country round is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been built by a tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure dartmoor air. tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training establishment of mapleton, which belongs to lord backwater, and is managed by silas brown. in every other direction the moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. such was the general situation last monday night when the catastrophe occurred. "on that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. two of the lads walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the third, ned hunter, remained on guard. at a few minutes after nine the maid, edith baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried mutton. she took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. the maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and the path ran across the open moor. "edith baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. as he stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. he wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. she was most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by the nervousness of his manner. his age, she thought, would be rather over thirty than under it. "'can you tell me where i am?' he asked. 'i had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor, when i saw the light of your lantern.' "'you are close to the king's pyland training-stables,' said she. "'oh, indeed! what a stroke of luck!' he cried. 'i understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. perhaps that is his supper which you are carrying to him. now i am sure that you would not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?' he took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. 'see that the boy has this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.' "she was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. it was already opened, and hunter was seated at the small table inside. she had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again. "'good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'i wanted to have a word with you.' the girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand. "'what business have you here?' asked the lad. "'it's business that may put something into your pocket,' said the other. 'you've two horses in for the wessex cup--silver blaze and bayard. let me have the straight tip and you won't be a loser. is it a fact that at the weights bayard could give the other a hundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?' "'so, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'i'll show you how we serve them in king's pyland.' he sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. the girl fled away to the house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the window. a minute later, however, when hunter rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any trace of him." "one moment," i asked. "did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?" "excellent, watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. "the importance of the point struck me so forcibly that i sent a special wire to dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. the boy locked the door before he left it. the window, i may add, was not large enough for a man to get through. "hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred. straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite realized its true significance. it left him, however, vaguely uneasy, and mrs. straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. in reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. she begged him to remain at home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the house. "mrs. straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband had not yet returned. she dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and set off for the stables. the door was open; inside, huddled together upon a chair, hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favorite's stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer. "the two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harness-room were quickly aroused. they had heard nothing during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. hunter was obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search of the absentees. they still had hopes that the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, but they perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy. "about a quarter of a mile from the stables john straker's overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. his head had been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument. it was clear, however, that straker had defended himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which was clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. he was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. as to the missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at the time of the struggle. but from that morning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and all the gypsies of dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come of him. finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect. "those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly as possible. i shall now recapitulate what the police have done in the matter. "inspector gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an extremely competent officer. were he but gifted with imagination he might rise to great heights in his profession. on his arrival he promptly found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. there was little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas which i have mentioned. his name, it appears, was fitzroy simpson. he was a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortune upon the turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of london. an examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the favorite. on being arrested he volunteered the statement that he had come down to dartmoor in the hope of getting some information about the king's pyland horses, and also about desborough, the second favorite, which was in charge of silas brown at the mapleton stables. he did not attempt to deny that he had acted as described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinister designs, and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. when confronted with his cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. his wet clothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which the trainer had succumbed. on the other hand, there was no wound upon his person, while the state of straker's knife would show that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. there you have it all in a nutshell, watson, and if you can give me any light i shall be infinitely obliged to you." i had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. though most of the facts were familiar to me, i had not sufficiently appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to each other. "is in not possible," i suggested, "that the incised wound upon straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?" "it is more than possible; it is probable," said holmes. "in that case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears." "and yet," said i, "even now i fail to understand what the theory of the police can be." "i am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to it," returned my companion. "the police imagine, i take it, that this fitzroy simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. his bridle is missing, so that simpson must have put this on. then, having left the door open behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor, when he was either met or overtaken by the trainer. a row naturally ensued. simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which straker used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors. that is the case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it is, all other explanations are more improbable still. however, i shall very quickly test the matter when i am once upon the spot, and until then i cannot really see how we can get much further than our present position." it was evening before we reached the little town of tavistock, which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of dartmoor. two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station--the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass. the latter was colonel ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, inspector gregory, a man who was rapidly making his name in the english detective service. "i am delighted that you have come down, mr. holmes," said the colonel. "the inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested, but i wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor straker and in recovering my horse." "have there been any fresh developments?" asked holmes. "i am sorry to say that we have made very little progress," said the inspector. "we have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as we drive." a minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, and were rattling through the quaint old devonshire city. inspector gregory was full of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection. colonel ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while i listened with interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what holmes had foretold in the train. "the net is drawn pretty close round fitzroy simpson," he remarked, "and i believe myself that he is our man. at the same time i recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may upset it." "how about straker's knife?" "we have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall." "my friend dr. watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. if so, it would tell against this man simpson." "undoubtedly. he has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. the evidence against him is certainly very strong. he had a great interest in the disappearance of the favorite. he lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. i really think we have enough to go before a jury." holmes shook his head. "a clever counsel would tear it all to rags," said he. "why should he take the horse out of the stable? if he wished to injure it why could he not do it there? has a duplicate key been found in his possession? what chemist sold him the powdered opium? above all, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as this? what is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished the maid to give to the stable-boy?" "he says that it was a ten-pound note. one was found in his purse. but your other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. he is not a stranger to the district. he has twice lodged at tavistock in the summer. the opium was probably brought from london. the key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away. the horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor." "what does he say about the cravat?" "he acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lost it. but a new element has been introduced into the case which may account for his leading the horse from the stable." holmes pricked up his ears. "we have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. on tuesday they were gone. now, presuming that there was some understanding between simpson and these gypsies, might he not have been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?" "it is certainly possible." "the moor is being scoured for these gypsies. i have also examined every stable and out-house in tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles." "there is another training-stable quite close, i understand?" "yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. as desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest in the disappearance of the favorite. silas brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets upon the event, and he was no friend to poor straker. we have, however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to connect him with the affair." "and nothing to connect this man simpson with the interests of the mapleton stables?" "nothing at all." holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. a few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. some distance off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. in every other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the mapleton stables. we all sprang out with the exception of holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. it was only when i touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage. "excuse me," said he, turning to colonel ross, who had looked at him in some surprise. "i was day-dreaming." there was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as i was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though i could not imagine where he had found it. "perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime, mr. holmes?" said gregory. "i think that i should prefer to stay here a little and go into one or two questions of detail. straker was brought back here, i presume?" "yes; he lies upstairs. the inquest is to-morrow." "he has been in your service some years, colonel ross?" "i have always found him an excellent servant." "i presume that you made an inventory of what he had in this pockets at the time of his death, inspector?" "i have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care to see them." "i should be very glad." we all filed into the front room and sat round the central table while the inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid a small heap of things before us. there was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an a d p brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked weiss & co., london. "this is a very singular knife," said holmes, lifting it up and examining it minutely. "i presume, as i see blood-stains upon it, that it is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. watson, this knife is surely in your line?" "it is what we call a cataract knife," said i. "i thought so. a very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. a strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition, especially as it would not shut in his pocket." "the tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside his body," said the inspector. "his wife tells us that the knife had lain upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. it was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at the moment." "very possible. how about these papers?" "three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. one of them is a letter of instructions from colonel ross. this other is a milliner's account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by madame lesurier, of bond street, to william derbyshire. mrs. straker tells us that derbyshire was a friend of her husband's and that occasionally his letters were addressed here." "madam derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," remarked holmes, glancing down the account. "twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a single costume. however there appears to be nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to the scene of the crime." as we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the inspector's sleeve. her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print of a recent horror. "have you got them? have you found them?" she panted. "no, mrs. straker. but mr. holmes here has come from london to help us, and we shall do all that is possible." "surely i met you in plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago, mrs. straker?" said holmes. "no, sir; you are mistaken." "dear me! why, i could have sworn to it. you wore a costume of dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming." "i never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady. "ah, that quite settles it," said holmes. and with an apology he followed the inspector outside. a short walk across the moor took us to the hollow in which the body had been found. at the brink of it was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung. "there was no wind that night, i understand," said holmes. "none; but very heavy rain." "in that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but placed there." "yes, it was laid across the bush." "you fill me with interest, i perceive that the ground has been trampled up a good deal. no doubt many feet have been here since monday night." "a piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all stood upon that." "excellent." "in this bag i have one of the boots which straker wore, one of fitzroy simpson's shoes, and a cast horseshoe of silver blaze." "my dear inspector, you surpass yourself!" holmes took the bag, and, descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central position. then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin upon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him. "hullo!" said he, suddenly. "what's this?" it was a wax vesta half burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood. "i cannot think how i came to overlook it," said the inspector, with an expression of annoyance. "it was invisible, buried in the mud. i only saw it because i was looking for it." "what! you expected to find it?" "i thought it not unlikely." he took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions of each of them with marks upon the ground. then he clambered up to the rim of the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes. "i am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the inspector. "i have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction." "indeed!" said holmes, rising. "i should not have the impertinence to do it again after what you say. but i should like to take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark, that i may know my ground to-morrow, and i think that i shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for luck." colonel ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. "i wish you would come back with me, inspector," said he. "there are several points on which i should like your advice, and especially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to remove our horse's name from the entries for the cup." "certainly not," cried holmes, with decision. "i should let the name stand." the colonel bowed. "i am very glad to have had your opinion, sir," said he. "you will find us at poor straker's house when you have finished your walk, and we can drive together into tavistock." he turned back with the inspector, while holmes and i walked slowly across the moor. the sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles caught the evening light. but the glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought. "it's this way, watson," said he at last. "we may leave the question of who killed john straker for the instant, and confine ourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. now, supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? the horse is a very gregarious creature. if left to himself his instincts would have been either to return to king's pyland or go over to mapleton. why should he run wild upon the moor? he would surely have been seen by now. and why should gypsies kidnap him? these people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. they could not hope to sell such a horse. they would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him. surely that is clear." "where is he, then?" "i have already said that he must have gone to king's pyland or to mapleton. he is not at king's pyland. therefore he is at mapleton. let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. this part of the moor, as the inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. but it falls away towards mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on monday night. if our supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks." we had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in question. at holmes' request i walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but i had not taken fifty paces before i heard him give a shout, and saw him waving his hand to me. the track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression. "see the value of imagination," said holmes. "it is the one quality which gregory lacks. we imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. let us proceed." we crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry, hard turf. again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks. then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more quite close to mapleton. it was holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. a man's track was visible beside the horse's. "the horse was alone before," i cried. "quite so. it was alone before. hullo, what is this?" the double track turned sharp off and took the direction of king's pyland. holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. his eyes were on the trail, but i happened to look a little to one side, and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. "one for you, watson," said holmes, when i pointed it out. "you have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces. let us follow the return track." we had not to go far. it ended at the paving of asphalt which led up to the gates of the mapleton stables. as we approached, a groom ran out from them. "we don't want any loiterers about here," said he. "i only wished to ask a question," said holmes, with his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. "should i be too early to see your master, mr. silas brown, if i were to call at five o'clock to-morrow morning?" "bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is always the first stirring. but here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself. no, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch your money. afterwards, if you like." as sherlock holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. "what's this, dawson!" he cried. "no gossiping! go about your business! and you, what the devil do you want here?" "ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said holmes in the sweetest of voices. "i've no time to talk to every gadabout. we want no stranger here. be off, or you may find a dog at your heels." holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear. he started violently and flushed to the temples. "it's a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!" "very good. shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your parlor?" "oh, come in if you wish to." holmes smiled. "i shall not keep you more than a few minutes, watson," said he. "now, mr. brown, i am quite at your disposal." it was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before holmes and the trainer reappeared. never have i seen such a change as had been brought about in silas brown in that short time. his face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. his bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at my companion's side like a dog with its master. "your instructions will be done. it shall all be done," said he. "there must be no mistake," said holmes, looking round at him. the other winced as he read the menace in his eyes. "oh no, there shall be no mistake. it shall be there. should i change it first or not?" holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "no, don't," said he; "i shall write to you about it. no tricks, now, or--" "oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!" "yes, i think i can. well, you shall hear from me to-morrow." he turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held out to him, and we set off for king's pyland. "a more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than master silas brown i have seldom met with," remarked holmes as we trudged along together. "he has the horse, then?" "he tried to bluster out of it, but i described to him so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that i was watching him. of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. i described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. how he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which has given the favorite its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. then i described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to king's pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at mapleton. when i told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin." "but his stables had been searched?" "oh, and old horse-faker like him has many a dodge." "but are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has every interest in injuring it?" "my dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. he knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe." "colonel ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much mercy in any case." "the matter does not rest with colonel ross. i follow my own methods, and tell as much or as little as i choose. that is the advantage of being unofficial. i don't know whether you observed it, watson, but the colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. i am inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. say nothing to him about the horse." "certainly not without your permission." "and of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed john straker." "and you will devote yourself to that?" "on the contrary, we both go back to london by the night train." i was thunderstruck by my friend's words. we had only been a few hours in devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. not a word more could i draw from him until we were back at the trainer's house. the colonel and the inspector were awaiting us in the parlor. "my friend and i return to town by the night-express," said holmes. "we have had a charming little breath of your beautiful dartmoor air." the inspector opened his eyes, and the colonel's lip curled in a sneer. "so you despair of arresting the murderer of poor straker," said he. holmes shrugged his shoulders. "there are certainly grave difficulties in the way," said he. "i have every hope, however, that your horse will start upon tuesday, and i beg that you will have your jockey in readiness. might i ask for a photograph of mr. john straker?" the inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him. "my dear gregory, you anticipate all my wants. if i might ask you to wait here for an instant, i have a question which i should like to put to the maid." "i must say that i am rather disappointed in our london consultant," said colonel ross, bluntly, as my friend left the room. "i do not see that we are any further than when he came." "at least you have his assurance that your horse will run," said i. "yes, i have his assurance," said the colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders. "i should prefer to have the horse." i was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered the room again. "now, gentlemen," said he, "i am quite ready for tavistock." as we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door open for us. a sudden idea seemed to occur to holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve. "you have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "who attends to them?" "i do, sir." "have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?" "well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame, sir." i could see that holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "a long shot, watson; a very long shot," said he, pinching my arm. "gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. drive on, coachman!" colonel ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion which he had formed of my companion's ability, but i saw by the inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused. "you consider that to be important?" he asked. "exceedingly so." "is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?" "to the curious incident of the dog in the night-time." "the dog did nothing in the night-time." "that was the curious incident," remarked sherlock holmes. four days later holmes and i were again in the train, bound for winchester to see the race for the wessex cup. colonel ross met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town. his face was grave, and his manner was cold in the extreme. "i have seen nothing of my horse," said he. "i suppose that you would know him when you saw him?" asked holmes. the colonel was very angry. "i have been on the turf for twenty years, and never was asked such a question as that before," said he. "a child would know silver blaze, with his white forehead and his mottled off-foreleg." "how is the betting?" "well, that is the curious part of it. you could have got fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can hardly get three to one now." "hum!" said holmes. "somebody knows something, that is clear." as the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand i glanced at the card to see the entries. wessex plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs. added, for four and five year olds. second, 300. third, 200. new course (one mile and five furlongs). 1. mr. heath newton's the negro. red cap. cinnamon jacket. 2. colonel wardlaw's pugilist. pink cap. blue and black jacket. 3. lord backwater's desborough. yellow cap and sleeves. 4. colonel ross's silver blaze. black cap. red jacket. 5. duke of balmoral's iris. yellow and black stripes. 6. lord singleford's rasper. purple cap. black sleeves. "we scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word," said the colonel. "why, what is that? silver blaze favorite?" "five to four against silver blaze!" roared the ring. "five to four against silver blaze! five to fifteen against desborough! five to four on the field!" "there are the numbers up," i cried. "they are all six there." "all six there? then my horse is running," cried the colonel in great agitation. "but i don't see him. my colors have not passed." "only five have passed. this must be he." as i spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighting enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the colonel. "that's not my horse," cried the owner. "that beast has not a white hair upon its body. what is this that you have done, mr. holmes?" "well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend, imperturbably. for a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass. "capital! an excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "there they are, coming round the curve!" from our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. the six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them, but half way up the yellow of the mapleton stable showed to the front. before they reached us, however, desborough's bolt was shot, and the colonel's horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the duke of balmoral's iris making a bad third. "it's my race, anyhow," gasped the colonel, passing his hand over his eyes. "i confess that i can make neither head nor tail of it. don't you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, mr. holmes?" "certainly, colonel, you shall know everything. let us all go round and have a look at the horse together. here he is," he continued, as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friends find admittance. "you have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old silver blaze as ever." "you take my breath away!" "i found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over." "my dear sir, you have done wonders. the horse looks very fit and well. it never went better in its life. i owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. you have done me a great service by recovering my horse. you would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of john straker." "i have done so," said holmes quietly. the colonel and i stared at him in amazement. "you have got him! where is he, then?" "he is here." "here! where?" "in my company at the present moment." the colonel flushed angrily. "i quite recognize that i am under obligations to you, mr. holmes," said he, "but i must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult." sherlock holmes laughed. "i assure you that i have not associated you with the crime, colonel," said he. "the real murderer is standing immediately behind you." he stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred. "the horse!" cried both the colonel and myself. "yes, the horse. and it may lessen his guilt if i say that it was done in self-defence, and that john straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. but there goes the bell, and as i stand to win a little on this next race, i shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time." we had the corner of a pullman car to ourselves that evening as we whirled back to london, and i fancy that the journey was a short one to colonel ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the dartmoor training-stables upon the monday night, and the means by which he had unravelled them. "i confess," said he, "that any theories which i had formed from the newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. and yet there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. i went to devonshire with the conviction that fitzroy simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, i saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete. it was while i was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. you may remember that i was distrait, and remained sitting after you had all alighted. i was marvelling in my own mind how i could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue." "i confess," said the colonel, "that even now i cannot see how it helps us." "it was the first link in my chain of reasoning. powdered opium is by no means tasteless. the flavor is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. a curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. by no possible supposition could this stranger, fitzroy simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer's family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavor. that is unthinkable. therefore simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. the opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them? "before deciding that question i had grasped the significance of the silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. the simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. obviously the midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well. "i was already convinced, or almost convinced, that john straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out silver blaze. for what purpose? for a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? and yet i was at a loss to know why. there have been cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses, through agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud. sometimes it is a pulling jockey. sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. what was it here? i hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion. "and they did so. you cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. it was, as dr. watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. and it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. you must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, colonel ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. a horse so treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play." "villain! scoundrel!" cried the colonel. "we have here the explanation of why john straker wished to take the horse out on to the moor. so spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. it was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air." "i have been blind!" cried the colonel. "of course that was why he needed the candle, and struck the match." "undoubtedly. but in examining his belongings i was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. as a man of the world, colonel, you know that men do not carry other people's bills about in their pockets. we have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. i at once concluded that straker was leading a double life, and keeping a second establishment. the nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes. liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. i questioned mrs. straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, i made a note of the milliner's address, and felt that by calling there with straker's photograph i could easily dispose of the mythical derbyshire. "from that time on all was plain. straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. simpson in his flight had dropped his cravat, and straker had picked it up--with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's leg. once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck straker full on the forehead. he had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. do i make it clear?" "wonderful!" cried the colonel. "wonderful! you might have been there!" "my final shot was, i confess a very long one. it struck me that so astute a man as straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a little practice. what could he practice on? my eyes fell upon the sheep, and i asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct. "when i returned to london i called upon the milliner, who had recognized straker as an excellent customer of the name of derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. i have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot." "you have explained all but one thing," cried the colonel. "where was the horse?" "ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. we must have an amnesty in that direction, i think. this is clapham junction, if i am not mistaken, and we shall be in victoria in less than ten minutes. if you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, colonel, i shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you." the yellow face [in publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in which my companion's singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that i should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. and this not so much for the sake of his reputations--for, indeed, it was when he was at his wits' end that his energy and his versatility were most admirable--but because where he failed it happened too often that no one else succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred, the truth was still discovered. i have noted of some half-dozen cases of the kind of which "the adventure of the musgrave ritual" and that which i am about to recount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.] sherlock holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise's sake. few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight that i have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when there was some professional object to be served. then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. that he should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge of austerity. save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting. one day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with me in the park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves. for two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately. it was nearly five before we were back in baker street once more. "beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the door. "there's been a gentleman here asking for you, sir." holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "so much for afternoon walks!" said he. "has this gentleman gone, then?" "yes, sir." "didn't you ask him in?" "yes, sir; he came in." "how long did he wait?" "half an hour, sir. he was a very restless gentleman, sir, a-walkin' and a-stampin' all the time he was here. i was waitin' outside the door, sir, and i could hear him. at last he outs into the passage, and he cries, 'is that man never goin' to come?' those were his very words, sir. 'you'll only need to wait a little longer,' says i. 'then i'll wait in the open air, for i feel half choked,' says he. 'i'll be back before long.' and with that he ups and he outs, and all i could say wouldn't hold him back." "well, well, you did your best," said holmes, as we walked into our room. "it's very annoying, though, watson. i was badly in need of a case, and this looks, from the man's impatience, as if it were of importance. hullo! that's not your pipe on the table. he must have left his behind him. a nice old brier with a good long stem of what the tobacconists call amber. i wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there are in london? some people think that a fly in it is a sign. well, he must have been disturbed in his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values highly." "how do you know that he values it highly?" i asked. "well, i should put the original cost of the pipe at seven and sixpence. now it has, you see, been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and once in the amber. each of these mends, done, as you observe, with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. the man must value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new one with the same money." "anything else?" i asked, for holmes was turning the pipe about in his hand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way. he held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger, as a professor might who was lecturing on a bone. "pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest," said he. "nothing has more individuality, save perhaps watches and bootlaces. the indications here, however, are neither very marked nor very important. the owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his habits, and with no need to practise economy." my friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but i saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if i had followed his reasoning. "you think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe," said i. "this is grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce," holmes answered, knocking a little out on his palm. "as he might get an excellent smoke for half the price, he has no need to practise economy." "and the other points?" "he has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gas-jets. you can see that it is quite charred all down one side. of course a match could not have done that. why should a man hold a match to the side of his pipe? but you cannot light it at a lamp without getting the bowl charred. and it is all on the right side of the pipe. from that i gather that he is a left-handed man. you hold your own pipe to the lamp, and see how naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. you might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. this has always been held so. then he has bitten through his amber. it takes a muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do that. but if i am not mistaken i hear him upon the stair, so we shall have something more interesting than his pipe to study." an instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered the room. he was well but quietly dressed in a dark-gray suit, and carried a brown wide-awake in his hand. i should have put him at about thirty, though he was really some years older. "i beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment; "i suppose i should have knocked. yes, of course i should have knocked. the fact is that i am a little upset, and you must put it all down to that." he passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon a chair. "i can see that you have not slept for a night or two," said holmes, in his easy, genial way. "that tries a man's nerves more than work, and more even than pleasure. may i ask how i can help you?" "i wanted your advice, sir. i don't know what to do and my whole life seems to have gone to pieces." "you wish to employ me as a consulting detective?" "not that only. i want your opinion as a judicious man--as a man of the world. i want to know what i ought to do next. i hope to god you'll be able to tell me." he spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that to speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through was overriding his inclinations. "it's a very delicate thing," said he. "one does not like to speak of one's domestic affairs to strangers. it seems dreadful to discuss the conduct of one's wife with two men whom i have never seen before. it's horrible to have to do it. but i've got to the end of my tether, and i must have advice." "my dear mr. grant munro--" began holmes. our visitor sprang from his chair. "what!" he cried, "you know my name?" "if you wish to preserve your incognito," said holmes, smiling, "i would suggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of your hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you are addressing. i was about to say that my friend and i have listened to a good many strange secrets in this room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. i trust that we may do as much for you. might i beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to furnish me with the facts of your case without further delay?" our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he found it bitterly hard. from every gesture and expression i could see that he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose them. then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the winds, he began. "the facts are these, mr. holmes," said he. "i am a married man, and have been so for three years. during that time my wife and i have loved each other as fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were joined. we have not had a difference, not one, in thought or word or deed. and now, since last monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and i find that there is something in her life and in her thought of which i know as little as if she were the woman who brushes by me in the street. we are estranged, and i want to know why. "now there is one thing that i want to impress upon you before i go any further, mr. holmes. effie loves me. don't let there be any mistake about that. she loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more than now. i know it. i feel it. i don't want to argue about that. a man can tell easily enough when a woman loves him. but there's this secret between us, and we can never be the same until it is cleared." "kindly let me have the facts, mr. munro," said holmes, with some impatience. "i'll tell you what i know about effie's history. she was a widow when i met her first, though quite young--only twenty-five. her name then was mrs. hebron. she went out to america when she was young, and lived in the town of atlanta, where she married this hebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice. they had one child, but the yellow fever broke out badly in the place, and both husband and child died of it. i have seen his death certificate. this sickened her of america, and she came back to live with a maiden aunt at pinner, in middlesex. i may mention that her husband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of about four thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him that it returned an average of seven per cent. she had only been six months at pinner when i met her; we fell in love with each other, and we married a few weeks afterwards. "i am a hop merchant myself, and as i have an income of seven or eight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice eighty-pound-a-year villa at norbury. our little place was very countrified, considering that it is so close to town. we had an inn and two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the other side of the field which faces us, and except those there were no houses until you got half way to the station. my business took me into town at certain seasons, but in summer i had less to do, and then in our country home my wife and i were just as happy as could be wished. i tell you that there never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair began. "there's one thing i ought to tell you before i go further. when we married, my wife made over all her property to me--rather against my will, for i saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs went wrong. however, she would have it so, and it was done. well, about six weeks ago she came to me. "'jack,' said she, 'when you took my money you said that if ever i wanted any i was to ask you for it.' "'certainly,' said i. 'it's all your own.' "'well,' said she, 'i want a hundred pounds.' "i was a bit staggered at this, for i had imagined it was simply a new dress or something of the kind that she was after. "'what on earth for?' i asked. "'oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that you were only my banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.' "'if you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,' said i. "'oh, yes, i really mean it.' "'and you won't tell me what you want it for?' "'some day, perhaps, but not just at present, jack.' "so i had to be content with that, though it was the first time that there had ever been any secret between us. i gave her a check, and i never thought any more of the matter. it may have nothing to do with what came afterwards, but i thought it only right to mention it. "well, i told you just now that there is a cottage not far from our house. there is just a field between us, but to reach it you have to go along the road and then turn down a lane. just beyond it is a nice little grove of scotch firs, and i used to be very fond of strolling down there, for trees are always a neighborly kind of things. the cottage had been standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty two storied place, with an old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. i have stood many a time and thought what a neat little homestead it would make. "well, last monday evening i was taking a stroll down that way, when i met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets and things lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. it was clear that the cottage had at last been let. i walked past it, and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come to live so near us. and as i looked i suddenly became aware that a face was watching me out of one of the upper windows. "i don't know what there was about that face, mr. holmes, but it seemed to send a chill right down my back. i was some little way off, so that i could not make out the features, but there was something unnatural and inhuman about the face. that was the impression that i had, and i moved quickly forwards to get a nearer view of the person who was watching me. but as i did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. i stood for five minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my impressions. i could not tell if the face were that of a man or a woman. it had been too far from me for that. but its color was what had impressed me most. it was of a livid chalky white, and with something set and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. so disturbed was i that i determined to see a little more of the new inmates of the cottage. i approached and knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face. "'what may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a northern accent. "'i am your neighbor over yonder,' said i, nodding towards my house. 'i see that you have only just moved in, so i thought that if i could be of any help to you in any--' "'ay, we'll just ask ye when we want ye,' said she, and shut the door in my face. annoyed at the churlish rebuff, i turned my back and walked home. all evening, though i tried to think of other things, my mind would still turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the woman. i determined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for she is a nervous, highly strung woman, and i had no wish that she would share the unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. i remarked to her, however, before i fell asleep, that the cottage was now occupied, to which she returned no reply. "i am usually an extremely sound sleeper. it has been a standing jest in the family that nothing could ever wake me during the night. and yet somehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slight excitement produced by my little adventure or not i know not, but i slept much more lightly than usual. half in my dreams i was dimly conscious that something was going on in the room, and gradually became aware that my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. my lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my half-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle-light, and astonishment held me dumb. she wore an expression such as i had never seen before--such as i should have thought her incapable of assuming. she was deadly pale and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as she fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed me. then, thinking that i was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the room, and an instant later i heard a sharp creaking which could only come from the hinges of the front door. i sat up in bed and rapped my knuckles against the rail to make certain that i was truly awake. then i took my watch from under the pillow. it was three in the morning. what on this earth could my wife be doing out on the country road at three in the morning? "i had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mind and trying to find some possible explanation. the more i thought, the more extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. i was still puzzling over it when i heard the door gently close again, and her footsteps coming up the stairs. "'where in the world have you been, effie?' i asked as she entered. "she gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when i spoke, and that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there was something indescribably guilty about them. my wife had always been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her slinking into her own room, and crying out and wincing when her own husband spoke to her. "'you awake, jack!' she cried, with a nervous laugh. 'why, i thought that nothing could awake you.' "'where have you been?' i asked, more sternly. "'i don't wonder that you are surprised,' said she, and i could see that her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle. 'why, i never remember having done such a thing in my life before. the fact is that i felt as though i were choking, and had a perfect longing for a breath of fresh air. i really think that i should have fainted if i had not gone out. i stood at the door for a few minutes, and now i am quite myself again.' "all the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. it was evident to me that she was saying what was false. i said nothing in reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind filled with a thousand venomous doubts and suspicions. what was it that my wife was concealing from me? where had she been during that strange expedition? i felt that i should have no peace until i knew, and yet i shrank from asking her again after once she had told me what was false. all the rest of the night i tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory, each more unlikely than the last. "i should have gone to the city that day, but i was too disturbed in my mind to be able to pay attention to business matters. my wife seemed to be as upset as myself, and i could see from the little questioning glances which she kept shooting at me that she understood that i disbelieved her statement, and that she was at her wits' end what to do. we hardly exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards i went out for a walk, that i might think the matter out in the fresh morning air. "i went as far as the crystal palace, spent an hour in the grounds, and was back in norbury by one o'clock. it happened that my way took me past the cottage, and i stopped for an instant to look at the windows, and to see if i could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked out at me on the day before. as i stood there, imagine my surprise, mr. holmes, when the door suddenly opened and my wife walked out. "i was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her; but my emotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her face when our eyes met. she seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless all concealment must be, she came forward, with a very white face and frightened eyes which belied the smile upon her lips. "'ah, jack,' she said, 'i have just been in to see if i can be of any assistance to our new neighbors. why do you look at me like that, jack? you are not angry with me?' "'so,' said i, 'this is where you went during the night.' "'what do you mean?' she cried. "'you came here. i am sure of it. who are these people, that you should visit them at such an hour?' "'i have not been here before.' "'how can you tell me what you know is false?' i cried. 'your very voice changes as you speak. when have i ever had a secret from you? i shall enter that cottage, and i shall probe the matter to the bottom.' "'no, no, jack, for god's sake!' she gasped, in uncontrollable emotion. then, as i approached the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me back with convulsive strength. "'i implore you not to do this, jack,' she cried. 'i swear that i will tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if you enter that cottage.' then, as i tried to shake her off, she clung to me in a frenzy of entreaty. "'trust me, jack!' she cried. 'trust me only this once. you will never have cause to regret it. you know that i would not have a secret from you if it were not for your own sake. our whole lives are at stake in this. if you come home with me, all will be well. if you force your way into that cottage, all is over between us.' "there was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that her words arrested me, and i stood irresolute before the door. "'i will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,' said i at last. 'it is that this mystery comes to an end from now. you are at liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there shall be no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my knowledge. i am willing to forget those which are passed if you will promise that there shall be no more in the future.' "'i was sure that you would trust me,' she cried, with a great sigh of relief. 'it shall be just as you wish. come away--oh, come away up to the house.' "still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. as we went i glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching us out of the upper window. what link could there be between that creature and my wife? or how could the coarse, rough woman whom i had seen the day before be connected with her? it was a strange puzzle, and yet i knew that my mind could never know ease again until i had solved it. "for two days after this i stayed at home, and my wife appeared to abide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as i know, she never stirred out of the house. on the third day, however, i had ample evidence that her solemn promise was not enough to hold her back from this secret influence which drew her away from her husband and her duty. "i had gone into town on that day, but i returned by the 2.40 instead of the 3.36, which is my usual train. as i entered the house the maid ran into the hall with a startled face. "'where is your mistress?' i asked. "'i think that she has gone out for a walk,' she answered. "my mind was instantly filled with suspicion. i rushed upstairs to make sure that she was not in the house. as i did so i happened to glance out of one of the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom i had just been speaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. then of course i saw exactly what it all meant. my wife had gone over there, and had asked the servant to call her if i should return. tingling with anger, i rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter once and forever. i saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the lane, but i did not stop to speak with them. in the cottage lay the secret which was casting a shadow over my life. i vowed that, come what might, it should be a secret no longer. i did not even knock when i reached it, but turned the handle and rushed into the passage. "it was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. in the kitchen a kettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in the basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom i had seen before. i ran into the other room, but it was equally deserted. then i rushed up the stairs, only to find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. there was no one at all in the whole house. the furniture and pictures were of the most common and vulgar description, save in the one chamber at the window of which i had seen the strange face. that was comfortable and elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when i saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a full-length photograph of my wife, which had been taken at my request only three months ago. "i stayed long enough to make certain that the house was absolutely empty. then i left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as i had never had before. my wife came out into the hall as i entered my house; but i was too hurt and angry to speak with her, and pushing past her, i made my way into my study. she followed me, however, before i could close the door. "'i am sorry that i broke my promise, jack,' said she; 'but if you knew all the circumstances i am sure that you would forgive me.' "'tell me everything, then,' said i. "'i cannot, jack, i cannot,' she cried. "'until you tell me who it is that has been living in that cottage, and who it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be any confidence between us,' said i, and breaking away from her, i left the house. that was yesterday, mr. holmes, and i have not seen her since, nor do i know anything more about this strange business. it is the first shadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that i do not know what i should do for the best. suddenly this morning it occurred to me that you were the man to advise me, so i have hurried to you now, and i place myself unreservedly in your hands. if there is any point which i have not made clear, pray question me about it. but, above all, tell me quickly what i am to do, for this misery is more than i can bear." holmes and i had listened with the utmost interest to this extraordinary statement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a man who is under the influence of extreme emotions. my companion sat silent for some time, with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought. "tell me," said he at last, "could you swear that this was a man's face which you saw at the window?" "each time that i saw it i was some distance away from it, so that it is impossible for me to say." "you appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it." "it seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a strange rigidity about the features. when i approached, it vanished with a jerk." "how long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?" "nearly two months." "have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?" "no; there was a great fire at atlanta very shortly after his death, and all her papers were destroyed." "and yet she had a certificate of death. you say that you saw it." "yes; she got a duplicate after the fire." "did you ever meet any one who knew her in america?" "no." "did she ever talk of revisiting the place?" "no." "or get letters from it?" "no." "thank you. i should like to think over the matter a little now. if the cottage is now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. if, on the other hand, as i fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of your coming, and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be back now, and we should clear it all up easily. let me advise you, then, to return to norbury, and to examine the windows of the cottage again. if you have reason to believe that is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send a wire to my friend and me. we shall be with you within an hour of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of the business." "and if it is still empty?" "in that case i shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you. good-bye, and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really have a cause for it." "i am afraid that this is a bad business, watson," said my companion, as he returned after accompanying mr. grant munro to the door. "what do you make of it?" "it had an ugly sound," i answered. "yes. there's blackmail in it, or i am much mistaken." "and who is the blackmailer?" "well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable room in the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. upon my word, watson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at the window, and i would not have missed the case for worlds." "you have a theory?" "yes, a provisional one. but i shall be surprised if it does not turn out to be correct. this woman's first husband is in that cottage." "why do you think so?" "how else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should not enter it? the facts, as i read them, are something like this: this woman was married in america. her husband developed some hateful qualities; or shall we say that he contracted some loathsome disease, and became a leper or an imbecile? she flies from him at last, returns to england, changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. she has been married three years, and believes that her position is quite secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of some man whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her first husband; or, we may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to the invalid. they write to the wife, and threaten to come and expose her. she asks for a hundred pounds, and endeavors to buy them off. they come in spite of it, and when the husband mentions casually to the wife that there are new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. she waits until her husband is asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavor to persuade them to leave her in peace. having no success, she goes again next morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as she comes out. she promises him then not to go there again, but two days afterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful neighbors was too strong for her, and she made another attempt, taking down with her the photograph which had probably been demanded from her. in the midst of this interview the maid rushed in to say that the master had come home, on which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to the cottage, hurried the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing near. in this way he found the place deserted. i shall be very much surprised, however, if it still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. what do you think of my theory?" "it is all surmise." "but at least it covers all the facts. when new facts come to our knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to reconsider it. we can do nothing more until we have a message from our friend at norbury." but we had not a very long time to wait for that. it came just as we had finished our tea. "the cottage is still tenanted," it said. "have seen the face again at the window. will meet the seven o'clock train, and will take no steps until you arrive." he was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could see in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering with agitation. "they are still there, mr. holmes," said he, laying his hand hard upon my friend's sleeve. "i saw lights in the cottage as i came down. we shall settle it now once and for all." "what is your plan, then?" asked holmes, as he walked down the dark tree-lined road. "i am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the house. i wish you both to be there as witnesses." "you are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife's warning that it is better that you should not solve the mystery?" "yes, i am determined." "well, i think that you are in the right. any truth is better than indefinite doubt. we had better go up at once. of course, legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but i think that it is worth it." it was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we turned from the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either side. mr. grant munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we stumbled after him as best we could. "there are the lights of my house," he murmured, pointing to a glimmer among the trees. "and here is the cottage which i am going to enter." we turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the building close beside us. a yellow bar falling across the black foreground showed that the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story was brightly illuminated. as we looked, we saw a dark blur moving across the blind. "there is that creature!" cried grant munro. "you can see for yourselves that some one is there. now follow me, and we shall soon know all." we approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadow and stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. i could not see her face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of entreaty. "for god's sake, don't jack!" she cried. "i had a presentiment that you would come this evening. think better of it, dear! trust me again, and you will never have cause to regret it." "i have trusted you too long, effie," he cried, sternly. "leave go of me! i must pass you. my friends and i are going to settle this matter once and forever!" he pushed her to one side, and we followed closely after him. as he threw the door open an old woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we were all upon the stairs. grant munro rushed into the lighted room at the top, and we entered at his heels. it was a cosy, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. in the corner, stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. her face was turned away as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long white gloves on. as she whisked round to us, i gave a cry of surprise and horror. the face which she turned towards us was of the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid of any expression. an instant later the mystery was explained. holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a mask peeled off from her countenance, an there was a little coal black negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. i burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but grant munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his throat. "my god!" he cried. "what can be the meaning of this?" "i will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady, sweeping into the room with a proud, set face. "you have forced me, against my own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. my husband died at atlanta. my child survived." "your child?" she drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "you have never seen this open." "i understood that it did not open." she touched a spring, and the front hinged back. there was a portrait within of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing unmistakable signs upon his features of his african descent. "that is john hebron, of atlanta," said the lady, "and a nobler man never walked the earth. i cut myself off from my race in order to wed him, but never once while he lived did i for an instant regret it. it was our misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than mine. it is often so in such matches, and little lucy is darker far than ever her father was. but dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her mother's pet." the little creature ran across at the words and nestled up against the lady's dress. "when i left her in america," she continued, "it was only because her health was weak, and the change might have done her harm. she was given to the care of a faithful scotch woman who had once been our servant. never for an instant did i dream of disowning her as my child. but when chance threw you in my way, jack, and i learned to love you, i feared to tell you about my child. god forgive me, i feared that i should lose you, and i had not the courage to tell you. i had to choose between you, and in my weakness i turned away from my own little girl. for three years i have kept her existence a secret from you, but i heard from the nurse, and i knew that all was well with her. at last, however, there came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. i struggled against it, but in vain. though i knew the danger, i determined to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. i sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and i gave her instructions about this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbor, without my appearing to be in any way connected with her. i pushed my precautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the house during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands so that even those who might see her at the window should not gossip about there being a black child in the neighborhood. if i had been less cautious i might have been more wise, but i was half crazy with fear that you should learn the truth. "it was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. i should have waited for the morning, but i could not sleep for excitement, and so at last i slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. but you saw me go, and that was the beginning of my troubles. next day you had my secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. three days later, however, the nurse and child only just escaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. and now to-night you at last know all, and i ask you what is to become of us, my child and me?" she clasped her hands and waited for an answer. it was a long ten minutes before grant munro broke the silence, and when his answer came it was one of which i love to think. he lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards the door. "we can talk it over more comfortably at home," said he. "i am not a very good man, effie, but i think that i am a better one than you have given me credit for being." holmes and i followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out. "i think," said he, "that we shall be of more use in london than in norbury." not another word did he say of the case until late that night, when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom. "watson," said he, "if it should ever strike you that i am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper 'norbury' in my ear, and i shall be infinitely obliged to you." the stock-broker's clerk shortly after my marriage i had bought a connection in the paddington district. old mr. farquhar, from whom i purchased it, had at one time an excellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the nature of st. vitus's dance from which he suffered, had very much thinned it. the public not unnaturally goes on the principle that he who would heal others must himself be whole, and looks askance at the curative powers of the man whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. thus as my predecessor weakened his practice declined, until when i purchased it from him it had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three hundred a year. i had confidence, however, in my own youth and energy, and was convinced that in a very few years the concern would be as flourishing as ever. for three months after taking over the practice i was kept very closely at work, and saw little of my friend sherlock holmes, for i was too busy to visit baker street, and he seldom went anywhere himself save upon professional business. i was surprised, therefore, when, one morning in june, as i sat reading the british medical journal after breakfast, i heard a ring at the bell, followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old companion's voice. "ah, my dear watson," said he, striding into the room, "i am very delighted to see you! i trust that mrs. watson has entirely recovered from all the little excitements connected with our adventure of the sign of four." "thank you, we are both very well," said i, shaking him warmly by the hand. "and i hope, also," he continued, sitting down in the rocking-chair, "that the cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated the interest which you used to take in our little deductive problems." "on the contrary," i answered, "it was only last night that i was looking over my old notes, and classifying some of our past results." "i trust that you don't consider your collection closed." "not at all. i should wish nothing better than to have some more of such experiences." "to-day, for example?" "yes, to-day, if you like." "and as far off as birmingham?" "certainly, if you wish it." "and the practice?" "i do my neighbor's when he goes. he is always ready to work off the debt." "ha! nothing could be better," said holmes, leaning back in his chair and looking keenly at me from under his half closed lids. "i perceive that you have been unwell lately. summer colds are always a little trying." "i was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last week. i thought, however, that i had cast off every trace of it." "so you have. you look remarkably robust." "how, then, did you know of it?" "my dear fellow, you know my methods." "you deduced it, then?" "certainly." "and from what?" "from your slippers." i glanced down at the new patent leathers which i was wearing. "how on earth--" i began, but holmes answered my question before it was asked. "your slippers are new," he said. "you could not have had them more than a few weeks. the soles which you are at this moment presenting to me are slightly scorched. for a moment i thought they might have got wet and been burned in the drying. but near the instep there is a small circular wafer of paper with the shopman's hieroglyphics upon it. damp would of course have removed this. you had, then, been sitting with our feet outstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so wet a june as this if he were in his full health." like all holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself when it was once explained. he read the thought upon my features, and his smile had a tinge of bitterness. "i am afraid that i rather give myself away when i explain," said he. "results without causes are much more impressive. you are ready to come to birmingham, then?" "certainly. what is the case?" "you shall hear it all in the train. my client is outside in a four-wheeler. can you come at once?" "in an instant." i scribbled a note to my neighbor, rushed upstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and joined holmes upon the door-step. "your neighbor is a doctor," said he, nodding at the brass plate. "yes; he bought a practice as i did." "an old-established one?" "just the same as mine. both have been ever since the houses were built." "ah! then you got hold of the best of the two." "i think i did. but how do you know?" "by the steps, my boy. yours are worn three inches deeper than his. but this gentleman in the cab is my client, mr. hall pycroft. allow me to introduce you to him. whip your horse up, cabby, for we have only just time to catch our train." the man whom i found myself facing was a well built, fresh-complexioned young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight, crisp, yellow mustache. he wore a very shiny top hat and a neat suit of sober black, which made him look what he was--a smart young city man, of the class who have been labeled cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer regiments, and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than any body of men in these islands. his round, ruddy face was naturally full of cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled down in a half-comical distress. it was not, however, until we were all in a first-class carriage and well started upon our journey to birmingham that i was able to learn what the trouble was which had driven him to sherlock holmes. "we have a clear run here of seventy minutes," holmes remarked. "i want you, mr. hall pycroft, to tell my friend your very interesting experience exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail if possible. it will be of use to me to hear the succession of events again. it is a case, watson, which may prove to have something in it, or may prove to have nothing, but which, at least, presents those unusual and outr features which are as dear to you as they are to me. now, mr. pycroft, i shall not interrupt you again." our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. "the worst of the story is," said he, "that i show myself up as such a confounded fool. of course it may work out all right, and i don't see that i could have done otherwise; but if i have lost my crib and get nothing in exchange i shall feel what a soft johnnie i have been. i'm not very good at telling a story, dr. watson, but it is like this with me: "i used to have a billet at coxon & woodhouse's, of draper's gardens, but they were let in early in the spring through the venezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. i had been with them five years, and old coxon gave me a ripping good testimonial when the smash came, but of course we clerks were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of us. i tried here and tried there, but there were lots of other chaps on the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time. i had been taking three pounds a week at coxon's, and i had saved about seventy of them, but i soon worked my way through that and out at the other end. i was fairly at the end of my tether at last, and could hardly find the stamps to answer the advertisements or the envelopes to stick them to. i had worn out my boots paddling up office stairs, and i seemed just as far from getting a billet as ever. "at last i saw a vacancy at mawson & williams's, the great stock-broking firm in lombard street. i dare say e. c. is not much in your line, but i can tell you that this is about the richest house in london. the advertisement was to be answered by letter only. i sent in my testimonial and application, but without the least hope of getting it. back came an answer by return, saying that if i would appear next monday i might take over my new duties at once, provided that my appearance was satisfactory. no one knows how these things are worked. some people say that the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes the first that comes. anyhow it was my innings that time, and i don't ever wish to feel better pleased. the screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties just about the same as at coxon's. "and now i come to the queer part of the business. i was in diggings out hampstead way, 17 potter's terrace. well, i was sitting doing a smoke that very evening after i had been promised the appointment, when up came my landlady with a card which had "arthur pinner, financial agent," printed upon it. i had never heard the name before and could not imagine what he wanted with me; but, of course, i asked her to show him up. in he walked, a middle-sized, dark-haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man, with a touch of the sheeny about his nose. he had a brisk kind of way with him and spoke sharply, like a man who knew the value of time. "'mr. hall pycroft, i believe?' said he. "'yes, sir,' i answered, pushing a chair towards him. "'lately engaged at coxon & woodhouse's?' "'yes, sir.' "'and now on the staff of mawson's.' "'quite so.' "'well,' said he, 'the fact is that i have heard some really extraordinary stories about your financial ability. you remember parker, who used to be coxon's manager? he can never say enough about it.' "of course i was pleased to hear this. i had always been pretty sharp in the office, but i had never dreamed that i was talked about in the city in this fashion. "'you have a good memory?' said he. "'pretty fair,' i answered, modestly. "'have you kept in touch with the market while you have been out of work?' he asked. "'yes. i read the stock exchange list every morning.' "'now that shows real application!' he cried. 'that is the way to prosper! you won't mind my testing you, will you? let me see. how are ayrshires?' "'a hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and seven-eighths.' "'and new zealand consolidated?' "'a hundred and four.' "'and british broken hills?' "'seven to seven-and-six.' "'wonderful!' he cried, with his hands up. 'this quite fits in with all that i had heard. my boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be a clerk at mawson's!' "this outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. 'well,' said i, 'other people don't think quite so much of me as you seem to do, mr. pinner. i had a hard enough fight to get this berth, and i am very glad to have it.' "'pooh, man; you should soar above it. you are not in your true sphere. now, i'll tell you how it stands with me. what i have to offer is little enough when measured by your ability, but when compared with mawson's, it's light to dark. let me see. when do you go to mawson's?' "'on monday.' "'ha, ha! i think i would risk a little sporting flutter that you don't go there at all.' "'not go to mawson's?' "'no, sir. by that day you will be the business manager of the franco-midland hardware company, limited, with a hundred and thirty-four branches in the towns and villages of france, not counting one in brussels and one in san remo.' "this took my breath away. 'i never heard of it,' said i. "'very likely not. it has been kept very quiet, for the capital was all privately subscribed, and it's too good a thing to let the public into. my brother, harry pinner, is promoter, and joins the board after allotment as managing director. he knew i was in the swim down here, and asked me to pick up a good man cheap. a young, pushing man with plenty of snap about him. parker spoke of you, and that brought me here tonight. we can only offer you a beggarly five hundred to start with.' "'five hundred a year!' i shouted. "'only that at the beginning; but you are to have an overriding commission of one per cent on all business done by your agents, and you may take my word for it that this will come to more than your salary.' "'but i know nothing about hardware.' "'tut, my boy; you know about figures.' "my head buzzed, and i could hardly sit still in my chair. but suddenly a little chill of doubt came upon me. "'i must be frank with you,' said i. 'mawson only gives me two hundred, but mawson is safe. now, really, i know so little about your company that--' "'ah, smart, smart!' he cried, in a kind of ecstasy of delight. 'you are the very man for us. you are not to be talked over, and quite right, too. now, here's a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we can do business you may just slip it into your pocket as an advance upon your salary.' "'that is very handsome,' said i. 'when should i take over my new duties?' "'be in birmingham to-morrow at one,' said he. 'i have a note in my pocket here which you will take to my brother. you will find him at 126b corporation street, where the temporary offices of the company are situated. of course he must confirm your engagement, but between ourselves it will be all right.' "'really, i hardly know how to express my gratitude, mr. pinner,' said i. "'not at all, my boy. you have only got your desserts. there are one or two small things--mere formalities--which i must arrange with you. you have a bit of paper beside you there. kindly write upon it "i am perfectly willing to act as business manager to the franco-midland hardware company, limited, at a minimum salary of 500."' "i did as he asked, and he put the paper in his pocket. "'there is one other detail,' said he. 'what do you intend to do about mawson's?' "i had forgotten all about mawson's in my joy. 'i'll write and resign,' said i. "'precisely what i don't want you to do. i had a row over you with mawson's manager. i had gone up to ask him about you, and he was very offensive; accused me of coaxing you away from the service of the firm, and that sort of thing. at last i fairly lost my temper. "if you want good men you should pay them a good price," said i. "'"he would rather have our small price than your big one," said he. "'"i'll lay you a fiver," said i, "that when he has my offer you'll never so much as hear from him again." "'"done!" said he. "we picked him out of the gutter, and he won't leave us so easily." those were his very words.' "'the impudent scoundrel!' i cried. 'i've never so much as seen him in my life. why should i consider him in any way? i shall certainly not write if you would rather i didn't.' "'good! that's a promise,' said he, rising from his chair. 'well, i'm delighted to have got so good a man for my brother. here's your advance of a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. make a note of the address, 126b corporation street, and remember that one o'clock to-morrow is your appointment. good-night; and may you have all the fortune that you deserve!' "that's just about all that passed between us, as near as i can remember. you can imagine, dr. watson, how pleased i was at such an extraordinary bit of good fortune. i sat up half the night hugging myself over it, and next day i was off to birmingham in a train that would take me in plenty time for my appointment. i took my things to a hotel in new street, and then i made my way to the address which had been given me. "it was a quarter of an hour before my time, but i thought that would make no difference. 126b was a passage between two large shops, which led to a winding stone stair, from which there were many flats, let as offices to companies or professional men. the names of the occupants were painted at the bottom on the wall, but there was no such name as the franco-midland hardware company, limited. i stood for a few minutes with my heart in my boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and addressed me. he was very like the chap i had seen the night before, the same figure and voice, but he was clean shaven and his hair was lighter. "'are you mr. hall pycroft?' he asked. "'yes,' said i. "'oh! i was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your time. i had a note from my brother this morning in which he sang your praises very loudly.' "'i was just looking for the offices when you came.' "'we have not got our name up yet, for we only secured these temporary premises last week. come up with me, and we will talk the matter over.' "i followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there, right under the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeted and uncurtained, into which he led me. i had thought of a great office with shining tables and rows of clerks, such as i was used to, and i dare say i stared rather straight at the two deal chairs and one little table, which, with a ledger and a waste paper basket, made up the whole furniture. "'don't be disheartened, mr. pycroft,' said my new acquaintance, seeing the length of my face. 'rome was not built in a day, and we have lots of money at our backs, though we don't cut much dash yet in offices. pray sit down, and let me have your letter.' "i gave it to him, and her read it over very carefully. "'you seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother arthur,' said he; 'and i know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. he swears by london, you know; and i by birmingham; but this time i shall follow his advice. pray consider yourself definitely engaged.' "'what are my duties?' i asked. "'you will eventually manage the great depot in paris, which will pour a flood of english crockery into the shops of a hundred and thirty-four agents in france. the purchase will be completed in a week, and meanwhile you will remain in birmingham and make yourself useful.' "'how?' "for answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer. "'this is a directory of paris,' said he, 'with the trades after the names of the people. i want you to take it home with you, and to mark off all the hardware sellers, with their addresses. it would be of the greatest use to me to have them.' "'surely there are classified lists?' i suggested. "'not reliable ones. their system is different from ours. stick at it, and let me have the lists by monday, at twelve. good-day, mr. pycroft. if you continue to show zeal and intelligence you will find the company a good master.' "i went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and with very conflicting feelings in my breast. on the one hand, i was definitely engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on the other, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the wall, and other of the points which would strike a business man had left a bad impression as to the position of my employers. however, come what might, i had my money, so i settled down to my task. all sunday i was kept hard at work, and yet by monday i had only got as far as h. i went round to my employer, found him in the same dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it until wednesday, and then come again. on wednesday it was still unfinished, so i hammered away until friday--that is, yesterday. then i brought it round to mr. harry pinner. "'thank you very much,' said he; 'i fear that i underrated the difficulty of the task. this list will be of very material assistance to me.' "'it took some time,' said i. "'and now,' said he, 'i want you to make a list of the furniture shops, for they all sell crockery.' "'very good.' "'and you can come up to-morrow evening, at seven, and let me know how you are getting on. don't overwork yourself. a couple of hours at day's music hall in the evening would do you no harm after your labors.' he laughed as he spoke, and i saw with a thrill that his second tooth upon the left-hand side had been very badly stuffed with gold." sherlock holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and i stared with astonishment at our client. "you may well look surprised, dr. watson; but it is this way," said he: "when i was speaking to the other chap in london, at the time that he laughed at my not going to mawson's, i happened to notice that his tooth was stuffed in this very identical fashion. the glint of the gold in each case caught my eye, you see. when i put that with the voice and figure being the same, and only those things altered which might be changed by a razor or a wig, i could not doubt that it was the same man. of course you expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should have the same tooth stuffed in the same way. he bowed me out, and i found myself in the street, hardly knowing whether i was on my head or my heels. back i went to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water, and tried to think it out. why had he sent me from london to birmingham? why had he got there before me? and why had he written a letter from himself to himself? it was altogether too much for me, and i could make no sense of it. and then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me might be very light to mr. sherlock holmes. i had just time to get up to town by the night train to see him this morning, and to bring you both back with me to birmingham." there was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded his surprising experience. then sherlock holmes cocked his eye at me, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage. "rather fine, watson, is it not?" said he. "there are points in it which please me. i think that you will agree with me that an interview with mr. arthur harry pinner in the temporary offices of the franco-midland hardware company, limited, would be a rather interesting experience for both of us." "but how can we do it?" i asked. "oh, easily enough," said hall pycroft, cheerily. "you are two friends of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more natural than that i should bring you both round to the managing director?" "quite so, of course," said holmes. "i should like to have a look at the gentleman, and see if i can make anything of his little game. what qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services so valuable? or is it possible that--" he began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from him until we were in new street. at seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down corporation street to the company's offices. "it is no use our being at all before our time," said our client. "he only comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up to the very hour he names." "that is suggestive," remarked holmes. "by jove, i told you so!" cried the clerk. "that's he walking ahead of us there." he pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling along the other side of the road. as we watched him he looked across at a boy who was bawling out the latest edition of the evening paper, and running over among the cabs and busses, he bought one from him. then, clutching it in his hand, he vanished through a door-way. "there he goes!" cried hall pycroft. "these are the company's offices into which he has gone. come with me, and i'll fix it up as easily as possible." following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found ourselves outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. a voice within bade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room such as hall pycroft had described. at the single table sat the man whom we had seen in the street, with his evening paper spread out in front of him, and as he looked up at us it seemed to me that i had never looked upon a face which bore such marks of grief, and of something beyond grief--of a horror such as comes to few men in a lifetime. his brow glistened with perspiration, his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fish's belly, and his eyes were wild and staring. he looked at his clerk as though he failed to recognize him, and i could see by the astonishment depicted upon our conductor's face that this was by no means the usual appearance of his employer. "you look ill, mr. pinner!" he exclaimed. "yes, i am not very well," answered the other, making obvious efforts to pull himself together, and licking his dry lips before he spoke. "who are these gentlemen whom you have brought with you?" "one is mr. harris, of bermondsey, and the other is mr. price, of this town," said our clerk, glibly. "they are friends of mine and gentlemen of experience, but they have been out of a place for some little time, and they hoped that perhaps you might find an opening for them in the company's employment." "very possibly! very possibly!" cried mr. pinner with a ghastly smile. "yes, i have no doubt that we shall be able to do something for you. what is your particular line, mr. harris?" "i am an accountant," said holmes. "ah yes, we shall want something of the sort. and you, mr. price?" "a clerk," said i. "i have every hope that the company may accommodate you. i will let you know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. and now i beg that you will go. for god's sake leave me to myself!" these last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint which he was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burst asunder. holmes and i glanced at each other, and hall pycroft took a step towards the table. "you forget, mr. pinner, that i am here by appointment to receive some directions from you," said he. "certainly, mr. pycroft, certainly," the other resumed in a calmer tone. "you may wait here a moment; and there is no reason why your friends should not wait with you. i will be entirely at your service in three minutes, if i might trespass upon your patience so far." he rose with a very courteous air, and, bowing to us, he passed out through a door at the farther end of the room, which he closed behind him. "what now?" whispered holmes. "is he giving us the slip?" "impossible," answered pycroft. "why so?" "that door leads into an inner room." "there is no exit?" "none." "is it furnished?" "it was empty yesterday." "then what on earth can he be doing? there is something which i don't understand in his manner. if ever a man was three parts mad with terror, that man's name is pinner. what can have put the shivers on him?" "he suspects that we are detectives," i suggested. "that's it," cried pycroft. holmes shook his head. "he did not turn pale. he was pale when we entered the room," said he. "it is just possible that--" his words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of the inner door. "what the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried the clerk. again and much louder cam the rat-tat-tat. we all gazed expectantly at the closed door. glancing at holmes, i saw his face turn rigid, and he leaned forward in intense excitement. then suddenly came a low guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. holmes sprang frantically across the room and pushed at the door. it was fastened on the inner side. following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with all our weight. one hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the door with a crash. rushing over it, we found ourselves in the inner room. it was empty. but it was only for a moment that we were at fault. at one corner, the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second door. holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. a coat and waistcoat were lying on the floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the managing director of the franco-midland hardware company. his knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made the noise which had broken in upon our conversation. in an instant i had caught him round the waist, and held him up while holmes and pycroft untied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid creases of skin. then we carried him into the other room, where he lay with a clay-colored face, puffing his purple lips in and out with every breath--a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutes before. "what do you think of him, watson?" asked holmes. i stooped over him and examined him. his pulse was feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball beneath. "it has been touch and go with him," said i, "but he'll live now. just open that window, and hand me the water carafe." i undid his collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms until he drew a long, natural breath. "it's only a question of time now," said i, as i turned away from him. holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trouser's pockets and his chin upon his breast. "i suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he. "and yet i confess that i'd like to give them a complete case when they come." "it's a blessed mystery to me," cried pycroft, scratching his head. "whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and then--" "pooh! all that is clear enough," said holmes impatiently. "it is this last sudden move." "you understand the rest, then?" "i think that it is fairly obvious. what do you say, watson?" i shrugged my shoulders. "i must confess that i am out of my depths," said i. "oh surely if you consider the events at first they can only point to one conclusion." "what do you make of them?" "well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. the first is the making of pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service of this preposterous company. do you not see how very suggestive that is?" "i am afraid i miss the point." "well, why did they want him to do it? not as a business matter, for these arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly business reason why this should be an exception. don't you see, my young friend, that they were very anxious to obtain a specimen of your handwriting, and had no other way of doing it?" "and why?" "quite so. why? when we answer that we have made some progress with our little problem. why? there can be only one adequate reason. someone wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had to procure a specimen of it first. and now if we pass on to the second point we find that each throws light upon the other. that point is the request made by pinner that you should not resign your place, but should leave the manager of this important business in the full expectation that a mr. hall pycroft, whom he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon the monday morning." "my god!" cried our client, "what a blind beetle i have been!" "now you see the point about the handwriting. suppose that some one turned up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from that in which you had applied for the vacancy, of course the game would have been up. but in the interval the rogue had learned to imitate you, and his position was therefore secure, as i presume that nobody in the office had ever set eyes upon you." "not a soul," groaned hall pycroft. "very good. of course it was of the utmost importance to prevent you from thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into contact with any one who might tell you that your double was at work in mawson's office. therefore they gave you a handsome advance on your salary, and ran you off to the midlands, where they gave you enough work to do to prevent your going to london, where you might have burst their little game up. that is all plain enough." "but why should this man pretend to be his own brother?" "well, that is pretty clear also. there are evidently only two of them in it. the other is impersonating you at the office. this one acted as your engager, and then found that he could not find you an employer without admitting a third person into his plot. that he was most unwilling to do. he changed his appearance as far as he could, and trusted that the likeness, which you could not fail to observe, would be put down to a family resemblance. but for the happy chance of the gold stuffing, your suspicions would probably never have been aroused." hall pycroft shook his clinched hands in the air. "good lord!" he cried, "while i have been fooled in this way, what has this other hall pycroft been doing at mawson's? what should we do, mr. holmes? tell me what to do." "we must wire to mawson's." "they shut at twelve on saturdays." "never mind. there may be some door-keeper or attendant--" "ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value of the securities that they hold. i remember hearing it talked of in the city." "very good; we shall wire to him, and see if all is well, and if a clerk of your name is working there. that is clear enough; but what is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should instantly walk out of the room and hang himself." "the paper!" croaked a voice behind us. the man was sitting up, blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and hands which rubbed nervously at the broad red band which still encircled his throat. "the paper! of course!" yelled holmes, in a paroxysm of excitement. "idiot that i was! i thought so must of our visit that the paper never entered my head for an instant. to be sure, the secret must be there." he flattened it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst from his lips. "look at this, watson," he cried. "it is a london paper, an early edition of the evening standard. here is what we want. look at the headlines: 'crime in the city. murder at mawson & williams's. gigantic attempted robbery. capture of the criminal.' here, watson, we are all equally anxious to hear it, so kindly read it aloud to us." it appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event of importance in town, and the account of it ran in this way: "a desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man and the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in the city. for some time back mawson & williams, the famous financial house, have been the guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of considerably over a million sterling. so conscious was the manager of the responsibility which devolved upon him in consequence of the great interests at stake that safes of the very latest construction have been employed, and an armed watchman has been left day and night in the building. it appears that last week a new clerk named hall pycroft was engaged by the firm. this person appears to have been none other that beddington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had only recently emerged from a five years' spell of penal servitude. by some means, which are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false name, this official position in the office, which he utilized in order to obtain moulding of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position of the strong room and the safes. "it is customary at mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on saturday. sergeant tuson, of the city police, was somewhat surprised, therefore to see a gentleman with a carpet bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past one. his suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed the man, and with the aid of constable pollack succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. it was at once clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of american railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. on examining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not have been discovered until monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of sergeant tuson. the man's skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from behind. there could be no doubt that beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made off with his booty. his brother, who usually works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can at present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts." "well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction," said holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window. "human nature is a strange mixture, watson. you see that even a villain and murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. however, we have no choice as to our action. the doctor and i will remain on guard, mr. pycroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the police." the "gloria scott" "i have some papers here," said my friend sherlock holmes, as we sat one winter's night on either side of the fire, "which i really think, watson, that it would be worth your while to glance over. these are the documents in the extraordinary case of the gloria scott, and this is the message which struck justice of the peace trevor dead with horror when he read it." he had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate gray-paper. "the supply of game for london is going steadily up," it ran. "head-keeper hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life." as i glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, i saw holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face. "you look a little bewildered," said he. "i cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. it seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise." "very likely. yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol." "you arouse my curiosity," said i. "but why did you say just now that there were very particular reasons why i should study this case?" "because it was the first in which i was ever engaged." i had often endeavored to elicit from my companion what had first turned his mind in the direction of criminal research, but had never caught him before in a communicative humor. now he sat forward in his arm-chair and spread out the documents upon his knees. then he lit his pipe and sat for some time smoking and turning them over. "you never heard me talk of victor trevor?" he asked. "he was the only friend i made during the two years i was at college. i was never a very sociable fellow, watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that i never mixed much with the men of my year. bar fencing and boxing i had few athletic tastes, and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the other fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. trevor was the only man i knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as i went down to chapel. "it was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. i was laid by the heels for ten days, but trevor used to come in to inquire after me. at first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. he was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to me in most respects, but we had some subjects in common, and it was a bond of union when i found that he was as friendless as i. finally, he invited me down to his father's place at donnithorpe, in norfolk, and i accepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation. "old trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, a j.p., and a landed proprietor. donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to the north of langmere, in the country of the broads. the house was an old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it. there was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens, remarkably good fishing, a small but select library, taken over, as i understood, from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he would be a fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month there. "trevor senior was a widower, and my friend his only son. "there had been a daughter, i heard, but she had died of diphtheria while on a visit to birmingham. the father interested me extremely. he was a man of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude strength, both physically and mentally. he knew hardly any books, but he had traveled far, had seen much of the world. and had remembered all that he had learned. in person he was a thick-set, burly man with a shock of grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were keen to the verge of fierceness. yet he had a reputation for kindness and charity on the country-side, and was noted for the leniency of his sentences from the bench. "one evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass of port after dinner, when young trevor began to talk about those habits of observation and inference which i had already formed into a system, although i had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in my life. the old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in his description of one or two trivial feats which i had performed. "'come, now, mr. holmes,' said he, laughing good-humoredly. 'i'm an excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.' "'i fear there is not very much,' i answered; 'i might suggest that you have gone about in fear of some personal attack within the last twelve months.' "the laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise. "'well, that's true enough,' said he. 'you know, victor,' turning to his son, 'when we broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, and sir edward holly has actually been attacked. i've always been on my guard since then, though i have no idea how you know it.' "'you have a very handsome stick,' i answered. 'by the inscription i observed that you had not had it more than a year. but you have taken some pains to bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole so as to make it a formidable weapon. i argued that you would not take such precautions unless you had some danger to fear.' "'anything else?' he asked, smiling. "'you have boxed a good deal in your youth.' "'right again. how did you know it? is my nose knocked a little out of the straight?' "'no,' said i. 'it is your ears. they have the peculiar flattening and thickening which marks the boxing man.' "'anything else?' "'you have done a good deal of digging by your callosities.' "'made all my money at the gold fields.' "'you have been in new zealand.' "'right again.' "'you have visited japan.' "'quite true.' "'and you have been most intimately associated with some one whose initials were j. a., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely forget.' "mr. trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon me with a strange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his face among the nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint. "you can imagine, watson, how shocked both his son and i were. his attack did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar, and sprinkled the water from one of the finger-glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or two and sat up. "'ah, boys,' said he, forcing a smile, 'i hope i haven't frightened you. strong as i look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does not take much to knock me over. i don't know how you manage this, mr. holmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of fact and of fancy would be children in your hands. that's your line of life, sir, and you may take the word of a man who has seen something of the world.' "and that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my ability with which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, watson, the very first thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made out of what had up to that time been the merest hobby. at the moment, however, i was too much concerned at the sudden illness of my host to think of anything else. "'i hope that i have said nothing to pain you?' said i. "'well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point. might i ask how you know, and how much you know?' he spoke now in a half-jesting fashion, but a look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes. "'it is simplicity itself,' said i. 'when you bared your arm to draw that fish into the boat i saw that j. a. had been tattooed in the bend of the elbow. the letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from their blurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round them, that efforts had been made to obliterate them. it was obvious, then, that those initials had once been very familiar to you, and that you had afterwards wished to forget them.' "'what an eye you have!' he cried, with a sigh of relief. 'it is just as you say. but we won't talk of it. of all ghosts the ghosts of our old lovers are the worst. come into the billiard-room and have a quiet cigar.' "from that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of suspicion in mr. trevor's manner towards me. even his son remarked it. 'you've given the governor such a turn,' said he, 'that he'll never be sure again of what you know and what you don't know.' he did not mean to show it, i am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at every action. at last i became so convinced that i was causing him uneasiness that i drew my visit to a close. on the very day, however, before i left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of importance. "we were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the broads, when a maid came out to say that there was a man at the door who wanted to see mr. trevor. "'what is his name?' asked my host. "'he would not give any.' "'what does he want, then?' "'he says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment's conversation.' "'show him round here.' an instant afterwards there appeared a little wizened fellow with a cringing manner and a shambling style of walking. he wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red-and-black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. his face was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were half closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors. as he came slouching across the lawn i heard mr. trevor make a sort of hiccoughing noise in his throat, and jumping out of his chair, he ran into the house. he was back in a moment, and i smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me. "'well, my man,' said he. 'what can i do for you?' "the sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and with the same loose-lipped smile upon his face. "'you don't know me?' he asked. "'why, dear me, it is surely hudson,' said mr. trevor in a tone of surprise. "'hudson it is, sir,' said the seaman. 'why, it's thirty year and more since i saw you last. here you are in your house, and me still picking my salt meat out of the harness cask.' "'tut, you will find that i have not forgotten old times,' cried mr. trevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he said something in a low voice. 'go into the kitchen,' he continued out loud, 'and you will get food and drink. i have no doubt that i shall find you a situation.' "'thank you, sir,' said the seaman, touching his fore-lock. 'i'm just off a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and i wants a rest. i thought i'd get it either with mr. beddoes or with you.' "'ah!' cried trevor. 'you know where mr. beddoes is?' "'bless you, sir, i know where all my old friends are,' said the fellow with a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the kitchen. mr. trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmate with the man when he was going back to the diggings, and then, leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors. an hour later, when we entered the house, we found him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. the whole incident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and i was not sorry next day to leave donnithorpe behind me, for i felt that my presence must be a source of embarrassment to my friend. "all this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. i went up to my london rooms, where i spent seven weeks working out a few experiments in organic chemistry. one day, however, when the autumn was far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, i received a telegram from my friend imploring me to return to donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my advice and assistance. of course i dropped everything and set out for the north once more. "he met me with the dog-cart at the station, and i saw at a glance that the last two months had been very trying ones for him. he had grown thin and careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he had been remarkable. "'the governor is dying,' were the first words he said. "'impossible!' i cried. 'what is the matter?' "'apoplexy. nervous shock, he's been on the verge all day. i doubt if we shall find him alive.' "i was, as you may think, watson, horrified at this unexpected news. "'what has caused it?' i asked. "'ah, that is the point. jump in and we can talk it over while we drive. you remember that fellow who came upon the evening before you left us?' "'perfectly.' "'do you know who it was that we let into the house that day?' "'i have no idea.' "'it was the devil, holmes,' he cried. "i stared at him in astonishment. "'yes, it was the devil himself. we have not had a peaceful hour since--not one. the governor has never held up his head from that evening, and now the life has been crushed out of him and his heart broken, all through this accursed hudson.' "'what power had he, then?' "'ah, that is what i would give so much to know. the kindly, charitable, good old governor--how could he have fallen into the clutches of such a ruffian! but i am so glad that you have come, holmes. i trust very much to your judgment and discretion, and i know that you will advise me for the best.' "we were dashing along the smooth white country road, with the long stretch of the broads in front of us glimmering in the red light of the setting sun. from a grove upon our left i could already see the high chimneys and the flag-staff which marked the squire's dwelling. "'my father made the fellow gardener,' said my companion, 'and then, as that did not satisfy him, he was promoted to be butler. the house seemed to be at his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chose in it. the maids complained of his drunken habits and his vile language. the dad raised their wages all round to recompense them for the annoyance. the fellow would take the boat and my father's best gun and treat himself to little shooting trips. and all this with such a sneering, leering, insolent face that i would have knocked him down twenty times over if he had been a man of my own age. i tell you, holmes, i have had to keep a tight hold upon myself all this time; and now i am asking myself whether, if i had let myself go a little more, i might not have been a wiser man. "'well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animal hudson became more and more intrusive, until at last, on making some insolent reply to my father in my presence one day, i took him by the shoulders and turned him out of the room. he slunk away with a livid face and two venomous eyes which uttered more threats than his tongue could do. i don't know what passed between the poor dad and him after that, but the dad came to me next day and asked me whether i would mind apologizing to hudson. i refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how he could allow such a wretch to take such liberties with himself and his household. "'"ah, my boy," said he, "it is all very well to talk, but you don't know how i am placed. but you shall know, victor. i'll see that you shall know, come what may. you wouldn't believe harm of your poor old father, would you, lad?" he was very much moved, and shut himself up in the study all day, where i could see through the window that he was writing busily. "'that evening there came what seemed to me to be a grand release, for hudson told us that he was going to leave us. he walked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner, and announced his intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man. "'"i've had enough of norfolk," said he. "i'll run down to mr. beddoes in hampshire. he'll be as glad to see me as you were, i dare say." "'"you're not going away in any kind of spirit, hudson, i hope," said my father, with a tameness which mad my blood boil. "'"i've not had my 'pology," said he sulkily, glancing in my direction. "'"victor, you will acknowledge that you have used this worthy fellow rather roughly," said the dad, turning to me. "'"on the contrary, i think that we have both shown extraordinary patience towards him," i answered. "'"oh, you do, do you?" he snarls. "very good, mate. we'll see about that!" "'he slouched out of the room, and half an hour afterwards left the house, leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness. night after night i heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he was recovering his confidence that the blow did at last fall.' "'and how?' i asked eagerly. "'in a most extraordinary fashion. a letter arrived for my father yesterday evening, bearing the fordingbridge post-mark. my father read it, clapped both his hands to his head, and began running round the room in little circles like a man who has been driven out of his senses. when i at last drew him down on to the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were all puckered on one side, and i saw that he had a stroke. dr. fordham came over at once. we put him to bed; but the paralysis has spread, he has shown no sign of returning consciousness, and i think that we shall hardly find him alive.' "'you horrify me, trevor!' i cried. 'what then could have been in this letter to cause so dreadful a result?' "'nothing. there lies the inexplicable part of it. the message was absurd and trivial. ah, my god, it is as i feared!' "as he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue, and saw in the fading light that every blind in the house had been drawn down. as we dashed up to the door, my friend's face convulsed with grief, a gentleman in black emerged from it. "'when did it happen, doctor?' asked trevor. "'almost immediately after you left.' "'did he recover consciousness?' "'for an instant before the end.' "'any message for me?' "'only that the papers were in the back drawer of the japanese cabinet.' "my friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death, while i remained in the study, turning the whole matter over and over in my head, and feeling as sombre as ever i had done in my life. what was the past of this trevor, pugilist, traveler, and gold-digger, and how had he placed himself in the power of this acid-faced seaman? why, too, should he faint at an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon his arm, and die of fright when he had a letter from fordingham? then i remembered that fordingham was in hampshire, and that this mr. beddoes, whom the seaman had gone to visit and presumably to blackmail, had also been mentioned as living in hampshire. the letter, then, might either come from hudson, the seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret which appeared to exist, or it might come from beddoes, warning an old confederate that such a betrayal was imminent. so far it seemed clear enough. but then how could this letter be trivial and grotesque, as described by the son? he must have misread it. if so, it must have been one of those ingenious secret codes which mean one thing while they seem to mean another. i must see this letter. if there were a hidden meaning in it, i was confident that i could pluck it forth. for an hour i sat pondering over it in the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought in a lamp, and close at her heels came my friend trevor, pale but composed, with these very papers which lie upon my knee held in his grasp. he sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge of the table, and handed me a short note scribbled, as you see, upon a single sheet of gray paper. 'the supply of game for london is going steadily up,' it ran. 'head-keeper hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.' "i dare say my face looked as bewildered as yours did just now when first i read this message. then i reread it very carefully. it was evidently as i had thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried in this strange combination of words. or could it be that there was a prearranged significance to such phrases as 'fly-paper' and 'hen-pheasant'? such a meaning would be arbitrary and could not be deduced in any way. and yet i was loath to believe that this was the case, and the presence of the word hudson seemed to show that the subject of the message was as i had guessed, and that it was from beddoes rather than the sailor. i tried it backwards, but the combination 'life pheasant's hen' was not encouraging. then i tried alternate words, but neither 'the of for' nor 'supply game london' promised to throw any light upon it. "and then in an instant the key of the riddle was in my hands, and i saw that every third word, beginning with the first, would give a message which might well drive old trevor to despair. "it was short and terse, the warning, as i now read it to my companion: "'the game is up. hudson has told all. fly for your life.' "victor trevor sank his face into his shaking hands, 'it must be that, i suppose,' said he. "this is worse than death, for it means disgrace as well. but what is the meaning of these "head-keepers" and "hen-pheasants"? "'it means nothing to the message, but it might mean a good deal to us if we had no other means of discovering the sender. you see that he has begun by writing "the ... game ... is," and so on. afterwards he had, to fulfill the prearranged cipher, to fill in any two words in each space. he would naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and if there were so many which referred to sport among them, you may be tolerably sure that he is either an ardent shot or interested in breeding. do you know anything of this beddoes?' "'why, now that you mention it,' said he, 'i remember that my poor father used to have an invitation from him to shoot over his preserves every autumn.' "'then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes,' said i. 'it only remains for us to find out what this secret was which the sailor hudson seems to have held over the heads of these two wealthy and respected men.' "'alas, holmes, i fear that it is one of sin and shame!' cried my friend. 'but from you i shall have no secrets. here is the statement which was drawn up by my father when he knew that the danger from hudson had become imminent. i found it in the japanese cabinet, as he told the doctor. take it and read it to me, for i have neither the strength nor the courage to do it myself.' "these are the very papers, watson, which he handed to me, and i will read them to you, as i read them in the old study that night to him. they are endorsed outside, as you see, 'some particulars of the voyage of the bark gloria scott, from her leaving falmouth on the 8th october, 1855, to her destruction in n. lat. 15 20', w. long. 25 14' on nov. 6th.' it is in the form of a letter, and runs in this way: "'my dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins to darken the closing years of my life, i can write with all truth and honesty that it is not the terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position in the county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all who have known me, which cuts me to the heart; but it is the thought that you should come to blush for me--you who love me and who have seldom, i hope, had reason to do other than respect me. but if the blow falls which is forever hanging over me, then i should wish you to read this, that you may know straight from me how far i have been to blame. on the other hand, if all should go well (which may kind god almighty grant!), then if by any chance this paper should be still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, i conjure you, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of your dear mother, and by the love which had been between us, to hurl it into the fire and to never give one thought to it again. "'if then your eye goes onto read this line, i know that i shall already have been exposed and dragged from my home, or as is more likely, for you know that my heart is weak, by lying with my tongue sealed forever in death. in either case the time for suppression is past, and every word which i tell you is the naked truth, and this i swear as i hope for mercy. "'my name, dear lad, is not trevor. i was james armitage in my younger days, and you can understand now the shock that it was to me a few weeks ago when your college friend addressed me in words which seemed to imply that he had surprised my secret. as armitage it was that i entered a london banking-house, and as armitage i was convicted of breaking my country's laws, and was sentenced to transportation. do not think very harshly of me, laddie. it was a debt of honor, so called, which i had to pay, and i used money which was not my own to do it, in the certainty that i could replace it before there could be any possibility of its being missed. but the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. the money which i had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a premature examination of accounts exposed my deficit. the case might have been dealt leniently with, but the laws were more harshly administered thirty years ago than now, and on my twenty-third birthday i found myself chained as a felon with thirty-seven other convicts in 'tween-decks of the bark gloria scott, bound for australia. "'it was the year '55 when the crimean war was at its height, and the old convict ships had been largely used as transports in the black sea. the government was compelled, therefore, to use smaller and less suitable vessels for sending out their prisoners. the gloria scott had been in the chinese tea-trade, but she was an old-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft, and the new clippers had cut her out. she was a five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she carried twenty-six of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders. nearly a hundred souls were in her, all told, when we set sail from falmouth. "'the partitions between the cells of the convicts, instead of being of thick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thin and frail. the man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom i had particularly noticed when we were led down the quay. he was a young man with a clear, hairless face, a long, thin nose, and rather nut-cracker jaws. he carried his head very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style of walking, and was, above all else, remarkable for his extraordinary height. i don't think any of our heads would have come up to his shoulder, and i am sure that he could not have measured less than six and a half feet. it was strange among so many sad and weary faces to see one which was full of energy and resolution. the sight of it was to me like a fire in a snow-storm. i was glad, then, to find that he was my neighbor, and gladder still when, in the dead of the night, i heard a whisper close to my ear, and found that he had managed to cut an opening in the board which separated us. "'"hullo, chummy!" said he, "what's your name, and what are you here for?" "'i answered him, and asked in turn who i was talking with. "'"i'm jack prendergast," said he, "and by god! you'll learn to bless my name before you've done with me." "'i remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which had made an immense sensation throughout the country some time before my own arrest. he was a man of good family and of great ability, but of incurably vicious habits, who had, by an ingenious system of fraud, obtained huge sums of money from the leading london merchants. "'"ha, ha! you remember my case!" said he proudly. "'"very well, indeed." "'"then maybe you remember something queer about it?" "'"what was that, then?" "'"i'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't i?" "'"so it was said." "'"but none was recovered, eh?" "'"no." "'"well, where d'ye suppose the balance is?" he asked. "'"i have no idea," said i. "'"right between my finger and thumb," he cried. "by god! i've got more pounds to my name than you've hairs on your head. and if you've money, my son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything. now, you don't think it likely that a man who could do anything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden, mouldy old coffin of a chin china coaster. no, sir, such a man will look after himself and will look after his chums. you may lay to that! you hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that he'll haul you through." "'that was his style of talk, and at first i thought it meant nothing; but after a while, when he had tested me and sworn me in with all possible solemnity, he let me understand that there really was a plot to gain command of the vessel. a dozen of the prisoners had hatched it before they came aboard, prendergast was the leader, and his money was the motive power. "'"i'd a partner," said he, "a rare good man, as true as a stock to a barrel. he's got the dibbs, he has, and where do you think he is at this moment? why, he's the chaplain of this ship--the chaplain, no less! he came aboard with a black coat, and his papers right, and money enough in his box to buy the thing right up from keel to main-truck. the crew are his, body and soul. he could buy 'em at so much a gross with a cash discount, and he did it before ever they signed on. he's got two of the warders and mercer, the second mate, and he'd get the captain himself, if he thought him worth it." "'"what are we to do, then?" i asked. "'"what do you think?" said he. "we'll make the coats of some of these soldiers redder than ever the tailor did." "'"but they are armed," said i. "'"and so shall we be, my boy. there's a brace of pistols for every mother's son of us, and if we can't carry this ship, with the crew at our back, it's time we were all sent to a young misses' boarding-school. you speak to your mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to be trusted." "'i did so, and found my other neighbor to be a young fellow in much the same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. his name was evans, but he afterwards changed it, like myself, and he is now a rich and prosperous man in the south of england. he was ready enough to join the conspiracy, as the only means of saving ourselves, and before we had crossed the bay there were only two of the prisoners who were not in the secret. one of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trust him, and the other was suffering from jaundice, and could not be of any use to us. "'from the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us from taking possession of the ship. the crew were a set of ruffians, specially picked for the job. the sham chaplain came into our cells to exhort us, carrying a black bag, supposed to be full of tracts, and so often did he come that by the third day we had each stowed away at the foot of our beds a file, a brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs. two of the warders were agents of prendergast, and the second mate was his right-hand man. the captain, the two mates, two warders lieutenant martin, his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had against us. yet, safe as it was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and to make our attack suddenly by night. it came, however, more quickly than we expected, and in this way. "'one evening, about the third week after our start, the doctor had come down to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and putting his hand down on the bottom of his bunk he felt the outline of the pistols. if he had been silent he might have blown the whole thing, but he was a nervous little chap, so he gave a cry of surprise and turned so pale that the man knew what was up in an instant and seized him. he was gagged before he could give the alarm, and tied down upon the bed. he had unlocked the door that led to the deck, and we were through it in a rush. the two sentries were shot down, and so was a corporal who came running to see what was the matter. there were two more soldiers at the door of the state-room, and their muskets seemed not to be loaded, for they never fired upon us, and they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets. then we rushed on into the captain's cabin, but as we pushed open the door there was an explosion from within, and there he lay with his brains smeared over the chart of the atlantic which was pinned upon the table, while the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol in his hand at his elbow. the two mates had both been seized by the crew, and the whole business seemed to be settled. "'the state-room was next the cabin, and we flocked in there and flopped down on the settees, all speaking together, for we were just mad with the feeling that we were free once more. there were lockers all round, and wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in, and pulled out a dozen of brown sherry. we cracked off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff out into tumblers, and were just tossing them off, when in an instant without warning there came the roar of muskets in our ears, and the saloon was so full of smoke that we could not see across the table. when it cleared again the place was a shambles. wilson and eight others were wriggling on the top of each other on the floor, and the blood and the brown sherry on that table turn me sick now when i think of it. we were so cowed by the sight that i think we should have given the job up if had not been for prendergast. he bellowed like a bull and rushed for the door with all that were left alive at his heels. out we ran, and there on the poop were the lieutenent and ten of his men. the swing skylights above the saloon table had been a bit open, and they had fired on us through the slit. we got on them before they could load, and they stood to it like men; but we had the upper hand of them, and in five minutes it was all over. my god! was there ever a slaughter-house like that ship! predergast was like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as if they had been children and threw them overboard alive or dead. there was one sergeant that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming for a surprising time, until some one in mercy blew out his brains. when the fighting was over there was no one left of our enemies except just the warders, the mates, and the doctor. "'it was over them that the great quarrel arose. there were many of us who were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had no wish to have murder on our souls. it was one thing to knock the soldiers over with their muskets in their hands, and it was another to stand by while men were being killed in cold blood. eight of us, five convicts and three sailors, said that we would not see it done. but there was no moving predergast and those who were with him. our only chance of safety lay in making a clean job of it, said he, and he would not leave a tongue with power to wag in a witness-box. it nearly came to our sharing the fate of the prisoners, but at last he said that if we wished we might take a boat and go. we jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of these blookthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse before it was done. we were given a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel of water, two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass. prendergast threw us over a chart, told us that we were shipwrecked mariners whose ship had foundered in lat. 15 and long. 25 west, and then cut the painter and let us go. "'and now i come to the most surprising part of my story, my dear son. the seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during the rising, but now as we left them they brought it square again, and as there was a light wind from the north and east the bark began to draw slowly away from us. our boat lay, rising and falling, upon the long, smooth rollers, and evans and i, who were the most educated of the party, were sitting in the sheets working out our position and planning what coast we should make for. it was a nice question, for the cape de verds were about five hundred miles to the north of us, and the african coast about seven hundred to the east. on the whole, as the wind was coming round to the north, we thought that sierra leone might be best, and turned our head in that direction, the bark being at that time nearly hull down on our starboard quarter. suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense black cloud of smoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon the sky line. a few seconds later a roar like thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke thinned away there was no sign left of the gloria scott. in an instant we swept the boat's head round again and pulled with all our strength for the place where the haze still trailing over the water marked the scene of this catastrophe. "'it was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we feared that we had come too late to save any one. a splintered boat and a number of crates and fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves showed us where the vessel had foundered; but there was no sign of life, and we had turned away in despair when we heard a cry for help, and saw at some distance a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across it. when we pulled him aboard the boat he proved to be a young seaman of the name of hudson, who was so burned and exhausted that he could give us no account of what had happened until the following morning. "'it seemed that after we had left, prendergast and his gang had proceeded to put to death the five remaining prisoners. the two warders had been shot and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate. prendergast then descended into the 'tween-decks and with his own hands cut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon. there only remained the first mate, who was a bold and active man. when he saw the convict approaching him with the bloody knife in his hand he kicked off his bonds, which he had somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged into the after-hold. a dozen convicts, who descended with their pistols in search of him, found him with a match-box in his hand seated beside an open powder-barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on board, and swearing that he would blow all hands up if he were in any way molested. an instant later the explosion occurred, though hudson thought it was caused by the misdirected bullet of one of the convicts rather than the mate's match. be the cause what i may, it was the end of the gloria scott and of the rabble who held command of her. "'such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of this terrible business in which i was involved. next day we were picked up by the brig hotspur, bound for australia, whose captain found no difficulty in believing that we were the survivors of a passenger ship which had foundered. the transport ship gloria scott was set down by the admiralty as being lost at sea, and no word has ever leaked out as to her true fate. after an excellent voyage the hotspur landed us at sydney, where evans and i changed our names and made our way to the diggings, where, among the crowds who were gathered from all nations, we had no difficulty in losing our former identities. the rest i need not relate. we prospered, we traveled, we came back as rich colonials to england, and we bought country estates. for more than twenty years we have led peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our past was forever buried. imagine, then, my feelings when in the seaman who came to us i recognized instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck. he had tracked us down somehow, and had set himself to live upon our fears. you will understand now how it was that i strove to keep the peace with him, and you will in some measure sympathize with me in the fears which fill me, now that he has gone from me to his other victim with threats upon his tongue.' "underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardly legible, 'beddoes writes in cipher to say h. has told all. sweet lord, have mercy on our souls!' "that was the narrative which i read that night to young trevor, and i think, watson, that under the circumstances it was a dramatic one. the good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went out to the terai tea planting, where i hear that he is doing well. as to the sailor and beddoes, neither of them was ever heard of again after that day on which the letter of warning was written. they both disappeared utterly and completely. no complaint had been lodged with the police, so that beddoes had mistaken a threat for a deed. hudson had been seen lurking about, and it was believed by the police that he had done away with beddoes and had fled. for myself i believe that the truth was exactly the opposite. i think that it is most probable that beddoes, pushed to desperation and believing himself to have been already betrayed, had revenged himself upon hudson, and had fled from the country with as much money as he could lay his hands on. those are the facts of the case, doctor, and if they are of any use to your collection, i am sure that they are very heartily at your service." the musgrave ritual an anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend sherlock holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. not that i am in the least conventional in that respect myself. the rough-and-tumble work in afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. but with me there is a limit, and when i find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then i begin to give myself virtuous airs. i have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic v. r. done in bullet-pocks, i felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it. our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. but his papers were my great crux. he had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as i have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. one winter's night, as we sat together by the fire, i ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. he could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. this he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. i could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages. "there are cases enough here, watson," said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. "i think that if you knew all that i had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in." "these are the records of your early work, then?" i asked. "i have often wished that i had notes of those cases." "yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me." he lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. "they are not all successes, watson," said he. "but there are some pretty little problems among them. here's the record of the tarleton murders, and the case of vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. and here--ah, now, this really is something a little recherch." he dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's toys are kept in. from within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal. "well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?" he asked, smiling at my expression. "it is a curious collection." "very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still." "these relics have a history then?" "so much so that they are history." "what do you mean by that?" sherlock holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "these," said he, "are all that i have left to remind me of the adventure of the musgrave ritual." i had heard him mention the case more than once, though i had never been able to gather the details. "i should be so glad," said i, "if you would give me an account of it." "and leave the litter as it is?" he cried, mischievously. "your tidiness won't bear much strain after all, watson. but i should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, i believe, of any other country. a collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business. "you may remember how the affair of the gloria scott, and my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate i told you of, first turned my attention in the direction of the profession which has become my life's work. you see me now when my name has become known far and wide, and when i am generally recognized both by the public and by the official force as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. even when you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you have commemorated in 'a study in scarlet,' i had already established a considerable, though not a very lucrative, connection. you can hardly realize, then, how difficult i found it at first, and how long i had to wait before i succeeded in making any headway. "when i first came up to london i had rooms in montague street, just round the corner from the british museum, and there i waited, filling in my too abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of science which might make me more efficient. now and again cases came in my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow-students, for during my last years at the university there was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods. the third of these cases was that of the musgrave ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of events, and the large issues which proved to be at stake, that i trace my first stride towards the position which i now hold. "reginald musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and i had some slight acquaintance with him. he was not generally popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was set down as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. in appearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. he was indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern musgraves some time in the sixteenth century, and had established itself in western sussex, where the manor house of hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited building in the county. something of his birth place seemed to cling to the man, and i never looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. once or twice we drifted into talk, and i can remember that more than once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observation and inference. "for four years i had seen nothing of him until one morning he walked into my room in montague street. he had changed little, was dressed like a young man of fashion--he was always a bit of a dandy--and preserved the same quiet, suave manner which had formerly distinguished him. "'how has all gone with you musgrave?' i asked, after we had cordially shaken hands. "'you probably heard of my poor father's death,' said he; 'he was carried off about two years ago. since then i have of course had the hurlstone estates to manage, and as i am member for my district as well, my life has been a busy one. but i understand, holmes, that you are turning to practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us?' "'yes,' said i, 'i have taken to living by my wits.' "'i am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be exceedingly valuable to me. we have had some very strange doings at hurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the matter. it is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business.' "you can imagine with what eagerness i listened to him, watson, for the very chance for which i had been panting during all those months of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. in my inmost heart i believed that i could succeed where others failed, and now i had the opportunity to test myself. "'pray, let me have the details,' i cried. "reginald musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit the cigarette which i had pushed towards him. "'you must know,' said he, 'that though i am a bachelor, i have to keep up a considerable staff of servants at hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place, and takes a good deal of looking after. i preserve, too, and in the pheasant months i usually have a house-party, so that it would not do to be short-handed. altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the butler, two footmen, and a boy. the garden and the stables of course have a separate staff. "'of these servants the one who had been longest in our service was brunton the butler. he was a young school-master out of place when he was first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. he was a well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for twenty years he cannot be more than forty now. with his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts--for he can speak several languages and play nearly every musical instrument--it is wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position, but i suppose that he was comfortable, and lacked energy to make any change. the butler of hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by all who visit us. "'but this paragon has one fault. he is a bit of a don juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in a quiet country district. when he was married it was all right, but since he has been a widower we have had no end of trouble with him. a few months ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again for he became engaged to rachel howells, our second house-maid; but he has thrown her over since then and taken up with janet tregellis, the daughter of the head game-keeper. rachel--who is a very good girl, but of an excitable welsh temperament--had a sharp touch of brain-fever, and goes about the house now--or did until yesterday--like a black-eyed shadow of her former self. that was our first drama at hurlstone; but a second one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of butler brunton. "'this was how it came about. i have said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least concern him. i had no idea of the lengths to which this would carry him, until the merest accident opened my eyes to it. "'i have said that the house is a rambling one. one day last week--on thursday night, to be more exact--i found that i could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of strong caf noir after my dinner. after struggling against it until two in the morning, i felt that it was quite hopeless, so i rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a novel which i was reading. the book, however, had been left in the billiard-room, so i pulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get it. "'in order to reach the billiard-room i had to descend a flight of stairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and the gun-room. you can imagine my surprise when, as i looked down this corridor, i saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the library. i had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before coming to bed. naturally my first thought was of burglars. the corridors at hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old weapons. from one of these i picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving my candle behind me, i crept on tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at the open door. "'brunton, the butler, was in the library. he was sitting, fully dressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which looked like a map upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. i stood dumb with astonishment, watching him from the darkness. a small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me that he was fully dressed. suddenly, as i looked, he rose from his chair, and walking over to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. from this he took a paper, and returning to his seat he flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table, and began to study it with minute attention. my indignation at this calm examination of our family documents overcame me so far that i took a step forward, and brunton, looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. he sprang to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying. "'"so!" said i. "this is how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you. you will leave my service to-morrow." "'he bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and slunk past me without a word. the taper was still on the table, and by its light i glanced to see what the paper was which brunton had taken from the bureau. to my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions and answers in the singular old observance called the musgrave ritual. it is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which each musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of age--a thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, but of no practical use whatever.' "'we had better come back to the paper afterwards,' said i. "'if you think it really necessary,' he answered, with some hesitation. 'to continue my statement, however: i relocked the bureau, using the key which brunton had left, and i had turned to go when i was surprised to find that the butler had returned, and was standing before me. "'"mr. musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice which was hoarse with emotion, "i can't bear disgrace, sir. i've always been proud above my station in life, and disgrace would kill me. my blood will be on your head, sir--it will, indeed--if you drive me to despair. if you cannot keep me after what has passed, then for god's sake let me give you notice and leave in a month, as if of my own free will. i could stand that, mr. musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk that i know so well." "'"you don't deserve much consideration, brunton," i answered. "your conduct has been most infamous. however, as you have been a long time in the family, i have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. a month, however is too long. take yourself away in a week, and give what reason you like for going." "'"only a week, sir?" he cried, in a despairing voice. "a fortnight--say at least a fortnight!" "'"a week," i repeated, "and you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with." "'he crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man, while i put out the light and returned to my room. "'for two days after this brunton was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. i made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. on the third morning, however he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receive my instructions for the day. as i left the dining-room i happened to meet rachel howells, the maid. i have told you that she had only recently recovered from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that i remonstrated with her for being at work. "'"you should be in bed," i said. "come back to your duties when you are stronger." "'she looked at me with so strange an expression that i began to suspect that her brain was affected. "'"i am strong enough, mr. musgrave," said she. "'"we will see what the doctor says," i answered. "you must stop work now, and when you go downstairs just say that i wish to see brunton." "'"the butler is gone," said she. "'"gone! gone where?" "'"he is gone. no one has seen him. he is not in his room. oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!" she fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of laughter, while i, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. the girl was taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while i made inquiries about brunton. there was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. his bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. his clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which he usually wore was missing. his slippers, too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. where then could butler brunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now? "'of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him. it is, as i have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the missing man. it was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? i called in the local police, but without success. rain had fallen on the night before and we examined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain. matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery. "'for two days rachel howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. on the third night after brunton's disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the arm-chair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the invalid. i was instantly aroused, and, with the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl. it was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, starting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of the grounds. the lake there is eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it. "'of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could we find. on the other hand, we brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. it was a linen bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discolored metal and several dull-colored pieces of pebble or glass. this strange find was all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made every possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of rachel howells or of richard brunton. the county police are at their wits' end, and i have come up to you as a last resource.' "you can imagine, watson, with what eagerness i listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavored to piece them together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. the butler was gone. the maid was gone. the maid had loved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate him. she was of welsh blood, fiery and passionate. she had been terribly excited immediately after his disappearance. she had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious contents. these were all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. what was the starting-point of this chain of events? there lay the end of this tangled line. "'i must see that paper, musgrave,' said i, 'which this butler of your thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place.' "'it is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,' he answered. 'but it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. i have a copy of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over them.' "he handed me the very paper which i have here, watson, and this is the strange catechism to which each musgrave had to submit when he came to man's estate. i will read you the questions and answers as they stand. "'whose was it?' "'his who is gone.' "'who shall have it?' "'he who will come.' "'what was the month?' "'the sixth from the first.' "'where was the sun?' "'over the oak.' "'where was the shadow?' "'under the elm.' "'how was it stepped?' "'north by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.' "'what shall we give for it?' "'all that is ours.' "'why should we give it?' "'for the sake of the trust.' "'the original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century,' remarked musgrave. 'i am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to you in solving this mystery.' "'at least,' said i, 'it gives us another mystery, and one which is even more interesting than the first. it may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. you will excuse me, musgrave, if i say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insight that ten generations of his masters.' "'i hardly follow you,' said musgrave. 'the paper seems to me to be of no practical importance.' "'but to me it seems immensely practical, and i fancy that brunton took the same view. he had probably seen it before that night on which you caught him.' "'it is very possible. we took no pains to hide it.' "'he simply wished, i should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last occasion. he had, as i understand, some sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared.' "'that is true. but what could he have to do with this old family custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?' "'i don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that,' said i; 'with your permission we will take the first train down to sussex, and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.' "the same afternoon saw us both at hurlstone. possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so i will confine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an l, the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus, from which the other had developed. over the low, heavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stone-work are really much older than this. the enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had in the last century driven the family into building the new wing, and the old one was used now as a store-house and a cellar, when it was used at all. a splendid park with fine old timber surrounds the house, and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from the building. "i was already firmly convinced, watson, that there were not three separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if i could read the musgrave ritual aright i should hold in my hand the clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both the butler brunton and the maid howells. to that then i turned all my energies. why should this servant be so anxious to master this old formula? evidently because he saw something in it which had escaped all those generations of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. what was it then, and how had it affected his fate? "it was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that the measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document alluded, and that if we could find that spot, we should be in a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the old musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. there were two guides given us to start with, an oak and an elm. as to the oak there could be no question at all. right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent trees that i have ever seen. "'that was there when your ritual was drawn up,' said i, as we drove past it. "'it was there at the norman conquest in all probability,' he answered. 'it has a girth of twenty-three feet.' "here was one of my fixed points secured. "'have you any old elms?' i asked. "'there used to be a very old one over yonder but it was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump,' "'you can see where it used to be?' "'oh, yes.' "'there are no other elms?' "'no old ones, but plenty of beeches.' "'i should like to see where it grew.' "we had driven up in a dogcart, and my client led me away at once, without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had stood. it was nearly midway between the oak and the house. my investigation seemed to be progressing. "'i suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was?' i asked. "'i can give you it at once. it was sixty-four feet.' "'how do you come to know it?' i asked, in surprise. "'when my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring heights. when i was a lad i worked out every tree and building in the estate.' "this was an unexpected piece of luck. my data were coming more quickly than i could have reasonably hoped. "'tell me,' i asked, 'did your butler ever ask you such a question?' "reginald musgrave looked at me in astonishment. 'now that you call it to my mind,' he answered, 'brunton did ask me about the height of the tree some months ago, in connection with some little argument with the groom.' "this was excellent news, watson, for it showed me that i was on the right road. i looked up at the sun. it was low in the heavens, and i calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. one condition mentioned in the ritual would then be fulfilled. and the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. i had, then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak." "that must have been difficult, holmes, when the elm was no longer there." "well, at least i knew that if brunton could do it, i could also. besides, there was no real difficulty. i went with musgrave to his study and whittled myself this peg, to which i tied this long string with a knot at each yard. then i took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and i went back with my client to where the elm had been. the sun was just grazing the top of the oak. i fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. it was nine feet in length. "of course the calculation now was a simple one. if a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the other. i measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of the house, and i thrust a peg into the spot. you can imagine my exultation, watson, when within two inches of my peg i saw a conical depression in the ground. i knew that it was the mark made by brunton in his measurements, and that i was still upon his trail. "from this starting-point i proceeded to step, having first taken the cardinal points by my pocket-compass. ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and again i marked my spot with a peg. then i carefully paced off five to the east and two to the south. it brought me to the very threshold of the old door. two steps to the west meant now that i was to go two paces down the stone-flagged passage, and this was the place indicated by the ritual. "never have i felt such a cold chill of disappointment, watson. for a moment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my calculations. the setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and i could see that the old, foot-worn gray stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many a long year. brunton had not been at work here. i tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. but fortunately, musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to check my calculation. "'and under,' he cried. 'you have omitted the "and under."' "i had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, of course, i saw at once that i was wrong. 'there is a cellar under this then?' i cried. "'yes, and as old as the house. down here, through this door.' "we went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. in an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and that we had not been the only people to visit the spot recently. "it had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at the sides, so as to leave a clear space in the middle. in this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler was attached. "'by jove!' cried my client. 'that's brunton's muffler. i have seen it on him, and could swear to it. what has the villain been doing here?' "at my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be present, and i then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat. i could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of the constables that i succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. a black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered, while musgrave, kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern. "a small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to us. at one side of this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. it was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. several discs of metal, old coins apparently, such as i hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it contained nothing else. "at the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. it was the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. the attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colored countenance; but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. he had been dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. when his body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that with which we had started. "i confess that so far, watson, i had been disappointed in my investigation. i had reckoned upon solving the matter when once i had found the place referred to in the ritual; but now i was there, and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had concealed with such elaborate precautions. it is true that i had thrown a light upon the fate of brunton, but now i had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. i sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole matter carefully over. "you know my methods in such cases, watson. i put myself in the man's place and, having first gauged his intelligence, i try to imagine how i should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. in this case the matter was simplified by brunton's intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. he knew that something valuable was concealed. he had spotted the place. he found that the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided. what would he do next? he could not get help from outside, even if he had some one whom he could trust, without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. it was better, if he could, to have his helpmate inside the house. but whom could he ask? this girl had been devoted to him. a man always finds it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. he would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl howells, and then would engage her as his accomplice. together they would come at night to the cellar, and their united force would suffice to raise the stone. so far i could follow their actions as if i had actually seen them. "but for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavy work the raising of that stone. a burly sussex policeman and i had found it no light job. what would they do to assist them? probably what i should have done myself. i rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood which were scattered round the floor. almost at once i came upon what i expected. one piece, about three feet in length, had a very marked indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if they had been compressed by some considerable weight. evidently, as they had dragged the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, until at last, when the opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very well become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. so far i was still on safe ground. "and now how was i to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama? clearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one was brunton. the girl must have waited above. brunton then unlocked the box, handed up the contents presumably--since they were not to be found--and then--and then what happened? "what smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her--wronged her, perhaps, far more than we suspected--in her power? was it a chance that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had shut brunton into what had become his sepulchre? had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate? or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? be that as it might, i seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life out. "here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next morning. but what had been in the box? what had she done with that? of course, it must have been the old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. she had thrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime. "for twenty minutes i had sat motionless, thinking the matter out. musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the hole. "'these are coins of charles the first,' said he, holding out the few which had been in the box; 'you see we were right in fixing our date for the ritual.' "'we may find something else of charles the first,' i cried, as the probable meaning of the first two question of the ritual broke suddenly upon me. 'let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the mere.' "we ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. i could understand his regarding it as of small importance when i looked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. i rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my hand. the metal work was in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape. "'you must bear in mind,' said i, 'that the royal party made head in england even after the death of the king, and that when they at last fled they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them, with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful times.' "'my ancestor, sir ralph musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and the right-hand man of charles the second in his wanderings,' said my friend. "'ah, indeed!' i answered. 'well now, i think that really should give us the last link that we wanted. i must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as an historical curiosity.' "'what is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment. "'it is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of england.' "'the crown!' "'precisely. consider what the ritual says: how does it run? "whose was it?" "his who is gone." that was after the execution of charles. then, "who shall have it?" "he who will come." that was charles the second, whose advent was already foreseen. there can, i think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal stuarts.' "'and how came it in the pond?' "'ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.' and with that i sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof which i had constructed. the twilight had closed in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished. "'and how was it then that charles did not get his crown when he returned?' asked musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. "'ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall probably never be able to clear up. it is likely that the musgrave who held the secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. from that day to this it has been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the venture.' "and that's the story of the musgrave ritual, watson. they have the crown down at hurlstone--though they had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. i am sure that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away out of england and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land beyond the seas." the reigate squires it was some time before the health of my friend mr. sherlock holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of '87. the whole question of the netherland-sumatra company and of the colossal schemes of baron maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the public, and are too intimately concerned with politics and finance to be fitting subjects for this series of sketches. they led, however, in an indirect fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the many with which he waged his life-long battle against crime. on referring to my notes i see that it was upon the 14th of april that i received a telegram from lyons which informed me that holmes was lying ill in the hotel dulong. within twenty-four hours i was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch. even the triumphant issue of his labors could not save him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams i found him a prey to the blackest depression. even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplished swindler in europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration. three days later we were back in baker street together; but it was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a week of spring time in the country was full of attractions to me also. my old friend, colonel hayter, who had come under my professional care in afghanistan, had now taken a house near reigate in surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. on the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. a little diplomacy was needed, but when holmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one, and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans and a week after our return from lyons we were under the colonel's roof. hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and he soon found, as i had expected, that holmes and he had much in common. on the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the colonel's gun-room after dinner, holmes stretched upon the sofa, while hayter and i looked over his little armory of eastern weapons. "by the way," said he suddenly, "i think i'll take one of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm." "an alarm!" said i. "yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. old acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his house broken into last monday. no great damage done, but the fellows are still at large." "no clue?" asked holmes, cocking his eye at the colonel. "none as yet. but the affair is a pretty one, one of our little country crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, mr. holmes, after this great international affair." holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had pleased him. "was there any feature of interest?" "i fancy not. the thieves ransacked the library and got very little for their pains. the whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open, and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of pope's homer, two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine are all that have vanished." "what an extraordinary assortment!" i exclaimed. "oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they could get." holmes grunted from the sofa. "the county police ought to make something of that," said he; "why, it is surely obvious that--" but i held up a warning finger. "you are here for a rest, my dear fellow. for heaven's sake don't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds." holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. it was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated. we were at breakfast when the colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him. "have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "at the cunningham's sir!" "burglary!" cried the colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air. "murder!" the colonel whistled. "by jove!" said he. "who's killed, then? the j.p. or his son?" "neither, sir. it was william the coachman. shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke again." "who shot him, then?" "the burglar, sir. he was off like a shot and got clean away. he'd just broke in at the pantry window when william came on him and met his end in saving his master's property." "what time?" "it was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve." "ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast again. "it's a baddish business," he added when the butler had gone; "he's our leading man about here, is old cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. he'll be cut up over this, for the man has been in his service for years and was a good servant. it's evidently the same villains who broke into acton's." "and stole that very singular collection," said holmes, thoughtfully. "precisely." "hum! it may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the same at first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? a gang of burglars acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of their operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district within a few days. when you spoke last night of taking precautions i remember that it passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish in england to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attention--which shows that i have still much to learn." "i fancy it's some local practitioner," said the colonel. "in that case, of course, acton's and cunningham's are just the places he would go for, since they are far the largest about here." "and richest?" "well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for some years which has sucked the blood out of both of them, i fancy. old acton has some claim on half cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it with both hands." "if it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty in running him down," said holmes with a yawn. "all right, watson, i don't intend to meddle." "inspector forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing open the door. the official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into the room. "good-morning, colonel," said he; "i hope i don't intrude, but we hear that mr. holmes of baker street is here." the colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the inspector bowed. "we thought that perhaps you would care to step across, mr. holmes." "the fates are against you, watson," said he, laughing. "we were chatting about the matter when you came in, inspector. perhaps you can let us have a few details." as he leaned back in his chair in the familiar attitude i knew that the case was hopeless. "we had no clue in the acton affair. but here we have plenty to go on, and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case. the man was seen." "ah!" "yes, sir. but he was off like a deer after the shot that killed poor william kirwan was fired. mr. cunningham saw him from the bedroom window, and mr. alec cunningham saw him from the back passage. it was quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. mr. cunningham had just got into bed, and mr. alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. they both heard william the coachman calling for help, and mr. alec ran down to see what was the matter. the back door was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together outside. one of them fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer rushed across the garden and over the hedge. mr. cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once. mr. alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man, and so the villain got clean away. beyond the fact that he was a middle-sized man and dressed in some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are making energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shall soon find him out." "what was this william doing there? did he say anything before he died?" "not a word. he lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with the intention of seeing that all was right there. of course this acton business has put every one on their guard. the robber must have just burst open the door--the lock has been forced--when william came upon him." "did william say anything to his mother before going out?" "she is very old and deaf, and we can get no information from her. the shock has made her half-witted, but i understand that she was never very bright. there is one very important circumstance, however. look at this!" he took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book and spread it out upon his knee. "this was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. it appears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. you will observe that the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his fate. you see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. it reads almost as though it were an appointment." holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile of which is here reproduced. [ picture: scrap showing the words: at quarter to twelve, learn what, may be ] "presuming that it is an appointment," continued the inspector, "it is of course a conceivable theory that this william kirwan--though he had the reputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with the thief. he may have met him there, may even have helped him to break in the door, and then they may have fallen out between themselves." "this writing is of extraordinary interest," said holmes, who had been examining it with intense concentration. "these are much deeper waters than i had thought." he sank his head upon his hands, while the inspector smiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous london specialist. "your last remark," said holmes, presently, "as to the possibility of there being an understanding between the burglar and the servant, and this being a note of appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition. but this writing opens up--" he sank his head into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepest thought. when he raised his face again, i was surprised to see that his cheek was tinged with color, and his eyes as bright as before his illness. he sprang to his feet with all his old energy. "i'll tell you what," said he, "i should like to have a quiet little glance into the details of this case. there is something in it which fascinates me extremely. if you will permit me, colonel, i will leave my friend watson and you, and i will step round with the inspector to test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. i will be with you again in half an hour." an hour and half had elapsed before the inspector returned alone. "mr. holmes is walking up and down in the field outside," said he. "he wants us all four to go up to the house together." "to mr. cunningham's?" "yes, sir." "what for?" the inspector shrugged his shoulders. "i don't quite know, sir. between ourselves, i think mr. holmes had not quite got over his illness yet. he's been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited." "i don't think you need alarm yourself," said i. "i have usually found that there was method in his madness." "some folks might say there was madness in his method," muttered the inspector. "but he's all on fire to start, colonel, so we had best go out if you are ready." we found holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk upon his breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets. "the matter grows in interest," said he. "watson, your country-trip has been a distinct success. i have had a charming morning." "you have been up to the scene of the crime, i understand," said the colonel. "yes; the inspector and i have made quite a little reconnaissance together." "any success?" "well, we have seen some very interesting things. i'll tell you what we did as we walk. first of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man. he certainly died from a revolver wound as reported." "had you doubted it, then?" "oh, it is as well to test everything. our inspection was not wasted. we then had an interview with mr. cunningham and his son, who were able to point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the garden-hedge in his flight. that was of great interest." "naturally." "then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. we could get no information from her, however, as she is very old and feeble." "and what is the result of your investigations?" "the conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less obscure. i think that we are both agreed, inspector, that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand, bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death written upon it, is of extreme importance." "it should give a clue, mr. holmes." "it does give a clue. whoever wrote that note was the man who brought william kirwan out of his bed at that hour. but where is the rest of that sheet of paper?" "i examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it," said the inspector. "it was torn out of the dead man's hand. why was some one so anxious to get possession of it? because it incriminated him. and what would he do with it? thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. if we could get the rest of that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way towards solving the mystery." "yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we catch the criminal?" "well, well, it was worth thinking over. then there is another obvious point. the note was sent to william. the man who wrote it could not have taken it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his own message by word of mouth. who brought the note, then? or did it come through the post?" "i have made inquiries," said the inspector. "william received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday. the envelope was destroyed by him." "excellent!" cried holmes, clapping the inspector on the back. "you've seen the postman. it is a pleasure to work with you. well, here is the lodge, and if you will come up, colonel, i will show you the scene of the crime." we passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived, and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old queen anne house, which bears the date of malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. holmes and the inspector led us round it until we came to the side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. a constable was standing at the kitchen door. "throw the door open, officer," said holmes. "now, it was on those stairs that young mr. cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling just where we are. old mr. cunningham was at that window--the second on the left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. so did the son. they are both sure of it on account of the bush. then mr. alec ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. the ground is very hard, you see, and there are no marks to guide us." as he spoke two men came down the garden path, from round the angle of the house. the one was an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy dress were in strange contrast with the business which had brought us there. "still at it, then?" said he to holmes. "i thought you londoners were never at fault. you don't seem to be so very quick, after all." "ah, you must give us a little time," said holmes good-humoredly. "you'll want it," said young alec cunningham. "why, i don't see that we have any clue at all." "there's only one," answered the inspector. "we thought that if we could only find--good heavens, mr. holmes! what is the matter?" my poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression. his eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony, and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground. horrified at the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair, and breathed heavily for some minutes. finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness, he rose once more. "watson would tell you that i have only just recovered from a severe illness," he explained. "i am liable to these sudden nervous attacks." "shall i send you home in my trap?" asked old cunningham. "well, since i am here, there is one point on which i should like to feel sure. we can very easily verify it." "what was it?" "well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of this poor fellow william was not before, but after, the entrance of the burglary into the house. you appear to take it for granted that, although the door was forced, the robber never got in." "i fancy that is quite obvious," said mr. cunningham, gravely. "why, my son alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard any one moving about." "where was he sitting?" "i was smoking in my dressing-room." "which window is that?" "the last on the left next my father's." "both of your lamps were lit, of course?" "undoubtedly." "there are some very singular points here," said holmes, smiling. "is it not extraordinary that a burglary--and a burglar who had had some previous experience--should deliberately break into a house at a time when he could see from the lights that two of the family were still afoot?" "he must have been a cool hand." "well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we should not have been driven to ask you for an explanation," said young mr. alec. "but as to your ideas that the man had robbed the house before william tackled him, i think it a most absurd notion. wouldn't we have found the place disarranged, and missed the things which he had taken?" "it depends on what the things were," said holmes. "you must remember that we are dealing with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow, and who appears to work on lines of his own. look, for example, at the queer lot of things which he took from acton's--what was it?--a ball of string, a letter-weight, and i don't know what other odds and ends." "well, we are quite in your hands, mr. holmes," said old cunningham. "anything which you or the inspector may suggest will most certainly be done." "in the first place," said holmes, "i should like you to offer a reward--coming from yourself, for the officials may take a little time before they would agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done too promptly. i have jotted down the form here, if you would not mind signing it. fifty pound was quite enough, i thought." "i would willingly give five hundred," said the j.p., taking the slip of paper and the pencil which holmes handed to him. "this is not quite correct, however," he added, glancing over the document. "i wrote it rather hurriedly." "you see you begin, 'whereas, at about a quarter to one on tuesday morning an attempt was made,' and so on. it was at a quarter to twelve, as a matter of fact." i was pained at the mistake, for i knew how keenly holmes would feel any slip of the kind. it was his specialty to be accurate as to fact, but his recent illness had shaken him, and this one little incident was enough to show me that he was still far from being himself. he was obviously embarrassed for an instant, while the inspector raised his eyebrows, and alec cunningham burst into a laugh. the old gentleman corrected the mistake, however, and handed the paper back to holmes. "get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "i think your idea is an excellent one." holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocket-book. "and now," said he, "it really would be a good thing that we should all go over the house together and make certain that this rather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry anything away with him." before entering, holmes made an examination of the door which had been forced. it was evident that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust in, and the lock forced back with it. we could see the marks in the wood where it had been pushed in. "you don't use bars, then?" he asked. "we have never found it necessary." "you don't keep a dog?" "yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house." "when do the servants go to bed?" "about ten." "i understand that william was usually in bed also at that hour." "yes." "it is singular that on this particular night he should have been up. now, i should be very glad if you would have the kindness to show us over the house, mr. cunningham." a stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from it, led by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the house. it came out upon the landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair which came up from the front hall. out of this landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms, including those of mr. cunningham and his son. holmes walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house. i could tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet i could not in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were leading him. "my good sir," said mr. cunningham with some impatience, "this is surely very unnecessary. that is my room at the end of the stairs, and my son's is the one beyond it. i leave it to your judgment whether it was possible for the thief to have come up here without disturbing us." "you must try round and get on a fresh scent, i fancy," said the son with a rather malicious smile. "still, i must ask you to humor me a little further. i should like, for example, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms command the front. this, i understand is your son's room"--he pushed open the door--"and that, i presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when the alarm was given. where does the window of that look out to?" he stepped across the bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the other chamber. "i hope that you are satisfied now?" said mr. cunningham, tartly. "thank you, i think i have seen all that i wished." "then if it is really necessary we can go into my room." "if it is not too much trouble." the j.p. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into his own chamber, which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. as we moved across it in the direction of the window, holmes fell back until he and i were the last of the group. near the foot of the bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. as we passed it holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. the glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every corner of the room. "you've done it now, watson," said he, coolly. "a pretty mess you've made of the carpet." i stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit, understanding for some reason my companion desired me to take the blame upon myself. the others did the same, and set the table on its legs again. "hullo!" cried the inspector, "where's he got to?" holmes had disappeared. "wait here an instant," said young alec cunningham. "the fellow is off his head, in my opinion. come with me, father, and see where he has got to!" they rushed out of the room, leaving the inspector, the colonel, and me staring at each other. "'pon my word, i am inclined to agree with master alec," said the official. "it may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to me that--" his words were cut short by a sudden scream of "help! help! murder!" with a thrill i recognised the voice as that of my friend. i rushed madly from the room on to the landing. the cries, which had sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had first visited. i dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. the two cunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of sherlock holmes, the younger clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his wrists. in an instant the three of us had torn them away from him, and holmes staggered to his feet, very pale and evidently greatly exhausted. "arrest these men, inspector," he gasped. "on what charge?" "that of murdering their coachman, william kirwan." the inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "oh, come now, mr. holmes," said he at last, "i'm sure you don't really mean to--" "tut, man, look at their faces!" cried holmes, curtly. never, certainly, have i seen a plainer confession of guilt upon human countenances. the older man seemed numbed and dazed with a heavy, sullen expression upon his strongly-marked face. the son, on the other hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had characterized him, and the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his handsome features. the inspector said nothing, but, stepping to the door, he blew his whistle. two of his constables came at the call. "i have no alternative, mr. cunningham," said he. "i trust that this may all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see that--ah, would you? drop it!" he struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the younger man was in the act of cocking clattered down upon the floor. "keep that," said holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; "you will find it useful at the trial. but this is what we really wanted." he held up a little crumpled piece of paper. "the remainder of the sheet!" cried the inspector. "precisely." "and where was it?" "where i was sure it must be. i'll make the whole matter clear to you presently. i think, colonel, that you and watson might return now, and i will be with you again in an hour at the furthest. the inspector and i must have a word with the prisoners, but you will certainly see me back at luncheon time." sherlock holmes was as good as his word, for about one o'clock he rejoined us in the colonel's smoking-room. he was accompanied by a little elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the mr. acton whose house had been the scene of the original burglary. "i wished mr. acton to be present while i demonstrated this small matter to you," said holmes, "for it is natural that he should take a keen interest in the details. i am afraid, my dear colonel, that you must regret the hour that you took in such a stormy petrel as i am." "on the contrary," answered the colonel, warmly, "i consider it the greatest privilege to have been permitted to study your methods of working. i confess that they quite surpass my expectations, and that i am utterly unable to account for your result. i have not yet seen the vestige of a clue." "i am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you but it has always been my habit to hide none of my methods, either from my friend watson or from any one who might take an intelligent interest in them. but, first, as i am rather shaken by the knocking about which i had in the dressing-room, i think that i shall help myself to a dash of your brandy, colonel. my strength had been rather tried of late." "i trust that you had no more of those nervous attacks." sherlock holmes laughed heartily. "we will come to that in its turn," said he. "i will lay an account of the case before you in its due order, showing you the various points which guided me in my decision. pray interrupt me if there is any inference which is not perfectly clear to you. "it is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able to recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental and which vital. otherwise your energy and attention must be dissipated instead of being concentrated. now, in this case there was not the slightest doubt in my mind from the first that the key of the whole matter must be looked for in the scrap of paper in the dead man's hand. "before going into this, i would draw your attention to the fact that, if alec cunningham's narrative was correct, and if the assailant, after shooting william kirwan, had instantly fled, then it obviously could not be he who tore the paper from the dead man's hand. but if it was not he, it must have been alec cunningham himself, for by the time that the old man had descended several servants were upon the scene. the point is a simple one, but the inspector had overlooked it because he had started with the supposition that these county magnates had had nothing to do with the matter. now, i make a point of never having any prejudices, and of following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the very first stage of the investigation, i found myself looking a little askance at the part which had been played by mr. alec cunningham. "and now i made a very careful examination of the corner of paper which the inspector had submitted to us. it was at once clear to me that it formed part of a very remarkable document. here it is. do you not now observed something very suggestive about it?" "it has a very irregular look," said the colonel. "my dear sir," cried holmes, "there cannot be the least doubt in the world that it has been written by two persons doing alternate words. when i draw your attention to the strong t's of 'at' and 'to', and ask you to compare them with the weak ones of 'quarter' and 'twelve,' you will instantly recognize the fact. a very brief analysis of these four words would enable you to say with the utmost confidence that the 'learn' and the 'maybe' are written in the stronger hand, and the 'what' in the weaker." "by jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the colonel. "why on earth should two men write a letter in such a fashion?" "obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men who distrusted the other was determined that, whatever was done, each should have an equal hand in it. now, of the two men, it is clear that the one who wrote the 'at' and 'to' was the ringleader." "how do you get at that?" "we might deduce it from the mere character of the one hand as compared with the other. but we have more assured reasons than that for supposing it. if you examine this scrap with attention you will come to the conclusion that the man with the stronger hand wrote all his words first, leaving blanks for the other to fill up. these blanks were not always sufficient, and you can see that the second man had a squeeze to fit his 'quarter' in between the 'at' and the 'to,' showing that the latter were already written. the man who wrote all his words first is undoubtedly the man who planned the affair." "excellent!" cried mr. acton. "but very superficial," said holmes. "we come now, however, to a point which is of importance. you may not be aware that the deduction of a man's age from his writing is one which has been brought to considerable accuracy by experts. in normal cases one can place a man in his true decade with tolerable confidence. i say normal cases, because ill-health and physical weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even when the invalid is a youth. in this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of the one, and the rather broken-backed appearance of the other, which still retains its legibility although the t's have begun to lose their crossing, we can say that the one was a young man and the other was advanced in years without being positively decrepit." "excellent!" cried mr. acton again. "there is a further point, however, which is subtler and of greater interest. there is something in common between these hands. they belong to men who are blood-relatives. it may be most obvious to you in the greek e's, but to me there are many small points which indicate the same thing. i have no doubt at all that a family mannerism can be traced in these two specimens of writing. i am only, of course, giving you the leading results now of my examination of the paper. there were twenty-three other deductions which would be of more interest to experts than to you. they all tended to deepen the impression upon my mind that the cunninghams, father and son, had written this letter. "having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine into the details of the crime, and to see how far they would help us. i went up to the house with the inspector, and saw all that was to be seen. the wound upon the dead man was, as i was able to determine with absolute confidence, fired from a revolver at the distance of something over four yards. there was no powder-blackening on the clothes. evidently, therefore, alec cunningham had lied when he said that the two men were struggling when the shot was fired. again, both father and son agreed as to the place where the man escaped into the road. at that point, however, as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at the bottom. as there were no indications of bootmarks about this ditch, i was absolutely sure not only that the cunninghams had again lied, but that there had never been any unknown man upon the scene at all. "and now i have to consider the motive of this singular crime. to get at this, i endeavored first of all to solve the reason of the original burglary at mr. acton's. i understood, from something which the colonel told us, that a lawsuit had been going on between you, mr. acton, and the cunninghams. of course, it instantly occurred to me that they had broken into your library with the intention of getting at some document which might be of importance in the case." "precisely so," said mr. acton. "there can be no possible doubt as to their intentions. i have the clearest claim upon half of their present estate, and if they could have found a single paper--which, fortunately, was in the strong-box of my solicitors--they would undoubtedly have crippled our case." "there you are," said holmes, smiling. "it was a dangerous, reckless attempt, in which i seem to trace the influence of young alec. having found nothing they tried to divert suspicion by making it appear to be an ordinary burglary, to which end they carried off whatever they could lay their hands upon. that is all clear enough, but there was much that was still obscure. what i wanted above all was to get the missing part of that note. i was certain that alec had torn it out of the dead man's hand, and almost certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of his dressing-gown. where else could he have put it? the only question was whether it was still there. it was worth an effort to find out, and for that object we all went up to the house. "the cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember, outside the kitchen door. it was, of course, of the very first importance that they should not be reminded of the existence of this paper, otherwise they would naturally destroy it without delay. the inspector was about to tell them the importance which we attached to it when, by the luckiest chance in the world, i tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed the conversation." "good heavens!" cried the colonel, laughing, "do you mean to say all our sympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?" "speaking professionally, it was admirably done," cried i, looking in amazement at this man who was forever confounding me with some new phase of his astuteness. "it is an art which is often useful," said he. "when i recovered i managed, by a device which had perhaps some little merit of ingenuity, to get old cunningham to write the word 'twelve,' so that i might compare it with the 'twelve' upon the paper." "oh, what an ass i have been!" i exclaimed. "i could see that you were commiserating with me over my weakness," said holmes, laughing. "i was sorry to cause you the sympathetic pain which i know that you felt. we then went upstairs together, and having entered the room and seen the dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, i contrived, by upsetting a table, to engage their attention for the moment, and slipped back to examine the pockets. i had hardly got the paper, however--which was, as i had expected, in one of them--when the two cunninghams were on me, and would, i verily believe, have murdered me then and there but for your prompt and friendly aid. as it is, i feel that young man's grip on my throat now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effort to get the paper out of my hand. they saw that i must know all about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute security to complete despair made them perfectly desperate. "i had a little talk with old cunningham afterwards as to the motive of the crime. he was tractable enough, though his son was a perfect demon, ready to blow out his own or anybody else's brains if he could have got to his revolver. when cunningham saw that the case against him was so strong he lost all heart and made a clean breast of everything. it seems that william had secretly followed his two masters on the night when they made their raid upon mr. acton's, and having thus got them into his power, proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy black-mail upon them. mr. alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that sort with. it was a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the burglary scare which was convulsing the country side an opportunity of plausibly getting rid of the man whom he feared. william was decoyed up and shot, and had they only got the whole of the note and paid a little more attention to detail in the accessories, it is very possible that suspicion might never have been aroused." "and the note?" i asked. sherlock holmes placed the subjoined paper before us. [ picture: paper which reads: if you will only come around at quarter to twelve to the east gate you will learn what will very much surprise you and may be of the greatest service to you and also to annie morrison. but say nothing to anyone upon the matter ] "it is very much the sort of thing that i expected," said he. "of course, we do not yet know what the relations may have been between alec cunningham, william kirwan, and annie morrison. the results shows that the trap was skillfully baited. i am sure that you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces of heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's. the absence of the i-dots in the old man's writing is also most characteristic. watson, i think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success, and i shall certainly return much invigorated to baker street to-morrow." the crooked man one summer night, a few months after my marriage, i was seated by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day's work had been an exhausting one. my wife had already gone upstairs, and the sound of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that the servants had also retired. i had risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes of my pipe when i suddenly heard the clang of the bell. i looked at the clock. it was a quarter to twelve. this could not be a visitor at so late an hour. a patient, evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting. with a wry face i went out into the hall and opened the door. to my astonishment it was sherlock holmes who stood upon my step. "ah, watson," said he, "i hoped that i might not be too late to catch you." "my dear fellow, pray come in." "you look surprised, and no wonder! relieved, too, i fancy! hum! you still smoke the arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then! there's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. it's easy to tell that you have been accustomed to wear a uniform, watson. you'll never pass as a pure-bred civilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief in your sleeve. could you put me up tonight?" "with pleasure." "you told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and i see that you have no gentleman visitor at present. your hat-stand proclaims as much." "i shall be delighted if you will stay." "thank you. i'll fill the vacant peg then. sorry to see that you've had the british workman in the house. he's a token of evil. not the drains, i hope?" "no, the gas." "ah! he has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum just where the light strikes it. no, thank you, i had some supper at waterloo, but i'll smoke a pipe with you with pleasure." i handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me and smoked for some time in silence. i was well aware that nothing but business of importance would have brought him to me at such an hour, so i waited patiently until he should come round to it. "i see that you are professionally rather busy just now," said he, glancing very keenly across at me. "yes, i've had a busy day," i answered. "it may seem very foolish in your eyes," i added, "but really i don't know how you deduced it." holmes chuckled to himself. "i have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear watson," said he. "when your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long one you use a hansom. as i perceive that your boots, although used, are by no means dirty, i cannot doubt that you are at present busy enough to justify the hansom." "excellent!" i cried. "elementary," said he. "it is one of those instances where the reasoner can produce an effect which seems remarkable to his neighbor, because the latter has missed the one little point which is the basis of the deduction. the same may be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of some of these little sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious, depending as it does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in the problem which are never imparted to the reader. now, at present i am in the position of these same readers, for i hold in this hand several threads of one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a man's brain, and yet i lack the one or two which are needful to complete my theory. but i'll have them, watson, i'll have them!" his eyes kindled and a slight flush sprang into his thin cheeks. for an instant the veil had lifted upon his keen, intense nature, but for an instant only. when i glanced again his face had resumed that red-indian composure which had made so many regard him as a machine rather than a man. "the problem presents features of interest," said he. "i may even say exceptional features of interest. i have already looked into the matter, and have come, as i think, within sight of my solution. if you could accompany me in that last step you might be of considerable service to me." "i should be delighted." "could you go as far as aldershot to-morrow?" "i have no doubt jackson would take my practice." "very good. i want to start by the 11.10 from waterloo." "that would give me time." "then, if you are not too sleepy, i will give you a sketch of what has happened, and of what remains to be done." "i was sleepy before you came. i am quite wakeful now." "i will compress the story as far as may be done without omitting anything vital to the case. it is conceivable that you may even have read some account of the matter. it is the supposed murder of colonel barclay, of the royal munsters, at aldershot, which i am investigating." "i have heard nothing of it." "it has not excited much attention yet, except locally. the facts are only two days old. briefly they are these: "the royal munsters is, as you know, one of the most famous irish regiments in the british army. it did wonders both in the crimea and the mutiny, and has since that time distinguished itself upon every possible occasion. it was commanded up to monday night by james barclay, a gallant veteran, who started as a full private, was raised to commissioned rank for his bravery at the time of the mutiny, and so lived to command the regiment in which he had once carried a musket. "colonel barclay had married at the time when he was a sergeant, and his wife, whose maiden name was miss nancy devoy, was the daughter of a former color-sergeant in the same corps. there was, therefore, as can be imagined, some little social friction when the young couple (for they were still young) found themselves in their new surroundings. they appear, however, to have quickly adapted themselves, and mrs. barclay has always, i understand, been as popular with the ladies of the regiment as her husband was with his brother officers. i may add that she was a woman of great beauty, and that even now, when she has been married for upwards of thirty years, she is still of a striking and queenly appearance. "colonel barclay's family life appears to have been a uniformly happy one. major murphy, to whom i owe most of my facts, assures me that he has never heard of any misunderstanding between the pair. on the whole, he thinks that barclay's devotion to his wife was greater than his wife's to barclay. he was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for a day. she, on the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less obtrusively affectionate. but they were regarded in the regiment as the very model of a middle-aged couple. there was absolutely nothing in their mutual relations to prepare people for the tragedy which was to follow. "colonel barclay himself seems to have had some singular traits in his character. he was a dashing, jovial old solder in his usual mood, but there were occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable of considerable violence and vindictiveness. this side of his nature, however, appears never to have been turned towards his wife. another fact, which had struck major murphy and three out of five of the other officers with whom i conversed, was the singular sort of depression which came upon him at times. as the major expressed it, the smile had often been struck from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he has been joining the gaieties and chaff of the mess-table. for days on end, when the mood was on him, he has been sunk in the deepest gloom. this and a certain tinge of superstition were the only unusual traits in his character which his brother officers had observed. the latter peculiarity took the form of a dislike to being left alone, especially after dark. this puerile feature in a nature which was conspicuously manly had often given rise to comment and conjecture. "the first battalion of the royal munsters (which is the old 117th) has been stationed at aldershot for some years. the married officers live out of barracks, and the colonel has during all this time occupied a villa called lachine, about half a mile from the north camp. the house stands in its own grounds, but the west side of it is not more than thirty yards from the high-road. a coachman and two maids form the staff of servants. these with their master and mistress were the sole occupants of lachine, for the barclays had no children, nor was it usual for them to have resident visitors. "now for the events at lachine between nine and ten on the evening of last monday. "mrs. barclay was, it appears, a member of the roman catholic church, and had interested herself very much in the establishment of the guild of st. george, which was formed in connection with the watt street chapel for the purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off clothing. a meeting of the guild had been held that evening at eight, and mrs. barclay had hurried over her dinner in order to be present at it. when leaving the house she was heard by the coachman to make some commonplace remark to her husband, and to assure him that she would be back before very long. she then called for miss morrison, a young lady who lives in the next villa, and the two went off together to their meeting. it lasted forty minutes, and at a quarter-past nine mrs. barclay returned home, having left miss morrison at her door as she passed. "there is a room which is used as a morning-room at lachine. this faces the road and opens by a large glass folding-door on to the lawn. the lawn is thirty yards across, and is only divided from the highway by a low wall with an iron rail above it. it was into this room that mrs. barclay went upon her return. the blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in the evening, but mrs. barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang the bell, asking jane stewart, the house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was quite contrary to her usual habits. the colonel had been sitting in the dining-room, but hearing that his wife had returned he joined her in the morning-room. the coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it. he was never seen again alive. "the tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was surprised to hear the voices of her master and mistress in furious altercation. she knocked without receiving any answer, and even turned the handle, but only to find that the door was locked upon the inside. naturally enough she ran down to tell the cook, and the two women with the coachman came up into the hall and listened to the dispute which was still raging. they all agreed that only two voices were to be heard, those of barclay and of his wife. barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt, so that none of them were audible to the listeners. the lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, and when she raised her voice could be plainly heard. 'you coward!' she repeated over and over again. 'what can be done now? what can be done now? give me back my life. i will never so much as breathe the same air with you again! you coward! you coward!' those were scraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a piercing scream from the woman. convinced that some tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed to the door and strove to force it, while scream after scream issued from within. he was unable, however, to make his way in, and the maids were too distracted with fear to be of any assistance to him. a sudden thought struck him, however, and he ran through the hall door and round to the lawn upon which the long french windows open. one side of the window was open, which i understand was quite usual in the summer-time, and he passed without difficulty into the room. his mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted over the side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender, was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own blood. "naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding that he could do nothing for his master, was to open the door. but here an unexpected and singular difficulty presented itself. the key was not in the inner side of the door, nor could he find it anywhere in the room. he went out again, therefore, through the window, and having obtained the help of a policeman and of a medical man, he returned. the lady, against whom naturally the strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room, still in a state of insensibility. the colonel's body was then placed upon the sofa, and a careful examination made of the scene of the tragedy. "the injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering was found to be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back part of his head, which had evidently been caused by a violent blow from a blunt weapon. nor was it difficult to guess what that weapon may have been. upon the floor, close to the body, was lying a singular club of hard carved wood with a bone handle. the colonel possessed a varied collection of weapons brought from the different countries in which he had fought, and it is conjectured by the police that his club was among his trophies. the servants deny having seen it before, but among the numerous curiosities in the house it is possible that it may have been overlooked. nothing else of importance was discovered in the room by the police, save the inexplicable fact that neither upon mrs. barclay's person nor upon that of the victim nor in any part of the room was the missing key to be found. the door had eventually to be opened by a locksmith from aldershot. "that was the state of things, watson, when upon the tuesday morning i, at the request of major murphy, went down to aldershot to supplement the efforts of the police. i think that you will acknowledge that the problem was already one of interest, but my observations soon made me realize that it was in truth much more extraordinary than would at first sight appear. "before examining the room i cross-questioned the servants, but only succeeded in eliciting the facts which i have already stated. one other detail of interest was remembered by jane stewart, the housemaid. you will remember that on hearing the sound of the quarrel she descended and returned with the other servants. on that first occasion, when she was alone, she says that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk so low that she could hear hardly anything, and judged by their tones rather than their words that they had fallen out. on my pressing her, however, she remembered that she heard the word david uttered twice by the lady. the point is of the utmost importance as guiding us towards the reason of the sudden quarrel. the colonel's name, you remember, was james. "there was one thing in the case which had made the deepest impression both upon the servants and the police. this was the contortion of the colonel's face. it had set, according to their account, into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror which a human countenance is capable of assuming. more than one person fainted at the mere sight of him, so terrible was the effect. it was quite certain that he had foreseen his fate, and that it had caused him the utmost horror. this, of course, fitted in well enough with the police theory, if the colonel could have seen his wife making a murderous attack upon him. nor was the fact of the wound being on the back of his head a fatal objection to this, as he might have turned to avoid the blow. no information could be got from the lady herself, who was temporarily insane from an acute attack of brain-fever. "from the police i learned that miss morrison, who you remember went out that evening with mrs. barclay, denied having any knowledge of what it was which had caused the ill-humor in which her companion had returned. "having gathered these facts, watson, i smoked several pipes over them, trying to separate those which were crucial from others which were merely incidental. there could be no question that the most distinctive and suggestive point in the case was the singular disappearance of the door-key. a most careful search had failed to discover it in the room. therefore it must have been taken from it. but neither the colonel nor the colonel's wife could have taken it. that was perfectly clear. therefore a third person must have entered the room. and that third person could only have come in through the window. it seemed to me that a careful examination of the room and the lawn might possibly reveal some traces of this mysterious individual. you know my methods, watson. there was not one of them which i did not apply to the inquiry. and it ended by my discovering traces, but very different ones from those which i had expected. there had been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawn coming from the road. i was able to obtain five very clear impressions of his foot-marks: one in the roadway itself, at the point where he had climbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint ones upon the stained boards near the window where he had entered. he had apparently rushed across the lawn, for his toe-marks were much deeper than his heels. but it was not the man who surprised me. it was his companion." "his companion!" holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket and carefully unfolded it upon his knee. "what do you make of that?" he asked. the paper was covered with the tracings of the foot-marks of some small animal. it had five well-marked foot-pads, an indication of long nails, and the whole print might be nearly as large as a dessert-spoon. "it's a dog," said i. "did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? i found distinct traces that this creature had done so." "a monkey, then?" "but it is not the print of a monkey." "what can it be, then?" "neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are familiar with. i have tried to reconstruct it from the measurements. here are four prints where the beast has been standing motionless. you see that it is no less than fifteen inches from fore-foot to hind. add to that the length of neck and head, and you get a creature not much less than two feet long--probably more if there is any tail. but now observe this other measurement. the animal has been moving, and we have the length of its stride. in each case it is only about three inches. you have an indication, you see, of a long body with very short legs attached to it. it has not been considerate enough to leave any of its hair behind it. but its general shape must be what i have indicated, and it can run up a curtain, and it is carnivorous." "how do you deduce that?" "because it ran up the curtain. a canary's cage was hanging in the window, and its aim seems to have been to get at the bird." "then what was the beast?" "ah, if i could give it a name it might go a long way towards solving the case. on the whole, it was probably some creature of the weasel and stoat tribe--and yet it is larger than any of these that i have seen." "but what had it to do with the crime?" "that, also, is still obscure. but we have learned a good deal, you perceive. we know that a man stood in the road looking at the quarrel between the barclays--the blinds were up and the room lighted. we know, also, that he ran across the lawn, entered the room, accompanied by a strange animal, and that he either struck the colonel or, as is equally possible, that the colonel fell down from sheer fright at the sight of him, and cut his head on the corner of the fender. finally, we have the curious fact that the intruder carried away the key with him when he left." "your discoveries seem to have left the business more obscure that it was before," said i. "quite so. they undoubtedly showed that the affair was much deeper than was at first conjectured. i thought the matter over, and i came to the conclusion that i must approach the case from another aspect. but really, watson, i am keeping you up, and i might just as well tell you all this on our way to aldershot to-morrow." "thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop." "it is quite certain that when mrs. barclay left the house at half-past seven she was on good terms with her husband. she was never, as i think i have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but she was heard by the coachman chatting with the colonel in a friendly fashion. now, it was equally certain that, immediately on her return, she had gone to the room in which she was least likely to see her husband, had flown to tea as an agitated woman will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had broken into violent recriminations. therefore something had occurred between seven-thirty and nine o'clock which had completely altered her feelings towards him. but miss morrison had been with her during the whole of that hour and a half. it was absolutely certain, therefore, in spite of her denial, that she must know something of the matter. "my first conjecture was, that possibly there had been some passages between this young lady and the old soldier, which the former had now confessed to the wife. that would account for the angry return, and also for the girl's denial that anything had occurred. nor would it be entirely incompatible with most of the words overhead. but there was the reference to david, and there was the known affection of the colonel for his wife, to weigh against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of this other man, which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with what had gone before. it was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on the whole, i was inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been anything between the colonel and miss morrison, but more than ever convinced that the young lady held the clue as to what it was which had turned mrs. barclay to hatred of her husband. i took the obvious course, therefore, of calling upon miss m., of explaining to her that i was perfectly certain that she held the facts in her possession, and of assuring her that her friend, mrs. barclay, might find herself in the dock upon a capital charge unless the matter were cleared up. "miss morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with timid eyes and blond hair, but i found her by no means wanting in shrewdness and common-sense. she sat thinking for some time after i had spoken, and then, turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, she broke into a remarkable statement which i will condense for your benefit. "'i promised my friend that i would say nothing of the matter, and a promise is a promise,' said she; 'but if i can really help her when so serious a charge is laid against her, and when her own mouth, poor darling, is closed by illness, then i think i am absolved from my promise. i will tell you exactly what happened upon monday evening. "'we were returning from the watt street mission about a quarter to nine o'clock. on our way we had to pass through hudson street, which is a very quiet thoroughfare. there is only one lamp in it, upon the left-hand side, and as we approached this lamp i saw a man coming towards us with is back very bent, and something like a box slung over one of his shoulders. he appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head low and walked with his knees bent. we were passing him when he raised his face to look at us in the circle of light thrown by the lamp, and as he did so he stopped and screamed out in a dreadful voice, "my god, it's nancy!" mrs. barclay turned as white as death, and would have fallen down had the dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her. i was going to call for the police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow. "'"i thought you had been dead this thirty years, henry," said she, in a shaking voice. "'"so i have," said he, and it was awful to hear the tones that he said it in. he had a very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam in his eyes that comes back to me in my dreams. his hair and whiskers were shot with gray, and his face was all crinkled and puckered like a withered apple. "'"just walk on a little way, dear," said mrs. barclay; "i want to have a word with this man. there is nothing to be afraid of." she tried to speak boldly, but she was still deadly pale and could hardly get her words out for the trembling of her lips. "'i did as she asked me, and they talked together for a few minutes. then she came down the street with her eyes blazing, and i saw the crippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and shaking his clenched fists in the air as if he were mad with rage. she never said a word until we were at the door here, when she took me by the hand and begged me to tell no one what had happened. "'"it's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in the world," said she. when i promised her i would say nothing she kissed me, and i have never seen her since. i have told you now the whole truth, and if i withheld it from the police it is because i did not realize then the danger in which my dear friend stood. i know that it can only be to her advantage that everything should be known.' "there was her statement, watson, and to me, as you can imagine, it was like a light on a dark night. everything which had been disconnected before began at once to assume its true place, and i had a shadowy presentiment of the whole sequence of events. my next step obviously was to find the man who had produced such a remarkable impression upon mrs. barclay. if he were still in aldershot it should not be a very difficult matter. there are not such a very great number of civilians, and a deformed man was sure to have attracted attention. i spent a day in the search, and by evening--this very evening, watson--i had run him down. the man's name is henry wood, and he lives in lodgings in this same street in which the ladies met him. he has only been five days in the place. in the character of a registration-agent i had a most interesting gossip with his landlady. the man is by trade a conjurer and performer, going round the canteens after nightfall, and giving a little entertainment at each. he carries some creature about with him in that box; about which the landlady seemed to be in considerable trepidation, for she had never seen an animal like it. he uses it in some of his tricks according to her account. so much the woman was able to tell me, and also that it was a wonder the man lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he spoke in a strange tongue sometimes, and that for the last two nights she had heard him groaning and weeping in his bedroom. he was all right, as far as money went, but in his deposit he had given her what looked like a bad florin. she showed it to me, watson, and it was an indian rupee. "so now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and why it is i want you. it is perfectly plain that after the ladies parted from this man he followed them at a distance, that he saw the quarrel between husband and wife through the window, that he rushed in, and that the creature which he carried in his box got loose. that is all very certain. but he is the only person in this world who can tell us exactly what happened in that room." "and you intend to ask him?" "most certainly--but in the presence of a witness." "and i am the witness?" "if you will be so good. if he can clear the matter up, well and good. if he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a warrant." "but how do you know he'll be there when we return?" "you may be sure that i took some precautions. i have one of my baker street boys mounting guard over him who would stick to him like a burr, go where he might. we shall find him in hudson street to-morrow, watson, and meanwhile i should be the criminal myself if i kept you out of bed any longer." it was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the tragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we made our way at once to hudson street. in spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, i could easily see that holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement, while i was myself tingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which i invariably experienced when i associated myself with him in his investigations. "this is the street," said he, as we turned into a short thoroughfare lined with plain two-storied brick houses. "ah, here is simpson to report." "he's in all right, mr. holmes," cried a small street arab, running up to us. "good, simpson!" said holmes, patting him on the head. "come along, watson. this is the house." he sent in his card with a message that he had come on important business, and a moment later we were face to face with the man whom we had come to see. in spite of the warm weather he was crouching over a fire, and the little room was like an oven. the man sat all twisted and huddled in his chair in a way which gave an indescribably impression of deformity; but the face which he turned towards us, though worn and swarthy, must at some time have been remarkable for its beauty. he looked suspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising, he waved towards two chairs. "mr. henry wood, late of india, i believe," said holmes, affably. "i've come over this little matter of colonel barclay's death." "what should i know about that?" "that's what i want to ascertain. you know, i suppose, that unless the matter is cleared up, mrs. barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will in all probability be tried for murder." the man gave a violent start. "i don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you come to know what you do know, but will you swear that this is true that you tell me?" "why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses to arrest her." "my god! are you in the police yourself?" "no." "what business is it of yours, then?" "it's every man's business to see justice done." "you can take my word that she is innocent." "then you are guilty." "no, i am not." "who killed colonel james barclay, then?" "it was a just providence that killed him. but, mind you this, that if i had knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do, he would have had no more than his due from my hands. if his own guilty conscience had not struck him down it is likely enough that i might have had his blood upon my soul. you want me to tell the story. well, i don't know why i shouldn't, for there's no cause for me to be ashamed of it. "it was in this way, sir. you see me now with my back like a camel and by ribs all awry, but there was a time when corporal henry wood was the smartest man in the 117th foot. we were in india then, in cantonments, at a place we'll call bhurtee. barclay, who died the other day, was sergeant in the same company as myself, and the belle of the regiment, ay, and the finest girl that ever had the breath of life between her lips, was nancy devoy, the daughter of the color-sergeant. there were two men that loved her, and one that she loved, and you'll smile when you look at this poor thing huddled before the fire, and hear me say that it was for my good looks that she loved me. "well, though i had her heart, her father was set upon her marrying barclay. i was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had an education, and was already marked for the sword-belt. but the girl held true to me, and it seemed that i would have had her when the mutiny broke out, and all hell was loose in the country. "we were shut up in bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a battery of artillery, a company of sikhs, and a lot of civilians and women-folk. there were ten thousand rebels round us, and they were as keen as a set of terriers round a rat-cage. about the second week of it our water gave out, and it was a question whether we could communicate with general neill's column, which was moving up country. it was our only chance, for we could not hope to fight our way out with all the women and children, so i volunteered to go out and to warn general neill of our danger. my offer was accepted, and i talked it over with sergeant barclay, who was supposed to know the ground better than any other man, and who drew up a route by which i might get through the rebel lines. at ten o'clock the same night i started off upon my journey. there were a thousand lives to save, but it was of only one that i was thinking when i dropped over the wall that night. "my way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped would screen me from the enemy's sentries; but as i crept round the corner of it i walked right into six of them, who were crouching down in the dark waiting for me. in an instant i was stunned with a blow and bound hand and foot. but the real blow was to my heart and not to my head, for as i came to and listened to as much as i could understand of their talk, i heard enough to tell me that my comrade, the very man who had arranged the way that i was to take, had betrayed me by means of a native servant into the hands of the enemy. "well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of it. you know now what james barclay was capable of. bhurtee was relieved by neill next day, but the rebels took me away with them in their retreat, and it was many a long year before ever i saw a white face again. i was tortured and tried to get away, and was captured and tortured again. you can see for yourselves the state in which i was left. some of them that fled into nepal took me with them, and then afterwards i was up past darjeeling. the hill-folk up there murdered the rebels who had me, and i became their slave for a time until i escaped; but instead of going south i had to go north, until i found myself among the afghans. there i wandered about for many a year, and at last came back to the punjaub, where i lived mostly among the natives and picked up a living by the conjuring tricks that i had learned. what use was it for me, a wretched cripple, to go back to england or to make myself known to my old comrades? even my wish for revenge would not make me do that. i had rather that nancy and my old pals should think of harry wood as having died with a straight back, than see him living and crawling with a stick like a chimpanzee. they never doubted that i was dead, and i meant that they never should. i heard that barclay had married nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment, but even that did not make me speak. "but when one gets old one has a longing for home. for years i've been dreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges of england. at last i determined to see them before i died. i saved enough to bring me across, and then i came here where the soldiers are, for i know their ways and how to amuse them and so earn enough to keep me." "your narrative is most interesting," said sherlock holmes. "i have already heard of your meeting with mrs. barclay, and your mutual recognition. you then, as i understand, followed her home and saw through the window an altercation between her husband and her, in which she doubtless cast his conduct to you in his teeth. your own feelings overcame you, and you ran across the lawn and broke in upon them." "i did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as i have never seen a man look before, and over he went with his head on the fender. but he was dead before he fell. i read death on his face as plain as i can read that text over the fire. the bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guilty heart." "and then?" "then nancy fainted, and i caught up the key of the door from her hand, intending to unlock it and get help. but as i was doing it it seemed to me better to leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look black against me, and any way my secret would be out if i were taken. in my haste i thrust the key into my pocket, and dropped my stick while i was chasing teddy, who had run up the curtain. when i got him into his box, from which he had slipped, i was off as fast as i could run." "who's teddy?" asked holmes. the man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch in the corner. in an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-brown creature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin nose, and a pair of the finest red eyes that ever i saw in an animal's head. "it's a mongoose," i cried. "well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon," said the man. "snake-catcher is what i call them, and teddy is amazing quick on cobras. i have one here without the fangs, and teddy catches it every night to please the folk in the canteen. "any other point, sir?" "well, we may have to apply to you again if mrs. barclay should prove to be in serious trouble." "in that case, of course, i'd come forward." "but if not, there is no object in raking up this scandal against a dead man, foully as he has acted. you have at least the satisfaction of knowing that for thirty years of his life his conscience bitterly reproached him for this wicked deed. ah, there goes major murphy on the other side of the street. good-bye, wood. i want to learn if anything has happened since yesterday." we were in time to overtake the major before he reached the corner. "ah, holmes," he said: "i suppose you have heard that all this fuss has come to nothing?" "what then?" "the inquest is just over. the medical evidence showed conclusively that death was due to apoplexy. you see it was quite a simple case after all." "oh, remarkably superficial," said holmes, smiling. "come, watson, i don't think we shall be wanted in aldershot any more." "there's one thing," said i, as we walked down to the station. "if the husband's name was james, and the other was henry, what was this talk about david?" "that one word, my dear watson, should have told me the whole story had i been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of depicting. it was evidently a term of reproach." "of reproach?" "yes; david strayed a little occasionally, you know, and on one occasion in the same direction as sergeant james barclay. you remember the small affair of uriah and bathsheba? my biblical knowledge is a trifle rusty, i fear, but you will find the story in the first or second of samuel." the resident patient glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of memoirs with which i have endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my friend mr. sherlock holmes, i have been struck by the difficulty which i have experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answer my purpose. for in those cases in which holmes has performed some tour de force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often been so slight or so commonplace that i could not feel justified in laying them before the public. on the other hand, it has frequently happened that he has been concerned in some research where the facts have been of the most remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he has himself taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced than i, as his biographer, could wish. the small matter which i have chronicled under the heading of "a study in scarlet," and that other later one connected with the loss of the gloria scott, may serve as examples of this scylla and charybdis which are forever threatening the historian. it may be that in the business of which i am now about to write the part which my friend played is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkable that i cannot bring myself to omit it entirely from this series. it had been a close, rainy day in october. our blinds were half-drawn, and holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. for myself, my term of service in india had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer of 90 was no hardship. but the paper was uninteresting. parliament had risen. everybody was out of town, and i yearned for the glades of the new forest or the shingle of southsea. a depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. he loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumor or suspicion of unsolved crime. appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country. i cannot be sure of the exact date, for some of my memoranda upon the matter have been mislaid, but it must have been towards the end of the first year during which holmes and i shared chambers in baker street. it was boisterous october weather, and we had both remained indoors all day, i because i feared with my shaken health to face the keen autumn wind, while he was deep in some of those abstruse chemical investigations which absorbed him utterly as long as he was engaged upon them. towards evening, however, the breaking of a test-tube brought his research to a premature ending, and he sprang up from his chair with an exclamation of impatience and a clouded brow. "a day's work ruined, watson," said he, striding across to the window. "ha! the stars are out and he wind has fallen. what do you say to a ramble through london?" i was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. for three hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through fleet street and the strand. his characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power of inference held me amused and enthralled. it was ten o'clock before we reached baker street again. a brougham was waiting at our door. "hum! a doctor's--general practitioner, i perceive," said holmes. "not been long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. come to consult us, i fancy! lucky we came back!" i was sufficiently conversant with holmes's methods to be able to follow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the various medical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight inside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. the light in our window above showed that this late visit was indeed intended for us. with some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico to us at such an hour, i followed holmes into our sanctum. a pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the fire as we entered. his age may not have been more than three or four and thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a life which has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. his manner was nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather than of a surgeon. his dress was quiet and sombre--a black frock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of color about his necktie. "good-evening, doctor," said holmes, cheerily. "i am glad to see that you have only been waiting a very few minutes." "you spoke to my coachman, then?" "no, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. pray resume your seat and let me know how i can serve you." "my name is doctor percy trevelyan," said our visitor, "and i live at 403 brook street." "are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?" i asked. his pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known to me. "i so seldom hear of the work that i thought it was quite dead," said he. "my publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. you are yourself, i presume, a medical man?" "a retired army surgeon." "my own hobby has always been nervous disease. i should wish to make it an absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can get at first. this, however, is beside the question, mr. sherlock holmes, and i quite appreciate how valuable your time is. the fact is that a very singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in brook street, and to-night they came to such a head that i felt it was quite impossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and assistance." sherlock holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "you are very welcome to both," said he. "pray let me have a detailed account of what the circumstances are which have disturbed you." "one or two of them are so trivial," said dr. trevelyan, "that really i am almost ashamed to mention them. but the matter is so inexplicable, and the recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that i shall lay it all before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is not. "i am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own college career. i am a london university man, you know, and i am sure that you will not think that i am unduly singing my own praises if i say that my student career was considered by my professors to be a very promising one. after i had graduated i continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor position in king's college hospital, and i was fortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into the pathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the bruce pinkerton prize and medal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded. i should not go too far if i were to say that there was a general impression at that time that a distinguished career lay before me. "but the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. as you will readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start in one of a dozen streets in the cavendish square quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable carriage and horse. to do this was quite beyond my power, and i could only hope that by economy i might in ten years' time save enough to enable me to put up my plate. suddenly, however, an unexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me. "this was a visit from a gentleman of the name of blessington, who was a complete stranger to me. he came up to my room one morning, and plunged into business in an instant. "'you are the same percy trevelyan who has had so distinguished a career and won a great prize lately?' said he. "i bowed. "'answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to your interest to do so. you have all the cleverness which makes a successful man. have you the tact?' "i could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question. "'i trust that i have my share,' i said. "'any bad habits? not drawn towards drink, eh?' "'really, sir!' i cried. "'quite right! that's all right! but i was bound to ask. with all these qualities, why are you not in practice?' "i shrugged my shoulders. "'come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 'it's the old story. more in your brains than in your pocket, eh? what would you say if i were to start you in brook street?' "i stared at him in astonishment. "'oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'i'll be perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. i have a few thousands to invest, d'ye see, and i think i'll sink them in you.' "'but why?' i gasped. "'well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer than most.' "'what am i to do, then?' "'i'll tell you. i'll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run the whole place. all you have to do is just to wear out your chair in the consulting-room. i'll let you have pocket-money and everything. then you hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other quarter for yourself.' "this was the strange proposal, mr. holmes, with which the man blessington approached me. i won't weary you with the account of how we bargained and negotiated. it ended in my moving into the house next lady day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions as he had suggested. he came himself to live with me in the character of a resident patient. his heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant medical supervision. he turned the two best rooms of the first floor into a sitting-room and bedroom for himself. he was a man of singular habits, shunning company and very seldom going out. his life was irregular, but in one respect he was regularity itself. every evening, at the same hour, he walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down five and three-pence for every guinea that i had earned, and carried the rest off to the strong-box in his own room. "i may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret his speculation. from the first it was a success. a few good cases and the reputation which i had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the front, and during the last few years i have made him a rich man. "so much, mr. holmes, for my past history and my relations with mr. blessington. it only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred to bring me here to-night. "some weeks ago mr. blessington came down to me in, as it seemed to me, a state of considerable agitation. he spoke of some burglary which, he said, had been committed in the west end, and he appeared, i remember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day should not pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors. for a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness, peering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short walk which had usually been the prelude to his dinner. from his manner it struck me that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, but when i questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that i was compelled to drop the subject. gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to die away, and he had renewed his former habits, when a fresh event reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now lies. "what happened was this. two days ago i received the letter which i now read to you. neither address nor date is attached to it. "'a russian nobleman who is now resident in england,' it runs, 'would be glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of dr. percy trevelyan. he has been for some years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on which, as is well known, dr. trevelyan is an authority. he proposes to call at about quarter past six to-morrow evening, if dr. trevelyan will make it convenient to be at home.' "this letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. you may believe, than, that i was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the page showed in the patient. he was an elderly man, thin, demure, and common-place--by no means the conception one forms of a russian nobleman. i was much more struck by the appearance of his companion. this was a tall young man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest of a hercules. he had his hand under the other's arm as they entered, and helped him to a chair with a tenderness which one would hardly have expected from his appearance. "'you will excuse my coming in, doctor,' said he to me, speaking english with a slight lisp. 'this is my father, and his health is a matter of the most overwhelming importance to me.' "i was touched by this filial anxiety. 'you would, perhaps, care to remain during the consultation?' said i. "'not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of horror. 'it is more painful to me than i can express. if i were to see my father in one of these dreadful seizures i am convinced that i should never survive it. my own nervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. with your permission, i will remain in the waiting-room while you go into my father's case.' "to this, of course, i assented, and the young man withdrew. the patient and i then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which i took exhaustive notes. he was not remarkable for intelligence, and his answers were frequently obscure, which i attributed to his limited acquaintance with our language. suddenly, however, as i sat writing, he ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning towards him i was shocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. he was again in the grip of his mysterious malady. "my first feeling, as i have just said, was one of pity and horror. my second, i fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. i made notes of my patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of his muscles, and examined his reflexes. there was nothing markedly abnormal in any of these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences. i had obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl, and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its virtues. the bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving my patient seated in his chair, i ran down to get it. there was some little delay in finding it--five minutes, let us say--and then i returned. imagine my amazement to find the room empty and the patient gone. "of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. the son had gone also. the hall door had been closed, but not shut. my page who admits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. he waits downstairs, and runs up to show patients out when i ring the consulting-room bell. he had heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. mr. blessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards, but i did not say anything to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, i have got in the way of late of holding as little communication with him as possible. "well, i never thought that i should see anything more of the russian and his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the very same hour this evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, just as they had done before. "'i feel that i owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt departure yesterday, doctor,' said my patient. "'i confess that i was very much surprised at it,' said i. "'well, the fact is,' he remarked, 'that when i recover from these attacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that has gone before. i woke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way out into the street in a sort of dazed way when you were absent.' "'and i,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the door of the waiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come to an end. it was not until we had reached home that i began to realize the true state of affairs.' "'well,' said i, laughing, 'there is no harm done except that you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the waiting-room i shall be happy to continue our consultation which was brought to so abrupt an ending.' "for half an hour or so i discussed that old gentleman's symptoms with him, and then, having prescribed for him, i saw him go off upon the arm of his son. "i have told you that mr. blessington generally chose this hour of the day for his exercise. he came in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs. an instant later i heard him running down, and he burst into my consulting-room like a man who is mad with panic. "'who has been in my room?' he cried. "'no one,' said i. "'it's a lie!' he yelled. 'come up and look!' "i passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed half out of his mind with fear. when i went upstairs with him he pointed to several footprints upon the light carpet. "'d'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried. "they were certainly very much larger than any which he could have made, and were evidently quite fresh. it rained hard this afternoon, as you know, and my patients were the only people who called. it must have been the case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for some unknown reason, while i was busy with the other, ascended to the room of my resident patient. nothing has been touched or taken, but there were the footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact. "mr. blessington seemed more excited over the matter than i should have thought possible, though of course it was enough to disturb anybody's peace of mind. he actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and i could hardly get him to speak coherently. it was his suggestion that i should come round to you, and of course i at once saw the propriety of it, for certainly the incident is a very singular one, though he appears to completely overrate its importance. if you would only come back with me in my brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though i can hardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence." sherlock holmes had listened to this long narrative with an intentness which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. his face was as impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasize each curious episode in the doctor's tale. as our visitor concluded, holmes sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, and followed dr. trevelyan to the door. within a quarter of an hour we had been dropped at the door of the physician's residence in brook street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one associates with a west-end practice. a small page admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair. but a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. the light at the top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy, quivering voice. "i have a pistol," it cried. "i give you my word that i'll fire if you come any nearer." "this really grows outrageous, mr. blessington," cried dr. trevelyan. "oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heave of relief. "but those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to be?" we were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness. "yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "you can come up, and i am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you." he relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified to his jangled nerves. he was very fat, but had apparently at some time been much fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a blood-hound. he was of a sickly color, and his thin, sandy hair seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion. in his hand he held a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced. "good-evening, mr. holmes," said he. "i am sure i am very much obliged to you for coming round. no one ever needed your advice more than i do. i suppose that dr. trevelyan has told you of this most unwarrantable intrusion into my rooms." "quite so," said holmes. "who are these two men mr. blessington, and why do they wish to molest you?" "well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, "of course it is hard to say that. you can hardly expect me to answer that, mr. holmes." "do you mean that you don't know?" "come in here, if you please. just have the kindness to step in here." he led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortably furnished. "you see that," said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of his bed. "i have never been a very rich man, mr. holmes--never made but one investment in my life, as dr. trevelyan would tell you. but i don't believe in bankers. i would never trust a banker, mr. holmes. between ourselves, what little i have is in that box, so you can understand what it means to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms." holmes looked at blessington in his questioning way and shook his head. "i cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me," said he. "but i have told you everything." holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. "good-night, dr. trevelyan," said he. "and no advice for me?" cried blessington, in a breaking voice. "my advice to your, sir, is to speak the truth." a minute later we were in the street and walking for home. we had crossed oxford street and were half way down harley street before i could get a word from my companion. "sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, watson," he said at last. "it is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it." "i can make little of it," i confessed. "well, it is quite evident that there are two men--more, perhaps, but at least two--who are determined for some reason to get at this fellow blessington. i have no doubt in my mind that both on the first and on the second occasion that young man penetrated to blessington's room, while his confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from interfering." "and the catalepsy?" "a fraudulent imitation, watson, though i should hardly dare to hint as much to our specialist. it is a very easy complaint to imitate. i have done it myself." "and then?" "by the purest chance blessington was out on each occasion. their reason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviously to insure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. it just happened, however, that this hour coincided with blessington's constitutional, which seems to show that they were not very well acquainted with his daily routine. of course, if they had been merely after plunder they would at least have made some attempt to search for it. besides, i can read in a man's eye when it is his own skin that he is frightened for. it is inconceivable that this fellow could have made two such vindictive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. i hold it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are, and that for reasons of his own he suppresses it. it is just possible that to-morrow may find him in a more communicative mood." "is there not one alternative," i suggested, "grotesquely improbably, no doubt, but still just conceivable? might the whole story of the cataleptic russian and his son be a concoction of dr. trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been in blessington's rooms?" i saw in the gaslight that holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant departure of mine. "my dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions which occurred to me, but i was soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale. this young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quite superfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the room. when i tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of being pointed like blessington's, and were quite an inch and a third longer than the doctor's, you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his individuality. but we may sleep on it now, for i shall be surprised if we do not hear something further from brook street in the morning." sherlock holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic fashion. at half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer of daylight, i found him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown. "there's a brougham waiting for us, watson," said he. "what's the matter, then?" "the brook street business." "any fresh news?" "tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "look at this--a sheet from a note-book, with 'for god's sake come at once--p. t.,' scrawled upon it in pencil. our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it when he wrote this. come along, my dear fellow, for it's an urgent call." in a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's house. he came running out to meet us with a face of horror. "oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to his temples. "what then?" "blessington has committed suicide!" holmes whistled. "yes, he hanged himself during the night." we had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was evidently his waiting-room. "i really hardly know what i am doing," he cried. "the police are already upstairs. it has shaken me most dreadfully." "when did you find it out?" "he has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. when the maid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the middle of the room. he had tied his cord to the hook on which the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the very box that he showed us yesterday." holmes stood for a moment in deep thought. "with your permission," said he at last, "i should like to go upstairs and look into the matter." we both ascended, followed by the doctor. it was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door. i have spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man blessington conveyed. as he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated and intensified until he was scarce human in his appearance. the neck was drawn out like a plucked chicken's, making the rest of him seem the more obese and unnatural by the contrast. he was clad only in his long night-dress, and his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it. beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notes in a pocket-book. "ah, mr. holmes," said he, heartily, as my friend entered, "i am delighted to see you." "good-morning, lanner," answered holmes; "you won't think me an intruder, i am sure. have you heard of the events which led up to this affair?" "yes, i heard something of them." "have you formed any opinion?" "as far as i can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by fright. the bed has been well slept in, you see. there's his impression deep enough. it's about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are most common. that would be about his time for hanging himself. it seems to have been a very deliberate affair." "i should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by the rigidity of the muscles," said i. "noticed anything peculiar about the room?" asked holmes. "found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand stand. seems to have smoked heavily during the night, too. here are four cigar-ends that i picked out of the fireplace." "hum!" said holmes, "have you got his cigar-holder?" "no, i have seen none." "his cigar-case, then?" "yes, it was in his coat-pocket." holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained. "oh, this is an havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar sort which are imported by the dutch from their east indian colonies. they are usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for their length than any other brand." he picked up the four ends and examined them with his pocket-lens. "two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without," said he. "two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had the ends bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. this is no suicide, mr. lanner. it is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder." "impossible!" cried the inspector. "and why?" "why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as by hanging him?" "that is what we have to find out." "how could they get in?" "through the front door." "it was barred in the morning." "then it was barred after them." "how do you know?" "i saw their traces. excuse me a moment, and i may be able to give you some further information about it." he went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in his methodical way. then he took out the key, which was on the inside, and inspected that also. the bed, the carpet, the chairs the mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last he professed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector cut down the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet. "how about this rope?" he asked. "it is cut off this," said dr. trevelyan, drawing a large coil from under the bed. "he was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this beside him, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs were burning." "that must have saved them trouble," said holmes, thoughtfully. "yes, the actual facts are very plain, and i shall be surprised if by the afternoon i cannot give you the reasons for them as well. i will take this photograph of blessington, which i see upon the mantelpiece, as it may help me in my inquiries." "but you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor. "oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events," said holmes. "there were three of them in it: the young man, the old man, and a third, to whose identity i have no clue. the first two, i need hardly remark, are the same who masqueraded as the russian count and his son, so we can give a very full description of them. they were admitted by a confederate inside the house. if i might offer you a word of advice, inspector, it would be to arrest the page, who, as i understand, has only recently come into your service, doctor." "the young imp cannot be found," said dr. trevelyan; "the maid and the cook have just been searching for him." holmes shrugged his shoulders. "he has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said he. "the three men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elder man first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the rear--" "my dear holmes!" i ejaculated. "oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of the footmarks. i had the advantage of learning which was which last night. they ascended, then, to mr. blessington's room, the door of which they found to be locked. with the help of a wire, however, they forced round the key. even without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on this ward, where the pressure was applied. "on entering the room their first proceeding must have been to gag mr. blessington. he may have been asleep, or he may have been so paralyzed with terror as to have been unable to cry out. these walls are thick, and it is conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, was unheard. "having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of some sort was held. probably it was something in the nature of a judicial proceeding. it must have lasted for some time, for it was then that these cigars were smoked. the older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he who used the cigar-holder. the younger man sat over yonder; he knocked his ash off against the chest of drawers. the third fellow paced up and down. blessington, i think, sat upright in the bed, but of that i cannot be absolutely certain. "well, it ended by their taking blessington and hanging him. the matter was so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with them some sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. that screw-driver and those screws were, as i conceive, for fixing it up. seeing the hook, however they naturally saved themselves the trouble. having finished their work they made off, and the door was barred behind them by their confederate." we had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the night's doings, which holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minute that, even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow him in his reasoning. the inspector hurried away on the instant to make inquiries about the page, while holmes and i returned to baker street for breakfast. "i'll be back by three," said he, when we had finished our meal. "both the inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and i hope by that time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may still present." our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter to four before my friend put in an appearance. from his expression as he entered, however, i could see that all had gone well with him. "any news, inspector?" "we have got the boy, sir." "excellent, and i have got the men." "you have got them!" we cried, all three. "well, at least i have got their identity. this so-called blessington is, as i expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his assailants. their names are biddle, hayward, and moffat." "the worthingdon bank gang," cried the inspector. "precisely," said holmes. "then blessington must have been sutton." "exactly," said holmes. "why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said the inspector. but trevelyan and i looked at each other in bewilderment. "you must surely remember the great worthingdon bank business," said holmes. "five men were in it--these four and a fifth called cartwright. tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away with seven thousand pounds. this was in 1875. they were all five arrested, but the evidence against them was by no means conclusive. this blessington or sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer. on his evidence cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years apiece. when they got out the other day, which was some years before their full term, they set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and to avenge the death of their comrade upon him. twice they tried to get at him and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. is there anything further which i can explain, dr. trevelyan?" "i think you have made it all remarkable clear," said the doctor. "no doubt the day on which he was perturbed was the day when he had seen of their release in the newspapers." "quite so. his talk about a burglary was the merest blind." "but why could he not tell you this?" "well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his old associates, he was trying to hide his own identity from everybody as long as he could. his secret was a shameful one, and he could not bring himself to divulge it. however, wretch as he was, he was still living under the shield of british law, and i have no doubt, inspector, that you will see that, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still there to avenge." such were the singular circumstances in connection with the resident patient and the brook street doctor. from that night nothing has been seen of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised at scotland yard that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer norah creina, which was lost some years ago with all hands upon the portuguese coast, some leagues to the north of oporto. the proceedings against the page broke down for want of evidence, and the brook street mystery, as it was called, has never until now been fully dealt with in any public print. the greek interpreter during my long and intimate acquaintance with mr. sherlock holmes i had never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own early life. this reticence upon his part had increased the somewhat inhuman effect which he produced upon me, until sometimes i found myself regarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. his aversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than his complete suppression of every reference to his own people. i had come to believe that he was an orphan with no relatives living, but one day, to my very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother. it was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which had roamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes of the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last to the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. the point under discussion was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry and how far to his own early training. "in your own case," said i, "from all that you have told me, it seems obvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility for deduction are due to your own systematic training." "to some extent," he answered, thoughtfully. "my ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their class. but, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of vernet, the french artist. art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms." "but how do you know that it is hereditary?" "because my brother mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than i do." this was news to me indeed. if there were another man with such singular powers in england, how was it that neither police nor public had heard of him? i put the question, with a hint that it was my companion's modesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. holmes laughed at my suggestion. "my dear watson," said he, "i cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. to the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. when i say, therefore, that mycroft has better powers of observation than i, you may take it that i am speaking the exact and literal truth." "is he your junior?" "seven years my senior." "how comes it that he is unknown?" "oh, he is very well known in his own circle." "where, then?" "well, in the diogenes club, for example." i had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed as much, for sherlock holmes pulled out his watch. "the diogenes club is the queerest club in london, and mycroft one of the queerest men. he's always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight. it's six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening i shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities." five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards regent's circus. "you wonder," said my companion, "why it is that mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. he is incapable of it." "but i thought you said--" "i said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. if the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. but he has no ambition and no energy. he will not even go out of his way to verify his own solution, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right. again and again i have taken a problem to him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct one. and yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury." "it is not his profession, then?" "by no means. what is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante. he has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the government departments. mycroft lodges in pall mall, and he walks round the corner into whitehall every morning and back every evening. from year's end to year's end he takes no other exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the diogenes club, which is just opposite his rooms." "i cannot recall the name." "very likely not. there are many men in london, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. it is for the convenience of these that the diogenes club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable men in town. no member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. save in the stranger's room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. my brother was one of the founders, and i have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere." we had reached pall mall as we talked, and were walking down it from the st. james's end. sherlock holmes stopped at a door some little distance from the carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into the hall. through the glass paneling i caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about and reading papers, each in his own little nook. holmes showed me into a small chamber which looked out into pall mall, and then, leaving me for a minute, he came back with a companion whom i knew could only be his brother. mycroft holmes was a much larger and stouter man than sherlock. his body was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preserved something of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in that of his brother. his eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which i had only observed in sherlock's when he was exerting his full powers. "i am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a broad, fat hand like the flipper of a seal. "i hear of sherlock everywhere since you became his chronicler. by the way, sherlock, i expected to see you round last week, to consult me over that manor house case. i thought you might be a little out of your depth." "no, i solved it," said my friend, smiling. "it was adams, of course." "yes, it was adams." "i was sure of it from the first." the two sat down together in the bow-window of the club. "to any one who wishes to study mankind this is the spot," said mycroft. "look at the magnificent types! look at these two men who are coming towards us, for example." "the billiard-marker and the other?" "precisely. what do you make of the other?" the two men had stopped opposite the window. some chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which i could see in one of them. the other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his arm. "an old soldier, i perceive," said sherlock. "and very recently discharged," remarked the brother. "served in india, i see." "and a non-commissioned officer." "royal artillery, i fancy," said sherlock. "and a widower." "but with a child." "children, my dear boy, children." "come," said i, laughing, "this is a little too much." "surely," answered holmes, "it is not hard to say that a man with that bearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from india." "that he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his 'ammunition boots', as they are called," observed mycroft. "he had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as is shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. his weight is against his being a sapper. he is in the artillery." "then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost some one very dear. the fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though it were his wife. he has been buying things for children, you perceive. there is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young. the wife probably died in childbed. the fact that he has a picture-book under his arm shows that there is another child to be thought of." i began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brother possessed even keener faculties that he did himself. he glanced across at me and smiled. mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box, and brushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, red silk handkerchief. "by the way, sherlock," said he, "i have had something quite after your own heart--a most singular problem--submitted to my judgment. i really had not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculation. if you would care to hear the facts--" "my dear mycroft, i should be delighted." the brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and, ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter. "i have asked mr. melas to step across," said he. "he lodges on the floor above me, and i have some slight acquaintance with him, which led him to come to me in his perplexity. mr. melas is a greek by extraction, as i understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. he earns his living partly as interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to any wealthy orientals who may visit the northumberland avenue hotels. i think i will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his own fashion." a few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose olive face and coal-black hair proclaimed his southern origin, though his speech was that of an educated englishman. he shook hands eagerly with sherlock holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story. "i do not believe that the police credit me--on my word, i do not," said he in a wailing voice. "just because they have never heard of it before, they think that such a thing cannot be. but i know that i shall never be easy in my mind until i know what has become of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his face." "i am all attention," said sherlock holmes. "this is wednesday evening," said mr. melas. "well then, it was monday night--only two days ago, you understand--that all this happened. i am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told you. i interpret all languages--or nearly all--but as i am a greek by birth and with a grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that i am principally associated. for many years i have been the chief greek interpreter in london, and my name is very well known in the hotels. it happens not unfrequently that i am sent for at strange hours by foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers who arrive late and wish my services. i was not surprised, therefore, on monday night when a mr. latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at the door. a greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreter were indispensable. he gave me to understand that his house was some little distance off, in kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street. "i say into the cab, but i soon became doubtful as to whether it was not a carriage in which i found myself. it was certainly more roomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to london, and the fittings, though frayed, were of rich quality. mr. latimer seated himself opposite to me and we started off through charing cross and up the shaftesbury avenue. we had come out upon oxford street and i had ventured some remark as to this being a roundabout way to kensington, when my words were arrested by the extraordinary conduct of my companion. "he began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times, as if to test its weight and strength. then he placed it without a word upon the seat beside him. having done this, he drew up the windows on each side, and i found to my astonishment that they were covered with paper so as to prevent my seeing through them. "'i am sorry to cut off your view, mr. melas,' said he. 'the fact is that i have no intention that you should see what the place is to which we are driving. it might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could find your way there again.' "as you can imagine, i was utterly taken aback by such an address. my companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from the weapon, i should not have had the slightest chance in a struggle with him. "'this is very extraordinary conduct, mr. latimer,' i stammered. 'you must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.' "'it is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he, 'but we'll make it up to you. i must warn you, however, mr. melas, that if at any time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interests, you will find it a very serious thing. i beg you to remember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.' "his words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them which was very menacing. i sat in silence wondering what on earth could be his reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. whatever it might be, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my resisting, and that i could only wait to see what might befall. "for nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as to where we were going. sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a paved causeway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but, save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. the paper over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn across the glass work in front. it was a quarter-past seven when we left pall mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine when we at last came to a standstill. my companion let down the window, and i caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp burning above it. as i was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and i found myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees on each side of me as i entered. whether these were private grounds, however, or bona-fide country was more than i could possibly venture to say. "there was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that i could see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures. in the dim light i could make out that the person who had opened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. as he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses. "'is this mr. melas, harold?' said he. "'yes.' "'well done, well done! no ill-will, mr. melas, i hope, but we could not get on without you. if you deal fair with us you'll not regret it, but if you try any tricks, god help you!' he spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion, and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me with fear more than the other. "'what do you want with me?' i asked. "'only to ask a few questions of a greek gentleman who is visiting us, and to let us have the answers. but say no more than you are told to say, or--' here came the nervous giggle again--'you had better never have been born.' "as he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room which appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. the chamber was certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as i stepped across it told me of its richness. i caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of japanese armor at one side of it. there was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man motioned that i should sit in it. the younger had left us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. as he came into the circle of dim light which enabled me to see him more clearly i was thrilled with horror at his appearance. he was deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. but what shocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over his mouth. "'have you the slate, harold?' cried the older man, as this strange being fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'are his hands loose? now, then, give him the pencil. you are to ask the questions, mr. melas, and he will write the answers. ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the papers?' "the man's eyes flashed fire. "'never!' he wrote in greek upon the slate. "'on no condition?' i asked, at the bidding of our tyrant. "'only if i see her married in my presence by a greek priest whom i know.' "the man giggled in his venomous way. "'you know what awaits you, then?' "'i care nothing for myself.' "these are samples of the questions and answers which made up our strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. again and again i had to ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. again and again i had the same indignant reply. but soon a happy thought came to me. i took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as i found that they showed no signs i played a more dangerous game. our conversation ran something like this: "'you can do no good by this obstinacy. who are you?' "'i care not. i am a stranger in london.' "'your fate will be upon your own head. how long have you been here?' "'let it be so. three weeks.' "'the property can never be yours. what ails you?' "'it shall not go to villains. they are starving me.' "'you shall go free if you sign. what house is this?' "'i will never sign. i do not know.' "'you are not doing her any service. what is your name?' "'let me hear her say so. kratides.' "'you shall see her if you sign. where are you from?' "'then i shall never see her. athens.' "another five minutes, mr. holmes, and i should have wormed out the whole story under their very noses. my very next question might have cleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. i could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sort of loose white gown. "'harold,' said she, speaking english with a broken accent. 'i could not stay away longer. it is so lonely up there with only--oh, my god, it is paul!' "these last words were in greek, and at the same instant the man with a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out 'sophy! sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms. their embrace was but for an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed her out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim, and dragged him away through the other door. for a moment i was left alone in the room, and i sprang to my feet with some vague idea that i might in some way get a clue to what this house was in which i found myself. fortunately, however, i took no steps, for looking up i saw that the older man was standing in the door-way with his eyes fixed upon me. "'that will do, mr. melas,' said he. 'you perceive that we have taken you into our confidence over some very private business. we should not have troubled you, only that our friend who speaks greek and who began these negotiations has been forced to return to the east. it was quite necessary for us to find some one to take his place, and we were fortunate in hearing of your powers.' "i bowed. "'there are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up to me, 'which will, i hope, be a sufficient fee. but remember,' he added, tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, 'if you speak to a human soul about this--one human soul, mind--well, may god have mercy upon your soul!' "i cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this insignificant-looking man inspired me. i could see him better now as the lamp-light shone upon him. his features were peaky and sallow, and his little pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. he pushed his face forward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching like a man with st. vitus's dance. i could not help thinking that his strange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady. the terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths. "'we shall know if you speak of this,' said he. 'we have our own means of information. now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friend will see you on your way.' "i was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. mr. latimer followed closely at my heels, and took his place opposite to me without a word. in silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windows raised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up. "'you will get down here, mr. melas,' said my companion. 'i am sorry to leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. any attempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself.' "he opened the door as he spoke, and i had hardly time to spring out when the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. i looked around me in astonishment. i was on some sort of a heathy common mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. far away stretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. on the other side i saw the red signal-lamps of a railway. "the carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. i stood gazing round and wondering where on earth i might be, when i saw some one coming towards me in the darkness. as he came up to me i made out that he was a railway porter. "'can you tell me what place this is?' i asked. "'wandsworth common,' said he. "'can i get a train into town?' "'if you walk on a mile or so to clapham junction,' said he, 'you'll just be in time for the last to victoria.' "so that was the end of my adventure, mr. holmes. i do not know where i was, nor whom i spoke with, nor anything save what i have told you. but i know that there is foul play going on, and i want to help that unhappy man if i can. i told the whole story to mr. mycroft holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police." we all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. then sherlock looked across at his brother. "any steps?" he asked. mycroft picked up the daily news, which was lying on the side-table. "anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of a greek gentleman named paul kratides, from athens, who is unable to speak english, will be rewarded. a similar reward paid to any one giving information about a greek lady whose first name is sophy. x 2473. "that was in all the dailies. no answer." "how about the greek legation?" "i have inquired. they know nothing." "a wire to the head of the athens police, then?" "sherlock has all the energy of the family," said mycroft, turning to me. "well, you take the case up by all means, and let me know if you do any good." "certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "i'll let you know, and mr. melas also. in the meantime, mr. melas, i should certainly be on my guard, if i were you, for of course they must know through these advertisements that you have betrayed them." as we walked home together, holmes stopped at a telegraph office and sent off several wires. "you see, watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by no means wasted. some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way through mycroft. the problem which we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features." "you have hopes of solving it?" "well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to discover the rest. you must yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to which we have listened." "in a vague way, yes." "what was your idea, then?" "it seemed to me to be obvious that this greek girl had been carried off by the young englishman named harold latimer." "carried off from where?" "athens, perhaps." sherlock holmes shook his head. "this young man could not talk a word of greek. the lady could talk english fairly well. inference--that she had been in england some little time, but he had not been in greece." "well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to england, and that this harold had persuaded her to fly with him." "that is more probable." "then the brother--for that, i fancy, must be the relationship--comes over from greece to interfere. he imprudently puts himself into the power of the young man and his older associate. they seize him and use violence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make over the girl's fortune--of which he may be trustee--to them. this he refuses to do. in order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they pitch upon this mr. melas, having used some other one before. the girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by the merest accident." "excellent, watson!" cried holmes. "i really fancy that you are not far from the truth. you see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some sudden act of violence on their part. if they give us time we must have them." "but how can we find where this house lies?" "well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was sophy kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. that must be our main hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. it is clear that some time has elapsed since this harold established these relations with the girl--some weeks, at any rate--since the brother in greece has had time to hear of it and come across. if they have been living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to mycroft's advertisement." we had reached our house in baker street while we had been talking. holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room he gave a start of surprise. looking over his shoulder, i was equally astonished. his brother mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair. "come in, sherlock! come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling at our surprised faces. "you don't expect such energy from me, do you, sherlock? but somehow this case attracts me." "how did you get here?" "i passed you in a hansom." "there has been some new development?" "i had an answer to my advertisement." "ah!" "yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving." "and to what effect?" mycroft holmes took out a sheet of paper. "here it is," said he, "written with a j pen on royal cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution. "sir [he says]: "in answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, i beg to inform you that i know the young lady in question very well. if you should care to call upon me i could give you some particulars as to her painful history. she is living at present at the myrtles, beckenham. "yours faithfully, "j. davenport. "he writes from lower brixton," said mycroft holmes. "do you not think that we might drive to him now, sherlock, and learn these particulars?" "my dear mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister's story. i think we should call at scotland yard for inspector gregson, and go straight out to beckenham. we know that a man is being done to death, and every hour may be vital." "better pick up mr. melas on our way," i suggested. "we may need an interpreter." "excellent," said sherlock holmes. "send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once." he opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and i noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "yes," said he, in answer to my glance; "i should say from what we have heard, that we are dealing with a particularly dangerous gang." it was almost dark before we found ourselves in pall mall, at the rooms of mr. melas. a gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone. "can you tell me where?" asked mycroft holmes. "i don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door; "i only know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage." "did the gentleman give a name?" "no, sir." "he wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?" "oh, no, sir. he was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was talking." "come along!" cried sherlock holmes, abruptly. "this grows serious," he observed, as we drove to scotland yard. "these men have got hold of melas again. he is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware from their experience the other night. this villain was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. no doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery." our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage. on reaching scotland yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get inspector gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. it was a quarter to ten before we reached london bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted on the beckenham platform. a drive of half a mile brought us to the myrtles--a large, dark house standing back from the road in its own grounds. here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the drive together. "the windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. "the house seems deserted." "our birds are flown and the nest empty," said holmes. "why do you say so?" "a carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last hour." the inspector laughed. "i saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?" "you may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. but the outward-bound ones were very much deeper--so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the carriage." "you get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector, shrugging his shoulder. "it will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make some one hear us." he hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without any success. holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes. "i have a window open," said he. "it is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, mr. holmes," remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. "well, i think that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation." one after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which was evidently that in which mr. melas had found himself. the inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of japanese mail as he had described them. on the table lay two glasses, and empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal. "what is that?" asked holmes, suddenly. we all stood still and listened. a low moaning sound was coming from somewhere over our heads. holmes rushed to the door and out into the hall. the dismal noise came from upstairs. he dashed up, the inspector and i at his heels, while his brother mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit. three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the central of these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. it was locked, but the key had been left on the outside. holmes flung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat. "it's charcoal," he cried. "give it time. it will clear." peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. it threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the wall. from the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us gasping and coughing. holmes rushed to the top of the stairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up the window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden. "we can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out again. "where is a candle? i doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. hold the light at the door and we shall get them out, mycroft. now!" with a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the well-lit hall. both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. indeed, so distorted were their features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one of them the greek interpreter who had parted from us only a few hours before at the diogenes club. his hands and feet were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. the other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. he had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late. mr. melas, however, still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy i had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet. it was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did but confirm our own deductions. his visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him for the second time. indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. he had been taken swiftly to beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two englishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply with their demands. finally, finding him proof against every threat, they had hurled him back into his prison, and after reproaching melas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing more until he found us bending over him. and this was the singular case of the grecian interpreter, the explanation of which is still involved in some mystery. we were able to find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in england. while there she had met a young man named harold latimer, who had acquired an ascendancy over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him. her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves with informing her brother at athens, and had then washed their hands of the matter. the brother, on his arrival in england, had imprudently placed himself in the power of latimer and of his associate, whose name was wilson kemp--a man of the foulest antecedents. these two, finding that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister's property. they had kept him in the house without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. her feminine perception, however, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time. the poor girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators. finding that their secret was out, and that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the furnished house which they had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both upon the man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them. months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from buda-pesth. it told how two englishmen who had been traveling with a woman had met with a tragic end. they had each been stabbed, it seems, and the hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarreled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other. holmes, however, is, i fancy, of a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could find the grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged. the naval treaty the july which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable by three cases of interest, in which i had the privilege of being associated with sherlock holmes and of studying his methods. i find them recorded in my notes under the headings of "the adventure of the second stain," "the adventure of the naval treaty," and "the adventure of the tired captain." the first of these, however, deals with interest of such importance and implicates so many of the first families in the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it public. no case, however, in which holmes was engaged has ever illustrated the value of his analytical methods so clearly or has impressed those who were associated with him so deeply. i still retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in which he demonstrated the true facts of the case to monsieur dubugue of the paris police, and fritz von waldbaum, the well-known specialist of dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies upon what proved to be side-issues. the new century will have come, however, before the story can be safely told. meanwhile i pass on to the second on my list, which promised also at one time to be of national importance, and was marked by several incidents which give it a quite unique character. during my school-days i had been intimately associated with a lad named percy phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though he was two classes ahead of me. he was a very brilliant boy, and carried away every prize which the school had to offer, finishing his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on to continue his triumphant career at cambridge. he was, i remember, extremely well connected, and even when we were all little boys together we knew that his mother's brother was lord holdhurst, the great conservative politician. this gaudy relationship did him little good at school. on the contrary, it seemed rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket. but it was another thing when he came out into the world. i heard vaguely that his abilities and the influences which he commanded had won him a good position at the foreign office, and then he passed completely out of my mind until the following letter recalled his existence: briarbrae, woking. my dear watson: i have no doubt that you can remember "tadpole" phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in the third. it is possible even that you may have heard that through my uncle's influence i obtained a good appointment at the foreign office, and that i was in a situation of trust and honor until a horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast my career. there is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event. in the event of your acceding to my request it is probable that i shall have to narrate them to you. i have only just recovered from nine weeks of brain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. do you think that you could bring your friend mr. holmes down to see me? i should like to have his opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me that nothing more can be done. do try to bring him down, and as soon as possible. every minute seems an hour while i live in this state of horrible suspense. assure him that if i have not asked his advice sooner it was not because i did not appreciate his talents, but because i have been off my head ever since the blow fell. now i am clear again, though i dare not think of it too much for fear of a relapse. i am still so weak that i have to write, as you see, by dictating. do try to bring him. your old school-fellow, percy phelps. there was something that touched me as i read this letter, something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring holmes. so moved was i that even had it been a difficult matter i should have tried it, but of course i knew well that holmes loved his art, so that he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client could be to receive it. my wife agreed with me that not a moment should be lost in laying the matter before him, and so within an hour of breakfast-time i found myself back once more in the old rooms in baker street. holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown, and working hard over a chemical investigation. a large curved retort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a bunsen burner, and the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre measure. my friend hardly glanced up as i entered, and i, seeing that his investigation must be of importance, seated myself in an arm-chair and waited. he dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally brought a test-tube containing a solution over to the table. in his right hand he held a slip of litmus-paper. "you come at a crisis, watson," said he. "if this paper remains blue, all is well. if it turns red, it means a man's life." he dipped it into the test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. "hum! i thought as much!" he cried. "i will be at your service in an instant, watson. you will find tobacco in the persian slipper." he turned to his desk and scribbled off several telegrams, which were handed over to the page-boy. then he threw himself down into the chair opposite, and drew up his knees until his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins. "a very commonplace little murder," said he. "you've got something better, i fancy. you are the stormy petrel of crime, watson. what is it?" i handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated attention. "it does not tell us very much, does it?" he remarked, as he handed it back to me. "hardly anything." "and yet the writing is of interest." "but the writing is not his own." "precisely. it is a woman's." "a man's surely," i cried. "no, a woman's, and a woman of rare character. you see, at the commencement of an investigation it is something to know that your client is in close contact with some one who, for good or evil, has an exceptional nature. my interest is already awakened in the case. if you are ready we will start at once for woking, and see this diplomatist who is in such evil case, and the lady to whom he dictates his letters." we were fortunate enough to catch an early train at waterloo, and in a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods and the heather of woking. briarbrae proved to be a large detached house standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes' walk of the station. on sending in our cards we were shown into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stout man who received us with much hospitality. his age may have been nearer forty than thirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he still conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy. "i am so glad that you have come," said he, shaking our hands with effusion. "percy has been inquiring for you all morning. ah, poor old chap, he clings to any straw! his father and his mother asked me to see you, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to them." "we have had no details yet," observed holmes. "i perceive that you are not yourself a member of the family." our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he began to laugh. "of course you saw the j h monogram on my locket," said he. "for a moment i thought you had done something clever. joseph harrison is my name, and as percy is to marry my sister annie i shall at least be a relation by marriage. you will find my sister in his room, for she has nursed him hand-and-foot this two months back. perhaps we'd better go in at once, for i know how impatient he is." the chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the drawing-room. it was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. a young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the open window, through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmy summer air. a woman was sitting beside him, who rose as we entered. "shall i leave, percy?" she asked. he clutched her hand to detain her. "how are you, watson?" said he, cordially. "i should never have known you under that moustache, and i dare say you would not be prepared to swear to me. this i presume is your celebrated friend, mr. sherlock holmes?" i introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. the stout young man had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in that of the invalid. she was a striking-looking woman, a little short and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark, italian eyes, and a wealth of deep black hair. her rich tints made the white face of her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast. "i won't waste your time," said he, raising himself upon the sofa. "i'll plunge into the matter without further preamble. i was a happy and successful man, mr. holmes, and on the eve of being married, when a sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life. "i was, as watson may have told you, in the foreign office, and through the influences of my uncle, lord holdhurst, i rose rapidly to a responsible position. when my uncle became foreign minister in this administration he gave me several missions of trust, and as i always brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have the utmost confidence in my ability and tact. "nearly ten weeks ago--to be more accurate, on the twenty-third of may--he called me into his private room, and, after complimenting me on the good work which i had done, he informed me that he had a new commission of trust for me to execute. "'this,' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau, 'is the original of that secret treaty between england and italy of which, i regret to say, some rumors have already got into the public press. it is of enormous importance that nothing further should leak out. the french or the russian embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents of these papers. they should not leave my bureau were it not that it is absolutely necessary to have them copied. you have a desk in your office?' "'yes, sir.' "'then take the treaty and lock it up there. i shall give directions that you may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy it at your leisure without fear of being overlooked. when you have finished, relock both the original and the draft in the desk, and hand them over to me personally to-morrow morning.' "i took the papers and--" "excuse me an instant," said holmes. "were you alone during this conversation?" "absolutely." "in a large room?" "thirty feet each way." "in the centre?" "yes, about it." "and speaking low?" "my uncle's voice is always remarkably low. i hardly spoke at all." "thank you," said holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go on." "i did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the other clerks had departed. one of them in my room, charles gorot, had some arrears of work to make up, so i left him there and went out to dine. when i returned he was gone. i was anxious to hurry my work, for i knew that joseph--the mr. harrison whom you saw just now--was in town, and that he would travel down to woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and i wanted if possible to catch it. "when i came to examine the treaty i saw at once that it was of such importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what he had said. without going into details, i may say that it defined the position of great britain towards the triple alliance, and fore-shadowed the policy which this country would pursue in the event of the french fleet gaining a complete ascendancy over that of italy in the mediterranean. the questions treated in it were purely naval. at the end were the signatures of the high dignitaries who had signed it. i glanced my eyes over it, and then settled down to my task of copying. "it was a long document, written in the french language, and containing twenty-six separate articles. i copied as quickly as i could, but at nine o'clock i had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train. i was feeling drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from the effects of a long day's work. a cup of coffee would clear my brain. a commissionaire remains all night in a little lodge at the foot of the stairs, and is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working over time. i rang the bell, therefore, to summon him. "to my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a large, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. she explained that she was the commissionaire's wife, who did the charing, and i gave her the order for the coffee. "i wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, i rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. my coffee had not yet come, and i wondered what was the cause of the delay could be. opening the door, i started down the corridor to find out. there was a straight passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room in which i had been working, and was the only exit from it. it ended in a curving staircase, with the commissionaire's lodge in the passage at the bottom. half way down this staircase is a small landing, with another passage running into it at right angles. this second one leads by means of a second small stair to a side door, used by servants, and also as a short cut by clerks when coming from charles street. here is a rough chart of the place." "thank you. i think that i quite follow you," said sherlock holmes. "it is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point. i went down the stairs and into the hall, where i found the commissionaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle boiling furiously upon the spirit-lamp. i took off the kettle and blew out the lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. then i put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who was still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and he woke with a start. "'mr. phelps, sir!' said he, looking at me in bewilderment. "'i came down to see if my coffee was ready.' "'i was boiling the kettle when i fell asleep, sir.' he looked at me and then up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing astonishment upon his face. "'if you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he asked. "'the bell!' i cried. 'what bell is it?' "'it's the bell of the room you were working in.' "a cold hand seemed to close round my heart. some one, then, was in that room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. i ran frantically up the stair and along the passage. there was no one in the corridors, mr. holmes. there was no one in the room. all was exactly as i left it, save only that the papers which had been committed to my care had been taken from the desk on which they lay. the copy was there, and the original was gone." holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. i could see that the problem was entirely to his heart. "pray, what did you do then?" he murmured. "i recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the stairs from the side door. of course i must have met him if he had come the other way." "you were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the room all the time, or in the corridor which you have just described as dimly lighted?" "it is absolutely impossible. a rat could not conceal himself either in the room or the corridor. there is no cover at all." "thank you. pray proceed." "the commissionaire, seeing by my pale face that something was to be feared, had followed me upstairs. now we both rushed along the corridor and down the steep steps which led to charles street. the door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. we flung it open and rushed out. i can distinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from a neighboring clock. it was quarter to ten." "that is of enormous importance," said holmes, making a note upon his shirt-cuff. "the night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling. there was no one in charles street, but a great traffic was going on, as usual, in whitehall, at the extremity. we rushed along the pavement, bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman standing. "'a robbery has been committed,' i gasped. 'a document of immense value has been stolen from the foreign office. has any one passed this way?' "'i have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,' said he; 'only one person has passed during that time--a woman, tall and elderly, with a paisley shawl.' "'ah, that is only my wife,' cried the commissionaire; 'has no one else passed?' "'no one.' "'then it must be the other way that the thief took,' cried the fellow, tugging at my sleeve. "but i was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw me away increased my suspicions. "'which way did the woman go?' i cried. "'i don't know, sir. i noticed her pass, but i had no special reason for watching her. she seemed to be in a hurry.' "'how long ago was it?' "'oh, not very many minutes.' "'within the last five?' "'well, it could not be more than five.' "'you're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is of importance,' cried the commissionaire; 'take my word for it that my old woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the other end of the street. well, if you won't, i will.' and with that he rushed off in the other direction. "but i was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve. "'where do you live?' said i. "'16 ivy lane, brixton,' he answered. 'but don't let yourself be drawn away upon a false scent, mr. phelps. come to the other end of the street and let us see if we can hear of anything.' "nothing was to be lost by following his advice. with the policeman we both hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic, many people coming and going, but all only too eager to get to a place of safety upon so wet a night. there was no lounger who could tell us who had passed. "then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and the passage without result. the corridor which led to the room was laid down with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. we examined it very carefully, but found no outline of any footmark." "had it been raining all evening?" "since about seven." "how is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about nine left no traces with her muddy boots?" "i am glad you raised the point. it occurred to me at the time. the charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the commissionaire's office, and putting on list slippers." "that is very clear. there were no marks, then, though the night was a wet one? the chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary interest. what did you do next?" "we examined the room also. there is no possibility of a secret door, and the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. both of them were fastened on the inside. the carpet prevents any possibility of a trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. i will pledge my life that whoever stole my papers could only have come through the door." "how about the fireplace?" "they use none. there is a stove. the bell-rope hangs from the wire just to the right of my desk. whoever rang it must have come right up to the desk to do it. but why should any criminal wish to ring the bell? it is a most insoluble mystery." "certainly the incident was unusual. what were your next steps? you examined the room, i presume, to see if the intruder had left any traces--any cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?" "there was nothing of the sort." "no smell?" "well, we never thought of that." "ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us in such an investigation." "i never smoke myself, so i think i should have observed it if there had been any smell of tobacco. there was absolutely no clue of any kind. the only tangible fact was that the commissionaire's wife--mrs. tangey was the name--had hurried out of the place. he could give no explanation save that it was about the time when the woman always went home. the policeman and i agreed that our best plan would be to seize the woman before she could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them. "the alarm had reached scotland yard by this time, and mr. forbes, the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great deal of energy. we hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address which had been given to us. a young woman opened the door, who proved to be mrs. tangey's eldest daughter. her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown into the front room to wait. "about ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we made the one serious mistake for which i blame myself. instead of opening the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. we heard her say, 'mother, there are two men in the house waiting to see you,' and an instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet rushing down the passage. forbes flung open the door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the woman had got there before us. she stared at us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly recognizing me, an expression of absolute astonishment came over her face. "'why, if it isn't mr. phelps, of the office!' she cried. "'come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away from us?' asked my companion. "'i thought you were the brokers,' said she, 'we have had some trouble with a tradesman.' "'that's not quite good enough,' answered forbes. 'we have reason to believe that you have taken a paper of importance from the foreign office, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. you must come back with us to scotland yard to be searched.' "it was in vain that she protested and resisted. a four-wheeler was brought, and we all three drove back in it. we had first made an examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to see whether she might have made away with the papers during the instant that she was alone. there were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps. when we reached scotland yard she was handed over at once to the female searcher. i waited in an agony of suspense until she came back with her report. there were no signs of the papers. "then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its full force. hitherto i had been acting, and action had numbed thought. i had been so confident of regaining the treaty at once that i had not dared to think of what would be the consequence if i failed to do so. but now there was nothing more to be done, and i had leisure to realize my position. it was horrible. watson there would tell you that i was a nervous, sensitive boy at school. it is my nature. i thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in the cabinet, of the shame which i had brought upon him, upon myself, upon every one connected with me. what though i was the victim of an extraordinary accident? no allowance is made for accidents where diplomatic interests are at stake. i was ruined, shamefully, hopelessly ruined. i don't know what i did. i fancy i must have made a scene. i have a dim recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me, endeavoring to soothe me. one of them drove down with me to waterloo, and saw me into the woking train. i believe that he would have come all the way had it not been that dr. ferrier, who lives near me, was going down by that very train. the doctor most kindly took charge of me, and it was well he did so, for i had a fit in the station, and before we reached home i was practically a raving maniac. "you can imagine the state of things here when they were roused from their beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in this condition. poor annie here and my mother were broken-hearted. dr. ferrier had just heard enough from the detective at the station to be able to give an idea of what had happened, and his story did not mend matters. it was evident to all that i was in for a long illness, so joseph was bundled out of this cheery bedroom, and it was turned into a sick-room for me. here i have lain, mr. holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with brain-fever. if it had not been for miss harrison here and for the doctor's care i should not be speaking to you now. she has nursed me by day and a hired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my mad fits i was capable of anything. slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only during the last three days that my memory has quite returned. sometimes i wish that it never had. the first thing that i did was to wire to mr. forbes, who had the case in hand. he came out, and assures me that, though everything has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered. the commissionaire and his wife have been examined in every way without any light being thrown upon the matter. the suspicions of the police then rested upon young gorot, who, as you may remember, stayed over time in the office that night. his remaining behind and his french name were really the only two points which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact, i did not begin work until he had gone, and his people are of huguenot extraction, but as english in sympathy and tradition as you and i are. nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and there the matter dropped. i turn to you, mr. holmes, as absolutely my last hope. if you fail me, then my honor as well as my position are forever forfeited." the invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long recital, while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating medicine. holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but which i knew betokened the most intense self-absorption. "you statement has been so explicit," said he at last, "that you have really left me very few questions to ask. there is one of the very utmost importance, however. did you tell any one that you had this special task to perform?" "no one." "not miss harrison here, for example?" "no. i had not been back to woking between getting the order and executing the commission." "and none of your people had by chance been to see you?" "none." "did any of them know their way about in the office?" "oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it." "still, of course, if you said nothing to any one about the treaty these inquiries are irrelevant." "i said nothing." "do you know anything of the commissionaire?" "nothing except that he is an old soldier." "what regiment?" "oh, i have heard--coldstream guards." "thank you. i have no doubt i can get details from forbes. the authorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not always use them to advantage. what a lovely thing a rose is!" he walked past the couch to the open window, and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. it was a new phase of his character to me, for i had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. "there is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "it can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. our highest assurance of the goodness of providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. all other things, our powers our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. but this rose is an extra. its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. it is only goodness which gives extras, and so i say again that we have much to hope from the flowers." percy phelps and his nurse looked at holmes during this demonstration with surprise and a good deal of disappointment written upon their faces. he had fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his fingers. it had lasted some minutes before the young lady broke in upon it. "do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, mr. holmes?" she asked, with a touch of asperity in her voice. "oh, the mystery!" he answered, coming back with a start to the realities of life. "well, it would be absurd to deny that the case is a very abstruse and complicated one, but i can promise you that i will look into the matter and let you know any points which may strike me." "do you see any clue?" "you have furnished me with seven, but, of course, i must test them before i can pronounce upon their value." "you suspect some one?" "i suspect myself." "what!" "of coming to conclusions too rapidly." "then go to london and test your conclusions." "your advice is very excellent, miss harrison," said holmes, rising. "i think, watson, we cannot do better. do not allow yourself to indulge in false hopes, mr. phelps. the affair is a very tangled one." "i shall be in a fever until i see you again," cried the diplomatist. "well, i'll come out by the same train to-morrow, though it's more than likely that my report will be a negative one." "god bless you for promising to come," cried our client. "it gives me fresh life to know that something is being done. by the way, i have had a letter from lord holdhurst." "ha! what did he say?" "he was cold, but not harsh. i dare say my severe illness prevented him from being that. he repeated that the matter was of the utmost importance, and added that no steps would be taken about my future--by which he means, of course, my dismissal--until my health was restored and i had an opportunity of repairing my misfortune." "well, that was reasonable and considerate," said holmes. "come, watson, for we have a good day's work before us in town." mr. joseph harrison drove us down to the station, and we were soon whirling up in a portsmouth train. holmes was sunk in profound thought, and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed clapham junction. "it's a very cheery thing to come into london by any of these lines which run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses like this." i thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he soon explained himself. "look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above the slates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea." "the board-schools." "light-houses, my boy! beacons of the future! capsules with hundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise, better england of the future. i suppose that man phelps does not drink?" "i should not think so." "nor should i, but we are bound to take every possibility into account. the poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep water, and it's a question whether we shall ever be able to get him ashore. what did you think of miss harrison?" "a girl of strong character." "yes, but she is a good sort, or i am mistaken. she and her brother are the only children of an iron-master somewhere up northumberland way. he got engaged to her when traveling last winter, and she came down to be introduced to his people, with her brother as escort. then came the smash, and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother joseph, finding himself pretty snug, stayed on too. i've been making a few independent inquiries, you see. but to-day must be a day of inquiries." "my practice--" i began. "oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine--" said holmes, with some asperity. "i was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a day or two, since it is the slackest time in the year." "excellent," said he, recovering his good-humor. "then we'll look into this matter together. i think that we should begin by seeing forbes. he can probably tell us all the details we want until we know from what side the case is to be approached." "you said you had a clue?" "well, we have several, but we can only test their value by further inquiry. the most difficult crime to track is the one which is purposeless. now this is not purposeless. who is it who profits by it? there is the french ambassador, there is the russian, there is who-ever might sell it to either of these, and there is lord holdhurst." "lord holdhurst!" "well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in a position where he was not sorry to have such a document accidentally destroyed." "not a statesman with the honorable record of lord holdhurst?" "it is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. we shall see the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us anything. meanwhile i have already set inquiries on foot." "already?" "yes, i sent wires from woking station to every evening paper in london. this advertisement will appear in each of them." he handed over a sheet torn from a note-book. on it was scribbled in pencil: "10 reward. the number of the cab which dropped a fare at or about the door of the foreign office in charles street at quarter to ten in the evening of may 23d. apply 221b, baker street." "you are confident that the thief came in a cab?" "if not, there is no harm done. but if mr. phelps is correct in stating that there is no hiding-place either in the room or the corridors, then the person must have come from outside. if he came from outside on so wet a night, and yet left no trace of damp upon the linoleum, which was examined within a few minutes of his passing, then it is exceeding probably that he came in a cab. yes, i think that we may safely deduce a cab." "it sounds plausible." "that is one of the clues of which i spoke. it may lead us to something. and then, of course, there is the bell--which is the most distinctive feature of the case. why should the bell ring? was it the thief who did it out of bravado? or was it some one who was with the thief who did it in order to prevent the crime? or was it an accident? or was it--?" he sank back into the state of intense and silent thought from which he had emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed as i was to his every mood, that some new possibility had dawned suddenly upon him. it was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after a hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to scotland yard. holmes had already wired to forbes, and we found him waiting to receive us--a small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable expression. he was decidedly frigid in his manner to us, especially when he heard the errand upon which we had come. "i've heard of your methods before now, mr. holmes," said he, tartly. "you are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring discredit on them." "on the contrary," said holmes, "out of my last fifty-three cases my name has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit in forty-nine. i don't blame you for not knowing this, for you are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will work with me and not against me." "i'd be very glad of a hint or two," said the detective, changing his manner. "i've certainly had no credit from the case so far." "what steps have you taken?" "tangey, the commissionaire, has been shadowed. he left the guards with a good character and we can find nothing against him. his wife is a bad lot, though. i fancy she knows more about this than appears." "have you shadowed her?" "we have set one of our women on to her. mrs. tangey drinks, and our woman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get nothing out of her." "i understand that they have had brokers in the house?" "yes, but they were paid off." "where did the money come from?" "that was all right. his pension was due. they have not shown any sign of being in funds." "what explanation did she give of having answered the bell when mr. phelps rang for the coffee?" "she said that he husband was very tired and she wished to relieve him." "well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little later asleep in his chair. there is nothing against them then but the woman's character. did you ask her why she hurried away that night? her haste attracted the attention of the police constable." "she was later than usual and wanted to get home." "did you point out to her that you and mr. phelps, who started at least twenty minutes after he, got home before her?" "she explains that by the difference between a 'bus and a hansom." "did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran into the back kitchen?" "because she had the money there with which to pay off the brokers." "she has at least an answer for everything. did you ask her whether in leaving she met any one or saw any one loitering about charles street?" "she saw no one but the constable." "well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly. what else have you done?" "the clerk gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but without result. we can show nothing against him." "anything else?" "well, we have nothing else to go upon--no evidence of any kind." "have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?" "well, i must confess that it beats me. it was a cool hand, whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like that." "yes, it was a queer thing to do. many thanks to you for what you have told me. if i can put the man into your hands you shall hear from me. come along, watson." "where are we going to now?" i asked, as we left the office. "we are now going to interview lord holdhurst, the cabinet minister and future premier of england." we were fortunate in finding that lord holdhurst was still in his chambers in downing street, and on holmes sending in his card we were instantly shown up. the statesman received us with that old-fashioned courtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace. standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that not too common type, a nobleman who is in truth noble. "your name is very familiar to me, mr. holmes," said he, smiling. "and, of course, i cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of your visit. there has only been one occurrence in these offices which could call for your attention. in whose interest are you acting, may i ask?" "in that of mr. percy phelps," answered holmes. "ah, my unfortunate nephew! you can understand that our kinship makes it the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. i fear that the incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career." "but if the document is found?" "ah, that, of course, would be different." "i had one or two questions which i wished to ask you, lord holdhurst." "i shall be happy to give you any information in my power." "was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the copying of the document?" "it was." "then you could hardly have been overheard?" "it is out of the question." "did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to give any one the treaty to be copied?" "never." "you are certain of that?" "absolutely." "well, since you never said so, and mr. phelps never said so, and nobody else knew anything of the matter, then the thief's presence in the room was purely accidental. he saw his chance and he took it." the statesman smiled. "you take me out of my province there," said he. holmes considered for a moment. "there is another very important point which i wish to discuss with you," said he. "you feared, as i understand, that very grave results might follow from the details of this treaty becoming known." a shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. "very grave results indeed." "and have they occurred?" "not yet." "if the treaty had reached, let us say, the french or russian foreign office, you would expect to hear of it?" "i should," said lord holdhurst, with a wry face. "since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has been heard, it is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the treaty has not reached them." lord holdhurst shrugged his shoulders. "we can hardly suppose, mr. holmes, that the thief took the treaty in order to frame it and hang it up." "perhaps he is waiting for a better price." "if he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. the treaty will cease to be secret in a few months." "that is most important," said holmes. "of course, it is a possible supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness--" "an attack of brain-fever, for example?" asked the statesman, flashing a swift glance at him. "i did not say so," said holmes, imperturbably. "and now, lord holdhurst, we have already taken up too much of your valuable time, and we shall wish you good-day." "every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it may," answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door. "he's a fine fellow," said holmes, as we came out into whitehall. "but he has a struggle to keep up his position. he is far from rich and has many calls. you noticed, of course, that his boots had been re-soled? now, watson, i won't detain you from your legitimate work any longer. i shall do nothing more to-day, unless i have an answer to my cab advertisement. but i should be extremely obliged to you if you would come down with me to woking to-morrow, by the same train which we took yesterday." i met him accordingly next morning and we traveled down to woking together. he had had no answer to his advertisement, he said, and no fresh light had been thrown upon the case. he had, when he so willed it, the utter immobility of countenance of a red indian, and i could not gather from his appearance whether he was satisfied or not with the position of the case. his conversation, i remember, was about the bertillon system of measurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic admiration of the french savant. we found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse, but looking considerably better than before. he rose from the sofa and greeted us without difficulty when we entered. "any news?" he asked, eagerly. "my report, as i expected, is a negative one," said holmes. "i have seen forbes, and i have seen your uncle, and i have set one or two trains of inquiry upon foot which may lead to something." "you have not lost heart, then?" "by no means." "god bless you for saying that!" cried miss harrison. "if we keep our courage and our patience the truth must come out." "we have more to tell you than you have for us," said phelps, reseating himself upon the couch. "i hoped you might have something." "yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which might have proved to be a serious one." his expression grew very grave as he spoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes. "do you know," said he, "that i begin to believe that i am the unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as well as my honor?" "ah!" cried holmes. "it sounds incredible, for i have not, as far as i know, an enemy in the world. yet from last night's experience i can come to no other conclusion." "pray let me hear it." "you must know that last night was the very first night that i have ever slept without a nurse in the room. i was so much better that i thought i could dispense with one. i had a night-light burning, however. well, about two in the morning i had sunk into a light sleep when i was suddenly aroused by a slight noise. it was like the sound which a mouse makes when it is gnawing a plank, and i lay listening to it for some time under the impression that it must come from that cause. then it grew louder, and suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic snick. i sat up in amazement. there could be no doubt what the sounds were now. the first ones had been caused by some one forcing an instrument through the slit between the sashes, and the second by the catch being pressed back. "there was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person were waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. then i heard a gentle creaking as the window was very slowly opened. i could stand it no longer, for my nerves are not what they used to be. i sprang out of bed and flung open the shutters. a man was crouching at the window. i could see little of him, for he was gone like a flash. he was wrapped in some sort of cloak which came across the lower part of his face. one thing only i am sure of, and that is that he had some weapon in his hand. it looked to me like a long knife. i distinctly saw the gleam of it as he turned to run." "this is most interesting," said holmes. "pray what did you do then?" "i should have followed him through the open window if i had been stronger. as it was, i rang the bell and roused the house. it took me some little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all sleep upstairs. i shouted, however, and that brought joseph down, and he roused the others. joseph and the groom found marks on the bed outside the window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they found it hopeless to follow the trail across the grass. there's a place, however, on the wooden fence which skirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as if some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail in doing so. i have said nothing to the local police yet, for i thought i had best have your opinion first." this tale of our client's appeared to have an extraordinary effect upon sherlock holmes. he rose from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable excitement. "misfortunes never come single," said phelps, smiling, though it was evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him. "you have certainly had your share," said holmes. "do you think you could walk round the house with me?" "oh, yes, i should like a little sunshine. joseph will come, too." "and i also," said miss harrison. "i am afraid not," said holmes, shaking his head. "i think i must ask you to remain sitting exactly where you are." the young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. her brother, however, had joined us and we set off all four together. we passed round the lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist's window. there were, as he had said, marks upon the bed, but they were hopelessly blurred and vague. holmes stopped over them for an instant, and then rose shrugging his shoulders. "i don't think any one could make much of this," said he. "let us go round the house and see why this particular room was chose by the burglar. i should have thought those larger windows of the drawing-room and dining-room would have had more attractions for him." "they are more visible from the road," suggested mr. joseph harrison. "ah, yes, of course. there is a door here which he might have attempted. what is it for?" "it is the side entrance for trades-people. of course it is locked at night." "have you ever had an alarm like this before?" "never," said our client. "do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract burglars?" "nothing of value." holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and a negligent air which was unusual with him. "by the way," said he to joseph harrison, "you found some place, i understand, where the fellow scaled the fence. let us have a look at that!" the plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of the wooden rails had been cracked. a small fragment of the wood was hanging down. holmes pulled it off and examined it critically. "do you think that was done last night? it looks rather old, does it not?" "well, possibly so." "there are no marks of any one jumping down upon the other side. no, i fancy we shall get no help here. let us go back to the bedroom and talk the matter over." percy phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his future brother-in-law. holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and we were at the open window of the bedroom long before the others came up. "miss harrison," said holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of manner, "you must stay where you are all day. let nothing prevent you from staying where you are all day. it is of the utmost importance." "certainly, if you wish it, mr. holmes," said the girl in astonishment. "when you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and keep the key. promise to do this." "but percy?" "he will come to london with us." "and am i to remain here?" "it is for his sake. you can serve him. quick! promise!" she gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up. "why do you sit moping there, annie?" cried her brother. "come out into the sunshine!" "no, thank you, joseph. i have a slight headache and this room is deliciously cool and soothing." "what do you propose now, mr. holmes?" asked our client. "well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of our main inquiry. it would be a very great help to me if you would come up to london with us." "at once?" "well, as soon as you conveniently can. say in an hour." "i feel quite strong enough, if i can really be of any help." "the greatest possible." "perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?" "i was just going to propose it." "then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find the bird flown. we are all in your hands, mr. holmes, and you must tell us exactly what you would like done. perhaps you would prefer that joseph came with us so as to look after me?" "oh, no; my friend watson is a medical man, you know, and he'll look after you. we'll have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then we shall all three set off for town together." it was arranged as he suggested, though miss harrison excused herself from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with holmes's suggestion. what the object of my friend's manoeuvres was i could not conceive, unless it were to keep the lady away from phelps, who, rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect of action, lunched with us in the dining-room. holmes had still more startling surprise for us, however, for, after accompanying us down to the station and seeing us into our carriage, he calmly announced that he had no intention of leaving woking. "there are one or two small points which i should desire to clear up before i go," said he. "your absence, mr. phelps, will in some ways rather assist me. watson, when you reach london you would oblige me by driving at once to baker street with our friend here, and remaining with him until i see you again. it is fortunate that you are old school-fellows, as you must have much to talk over. mr. phelps can have the spare bedroom to-night, and i will be with you in time for breakfast, for there is a train which will take me into waterloo at eight." "but how about our investigation in london?" asked phelps, ruefully. "we can do that to-morrow. i think that just at present i can be of more immediate use here." "you might tell them at briarbrae that i hope to be back to-morrow night," cried phelps, as we began to move from the platform. "i hardly expect to go back to briarbrae," answered holmes, and waved his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station. phelps and i talked it over on our journey, but neither of us could devise a satisfactory reason for this new development. "i suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last night, if a burglar it was. for myself, i don't believe it was an ordinary thief." "what is your own idea, then?" "upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but i believe there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and that for some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by the conspirators. it sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider the facts! why should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window, where there could be no hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a long knife in his hand?" "you are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?" "oh, no, it was a knife. i saw the flash of the blade quite distinctly." "but why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?" "ah, that is the question." "well, if holmes takes the same view, that would account for his action, would it not? presuming that your theory is correct, if he can lay his hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have gone a long way towards finding who took the naval treaty. it is absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you, while the other threatens your life." "but holmes said that he was not going to briarbrae." "i have known him for some time," said i, "but i never knew him do anything yet without a very good reason," and with that our conversation drifted off on to other topics. but it was a weary day for me. phelps was still weak after his long illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. in vain i endeavored to interest him in afghanistan, in india, in social questions, in anything which might take his mind out of the groove. he would always come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating, as to what holmes was doing, what steps lord holdhurst was taking, what news we should have in the morning. as the evening wore on his excitement became quite painful. "you have implicit faith in holmes?" he asked. "i have seen him do some remarkable things." "but he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?" "oh, yes, i have known him solve questions which presented fewer clues than yours." "but not where such large interests are at stake?" "i don't know that. to my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf of three of the reigning houses of europe in very vital matters." "but you know him well, watson. he is such an inscrutable fellow that i never quite know what to make of him. do you think he is hopeful? do you think he expects to make a success of it?" "he has said nothing." "that is a bad sign." "on the contrary, i have noticed that when he is off the trail he generally says so. it is when he is on a scent and is not quite absolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is most taciturn. now, my dear fellow, we can't help matters by making ourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bed and so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow." i was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though i knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep for him. indeed, his mood was infectious, for i lay tossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more impossible than the last. why had holmes remained at woking? why had he asked miss harrison to remain in the sick-room all day? why had he been so careful not to inform the people at briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? i cudgelled my brains until i fell asleep in the endeavor to find some explanation which would cover all these facts. it was seven o'clock when i awoke, and i set off at once for phelps's room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. his first question was whether holmes had arrived yet. "he'll be here when he promised," said i, "and not an instant sooner or later." and my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to the door and our friend got out of it. standing in the window we saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very grim and pale. he entered the house, but it was some little time before he came upstairs. "he looks like a beaten man," cried phelps. i was forced to confess that he was right. "after all," said i, "the clue of the matter lies probably here in town." phelps gave a groan. "i don't know how it is," said he, "but i had hoped for so much from his return. but surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday. what can be the matter?" "you are not wounded, holmes?" i asked, as my friend entered the room. "tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness," he answered, nodding his good-mornings to us. "this case of yours, mr. phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which i have ever investigated." "i feared that you would find it beyond you." "it has been a most remarkable experience." "that bandage tells of adventures," said i. "won't you tell us what has happened?" "after breakfast, my dear watson. remember that i have breathed thirty miles of surrey air this morning. i suppose that there has been no answer from my cabman advertisement? well, well, we cannot expect to score every time." the table was all laid, and just as i was about to ring mrs. hudson entered with the tea and coffee. a few minutes later she brought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, holmes ravenous, i curious, and phelps in the gloomiest state of depression. "mrs. hudson has risen to the occasion," said holmes, uncovering a dish of curried chicken. "her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a scotch-woman. what have you here, watson?" "ham and eggs," i answered. "good! what are you going to take, mr. phelps--curried fowl or eggs, or will you help yourself?" "thank you. i can eat nothing," said phelps. "oh, come! try the dish before you." "thank you, i would really rather not." "well, then," said holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, "i suppose that you have no objection to helping me?" phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked. across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper. he caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about the room, passing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. then he fell back into an arm-chair so limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting. "there! there!" said holmes, soothing, patting him upon the shoulder. "it was too bad to spring it on you like this, but watson here will tell you that i never can resist a touch of the dramatic." phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "god bless you!" he cried. "you have saved my honor." "well, my own was at stake, you know," said holmes. "i assure you it is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to blunder over a commission." phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket of his coat. "i have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and yet i am dying to know how you got it and where it was." sherlock holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned his attention to the ham and eggs. then he rose, lit his pipe, and settled himself down into his chair. "i'll tell you what i did first, and how i came to do it afterwards," said he. "after leaving you at the station i went for a charming walk through some admirable surrey scenery to a pretty little village called ripley, where i had my tea at an inn, and took the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a paper of sandwiches in my pocket. there i remained until evening, when i set off for woking again, and found myself in the high-road outside briarbrae just after sunset. "well, i waited until the road was clear--it is never a very frequented one at any time, i fancy--and then i clambered over the fence into the grounds." "surely the gate was open!" ejaculated phelps. "yes, but i have a peculiar taste in these matters. i chose the place where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen i got over without the least chance of any one in the house being able to see me. i crouched down among the bushes on the other side, and crawled from one to the other--witness the disreputable state of my trouser knees--until i had reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom window. there i squatted down and awaited developments. "the blind was not down in your room, and i could see miss harrison sitting there reading by the table. it was quarter-past ten when she closed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired. "i heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she had turned the key in the lock." "the key!" ejaculated phelps. "yes, i had given miss harrison instructions to lock the door on the outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. she carried out every one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without her cooperation you would not have that paper in you coat-pocket. she departed then and the lights went out, and i was left squatting in the rhododendron-bush. "the night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. of course it has the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feels when he lies beside the water-course and waits for the big game. it was very long, though--almost as long, watson, as when you and i waited in that deadly room when we looked into the little problem of the speckled band. there was a church-clock down at woking which struck the quarters, and i thought more than once that it had stopped. at last however about two in the morning, i suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed back and the creaking of a key. a moment later the servant's door was opened, and mr. joseph harrison stepped out into the moonlight." "joseph!" ejaculated phelps. "he was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over his shoulder so that he could conceal his face in an instant if there were any alarm. he walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he reached the window he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash and pushed back the catch. then he flung open the window, and putting his knife through the crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and swung them open. "from where i lay i had a perfect view of the inside of the room and of every one of his movements. he lit the two candles which stood upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back the corner of the carpet in the neighborhood of the door. presently he stopped and picked out a square piece of board, such as is usually left to enable plumbers to get at the joints of the gas-pipes. this one covered, as a matter of fact, the t joint which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen underneath. out of this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out the candles, and walked straight into my arms as i stood waiting for him outside the window. "well, he has rather more viciousness than i gave him credit for, has master joseph. he flew at me with his knife, and i had to grasp him twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before i had the upper hand of him. he looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when we had finished, but he listened to reason and gave up the papers. having got them i let my man go, but i wired full particulars to forbes this morning. if he is quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. but if, as i shrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, all the better for the government. i fancy that lord holdhurst for one, and mr. percy phelps for another, would very much rather that the affair never got as far as a police-court. "my god!" gasped our client. "do you tell me that during these long ten weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very room with me all the time?" "so it was." "and joseph! joseph a villain and a thief!" "hum! i am afraid joseph's character is a rather deeper and more dangerous one than one might judge from his appearance. from what i have heard from him this morning, i gather that he has lost heavily in dabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do anything on earth to better his fortunes. being an absolutely selfish man, when a chance presented itself he did not allow either his sister's happiness or your reputation to hold his hand." percy phelps sank back in his chair. "my head whirls," said he. "your words have dazed me." "the principal difficulty in your case," remarked holmes, in his didactic fashion, "lay in the fact of there being too much evidence. what was vital was overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant. of all the facts which were presented to us we had to pick just those which we deemed to be essential, and then piece them together in their order, so as to reconstruct this very remarkable chain of events. i had already begun to suspect joseph, from the fact that you had intended to travel home with him that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing that he should call for you, knowing the foreign office well, upon his way. when i heard that some one had been so anxious to get into the bedroom, in which no one but joseph could have concealed anything--you told us in your narrative how you had turned joseph out when you arrived with the doctor--my suspicions all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt was made on the first night upon which the nurse was absent, showing that the intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house." "how blind i have been!" "the facts of the case, as far as i have worked them out, are these: this joseph harrison entered the office through the charles street door, and knowing his way he walked straight into your room the instant after you left it. finding no one there he promptly rang the bell, and at the instant that he did so his eyes caught the paper upon the table. a glance showed him that chance had put in his way a state document of immense value, and in an instant he had thrust it into his pocket and was gone. a few minutes elapsed, as you remember, before the sleepy commissionaire drew your attention to the bell, and those were just enough to give the thief time to make his escape. "he made his way to woking by the first train, and having examined his booty and assured himself that it really was of immense value, he had concealed it in what he thought was a very safe place, with the intention of taking it out again in a day or two, and carrying it to the french embassy, or wherever he thought that a long price was to be had. then came your sudden return. he, without a moment's warning, was bundled out of his room, and from that time onward there were always at least two of you there to prevent him from regaining his treasure. the situation to him must have been a maddening one. but at last he thought he saw his chance. he tried to steal in, but was baffled by your wakefulness. you remember that you did not take your usual draught that night." "i remember." "i fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught efficacious, and that he quite relied upon your being unconscious. of course, i understood that he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done with safety. your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted. i kept miss harrison in it all day so that he might not anticipate us. then, having given him the idea that the coast was clear, i kept guard as i have described. i already knew that the papers were probably in the room, but i had no desire to rip up all the planking and skirting in search of them. i let him take them, therefore, from the hiding-place, and so saved myself an infinity of trouble. is there any other point which i can make clear?" "why did he try the window on the first occasion," i asked, "when he might have entered by the door?" "in reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. on the other hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. anything else?" "you do not think," asked phelps, "that he had any murderous intention? the knife was only meant as a tool." "it may be so," answered holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "i can only say for certain that mr. joseph harrison is a gentleman to whose mercy i should be extremely unwilling to trust." the final problem it is with a heavy heart that i take up my pen to write these the last words in which i shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend mr. sherlock holmes was distinguished. in an incoherent and, as i deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, i have endeavored to give some account of my strange experiences in his company from the chance which first brought us together at the period of the "study in scarlet," up to the time of his interference in the matter of the "naval treaty"--an interference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious international complication. it was my intention to have stopped there, and to have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my life which the lapse of two years has done little to fill. my hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in which colonel james moriarty defends the memory of his brother, and i have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred. i alone know the absolute truth of the matter, and i am satisfied that the time has come when no good purpose is to be served by its suppression. as far as i know, there have been only three accounts in the public press: that in the journal de genve on may 6th, 1891, the reuter's despatch in the english papers on may 7th, and finally the recent letters to which i have alluded. of these the first and second were extremely condensed, while the last is, as i shall now show, an absolute perversion of the facts. it lies with me to tell for the first time what really took place between professor moriarty and mr. sherlock holmes. it may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between holmes and myself became to some extent modified. he still came to me from time to time when he desired a companion in his investigation, but these occasions grew more and more seldom, until i find that in the year 1890 there were only three cases of which i retain any record. during the winter of that year and the early spring of 1891, i saw in the papers that he had been engaged by the french government upon a matter of supreme importance, and i received two notes from holmes, dated from narbonne and from nimes, from which i gathered that his stay in france was likely to be a long one. it was with some surprise, therefore, that i saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the evening of april 24th. it struck me that he was looking even paler and thinner than usual. "yes, i have been using myself up rather too freely," he remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; "i have been a little pressed of late. have you any objection to my closing your shutters?" the only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at which i had been reading. holmes edged his way round the wall and flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely. "you are afraid of something?" i asked. "well, i am." "of what?" "of air-guns." "my dear holmes, what do you mean?" "i think that you know me well enough, watson, to understand that i am by no means a nervous man. at the same time, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. might i trouble you for a match?" he drew in the smoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence was grateful to him. "i must apologize for calling so late," said he, "and i must further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall." "but what does it all mean?" i asked. he held out his hand, and i saw in the light of the lamp that two of his knuckles were burst and bleeding. "it is not an airy nothing, you see," said he, smiling. "on the contrary, it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. is mrs. watson in?" "she is away upon a visit." "indeed! you are alone?" "quite." "then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should come away with me for a week to the continent." "where?" "oh, anywhere. it's all the same to me." there was something very strange in all this. it was not holmes's nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale, worn face told me that his nerves were at their highest tension. he saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips together and his elbows upon his knees, he explained the situation. "you have probably never heard of professor moriarty?" said he. "never." "aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "the man pervades london, and no one has heard of him. that's what puts him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. i tell you, watson, in all seriousness, that if i could beat that man, if i could free society of him, i should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and i should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life. between ourselves, the recent cases in which i have been of assistance to the royal family of scandinavia, and to the french republic, have left me in such a position that i could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. but i could not rest, watson, i could not sit quiet in my chair, if i thought that such a man as professor moriarty were walking the streets of london unchallenged." "what has he done, then?" "his career has been an extraordinary one. he is a man of good birth and excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical faculty. at the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise upon the binomial theorem, which has had a european vogue. on the strength of it he won the mathematical chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to all appearance, a most brilliant career before him. but the man had hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. a criminal strain ran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was increased and rendered infinitely more dangerous by his extraordinary mental powers. dark rumors gathered round him in the university town, and eventually he was compelled to resign his chair and to come down to london, where he set up as an army coach. so much is known to the world, but what i am telling you now is what i have myself discovered. "as you are aware, watson, there is no one who knows the higher criminal world of london so well as i do. for years past i have continually been conscious of some power behind the malefactor, some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer. again and again in cases of the most varying sorts--forgery cases, robberies, murders--i have felt the presence of this force, and i have deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which i have not been personally consulted. for years i have endeavored to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last the time came when i seized my thread and followed it, until it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-professor moriarty of mathematical celebrity. "he is the napoleon of crime, watson. he is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. he is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. he has a brain of the first order. he sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. he does little himself. he only plans. but his agents are numerous and splendidly organized. is there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed--the word is passed to the professor, the matter is organized and carried out. the agent may be caught. in that case money is found for his bail or his defence. but the central power which uses the agent is never caught--never so much as suspected. this was the organization which i deduced, watson, and which i devoted my whole energy to exposing and breaking up. "but the professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly devised that, do what i would, it seemed impossible to get evidence which would convict in a court of law. you know my powers, my dear watson, and yet at the end of three months i was forced to confess that i had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. my horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill. but at last he made a trip--only a little, little trip--but it was more than he could afford when i was so close upon him. i had my chance, and, starting from that point, i have woven my net round him until now it is all ready to close. in three days--that is to say, on monday next--matters will be ripe, and the professor, with all the principal members of his gang, will be in the hands of the police. then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if we move at all prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands even at the last moment. "now, if i could have done this without the knowledge of professor moriarty, all would have been well. but he was too wily for that. he saw every step which i took to draw my toils round him. again and again he strove to break away, but i as often headed him off. i tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. never have i risen to such a height, and never have i been so hard pressed by an opponent. he cut deep, and yet i just undercut him. this morning the last steps were taken, and three days only were wanted to complete the business. i was sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened and professor moriarty stood before me. "my nerves are fairly proof, watson, but i must confess to a start when i saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts standing there on my threshold. his appearance was quite familiar to me. he is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in his head. he is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features. his shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion. he peered at me with great curiosity in his puckered eyes. "'you have less frontal development that i should have expected,' said he, at last. 'it is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.' "the fact is that upon his entrance i had instantly recognized the extreme personal danger in which i lay. the only conceivable escape for him lay in silencing my tongue. in an instant i had slipped the revolver from the drawer into my pocket, and was covering him through the cloth. at his remark i drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. he still smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me feel very glad that i had it there. "'you evidently don't know me,' said he. "'on the contrary,' i answered, 'i think it is fairly evident that i do. pray take a chair. i can spare you five minutes if you have anything to say.' "'all that i have to say has already crossed your mind,' said he. "'then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' i replied. "'you stand fast?' "'absolutely.' "he clapped his hand into his pocket, and i raised the pistol from the table. but he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which he had scribbled some dates. "'you crossed my path on the 4th of january,' said he. 'on the 23d you incommoded me; by the middle of february i was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of march i was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of april, i find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that i am in positive danger of losing my liberty. the situation is becoming an impossible one.' "'have you any suggestion to make?' i asked. "'you must drop it, mr. holmes,' said he, swaying his face about. 'you really must, you know.' "'after monday,' said i. "'tut, tut,' said he. 'i am quite sure that a man of your intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this affair. it is necessary that you should withdraw. you have worked things in such a fashion that we have only one resource left. it has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you have grappled with this affair, and i say, unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure. you smile, sir, but i assure you that it really would.' "'danger is part of my trade,' i remarked. "'that is not danger,' said he. 'it is inevitable destruction. you stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realize. you must stand clear, mr. holmes, or be trodden under foot.' "'i am afraid,' said i, rising, 'that in the pleasure of this conversation i am neglecting business of importance which awaits me elsewhere.' "he rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head sadly. "'well, well,' said he, at last. 'it seems a pity, but i have done what i could. i know every move of your game. you can do nothing before monday. it has been a duel between you and me, mr. holmes. you hope to place me in the dock. i tell you that i will never stand in the dock. you hope to beat me. i tell you that you will never beat me. if you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that i shall do as much to you.' "'you have paid me several compliments, mr. moriarty,' said i. 'let me pay you one in return when i say that if i were assured of the former eventuality i would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the latter.' "'i can promise you the one, but not the other,' he snarled, and so turned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking out of the room. "that was my singular interview with professor moriarty. i confess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. his soft, precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully could not produce. of course, you will say: 'why not take police precautions against him?' the reason is that i am well convinced that it is from his agents the blow would fall. i have the best proofs that it would be so." "you have already been assaulted?" "my dear watson, professor moriarty is not a man who lets the grass grow under his feet. i went out about mid-day to transact some business in oxford street. as i passed the corner which leads from bentinck street on to the welbeck street crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a flash. i sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the fraction of a second. the van dashed round by marylebone lane and was gone in an instant. i kept to the pavement after that, watson, but as i walked down vere street a brick came down from the roof of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my feet. i called the police and had the place examined. there were slates and bricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they would have me believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. of course i knew better, but i could prove nothing. i took a cab after that and reached my brother's rooms in pall mall, where i spent the day. now i have come round to you, and on my way i was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. i knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but i can tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front teeth i have barked my knuckles and the retiring mathematical coach, who is, i dare say, working out problems upon a black-board ten miles away. you will not wonder, watson, that my first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and that i have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the house by some less conspicuous exit than the front door." i had often admired my friend's courage, but never more than now, as he sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must have combined to make up a day of horror. "you will spend the night here?" i said. "no, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. i have my plans laid, and all will be well. matters have gone so far now that they can move without my help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence is necessary for a conviction. it is obvious, therefore, that i cannot do better than get away for the few days which remain before the police are at liberty to act. it would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you could come on to the continent with me." "the practice is quiet," said i, "and i have an accommodating neighbor. i should be glad to come." "and to start to-morrow morning?" "if necessary." "oh yes, it is most necessary. then these are your instructions, and i beg, my dear watson, that you will obey them to the letter, for you are now playing a double-handed game with me against the cleverest rogue and the most powerful syndicate of criminals in europe. now listen! you will dispatch whatever luggage you intend to take by a trusty messenger unaddressed to victoria to-night. in the morning you will send for a hansom, desiring your man to take neither the first nor the second which may present itself. into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive to the strand end of the lowther arcade, handing the address to the cabman upon a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it away. have your fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash through the arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-past nine. you will find a small brougham waiting close to the curb, driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at the collar with red. into this you will step, and you will reach victoria in time for the continental express." "where shall i meet you?" "at the station. the second first-class carriage from the front will be reserved for us." "the carriage is our rendezvous, then?" "yes." it was in vain that i asked holmes to remain for the evening. it was evident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the roof he was under, and that that was the motive which impelled him to go. with a few hurried words as to our plans for the morrow he rose and came out with me into the garden, clambering over the wall which leads into mortimer street, and immediately whistling for a hansom, in which i heard him drive away. in the morning i obeyed holmes's injunctions to the letter. a hansom was procured with such precaution as would prevent its being one which was placed ready for us, and i drove immediately after breakfast to the lowther arcade, through which i hurried at the top of my speed. a brougham was waiting with a very massive driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that i had stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled off to victoria station. on my alighting there he turned the carriage, and dashed away again without so much as a look in my direction. so far all had gone admirably. my luggage was waiting for me, and i had no difficulty in finding the carriage which holmes had indicated, the less so as it was the only one in the train which was marked "engaged." my only source of anxiety now was the non-appearance of holmes. the station clock marked only seven minutes from the time when we were due to start. in vain i searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for the lithe figure of my friend. there was no sign of him. i spent a few minutes in assisting a venerable italian priest, who was endeavoring to make a porter understand, in his broken english, that his luggage was to be booked through to paris. then, having taken another look round, i returned to my carriage, where i found that the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my decrepit italian friend as a traveling companion. it was useless for me to explain to him that his presence was an intrusion, for my italian was even more limited than his english, so i shrugged my shoulders resignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for my friend. a chill of fear had come over me, as i thought that his absence might mean that some blow had fallen during the night. already the doors had all been shut and the whistle blown, when-- "my dear watson," said a voice, "you have not even condescended to say good-morning." i turned in uncontrollable astonishment. the aged ecclesiastic had turned his face towards me. for an instant the wrinkles were smoothed away, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip ceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regained their fire, the drooping figure expanded. the next the whole frame collapsed again, and holmes had gone as quickly as he had come. "good heavens!" i cried; "how you startled me!" "every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. "i have reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. ah, there is moriarty himself." the train had already begun to move as holmes spoke. glancing back, i saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. it was too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the station. "with all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather fine," said holmes, laughing. he rose, and throwing off the black cassock and hat which had formed his disguise, he packed them away in a hand-bag. "have you seen the morning paper, watson?" "no." "you haven't seen about baker street, then?" "baker street?" "they set fire to our rooms last night. no great harm was done." "good heavens, holmes, this is intolerable!" "they must have lost my track completely after their bludgeon-man was arrested. otherwise they could not have imagined that i had returned to my rooms. they have evidently taken the precaution of watching you, however, and that is what has brought moriarty to victoria. you could not have made any slip in coming?" "i did exactly what you advised." "did you find your brougham?" "yes, it was waiting." "did you recognize your coachman?" "no." "it was my brother mycroft. it is an advantage to get about in such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence. but we must plan what we are to do about moriarty now." "as this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with it, i should think we have shaken him off very effectively." "my dear watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when i said that this man may be taken as being quite on the same intellectual plane as myself. you do not imagine that if i were the pursuer i should allow myself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle. why, then, should you think so meanly of him?" "what will he do?" "what i should do." "what would you do, then?" "engage a special." "but it must be late." "by no means. this train stops at canterbury; and there is always at least a quarter of an hour's delay at the boat. he will catch us there." "one would think that we were the criminals. let us have him arrested on his arrival." "it would be to ruin the work of three months. we should get the big fish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the net. on monday we should have them all. no, an arrest is inadmissible." "what then?" "we shall get out at canterbury." "and then?" "well, then we must make a cross-country journey to newhaven, and so over to dieppe. moriarty will again do what i should do. he will get on to paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot. in the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple of carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the countries through which we travel, and make our way at our leisure into switzerland, via luxembourg and basle." at canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we should have to wait an hour before we could get a train to newhaven. i was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when holmes pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line. "already, you see," said he. far away, from among the kentish woods there rose a thin spray of smoke. a minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying along the open curve which leads to the station. we had hardly time to take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed with a rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our faces. "there he goes," said holmes, as we watched the carriage swing and rock over the point. "there are limits, you see, to our friend's intelligence. it would have been a coup-de-matre had he deduced what i would deduce and acted accordingly." "and what would he have done had he overtaken us?" "there cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a murderous attack upon me. it is, however, a game at which two may play. the question now is whether we should take a premature lunch here, or run our chance of starving before we reach the buffet at newhaven." we made our way to brussels that night and spent two days there, moving on upon the third day as far as strasburg. on the monday morning holmes had telegraphed to the london police, and in the evening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. holmes tore it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it into the grate. "i might have known it!" he groaned. "he has escaped!" "moriarty?" "they have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. he has given them the slip. of course, when i had left the country there was no one to cope with him. but i did think that i had put the game in their hands. i think that you had better return to england, watson." "why?" "because you will find me a dangerous companion now. this man's occupation is gone. he is lost if he returns to london. if i read his character right he will devote his whole energies to revenging himself upon me. he said as much in our short interview, and i fancy that he meant it. i should certainly recommend you to return to your practice." it was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an old campaigner as well as an old friend. we sat in the strasbourg salle--manger arguing the question for half an hour, but the same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to geneva. for a charming week we wandered up the valley of the rhone, and then, branching off at leuk, we made our way over the gemmi pass, still deep in snow, and so, by way of interlaken, to meiringen. it was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that never for one instant did holmes forget the shadow which lay across him. in the homely alpine villages or in the lonely mountain passes, i could tell by his quick glancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well convinced that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps. once, i remember, as we passed over the gemmi, and walked along the border of the melancholy daubensee, a large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared into the lake behind us. in an instant holmes had raced up on to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. it was in vain that our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the spring-time at that spot. he said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected. and yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. on the contrary, i can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant spirits. again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could be assured that society was freed from professor moriarty he would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion. "i think that i may go so far as to say, watson, that i have not lived wholly in vain," he remarked. "if my record were closed to-night i could still survey it with equanimity. the air of london is the sweeter for my presence. in over a thousand cases i am not aware that i have ever used my powers upon the wrong side. of late i have been tempted to look into the problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial ones for which our artificial state of society is responsible. your memoirs will draw to an end, watson, upon the day that i crown my career by the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in europe." i shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to tell. it is not a subject on which i would willingly dwell, and yet i am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail. it was on the third of may that we reached the little village of meiringen, where we put up at the englischer hof, then kept by peter steiler the elder. our landlord was an intelligent man, and spoke excellent english, having served for three years as waiter at the grosvenor hotel in london. at his advice, on the afternoon of the fourth we set off together, with the intention of crossing the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of rosenlaui. we had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the falls of reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without making a small detour to see them. it is, indeed, a fearful place. the torrent, swollen by the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. the shaft into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. the long sweep of green water roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and clamor. we stood near the edge peering down at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black rocks, and listening to the half-human shout which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss. the path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to return as he came. we had turned to do so, when we saw a swiss lad come running along it with a letter in his hand. it bore the mark of the hotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me by the landlord. it appeared that within a very few minutes of our leaving, an english lady had arrived who was in the last stage of consumption. she had wintered at davos platz, and was journeying now to join her friends at lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage had overtaken her. it was thought that she could hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to her to see an english doctor, and, if i would only return, etc. the good steiler assured me in a postscript that he would himself look upon my compliance as a very great favor, since the lady absolutely refused to see a swiss physician, and he could not but feel that he was incurring a great responsibility. the appeal was one which could not be ignored. it was impossible to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land. yet i had my scruples about leaving holmes. it was finally agreed, however, that he should retain the young swiss messenger with him as guide and companion while i returned to meiringen. my friend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the hill to rosenlaui, where i was to rejoin him in the evening. as i turned away i saw holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. it was the last that i was ever destined to see of him in this world. when i was near the bottom of the descent i looked back. it was impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but i could see the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and leads to it. along this a man was, i remember, walking very rapidly. i could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behind him. i noted him, and the energy with which he walked but he passed from my mind again as i hurried on upon my errand. it may have been a little over an hour before i reached meiringen. old steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel. "well," said i, as i came hurrying up, "i trust that she is no worse?" a look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast. "you did not write this?" i said, pulling the letter from my pocket. "there is no sick englishwoman in the hotel?" "certainly not!" he cried. "but it has the hotel mark upon it! ha, it must have been written by that tall englishman who came in after you had gone. he said--" but i waited for none of the landlord's explanations. in a tingle of fear i was already running down the village street, and making for the path which i had so lately descended. it had taken me an hour to come down. for all my efforts two more had passed before i found myself at the fall of reichenbach once more. there was holmes's alpine-stock still leaning against the rock by which i had left him. but there was no sign of him, and it was in vain that i shouted. my only answer was my own voice reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me. it was the sight of that alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick. he had not gone to rosenlaui, then. he had remained on that three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his enemy had overtaken him. the young swiss had gone too. he had probably been in the pay of moriarty, and had left the two men together. and then what had happened? who was to tell us what had happened then? i stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for i was dazed with the horror of the thing. then i began to think of holmes's own methods and to try to practise them in reading this tragedy. it was, alas, only too easy to do. during our conversation we had not gone to the end of the path, and the alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. the blackish soil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave its tread upon it. two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the farther end of the path, both leading away from me. there were none returning. a few yards from the end the soil was all ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the branches and ferns which fringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled. i lay upon my face and peered over with the spray spouting up all around me. it had darkened since i left, and now i could only see here and there the glistening of moisture upon the black walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. i shouted; but only the same half-human cry of the fall was borne back to my ears. but it was destined that i should after all have a last word of greeting from my friend and comrade. i have said that his alpine-stock had been left leaning against a rock which jutted on to the path. from the top of this boulder the gleam of something bright caught my eye, and, raising my hand, i found that it came from the silver cigarette-case which he used to carry. as i took it up a small square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered down on to the ground. unfolding it, i found that it consisted of three pages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. it was characteristic of the man that the direction was as precise, and the writing as firm and clear, as though it had been written in his study. my dear watson [it said]: i write these few lines through the courtesy of mr. moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. he has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the english police and kept himself informed of our movements. they certainly confirm the very high opinion which i had formed of his abilities. i am pleased to think that i shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though i fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear watson, to you. i have already explained to you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. indeed, if i may make a full confession to you, i was quite convinced that the letter from meiringen was a hoax, and i allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow. tell inspector patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeonhole m., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed "moriarty." i made every disposition of my property before leaving england, and handed it to my brother mycroft. pray give my greetings to mrs. watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow, very sincerely yours, sherlock holmes a few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. an examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each other's arms. any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. the swiss youth was never found again, and there can be no doubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom moriarty kept in his employ. as to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how completely the evidence which holmes had accumulated exposed their organization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed upon them. of their terrible chief few details came out during the proceedings, and if i have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom i shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom i have ever known. the return of sherlock holmes the adventure of the empty house it was in the spring of the year 1894 that all london was interested, and the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of the honourable ronald adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. the public has already learned those particulars of the crime which came out in the police investigation; but a good deal was suppressed upon that occasion, since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts. only now, at the end of nearly ten years, am i allowed to supply those missing links which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. the crime was of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing to me compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the greatest shock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life. even now, after this long interval, i find myself thrilling as i think of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy, amazement, and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind. let me say to that public which has shown some interest in those glimpses which i have occasionally given them of the thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man that they are not to blame me if i have not shared my knowledge with them, for i should have considered it my first duty to have done so had i not been barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn upon the third of last month. it can be imagined that my close intimacy with sherlock holmes had interested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearance i never failed to read with care the various problems which came before the public, and i even attempted more than once for my own private satisfaction to employ his methods in their solution, though with indifferent success. there was none, however, which appealed to me like this tragedy of ronald adair. as i read the evidence at the inquest, which led up to a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, i realized more clearly than i had ever done the loss which the community had sustained by the death of sherlock holmes. there were points about this strange business which would, i was sure, have specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have been supplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observation and the alert mind of the first criminal agent in europe. all day as i drove upon my round i turned over the case in my mind, and found no explanation which appeared to me to be adequate. at the risk of telling a twice-told tale i will recapitulate the facts as they were known to the public at the conclusion of the inquest. the honourable ronald adair was the second son of the earl of maynooth, at that time governor of one of the australian colonies. adair's mother had returned from australia to undergo the operation for cataract, and she, her son ronald, and her daughter hilda were living together at 427, park lane. the youth moved in the best society, had, so far as was known, no enemies, and no particular vices. he had been engaged to miss edith woodley, of carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off by mutual consent some months before, and there was no sign that it had left any very profound feeling behind it. for the rest the man's life moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocrat that death came in most strange and unexpected form between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night of march 30, 1894. ronald adair was fond of cards, playing continually, but never for such stakes as would hurt him. he was a member of the baldwin, the cavendish, and the bagatelle card clubs. it was shown that after dinner on the day of his death he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club. he had also played there in the afternoon. the evidence of those who had played with him--mr. murray, sir john hardy, and colonel moran--showed that the game was whist, and that there was a fairly equal fall of the cards. adair might have lost five pounds, but not more. his fortune was a considerable one, and such a loss could not in any way affect him. he had played nearly every day at one club or other, but he was a cautious player, and usually rose a winner. it came out in evidence that in partnership with colonel moran he had actually won as much as four hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting some weeks before from godfrey milner and lord balmoral. so much for his recent history, as it came out at the inquest. on the evening of the crime he returned from the club exactly at ten. his mother and sister were out spending the evening with a relation. the servant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the second floor, generally used as his sitting-room. she had lit a fire there, and as it smoked she had opened the window. no sound was heard from the room until eleven-twenty, the hour of the return of lady maynooth and her daughter. desiring to say good-night, she had attempted to enter her son's room. the door was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got to their cries and knocking. help was obtained and the door forced. the unfortunate young man was found lying near the table. his head had been horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room. on the table lay two bank-notes for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, the money arranged in little piles of varying amount. there were some figures also upon a sheet of paper with the names of some club friends opposite to them, from which it was conjectured that before his death he was endeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards. a minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the case more complex. in the first place, no reason could be given why the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside. there was the possibility that the murderer had done this and had afterwards escaped by the window. the drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath. neither the flowers nor the earth showed any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road. apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened the door. but how did he come by his death? no one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces. suppose a man had fired through the window, it would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly a wound. again, park lane is a frequented thoroughfare, and there is a cab-stand within a hundred yards of the house. no one had heard a shot. and yet there was the dead man, and there the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death. such were the circumstances of the park lane mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as i have said, young adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room. all day i turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to hit upon some theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be the starting-point of every investigation. i confess that i made little progress. in the evening i strolled across the park, and found myself about six o'clock at the oxford street end of park lane. a group of loafers upon the pavements, all staring up at a particular window, directed me to the house which i had come to see. a tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whom i strongly suspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out some theory of his own, while the others crowded round to listen to what he said. i got as near him as i could, but his observations seemed to me to be absurd, so i withdrew again in some disgust. as i did so i struck against an elderly deformed man, who had been behind me, and i knocked down several books which he was carrying. i remember that as i picked them up i observed the title of one of them, the origin of tree worship, and it struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile who, either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. i endeavoured to apologize for the accident, but it was evident that these books which i had so unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of their owner. with a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and i saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng. my observations of no. 427, park lane did little to clear up the problem in which i was interested. the house was separated from the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. it was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it. more puzzled than ever i retraced my steps to kensington. i had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. to my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book-collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm. "you're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange, croaking voice. i acknowledged that i was. "well, i've a conscience, sir, and when i chanced to see you go into this house, as i came hobbling after you, i thought to myself, i'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if i was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that i am much obliged to him for picking up my books." "you make too much of a trifle," said i. "may i ask how you knew who i was?" "well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, i am a neighbour of yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of church street, and very happy to see you, i am sure. maybe you collect yourself, sir; here's british birds, and catullus, and the holy war--a bargain every one of them. with five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. it looks untidy, does it not, sir?" i moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. when i turned again sherlock holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. i rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that i must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared i found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand. "my dear watson," said the well-remembered voice, "i owe you a thousand apologies. i had no idea that you would be so affected." i gripped him by the arm. "holmes!" i cried. "is it really you? can it indeed be that you are alive? is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?" "wait a moment," said he. "are you sure that you are really fit to discuss things? i have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance." "i am all right, but indeed, holmes, i can hardly believe my eyes. good heavens, to think that you--you of all men--should be standing in my study!" again i gripped him by the sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "well, you're not a spirit, anyhow," said i. "my dear chap, i am overjoyed to see you. sit down and tell me how you came alive out of that dreadful chasm." he sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his old nonchalant manner. he was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the book merchant, but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books upon the table. holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been a healthy one. "i am glad to stretch myself, watson," said he. "it is no joke when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end. now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we have, if i may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night's work in front of us. perhaps it would be better if i gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished." "i am full of curiosity. i should much prefer to hear now." "you'll come with me to-night?" "when you like and where you like." "this is indeed like the old days. we shall have time for a mouthful of dinner before we need go. well, then, about that chasm. i had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that i never was in it." "you never were in it?" "no, watson, i never was in it. my note to you was absolutely genuine. i had little doubt that i had come to the end of my career when i perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late professor moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. i read an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. i exchanged some remarks with him, therefore, and obtained his courteous permission to write the short note which you afterwards received. i left it with my cigarette-box and my stick and i walked along the pathway, moriarty still at my heels. when i reached the end i stood at bay. he drew no weapon, but he rushed at me and threw his long arms around me. he knew that his own game was up, and was only anxious to revenge himself upon me. we tottered together upon the brink of the fall. i have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. i slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds and clawed the air with both his hands. but for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he went. with my face over the brink i saw him fall for a long way. then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the water." i listened with amazement to this explanation, which holmes delivered between the puffs of his cigarette. "but the tracks!" i cried. "i saw with my own eyes that two went down the path and none returned." "it came about in this way. the instant that the professor had disappeared it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance fate had placed in my way. i knew that moriarty was not the only man who had sworn my death. there were at least three others whose desire for vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader. they were all most dangerous men. one or other would certainly get me. on the other hand, if all the world was convinced that i was dead they would take liberties, these men, they would lay themselves open, and sooner or later i could destroy them. then it would be time for me to announce that i was still in the land of the living. so rapidly does the brain act that i believe i had thought this all out before professor moriarty had reached the bottom of the reichenbach fall. "i stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. in your picturesque account of the matter, which i read with great interest some months later, you assert that the wall was sheer. this was not literally true. a few small footholds presented themselves, and there was some indication of a ledge. the cliff is so high that to climb it all was an obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my way along the wet path without leaving some tracks. i might, it is true, have reversed my boots, as i have done on similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested a deception. on the whole, then, it was best that i should risk the climb. it was not a pleasant business, watson. the fall roared beneath me. i am not a fanciful person, but i give you my word that i seemed to hear moriarty's voice screaming at me out of the abyss. a mistake would have been fatal. more than once, as tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, i thought that i was gone. but i struggled upwards, and at last i reached a ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where i could lie unseen in the most perfect comfort. there i was stretched when you, my dear watson, and all your following were investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my death. "at last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel and i was left alone. i had imagined that i had reached the end of my adventures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in store for me. a huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, struck the path, and bounded over into the chasm. for an instant i thought that it was an accident; but a moment later, looking up, i saw a man's head against the darkening sky, and another stone struck the very ledge upon which i was stretched, within a foot of my head. of course, the meaning of this was obvious. moriarty had not been alone. a confederate--and even that one glance had told me how dangerous a man that confederate was--had kept guard while the professor had attacked me. from a distance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend's death and of my escape. he had waited, and then, making his way round to the top of the cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed. "i did not take long to think about it, watson. again i saw that grim face look over the cliff, and i knew that it was the precursor of another stone. i scrambled down on to the path. i don't think i could have done it in cold blood. it was a hundred times more difficult than getting up. but i had no time to think of the danger, for another stone sang past me as i hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. halfway down i slipped, but by the blessing of god i landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. i took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a week later i found myself in florence with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me. "i had only one confidant--my brother mycroft. i owe you many apologies, my dear watson, but it was all-important that it should be thought i was dead, and it is quite certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought that it was true. several times during the last three years i have taken up my pen to write to you, but always i feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret. for that reason i turned away from you this evening when you upset my books, for i was in danger at the time, and any show of surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and irreparable results. as to mycroft, i had to confide in him in order to obtain the money which i needed. the course of events in london did not run so well as i had hoped, for the trial of the moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. i travelled for two years in tibet, therefore, and amused myself by visiting lhassa and spending some days with the head llama. you may have read of the remarkable explorations of a norwegian named sigerson, but i am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. i then passed through persia, looked in at mecca, and paid a short but interesting visit to the khalifa at khartoum, the results of which i have communicated to the foreign office. returning to france i spent some months in a research into the coal-tar derivatives, which i conducted in a laboratory at montpelier, in the south of france. having concluded this to my satisfaction, and learning that only one of my enemies was now left in london, i was about to return when my movements were hastened by the news of this very remarkable park lane mystery, which not only appealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed to offer some most peculiar personal opportunities. i came over at once to london, called in my own person at baker street, threw mrs. hudson into violent hysterics, and found that mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been. so it was, my dear watson, that at two o'clock to-day i found myself in my old arm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing that i could have seen my old friend watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned." such was the remarkable narrative to which i listened on that april evening--a narrative which would have been utterly incredible to me had it not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall, spare figure and the keen, eager face, which i had never thought to see again. in some manner he had learned of my own sad bereavement, and his sympathy was shown in his manner rather than in his words. "work is the best antidote to sorrow, my dear watson," said he, "and i have a piece of work for us both to-night which, if we can bring it to a successful conclusion, will in itself justify a man's life on this planet." in vain i begged him to tell me more. "you will hear and see enough before morning," he answered. "we have three years of the past to discuss. let that suffice until half-past nine, when we start upon the notable adventure of the empty house." it was indeed like old times when, at that hour, i found myself seated beside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket and the thrill of adventure in my heart. holmes was cold and stern and silent. as the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere features i saw that his brows were drawn down in thought and his thin lips compressed. i knew not what wild beast we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle of criminal london, but i was well assured from the bearing of this master huntsman that the adventure was a most grave one, while the sardonic smile which occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded little good for the object of our quest. i had imagined that we were bound for baker street, but holmes stopped the cab at the corner of cavendish square. i observed that as he stepped out he gave a most searching glance to right and left, and at every subsequent street corner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was not followed. our route was certainly a singular one. holmes's knowledge of the byways of london was extraordinary, and on this occasion he passed rapidly, and with an assured step, through a network of mews and stables the very existence of which i had never known. we emerged at last into a small road, lined with old, gloomy houses, which led us into manchester street, and so to blandford street. here he turned swiftly down a narrow passage, passed through a wooden gate into a deserted yard, and then opened with a key the back door of a house. we entered together and he closed it behind us. the place was pitch-dark, but it was evident to me that it was an empty house. our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging in ribbons. holmes's cold, thin fingers closed round my wrist and led me forwards down a long hall, until i dimly saw the murky fanlight over the door. here holmes turned suddenly to the right, and we found ourselves in a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the corners, but faintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. there was no lamp near and the window was thick with dust, so that we could only just discern each other's figures within. my companion put his hand upon my shoulder and his lips close to my ear. "do you know where we are?" he whispered. "surely that is baker street," i answered, staring through the dim window. "exactly. we are in camden house, which stands opposite to our own old quarters." "but why are we here?" "because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile. might i trouble you, my dear watson, to draw a little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to look up at our old rooms--the starting-point of so many of our little adventures? we will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you." i crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. as my eyes fell upon it i gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. the blind was down and a strong light was burning in the room. the shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, black outline upon the luminous screen of the window. there was no mistaking the poise of the head, the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features. the face was turned half-round, and the effect was that of one of those black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. it was a perfect reproduction of holmes. so amazed was i that i threw out my hand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me. he was quivering with silent laughter. "well?" said he. "good heavens!" i cried. "it is marvellous." "i trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety,'" said he, and i recognised in his voice the joy and pride which the artist takes in his own creation. "it really is rather like me, is it not?" "i should be prepared to swear that it was you." "the credit of the execution is due to monsieur oscar meunier, of grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. it is a bust in wax. the rest i arranged myself during my visit to baker street this afternoon." "but why?" "because, my dear watson, i had the strongest possible reason for wishing certain people to think that i was there when i was really elsewhere." "and you thought the rooms were watched?" "i knew that they were watched." "by whom?" "by my old enemies, watson. by the charming society whose leader lies in the reichenbach fall. you must remember that they knew, and only they knew, that i was still alive. sooner or later they believed that i should come back to my rooms. they watched them continuously, and this morning they saw me arrive." "how do you know?" "because i recognised their sentinel when i glanced out of my window. he is a harmless enough fellow, parker by name, a garroter by trade, and a remarkable performer upon the jew's harp. i cared nothing for him. but i cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who was behind him, the bosom friend of moriarty, the man who dropped the rocks over the cliff, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in london. that is the man who is after me to-night, watson, and that is the man who is quite unaware that we are after him." my friend's plans were gradually revealing themselves. from this convenient retreat the watchers were being watched and the trackers tracked. that angular shadow up yonder was the bait and we were the hunters. in silence we stood together in the darkness and watched the hurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. holmes was silent and motionless; but i could tell that he was keenly alert, and that his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. it was a bleak and boisterous night, and the wind whistled shrilly down the long street. many people were moving to and fro, most of them muffled in their coats and cravats. once or twice it seemed to me that i had seen the same figure before, and i especially noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselves from the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up the street. i tried to draw my companion's attention to them, but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience and continued to stare into the street. more than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. it was evident to me that he was becoming uneasy and that his plans were not working out altogether as he had hoped. at last, as midnight approached and the street gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. i was about to make some remark to him when i raised my eyes to the lighted window and again experienced almost as great a surprise as before. i clutched holmes's arm and pointed upwards. "the shadow has moved!" i cried. it was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the back, which was turned towards us. three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper or his impatience with a less active intelligence than his own. "of course it has moved," said he. "am i such a farcical bungler, watson, that i should erect an obvious dummy and expect that some of the sharpest men in europe would be deceived by it? we have been in this room two hours, and mrs. hudson has made some change in that figure eight times, or once in every quarter of an hour. she works it from the front so that her shadow may never be seen. ah!" he drew in his breath with a shrill, excited intake. in the dim light i saw his head thrown forward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. outside, the street was absolutely deserted. those two men might still be crouching in the doorway, but i could no longer see them. all was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figure outlined upon its centre. again in the utter silence i heard that thin, sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement. an instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and i felt his warning hand upon my lips. the fingers which clutched me were quivering. never had i known my friend more moved, and yet the dark street still stretched lonely and motionless before us. but suddenly i was aware of that which his keener senses had already distinguished. a low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not from the direction of baker street, but from the back of the very house in which we lay concealed. a door opened and shut. an instant later steps crept down the passage--steps which were meant to be silent, but which reverberated harshly through the empty house. holmes crouched back against the wall and i did the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver. peering through the gloom, i saw the vague outline of a man, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. he stood for an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the room. he was within three yards of us, this sinister figure, and i had braced myself to meet his spring, before i realized that he had no idea of our presence. he passed close beside us, stole over to the window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. as he sank to the level of this opening the light of the street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his face. the man seemed to be beside himself with excitement. his two eyes shone like stars and his features were working convulsively. he was an elderly man, with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. an opera-hat was pushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat. his face was gaunt and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. in his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. then from the pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he busied himself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place. still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result that there came a long, whirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. he straightened himself then, and i saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. he opened it at the breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block. then, crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and i saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. i heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the black man on the yellow ground, standing clear at the end of his fore sight. for an instant he was rigid and motionless. then his finger tightened on the trigger. there was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. at that instant holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's back and hurled him flat upon his face. he was up again in a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized holmes by the throat; but i struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped again upon the floor. i fell upon him, and as i held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. there was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the front entrance and into the room. "that you, lestrade?" said holmes. "yes, mr. holmes. i took the job myself. it's good to see you back in london, sir." "i think you want a little unofficial help. three undetected murders in one year won't do, lestrade. but you handled the molesey mystery with less than your usual--that's to say, you handled it fairly well." we had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwart constable on each side of him. already a few loiterers had begun to collect in the street. holmes stepped up to the window, closed it, and dropped the blinds. lestrade had produced two candles and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns. i was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner. it was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned towards us. with the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for good or for evil. but one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes, with their drooping, cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and the threatening, deep-lined brow, without reading nature's plainest danger-signals. he took no heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed upon holmes's face with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended. "you fiend!" he kept on muttering. "you clever, clever fiend!" "ah, colonel!" said holmes, arranging his rumpled collar; "'journeys end in lovers' meetings,' as the old play says. i don't think i have had the pleasure of seeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as i lay on the ledge above the reichenbach fall." the colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance. "you cunning, cunning fiend!" was all that he could say. "i have not introduced you yet," said holmes. "this, gentlemen, is colonel sebastian moran, once of her majesty's indian army, and the best heavy game shot that our eastern empire has ever produced. i believe i am correct, colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled?" the fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at my companion; with his savage eyes and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like a tiger himself. "i wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old a shikari," said holmes. "it must be very familiar to you. have you not tethered a young kid under a tree, lain above it with your rifle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger? this empty house is my tree and you are my tiger. you have possibly had other guns in reserve in case there should be several tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of your own aim failing you. these," he pointed around, "are my other guns. the parallel is exact." colonel moran sprang forward, with a snarl of rage, but the constables dragged him back. the fury upon his face was terrible to look at. "i confess that you had one small surprise for me," said holmes. "i did not anticipate that you would yourself make use of this empty house and this convenient front window. i had imagined you as operating from the street, where my friend lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you. with that exception all has gone as i expected." colonel moran turned to the official detective. "you may or may not have just cause for arresting me," said he, "but at least there can be no reason why i should submit to the gibes of this person. if i am in the hands of the law let things be done in a legal way." "well, that's reasonable enough," said lestrade. "nothing further you have to say, mr. holmes, before we go?" holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor and was examining its mechanism. "an admirable and unique weapon," said he, "noiseless and of tremendous power. i knew von herder, the blind german mechanic, who constructed it to the order of the late professor moriarty. for years i have been aware of its existence, though i have never before had the opportunity of handling it. i commend it very specially to your attention, lestrade, and also the bullets which fit it." "you can trust us to look after that, mr. holmes," said lestrade, as the whole party moved towards the door. "anything further to say?" "only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?" "what charge, sir? why, of course, the attempted murder of mr. sherlock holmes." "not so, lestrade. i do not propose to appear in the matter at all. to you, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest which you have effected. yes, lestrade, i congratulate you! with your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity you have got him." "got him! got whom, mr. holmes?" "the man that the whole force has been seeking in vain--colonel sebastian moran, who shot the honourable ronald adair with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor front of no. 427, park lane, upon the 30th of last month. that's the charge, lestrade. and now, watson, if you can endure the draught from a broken window, i think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some profitable amusement." our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision of mycroft holmes and the immediate care of mrs. hudson. as i entered i saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old landmarks were all in their place. there were the chemical corner and the acid-stained, deal-topped table. there upon a shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn. the diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack--even the persian slipper which contained the tobacco--all met my eyes as i glanced round me. there were two occupants of the room--one mrs. hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered; the other the strange dummy which had played so important a part in the evening's adventures. it was a wax-coloured model of my friend, so admirably done that it was a perfect facsimile. it stood on a small pedestal table with an old dressing-gown of holmes's so draped round it that the illusion from the street was absolutely perfect. "i hope you preserved all precautions, mrs. hudson?" said holmes. "i went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me." "excellent. you carried the thing out very well. did you observe where the bullet went?" "yes, sir. i'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passed right through the head and flattened itself on the wall. i picked it up from the carpet. here it is!" holmes held it out to me. "a soft revolver bullet, as you perceive, watson. there's genius in that, for who would expect to find such a thing fired from an air-gun. all right, mrs. hudson, i am much obliged for your assistance. and now, watson, let me see you in your old seat once more, for there are several points which i should like to discuss with you." he had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, and now he was the holmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took from his effigy. "the old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness nor his eyes their keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he inspected the shattered forehead of his bust. "plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through the brain. he was the best shot in india, and i expect that there are few better in london. have you heard the name?" "no, i have not." "well, well, such is fame! but, then, if i remember aright, you had not heard the name of professor james moriarty, who had one of the great brains of the century. just give me down my index of biographies from the shelf." he turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and blowing great clouds from his cigar. "my collection of m's is a fine one," said he. "moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is morgan the poisoner, and merridew of abominable memory, and mathews, who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at charing cross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night." he handed over the book, and i read: moran, sebastian, colonel. unemployed. formerly 1st bengalore pioneers. born london, 1840. son of sir augustus moran, c.b., once british minister to persia. educated eton and oxford. served in jowaki campaign, afghan campaign, charasiab (despatches), sherpur, and cabul. author of heavy game of the western himalayas, 1881; three months in the jungle, 1884. address: conduit street. clubs: the anglo-indian, the tankerville, the bagatelle card club. on the margin was written, in holmes's precise hand: the second most dangerous man in london. "this is astonishing," said i, as i handed back the volume. "the man's career is that of an honourable soldier." "it is true," holmes answered. "up to a certain point he did well. he was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in india how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. there are some trees, watson, which grow to a certain height and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity. you will see it often in humans. i have a theory that the individual represents in his development the whole procession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree. the person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of his own family." "it is surely rather fanciful." "well, i don't insist upon it. whatever the cause, colonel moran began to go wrong. without any open scandal he still made india too hot to hold him. he retired, came to london, and again acquired an evil name. it was at this time that he was sought out by professor moriarty, to whom for a time he was chief of the staff. moriarty supplied him liberally with money and used him only in one or two very high-class jobs which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken. you may have some recollection of the death of mrs. stewart, of lauder, in 1887. not? well, i am sure moran was at the bottom of it; but nothing could be proved. so cleverly was the colonel concealed that even when the moriarty gang was broken up we could not incriminate him. you remember at that date, when i called upon you in your rooms, how i put up the shutters for fear of air-guns? no doubt you thought me fanciful. i knew exactly what i was doing, for i knew of the existence of this remarkable gun, and i knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be behind it. when we were in switzerland he followed us with moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on the reichenbach ledge. "you may think that i read the papers with some attention during my sojourn in france, on the look-out for any chance of laying him by the heels. so long as he was free in london my life would really not have been worth living. night and day the shadow would have been over me, and sooner or later his chance must have come. what could i do? i could not shoot him at sight, or i should myself be in the dock. there was no use appealing to a magistrate. they cannot interfere on the strength of what would appear to them to be a wild suspicion. so i could do nothing. but i watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner or later i should get him. then came the death of this ronald adair. my chance had come at last! knowing what i did, was it not certain that colonel moran had done it? he had played cards with the lad; he had followed him home from the club; he had shot him through the open window. there was not a doubt of it. the bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. i came over at once. i was seen by the sentinel, who would, i knew, direct the colonel's attention to my presence. he could not fail to connect my sudden return with his crime and to be terribly alarmed. i was sure that he would make an attempt to get me out of the way at once, and would bring round his murderous weapon for that purpose. i left him an excellent mark in the window, and, having warned the police that they might be needed--by the way, watson, you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerring accuracy--i took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post for observation, never dreaming that he would choose the same spot for his attack. now, my dear watson, does anything remain for me to explain?" "yes," said i. "you have not made it clear what was colonel moran's motive in murdering the honourable ronald adair." "ah! my dear watson, there we come into those realms of conjecture where the most logical mind may be at fault. each may form his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be correct as mine." "you have formed one, then?" "i think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. it came out in evidence that colonel moran and young adair had between them won a considerable amount of money. now, moran undoubtedly played foul--of that i have long been aware. i believe that on the day of the murder adair had discovered that moran was cheating. very likely he had spoken to him privately, and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarily resigned his membership of the club and promised not to play cards again. it is unlikely that a youngster like adair would at once make a hideous scandal by exposing a well-known man so much older than himself. probably he acted as i suggest. the exclusion from his clubs would mean ruin to moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card gains. he therefore murdered adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work out how much money he should himself return, since he could not profit by his partner's foul play. he locked the door lest the ladies should surprise him and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names and coins. will it pass?" "i have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth." "it will be verified or disproved at the trial. meanwhile, come what may, colonel moran will trouble us no more, the famous air-gun of von herder will embellish the scotland yard museum, and once again mr. sherlock holmes is free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of london so plentifully presents." the adventure of the norwood builder "from the point of view of the criminal expert," said mr. sherlock holmes, "london has become a singularly uninteresting city since the death of the late lamented professor moriarty." "i can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agree with you," i answered. "well, well, i must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, as he pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table. "the community is certainly the gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist, whose occupation has gone. with that man in the field one's morning paper presented infinite possibilities. often it was only the smallest trace, watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me that the great malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre. petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage--to the man who held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. to the scientific student of the higher criminal world no capital in europe offered the advantages which london then possessed. but now--" he shrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of things which he had himself done so much to produce. at the time of which i speak holmes had been back for some months, and i, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the old quarters in baker street. a young doctor, named verner, had purchased my small kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur the highest price that i ventured to ask--an incident which only explained itself some years later when i found that verner was a distant relation of holmes's, and that it was my friend who had really found the money. our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated, for i find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case of the papers of ex-president murillo, and also the shocking affair of the dutch steamship friesland, which so nearly cost us both our lives. his cold and proud nature was always averse, however, to anything in the shape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes--a prohibition which, as i have explained, has only now been removed. mr. sherlock holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsical protest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion, when our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell, followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone were beating on the outer door with his fist. as it opened there came a tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst into the room. he looked from one to the other of us, and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed for this unceremonious entry. "i'm sorry, mr. holmes," he cried. "you mustn't blame me. i am nearly mad. mr. holmes, i am the unhappy john hector mcfarlane." he made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both his visit and its manner; but i could see by my companion's unresponsive face that it meant no more to him than to me. "have a cigarette, mr. mcfarlane," said he, pushing his case across. "i am sure that with your symptoms my friend dr. watson here would prescribe a sedative. the weather has been so very warm these last few days. now, if you feel a little more composed, i should be glad if you would sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and quietly who you are and what it is that you want. you mentioned your name as if i should recognise it, but i assure you that, beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a freemason, and an asthmatic, i know nothing whatever about you." familiar as i was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for me to follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had prompted them. our client, however, stared in amazement. "yes, i am all that, mr. holmes, and in addition i am the most unfortunate man at this moment in london. for heaven's sake don't abandon me, mr. holmes! if they come to arrest me before i have finished my story, make them give me time so that i may tell you the whole truth. i could go to jail happy if i knew that you were working for me outside." "arrest you!" said holmes. "this is really most grati--most interesting. on what charge do you expect to be arrested?" "upon the charge of murdering mr. jonas oldacre, of lower norwood." my companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, i am afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction. "dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at breakfast that i was saying to my friend, dr. watson, that sensational cases had disappeared out of our papers." our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the daily telegraph, which still lay upon holmes's knee. "if you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what the errand is on which i have come to you this morning. i feel as if my name and my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." he turned it over to expose the central page. "here it is, and with your permission i will read it to you. listen to this, mr. holmes. the head-lines are: 'mysterious affair at lower norwood. disappearance of a well-known builder. suspicion of murder and arson. a clue to the criminal.' that is the clue which they are already following, mr. holmes, and i know that it leads infallibly to me. i have been followed from london bridge station, and i am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. it will break my mother's heart--it will break her heart!" he wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backwards and forwards in his chair. i looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being the perpetrator of a crime of violence. he was flaxen-haired and handsome in a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes and a clean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. his age may have been about twenty-seven; his dress and bearing that of a gentleman. from the pocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsed papers which proclaimed his profession. "we must use what time we have," said holmes. "watson, would you have the kindness to take the paper and to read me the paragraph in question?" underneath the vigorous head-lines which our client had quoted i read the following suggestive narrative:-- "late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at lower norwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. mr. jonas oldacre is a well-known resident of that suburb, where he has carried on his business as a builder for many years. mr. oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in deep dene house, at the sydenham end of the road of that name. he has had the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. for some years he has practically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have amassed considerable wealth. a small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm was given that one of the stacks was on fire. the engines were soon upon the spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible to arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed. up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinary accident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime. surprise was expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment from the scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed that he had disappeared from the house. an examination of his room revealed that the bed had not been slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open, that a number of important papers were scattered about the room, and, finally, that there were signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood being found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, which also showed stains of blood upon the handle. it is known that mr. jonas oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and the stick found has been identified as the property of this person, who is a young london solicitor named john hector mcfarlane, junior partner of graham and mcfarlane, of 426, gresham buildings, e.c. the police believe that they have evidence in their possession which supplies a very convincing motive for the crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted that sensational developments will follow. "later.--it is rumoured as we go to press that mr. john hector mcfarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of mr. jonas oldacre. it is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. there have been further and sinister developments in the investigation at norwood. besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunate builder it is now known that the french windows of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks as if some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it is asserted that charred remains have been found among the charcoal ashes of the fire. the police theory is that a most sensational crime has been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across to the wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the crime. the conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in the experienced hands of inspector lestrade, of scotland yard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity." sherlock holmes listened with closed eyes and finger-tips together to this remarkable account. "the case has certainly some points of interest," said he, in his languid fashion. "may i ask, in the first place, mr. mcfarlane, how it is that you are still at liberty, since there appears to be enough evidence to justify your arrest?" "i live at torrington lodge, blackheath, with my parents, mr. holmes; but last night, having to do business very late with mr. jonas oldacre, i stayed at an hotel in norwood, and came to my business from there. i knew nothing of this affair until i was in the train, when i read what you have just heard. i at once saw the horrible danger of my position, and i hurried to put the case into your hands. i have no doubt that i should have been arrested either at my city office or at my home. a man followed me from london bridge station, and i have no doubt--great heaven, what is that?" it was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon the stair. a moment later our old friend lestrade appeared in the doorway. over his shoulder i caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemen outside. "mr. john hector mcfarlane?" said lestrade. our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face. "i arrest you for the wilful murder of mr. jonas oldacre, of lower norwood." mcfarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into his chair once more like one who is crushed. "one moment, lestrade," said holmes. "half an hour more or less can make no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us an account of this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing it up." "i think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up," said lestrade, grimly. "none the less, with your permission, i should be much interested to hear his account." "well, mr. holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, for you have been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we owe you a good turn at scotland yard," said lestrade. "at the same time i must remain with my prisoner, and i am bound to warn him that anything he may say will appear in evidence against him." "i wish nothing better," said our client. "all i ask is that you should hear and recognise the absolute truth." lestrade looked at his watch. "i'll give you half an hour," said he. "i must explain first," said mcfarlane, "that i knew nothing of mr. jonas oldacre. his name was familiar to me, for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. i was very much surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he walked into my office in the city. but i was still more astonished when he told me the object of his visit. he had in his hand several sheets of a note-book, covered with scribbled writing--here they are--and he laid them on my table. "'here is my will,' said he. 'i want you, mr. mcfarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape. i will sit here while you do so.' "i set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when i found that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me. he was a strange little, ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when i looked up at him i found his keen grey eyes fixed upon me with an amused expression. i could hardly believe my own senses as i read the terms of the will; but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, and that he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that his money would be in worthy hands. of course, i could only stammer out my thanks. the will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk. this is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as i have explained, are the rough draft. mr. jonas oldacre then informed me that there were a number of documents--building leases, title-deeds, mortgages, scrip, and so forth--which it was necessary that i should see and understand. he said that his mind would not be easy until the whole thing was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at norwood that night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters. 'remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until everything is settled. we will keep it as a little surprise for them.' he was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise it faithfully. "you can imagine, mr. holmes, that i was not in a humour to refuse him anything that he might ask. he was my benefactor, and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular. i sent a telegram home, therefore, to say that i had important business on hand, and that it was impossible for me to say how late i might be. mr. oldacre had told me that he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not be home before that hour. i had some difficulty in finding his house, however, and it was nearly half-past before i reached it. i found him--" "one moment!" said holmes. "who opened the door?" "a middle-aged woman, who was, i suppose, his housekeeper." "and it was she, i presume, who mentioned your name?" "exactly," said mcfarlane. "pray proceed." mcfarlane wiped his damp brow and then continued his narrative:-- "i was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper was laid out. afterwards mr. jonas oldacre led me into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe. this he opened and took out a mass of documents, which we went over together. it was between eleven and twelve when we finished. he remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper. he showed me out through his own french window, which had been open all this time." "was the blind down?" asked holmes. "i will not be sure, but i believe that it was only half down. yes, i remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. i could not find my stick, and he said, 'never mind, my boy; i shall see a good deal of you now, i hope, and i will keep your stick until you come back to claim it.' i left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up in packets upon the table. it was so late that i could not get back to blackheath, so i spent the night at the anerley arms, and i knew nothing more until i read of this horrible affair in the morning." "anything more that you would like to ask, mr. holmes?" said lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable explanation. "not until i have been to blackheath." "you mean to norwood," said lestrade. "oh, yes; no doubt that is what i must have meant," said holmes, with his enigmatical smile. lestrade had learned by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. i saw him look curiously at my companion. "i think i should like to have a word with you presently, mr. sherlock holmes," said he. "now, mr. mcfarlane, two of my constables are at the door and there is a four-wheeler waiting." the wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room. the officers conducted him to the cab, but lestrade remained. holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face. "there are some points about that document, lestrade, are there not?" said he, pushing them over. the official looked at them with a puzzled expression. "i can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the second page, and one or two at the end. those are as clear as print," said he; "but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where i cannot read it at all." "what do you make of that?" said holmes. "well, what do you make of it?" "that it was written in a train; the good writing represents stations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points. a scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of points. granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once between norwood and london bridge." lestrade began to laugh. "you are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, mr. holmes," said he. "how does this bear on the case?" "well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the will was drawn up by jonas oldacre in his journey yesterday. it is curious--is it not?--that a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazard a fashion. it suggests that he did not think it was going to be of much practical importance. if a man drew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so." "well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time," said lestrade. "oh, you think so?" "don't you?" "well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet." "not clear? well, if that isn't clear, what could be clear? here is a young man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dies he will succeed to a fortune. what does he do? he says nothing to anyone, but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night; he waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and then in the solitude of a man's room he murders him, burns his body in the wood-pile, and departs to a neighbouring hotel. the blood-stains in the room and also on the stick are very slight. it is probable that he imagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of his death--traces which for some reason must have pointed to him. is all this not obvious?" "it strikes me, my good lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious," said holmes. "you do not add imagination to your other great qualities; but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this young man, would you choose the very night after the will had been made to commit your crime? would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the two incidents? again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has let you in? and, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal? confess, lestrade, that all this is very unlikely." "as to the stick, mr. holmes, you know as well as i do that a criminal is often flurried and does things which a cool man would avoid. he was very likely afraid to go back to the room. give me another theory that would fit the facts." "i could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said holmes. "here, for example, is a very possible and even probable one. i make you a free present of it. the older man is showing documents which are of evident value. a passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of which is only half down. exit the solicitor. enter the tramp! he seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills oldacre, and departs after burning the body." "why should the tramp burn the body?" "for the matter of that why should mcfarlane?" "to hide some evidence." "possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had been committed." "and why did the tramp take nothing?" "because they were papers that he could not negotiate." lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was less absolutely assured than before. "well, mr. sherlock holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while you are finding him we will hold on to our man. the future will show which is right. just notice this point, mr. holmes: that so far as we know none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man in the world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-law and would come into them in any case." my friend seemed struck by this remark. "i don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly in favour of your theory," said he. "i only wish to point out that there are other theories possible. as you say, the future will decide. good morning! i dare say that in the course of the day i shall drop in at norwood and see how you are getting on." when the detective departed my friend rose and made his preparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial task before him. "my first movement, watson," said he, as he bustled into his frock-coat, "must, as i said, be in the direction of blackheath." "and why not norwood?" "because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to the heels of another singular incident. the police are making the mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to be the one which is actually criminal. but it is evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident--the curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. it may do something to simplify what followed. no, my dear fellow, i don't think you can help me. there is no prospect of danger, or i should not dream of stirring out without you. i trust that when i see you in the evening i will be able to report that i have been able to do something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrown himself upon my protection." it was late when my friend returned, and i could see by a glance at his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which he had started had not been fulfilled. for an hour he droned away upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. at last he flung down the instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures. "it's all going wrong, watson--all as wrong as it can go. i kept a bold face before lestrade, but, upon my soul, i believe that for once the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. all my instincts are one way and all the facts are the other, and i much fear that british juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when they will give the preference to my theories over lestrade's facts." "did you go to blackheath?" "yes, watson, i went there, and i found very quickly that the late lamented oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. the father was away in search of his son. the mother was at home--a little, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. of course, she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt. but she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate of oldacre. on the contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police, for, of course, if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion it would predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'he was more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a young man.' "'you knew him at that time?' said i. "'yes, i knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. thank heaven that i had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better, if a poorer, man. i was engaged to him, mr. holmes, when i heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and i was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that i would have nothing more to do with him.' she rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife. 'that is my own photograph,' she said. 'he sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon my wedding morning.' "'well,' said i, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left all his property to your son.' "'neither my son nor i want anything from jonas oldacre, dead or alive,' she cried, with a proper spirit. 'there is a god in heaven, mr. holmes, and that same god who has punished that wicked man will show in his own good time that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.' "well, i tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which would help our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. i gave it up at last and off i went to norwood. "this place, deep dene house, is a big modern villa of staring brick, standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front of it. to the right and some distance back from the road was the timber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. here's a rough plan on a leaf of my note-book. this window on the left is the one which opens into oldacre's room. you can look into it from the road, you see. that is about the only bit of consolation i have had to-day. lestrade was not there, but his head constable did the honours. they had just made a great treasure-trove. they had spent the morning raking among the ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remains they had secured several discoloured metal discs. i examined them with care, and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons. i even distinguished that one of them was marked with the name of 'hyams,' who was oldacre's tailor. i then worked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces, but this drought has made everything as hard as iron. nothing was to be seen save that some body or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. all that, of course, fits in with the official theory. i crawled about the lawn with an august sun on my back, but i got up at the end of an hour no wiser than before. "well, after this fiasco i went into the bedroom and examined that also. the blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolorations, but undoubtedly fresh. the stick had been removed, but there also the marks were slight. there is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client. he admits it. footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet, but none of any third person, which again is a trick for the other side. they were piling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill. "only one little gleam of hope did i get--and yet it amounted to nothing. i examined the contents of the safe, most of which had been taken out and left on the table. the papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, one or two of which had been opened by the police. they were not, so far as i could judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-book show that mr. oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. but it seemed to me that all the papers were not there. there were allusions to some deeds--possibly the more valuable--which i could not find. this, of course, if we could definitely prove it, would turn lestrade's argument against himself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would shortly inherit it? "finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, i tried my luck with the housekeeper. mrs. lexington is her name, a little, dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. she could tell us something if she would--i am convinced of it. but she was as close as wax. yes, she had let mr. mcfarlane in at half-past nine. she wished her hand had withered before she had done so. she had gone to bed at half-past ten. her room was at the other end of the house, and she could hear nothing of what passed. mr. mcfarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief his stick, in the hall. she had been awakened by the alarm of fire. her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. had he any enemies? well, every man had enemies, but mr. oldacre kept himself very much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. she had seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clothes which he had worn last night. the wood-pile was very dry, for it had not rained for a month. it burned like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot nothing could be seen but flames. she and all the firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside it. she knew nothing of the papers, nor of mr. oldacre's private affairs. "so, my dear watson, there's my report of a failure. and yet--and yet--"--he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction--"i know it's all wrong. i feel it in my bones. there is something that has not come out, and that housekeeper knows it. there was a sort of sulky defiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. however, there's no good talking any more about it, watson; but unless some lucky chance comes our way i fear that the norwood disappearance case will not figure in that chronicle of our successes which i foresee that a patient public will sooner or later have to endure." "surely," said i, "the man's appearance would go far with any jury?" "that is a dangerous argument, my dear watson. you remember that terrible murderer, bert stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87? was there ever a more mild-mannered, sunday-school young man?" "it is true." "unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory this man is lost. you can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presented against him, and all further investigation has served to strengthen it. by the way, there is one curious little point about those papers which may serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. on looking over the bank-book i found that the low state of the balance was principally due to large cheques which have been made out during the last year to mr. cornelius. i confess that i should be interested to know who this mr. cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very large transactions. is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair? cornelius might be a broker, but we have found no scrip to correspond with these large payments. failing any other indication my researches must now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed these cheques. but i fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end ingloriously by lestrade hanging our client, which will certainly be a triumph for scotland yard." i do not know how far sherlock holmes took any sleep that night, but when i came down to breakfast i found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. the carpet round his chair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of the morning papers. an open telegram lay upon the table. "what do you think of this, watson?" he asked, tossing it across. it was from norwood, and ran as follows: "important fresh evidence to hand. mcfarlane's guilt definitely established. advise you to abandon case. lestrade. "this sounds serious," said i. "it is lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," holmes answered, with a bitter smile. "and yet it may be premature to abandon the case. after all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a very different direction to that which lestrade imagines. take your breakfast, watson, and we will go out together and see what we can do. i feel as if i shall need your company and your moral support to-day." my friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and i have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition. "at present i cannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion," he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. i was not surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched meal behind him and started with me for norwood. a crowd of morbid sightseers were still gathered round deep dene house, which was just such a suburban villa as i had pictured. within the gates lestrade met us, his face flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant. "well, mr. holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? have you found your tramp?" he cried. "i have formed no conclusion whatever," my companion answered. "but we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct; so you must acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time, mr. holmes." "you certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred," said holmes. lestrade laughed loudly. "you don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do," said he. "a man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he, dr. watson? step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and i think i can convince you once for all that it was john mcfarlane who did this crime." he led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond. "this is where young mcfarlane must have come out to get his hat after the crime was done," said he. "now, look at this." with dramatic suddenness he struck a match and by its light exposed a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall. as he held the match nearer i saw that it was more than a stain. it was the well-marked print of a thumb. "look at that with your magnifying glass, mr. holmes." "yes, i am doing so." "you are aware that no two thumb marks are alike?" "i have heard something of the kind." "well, then, will you please compare that print with this wax impression of young mcfarlane's right thumb, taken by my orders this morning?" as he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain it did not take a magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the same thumb. it was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost. "that is final," said lestrade. "yes, that is final," i involuntarily echoed. "it is final," said holmes. something in his tone caught my ear, and i turned to look at him. an extraordinary change had come over his face. it was writhing with inward merriment. his two eyes were shining like stars. it seemed to me that he was making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter. "dear me! dear me!" he said at last. "well, now, who would have thought it? and how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! such a nice young man to look at! it is a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment, is it not, lestrade?" "yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cocksure, mr. holmes," said lestrade. the man's insolence was maddening, but we could not resent it. "what a providential thing that this young man should press his right thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! such a very natural action, too, if you come to think of it." holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke. "by the way, lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?" "it was the housekeeper, mrs. lexington, who drew the night constable's attention to it." "where was the night constable?" "he remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was committed, so as to see that nothing was touched." "but why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?" "well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination of the hall. besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as you see." "no, no, of course not. i suppose there is no doubt that the mark was there yesterday?" lestrade looked at holmes as if he thought he was going out of his mind. i confess that i was myself surprised both at his hilarious manner and at his rather wild observation. "i don't know whether you think that mcfarlane came out of jail in the dead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself," said lestrade. "i leave it to any expert in the world whether that is not the mark of his thumb." "it is unquestionably the mark of his thumb." "there, that's enough," said lestrade. "i am a practical man, mr. holmes, and when i have got my evidence i come to my conclusions. if you have anything to say you will find me writing my report in the sitting-room." holmes had recovered his equanimity, though i still seemed to detect gleams of amusement in his expression. "dear me, this is a very sad development, watson, is it not?" said he. "and yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopes for our client." "i am delighted to hear it," said i, heartily. "i was afraid it was all up with him." "i would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear watson. the fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friend attaches so much importance." "indeed, holmes! what is it?" "only this: that i know that that mark was not there when i examined the hall yesterday. and now, watson, let us have a little stroll round in the sunshine." with a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth of hope was returning, i accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden. holmes took each face of the house in turn and examined it with great interest. he then led the way inside and went over the whole building from basement to attics. most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none the less holmes inspected them all minutely. finally, on the top corridor, which ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with a spasm of merriment. "there are really some very unique features about this case, watson," said he. "i think it is time now that we took our friend lestrade into our confidence. he has had his little smile at our expense, and perhaps we may do as much by him if my reading of this problem proves to be correct. yes, yes; i think i see how we should approach it." the scotland yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when holmes interrupted him. "i understood that you were writing a report of this case," said he. "so i am." "don't you think it may be a little premature? i can't help thinking that your evidence is not complete." lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. he laid down his pen and looked curiously at him. "what do you mean, mr. holmes?" "only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen." "can you produce him?" "i think i can." "then do so." "i will do my best. how many constables have you?" "there are three within call." "excellent!" said holmes. "may i ask if they are all large, able-bodied men with powerful voices?" "i have no doubt they are, though i fail to see what their voices have to do with it." "perhaps i can help you to see that and one or two other things as well," said holmes. "kindly summon your men, and i will try." five minutes later three policemen had assembled in the hall. "in the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw," said holmes. "i will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. i think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom i require. thank you very much. i believe you have some matches in your pocket, watson. now, mr. lestrade, i will ask you all to accompany me to the top landing." as i have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside three empty bedrooms. at one end of the corridor we were all marshalled by sherlock holmes, the constables grinning and lestrade staring at my friend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each other across his features. holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick. "would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water? put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side. now i think that we are all ready." lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry. "i don't know whether you are playing a game with us, mr. sherlock holmes," said he. "if you know anything, you can surely say it without all this tomfoolery." "i assure you, my good lestrade, that i have an excellent reason for everything that i do. you may possibly remember that you chaffed me a little some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge, so you must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. might i ask you, watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of the straw?" i did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of grey smoke swirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed. "now we must see if we can find this witness for you, lestrade. might i ask you all to join in the cry of 'fire!'? now, then; one, two, three--" "fire!" we all yelled. "thank you. i will trouble you once again." "fire!" "just once more, gentlemen, and all together." "fire!" the shout must have rung over norwood. it had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. a door suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of its burrow. "capital!" said holmes, calmly. "watson, a bucket of water over the straw. that will do! lestrade, allow me to present you with your principal missing witness, mr. jonas oldacre." the detective stared at the new-comer with blank amazement. the latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us and at the smouldering fire. it was an odious face--crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and white eyelashes. "what's this, then?" said lestrade at last. "what have you been doing all this time, eh?" oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red face of the angry detective. "i have done no harm." "no harm? you have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. if it wasn't for this gentleman here, i am not sure that you would not have succeeded." the wretched creature began to whimper. "i am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke." "oh! a joke, was it? you won't find the laugh on your side, i promise you. take him down and keep him in the sitting-room until i come. mr. holmes," he continued, when they had gone, "i could not speak before the constables, but i don't mind saying, in the presence of dr. watson, that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did it. you have saved an innocent man's life, and you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined my reputation in the force." holmes smiled and clapped lestrade upon the shoulder. "instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your reputation has been enormously enhanced. just make a few alterations in that report which you were writing, and they will understand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of inspector lestrade." "and you don't want your name to appear?" "not at all. the work is its own reward. perhaps i shall get the credit also at some distant day when i permit my zealous historian to lay out his foolscap once more--eh, watson? well, now, let us see where this rat has been lurking." a lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. it was lit within by slits under the eaves. a few articles of furniture and a supply of food and water were within, together with a number of books and papers. "there's the advantage of being a builder," said holmes, as we came out. "he was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without any confederate--save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom i should lose no time in adding to your bag, lestrade." "i'll take your advice. but how did you know of this place, mr. holmes?" "i made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house. when i paced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the corresponding one below, it was pretty clear where he was. i thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. we could, of course, have gone in and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself; besides, i owed you a little mystification, lestrade, for your chaff in the morning." "well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. but how in the world did you know that he was in the house at all?" "the thumb-mark, lestrade. you said it was final; and so it was, in a very different sense. i knew it had not been there the day before. i pay a good deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed, and i had examined the hall and was sure that the wall was clear. therefore, it had been put on during the night." "but how?" "very simply. when those packets were sealed up, jonas oldacre got mcfarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the soft wax. it would be done so quickly and so naturally that i dare say the young man himself has no recollection of it. very likely it just so happened, and oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put it to. brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning evidence he could make against mcfarlane by using that thumb-mark. it was the simplest thing in the world for him to take a wax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he could get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall during the night, either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper. if you examine among those documents which he took with him into his retreat i will lay you a wager that you find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it." "wonderful!" said lestrade. "wonderful! it's all as clear as crystal, as you put it. but what is the object of this deep deception, mr. holmes?" it was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher. "well, i don't think that is very hard to explain. a very deep, malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now awaiting us downstairs. you know that he was once refused by mcfarlane's mother? you don't! i told you that you should go to blackheath first and norwood afterwards. well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for vengeance, but never seen his chance. during the last year or two things have gone against him--secret speculation, i think--and he finds himself in a bad way. he determines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he pays large cheques to a certain mr. cornelius, who is, i imagine, himself under another name. i have not traced these cheques yet, but i have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some provincial town where oldacre from time to time led a double existence. he intended to change his name altogether, draw this money, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere." "well, that's likely enough." "it would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit off his track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had been murdered by her only child. it was a masterpiece of villainy, and he carried it out like a master. the idea of the will, which would give an obvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his own parents, the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons in the wood-pile, all were admirable. it was a net from which it seemed to me a few hours ago that there was no possible escape. but he had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop. he wished to improve that which was already perfect--to draw the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate victim--and so he ruined all. let us descend, lestrade. there are just one or two questions that i would ask him." the malignant creature was seated in his own parlour with a policeman upon each side of him. "it was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke, nothing more," he whined incessantly. "i assure you, sir, that i simply concealed myself in order to see the effect of my disappearance, and i am sure that you would not be so unjust as to imagine that i would have allowed any harm to befall poor young mr. mcfarlane." "that's for a jury to decide," said lestrade. "anyhow, we shall have you on a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder." "and you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the banking account of mr. cornelius," said holmes. the little man started and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend. "i have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "perhaps i'll pay my debt some day." holmes smiled indulgently. "i fancy that for some few years you will find your time very fully occupied," said he. "by the way, what was it you put into the wood-pile besides your old trousers? a dead dog, or rabbits, or what? you won't tell? dear me, how very unkind of you! well, well, i dare say that a couple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred ashes. if ever you write an account, watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn." the adventure of the dancing men holmes had been seated for some hours in silence with his long, thin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was brewing a particularly malodorous product. his head was sunk upon his breast, and he looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, with dull grey plumage and a black top-knot. "so, watson," said he, suddenly, "you do not propose to invest in south african securities?" i gave a start of astonishment. accustomed as i was to holmes's curious faculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was utterly inexplicable. "how on earth do you know that?" i asked. he wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube in his hand and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes. "now, watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback," said he. "i am." "i ought to make you sign a paper to that effect." "why?" "because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly simple." "i am sure that i shall say nothing of the kind." "you see, my dear watson"--he propped his test-tube in the rack and began to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his class--"it is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself. if, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents one's audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possibly a meretricious, effect. now, it was not really difficult, by an inspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb, to feel sure that you did not propose to invest your small capital in the goldfields." "i see no connection." "very likely not; but i can quickly show you a close connection. here are the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. you had chalk between your left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night. 2. you put chalk there when you play billiards to steady the cue. 3. you never play billiards except with thurston. 4. you told me four weeks ago that thurston had an option on some south african property which would expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with him. 5. your cheque-book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked for the key. 6. you do not propose to invest your money in this manner." "how absurdly simple!" i cried. "quite so!" said he, a little nettled. "every problem becomes very childish when once it is explained to you. here is an unexplained one. see what you can make of that, friend watson." he tossed a sheet of paper upon the table and turned once more to his chemical analysis. i looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper. "why, holmes, it is a child's drawing," i cried. "oh, that's your idea!" "what else should it be?" "that is what mr. hilton cubitt, of ridling thorpe manor, norfolk, is very anxious to know. this little conundrum came by the first post, and he was to follow by the next train. there's a ring at the bell, watson. i should not be very much surprised if this were he." a heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later there entered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of baker street. he seemed to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh, bracing, east-coast air with him as he entered. having shaken hands with each of us, he was about to sit down when his eye rested upon the paper with the curious markings, which i had just examined and left upon the table. "well, mr. holmes, what do you make of these?" he cried. "they told me that you were fond of queer mysteries, and i don't think you can find a queerer one than that. i sent the paper on ahead so that you might have time to study it before i came." "it is certainly rather a curious production," said holmes. "at first sight it would appear to be some childish prank. it consists of a number of absurd little figures dancing across the paper upon which they are drawn. why should you attribute any importance to so grotesque an object?" "i never should, mr. holmes. but my wife does. it is frightening her to death. she says nothing, but i can see terror in her eyes. that's why i want to sift the matter to the bottom." holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon it. it was a page torn from a note-book. the markings were done in pencil, and ran in this way:-- [ picture: picture of several figures of dancing men, some holding flags ] holmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefully up, he placed it in his pocket-book. "this promises to be a most interesting and unusual case," said he. "you gave me a few particulars in your letter, mr. hilton cubitt, but i should be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again for the benefit of my friend, dr. watson." "i'm not much of a story-teller," said our visitor, nervously clasping and unclasping his great, strong hands. "you'll just ask me anything that i don't make clear. i'll begin at the time of my marriage last year; but i want to say first of all that, though i'm not a rich man, my people have been at ridling thorpe for a matter of five centuries, and there is no better known family in the county of norfolk. last year i came up to london for the jubilee, and i stopped at a boarding-house in russell square, because parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in it. there was an american young lady there--patrick was the name--elsie patrick. in some way we became friends, until before my month was up i was as much in love as a man could be. we were quietly married at a registry office, and we returned to norfolk a wedded couple. you'll think it very mad, mr. holmes, that a man of a good old family should marry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of her people; but if you saw her and knew her it would help you to understand. "she was very straight about it, was elsie. i can't say that she did not give me every chance of getting out of it if i wished to do so. 'i have had some very disagreeable associations in my life,' said she; 'i wish to forget all about them. i would rather never allude to the past, for it is very painful to me. if you take me, hilton, you will take a woman who has nothing that she need be personally ashamed of; but you will have to be content with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up to the time when i became yours. if these conditions are too hard, then go back to norfolk and leave me to the lonely life in which you found me.' it was only the day before our wedding that she said those very words to me. i told her that i was content to take her on her own terms, and i have been as good as my word. "well, we have been married now for a year, and very happy we have been. but about a month ago, at the end of june, i saw for the first time signs of trouble. one day my wife received a letter from america. i saw the american stamp. she turned deadly white, read the letter, and threw it into the fire. she made no allusion to it afterwards, and i made none, for a promise is a promise; but she has never known an easy hour from that moment. there is always a look of fear upon her face--a look as if she were waiting and expecting. she would do better to trust me. she would find that i was her best friend. but until she speaks i can say nothing. mind you, she is a truthful woman, mr. holmes, and whatever trouble there may have been in her past life it has been no fault of hers. i am only a simple norfolk squire, but there is not a man in england who ranks his family honour more highly than i do. she knows it well, and she knew it well before she married me. she would never bring any stain upon it--of that i am sure. "well, now i come to the queer part of my story. about a week ago--it was the tuesday of last week--i found on one of the window-sills a number of absurd little dancing figures, like these upon the paper. they were scrawled with chalk. i thought that it was the stable-boy who had drawn them, but the lad swore he knew nothing about it. anyhow, they had come there during the night. i had them washed out, and i only mentioned the matter to my wife afterwards. to my surprise she took it very seriously, and begged me if any more came to let her see them. none did come for a week, and then yesterday morning i found this paper lying on the sun-dial in the garden. i showed it to elsie, and down she dropped in a dead faint. since then she has looked like a woman in a dream, half dazed, and with terror always lurking in her eyes. it was then that i wrote and sent the paper to you, mr. holmes. it was not a thing that i could take to the police, for they would have laughed at me, but you will tell me what to do. i am not a rich man; but if there is any danger threatening my little woman i would spend my last copper to shield her." he was a fine creature, this man of the old english soil, simple, straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and broad, comely face. his love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his features. holmes had listened to his story with the utmost attention, and now he sat for some time in silent thought. "don't you think, mr. cubitt," said he, at last, "that your best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share her secret with you?" hilton cubitt shook his massive head. "a promise is a promise, mr. holmes. if elsie wished to tell me she would. if not, it is not for me to force her confidence. but i am justified in taking my own line--and i will." "then i will help you with all my heart. in the first place, have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?" "no." "i presume that it is a very quiet place. any fresh face would cause comment?" "in the immediate neighbourhood, yes. but we have several small watering-places not very far away. and the farmers take in lodgers." "these hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. if it is a purely arbitrary one it may be impossible for us to solve it. if, on the other hand, it is systematic, i have no doubt that we shall get to the bottom of it. but this particular sample is so short that i can do nothing, and the facts which you have brought me are so indefinite that we have no basis for an investigation. i would suggest that you return to norfolk, that you keep a keen look-out, and that you take an exact copy of any fresh dancing men which may appear. it is a thousand pities that we have not a reproduction of those which were done in chalk upon the window-sill. make a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the neighbourhood. when you have collected some fresh evidence come to me again. that is the best advice which i can give you, mr. hilton cubitt. if there are any pressing fresh developments i shall be always ready to run down and see you in your norfolk home." the interview left sherlock holmes very thoughtful, and several times in the next few days i saw him take his slip of paper from his note-book and look long and earnestly at the curious figures inscribed upon it. he made no allusion to the affair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight or so later. i was going out when he called me back. "you had better stay here, watson." "why?" "because i had a wire from hilton cubitt this morning--you remember hilton cubitt, of the dancing men? he was to reach liverpool street at one-twenty. he may be here at any moment. i gather from his wire that there have been some new incidents of importance." we had not long to wait, for our norfolk squire came straight from the station as fast as a hansom could bring him. he was looking worried and depressed, with tired eyes and a lined forehead. "it's getting on my nerves, this business, mr. holmes," said he, as he sank, like a wearied man, into an arm-chair. "it's bad enough to feel that you are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who have some kind of design upon you; but when, in addition to that, you know that it is just killing your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as flesh and blood can endure. she's wearing away under it--just wearing away before my eyes." "has she said anything yet?" "no, mr. holmes, she has not. and yet there have been times when the poor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite bring herself to take the plunge. i have tried to help her; but i dare say i did it clumsily, and scared her off from it. she has spoken about my old family, and our reputation in the county, and our pride in our unsullied honour, and i always felt it was leading to the point; but somehow it turned off before we got there." "but you have found out something for yourself?" "a good deal, mr. holmes. i have several fresh dancing men pictures for you to examine, and, what is more important, i have seen the fellow." "what, the man who draws them?" "yes, i saw him at his work. but i will tell you everything in order. when i got back after my visit to you, the very first thing i saw next morning was a fresh crop of dancing men. they had been drawn in chalk upon the black wooden door of the tool-house, which stands beside the lawn in full view of the front windows. i took an exact copy, and here it is." he unfolded a paper and laid it upon the table. here is a copy of the hieroglyphics:-- [ picture: picture of a few dancing men ] "excellent!" said holmes. "excellent! pray continue." "when i had taken the copy i rubbed out the marks; but two mornings later a fresh inscription had appeared. i have a copy of it here":-- [ picture: picture of some more dancing man figures ] holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight. "our material is rapidly accumulating," said he. "three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper, and placed under a pebble upon the sun-dial. here it is. the characters are, as you see, exactly the same as the last one. after that i determined to lie in wait; so i got out my revolver and i sat up in my study, which overlooks the lawn and garden. about two in the morning i was seated by the window, all being dark save for the moonlight outside, when i heard steps behind me, and there was my wife in her dressing-gown. she implored me to come to bed. i told her frankly that i wished to see who it was who played such absurd tricks upon us. she answered that it was some senseless practical joke, and that i should not take any notice of it. "'if it really annoys you, hilton, we might go and travel, you and i, and so avoid this nuisance.' "'what, be driven out of our own house by a practical joker?' said i. 'why, we should have the whole county laughing at us.' "'well, come to bed,' said she, 'and we can discuss it in the morning.' "suddenly, as she spoke, i saw her white face grow whiter yet in the moonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. something was moving in the shadow of the tool-house. i saw a dark, creeping figure which crawled round the corner and squatted in front of the door. seizing my pistol i was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms round me and held me with convulsive strength. i tried to throw her off, but she clung to me most desperately. at last i got clear, but by the time i had opened the door and reached the house the creature was gone. he had left a trace of his presence, however, for there on the door was the very same arrangement of dancing men which had already twice appeared, and which i have copied on that paper. there was no other sign of the fellow anywhere, though i ran all over the grounds. and yet the amazing thing is that he must have been there all the time, for when i examined the door again in the morning he had scrawled some more of his pictures under the line which i had already seen." "have you that fresh drawing?" "yes; it is very short, but i made a copy of it, and here it is." again he produced a paper. the new dance was in this form:-- [ picture: picture of five dancing men figures ] "tell me," said holmes--and i could see by his eyes that he was much excited--"was this a mere addition to the first, or did it appear to be entirely separate?" "it was on a different panel of the door." "excellent! this is far the most important of all for our purpose. it fills me with hopes. now, mr. hilton cubitt, please continue your most interesting statement." "i have nothing more to say, mr. holmes, except that i was angry with my wife that night for having held me back when i might have caught the skulking rascal. she said that she feared that i might come to harm. for an instant it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared was that he might come to harm, for i could not doubt that she knew who this man was and what he meant by these strange signals. but there is a tone in my wife's voice, mr. holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbid doubt, and i am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was in her mind. there's the whole case, and now i want your advice as to what i ought to do. my own inclination is to put half-a-dozen of my farm lads in the shrubbery, and when this fellow comes again to give him such a hiding that he will leave us in peace for the future." "i fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies," said holmes. "how long can you stay in london?" "i must go back to-day. i would not leave my wife alone all night for anything. she is very nervous and begged me to come back." "i dare say you are right. but if you could have stopped i might possibly have been able to return with you in a day or two. meanwhile you will leave me these papers, and i think that it is very likely that i shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and to throw some light upon your case." sherlock holmes preserved his calm professional manner until our visitor had left us, although it was easy for me, who knew him so well, to see that he was profoundly excited. the moment that hilton cubitt's broad back had disappeared through the door my comrade rushed to the table, laid out all the slips of paper containing dancing men in front of him, and threw himself into an intricate and elaborate calculation. for two hours i watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with figures and letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had evidently forgotten my presence. sometimes he was making progress and whistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit for long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. finally he sprang from his chair with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up and down the room rubbing his hands together. then he wrote a long telegram upon a cable form. "if my answer to this is as i hope, you will have a very pretty case to add to your collection, watson," said he. "i expect that we shall be able to go down to norfolk to-morrow, and to take our friend some very definite news as to the secret of his annoyance." i confess that i was filled with curiosity, but i was aware that holmes liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way; so i waited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence. but there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two days of impatience followed, during which holmes pricked up his ears at every ring of the bell. on the evening of the second there came a letter from hilton cubitt. all was quiet with him, save that a long inscription had appeared that morning upon the pedestal of the sun-dial. he inclosed a copy of it, which is here reproduced:-- [ picture: picture of many dancing men figures ] holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, and then suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay. his face was haggard with anxiety. "we have let this affair go far enough," said he. "is there a train to north walsham to-night?" i turned up the time-table. the last had just gone. "then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning," said holmes. "our presence is most urgently needed. ah! here is our expected cablegram. one moment, mrs. hudson; there may be an answer. no, that is quite as i expected. this message makes it even more essential that we should not lose an hour in letting hilton cubitt know how matters stand, for it is a singular and a dangerous web in which our simple norfolk squire is entangled." so, indeed, it proved, and as i come to the dark conclusion of a story which had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre i experience once again the dismay and horror with which i was filled. would that i had some brighter ending to communicate to my readers, but these are the chronicles of fact, and i must follow to their dark crisis the strange chain of events which for some days made ridling thorpe manor a household word through the length and breadth of england. we had hardly alighted at north walsham, and mentioned the name of our destination, when the station-master hurried towards us. "i suppose that you are the detectives from london?" said he. a look of annoyance passed over holmes's face. "what makes you think such a thing?" "because inspector martin from norwich has just passed through. but maybe you are the surgeons. she's not dead--or wasn't by last accounts. you may be in time to save her yet--though it be for the gallows." holmes's brow was dark with anxiety. "we are going to ridling thorpe manor," said he, "but we have heard nothing of what has passed there." "it's a terrible business," said the station-master. "they are shot, both mr. hilton cubitt and his wife. she shot him and then herself--so the servants say. he's dead and her life is despaired of. dear, dear, one of the oldest families in the county of norfolk, and one of the most honoured." without a word holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the long seven miles' drive he never opened his mouth. seldom have i seen him so utterly despondent. he had been uneasy during all our journey from town, and i had observed that he had turned over the morning papers with anxious attention; but now this sudden realization of his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy. he leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation. yet there was much around to interest us, for we were passing through as singular a country-side as any in england, where a few scattered cottages represented the population of to-day, while on every hand enormous square-towered churches bristled up from the flat, green landscape and told of the glory and prosperity of old east anglia. at last the violet rim of the german ocean appeared over the green edge of the norfolk coast, and the driver pointed with his whip to two old brick and timber gables which projected from a grove of trees. "that's ridling thorpe manor," said he. as we drove up to the porticoed front door i observed in front of it, beside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the pedestalled sun-dial with which we had such strange associations. a dapper little man, with a quick, alert manner and a waxed moustache, had just descended from a high dog-cart. he introduced himself as inspector martin, of the norfolk constabulary, and he was considerably astonished when he heard the name of my companion. "why, mr. holmes, the crime was only committed at three this morning. how could you hear of it in london and get to the spot as soon as i?" "i anticipated it. i came in the hope of preventing it." "then you must have important evidence of which we are ignorant, for they were said to be a most united couple." "i have only the evidence of the dancing men," said holmes. "i will explain the matter to you later. meanwhile, since it is too late to prevent this tragedy, i am very anxious that i should use the knowledge which i possess in order to ensure that justice be done. will you associate me in your investigation, or will you prefer that i should act independently?" "i should be proud to feel that we were acting together, mr. holmes," said the inspector, earnestly. "in that case i should be glad to hear the evidence and to examine the premises without an instant of unnecessary delay." inspector martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do things in his own fashion, and contented himself with carefully noting the results. the local surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had just come down from mrs. hilton cubitt's room, and he reported that her injuries were serious, but not necessarily fatal. the bullet had passed through the front of her brain, and it would probably be some time before she could regain consciousness. on the question of whether she had been shot or had shot herself he would not venture to express any decided opinion. certainly the bullet had been discharged at very close quarters. there was only the one pistol found in the room, two barrels of which had been emptied. mr. hilton cubitt had been shot through the heart. it was equally conceivable that he had shot her and then himself, or that she had been the criminal, for the revolver lay upon the floor midway between them. "has he been moved?" asked holmes. "we have moved nothing except the lady. we could not leave her lying wounded upon the floor." "how long have you been here, doctor?" "since four o'clock." "anyone else?" "yes, the constable here." "and you have touched nothing?" "nothing." "you have acted with great discretion. who sent for you?" "the housemaid, saunders." "was it she who gave the alarm?" "she and mrs. king, the cook." "where are they now?" "in the kitchen, i believe." "then i think we had better hear their story at once." the old hall, oak-panelled and high-windowed, had been turned into a court of investigation. holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned chair, his inexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. i could read in them a set purpose to devote his life to this quest until the client whom he had failed to save should at last be avenged. the trim inspector martin, the old, grey-headed country doctor, myself, and a stolid village policeman made up the rest of that strange company. the two women told their story clearly enough. they had been aroused from their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which had been followed a minute later by a second one. they slept in adjoining rooms, and mrs. king had rushed in to saunders. together they had descended the stairs. the door of the study was open and a candle was burning upon the table. their master lay upon his face in the centre of the room. he was quite dead. near the window his wife was crouching, her head leaning against the wall. she was horribly wounded, and the side of her face was red with blood. she breathed heavily, but was incapable of saying anything. the passage, as well as the room, was full of smoke and the smell of powder. the window was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside. both women were positive upon the point. they had at once sent for the doctor and for the constable. then, with the aid of the groom and the stable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mistress to her room. both she and her husband had occupied the bed. she was clad in her dress--he in his dressing-gown, over his night clothes. nothing had been moved in the study. so far as they knew there had never been any quarrel between husband and wife. they had always looked upon them as a very united couple. these were the main points of the servants' evidence. in answer to inspector martin they were clear that every door was fastened upon the inside, and that no one could have escaped from the house. in answer to holmes they both remembered that they were conscious of the smell of powder from the moment that they ran out of their rooms upon the top floor. "i commend that fact very carefully to your attention," said holmes to his professional colleague. "and now i think that we are in a position to undertake a thorough examination of the room." the study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sides with books, and with a writing-table facing an ordinary window, which looked out upon the garden. our first attention was given to the body of the unfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay stretched across the room. his disordered dress showed that he had been hastily aroused from sleep. the bullet had been fired at him from the front, and had remained in his body after penetrating the heart. his death had certainly been instantaneous and painless. there was no powder-marking either upon his dressing-gown or on his hands. according to the country surgeon the lady had stains upon her face, but none upon her hand. "the absence of the latter means nothing, though its presence may mean everything," said holmes. "unless the powder from a badly-fitting cartridge happens to spurt backwards, one may fire many shots without leaving a sign. i would suggest that mr. cubitt's body may now be removed. i suppose, doctor, you have not recovered the bullet which wounded the lady?" "a serious operation will be necessary before that can be done. but there are still four cartridges in the revolver. two have been fired and two wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be accounted for." "so it would seem," said holmes. "perhaps you can account also for the bullet which has so obviously struck the edge of the window?" he had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointing to a hole which had been drilled right through the lower window-sash about an inch above the bottom. "by george!" cried the inspector. "how ever did you see that?" "because i looked for it." "wonderful!" said the country doctor. "you are certainly right, sir. then a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third person must have been present. but who could that have been and how could he have got away?" "that is the problem which we are now about to solve," said sherlock holmes. "you remember, inspector martin, when the servants said that on leaving their room they were at once conscious of a smell of powder i remarked that the point was an extremely important one?" "yes, sir; but i confess i did not quite follow you." "it suggested that at the time of the firing the window as well as the door of the room had been open. otherwise the fumes of powder could not have been blown so rapidly through the house. a draught in the room was necessary for that. both door and window were only open for a very short time, however." "how do you prove that?" "because the candle has not guttered." "capital!" cried the inspector. "capital!" "feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of the tragedy i conceived that there might have been a third person in the affair, who stood outside this opening and fired through it. any shot directed at this person might hit the sash. i looked, and there, sure enough, was the bullet mark!" "but how came the window to be shut and fastened?" "the woman's first instinct would be to shut and fasten the window. but, halloa! what is this?" it was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the study table--a trim little hand-bag of crocodile-skin and silver. holmes opened it and turned the contents out. there were twenty fifty-pound notes of the bank of england, held together by an india-rubber band--nothing else. "this must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial," said holmes, as he handed the bag with its contents to the inspector. "it is now necessary that we should try to throw some light upon this third bullet, which has clearly, from the splintering of the wood, been fired from inside the room. i should like to see mrs. king, the cook, again. you said, mrs. king, that you were awakened by a loud explosion. when you said that, did you mean that it seemed to you to be louder than the second one?" "well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, and so it is hard to judge. but it did seem very loud." "you don't think that it might have been two shots fired almost at the same instant?" "i am sure i couldn't say, sir." "i believe that it was undoubtedly so. i rather think, inspector martin, that we have now exhausted all that this room can teach us. if you will kindly step round with me, we shall see what fresh evidence the garden has to offer." a flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all broke into an exclamation as we approached it. the flowers were trampled down, and the soft soil was imprinted all over with footmarks. large, masculine feet they were, with peculiarly long, sharp toes. holmes hunted about among the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. then, with a cry of satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazen cylinder. "i thought so," said he; "the revolver had an ejector, and here is the third cartridge. i really think, inspector martin, that our case is almost complete." the country inspector's face had shown his intense amazement at the rapid and masterful progress of holmes's investigation. at first he had shown some disposition to assert his own position; but now he was overcome with admiration and ready to follow without question wherever holmes led. "whom do you suspect?" he asked. "i'll go into that later. there are several points in this problem which i have not been able to explain to you yet. now that i have got so far i had best proceed on my own lines, and then clear the whole matter up once and for all." "just as you wish, mr. holmes, so long as we get our man." "i have no desire to make mysteries, but it is impossible at the moment of action to enter into long and complex explanations. i have the threads of this affair all in my hand. even if this lady should never recover consciousness we can still reconstruct the events of last night and ensure that justice be done. first of all i wish to know whether there is any inn in this neighbourhood known as 'elrige's'?" the servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had heard of such a place. the stable-boy threw a light upon the matter by remembering that a farmer of that name lived some miles off in the direction of east ruston. "is it a lonely farm?" "very lonely, sir." "perhaps they have not heard yet of all that happened here during the night?" "maybe not, sir." holmes thought for a little and then a curious smile played over his face. "saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "i shall wish you to take a note to elrige's farm." he took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men. with these in front of him he worked for some time at the study-table. finally he handed a note to the boy, with directions to put it into the hands of the person to whom it was addressed, and especially to answer no questions of any sort which might be put to him. i saw the outside of the note, addressed in straggling, irregular characters, very unlike holmes's usual precise hand. it was consigned to mr. abe slaney, elrige's farm, east ruston, norfolk. "i think, inspector," holmes remarked, "that you would do well to telegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to be correct, you may have a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the county jail. the boy who takes this note could no doubt forward your telegram. if there is an afternoon train to town, watson, i think we should do well to take it, as i have a chemical analysis of some interest to finish, and this investigation draws rapidly to a close." when the youth had been dispatched with the note, sherlock holmes gave his instructions to the servants. if any visitor were to call asking for mrs. hilton cubitt no information should be given as to her condition, but he was to be shown at once into the drawing-room. he impressed these points upon them with the utmost earnestness. finally he led the way into the drawing-room with the remark that the business was now out of our hands, and that we must while away the time as best we might until we could see what was in store for us. the doctor had departed to his patients, and only the inspector and myself remained. "i think that i can help you to pass an hour in an interesting and profitable manner," said holmes, drawing his chair up to the table and spreading out in front of him the various papers upon which were recorded the antics of the dancing men. "as to you, friend watson, i owe you every atonement for having allowed your natural curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied. to you, inspector, the whole incident may appeal as a remarkable professional study. i must tell you first of all the interesting circumstances connected with the previous consultations which mr. hilton cubitt has had with me in baker street." he then shortly recapitulated the facts which have already been recorded. "i have here in front of me these singular productions, at which one might smile had they not proved themselves to be the fore-runners of so terrible a tragedy. i am fairly familiar with all forms of secret writings, and am myself the author of a trifling monograph upon the subject, in which i analyze one hundred and sixty separate ciphers; but i confess that this is entirely new to me. the object of those who invented the system has apparently been to conceal that these characters convey a message, and to give the idea that they are the mere random sketches of children. "having once recognised, however, that the symbols stood for letters, and having applied the rules which guide us in all forms of secret writings, the solution was easy enough. the first message submitted to me was so short that it was impossible for me to do more than to say with some confidence that the symbol [ picture: picture of a single dancing man ] stood for e. as you are aware, e is the most common letter in the english alphabet, and it predominates to so marked an extent that even in a short sentence one would expect to find it most often. out of fifteen symbols in the first message four were the same, so it was reasonable to set this down as e. it is true that in some cases the figure was bearing a flag and in some cases not, but it was probable from the way in which the flags were distributed that they were used to break the sentence up into words. i accepted this as a hypothesis, and noted that e was represented by [ picture: picture of a single dancing man ] "but now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. the order of the english letters after e is by no means well marked, and any preponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed sheet may be reversed in a single short sentence. speaking roughly, t, a, o, i, n, s, h, r, d, and l are the numerical order in which letters occur; but t, a, o, and i are very nearly abreast of each other, and it would be an endless task to try each combination until a meaning was arrived at. i, therefore, waited for fresh material. in my second interview with mr. hilton cubitt he was able to give me two other short sentences and one message, which appeared--since there was no flag--to be a single word. here are the symbols. now, in the single word i have already got the two e's coming second and fourth in a word of five letters. it might be 'sever,' or 'lever,' or 'never.' there can be no question that the latter as a reply to an appeal is far the most probable, and the circumstances pointed to its being a reply written by the lady. accepting it as correct, we are now able to say that the symbols [ picture: picture of three dancing men ] stand respectively for n, v, and r. "even now i was in considerable difficulty, but a happy thought put me in possession of several other letters. it occurred to me that if these appeals came, as i expected, from someone who had been intimate with the lady in her early life, a combination which contained two e's with three letters between might very well stand for the name 'elsie.' on examination i found that such a combination formed the termination of the message which was three times repeated. it was certainly some appeal to 'elsie.' in this way i had got my l, s, and i. but what appeal could it be? there were only four letters in the word which preceded 'elsie,' and it ended in e. surely the word must be 'come.' i tried all other four letters ending in e, but could find none to fit the case. so now i was in possession of c, o, and m, and i was in a position to attack the first message once more, dividing it into words and putting dots for each symbol which was still unknown. so treated it worked out in this fashion: .m .ere ..e sl.ne. "now the first letter can only be a, which is a most useful discovery, since it occurs no fewer than three times in this short sentence, and the h is also apparent in the second word. now it becomes:-- am here a.e slane. or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:-- am here abe slaney. i had so many letters now that i could proceed with considerable confidence to the second message, which worked out in this fashion:-- a. elri.es. here i could only make sense by putting t and g for the missing letters, and supposing that the name was that of some house or inn at which the writer was staying." inspector martin and i had listened with the utmost interest to the full and clear account of how my friend had produced results which had led to so complete a command over our difficulties. "what did you do then, sir?" asked the inspector. "i had every reason to suppose that this abe slaney was an american, since abe is an american contraction, and since a letter from america had been the starting-point of all the trouble. i had also every cause to think that there was some criminal secret in the matter. the lady's allusions to her past and her refusal to take her husband into her confidence both pointed in that direction. i therefore cabled to my friend, wilson hargreave, of the new york police bureau, who has more than once made use of my knowledge of london crime. i asked him whether the name of abe slaney was known to him. here is his reply: 'the most dangerous crook in chicago.' on the very evening upon which i had his answer hilton cubitt sent me the last message from slaney. working with known letters it took this form:-- elsie .re.are to meet thy go. the addition of a p and a d completed a message which showed me that the rascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and my knowledge of the crooks of chicago prepared me to find that he might very rapidly put his words into action. i at once came to norfolk with my friend and colleague, dr. watson, but, unhappily, only in time to find that the worst had already occurred." "it is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling of a case," said the inspector, warmly. "you will excuse me, however, if i speak frankly to you. you are only answerable to yourself, but i have to answer to my superiors. if this abe slaney, living at elrige's, is indeed the murderer, and if he has made his escape while i am seated here, i should certainly get into serious trouble." "you need not be uneasy. he will not try to escape." "how do you know?" "to fly would be a confession of guilt." "then let us go to arrest him." "i expect him here every instant." "but why should he come?" "because i have written and asked him." "but this is incredible, mr. holmes! why should he come because you have asked him? would not such a request rather rouse his suspicions and cause him to fly?" "i think i have known how to frame the letter," said sherlock holmes. "in fact, if i am not very much mistaken, here is the gentleman himself coming up the drive." a man was striding up the path which led to the door. he was a tall, handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of grey flannel, with a panama hat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressive hooked nose, and flourishing a cane as he walked. he swaggered up the path as if the place belonged to him, and we heard his loud, confident peal at the bell. "i think, gentlemen," said holmes, quietly, "that we had best take up our position behind the door. every precaution is necessary when dealing with such a fellow. you will need your handcuffs, inspector. you can leave the talking to me." we waited in silence for a minute--one of those minutes which one can never forget. then the door opened and the man stepped in. in an instant holmes clapped a pistol to his head and martin slipped the handcuffs over his wrists. it was all done so swiftly and deftly that the fellow was helpless before he knew that he was attacked. he glared from one to the other of us with a pair of blazing black eyes. then he burst into a bitter laugh. "well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. i seem to have knocked up against something hard. but i came here in answer to a letter from mrs. hilton cubitt. don't tell me that she is in this? don't tell me that she helped to set a trap for me?" "mrs. hilton cubitt was seriously injured and is at death's door." the man gave a hoarse cry of grief which rang through the house. "you're crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "it was he that was hurt, not she. who would have hurt little elsie? i may have threatened her, god forgive me, but i would not have touched a hair of her pretty head. take it back--you! say that she is not hurt!" "she was found badly wounded by the side of her dead husband." he sank with a deep groan on to the settee and buried his face in his manacled hands. for five minutes he was silent. then he raised his face once more, and spoke with the cold composure of despair. "i have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen," said he. "if i shot the man he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in that. but if you think i could have hurt that woman, then you don't know either me or her. i tell you there was never a man in this world loved a woman more than i loved her. i had a right to her. she was pledged to me years ago. who was this englishman that he should come between us? i tell you that i had the first right to her, and that i was only claiming my own." "she broke away from your influence when she found the man that you are," said holmes, sternly. "she fled from america to avoid you, and she married an honourable gentleman in england. you dogged her and followed her and made her life a misery to her in order to induce her to abandon the husband whom she loved and respected in order to fly with you, whom she feared and hated. you have ended by bringing about the death of a noble man and driving his wife to suicide. that is your record in this business, mr. abe slaney, and you will answer for it to the law." "if elsie dies i care nothing what becomes of me," said the american. he opened one of his hands and looked at a note crumpled up in his palm. "see here, mister," he cried, with a gleam of suspicion in his eyes, "you're not trying to scare me over this, are you? if the lady is hurt as bad as you say, who was it that wrote this note?" he tossed it forwards on to the table. "i wrote it to bring you here." "you wrote it? there was no one on earth outside the joint who knew the secret of the dancing men. how came you to write it?" "what one man can invent another can discover," said holmes. "there is a cab coming to convey you to norwich, mr. slaney. but, meanwhile, you have time to make some small reparation for the injury you have wrought. are you aware that mrs. hilton cubitt has herself lain under grave suspicion of the murder of her husband, and that it was only my presence here and the knowledge which i happened to possess which has saved her from the accusation? the least that you owe her is to make it clear to the whole world that she was in no way, directly or indirectly, responsible for his tragic end." "i ask nothing better," said the american. "i guess the very best case i can make for myself is the absolute naked truth." "it is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you," cried the inspector, with the magnificent fair-play of the british criminal law. slaney shrugged his shoulders. "i'll chance that," said he. "first of all, i want you gentlemen to understand that i have known this lady since she was a child. there were seven of us in a gang in chicago, and elsie's father was the boss of the joint. he was a clever man, was old patrick. it was he who invented that writing, which would pass as a child's scrawl unless you just happened to have the key to it. well, elsie learned some of our ways; but she couldn't stand the business, and she had a bit of honest money of her own, so she gave us all the slip and got away to london. she had been engaged to me, and she would have married me, i believe, if i had taken over another profession; but she would have nothing to do with anything on the cross. it was only after her marriage to this englishman that i was able to find out where she was. i wrote to her, but got no answer. after that i came over, and, as letters were no use, i put my messages where she could read them. "well, i have been here a month now. i lived in that farm, where i had a room down below, and could get in and out every night, and no one the wiser. i tried all i could to coax elsie away. i knew that she read the messages, for once she wrote an answer under one of them. then my temper got the better of me, and i began to threaten her. she sent me a letter then, imploring me to go away and saying that it would break her heart if any scandal should come upon her husband. she said that she would come down when her husband was asleep at three in the morning, and speak with me through the end window, if i would go away afterwards and leave her in peace. she came down and brought money with her, trying to bribe me to go. this made me mad, and i caught her arm and tried to pull her through the window. at that moment in rushed the husband with his revolver in his hand. elsie had sunk down upon the floor, and we were face to face. i was heeled also, and i held up my gun to scare him off and let me get away. he fired and missed me. i pulled off almost at the same instant, and down he dropped. i made away across the garden, and as i went i heard the window shut behind me. that's god's truth, gentlemen, every word of it, and i heard no more about it until that lad came riding up with a note which made me walk in here, like a jay, and give myself into your hands." a cab had driven up whilst the american had been talking. two uniformed policemen sat inside. inspector martin rose and touched his prisoner on the shoulder. "it is time for us to go." "can i see her first?" "no, she is not conscious. mr. sherlock holmes, i only hope that if ever again i have an important case i shall have the good fortune to have you by my side." we stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. as i turned back my eye caught the pellet of paper which the prisoner had tossed upon the table. it was the note with which holmes had decoyed him. "see if you can read it, watson," said he, with a smile. it contained no word, but this little line of dancing men:-- [ picture: picture of various dancing men ] "if you use the code which i have explained," said holmes, "you will find that it simply means 'come here at once.' i was convinced that it was an invitation which he would not refuse, since he could never imagine that it could come from anyone but the lady. and so, my dear watson, we have ended by turning the dancing men to good when they have so often been the agents of evil, and i think that i have fulfilled my promise of giving you something unusual for your note-book. three-forty is our train, and i fancy we should be back in baker street for dinner." only one word of epilogue. the american, abe slaney, was condemned to death at the winter assizes at norwich; but his penalty was changed to penal servitude in consideration of mitigating circumstances, and the certainty that hilton cubitt had fired the first shot. of mrs. hilton cubitt i only know that i have heard she recovered entirely, and that she still remains a widow, devoting her whole life to the care of the poor and to the administration of her husband's estate. the adventure of the solitary cyclist from the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive mr. sherlock holmes was a very busy man. it is safe to say that there was no public case of any difficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, and there were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricate and extraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. many startling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome of this long period of continuous work. as i have preserved very full notes of all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them, it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which i should select to lay before the public. i shall, however, preserve my former rule, and give the preference to those cases which derive their interest not so much from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution. for this reason i will now lay before the reader the facts connected with miss violet smith, the solitary cyclist of charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation, which culminated in unexpected tragedy. it is true that the circumstances did not admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which my friend was famous, but there were some points about the case which made it stand out in those long records of crime from which i gather the material for these little narratives. on referring to my note-book for the year 1895 i find that it was upon saturday, the 23rd of april, that we first heard of miss violet smith. her visit was, i remember, extremely unwelcome to holmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problem concerning the peculiar persecution to which john vincent harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. my friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. and yet without a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at baker street late in the evening and implored his assistance and advice. it was vain to urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. with a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troubling her. "at least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes darted over her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy." she glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and i observed the slight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal. "yes, i bicycle a good deal, mr. holmes, and that has something to do with my visit to you to-day." my friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen. "you will excuse me, i am sure. it is my business," said he, as he dropped it. "i nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were typewriting. of course, it is obvious that it is music. you observe the spatulate finger-end, watson, which is common to both professions? there is a spirituality about the face, however"--he gently turned it towards the light--"which the typewriter does not generate. this lady is a musician." "yes, mr. holmes, i teach music." "in the country, i presume, from your complexion." "yes, sir; near farnham, on the borders of surrey." "a beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interesting associations. you remember, watson, that it was near there that we took archie stamford, the forger. now, miss violet, what has happened to you near farnham, on the borders of surrey?" the young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement:-- "my father is dead, mr. holmes. he was james smith, who conducted the orchestra at the old imperial theatre. my mother and i were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, ralph smith, who went to africa twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from him since. when father died we were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the times inquiring for our whereabouts. you can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone had left us a fortune. we went at once to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper. there we met two gentlemen, mr. carruthers and mr. woodley, who were home on a visit from south africa. they said that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he died some months before in great poverty in johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last breath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. it seemed strange to us that uncle ralph, who took no notice of us when he was alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead; but mr. carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for our fate." "excuse me," said holmes; "when was this interview?" "last december--four months ago." "pray proceed." "mr. woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. he was for ever making eyes at me--a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man, with his hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. i thought that he was perfectly hateful--and i was sure that cyril would not wish me to know such a person." "oh, cyril is his name!" said holmes, smiling. the young lady blushed and laughed. "yes, mr. holmes; cyril morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope to be married at the end of the summer. dear me, how did i get talking about him? what i wished to say was that mr. woodley was perfectly odious, but that mr. carruthers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable. he was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person; but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. he inquired how we were left, and on finding that we were very poor he suggested that i should come and teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. i said that i did not like to leave my mother, on which he suggested that i should go home to her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which was certainly splendid pay. so it ended by my accepting, and i went down to chiltern grange, about six miles from farnham. mr. carruthers was a widower, but he had engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person, called mrs. dixon, to look after his establishment. the child was a dear, and everything promised well. mr. carruthers was very kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. every week-end i went home to my mother in town. "the first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustached mr. woodley. he came for a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed three months to me! he was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. he made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if i married him i would have the finest diamonds in london, and finally, when i would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner--he was hideously strong--and he swore that he would not let me go until i had kissed him. mr. carruthers came in and tore him off from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knocking him down and cutting his face open. that was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. mr. carruthers apologized to me next day, and assured me that i should never be exposed to such an insult again. i have not seen mr. woodley since. "and now, mr. holmes, i come at last to the special thing which has caused me to ask your advice to-day. you must know that every saturday forenoon i ride on my bicycle to farnham station in order to get the 12.22 to town. the road from chiltern grange is a lonely one, and at one spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between charlington heath upon one side and the woods which lie round charlington hall upon the other. you could not find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high road near crooksbury hill. two weeks ago i was passing this place when i chanced to look back over my shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me i saw a man, also on a bicycle. he seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. i looked back before i reached farnham, but the man was gone, so i thought no more about it. but you can imagine how surprised i was, mr. holmes, when on my return on the monday i saw the same man on the same stretch of road. my astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again, exactly as before, on the following saturday and monday. he always kept his distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly was very odd. i mentioned it to mr. carruthers, who seemed interested in what i said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so that in future i should not pass over these lonely roads without some companion. "the horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reason they were not delivered, and again i had to cycle to the station. that was this morning. you can think that i looked out when i came to charlington heath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. he always kept so far from me that i could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom i did not know. he was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. the only thing about his face that i could clearly see was his dark beard. to-day i was not alarmed, but i was filled with curiosity, and i determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. i slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his. then i stopped altogether, but he stopped also. then i laid a trap for him. there is a sharp turning of the road, and i pedalled very quickly round this, and then i stopped and waited. i expected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop. but he never appeared. then i went back and looked round the corner. i could see a mile of road, but he was not on it. to make it the more extraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he could have gone." holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "this case certainly presents some features of its own," said he. "how much time elapsed between your turning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?" "two or three minutes." "then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that there are no side roads?" "none." "then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other." "it could not have been on the side of the heath or i should have seen him." "so by the process of exclusion we arrive at the fact that he made his way towards charlington hall, which, as i understand, is situated in its own grounds on one side of the road. anything else?" "nothing, mr. holmes, save that i was so perplexed that i felt i should not be happy until i had seen you and had your advice." holmes sat in silence for some little time. "where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he asked, at last. "he is in the midland electrical company, at coventry." "he would not pay you a surprise visit?" "oh, mr. holmes! as if i should not know him!" "have you had any other admirers?" "several before i knew cyril." "and since?" "there was this dreadful man, woodley, if you can call him an admirer." "no one else?" our fair client seemed a little confused. "who was he?" asked holmes. "oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has seemed to me sometimes that my employer, mr. carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me. we are thrown rather together. i play his accompaniments in the evening. he has never said anything. he is a perfect gentleman. but a girl always knows." "ha!" holmes looked grave. "what does he do for a living?" "he is a rich man." "no carriages or horses?" "well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. but he goes into the city two or three times a week. he is deeply interested in south african gold shares." "you will let me know any fresh development, miss smith. i am very busy just now, but i will find time to make some inquiries into your case. in the meantime take no step without letting me know. good-bye, and i trust that we shall have nothing but good news from you." "it is part of the settled order of nature that such a girl should have followers," said holmes, as he pulled at his meditative pipe, "but for choice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. some secretive lover, beyond all doubt. but there are curious and suggestive details about the case, watson." "that he should appear only at that point?" "exactly. our first effort must be to find who are the tenants of charlington hall. then, again, how about the connection between carruthers and woodley, since they appear to be men of such a different type? how came they both to be so keen upon looking up ralph smith's relations? one more point. what sort of a menage is it which pays double the market price for a governess, but does not keep a horse although six miles from the station? odd, watson--very odd!" "you will go down?" "no, my dear fellow, you will go down. this may be some trifling intrigue, and i cannot break my other important research for the sake of it. on monday you will arrive early at farnham; you will conceal yourself near charlington heath; you will observe these facts for yourself, and act as your own judgment advises. then, having inquired as to the occupants of the hall, you will come back to me and report. and now, watson, not another word of the matter until we have a few solid stepping-stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution." we had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the monday by the train which leaves waterloo at 9.50, so i started early and caught the 9.13. at farnham station i had no difficulty in being directed to charlington heath. it was impossible to mistake the scene of the young lady's adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one side and an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studded with magnificent trees. there was a main gateway of lichen-studded stone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; but besides this central carriage drive i observed several points where there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. the house was invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay. the heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. behind one of these clumps i took up my position, so as to command both the gateway of the hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. it had been deserted when i left it, but now i saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to that in which i had come. he was clad in a dark suit, and i saw that he had a black beard. on reaching the end of the charlington grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from my view. a quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist appeared. this time it was the young lady coming from the station. i saw her look about her as she came to the charlington hedge. an instant later the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed her. in all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behind her bending low over his handle-bar, with a curiously furtive suggestion in every movement. she looked back at him and slowed her pace. he slowed also. she stopped. he at once stopped too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. she suddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him! he was as quick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. presently she came back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning to take any further notice of her silent attendant. he had turned also, and still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from my sight. i remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that i did so, for presently the man reappeared cycling slowly back. he turned in at the hall gates and dismounted from his machine. for some few minutes i could see him standing among the trees. his hands were raised and he seemed to be settling his necktie. then he mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive towards the hall. i ran across the heath and peered through the trees. far away i could catch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and i saw no more of my man. however, it seemed to me that i had done a fairly good morning's work, and i walked back in high spirits to farnham. the local house-agent could tell me nothing about charlington hall, and referred me to a well-known firm in pall mall. there i halted on my way home, and met with courtesy from the representative. no, i could not have charlington hall for the summer. i was just too late. it had been let about a month ago. mr. williamson was the name of the tenant. he was a respectable elderly gentleman. the polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss. mr. sherlock holmes listened with attention to the long report which i was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which i had hoped for and should have valued. on the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that i had done and the things that i had not. "your hiding-place, my dear watson, was very faulty. you should have been behind the hedge; then you would have had a close view of this interesting person. as it is you were some hundreds of yards away, and can tell me even less than miss smith. she thinks she does not know the man; i am convinced she does. why, otherwise, should he be so desperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see his features? you describe him as bending over the handle-bar. concealment again, you see. you really have done remarkably badly. he returns to the house and you want to find out who he is. you come to a london house-agent!" "what should i have done?" i cried, with some heat. "gone to the nearest public-house. that is the centre of country gossip. they would have told you every name, from the master to the scullery-maid. williamson! it conveys nothing to my mind. if he is an elderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that athletic young lady's pursuit. what have we gained by your expedition? the knowledge that the girl's story is true. i never doubted it. that there is a connection between the cyclist and the hall. i never doubted that either. that the hall is tenanted by williamson. who's the better for that? well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. we can do little more until next saturday, and in the meantime i may make one or two inquiries myself." next morning we had a note from miss smith, recounting shortly and accurately the very incidents which i had seen, but the pith of the letter lay in the postscript: "i am sure that you will respect my confidence, mr. holmes, when i tell you that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. i am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable. at the same time my promise is, of course, given. he took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently. you can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained." "our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," said holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "the case certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than i had originally thought. i should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and i am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which i have formed." holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at baker street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting object of a scotland yard investigation. he was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them. "i get so little active exercise that it is always a treat," said he. "you are aware that i have some proficiency in the good old british sport of boxing. occasionally it is of service. to-day, for example, i should have come to very ignominious grief without it." i begged him to tell me what had occurred. "i found that country pub which i had already recommended to your notice, and there i made my discreet inquiries. i was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that i wanted. williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the hall. there is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; but one or two incidents of his short residence at the hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. i have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there was a man of that name in orders whose career has been a singularly dark one. the landlord further informed me that there are usually week-end visitors--'a warm lot, sir'--at the hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache, mr. woodley by name, who was always there. we had got as far as this when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation. who was i? what did i want? what did i mean by asking questions? he had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. he ended a string of abuse by a vicious back-hander which i failed to entirely avoid. the next few minutes were delicious. it was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. i emerged as you see me. mr. woodley went home in a cart. so ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day on the surrey border has not been much more profitable than your own." the thursday brought us another letter from our client. you will not be surprised, mr. holmes [said she] to hear that i am leaving mr. carruthers's employment. even the high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. on saturday i come up to town and i do not intend to return. mr. carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now over. as to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained situation with mr. carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odious man, mr. woodley. he was always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much disfigured. i saw him out of the window, but i am glad to say i did not meet him. he had a long talk with mr. carruthers, who seemed much excited afterwards. woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yet i caught a glimpse of him again this morning slinking about in the shrubbery. i would sooner have a savage wild animal loose about the place. i loathe and fear him more than i can say. how can mr. carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? however, all my troubles will be over on saturday. "so i trust, watson; so i trust," said holmes, gravely. "there is some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. i think, watson, that we must spare time to run down together on saturday morning, and make sure that this curious and inconclusive investigation has no untoward ending." i confess that i had not up to now taken a very serious view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. that a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little audacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. the ruffian woodley was a very different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our client, and now he visited the house of carruthers without intruding upon her presence. the man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end parties at the hall of which the publican had spoken; but who he was or what he wanted was as obscure as ever. it was the severity of holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events. a rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the heath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and drabs and slate-greys of london. holmes and i walked along the broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. from a rise of the road on the shoulder of crooksbury hill we could see the grim hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still younger than the building which they surrounded. holmes pointed down the long tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown of the heath and the budding green of the woods. far away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. holmes gave an exclamation of impatience. "i had given a margin of half an hour," said he. "if that is her trap she must be making for the earlier train. i fear, watson, that she will be past charlington before we can possibly meet her." from the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer see the vehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace that my sedentary life began to tell upon me, and i was compelled to fall behind. holmes, however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. his springy step never slowed until suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and i saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. at the same instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us. "too late, watson; too late!" cried holmes, as i ran panting to his side. "fool that i was not to allow for that earlier train! it's abduction, watson--abduction! murder! heaven knows what! block the road! stop the horse! that's right. now, jump in, and let us see if i can repair the consequences of my own blunder." we had sprung into the dog-cart, and holmes, after turning the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. as we turned the curve the whole stretch of road between the hall and the heath was opened up. i grasped holmes's arm. "that's the man!" i gasped. a solitary cyclist was coming towards us. his head was down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessed on to the pedals. he was flying like a racer. suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine. that coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. he stared at us and at the dog-cart. then a look of amazement came over his face. "halloa! stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road. "where did you get that dog-cart? pull up, man!" he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. "pull up, i say, or, by george, i'll put a bullet into your horse." holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart. "you're the man we want to see. where is miss violet smith?" he said, in his quick, clear way. "that's what i am asking you. you're in her dog-cart. you ought to know where she is." "we met the dog-cart on the road. there was no one in it. we drove back to help the young lady." "good lord! good lord! what shall i do?" cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. "they've got her, that hellhound woodley and the blackguard parson. come, man, come, if you really are her friend. stand by me and we'll save her, if i have to leave my carcass in charlington wood." he ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge. holmes followed him, and i, leaving the horse grazing beside the road, followed holmes. "this is where they came through," said he, pointing to the marks of several feet upon the muddy path. "halloa! stop a minute! who's this in the bush?" it was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. he lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. he was insensible, but alive. a glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone. "that's peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "he drove her. the beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. let him lie; we can't do him any good, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman." we ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. we had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when holmes pulled up. "they didn't go to the house. here are their marks on the left--here, beside the laurel bushes! ah, i said so!" as he spoke a woman's shrill scream--a scream which vibrated with a frenzy of horror--burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front of us. it ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle. "this way! this way! they are in the bowling alley," cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. "ah, the cowardly dogs! follow me, gentlemen! too late! too late! by the living jingo!" we had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surrounded by ancient trees. on the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of three people. one was a woman, our client, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his whole attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. between them an elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation. "they're married!" i gasped. "come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" he rushed across the glade, holmes and i at his heels. as we approached, the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the bully woodley advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant laughter. "you can take your beard off, bob," said he. "i know you right enough. well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to mrs. woodley." our guide's answer was a singular one. he snatched off the dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. then he raised his revolver and covered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous riding-crop swinging in his hand. "yes," said our ally, "i am bob carruthers, and i'll see this woman righted if i have to swing for it. i told you what i'd do if you molested her, and, by the lord, i'll be as good as my word!" "you're too late. she's my wife!" "no, she's your widow." his revolver cracked, and i saw the blood spurt from the front of woodley's waistcoat. he spun round with a scream and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. the old man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul oaths as i have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but before he could raise it he was looking down the barrel of holmes's weapon. "enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "drop that pistol! watson, pick it up! hold it to his head! thank you. you, carruthers, give me that revolver. we'll have no more violence. come, hand it over!" "who are you, then?" "my name is sherlock holmes." "good lord!" "you have heard of me, i see. i will represent the official police until their arrival. here, you!" he shouted to a frightened groom who had appeared at the edge of the glade. "come here. take this note as hard as you can ride to farnham." he scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his note-book. "give it to the superintendent at the police-station. until he comes i must detain you all under my personal custody." the strong, masterful personality of holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands. williamson and carruthers found themselves carrying the wounded woodley into the house, and i gave my arm to the frightened girl. the injured man was laid on his bed, and at holmes's request i examined him. i carried my report to where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him. "he will live," said i. "what!" cried carruthers, springing out of his chair. "i'll go upstairs and finish him first. do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to roaring jack woodley for life?" "you need not concern yourself about that," said holmes. "there are two very good reasons why she should under no circumstances be his wife. in the first place, we are very safe in questioning mr. williamson's right to solemnize a marriage." "i have been ordained," cried the old rascal. "and also unfrocked." "once a clergyman, always a clergyman." "i think not. how about the license?" "we had a license for the marriage. i have it here in my pocket." "then you got it by a trick. but in any case a forced marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before you have finished. you'll have time to think the point out during the next ten years or so, unless i am mistaken. as to you, carruthers, you would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket." "i begin to think so, mr. holmes; but when i thought of all the precaution i had taken to shield this girl--for i loved her, mr. holmes, and it is the only time that ever i knew what love was--it fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in south africa, a man whose name is a holy terror from kimberley to johannesburg. why, mr. holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever since that girl has been in my employment i never once let her go past this house, where i knew these rascals were lurking, without following her on my bicycle just to see that she came to no harm. i kept my distance from her, and i wore a beard so that she should not recognise me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had thought that i was following her about the country roads." "why didn't you tell her of her danger?" "because then, again, she would have left me, and i couldn't bear to face that. even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her voice." "well," said i, "you call that love, mr. carruthers, but i should call it selfishness." "maybe the two things go together. anyhow, i couldn't let her go. besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone near to look after her. then when the cable came i knew they were bound to make a move." "what cable?" carruthers took a telegram from his pocket. "that's it," said he. it was short and concise: the old man is dead. "hum!" said holmes. "i think i see how things worked, and i can understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. but while we wait you might tell me what you can." the old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language. "by heaven," said he, "if you squeal on us, bob carruthers, i'll serve you as you served jack woodley. you can bleat about the girl to your heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on your pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be the worst day's work that ever you did." "your reverence need not be excited," said holmes, lighting a cigarette. "the case is clear enough against you, and all i ask is a few details for my private curiosity. however, if there's any difficulty in your telling me i'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets. in the first place, three of you came from south africa on this game--you williamson, you carruthers, and woodley." "lie number one," said the old man; "i never saw either of them until two months ago, and i have never been in africa in my life, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, mr. busybody holmes!" "what he says is true," said carruthers. "well, well, two of you came over. his reverence is our own home-made article. you had known ralph smith in south africa. you had reason to believe he would not live long. you found out that his niece would inherit his fortune. how's that--eh?" carruthers nodded and williamson swore. "she was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow would make no will." "couldn't read or write," said carruthers. "so you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. the idea was that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of the plunder. for some reason woodley was chosen as the husband. why was that?" "we played cards for her on the voyage. he won." "i see. you got the young lady into your service, and there woodley was to do the courting. she recognised the drunken brute that he was, and would have nothing to do with him. meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. you could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her." "no, by george, i couldn't!" "there was a quarrel between you. he left you in a rage, and began to make his own plans independently of you." "it strikes me, williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this gentleman," cried carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "yes, we quarreled, and he knocked me down. i am level with him on that, anyhow. then i lost sight of him. that was when he picked up with this cast padre here. i found that they had set up house-keeping together at this place on the line that she had to pass for the station. i kept my eye on her after that, for i knew there was some devilry in the wind. i saw them from time to time, for i was anxious to know what they were after. two days ago woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that ralph smith was dead. he asked me if i would stand by the bargain. i said i would not. he asked me if i would marry the girl myself and give him a share. i said i would willingly do so, but that she would not have me. he said, 'let us get her married first, and after a week or two she may see things a bit different.' i said i would have nothing to do with violence. so he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. she was leaving me this week-end, and i had got a trap to take her to the station, but i was so uneasy in my mind that i followed her on my bicycle. she had got a start, however, and before i could catch her the mischief was done. the first thing i knew about it was when i saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart." holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. "i have been very obtuse, watson," said he. "when in your report you said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in the shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. however, we may congratulate ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a unique case. i perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and i am glad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them; so it is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanently damaged by their morning's adventures. i think, watson, that in your medical capacity you might wait upon miss smith and tell her that if she is sufficiently recovered we shall be happy to escort her to her mother's home. if she is not quite convalescent you will find that a hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician in the midlands would probably complete the cure. as to you, mr. carruthers, i think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. there is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help to you in your trial it shall be at your disposal." in the whirl of our incessant activity it has often been difficult for me, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and to give those final details which the curious might expect. each case has been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over the actors have passed for ever out of our busy lives. i find, however, a short note at the end of my manuscripts dealing with this case, in which i have put it upon record that miss violet smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and that she is now the wife of cyril morton, the senior partner of morton & kennedy, the famous westminster electricians. williamson and woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the former getting seven years and the latter ten. of the fate of carruthers i have no record, but i am sure that his assault was not viewed very gravely by the court, since woodley had the reputation of being a most dangerous ruffian, and i think that a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice. the adventure of the priory school we have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at baker street, but i cannot recollect anything more sudden and startling than the first appearance of thorneycroft huxtable, m.a., ph.d., etc. his card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered himself--so large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very embodiment of self-possession and solidity. and yet his first action when the door had closed behind him was to stagger against the table, whence he slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic figure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearthrug. we had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silent amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of some sudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. then holmes hurried with a cushion for his head and i with brandy for his lips. the heavy white face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the closed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. collar and shirt bore the grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head. it was a sorely-stricken man who lay before us. "what is it, watson?" asked holmes. "absolute exhaustion--possibly mere hunger and fatigue," said i, with my finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and small. "return ticket from mackleton, in the north of england," said holmes, drawing it from the watch-pocket. "it is not twelve o'clock yet. he has certainly been an early starter." the puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked up at us. an instant later the man had scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson with shame. "forgive this weakness, mr. holmes; i have been a little overwrought. thank you, if i might have a glass of milk and a biscuit i have no doubt that i should be better. i came personally, mr. holmes, in order to ensure that you would return with me. i feared that no telegram would convince you of the absolute urgency of the case." "when you are quite restored-- "i am quite well again. i cannot imagine how i came to be so weak. i wish you, mr. holmes, to come to mackleton with me by the next train." my friend shook his head. "my colleague, dr. watson, could tell you that we are very busy at present. i am retained in this case of the ferrers documents, and the abergavenny murder is coming up for trial. only a very important issue could call me from london at present." "important!" our visitor threw up his hands. "have you heard nothing of the abduction of the only son of the duke of holdernesse?" "what! the late cabinet minister?" "exactly. we had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was some rumour in the globe last night. i thought it might have reached your ears." holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out volume "h" in his encyclopaedia of reference. "'holdernesse, 6th duke, k.g., p.c.'--half the alphabet! 'baron beverley, earl of carston'--dear me, what a list! 'lord lieutenant of hallamshire since 1900. married edith, daughter of sir charles appledore, 1888. heir and only child, lord saltire. owns about two hundred and fifty thousand acres. minerals in lancashire and wales. address: carlton house terrace; holdernesse hall, hallamshire; carston castle, bangor, wales. lord of the admiralty, 1872; chief secretary of state for--' well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the crown!" "the greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. i am aware, mr. holmes, that you take a very high line in professional matters, and that you are prepared to work for the work's sake. i may tell you, however, that his grace has already intimated that a cheque for five thousand pounds will be handed over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and another thousand to him who can name the man, or men, who have taken him." "it is a princely offer," said holmes. "watson, i think that we shall accompany dr. huxtable back to the north of england. and now, dr. huxtable, when you have consumed that milk you will kindly tell me what has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally, what dr. thorneycroft huxtable, of the priory school, near mackleton, has to do with the matter, and why he comes three days after an event--the state of your chin gives the date--to ask for my humble services." our visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. the light had come back to his eyes and the colour to his cheeks as he set himself with great vigour and lucidity to explain the situation. "i must inform you, gentlemen, that the priory is a preparatory school, of which i am the founder and principal. 'huxtable's sidelights on horace' may possibly recall my name to your memories. the priory is, without exception, the best and most select preparatory school in england. lord leverstoke, the earl of blackwater, sir cathcart soames--they all have entrusted their sons to me. but i felt that my school had reached its zenith when, three weeks ago, the duke of holdernesse sent mr. james wilder, his secretary, with the intimation that young lord saltire, ten years old, his only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. little did i think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune of my life. "on may 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of the summer term. he was a charming youth, and he soon fell into our ways. i may tell you--i trust that i am not indiscreet, but half-confidences are absurd in such a case--that he was not entirely happy at home. it is an open secret that the duke's married life had not been a peaceful one, and the matter had ended in a separation by mutual consent, the duchess taking up her residence in the south of france. this had occurred very shortly before, and the boy's sympathies are known to have been strongly with his mother. he moped after her departure from holdernesse hall, and it was for this reason that the duke desired to send him to my establishment. in a fortnight the boy was quite at home with us, and was apparently absolutely happy. "he was last seen on the night of may 13th--that is, the night of last monday. his room was on the second floor, and was approached through another larger room in which two boys were sleeping. these boys saw and heard nothing, so that it is certain that young saltire did not pass out that way. his window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. we could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is the only possible exit. "his absence was discovered at seven o'clock on tuesday morning. his bed had been slept in. he had dressed himself fully before going off in his usual school suit of black eton jacket and dark grey trousers. there were no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite certain that anything in the nature of cries, or a struggle, would have been heard, since caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper. "when lord saltire's disappearance was discovered i at once called a roll of the whole establishment, boys, masters, and servants. it was then that we ascertained that lord saltire had not been alone in his flight. heidegger, the german master, was missing. his room was on the second floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way as lord saltire's. his bed had also been slept in; but he had apparently gone away partly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. he had undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marks of his feet where he had landed on the lawn. his bicycle was kept in a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was gone. "he had been with me for two years, and came with the best references; but he was a silent, morose man, not very popular either with masters or boys. no trace could be found of the fugitives, and now on thursday morning we are as ignorant as we were on tuesday. inquiry was, of course, made at once at holdernesse hall. it is only a few miles away, and we imagined that in some sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone back to his father; but nothing had been heard of him. the duke is greatly agitated--and as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of nervous prostration to which the suspense and the responsibility have reduced me. mr. holmes, if ever you put forward your full powers, i implore you to do so now, for never in your life could you have a case which is more worthy of them." sherlock holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to the statement of the unhappy schoolmaster. his drawn brows and the deep furrow between them showed that he needed no exhortation to concentrate all his attention upon a problem which, apart from the tremendous interests involved, must appeal so directly to his love of the complex and the unusual. he now drew out his note-book and jotted down one or two memoranda. "you have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner," said he, severely. "you start me on my investigation with a very serious handicap. it is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this lawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer." "i am not to blame, mr. holmes. his grace was extremely desirous to avoid all public scandal. he was afraid of his family unhappiness being dragged before the world. he has a deep horror of anything of the kind." "but there has been some official investigation?" "yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. an apparent clue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported to have been seen leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. only last night we had news that the couple had been hunted down in liverpool, and they prove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. then it was that in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, i came straight to you by the early train." "i suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this false clue was being followed up?" "it was entirely dropped." "so that three days have been wasted. the affair has been most deplorably handled." "i feel it, and admit it." "and yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. i shall be very happy to look into it. have you been able to trace any connection between the missing boy and this german master?" "none at all." "was he in the master's class?" "no; he never exchanged a word with him so far as i know." "that is certainly very singular. had the boy a bicycle?" "no." "was any other bicycle missing?" "no." "is that certain?" "quite." "well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that this german rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night bearing the boy in his arms?" "certainly not." "then what is the theory in your mind?" "the bicycle may have been a blind. it may have been hidden somewhere and the pair gone off on foot." "quite so; but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? were there other bicycles in this shed?" "several." "would he not have hidden a couple he desired to give the idea that they had gone off upon them?" "i suppose he would." "of course he would. the blind theory won't do. but the incident is an admirable starting-point for an investigation. after all, a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. one other question. did anyone call to see the boy on the day before he disappeared?" "no." "did he get any letters?" "yes; one letter." "from whom?" "from his father." "do you open the boys' letters?" "no." "how do you know it was from the father?" "the coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressed in the duke's peculiar stiff hand. besides, the duke remembers having written." "when had he a letter before that?" "not for several days." "had he ever one from france?" "no; never." "you see the point of my questions, of course. either the boy was carried off by force or he went of his own free will. in the latter case you would expect that some prompting from outside would be needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. if he has had no visitors, that prompting must have come in letters. hence i try to find out who were his correspondents." "i fear i cannot help you much. his only correspondent, so far as i know, was his own father." "who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. were the relations between father and son very friendly?" "his grace is never very friendly with anyone. he is completely immersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary emotions. but he was always kind to the boy in his own way." "but the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?" "yes." "did he say so?" "no." "the duke, then?" "good heavens, no!" "then how could you know?" "i have had some confidential talks with mr. james wilder, his grace's secretary. it was he who gave me the information about lord saltire's feelings." "i see. by the way, that last letter of the duke's--was it found in the boy's room after he was gone?" "no; he had taken it with him. i think, mr. holmes, it is time that we were leaving for euston." "i will order a four-wheeler. in a quarter of an hour we shall be at your service. if you are telegraphing home, mr. huxtable, it would be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is still going on in liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led your pack. in the meantime i will do a little quiet work at your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like watson and myself may get a sniff of it." that evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the peak country, in which dr. huxtable's famous school is situated. it was already dark when we reached it. a card was lying on the hall table, and the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation in every heavy feature. "the duke is here," said he. "the duke and mr. wilder are in the study. come, gentlemen, and i will introduce you." i was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman, but the man himself was very different from his representation. he was a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. his complexion was of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. such was the stately presence who looked stonily at us from the centre of dr. huxtable's hearthrug. beside him stood a very young man, whom i understood to be wilder, the private secretary. he was small, nervous, alert, with intelligent, light-blue eyes and mobile features. it was he who at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation. "i called this morning, dr. huxtable, too late to prevent you from starting for london. i learned that your object was to invite mr. sherlock holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. his grace is surprised, dr. huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without consulting him." "when i learned that the police had failed--" "his grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed." "but surely, mr. wilder--" "you are well aware, dr. huxtable, that his grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public scandal. he prefers to take as few people as possible into his confidence." "the matter can be easily remedied," said the brow-beaten doctor; "mr. sherlock holmes can return to london by the morning train." "hardly that, doctor, hardly that," said holmes, in his blandest voice. "this northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so i propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best i may. whether i have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for you to decide." i could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage of indecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red-bearded duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong. "i agree with mr. wilder, dr. huxtable, that you would have done wisely to consult me. but since mr. holmes has already been taken into your confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not avail ourselves of his services. far from going to the inn, mr. holmes, i should be pleased if you would come and stay with me at holdernesse hall." "i thank your grace. for the purposes of my investigation i think that it would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of the mystery." "just as you like, mr. holmes. any information which mr. wilder or i can give you is, of course, at your disposal." "it will probably be necessary for me to see you at the hall," said holmes. "i would only ask you now, sir, whether you have formed any explanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance of your son?" "no, sir, i have not." "excuse me if i allude to that which is painful to you, but i have no alternative. do you think that the duchess had anything to do with the matter?" the great minister showed perceptible hesitation. "i do not think so," he said, at last. "the other most obvious explanation is that the child has been kidnapped for the purpose of levying ransom. you have not had any demand of the sort?" "no, sir." "one more question, your grace. i understand that you wrote to your son upon the day when this incident occurred." "no; i wrote upon the day before." "exactly. but he received it on that day?" "yes." "was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him or induced him to take such a step?" "no, sir, certainly not." "did you post that letter yourself?" the nobleman's reply was interrupted by his secretary, who broke in with some heat. "his grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself," said he. "this letter was laid with others upon the study table, and i myself put them in the post-bag." "you are sure this one was among them?" "yes; i observed it." "how many letters did your grace write that day?" "twenty or thirty. i have a large correspondence. but surely this is somewhat irrelevant?" "not entirely," said holmes. "for my own part," the duke continued, "i have advised the police to turn their attention to the south of france. i have already said that i do not believe that the duchess would encourage so monstrous an action, but the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that he may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this german. i think, dr. huxtable, that we will now return to the hall." i could see that there were other questions which holmes would have wished to put; but the nobleman's abrupt manner showed that the interview was at an end. it was evident that to his intensely aristocratic nature this discussion of his intimate family affairs with a stranger was most abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly shadowed corners of his ducal history. when the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flung himself at once with characteristic eagerness into the investigation. the boy's chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothing save the absolute conviction that it was only through the window that he could have escaped. the german master's room and effects gave no further clue. in his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and we saw by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels had come down. that one dint in the short green grass was the only material witness left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight. sherlock holmes left the house alone, and only returned after eleven. he had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, having balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, and occasionally to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of his pipe. "this case grows upon me, watson," said he. "there are decidedly some points of interest in connection with it. in this early stage i want you to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal to do with our investigation. "look at this map. this dark square is the priory school. i'll put a pin in it. now, this line is the main road. you see that it runs east and west past the school, and you see also that there is no side road for a mile either way. if these two folk passed away by road it was this road." [ picture: chart of the surrounding area ] "exactly." "by a singular and happy chance we are able to some extent to check what passed along this road during the night in question. at this point, where my pipe is now resting, a country constable was on duty from twelve to six. it is, as you perceive, the first cross road on the east side. this man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant, and he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen. i have spoken with this policeman to-night, and he appears to me to be a perfectly reliable person. that blocks this end. we have now to deal with the other. there is an inn here, the red bull, the landlady of which was ill. she had sent to mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive until morning, being absent at another case. the people at the inn were alert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them seems to have continually had an eye upon the road. they declare that no one passed. if their evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives did not use the road at all." "but the bicycle?" i objected. "quite so. we will come to the bicycle presently. to continue our reasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must have traversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the house. that is certain. let us weigh the one against the other. on the south of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land, cut up into small fields, with stone walls between them. there, i admit that a bicycle is impossible. we can dismiss the idea. we turn to the country on the north. here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the 'ragged shaw,' and on the farther side stretches a great rolling moor, lower gill moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upwards. here, at one side of this wilderness, is holdernesse hall, ten miles by road, but only six across the moor. it is a peculiarly desolate plain. a few moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep and cattle. except these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants until you come to the chesterfield high road. there is a church there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. beyond that the hills become precipitous. surely it is here to the north that our quest must lie." "but the bicycle?" i persisted. "well, well!" said holmes, impatiently. "a good cyclist does not need a high road. the moor is intersected with paths and the moon was at the full. halloa! what is this?" there was an agitated knock at the door, and an instant afterwards dr. huxtable was in the room. in his hand he held a blue cricket-cap, with a white chevron on the peak. "at last we have a clue!" he cried. "thank heaven! at last we are on the dear boy's track! it is his cap." "where was it found?" "in the van of the gipsies who camped on the moor. they left on tuesday. to-day the police traced them down and examined their caravan. this was found." "how do they account for it?" "they shuffled and lied--said that they found it on the moor on tuesday morning. they know where he is, the rascals! thank goodness, they are all safe under lock and key. either the fear of the law or the duke's purse will certainly get out of them all that they know." "so far, so good," said holmes, when the doctor had at last left the room. "it at least bears out the theory that it is on the side of the lower gill moor that we must hope for results. the police have really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies. look here, watson! there is a watercourse across the moor. you see it marked here in the map. in some parts it widens into a morass. this is particularly so in the region between holdernesse hall and the school. it is vain to look elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather; but at that point there is certainly a chance of some record being left. i will call you early to-morrow morning, and you and i will try if we can throw some little light upon the mystery." the day was just breaking when i woke to find the long, thin form of holmes by my bedside. he was fully dressed, and had apparently already been out. "i have done the lawn and the bicycle shed," said he. "i have also had a ramble through the ragged shaw. now, watson, there is cocoa ready in the next room. i must beg you to hurry, for we have a great day before us." his eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie ready before him. a very different holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamer of baker street. i felt, as i looked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited us. and yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. with high hopes we struck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheep paths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked the morass between us and holdernesse. certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without leaving his traces. but no sign of him or the german could be seen. with a darkening face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy surface. sheep-marks there were in profusion, and at one place, some miles down, cows had left their tracks. nothing more. "check number one," said holmes, looking gloomily over the rolling expanse of the moor. "there is another morass down yonder and a narrow neck between. halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?" we had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. in the middle of it, clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle. "hurrah!" i cried. "we have it." but holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous. "a bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle," said he. "i am familiar with forty-two different impressions left by tyres. this, as you perceive, is a dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. heidegger's tyres were palmer's, leaving longitudinal stripes. aveling, the mathematical master, was sure upon the point. therefore, it is not heidegger's track." "the boy's, then?" "possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in his possession. but this we have utterly failed to do. this track, as you perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the direction of the school." "or towards it?" "no, no, my dear watson. the more deeply sunk impression is, of course, the hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. you perceive several places where it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow mark of the front one. it was undoubtedly heading away from the school. it may or may not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards before we go any farther." we did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracks as we emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. following the path backwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across it. here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the hoofs of cows. after that there was no sign, but the path ran right on into ragged shaw, the wood which backed on to the school. from this wood the cycle must have emerged. holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin in his hands. i had smoked two cigarettes before he moved. "well, well," said he, at last. "it is, of course, possible that a cunning man might change the tyre of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliar tracks. a criminal who was capable of such a thought is a man whom i should be proud to do business with. we will leave this question undecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good deal unexplored." we continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sodden portion of the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached it. an impression like a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran down the centre of it. it was the palmer tyre. "here is herr heidegger, sure enough!" cried holmes, exultantly. "my reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, watson." "i congratulate you." "but we have a long way still to go. kindly walk clear of the path. now let us follow the trail. i fear that it will not lead very far." we found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor is intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more. "do you observe," said holmes, "that the rider is now undoubtedly forcing the pace? there can be no doubt of it. look at this impression, where you get both tyres clear. the one is as deep as the other. that can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does when he is sprinting. by jove! he has had a fall." there was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the track. then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre reappeared once more. "a side-slip," i suggested. holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. to my horror i perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. on the path, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted blood. "bad!" said holmes. "bad! stand clear, watson! not an unnecessary footstep! what do i read here? he fell wounded, he stood up, he remounted, he proceeded. but there is no other track. cattle on this side path. he was surely not gored by a bull? impossible! but i see no traces of anyone else. we must push on, watson. surely with stains as well as the track to guide us he cannot escape us now." our search was not a very long one. the tracks of the tyre began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. suddenly, as i looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. out of them we dragged a bicycle, palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. on the other side of the bushes a shoe was projecting. we ran round, and there lay the unfortunate rider. he was a tall man, full bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out. the cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed in part of his skull. that he could have gone on after receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man. he wore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath it. it was undoubtedly the german master. holmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it with great attention. he then sat in deep thought for a time, and i could see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced us much in our inquiry. "it is a little difficult to know what to do, watson," said he, at last. "my own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. on the other hand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to see that this poor fellow's body is looked after." "i could take a note back." "but i need your company and assistance. wait a bit! there is a fellow cutting peat up yonder. bring him over here, and he will guide the police." i brought the peasant across, and holmes dispatched the frightened man with a note to dr. huxtable. "now, watson," said he, "we have picked up two clues this morning. one is the bicycle with the palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to. the other is the bicycle with the patched dunlop. before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental." "first of all i wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left of his own free will. he got down from his window and he went off, either alone or with someone. that is sure." i assented. "well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate german master. the boy was fully dressed when he fled. therefore, he foresaw what he would do. but the german went without his socks. he certainly acted on very short notice." "undoubtedly." "why did he go? because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flight of the boy. because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. he seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death." "so it would seem." "now i come to the critical part of my argument. the natural action of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. he would know that he could overtake him. but the german does not do so. he turns to his bicycle. i am told that he was an excellent cyclist. he would not do this if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape." "the other bicycle." "let us continue our reconstruction. he meets his death five miles from the school--not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. the lad, then, had a companion in his flight. and the flight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them. yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. what do we find? a few cattle tracks, nothing more. i took a wide sweep round, and there is no path within fifty yards. another cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actual murder. nor were there any human footmarks." "holmes," i cried, "this is impossible." "admirable!" he said. "a most illuminating remark. it is impossible as i state it, and therefore i must in some respect have stated it wrong. yet you saw for yourself. can you suggest any fallacy?" "he could not have fractured his skull in a fall?" "in a morass, watson?" "i am at my wit's end." "tut, tut; we have solved some worse problems. at least we have plenty of material, if we can only use it. come, then, and, having exhausted the palmer, let us see what the dunlop with the patched cover has to offer us." we picked up the track and followed it onwards for some distance; but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the watercourse behind us. no further help from tracks could be hoped for. at the spot where we saw the last of the dunlop tyre it might equally have led to holdernesse hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey village which lay in front of us, and marked the position of the chesterfield high road. as we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of a game-cock above the door, holmes gave a sudden groan and clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. he had had one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. with difficulty he limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a black clay pipe. "how are you, mr. reuben hayes?" said holmes. "who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?" the countryman answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes. "well, it's printed on the board above your head. it's easy to see a man who is master of his own house. i suppose you haven't such a thing as a carriage in your stables?" "no; i have not." "i can hardly put my foot to the ground." "don't put it to the ground." "but i can't walk." "well, then, hop." mr. reuben hayes's manner was far from gracious, but holmes took it with admirable good-humour. "look here, my man," said he. "this is really rather an awkward fix for me. i don't mind how i get on." "neither do i," said the morose landlord. "the matter is very important. i would offer you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle." the landlord pricked up his ears. "where do you want to go?" "to holdernesse hall." "pals of the dook, i suppose?" said the landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments with ironical eyes. holmes laughed good-naturedly. "he'll be glad to see us, anyhow." "why?" "because we bring him news of his lost son." the landlord gave a very visible start. "what, you're on his track?" "he has been heard of in liverpool. they expect to get him every hour." again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. his manner was suddenly genial. "i've less reason to wish the dook well than most men," said he, "for i was his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. it was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler. but i'm glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in liverpool, and i'll help you to take the news to the hall." "thank you," said holmes. "we'll have some food first. then you can bring round the bicycle." "i haven't got a bicycle." holmes held up a sovereign. "i tell you, man, that i haven't got one. i'll let you have two horses as far as the hall." "well, well," said holmes, "we'll talk about it when we've had something to eat." when we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen it was astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. it was nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we spent some time over our meal. holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. it opened on to a squalid courtyard. in the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. on the other side were the stables. holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud exclamation. "by heaven, watson, i believe that i've got it!" he cried. "yes, yes, it must be so. watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?" "yes, several." "where?" "well, everywhere. they were at the morass, and again on the path, and again near where poor heidegger met his death." "exactly. well, now, watson, how many cows did you see on the moor?" "i don't remember seeing any." "strange, watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but never a cow on the whole moor; very strange, watson, eh?" "yes, it is strange." "now, watson, make an effort; throw your mind back! can you see those tracks upon the path?" "yes, i can." "can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, watson"--he arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion--: : : : :--"and sometimes like this"--: ` : ` : ` : `--"and occasionally like this"--. ` . ` . ` . "can you remember that?" "no, i cannot." "but i can. i could swear to it. however, we will go back at our leisure and verify it. what a blind beetle i have been not to draw my conclusion!" "and what is your conclusion?" "only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. by george, watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought out such a blind as that! the coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in the smithy. let us slip out and see what we can see." there were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down stable. holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud. "old shoes, but newly shod--old shoes, but new nails. this case deserves to be a classic. let us go across to the smithy." the lad continued his work without regarding us. i saw holmes's eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was scattered about the floor. suddenly, however, we heard a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. he held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that i was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket. "you infernal spies!" the man cried. "what are you doing there?" "why, mr. reuben hayes," said holmes, coolly, "one might think that you were afraid of our finding something out." the man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown. "you're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy," said he. "but look here, mister, i don't care for folk poking about my place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the better i shall be pleased." "all right, mr. hayes--no harm meant," said holmes. "we have been having a look at your horses, but i think i'll walk after all. it's not far, i believe." "not more than two miles to the hall gates. that's the road to the left." he watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises. we did not go very far along the road, for holmes stopped the instant that the curve hid us from the landlord's view. "we were warm, as the children say, at that inn," said he. "i seem to grow colder every step that i take away from it. no, no; i can't possibly leave it." "i am convinced," said i, "that this reuben hayes knows all about it. a more self-evident villain i never saw." "oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? there are the horses, there is the smithy. yes, it is an interesting place, this fighting cock. i think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way." a long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders, stretched behind us. we had turned off the road, and were making our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of holdernesse hall, i saw a cyclist coming swiftly along. "get down, watson!" cried holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder. we had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. amid a rolling cloud of dust i caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face--a face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. it was like some strange caricature of the dapper james wilder whom we had seen the night before. "the duke's secretary!" cried holmes. "come, watson, let us see what he does." we scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had made our way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn. wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. no one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of holdernesse hall. then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of chesterfield. "what do you make of that, watson?" holmes whispered. "it looks like a flight." "a single man in a dog-cart, so far as i could see. well, it certainly was not mr. james wilder, for there he is at the door." a red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. in the middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out into the night. it was evident that he was expecting someone. then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more. five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor. "it seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the fighting cock," said holmes. "the bar is on the other side." "quite so. these are what one may call the private guests. now, what in the world is mr. james wilder doing in that den at this hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? come, watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely." together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the inn. the bicycle still leaned against the wall. holmes struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and i heard him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched dunlop tyre. up above us was the lighted window. "i must have a peep through that, watson. if you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall, i think that i can manage." an instant later his feet were on my shoulders. but he was hardly up before he was down again. "come, my friend," said he, "our day's work has been quite long enough. i think that we have gathered all that we can. it's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better." he hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to mackleton station, whence he could send some telegrams. late at night i heard him consoling dr. huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. "all goes well, my friend," said he. "i promise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery." at eleven o'clock next morning my friend and i were walking up the famous yew avenue of holdernesse hall. we were ushered through the magnificent elizabethan doorway and into his grace's study. there we found mr. james wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in his twitching features. "you have come to see his grace? i am sorry; but the fact is that the duke is far from well. he has been very much upset by the tragic news. we received a telegram from dr. huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told us of your discovery." "i must see the duke, mr. wilder." "but he is in his room." "then i must go to his room." "i believe he is in his bed." "i will see him there." holmes's cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it was useless to argue with him. "very good, mr. holmes; i will tell him that you are here." after half an hour's delay the great nobleman appeared. his face was more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. he greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on to the table. "well, mr. holmes?" said he. but my friend's eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by his master's chair. "i think, your grace, that i could speak more freely in mr. wilder's absence." the man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at holmes. "if your grace wishes--" "yes, yes; you had better go. now, mr. holmes, what have you to say?" my friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating secretary. "the fact is, your grace," said he, "that my colleague, dr. watson, and myself had an assurance from dr. huxtable that a reward had been offered in this case. i should like to have this confirmed from your own lips." "certainly, mr. holmes." "it amounted, if i am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?" "exactly." "and another thousand to the man who will name the person or persons who keep him in custody?" "exactly." "under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those who may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in his present position?" "yes, yes," cried the duke, impatiently. "if you do your work well, mr. sherlock holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardly treatment." my friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes. "i fancy that i see your grace's cheque-book upon the table," said he. "i should be glad if you would make me out a cheque for six thousand pounds. it would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. the capital and counties bank, oxford street branch, are my agents." his grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and looked stonily at my friend. "is this a joke, mr. holmes? it is hardly a subject for pleasantry." "not at all, your grace. i was never more earnest in my life." "what do you mean, then?" "i mean that i have earned the reward. i know where your son is, and i know some, at least, of those who are holding him." the duke's beard had turned more aggressively red than ever against his ghastly white face. "where is he?" he gasped. "he is, or was last night, at the fighting cock inn, about two miles from your park gate." the duke fell back in his chair. "and whom do you accuse?" sherlock holmes's answer was an astounding one. he stepped swiftly forward and touched the duke upon the shoulder. "i accuse you," said he. "and now, your grace, i'll trouble you for that cheque." never shall i forget the duke's appearance as he sprang up and clawed with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and sank his face in his hands. it was some minutes before he spoke. "how much do you know?" he asked at last, without raising his head. "i saw you together last night." "does anyone else besides your friend know?" "i have spoken to no one." the duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his cheque-book. "i shall be as good as my word, mr. holmes. i am about to write your cheque, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may be to me. when the offer was first made i little thought the turn which events might take. but you and your friend are men of discretion, mr. holmes?" "i hardly understand your grace." "i must put it plainly, mr. holmes. if only you two know of this incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. i think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that i owe you, is it not?" but holmes smiled and shook his head. "i fear, your grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily. there is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for." "but james knew nothing of that. you cannot hold him responsible for that. it was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune to employ." "i must take the view, your grace, that when a man embarks upon a crime he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it." "morally, mr. holmes. no doubt you are right. but surely not in the eyes of the law. a man cannot be condemned for a murder at which he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do. the instant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so filled was he with horror and remorse. he lost not an hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. oh, mr. holmes, you must save him--you must save him! i tell you that you must save him!" the duke had dropped the last attempt at self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and with his clenched hands raving in the air. at last he mastered himself and sat down once more at his desk. "i appreciate your conduct in coming here before you spoke to anyone else," said he. "at least, we may take counsel how far we can minimize this hideous scandal." "exactly," said holmes. "i think, your grace, that this can only be done by absolute and complete frankness between us. i am disposed to help your grace to the best of my ability; but in order to do so i must understand to the last detail how the matter stands. i realize that your words applied to mr. james wilder, and that he is not the murderer." "no; the murderer has escaped." sherlock holmes smiled demurely. "your grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which i possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. mr. reuben hayes was arrested at chesterfield on my information at eleven o'clock last night. i had a telegram from the head of the local police before i left the school this morning." the duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my friend. "you seem to have powers that are hardly human," said he. "so reuben hayes is taken? i am right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon the fate of james." "your secretary?" "no, sir; my son." it was holmes's turn to look astonished. "i confess that this is entirely new to me, your grace. i must beg you to be more explicit." "i will conceal nothing from you. i agree with you that complete frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in this desperate situation to which james's folly and jealousy have reduced us. when i was a very young man, mr. holmes, i loved with such a love as comes only once in a lifetime. i offered the lady marriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match might mar my career. had she lived i would certainly never have married anyone else. she died, and left this one child, whom for her sake i have cherished and cared for. i could not acknowledge the paternity to the world; but i gave him the best of educations, and since he came to manhood i have kept him near my person. he surprised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon the claim which he has upon me and upon his power of provoking a scandal, which would be abhorrent to me. his presence had something to do with the unhappy issue of my marriage. above all, he hated my young legitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. you may well ask me why, under these circumstances, i still kept james under my roof. i answer that it was because i could see his mother's face in his, and that for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. all her pretty ways, too--there was not one of them which he could not suggest and bring back to my memory. i could not send him away. but i feared so much lest he should do arthur--that is, lord saltire--a mischief that i dispatched him for safety to dr. huxtable's school. "james came into contact with this fellow hayes because the man was a tenant of mine, and james acted as agent. the fellow was a rascal from the beginning; but in some extraordinary way james became intimate with him. he had always a taste for low company. when james determined to kidnap lord saltire it was of this man's service that he availed himself. you remember that i wrote to arthur upon that last day. well, james opened the letter and inserted a note asking arthur to meet him in a little wood called the ragged shaw, which is near to the school. he used the duchess's name, and in that way got the boy to come. that evening james bicycled over--i am telling you what he has himself confessed to me--and he told arthur, whom he met in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her. poor arthur fell into the trap. he came to the appointment and found this fellow hayes with a led pony. arthur mounted, and they set off together. it appears--though this james only heard yesterday--that they were pursued, that hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. hayes brought arthur to his public-house, the fighting cock, where he was confined in an upper room, under the care of mrs. hayes, who is a kindly woman, but entirely under the control of her brutal husband. "well, mr. holmes, that was the state of affairs when i first saw you two days ago. i had no more idea of the truth than you. you will ask me what was james's motive in doing such a deed. i answer that there was a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred which he bore my heir. in his view he should himself have been heir of all my estates, and he deeply resented those social laws which made it impossible. at the same time he had a definite motive also. he was eager that i should break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay in my power to do so. he intended to make a bargain with me--to restore arthur if i would break the entail, and so make it possible for the estate to be left to him by will. he knew well that i should never willingly invoke the aid of the police against him. i say that he would have proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do so, for events moved too quickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans into practice. "what brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery of this man heidegger's dead body. james was seized with horror at the news. it came to us yesterday as we sat together in this study. dr. huxtable had sent a telegram. james was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation that my suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and i taxed him with the deed. he made a complete voluntary confession. then he implored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to give his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. i yielded--as i have always yielded--to his prayers, and instantly james hurried off to the fighting cock to warn hayes and give him the means of flight. i could not go there by daylight without provoking comment, but as soon as night fell i hurried off to see my dear arthur. i found him safe and well, but horrified beyond expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. in deference to my promise, and much against my will, i consented to leave him there for three days under the charge of mrs. hayes, since it was evident that it was impossible to inform the police where he was without telling them also who was the murderer, and i could not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin to my unfortunate james. you asked for frankness, mr. holmes, and i have taken you at your word, for i have now told you everything without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. do you in turn be as frank with me." "i will," said holmes. "in the first place, your grace, i am bound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most serious position in the eyes of the law. you have condoned a felony and you have aided the escape of a murderer; for i cannot doubt that any money which was taken by james wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your grace's purse." the duke bowed his assent. "this is indeed a most serious matter. even more culpable in my opinion, your grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. you leave him in this den for three days." "under solemn promises--" "what are promises to such people as these? you have no guarantee that he will not be spirited away again. to humour your guilty elder son you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary danger. it was a most unjustifiable action." the proud lord of holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated in his own ducal hall. the blood flushed into his high forehead, but his conscience held him dumb. "i will help you, but on one condition only. it is that you ring for the footman and let me give such orders as i like." without a word the duke pressed the electric bell. a servant entered. "you will be glad to hear," said holmes, "that your young master is found. it is the duke's desire that the carriage shall go at once to the fighting cock inn to bring lord saltire home. "now," said holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared, "having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with the past. i am not in an official position, and there is no reason, so long as the ends of justice are served, why i should disclose all that i know. as to hayes i say nothing. the gallows awaits him, and i would do nothing to save him from it. what he will divulge i cannot tell, but i have no doubt that your grace could make him understand that it is to his interest to be silent. from the police point of view he will have kidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom. if they do not themselves find it out i see no reason why i should prompt them to take a broader point of view. i would warn your grace, however, that the continued presence of mr. james wilder in your household can only lead to misfortune." "i understand that, mr. holmes, and it is already settled that he shall leave me for ever and go to seek his fortune in australia." "in that case, your grace, since you have yourself stated that any unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, i would suggest that you make such amends as you can to the duchess, and that you try to resume those relations which have been so unhappily interrupted." "that also i have arranged, mr. holmes. i wrote to the duchess this morning." "in that case," said holmes, rising, "i think that my friend and i can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from our little visit to the north. there is one other small point upon which i desire some light. this fellow hayes had shod his horses with shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. was it from mr. wilder that he learned so extraordinary a device?" the duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intense surprise on his face. then he opened a door and showed us into a large room furnished as a museum. he led the way to a glass case in a corner, and pointed to the inscription. "these shoes," it ran, "were dug up in the moat of holdernesse hall. they are for the use of horses; but they are shaped below with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. they are supposed to have belonged to some of the marauding barons of holdernesse in the middle ages." holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it along the shoe. a thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin. "thank you," said he, as he replaced the glass. "it is the second most interesting object that i have seen in the north." "and the first?" holmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in his note-book. "i am a poor man," said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust it into the depths of his inner pocket. the adventure of black peter i have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental and physical, than in the year '95. his increasing fame had brought with it an immense practice, and i should be guilty of an indiscretion if i were even to hint at the identity of some of the illustrious clients who crossed our humble threshold in baker street. holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in the case of the duke of holdernesse, i have seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimable services. so unworldly was he--or so capricious--that he frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where the problem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would devote weeks of most intense application to the affairs of some humble client whose case presented those strange and dramatic qualities which appealed to his imagination and challenged his ingenuity. in this memorable year '95 a curious and incongruous succession of cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation of the sudden death of cardinal tosca--an inquiry which was carried out by him at the express desire of his holiness the pope--down to his arrest of wilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the east-end of london. close on the heels of these two famous cases came the tragedy of woodman's lee, and the very obscure circumstances which surrounded the death of captain peter carey. no record of the doings of mr. sherlock holmes would be complete which did not include some account of this very unusual affair. during the first week of july my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that i knew he had something on hand. the fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for captain basil made me understand that holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. he had at least five small refuges in different parts of london in which he was able to change his personality. he said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence. the first positive sign which he gave me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. he had gone out before breakfast, and i had sat down to mine, when he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm. "good gracious, holmes!" i cried. "you don't mean to say that you have been walking about london with that thing?" "i drove to the butcher's and back." "the butcher's?" "and i return with an excellent appetite. there can be no question, my dear watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. but i am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken." "i will not attempt it." he chuckled as he poured out the coffee. "if you could have looked into allardyce's back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. i was that energetic person, and i have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can i transfix the pig with a single blow. perhaps you would care to try?" "not for worlds. but why were you doing this?" "because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of woodman's lee. ah, hopkins, i got your wire last night, and i have been expecting you. come and join us." our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was accustomed to official uniform. i recognised him at once as stanley hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future holmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famous amateur. hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection. "no, thank you, sir. i breakfasted before i came round. i spent the night in town, for i came up yesterday to report." "and what had you to report?" "failure, sir; absolute failure." "you have made no progress?" "none." "dear me! i must have a look at the matter." "i wish to heavens that you would, mr. holmes. it's my first big chance, and i am at my wit's end. for goodness' sake come down and lend me a hand." "well, well, it just happens that i have already read all the available evidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. by the way, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of the crime? is there no clue there?" hopkins looked surprised. "it was the man's own pouch, sir. his initials were inside it. and it was of seal-skin--and he an old sealer." "but he had no pipe." "no, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he smoked very little. and yet he might have kept some tobacco for his friends." "no doubt. i only mention it because if i had been handling the case i should have been inclined to make that the starting-point of my investigation. however, my friend dr. watson knows nothing of this matter, and i should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of events once more. just give us some short sketch of the essentials." stanley hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket. "i have a few dates here which will give you the career of the dead man, captain peter carey. he was born in '45--fifty years of age. he was a most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. in 1883 he commanded the steam sealer sea unicorn, of dundee. he had then had several successful voyages in succession, and in the following year, 1884, he retired. after that he travelled for some years, and finally he bought a small place called woodman's lee, near forest row, in sussex. there he has lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day. "there were some most singular points about the man. in ordinary life he was a strict puritan--a silent, gloomy fellow. his household consisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two female servants. these last were continually changing, for it was never a very cheery situation, and sometimes it became past all bearing. the man was an intermittent drunkard, and when he had the fit on him he was a perfect fiend. he has been known to drive his wife and his daughter out of doors in the middle of the night, and flog them through the park until the whole village outside the gates was aroused by their screams. "he was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old vicar, who had called upon him to remonstrate with him upon his conduct. in short, mr. holmes, you would go far before you found a more dangerous man than peter carey, and i have heard that he bore the same character when he commanded his ship. he was known in the trade as black peter, and the name was given him, not only on account of his swarthy features and the colour of his huge beard, but for the humours which were the terror of all around him. i need not say that he was loathed and avoided by every one of his neighbours, and that i have not heard one single word of sorrow about his terrible end. "you must have read in the account of the inquest about the man's cabin, mr. holmes; but perhaps your friend here has not heard of it. he had built himself a wooden outhouse--he always called it 'the cabin'--a few hundred yards from his house, and it was here that he slept every night. it was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten. he kept the key in his pocket, made his own bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other foot to cross the threshold. there are small windows on each side, which were covered by curtains and never opened. one of these windows was turned towards the high road, and when the light burned in it at night the folk used to point it out to each other and wonder what black peter was doing in there. that's the window, mr. holmes, which gave us one of the few bits of positive evidence that came out at the inquest. "you remember that a stonemason, named slater, walking from forest row about one o'clock in the morning--two days before the murder--stopped as he passed the grounds and looked at the square of light still shining among the trees. he swears that the shadow of a man's head turned sideways was clearly visible on the blind, and that this shadow was certainly not that of peter carey, whom he knew well. it was that of a bearded man, but the beard was short and bristled forwards in a way very different from that of the captain. so he says, but he had been two hours in the public-house, and it is some distance from the road to the window. besides, this refers to the monday, and the crime was done upon the wednesday. "on the tuesday peter carey was in one of his blackest moods, flushed with drink and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. he roamed about the house, and the women ran for it when they heard him coming. late in the evening he went down to his own hut. about two o'clock the following morning his daughter, who slept with her window open, heard a most fearful yell from that direction, but it was no unusual thing for him to bawl and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was taken. on rising at seven one of the maids noticed that the door of the hut was open, but so great was the terror which the man caused that it was midday before anyone would venture down to see what had become of him. peeping into the open door they saw a sight which sent them flying with white faces into the village. within an hour i was on the spot and had taken over the case. "well, i have fairly steady nerves, as you know, mr. holmes, but i give you my word that i got a shake when i put my head into that little house. it was droning like a harmonium with the flies and bluebottles, and the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house. he had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was sure enough, for you would have thought that you were in a ship. there was a bunk at one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts, a picture of the sea unicorn, a line of log-books on a shelf, all exactly as one would expect to find it in a captain's room. and there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. right through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. he was pinned like a beetle on a card. of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he had uttered that last yell of agony. "i know your methods, sir, and i applied them. before i permitted anything to be moved i examined most carefully the ground outside, and also the floor of the room. there were no footmarks." "meaning that you saw none?" "i assure you, sir, that there were none." "my good hopkins, i have investigated many crimes, but i have never yet seen one which was committed by a flying creature. as long as the criminal remains upon two legs so long must there be some indentation, some abrasion, some trifling displacement which can be detected by the scientific searcher. it is incredible that this blood-bespattered room contained no trace which could have aided us. i understand, however, from the inquest that there were some objects which you failed to overlook?" the young inspector winced at my companion's ironical comments. "i was a fool not to call you in at the time, mr. holmes. however, that's past praying for now. yes, there were several objects in the room which called for special attention. one was the harpoon with which the deed was committed. it had been snatched down from a rack on the wall. two others remained there, and there was a vacant place for the third. on the stock was engraved 's.s.. sea unicorn, dundee.' this seemed to establish that the crime had been done in a moment of fury, and that the murderer had seized the first weapon which came in his way. the fact that the crime was committed at two in the morning, and yet peter carey was fully dressed, suggested that he had an appointment with the murderer, which is borne out by the fact that a bottle of rum and two dirty glasses stood upon the table." "yes," said holmes; "i think that both inferences are permissible. was there any other spirit but rum in the room?" "yes; there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on the sea-chest. it is of no importance to us, however, since the decanters were full, and it had therefore not been used." "for all that its presence has some significance," said holmes. "however, let us hear some more about the objects which do seem to you to bear upon the case." "there was this tobacco-pouch upon the table." "what part of the table?" "it lay in the middle. it was of coarse seal-skin--the straight-haired skin, with a leather thong to bind it. inside was 'p.c.' on the flap. there was half an ounce of strong ship's tobacco in it." "excellent! what more?" stanley hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered note-book. the outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. on the first page were written the initials "j.h.n." and the date "1883." holmes laid it on the table and examined it in his minute way, while hopkins and i gazed over each shoulder. on the second page were the printed letters "c.p.r.," and then came several sheets of numbers. another heading was argentine, another costa rica, and another san paulo, each with pages of signs and figures after it. "what do you make of these?" asked holmes. "they appear to be lists of stock exchange securities. i thought that 'j.h.n.' were the initials of a broker, and that 'c.p.r.' may have been his client." "try canadian pacific railway," said holmes. stanley hopkins swore between his teeth and struck his thigh with his clenched hand. "what a fool i have been!" he cried. "of course, it is as you say. then 'j.h.n.' are the only initials we have to solve. i have already examined the old stock exchange lists, and i can find no one in 1883 either in the house or among the outside brokers whose initials correspond with these. yet i feel that the clue is the most important one that i hold. you will admit, mr. holmes, that there is a possibility that these initials are those of the second person who was present--in other words, of the murderer. i would also urge that the introduction into the case of a document relating to large masses of valuable securities gives us for the first time some indication of a motive for the crime." sherlock holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken aback by this new development. "i must admit both your points," said he. "i confess that this note-book, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any views which i may have formed. i had come to a theory of the crime in which i can find no place for this. have you endeavoured to trace any of the securities here mentioned?" "inquiries are now being made at the offices, but i fear that the complete register of the stockholders of these south american concerns is in south america, and that some weeks must elapse before we can trace the shares." holmes had been examining the cover of the note-book with his magnifying lens. "surely there is some discolouration here," said he. "yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. i told you that i picked the book off the floor." "was the blood-stain above or below?" "on the side next the boards." "which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after the crime was committed." "exactly, mr. holmes. i appreciated that point, and i conjectured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. it lay near the door." "i suppose that none of these securities have been found among the property of the dead man?" "no, sir." "have you any reason to suspect robbery?" "no, sir. nothing seemed to have been touched." "dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case. then there was a knife, was there not?" "a sheath-knife, still in its sheath. it lay at the feet of the dead man. mrs. carey has identified it as being her husband's property." holmes was lost in thought for some time. "well," said he, at last, "i suppose i shall have to come out and have a look at it." stanley hopkins gave a cry of joy. "thank you, sir. that will indeed be a weight off my mind." holmes shook his finger at the inspector. "it would have been an easier task a week ago," said he. "but even now my visit may not be entirely fruitless. watson, if you can spare the time i should be very glad of your company. if you will call a four-wheeler, hopkins, we shall be ready to start for forest row in a quarter of an hour." alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some miles through the remains of widespread woods, which were once part of that great forest which for so long held the saxon invaders at bay--the impenetrable "weald," for sixty years the bulwark of britain. vast sections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat of the first iron-works of the country, and the trees have been felled to smelt the ore. now the richer fields of the north have absorbed the trade, and nothing save these ravaged groves and great scars in the earth show the work of the past. here in a clearing upon the green slope of a hill stood a long, low stone house, approached by a curving drive running through the fields. nearer the road, and surrounded on three sides by bushes, was a small outhouse, one window and the door facing in our direction. it was the scene of the murder. stanley hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to a haggard, grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and ill-usage which she had endured. with her was her daughter, a pale, fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at us as she told us that she was glad that her father was dead, and that she blessed the hand which had struck him down. it was a terrible household that black peter carey had made for himself, and it was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves in the sunlight again and making our way along a path which had been worn across the fields by the feet of the dead man. the outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled, shingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the farther side. stanley hopkins drew the key from his pocket, and had stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look of attention and surprise upon his face. "someone has been tampering with it," he said. there could be no doubt of the fact. the woodwork was cut and the scratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been that instant done. holmes had been examining the window. "someone has tried to force this also. whoever it was has failed to make his way in. he must have been a very poor burglar." "this is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector; "i could swear that these marks were not here yesterday evening." "some curious person from the village, perhaps," i suggested. "very unlikely. few of them would dare to set foot in the grounds, far less try to force their way into the cabin. what do you think of it, mr. holmes?" "i think that fortune is very kind to us." "you mean that the person will come again?" "it is very probable. he came expecting to find the door open. he tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife. he could not manage it. what would he do?" "come again next night with a more useful tool." "so i should say. it will be our fault if we are not there to receive him. meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin." the traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture within the little room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime. for two hours, with most intense concentration, holmes examined every object in turn, but his face showed that his quest was not a successful one. once only he paused in his patient investigation. "have you taken anything off this shelf, hopkins?" "no; i have moved nothing." "something has been taken. there is less dust in this corner of the shelf than elsewhere. it may have been a book lying on its side. it may have been a box. well, well, i can do nothing more. let us walk in these beautiful woods, watson, and give a few hours to the birds and the flowers. we shall meet you here later, hopkins, and see if we can come to closer quarters with the gentleman who has paid this visit in the night." it was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade. hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but holmes was of the opinion that this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger. the lock was a perfectly simple one, and only a strong blade was needed to push it back. holmes also suggested that we should wait, not inside the hut, but outside it among the bushes which grew round the farther window. in this way we should be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and see what his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit. it was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it something of the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside the water pool and waits for the coming of the thirsty beast of prey. what savage creature was it which might steal upon us out of the darkness? was it a fierce tiger of crime, which could only be taken fighting hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerous only to the weak and unguarded? in absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting for whatever might come. at first the steps of a few belated villagers, or the sound of voices from the village, lightened our vigil; but one by one these interruptions died away and an absolute stillness fell upon us, save for the chimes of the distant church, which told us of the progress of the night, and for the rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid the foliage which roofed us in. half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which precedes the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click came from the direction of the gate. someone had entered the drive. again there was a long silence, and i had begun to fear that it was a false alarm, when a stealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a moment later a metallic scraping and clinking. the man was trying to force the lock! this time his skill was greater or his tool was better, for there was a sudden snap and the creak of the hinges. then a match was struck, and next instant the steady light from a candle filled the interior of the hut. through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon the scene within. the nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. he could not have been much above twenty years of age. i have never seen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly chattering and he was shaking in every limb. he was dressed like a gentleman, in norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head. we watched him staring round with frightened eyes. then he laid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view into one of the corners. he returned with a large book, one of the log-books which formed a line upon the shelves. leaning on the table he rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry which he sought. then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it in the corner, and put out the light. he had hardly turned to leave the hut when hopkins's hand was on the fellow's collar, and i heard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he was taken. the candle was re-lit, and there was our wretched captive shivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective. he sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the other. "now, my fine fellow," said stanley hopkins, "who are you, and what do you want here?" the man pulled himself together and faced us with an effort at self-composure. "you are detectives, i suppose?" said he. "you imagine i am connected with the death of captain peter carey. i assure you that i am innocent." "we'll see about that," said hopkins. "first of all, what is your name?" "it is john hopley neligan." i saw holmes and hopkins exchange a quick glance. "what are you doing here?" "can i speak confidentially?" "no, certainly not." "why should i tell you?" "if you have no answer it may go badly with you at the trial." the young man winced. "well, i will tell you," he said. "why should i not? and yet i hate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. did you ever hear of dawson and neligan?" i could see from hopkins's face that he never had; but holmes was keenly interested. "you mean the west-country bankers," said he. "they failed for a million, ruined half the county families of cornwall, and neligan disappeared." "exactly. neligan was my father." at last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a long gap between an absconding banker and captain peter carey pinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons. we all listened intently to the young man's words. "it was my father who was really concerned. dawson had retired. i was only ten years of age at the time, but i was old enough to feel the shame and horror of it all. it has always been said that my father stole all the securities and fled. it is not true. it was his belief that if he were given time in which to realize them all would be well and every creditor paid in full. he started in his little yacht for norway just before the warrant was issued for his arrest. i can remember that last night when he bade farewell to my mother. he left us a list of the securities he was taking, and he swore that he would come back with his honour cleared, and that none who had trusted him would suffer. well, no word was ever heard from him again. both the yacht and he vanished utterly. we believed, my mother and i, that he and it, with the securities that he had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea. we had a faithful friend, however, who is a business man, and it was he who discovered some time ago that some of the securities which my father had with him have reappeared on the london market. you can imagine our amazement. i spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, after many doublings and difficulties, i discovered that the original seller had been captain peter carey, the owner of this hut. "naturally, i made some inquiries about the man. i found that he had been in command of a whaler which was due to return from the arctic seas at the very time when my father was crossing to norway. the autumn of that year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession of southerly gales. my father's yacht may well have been blown to the north, and there met by captain peter carey's ship. if that were so, what had become of my father? in any case, if i could prove from peter carey's evidence how these securities came on the market it would be a proof that my father had not sold them, and that he had no view to personal profit when he took them. "i came down to sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. i read at the inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated that the old log-books of his vessel were preserved in it. it struck me that if i could see what occurred in the month of august, 1883, on board the sea unicorn, i might settle the mystery of my father's fate. i tried last night to get at these log-books, but was unable to open the door. to-night i tried again, and succeeded; but i find that the pages which deal with that month have been torn from the book. it was at that moment i found myself a prisoner in your hands." "is that all?" asked hopkins. "yes, that is all." his eyes shifted as he said it. "you have nothing else to tell us?" he hesitated. "no; there is nothing." "you have not been here before last night?" "no." "then how do you account for that?" cried hopkins, as he held up the damning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf and the blood-stain on the cover. the wretched man collapsed. he sank his face in his hands and trembled all over. "where did you get it?" he groaned. "i did not know. i thought i had lost it at the hotel." "that is enough," said hopkins, sternly. "whatever else you have to say you must say in court. you will walk down with me now to the police-station. well, mr. holmes, i am very much obliged to you and to your friend for coming down to help me. as it turns out your presence was unnecessary, and i would have brought the case to this successful issue without you; but none the less i am very grateful. rooms have been reserved for you at the brambletye hotel, so we can all walk down to the village together." "well, watson, what do you think of it?" asked holmes, as we travelled back next morning. "i can see that you are not satisfied." "oh, yes, my dear watson, i am perfectly satisfied. at the same time stanley hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. i am disappointed in stanley hopkins. i had hoped for better things from him. one should always look for a possible alternative and provide against it. it is the first rule of criminal investigation." "what, then, is the alternative?" "the line of investigation which i have myself been pursuing. it may give us nothing. i cannot tell. but at least i shall follow it to the end." several letters were waiting for holmes at baker street. he snatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of laughter. "excellent, watson. the alternative develops. have you telegraph forms? just write a couple of messages for me: 'sumner, shipping agent, ratcliff highway. send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrow morning.--basil.' that's my name in those parts. the other is: 'inspector stanley hopkins, 46, lord street, brixton. come breakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. important. wire if unable to come.--sherlock holmes.' there, watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days. i hereby banish it completely from my presence. to-morrow i trust that we shall hear the last of it for ever." sharp at the hour named inspector stanley hopkins appeared, and we sat down together to the excellent breakfast which mrs. hudson had prepared. the young detective was in high spirits at his success. "you really think that your solution must be correct?" asked holmes. "i could not imagine a more complete case." "it did not seem to me conclusive." "you astonish me, mr. holmes. what more could one ask for?" "does your explanation cover every point?" "undoubtedly. i find that young neligan arrived at the brambletye hotel on the very day of the crime. he came on the pretence of playing golf. his room was on the ground-floor, and he could get out when he liked. that very night he went down to woodman's lee, saw peter carey at the hut, quarrelled with him, and killed him with the harpoon. then, horrified by what he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the note-book which he had brought with him in order to question peter carey about these different securities. you may have observed that some of them were marked with ticks, and the others--the great majority--were not. those which are ticked have been traced on the london market; but the others presumably were still in the possession of carey, and young neligan, according to his own account, was anxious to recover them in order to do the right thing by his father's creditors. after his flight he did not dare to approach the hut again for some time; but at last he forced himself to do so in order to obtain the information which he needed. surely that is all simple and obvious?" holmes smiled and shook his head. "it seems to me to have only one drawback, hopkins, and that is that it is intrinsically impossible. have you tried to drive a harpoon through a body? no? tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really pay attention to these details. my friend watson could tell you that i spent a whole morning in that exercise. it is no easy matter, and requires a strong and practised arm. but this blow was delivered with such violence that the head of the weapon sank deep into the wall. do you imagine that this anaemic youth was capable of so frightful an assault? is he the man who hobnobbed in rum and water with black peter in the dead of the night? was it his profile that was seen on the blind two nights before? no, no, hopkins; it is another and a more formidable person for whom we must seek." the detective's face had grown longer and longer during holmes's speech. his hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him. but he would not abandon his position without a struggle. "you can't deny that neligan was present that night, mr. holmes. the book will prove that. i fancy that i have evidence enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it. besides, mr. holmes, i have laid my hand upon my man. as to this terrible person of yours, where is he?" "i rather fancy that he is on the stair," said holmes, serenely. "i think, watson, that you would do well to put that revolver where you can reach it." he rose, and laid a written paper upon a side-table. "now we are ready," said he. there had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and now mrs. hudson opened the door to say that there were three men inquiring for captain basil. "show them in one by one," said holmes. the first who entered was a little ribston-pippin of a man, with ruddy cheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. holmes had drawn a letter from his pocket. "what name?" he asked. "james lancaster." "i am sorry, lancaster, but the berth is full. here is half a sovereign for your trouble. just step into this room and wait there for a few minutes." the second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair and sallow cheeks. his name was hugh pattins. he also received his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait. the third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. a fierce bull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and two bold dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted, overhung eyebrows. he saluted and stood sailor-fashion, turning his cap round in his hands. "your name?" asked holmes. "patrick cairns." "harpooner?" "yes, sir. twenty-six voyages." "dundee, i suppose?" "yes, sir." "and ready to start with an exploring ship?" "yes, sir." "what wages?" "eight pounds a month." "could you start at once?" "as soon as i get my kit." "have you your papers?" "yes, sir." he took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from his pocket. holmes glanced over them and returned them. "you are just the man i want," said he. "here's the agreement on the side-table. if you sign it the whole matter will be settled." the seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen. "shall i sign here?" he asked, stooping over the table. holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over his neck. "this will do," said he. i heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. the next instant holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground together. he was a man of such gigantic strength that, even with the handcuffs which holmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrists, he would have very quickly overpowered my friend had hopkins and i not rushed to his rescue. only when i pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at last understand that resistance was vain. we lashed his ankles with cord and rose breathless from the struggle. "i must really apologize, hopkins," said sherlock holmes; "i fear that the scrambled eggs are cold. however, you will enjoy the rest of your breakfast all the better, will you not, for the thought that you have brought your case to a triumphant conclusion." stanley hopkins was speechless with amazement. "i don't know what to say, mr. holmes," he blurted out at last, with a very red face. "it seems to me that i have been making a fool of myself from the beginning. i understand now, what i should never have forgotten, that i am the pupil and you are the master. even now i see what you have done, but i don't know how you did it, or what it signifies." "well, well," said holmes, good-humouredly. "we all learn by experience, and your lesson this time is that you should never lose sight of the alternative. you were so absorbed in young neligan that you could not spare a thought to patrick cairns, the true murderer of peter carey." the hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation. "see here, mister," said he, "i make no complaint of being man-handled in this fashion, but i would have you call things by their right names. you say i murdered peter carey; i say i killed peter carey, and there's all the difference. maybe you don't believe what i say. maybe you think i am just slinging you a yarn." "not at all," said holmes. "let us hear what you have to say." "it's soon told, and, by the lord, every word of it is truth. i knew black peter, and when he pulled out his knife i whipped a harpoon through him sharp, for i knew that it was him or me. that's how he died. you can call it murder. anyhow, i'd as soon die with a rope round my neck as with black peter's knife in my heart." "how came you there?" asked holmes. "i'll tell it you from the beginning. just sit me up a little so as i can speak easy. it was in '83 that it happened--august of that year. peter carey was master of the sea unicorn, and i was spare harpooner. we were coming out of the ice-pack on our way home, with head winds and a week's southerly gale, when we picked up a little craft that had been blown north. there was one man on her--a landsman. the crew had thought she would founder, and had made for the norwegian coast in the dinghy. i guess they were all drowned. well, we took him on board, this man, and he and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin. all the baggage we took off with him was one tin box. so far as i know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on the second night he disappeared as if he had never been. it was given out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen overboard in the heavy weather that we were having. only one man knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for with my own eyes i saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over the rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we sighted the shetland lights. "well, i kept my knowledge to myself and waited to see what would come of it. when we got back to scotland it was easily hushed up, and nobody asked any questions. a stranger died by an accident, and it was nobody's business to inquire. shortly after peter carey gave up the sea, and it was long years before i could find where he was. i guessed that he had done the deed for the sake of what was in that tin box, and that he could afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut. "i found out where he was through a sailor man that had met him in london, and down i went to squeeze him. the first night he was reasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would make me free of the sea for life. we were to fix it all two nights later. when i came i found him three parts drunk and in a vile temper. we sat down and we drank and we yarned about old times, but the more he drank the less i liked the look on his face. i spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and i thought i might need it before i was through. then at last he broke out at me, spitting and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his hand. he had not time to get it from the sheath before i had the harpoon through him. heavens! what a yell he gave; and his face gets between me and my sleep! i stood there, with his blood splashing round me, and i waited for a bit; but all was quiet, so i took heart once more. i looked round, and there was the tin box on a shelf. i had as much right to it as peter carey, anyhow, so i took it with me and left the hut. like a fool i left my baccy-pouch upon the table. "now i'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. i had hardly got outside the hut when i heard someone coming, and i hid among the bushes. a man came slinking along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as he could run until he was out of sight. who he was or what he wanted is more than i can tell. for my part i walked ten miles, got a train at tunbridge wells, and so reached london, and no one the wiser. "well, when i came to examine the box i found there was no money in it, and nothing but papers that i would not dare to sell. i had lost my hold on black peter, and was stranded in london without a shilling. there was only my trade left. i saw these advertisements about harpooners and high wages, so i went to the shipping agents, and they sent me here. that's all i know, and i say again that if i killed black peter the law should give me thanks, for i saved them the price of a hempen rope." "a very clear statement," said holmes, rising and lighting his pipe. "i think, hopkins, that you should lose no time in conveying your prisoner to a place of safety. this room is not well adapted for a cell, and mr. patrick cairns occupies too large a proportion of our carpet." "mr. holmes," said hopkins, "i do not know how to express my gratitude. even now i do not understand how you attained this result." "simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from the beginning. it is very possible if i had known about this note-book it might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours. but all i heard pointed in the one direction. the amazing strength, the skill in the use of the harpoon, the rum and water, the seal-skin tobacco-pouch, with the coarse tobacco--all these pointed to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler. i was convinced that the initials 'p.c.' upon the pouch were a coincidence, and not those of peter carey, since he seldom smoked, and no pipe was found in his cabin. you remember that i asked whether whisky and brandy were in the cabin. you said they were. how many landsmen are there who would drink rum when they could get these other spirits? yes, i was certain it was a seaman." "and how did you find him?" "my dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. if it were a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with him on the sea unicorn. so far as i could learn he had sailed in no other ship. i spent three days in wiring to dundee, and at the end of that time i had ascertained the names of the crew of the sea unicorn in 1883. when i found patrick cairns among the harpooners my research was nearing its end. i argued that the man was probably in london, and that he would desire to leave the country for a time. i therefore spent some days in the east-end, devised an arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for harpooners who would serve under captain basil--and behold the result!" "wonderful!" cried hopkins. "wonderful!" "you must obtain the release of young neligan as soon as possible," said holmes. "i confess that i think you owe him some apology. the tin box must be returned to him, but, of course, the securities which peter carey has sold are lost for ever. there's the cab, hopkins, and you can remove your man. if you want me for the trial, my address and that of watson will be somewhere in norway--i'll send particulars later." the adventure of charles augustus milverton it is years since the incidents of which i speak took place, and yet it is with diffidence that i allude to them. for a long time, even with the utmost discretion and reticence, it would have been impossible to make the facts public; but now the principal person concerned is beyond the reach of human law, and with due suppression the story may be told in such fashion as to injure no one. it records an absolutely unique experience in the career both of mr. sherlock holmes and of myself. the reader will excuse me if i conceal the date or any other fact by which he might trace the actual occurrence. we had been out for one of our evening rambles, holmes and i, and had returned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter's evening. as holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. he glanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on the floor. i picked it up and read:-- charles augustus milverton, appledore towers, hampstead. agent. "who is he?" i asked. "the worst man in london," holmes answered, as he sat down and stretched his legs before the fire. "is anything on the back of the card?" i turned it over. "will call at 6.30--c.a.m.," i read. "hum! he's about due. do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation, watson, when you stand before the serpents in the zoo and see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? well, that's how milverton impresses me. i've had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never gave me the repulsion which i have for this fellow. and yet i can't get out of doing business with him--indeed, he is here at my invitation." "but who is he?" "i'll tell you, watson. he is the king of all the blackmailers. heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputation come into the power of milverton. with a smiling face and a heart of marble he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry. the fellow is a genius in his way, and would have made his mark in some more savoury trade. his method is as follows: he allows it to be known that he is prepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromise people of wealth or position. he receives these wares not only from treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians who have gained the confidence and affection of trusting women. he deals with no niggard hand. i happen to know that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family was the result. everything which is in the market goes to milverton, and there are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. no one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too cunning to work from hand to mouth. he will hold a card back for years in order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning. i have said that he is the worst man in london, and i would ask you how could one compare the ruffian who in hot blood bludgeons his mate with this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?" i had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling. "but surely," said i, "the fellow must be within the grasp of the law?" "technically, no doubt, but practically not. what would it profit a woman, for example, to get him a few months' imprisonment if her own ruin must immediately follow? his victims dare not hit back. if ever he blackmailed an innocent person, then, indeed, we should have him; but he is as cunning as the evil one. no, no; we must find other ways to fight him." "and why is he here?" "because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my hands. it is the lady eva brackwell, the most beautiful debutante of last season. she is to be married in a fortnight to the earl of dovercourt. this fiend has several imprudent letters--imprudent, watson, nothing worse--which were written to an impecunious young squire in the country. they would suffice to break off the match. milverton will send the letters to the earl unless a large sum of money is paid him. i have been commissioned to meet him, and--to make the best terms i can." at that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below. looking down i saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. a footman opened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrachan overcoat descended. a minute later he was in the room. charles augustus milverton was a man of fifty, with a large, intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen smile, and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind broad, golden-rimmed glasses. there was something of mr. pickwick's benevolence in his appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the fixed smile and by the hard glitter of those restless and penetrating eyes. his voice was as smooth and suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump little hand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at his first visit. holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him with a face of granite. milverton's smile broadened; he shrugged his shoulders, removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberation over the back of a chair, and then took a seat. "this gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "is it discreet? is it right?" "dr. watson is my friend and partner." "very good, mr. holmes. it is only in your client's interests that i protested. the matter is so very delicate--" "dr. watson has already heard of it." "then we can proceed to business. you say that you are acting for lady eva. has she empowered you to accept my terms?" "what are your terms?" "seven thousand pounds." "and the alternative?" "my dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it; but if the money is not paid on the 14th there certainly will be no marriage on the 18th." his insufferable smile was more complacent than ever. holmes thought for a little. "you appear to me," he said, at last, "to be taking matters too much for granted. i am, of course, familiar with the contents of these letters. my client will certainly do what i may advise. i shall counsel her to tell her future husband the whole story and to trust to his generosity." milverton chuckled. "you evidently do not know the earl," said he. from the baffled look upon holmes's face i could see clearly that he did. "what harm is there in the letters?" he asked. "they are sprightly--very sprightly," milverton answered. "the lady was a charming correspondent. but i can assure you that the earl of dovercourt would fail to appreciate them. however, since you think otherwise, we will let it rest at that. it is purely a matter of business. if you think that it is in the best interests of your client that these letters should be placed in the hands of the earl, then you would indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum of money to regain them." he rose and seized his astrachan coat. holmes was grey with anger and mortification. "wait a little," he said. "you go too fast. we would certainly make every effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter." milverton relapsed into his chair. "i was sure that you would see it in that light," he purred. "at the same time," holmes continued, "lady eva is not a wealthy woman. i assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon her resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power. i beg, therefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you will return the letters at the price i indicate, which is, i assure you, the highest that you can get." milverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously. "i am aware that what you say is true about the lady's resources," said he. "at the same time, you must admit that the occasion of a lady's marriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives to make some little effort upon her behalf. they may hesitate as to an acceptable wedding present. let me assure them that this little bundle of letters would give more joy than all the candelabra and butter-dishes in london." "it is impossible," said holmes. "dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried milverton, taking out a bulky pocket-book. "i cannot help thinking that ladies are ill-advised in not making an effort. look at this!" he held up a little note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. "that belongs to--well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow morning. but at that time it will be in the hands of the lady's husband. and all because she will not find a beggarly sum which she could get by turning her diamonds into paste. it is such a pity. now, you remember the sudden end of the engagement between the honourable miss miles and colonel dorking? only two days before the wedding there was a paragraph in the morning post to say that it was all off. and why? it is almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve hundred pounds would have settled the whole question. is it not pitiful? and here i find you, a man of sense, boggling about terms when your client's future and honour are at stake. you surprise me, mr. holmes." "what i say is true," holmes answered. "the money cannot be found. surely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which i offer than to ruin this woman's career, which can profit you in no way?" "there you make a mistake, mr. holmes. an exposure would profit me indirectly to a considerable extent. i have eight or ten similar cases maturing. if it was circulated among them that i had made a severe example of the lady eva i should find all of them much more open to reason. you see my point?" holmes sprang from his chair. "get behind him, watson! don't let him out! now, sir, let us see the contents of that note-book." milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room, and stood with his back against the wall. "mr. holmes, mr. holmes," he said, turning the front of his coat and exhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the inside pocket. "i have been expecting you to do something original. this has been done so often, and what good has ever come from it? i assure you that i am armed to the teeth, and i am perfectly prepared to use my weapons, knowing that the law will support me. besides, your supposition that i would bring the letters here in a note-book is entirely mistaken. i would do nothing so foolish. and now, gentlemen, i have one or two little interviews this evening, and it is a long drive to hampstead." he stepped forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his revolver, and turned to the door. i picked up a chair, but holmes shook his head and i laid it down again. with bow, a smile, and a twinkle milverton was out of the room, and a few moments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and the rattle of the wheels as he drove away. holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowing embers. for half an hour he was silent and still. then, with the gesture of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet and passed into his bedroom. a little later a rakish young workman with a goatee beard and a swagger lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending into the street. "i'll be back some time, watson," said he, and vanished into the night. i understood that he had opened his campaign against charles augustus milverton; but i little dreamed the strange shape which that campaign was destined to take. for some days holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, but beyond a remark that his time was spent at hampstead, and that it was not wasted, i knew nothing of what he was doing. at last, however, on a wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled against the windows, he returned from his last expedition, and having removed his disguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his silent inward fashion. "you would not call me a marrying man, watson?" "no, indeed!" "you'll be interested to hear that i am engaged." "my dear fellow! i congrat--" "to milverton's housemaid." "good heavens, holmes!" "i wanted information, watson." "surely you have gone too far?" "it was a most necessary step. i am a plumber with a rising business, escott by name. i have walked out with her each evening, and i have talked with her. good heavens, those talks! however, i have got all i wanted. i know milverton's house as i know the palm of my hand." "but the girl, holmes?" he shrugged his shoulders. "you can't help it, my dear watson. you must play your cards as best you can when such a stake is on the table. however, i rejoice to say that i have a hated rival who will certainly cut me out the instant that my back is turned. what a splendid night it is!" "you like this weather?" "it suits my purpose. watson, i mean to burgle milverton's house to-night." i had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words, which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. as a flash of lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail of a wide landscape, so at one glance i seemed to see every possible result of such an action--the detection, the capture, the honoured career ending in irreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at the mercy of the odious milverton. "for heaven's sake, holmes, think what you are doing," i cried. "my dear fellow, i have given it every consideration. i am never precipitate in my actions, nor would i adopt so energetic and indeed so dangerous a course if any other were possible. let us look at the matter clearly and fairly. i suppose that you will admit that the action is morally justifiable, though technically criminal. to burgle his house is no more than to forcibly take his pocket-book--an action in which you were prepared to aid me." i turned it over in my mind. "yes," i said; "it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to take no articles save those which are used for an illegal purpose." "exactly. since it is morally justifiable i have only to consider the question of personal risk. surely a gentleman should not lay much stress upon this when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?" "you will be in such a false position." "well, that is part of the risk. there is no other possible way of regaining these letters. the unfortunate lady has not the money, and there are none of her people in whom she could confide. to-morrow is the last day of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night this villain will be as good as his word and will bring about her ruin. i must, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or i must play this last card. between ourselves, watson, it's a sporting duel between this fellow milverton and me. he had, as you saw, the best of the first exchanges; but my self-respect and my reputation are concerned to fight it to a finish." "well, i don't like it; but i suppose it must be," said i. "when do we start?" "you are not coming." "then you are not going," said i. "i give you my word of honour--and i never broke it in my life--that i will take a cab straight to the police-station and give you away unless you let me share this adventure with you." "you can't help me." "how do you know that? you can't tell what may happen. anyway, my resolution is taken. other people beside you have self-respect and even reputations." holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on the shoulder. "well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. we have shared the same room for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the same cell. you know, watson, i don't mind confessing to you that i have always had an idea that i would have made a highly efficient criminal. this is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. see here!" he took a neat little leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited a number of shining instruments. "this is a first-class, up-to-date burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern improvement which the march of civilization demands. here, too, is my dark lantern. everything is in order. have you a pair of silent shoes?" "i have rubber-soled tennis shoes." "excellent. and a mask?" "i can make a couple out of black silk." "i can see that you have a strong natural turn for this sort of thing. very good; do you make the masks. we shall have some cold supper before we start. it is now nine-thirty. at eleven we shall drive as far as church row. it is a quarter of an hour's walk from there to appledore towers. we shall be at work before midnight. milverton is a heavy sleeper and retires punctually at ten-thirty. with any luck we should be back here by two, with the lady eva's letters in my pocket." holmes and i put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to be two theatre-goers homeward bound. in oxford street we picked up a hansom and drove to an address in hampstead. here we paid off our cab, and with our great-coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold and the wind seemed to blow through us, we walked along the edge of the heath. "it's a business that needs delicate treatment," said holmes. "these documents are contained in a safe in the fellow's study, and the study is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. on the other hand, like all these stout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric sleeper. agatha--that's my fiancee--says it is a joke in the servants' hall that it's impossible to wake the master. he has a secretary who is devoted to his interests and never budges from the study all day. that's why we are going at night. then he has a beast of a dog which roams the garden. i met agatha late the last two evenings, and she locks the brute up so as to give me a clear run. this is the house, this big one in its own grounds. through the gate--now to the right among the laurels. we might put on our masks here, i think. you see, there is not a glimmer of light in any of the windows, and everything is working splendidly." with our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of the most truculent figures in london, we stole up to the silent, gloomy house. a sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined by several windows and two doors. "that's his bedroom," holmes whispered. "this door opens straight into the study. it would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as locked, and we should make too much noise getting in. come round here. there's a greenhouse which opens into the drawing-room." the place was locked, but holmes removed a circle of glass and turned the key from the inside. an instant afterwards he had closed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. the thick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. he seized my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces. holmes had remarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark. still holding my hand in one of his he opened a door, and i was vaguely conscious that we had entered a large room in which a cigar had been smoked not long before. he felt his way among the furniture, opened another door, and closed it behind us. putting out my hand i felt several coats hanging from the wall, and i understood that i was in a passage. we passed along it, and holmes very gently opened a door upon the right-hand side. something rushed out at us and my heart sprang into my mouth, but i could have laughed when i realized that it was the cat. a fire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavy with tobacco smoke. holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and then very gently closed the door. we were in milverton's study, and a portiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom. it was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. near the door i saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even if it had been safe, to turn it on. at one side of the fireplace was a heavy curtain, which covered the bay window we had seen from outside. on the other side was the door which communicated with the veranda. a desk stood in the centre, with a turning chair of shining red leather. opposite was a large bookcase, with a marble bust of athene on the top. in the corner between the bookcase and the wall there stood a tall green safe, the firelight flashing back from the polished brass knobs upon its face. holmes stole across and looked at it. then he crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting head listening intently. no sound came from within. meanwhile it had struck me that it would be wise to secure our retreat through the outer door, so i examined it. to my amazement it was neither locked nor bolted! i touched holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked face in that direction. i saw him start, and he was evidently as surprised as i. "i don't like it," he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. "i can't quite make it out. anyhow, we have no time to lose." "can i do anything?" "yes; stand by the door. if you hear anyone come, bolt it on the inside, and we can get away as we came. if they come the other way, we can get through the door if our job is done, or hide behind these window curtains if it is not. do you understand?" i nodded and stood by the door. my first feeling of fear had passed away, and i thrilled now with a keener zest than i had ever enjoyed when we were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. the high object of our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting interest of the adventure. far from feeling guilty, i rejoiced and exulted in our dangers. with a glow of admiration i watched holmes unrolling his case of instruments and choosing his tool with the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. i knew that the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and i understood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with this green and gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw the reputations of many fair ladies. turning up the cuffs of his dress-coat--he had placed his overcoat on a chair--holmes laid out two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. i stood at the centre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready for any emergency; though, indeed, my plans were somewhat vague as to what i should do if we were interrupted. for half an hour holmes worked with concentrated energy, laying down one tool, picking up another, handling each with the strength and delicacy of the trained mechanic. finally i heard a click, the broad green door swung open, and inside i had a glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed. holmes picked one out, but it was hard to read by the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark lantern, for it was too dangerous, with milverton in the next room, to switch on the electric light. suddenly i saw him halt, listen intently, and then in an instant he had swung the door of the safe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and darted behind the window curtain, motioning me to do the same. it was only when i had joined him there that i heard what had alarmed his quicker senses. there was a noise somewhere within the house. a door slammed in the distance. then a confused, dull murmur broke itself into the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. they were in the passage outside the room. they paused at the door. the door opened. there was a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. the door closed once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borne to our nostrils. then the footsteps continued backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, within a few yards of us. finally, there was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. then a key clicked in a lock and i heard the rustle of papers. so far i had not dared to look out, but now i gently parted the division of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. from the pressure of holmes's shoulder against mine i knew that he was sharing my observations. right in front of us, and almost within our reach, was the broad, rounded back of milverton. it was evident that we had entirely miscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his bedroom, but that he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the farther wing of the house, the windows of which we had not seen. his broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness, was in the immediate foreground of our vision. he was leaning far back in the red leather chair, his legs outstretched, a long black cigar projecting at an angle from his mouth. he wore a semi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured, with a black velvet collar. in his hand he held a long legal document, which he was reading in an indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobacco smoke from his lips as he did so. there was no promise of a speedy departure in his composed bearing and his comfortable attitude. i felt holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers and that he was easy in his mind. i was not sure whether he had seen what was only too obvious from my position, that the door of the safe was imperfectly closed, and that milverton might at any moment observe it. in my own mind i had determined that if i were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his eye, i would at once spring out, throw my great-coat over his head, pinion him, and leave the rest to holmes. but milverton never looked up. he was languidly interested by the papers in his hand, and page after page was turned as he followed the argument of the lawyer. at least, i thought, when he has finished the document and the cigar he will go to his room; but before he had reached the end of either there came a remarkable development which turned our thoughts into quite another channel. several times i had observed that milverton looked at his watch, and once he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience. the idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from the veranda outside. milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his chair. the sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at the door. milverton rose and opened it. "well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half an hour late." so this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal vigil of milverton. there was the gentle rustle of a woman's dress. i had closed the slit between the curtains as milverton's face had turned in our direction, but now i ventured very carefully to open it once more. he had resumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an insolent angle from the corner of his mouth. in front of him, in the full glare of the electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. her breath came quick and fast, and every inch of the lithe figure was quivering with strong emotion. "well," said milverton, "you've made me lose a good night's rest, my dear. i hope you'll prove worth it. you couldn't come any other time--eh?" the woman shook her head. "well, if you couldn't you couldn't. if the countess is a hard mistress you have your chance to get level with her now. bless the girl, what are you shivering about? that's right! pull yourself together! now, let us get down to business." he took a note from the drawer of his desk. "you say that you have five letters which compromise the countess d'albert. you want to sell them. i want to buy them. so far so good. it only remains to fix a price. i should want to inspect the letters, of course. if they are really good specimens--great heavens, is it you?" the woman without a word had raised her veil and dropped the mantle from her chin. it was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face which confronted milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong, dark eyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth set in a dangerous smile. "it is i," she said; "the woman whose life you have ruined." milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. "you were so very obstinate," said he. "why did you drive me to such extremities? i assure you i wouldn't hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has his business, and what was i to do? i put the price well within your means. you would not pay." "so you sent the letters to my husband, and he--the noblest gentleman that ever lived, a man whose boots i was never worthy to lace--he broke his gallant heart and died. you remember that last night when i came through that door i begged and prayed you for mercy, and you laughed in my face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannot keep your lips from twitching? yes, you never thought to see me here again, but it was that night which taught me how i could meet you face to face, and alone. well, charles milverton, what have you to say?" "don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising to his feet. "i have only to raise my voice, and i could call my servants and have you arrested. but i will make allowance for your natural anger. leave the room at once as you came, and i will say no more." the woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same deadly smile on her thin lips. "you will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. you will wring no more hearts as you wrung mine. i will free the world of a poisonous thing. take that, you hound, and that!--and that!--and that!" she had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel after barrel into milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt front. he shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers. then he staggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolled upon the floor. "you've done me," he cried, and lay still. the woman looked at him intently and ground her heel into his upturned face. she looked again, but there was no sound or movement. i heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the heated room, and the avenger was gone. no interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate; but as the woman poured bullet after bullet into milverton's shrinking body i was about to spring out, when i felt holmes's cold, strong grasp upon my wrist. i understood the whole argument of that firm, restraining grip--that it was no affair of ours; that justice had overtaken a villain; that we had our own duties and our own objects which were not to be lost sight of. but hardly had the woman rushed from the room when holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. he turned the key in the lock. at the same instant we heard voices in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. the revolver shots had roused the household. with perfect coolness holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his two arms with bundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire. again and again he did it, until the safe was empty. someone turned the handle and beat upon the outside of the door. holmes looked swiftly round. the letter which had been the messenger of death for milverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table. holmes tossed it in among the blazing papers. then he drew the key from the outer door, passed through after me, and locked it on the outside. "this way, watson," said he; "we can scale the garden wall in this direction." i could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly. looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. the front door was open, and figures were rushing down the drive. the whole garden was alive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we emerged from the veranda and followed hard at our heels. holmes seemed to know the ground perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly among a plantation of small trees, i close at his heels, and our foremost pursuer panting behind us. it was a six-foot wall which barred our path, but he sprang to the top and over. as i did the same i felt the hand of the man behind me grab at my ankle; but i kicked myself free and scrambled over a glass-strewn coping. i fell upon my face among some bushes; but holmes had me on my feet in an instant, and together we dashed away across the huge expanse of hampstead heath. we had run two miles, i suppose, before holmes at last halted and listened intently. all was absolute silence behind us. we had shaken off our pursuers and were safe. we had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after the remarkable experience which i have recorded when mr. lestrade, of scotland yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our modest sitting-room. "good morning, mr. holmes," said he; "good morning. may i ask if you are very busy just now?" "not too busy to listen to you." "i thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case which occurred only last night at hampstead." "dear me!" said holmes. "what was that?" "a murder--a most dramatic and remarkable murder. i know how keen you are upon these things, and i would take it as a great favour if you would step down to appledore towers and give us the benefit of your advice. it is no ordinary crime. we have had our eyes upon this mr. milverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a villain. he is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailing purposes. these papers have all been burned by the murderers. no article of value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure." "criminals!" said holmes. "plural!" "yes, there were two of them. they were, as nearly as possible, captured red-handed. we have their foot-marks, we have their description; it's ten to one that we trace them. the first fellow was a bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener and only got away after a struggle. he was a middle-sized, strongly-built man--square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes." "that's rather vague," said sherlock holmes. "why, it might be a description of watson!" "it's true," said the inspector, with much amusement. "it might be a description of watson." "well, i am afraid i can't help you, lestrade," said holmes. "the fact is that i knew this fellow milverton, that i considered him one of the most dangerous men in london, and that i think there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge. no, it's no use arguing. i have made up my mind. my sympathies are with the criminals rather than with the victim, and i will not handle this case." holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we had witnessed, but i observed all the morning that he was in his most thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyes and his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall something to his memory. we were in the middle of our lunch when he suddenly sprang to his feet. "by jove, watson; i've got it!" he cried. "take your hat! come with me!" he hurried at his top speed down baker street and along oxford street, until we had almost reached regent circus. here on the left hand there stands a shop window filled with photographs of the celebrities and beauties of the day. holmes's eyes fixed themselves upon one of them, and following his gaze i saw the picture of a regal and stately lady in court dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble head. i looked at that delicately-curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, at the straight mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. then i caught my breath as i read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman and statesman whose wife she had been. my eyes met those of holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window. the adventure of the six napoleons it was no very unusual thing for mr. lestrade, of scotland yard, to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to sherlock holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on at the police head-quarters. in return for the news which lestrade would bring, holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the details of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience. on this particular evening lestrade had spoken of the weather and the newspapers. then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar. holmes looked keenly at him. "anything remarkable on hand?" he asked. "oh, no, mr. holmes, nothing very particular." "then tell me about it." lestrade laughed. "well, mr. holmes, there is no use denying that there is something on my mind. and yet it is such an absurd business that i hesitated to bother you about it. on the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and i know that you have a taste for all that is out of the common. but in my opinion it comes more in dr. watson's line than ours." "disease?" said i. "madness, anyhow. and a queer madness too! you wouldn't think there was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred of napoleon the first that he would break any image of him that he could see." holmes sank back in his chair. "that's no business of mine," said he. "exactly. that's what i said. but then, when the man commits burglary in order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman." holmes sat up again. "burglary! this is more interesting. let me hear the details." lestrade took out his official note-book and refreshed his memory from its pages. "the first case reported was four days ago," said he. "it was at the shop of morse hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and statues in the kennington road. the assistant had left the front shop for an instant when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust of napoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. he rushed out into the road, but, although several passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find any means of identifying the rascal. it seemed to be one of those senseless acts of hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to the constable on the beat as such. the plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for any particular investigation. "the second case, however, was more serious and also more singular. it occurred only last night. "in kennington road, and within a few hundred yards of morse hudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, named dr. barnicot, who has one of the largest practices upon the south side of the thames. his residence and principal consulting-room is at kennington road, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary at lower brixton road, two miles away. this dr. barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of napoleon, and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the french emperor. some little time ago he purchased from morse hudson two duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of napoleon by the french sculptor, devine. one of these he placed in his hall in the house at kennington road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at lower brixton. well, when dr. barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken save the plaster head from the hall. it had been carried out and had been dashed savagely against the garden wall, under which its splintered fragments were discovered." holmes rubbed his hands. "this is certainly very novel," said he. "i thought it would please you. but i have not got to the end yet. dr. barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and you can imagine his amazement when, on arriving there, he found that the window had been opened in the night, and that the broken pieces of his second bust were strewn all over the room. it had been smashed to atoms where it stood. in neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue as to the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. now, mr. holmes, you have got the facts." "they are singular, not to say grotesque," said holmes. "may i ask whether the two busts smashed in dr. barnicot's rooms were the exact duplicates of the one which was destroyed in morse hudson's shop?" "they were taken from the same mould." "such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who breaks them is influenced by any general hatred of napoleon. considering how many hundreds of statues of the great emperor must exist in london, it is too much to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust." "well, i thought as you do," said lestrade. "on the other hand, this morse hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of london, and these three were the only ones which had been in his shop for years. so, although, as you say, there are many hundreds of statues in london, it is very probable that these three were the only ones in that district. therefore, a local fanatic would begin with them. what do you think, dr. watson?" "there are no limits to the possibilities of monomania," i answered. "there is the condition which the modern french psychologists have called the 'ide fixe,' which may be trifling in character, and accompanied by complete sanity in every other way. a man who had read deeply about napoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditary family injury through the great war, might conceivably form such an ide fixe and under its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage." "that won't do, my dear watson," said holmes, shaking his head; "for no amount of ide fixe would enable your interesting monomaniac to find out where these busts were situated." "well, how do you explain it?" "i don't attempt to do so. i would only observe that there is a certain method in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. for example, in dr. barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the family, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. the affair seems absurdly trifling, and yet i dare call nothing trivial when i reflect that some of my most classic cases have had the least promising commencement. you will remember, watson, how the dreadful business of the abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. i can't afford, therefore, to smile at your three broken busts, lestrade, and i shall be very much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any fresh developments of so singular a chain of events." the development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker and an infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. i was still dressing in my bedroom next morning when there was a tap at the door and holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. he read it aloud: "come instantly, 131, pitt street, kensington. "lestrade." "what is it, then?" i asked. "don't know--may be anything. but i suspect it is the sequel of the story of the statues. in that case our friend, the image-breaker, has begun operations in another quarter of london. there's coffee on the table, watson, and i have a cab at the door." in half an hour we had reached pitt street, a quiet little backwater just beside one of the briskest currents of london life. no. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings. as we drove up we found the railings in front of the house lined by a curious crowd. holmes whistled. "by george! it's attempted murder at the least. nothing less will hold the london message-boy. there's a deed of violence indicated in that fellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck. what's this, watson? the top steps swilled down and the other ones dry. footsteps enough, anyhow! well, well, there's lestrade at the front window, and we shall soon know all about it." the official received us with a very grave face and showed us into a sitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly man, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. he was introduced to us as the owner of the house--mr. horace harker, of the central press syndicate. "it's the napoleon bust business again," said lestrade. "you seemed interested last night, mr. holmes, so i thought perhaps you would be glad to be present now that the affair has taken a very much graver turn." "what has it turned to, then?" "to murder. mr. harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactly what has occurred?" the man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most melancholy face. "it's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life i have been collecting other people's news, and now that a real piece of news has come my own way i am so confused and bothered that i can't put two words together. if i had come in here as a journalist i should have interviewed myself and had two columns in every evening paper. as it is i am giving away valuable copy by telling my story over and over to a string of different people, and i can make no use of it myself. however, i've heard your name, mr. sherlock holmes, and if you'll only explain this queer business i shall be paid for my trouble in telling you the story." holmes sat down and listened. "it all seems to centre round that bust of napoleon which i bought for this very room about four months ago. i picked it up cheap from harding brothers, two doors from the high street station. a great deal of my journalistic work is done at night, and i often write until the early morning. so it was to-day. i was sitting in my den, which is at the back of the top of the house, about three o'clock, when i was convinced that i heard some sounds downstairs. i listened, but they were not repeated, and i concluded that they came from outside. then suddenly, about five minutes later, there came a most horrible yell--the most dreadful sound, mr. holmes, that ever i heard. it will ring in my ears as long as i live. i sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. then i seized the poker and went downstairs. when i entered this room i found the window wide open, and i at once observed that the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. why any burglar should take such a thing passes my understanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever. "you can see for yourself that anyone going out through that open window could reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. this was clearly what the burglar had done, so i went round and opened the door. stepping out into the dark i nearly fell over a dead man who was lying there. i ran back for a light, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the whole place swimming in blood. he lay on his back, his knees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. i shall see him in my dreams. i had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then i must have fainted, for i knew nothing more until i found the policeman standing over me in the hall." "well, who was the murdered man?" asked holmes. "there's nothing to show who he was," said lestrade. "you shall see the body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. he is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than thirty. he is poorly dressed, and yet does not appear to be a labourer. a horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a pool of blood beside him. whether it was the weapon which did the deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, i do not know. there was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets save an apple, some string, a shilling map of london, and a photograph. here it is." it was evidently taken by a snap-shot from a small camera. it represented an alert, sharp-featured simian man with thick eyebrows, and a very peculiar projection of the lower part of the face like the muzzle of a baboon. "and what became of the bust?" asked holmes, after a careful study of this picture. "we had news of it just before you came. it has been found in the front garden of an empty house in campden house road. it was broken into fragments. i am going round now to see it. will you come?" "certainly. i must just take one look round." he examined the carpet and the window. "the fellow had either very long legs or was a most active man," said he. "with an area beneath, it was no mean feat to reach that window-ledge and open that window. getting back was comparatively simple. are you coming with us to see the remains of your bust, mr. harker?" the disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table. "i must try and make something of it," said he, "though i have no doubt that the first editions of the evening papers are out already with full details. it's like my luck! you remember when the stand fell at doncaster? well, i was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal the only one that had no account of it, for i was too shaken to write it. and now i'll be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep." as we left the room we heard his pen travelling shrilly over the foolscap. the spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was only a few hundred yards away. for the first time our eyes rested upon this presentment of the great emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic and destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. it lay scattered in splintered shards upon the grass. holmes picked up several of them and examined them carefully. i was convinced from his intent face and his purposeful manner that at last he was upon a clue. "well?" asked lestrade. holmes shrugged his shoulders. "we have a long way to go yet," said he. "and yet--and yet--well, we have some suggestive facts to act upon. the possession of this trifling bust was worth more in the eyes of this strange criminal than a human life. that is one point. then there is the singular fact that he did not break it in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was his sole object." "he was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. he hardly knew what he was doing." "well, that's likely enough. but i wish to call your attention very particularly to the position of this house in the garden of which the bust was destroyed." lestrade looked about him. "it was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbed in the garden." "yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street which he must have passed before he came to this one. why did he not break it there, since it is evident that every yard that he carried it increased the risk of someone meeting him?" "i give it up," said lestrade. holmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads. "he could see what he was doing here and he could not there. that was his reason." "by jove! that's true," said the detective. "now that i come to think of it, dr. barnicot's bust was broken not far from his red lamp. well, mr. holmes, what are we to do with that fact?" "to remember it--to docket it. we may come on something later which will bear upon it. what steps do you propose to take now, lestrade?" "the most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identify the dead man. there should be no difficulty about that. when we have found who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good start in learning what he was doing in pitt street last night, and who it was who met him and killed him on the doorstep of mr. horace harker. don't you think so?" "no doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which i should approach the case." "what would you do, then?" "oh, you must not let me influence you in any way! i suggest that you go on your line and i on mine. we can compare notes afterwards, and each will supplement the other." "very good," said lestrade. "if you are going back to pitt street you might see mr. horace harker. tell him from me that i have quite made up my mind, and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with napoleonic delusions was in his house last night. it will be useful for his article." lestrade stared. "you don't seriously believe that?" holmes smiled. "don't i? well, perhaps i don't. but i am sure that it will interest mr. horace harker and the subscribers of the central press syndicate. now, watson, i think that we shall find that we have a long and rather complex day's work before us. i should be glad, lestrade, if you could make it convenient to meet us at baker street at six o'clock this evening. until then i should like to keep this photograph found in the dead man's pocket. it is possible that i may have to ask your company and assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertaken to-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. until then, good-bye and good luck!" sherlock holmes and i walked together to the high street, where he stopped at the shop of harding brothers, whence the bust had been purchased. a young assistant informed us that mr. harding would be absent until after noon, and that he was himself a newcomer who could give us no information. holmes's face showed his disappointment and annoyance. "well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way, watson," he said, at last. "we must come back in the afternoon if mr. harding will not be here until then. i am, as you have no doubt surmised, endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, in order to find if there is not something peculiar which may account for their remarkable fate. let us make for mr. morse hudson, of the kennington road, and see if he can throw any light upon the problem." a drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. he was a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery manner. "yes, sir. on my very counter, sir," said he. "what we pay rates and taxes for i don't know, when any ruffian can come in and break one's goods. yes, sir, it was i who sold dr. barnicot his two statues. disgraceful, sir! a nihilist plot, that's what i make it. no one but an anarchist would go about breaking statues. red republicans, that's what i call 'em. who did i get the statues from? i don't see what that has to do with it. well, if you really want to know, i got them from gelder & co., in church street, stepney. they are a well-known house in the trade, and have been this twenty years. how many had i? three--two and one are three--two of dr. barnicot's and one smashed in broad daylight on my own counter. do i know that photograph? no, i don't. yes, i do, though. why, it's beppo. he was a kind of italian piece-work man, who made himself useful in the shop. he could carve a bit and gild and frame, and do odd jobs. the fellow left me last week, and i've heard nothing of him since. no, i don't know where he came from nor where he went to. i have nothing against him while he was here. he was gone two days before the bust was smashed." "well, that's all we could reasonably expect to get from morse hudson," said holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "we have this beppo as a common factor, both in kennington and in kensington, so that is worth a ten-mile drive. now, watson, let us make for gelder & co., of stepney, the source and origin of busts. i shall be surprised if we don't get some help down there." in rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable london, hotel london, theatrical london, literary london, commercial london, and, finally, maritime london, till we came to a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek with the outcasts of europe. here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy city merchants, we found the sculpture works for which we searched. outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry. inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving or moulding. the manager, a big blond german, received us civilly, and gave a clear answer to all holmes's questions. a reference to his books showed that hundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of devine's head of napoleon, but that the three which had been sent to morse hudson a year or so before had been half of a batch of six, the other three being sent to harding brothers, of kensington. there was no reason why those six should be different to any of the other casts. he could suggest no possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them--in fact, he laughed at the idea. their wholesale price was six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more. the cast was taken in two moulds from each side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of paris were joined together to make the complete bust. the work was usually done by italians in the room we were in. when finished the busts were put on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. that was all he could tell us. but the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon the manager. his face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his blue teutonic eyes. "ah, the rascal!" he cried. "yes, indeed, i know him very well. this has always been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we have ever had the police in it was over this very fellow. it was more than a year ago now. he knifed another italian in the street, and then he came to the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. beppo was his name--his second name i never knew. serve me right for engaging a man with such a face. but he was a good workman, one of the best." "what did he get?" "the man lived and he got off with a year. i have no doubt he is out now; but he has not dared to show his nose here. we have a cousin of his here, and i dare say he could tell you where he is." "no, no," cried holmes, "not a word to the cousin--not a word, i beg you. the matter is very important, and the farther i go with it the more important it seems to grow. when you referred in your ledger to the sale of those casts i observed that the date was june 3rd of last year. could you give me the date when beppo was arrested?" "i could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manager answered. "yes," he continued, after some turning over of pages, "he was paid last on may 20th." "thank you," said holmes. "i don't think that i need intrude upon your time and patience any more." with a last word of caution that he should say nothing as to our researches we turned our faces westward once more. the afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hasty luncheon at a restaurant. a news-bill at the entrance announced "kensington outrage. murder by a madman," and the contents of the paper showed that mr. horace harker had got his account into print after all. two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and flowery rendering of the whole incident. holmes propped it against the cruet-stand and read it while he ate. once or twice he chuckled. "this is all right, watson," said he. "listen to this: "it is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion upon this case, since mr. lestrade, one of the most experienced members of the official force, and mr. sherlock holmes, the well-known consulting expert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. no explanation save mental aberration can cover the facts. "the press, watson, is a most valuable institution if you only know how to use it. and now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back to kensington and see what the manager of harding brothers has to say to the matter." the founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp little person, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue. "yes, sir, i have already read the account in the evening papers. mr. horace harker is a customer of ours. we supplied him with the bust some months ago. we ordered three busts of that sort from gelder & co., of stepney. they are all sold now. to whom? oh, i dare say by consulting our sales book we could very easily tell you. yes, we have the entries here. one to mr. harker, you see, and one to mr. josiah brown, of laburnum lodge, laburnum vale, chiswick, and one to mr. sandeford, of lower grove road, reading. no, i have never seen this face which you show me in the photograph. you would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for i've seldom seen an uglier. have we any italians on the staff? yes, sir, we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. i dare say they might get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to. there is no particular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. well, well, it's a very strange business, and i hope that you'll let me know if anything comes of your inquiries." holmes had taken several notes during mr. harding's evidence, and i could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs were taking. he made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried, we should be late for our appointment with lestrade. sure enough, when we reached baker street the detective was already there, and we found him pacing up and down in a fever of impatience. his look of importance showed that his day's work had not been in vain. "well?" he asked. "what luck, mr. holmes?" "we have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one," my friend explained. "we have seen both the retailers and also the wholesale manufacturers. i can trace each of the busts now from the beginning." "the busts!" cried lestrade. "well, well, you have your own methods, mr. sherlock holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, but i think i have done a better day's work than you. i have identified the dead man." "you don't say so?" "and found a cause for the crime." "splendid!" "we have an inspector who makes a specialty of saffron hill and the italian quarter. well, this dead man had some catholic emblem round his neck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from the south. inspector hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. his name is pietro venucci, from naples, and he is one of the greatest cut-throats in london. he is connected with the mafia, which, as you know, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. now you see how the affair begins to clear up. the other fellow is probably an italian also, and a member of the mafia. he has broken the rules in some fashion. pietro is set upon his track. probably the photograph we found in his pocket is the man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. he dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits outside for him, and in the scuffle he receives his own death-wound. how is that, mr. sherlock holmes?" holmes clapped his hands approvingly. "excellent, lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "but i didn't quite follow your explanation of the destruction of the busts." "the busts! you never can get those busts out of your head. after all, that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. it is the murder that we are really investigating, and i tell you that i am gathering all the threads into my hands." "and the next stage?" "is a very simple one. i shall go down with hill to the italian quarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him on the charge of murder. will you come with us?" "i think not. i fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. i can't say for certain, because it all depends--well, it all depends upon a factor which is completely outside our control. but i have great hopes--in fact, the betting is exactly two to one--that if you will come with us to-night i shall be able to help you to lay him by the heels." "in the italian quarter?" "no; i fancy chiswick is an address which is more likely to find him. if you will come with me to chiswick to-night, lestrade, i'll promise to go to the italian quarter with you to-morrow, and no harm will be done by the delay. and now i think that a few hours' sleep would do us all good, for i do not propose to leave before eleven o'clock, and it is unlikely that we shall be back before morning. you'll dine with us, lestrade, and then you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. in the meantime, watson, i should be glad if you would ring for an express messenger, for i have a letter to send, and it is important that it should go at once." holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the old daily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. when at last he descended it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing to either of us as to the result of his researches. for my own part, i had followed step by step the methods by which he had traced the various windings of this complex case, and, though i could not yet perceive the goal which we would reach, i understood clearly that holmes expected this grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, one of which, i remembered, was at chiswick. no doubt the object of our journey was to catch him in the very act, and i could not but admire the cunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his scheme with impunity. i was not surprised when holmes suggested that i should take my revolver with me. he had himself picked up the loaded hunting-crop which was his favourite weapon. a four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot at the other side of hammersmith bridge. here the cabman was directed to wait. a short walk brought us to a secluded road fringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its own grounds. in the light of a street lamp we read "laburnum villa" upon the gate-post of one of them. the occupants had evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to the garden path. the wooden fence which separated the grounds from the road threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched. "i fear that you'll have a long wait," holmes whispered. "we may thank our stars that it is not raining. i don't think we can even venture to smoke to pass the time. however, it's a two to one chance that we get something to pay us for our trouble." it proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as holmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. in an instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an ape, rushed up the garden path. we saw it whisk past the light thrown from over the door and disappear against the black shadow of the house. there was a long pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very gentle creaking sound came to our ears. the window was being opened. the noise ceased, and again there was a long silence. the fellow was making his way into the house. we saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern inside the room. what he sought was evidently not there, for again we saw the flash through another blind, and then through another. "let us get to the open window. we will nab him as he climbs out," lestrade whispered. but before we could move the man had emerged again. as he came out into the glimmering patch of light we saw that he carried something white under his arm. he looked stealthily all round him. the silence of the deserted street reassured him. turning his back upon us he laid down his burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter and rattle. the man was so intent upon what he was doing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. with the bound of a tiger holmes was on his back, and an instant later lestrade and i had him by either wrist and the handcuffs had been fastened. as we turned him over i saw a hideous, sallow face, with writhing, furious features, glaring up at us, and i knew that it was indeed the man of the photograph whom we had secured. but it was not our prisoner to whom holmes was giving his attention. squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully examining that which the man had brought from the house. it was a bust of napoleon like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had been broken into similar fragments. carefully holmes held each separate shard to the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece of plaster. he had just completed his examination when the hall lights flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund figure in shirt and trousers, presented himself. "mr. josiah brown, i suppose?" said holmes. "yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are mr. sherlock holmes? i had the note which you sent by the express messenger, and i did exactly what you told me. we locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. well, i'm very glad to see that you have got the rascal. i hope, gentlemen, that you will come in and have some refreshment." however, lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters, so within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all four upon our way to london. not a word would our captive say; but he glared at us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. we stayed long enough at the police-station to learn that a search of his clothing revealed nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handle of which bore copious traces of recent blood. "that's all right," said lestrade, as we parted. "hill knows all these gentry, and he will give a name to him. you'll find that my theory of the mafia will work out all right. but i'm sure i am exceedingly obliged to you, mr. holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you laid hands upon him. i don't quite understand it all yet." "i fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations," said holmes. "besides, there are one or two details which are not finished off, and it is one of those cases which are worth working out to the very end. if you will come round once more to my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow i think i shall be able to show you that even now you have not grasped the entire meaning of this business, which presents some features which make it absolutely original in the history of crime. if ever i permit you to chronicle any more of my little problems, watson, i foresee that you will enliven your pages by an account of the singular adventure of the napoleonic busts." when we met again next evening lestrade was furnished with much information concerning our prisoner. his name, it appeared, was beppo, second name unknown. he was a well-known ne'er-do-well among the italian colony. he had once been a skilful sculptor and had earned an honest living, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already been in jail--once for a petty theft and once, as we had already heard, for stabbing a fellow-countryman. he could talk english perfectly well. his reasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused to answer any questions upon the subject; but the police had discovered that these same busts might very well have been made by his own hands, since he was engaged in this class of work at the establishment of gelder & co. to all this information, much of which we already knew, holmes listened with polite attention; but i, who knew him so well, could clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and i detected a mixture of mingled uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he was wont to assume. at last he started in his chair and his eyes brightened. there had been a ring at the bell. a minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly, red-faced man with grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. in his right hand he carried an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon the table. "is mr. sherlock holmes here?" my friend bowed and smiled. "mr. sandeford, of reading, i suppose?" said he. "yes, sir, i fear that i am a little late; but the trains were awkward. you wrote to me about a bust that is in my possession." "exactly." "i have your letter here. you said, 'i desire to possess a copy of devine's napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for the one which is in your possession.' is that right?" "certainly." "i was very much surprised at your letter, for i could not imagine how you knew that i owned such a thing." "of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is very simple. mr. harding, of harding brothers, said that they had sold you their last copy, and he gave me your address." "oh, that was it, was it? did he tell you what i paid for it?" "no, he did not." "well, i am an honest man, though not a very rich one. i only gave fifteen shillings for the bust, and i think you ought to know that before i take ten pounds from you." "i am sure the scruple does you honour, mr. sandeford. but i have named that price, so i intend to stick to it." "well, it is very handsome of you, mr. holmes. i brought the bust up with me, as you asked me to do. here it is!" he opened his bag, and at last we saw placed upon our table a complete specimen of that bust which we had already seen more than once in fragments. holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note upon the table. "you will kindly sign that paper, mr. sandeford, in the presence of these witnesses. it is simply to say that you transfer every possible right that you ever had in the bust to me. i am a methodical man, you see, and you never know what turn events might take afterwards. thank you, mr. sandeford; here is your money, and i wish you a very good evening." when our visitor had disappeared sherlock holmes's movements were such as to rivet our attention. he began by taking a clean white cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table. then he placed his newly-acquired bust in the centre of the cloth. finally, he picked up his hunting-crop and struck napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. the figure broke into fragments, and holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. next instant, with a loud shout of triumph, he held up one splinter, in which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding. "gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you to the famous black pearl of the borgias." lestrade and i sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping as at the well-wrought crisis of a play. a flush of colour sprang to holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience. it was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. the same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend. "yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl now existing in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the prince of colonna's bedroom at the dacre hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six busts of napoleon which were manufactured by gelder & co., of stepney. you will remember, lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappearance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of the london police to recover it. i was myself consulted upon the case; but i was unable to throw any light upon it. suspicion fell upon the maid of the princess, who was an italian, and it was proved that she had a brother in london, but we failed to trace any connection between them. the maid's name was lucretia venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that this pietro who was murdered two nights ago was the brother. i have been looking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and i find that the disappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest of beppo for some crime of violence, an event which took place in the factory of gelder & co., at the very moment when these busts were being made. now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them, of course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presented themselves to me. beppo had the pearl in his possession. he may have stolen it from pietro, he may have been pietro's confederate, he may have been the go-between of pietro and his sister. it is of no consequence to us which is the correct solution. "the main fact is that he had the pearl, and at that moment, when it was on his person, he was pursued by the police. he made for the factory in which he worked, and he knew that he had only a few minutes in which to conceal this enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched. six plaster casts of napoleon were drying in the passage. one of them was still soft. in an instant beppo, a skilful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture once more. it was an admirable hiding-place. no one could possibly find it. but beppo was condemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six busts were scattered over london. he could not tell which contained his treasure. only by breaking them could he see. even shaking would tell him nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl would adhere to it--as, in fact, it has done. beppo did not despair, and he conducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance. through a cousin who works with gelder he found out the retail firms who had bought the busts. he managed to find employment with morse hudson, and in that way tracked down three of them. the pearl was not there. then, with the help of some italian employe, he succeeded in finding out where the other three busts had gone. the first was at harker's. there he was dogged by his confederate, who held beppo responsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle which followed." "if he was his confederate why should he carry his photograph?" i asked. "as a means of tracing him if he wished to inquire about him from any third person. that was the obvious reason. well, after the murder i calculated that beppo would probably hurry rather than delay his movements. he would fear that the police would read his secret, and so he hastened on before they should get ahead of him. of course, i could not say that he had not found the pearl in harker's bust. i had not even concluded for certain that it was the pearl; but it was evident to me that he was looking for something, since he carried the bust past the other houses in order to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it. since harker's bust was one in three the chances were exactly as i told you, two to one against the pearl being inside it. there remained two busts, and it was obvious that he would go for the london one first. i warned the inmates of the house, so as to avoid a second tragedy, and we went down with the happiest results. by that time, of course, i knew for certain that it was the borgia pearl that we were after. the name of the murdered man linked the one event with the other. there only remained a single bust--the reading one--and the pearl must be there. i bought it in your presence from the owner--and there it lies." we sat in silence for a moment. "well," said lestrade, "i've seen you handle a good many cases, mr. holmes, but i don't know that i ever knew a more workmanlike one than that. we're not jealous of you at scotland yard. no, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow there's not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn't be glad to shake you by the hand." "thank you!" said holmes. "thank you!" and as he turned away it seemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than i had ever seen him. a moment later he was the cold and practical thinker once more. "put the pearl in the safe, watson," said he, "and get out the papers of the conk-singleton forgery case. good-bye, lestrade. if any little problem comes your way i shall be happy, if i can, to give you a hint or two as to its solution." the adventure of the three students it was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into which i need not enter, caused mr. sherlock holmes and myself to spend some weeks in one of our great university towns, and it was during this time that the small but instructive adventure which i am about to relate befell us. it will be obvious that any details which would help the reader to exactly identify the college or the criminal would be injudicious and offensive. so painful a scandal may well be allowed to die out. with due discretion the incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was remarkable. i will endeavour in my statement to avoid such terms as would serve to limit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to the people concerned. we were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library where sherlock holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early english charters--researches which led to results so striking that they may be the subject of one of my future narratives. here it was that one evening we received a visit from an acquaintance, mr. hilton soames, tutor and lecturer at the college of st. luke's. mr. soames was a tall, spare man, of a nervous and excitable temperament. i had always known him to be restless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he was in such a state of uncontrollable agitation that it was clear something very unusual had occurred. "i trust, mr. holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of your valuable time. we have had a very painful incident at st. luke's, and really, but for the happy chance of your being in the town, i should have been at a loss what to do." "i am very busy just now, and i desire no distractions," my friend answered. "i should much prefer that you called in the aid of the police." "no, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible. when once the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this is just one of those cases where, for the credit of the college, it is most essential to avoid scandal. your discretion is as well known as your powers, and you are the one man in the world who can help me. i beg you, mr. holmes, to do what you can." my friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of baker street. without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man. he shrugged his shoulders in ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor in hurried words and with much excitable gesticulation poured forth his story. "i must explain to you, mr. holmes, that to-morrow is the first day of the examination for the fortescue scholarship. i am one of the examiners. my subject is greek, and the first of the papers consists of a large passage of greek translation which the candidate has not seen. this passage is printed on the examination paper, and it would naturally be an immense advantage if the candidate could prepare it in advance. for this reason great care is taken to keep the paper secret. "to-day about three o'clock the proofs of this paper arrived from the printers. the exercise consists of half a chapter of thucydides. i had to read it over carefully, as the text must be absolutely correct. at four-thirty my task was not yet completed. i had, however, promised to take tea in a friend's rooms, so i left the proof upon my desk. i was absent rather more than an hour. "you are aware, mr. holmes, that our college doors are double--a green baize one within and a heavy oak one without. as i approached my outer door i was amazed to see a key in it. for an instant i imagined that i had left my own there, but on feeling in my pocket i found that it was all right. the only duplicate which existed, so far as i knew, was that which belonged to my servant, bannister, a man who has looked after my room for ten years, and whose honesty is absolutely above suspicion. i found that the key was indeed his, that he had entered my room to know if i wanted tea, and that he had very carelessly left the key in the door when he came out. his visit to my room must have been within a very few minutes of my leaving it. his forgetfulness about the key would have mattered little upon any other occasion, but on this one day it has produced the most deplorable consequences. "the moment i looked at my table i was aware that someone had rummaged among my papers. the proof was in three long slips. i had left them all together. now, i found that one of them was lying on the floor, one was on the side table near the window, and the third was where i had left it." holmes stirred for the first time. "the first page on the floor, the second in the window, the third where you left it," said he. "exactly, mr. holmes. you amaze me. how could you possibly know that?" "pray continue your very interesting statement." "for an instant i imagined that bannister had taken the unpardonable liberty of examining my papers. he denied it, however, with the utmost earnestness, and i am convinced that he was speaking the truth. the alternative was that someone passing had observed the key in the door, had known that i was out, and had entered to look at the papers. a large sum of money is at stake, for the scholarship is a very valuable one, and an unscrupulous man might very well run a risk in order to gain an advantage over his fellows. "bannister was very much upset by the incident. he had nearly fainted when we found that the papers had undoubtedly been tampered with. i gave him a little brandy and left him collapsed in a chair while i made a most careful examination of the room. i soon saw that the intruder had left other traces of his presence besides the rumpled papers. on the table in the window were several shreds from a pencil which had been sharpened. a broken tip of lead was lying there also. evidently the rascal had copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken his pencil, and had been compelled to put a fresh point to it." "excellent!" said holmes, who was recovering his good-humour as his attention became more engrossed by the case. "fortune has been your friend." "this was not all. i have a new writing-table with a fine surface of red leather. i am prepared to swear, and so is bannister, that it was smooth and unstained. now i found a clean cut in it about three inches long--not a mere scratch, but a positive cut. not only this, but on the table i found a small ball of black dough, or clay, with specks of something which looks like sawdust in it. i am convinced that these marks were left by the man who rifled the papers. there were no footmarks and no other evidence as to his identity. i was at my wits' ends, when suddenly the happy thought occurred to me that you were in the town, and i came straight round to put the matter into your hands. do help me, mr. holmes! you see my dilemma. either i must find the man or else the examination must be postponed until fresh papers are prepared, and since this cannot be done without explanation there will ensue a hideous scandal, which will throw a cloud not only on the college, but on the university. above all things i desire to settle the matter quietly and discreetly." "i shall be happy to look into it and to give you such advice as i can," said holmes, rising and putting on his overcoat. "the case is not entirely devoid of interest. had anyone visited you in your room after the papers came to you?" "yes; young daulat ras, an indian student who lives on the same stair, came in to ask me some particulars about the examination." "for which he was entered?" "yes." "and the papers were on your table?" "to the best of my belief they were rolled up." "but might be recognised as proofs?" "possibly." "no one else in your room?" "no." "did anyone know that these proofs would be there?" "no one save the printer." "did this man bannister know?" "no, certainly not. no one knew." "where is bannister now?" "he was very ill, poor fellow. i left him collapsed in the chair. i was in such a hurry to come to you." "you left your door open?" "i locked up the papers first." "then it amounts to this, mr. soames, that unless the indian student recognised the roll as being proofs, the man who tampered with them came upon them accidentally without knowing that they were there." "so it seems to me." holmes gave an enigmatic smile. "well," said he, "let us go round. not one of your cases, watson--mental, not physical. all right; come if you want to. now, mr. soames--at your disposal!" the sitting-room of our client opened by a long, low, latticed window on to the ancient lichen-tinted court of the old college. a gothic arched door led to a worn stone staircase. on the ground floor was the tutor's room. above were three students, one on each story. it was already twilight when we reached the scene of our problem. holmes halted and looked earnestly at the window. then he approached it, and, standing on tiptoe with his neck craned, he looked into the room. "he must have entered through the door. there is no opening except the one pane," said our learned guide. "dear me!" said holmes, and he smiled in a singular way as he glanced at our companion. "well, if there is nothing to be learned here we had best go inside." the lecturer unlocked the outer door and ushered us into his room. we stood at the entrance while holmes made an examination of the carpet. "i am afraid there are no signs here," said he. "one could hardly hope for any upon so dry a day. your servant seems to have quite recovered. you left him in a chair, you say; which chair?" "by the window there." "i see. near this little table. you can come in now. i have finished with the carpet. let us take the little table first. of course, what has happened is very clear. the man entered and took the papers, sheet by sheet, from the central table. he carried them over to the window table, because from there he could see if you came across the courtyard, and so could effect an escape." "as a matter of fact he could not," said soames, "for i entered by the side door." "ah, that's good! well, anyhow, that was in his mind. let me see the three strips. no finger impressions--no! well, he carried over this one first and he copied it. how long would it take him to do that, using every possible contraction? a quarter of an hour, not less. then he tossed it down and seized the next. he was in the midst of that when your return caused him to make a very hurried retreat--very hurried, since he had not time to replace the papers which would tell you that he had been there. you were not aware of any hurrying feet on the stair as you entered the outer door?" "no, i can't say i was." "well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his pencil, and had, as you observe, to sharpen it again. this is of interest, watson. the pencil was not an ordinary one. it was above the usual size, with a soft lead; the outer colour was dark blue, the maker's name was printed in silver lettering, and the piece remaining is only about an inch and a half long. look for such a pencil, mr. soames, and you have got your man. when i add that he possesses a large and very blunt knife, you have an additional aid." mr. soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood of information. "i can follow the other points," said he, "but really, in this matter of the length--" holmes held out a small chip with the letters nn and a space of clear wood after them. "you see?" "no, i fear that even now--" "watson, i have always done you an injustice. there are others. what could this nn be? it is at the end of a word. you are aware that johann faber is the most common maker's name. is it not clear that there is just as much of the pencil left as usually follows the johann?" he held the small table sideways to the electric light. "i was hoping that if the paper on which he wrote was thin some trace of it might come through upon this polished surface. no, i see nothing. i don't think there is anything more to be learned here. now for the central table. this small pellet is, i presume, the black, doughy mass you spoke of. roughly pyramidal in shape and hollowed out, i perceive. as you say, there appear to be grains of sawdust in it. dear me, this is very interesting. and the cut--a positive tear, i see. it began with a thin scratch and ended in a jagged hole. i am much indebted to you for directing my attention to this case, mr. soames. where does that door lead to?" "to my bedroom." "have you been in it since your adventure?" "no; i came straight away for you." "i should like to have a glance round. what a charming, old-fashioned room! perhaps you will kindly wait a minute until i have examined the floor. no, i see nothing. what about this curtain? you hang your clothes behind it. if anyone were forced to conceal himself in this room he must do it there, since the bed is too low and the wardrobe too shallow. no one there, i suppose?" as holmes drew the curtain i was aware, from some little rigidity and alertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an emergency. as a matter of fact the drawn curtain disclosed nothing but three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of pegs. holmes turned away and stooped suddenly to the floor. "halloa! what's this?" said he. it was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like the one upon the table of the study. holmes held it out on his open palm in the glare of the electric light. "your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as well as in your sitting-room, mr. soames." "what could he have wanted there?" "i think it is clear enough. you came back by an unexpected way, and so he had no warning until you were at the very door. what could he do? he caught up everything which would betray him and he rushed into your bedroom to conceal himself." "good gracious, mr. holmes, do you mean to tell me that all the time i was talking to bannister in this room we had the man prisoner if we had only known it?" "so i read it." "surely there is another alternative, mr. holmes. i don't know whether you observed my bedroom window?" "lattice-paned, lead framework, three separate windows, one swinging on hinge and large enough to admit a man." "exactly. and it looks out on an angle of the courtyard so as to be partly invisible. the man might have effected his entrance there, left traces as he passed through the bedroom, and, finally, finding the door open have escaped that way." holmes shook his head impatiently. "let us be practical," said he. "i understand you to say that there are three students who use this stair and are in the habit of passing your door?" "yes, there are." "and they are all in for this examination?" "yes." "have you any reason to suspect any one of them more than the others?" soames hesitated. "it is a very delicate question," said he. "one hardly likes to throw suspicion where there are no proofs." "let us hear the suspicions. i will look after the proofs." "i will tell you, then, in a few words the character of the three men who inhabit these rooms. the lower of the three is gilchrist, a fine scholar and athlete; plays in the rugby team and the cricket team for the college, and got his blue for the hurdles and the long jump. he is a fine, manly fellow. his father was the notorious sir jabez gilchrist, who ruined himself on the turf. my scholar has been left very poor, but he is hard-working and industrious. he will do well. "the second floor is inhabited by daulat ras, the indian. he is a quiet, inscrutable fellow, as most of those indians are. he is well up in his work, though his greek is his weak subject. he is steady and methodical. "the top floor belongs to miles mclaren. he is a brilliant fellow when he chooses to work--one of the brightest intellects of the university, but he is wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled. he was nearly expelled over a card scandal in his first year. he has been idling all this term, and he must look forward with dread to the examination." "then it is he whom you suspect?" "i dare not go so far as that. but of the three he is perhaps the least unlikely." "exactly. now, mr. soames, let us have a look at your servant, bannister." he was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-haired fellow of fifty. he was still suffering from this sudden disturbance of the quiet routine of his life. his plump face was twitching with his nervousness, and his fingers could not keep still. "we are investigating this unhappy business, bannister," said his master. "yes, sir." "i understand," said holmes, "that you left your key in the door?" "yes, sir." "was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on the very day when there were these papers inside?" "it was most unfortunate, sir. but i have occasionally done the same thing at other times." "when did you enter the room?" "it was about half-past four. that is mr. soames's tea time." "how long did you stay?" "when i saw that he was absent i withdrew at once." "did you look at these papers on the table?" "no, sir; certainly not." "how came you to leave the key in the door?" "i had the tea-tray in my hand. i thought i would come back for the key. then i forgot." "has the outer door a spring lock?" "no, sir." "then it was open all the time?" "yes, sir." "anyone in the room could get out?" "yes, sir." "when mr. soames returned and called for you, you were very much disturbed?" "yes, sir. such a thing has never happened during the many years that i have been here. i nearly fainted, sir." "so i understand. where were you when you began to feel bad?" "where was i, sir? why, here, near the door." "that is singular, because you sat down in that chair over yonder near the corner. why did you pass these other chairs?" "i don't know, sir. it didn't matter to me where i sat." "i really don't think he knew much about it, mr. holmes. he was looking very bad--quite ghastly." "you stayed here when your master left?" "only for a minute or so. then i locked the door and went to my room." "whom do you suspect?" "oh, i would not venture to say, sir. i don't believe there is any gentleman in this university who is capable of profiting by such an action. no, sir, i'll not believe it." "thank you; that will do," said holmes. "oh, one more word. you have not mentioned to any of the three gentlemen whom you attend that anything is amiss?" "no, sir; not a word." "you haven't seen any of them?" "no, sir." "very good. now, mr. soames, we will take a walk in the quadrangle, if you please." three yellow squares of light shone above us in the gathering gloom. "your three birds are all in their nests," said holmes, looking up. "halloa! what's that? one of them seems restless enough." it was the indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly upon his blind. he was pacing swiftly up and down his room. "i should like to have a peep at each of them," said holmes. "is it possible?" "no difficulty in the world," soames answered. "this set of rooms is quite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for visitors to go over them. come along, and i will personally conduct you." "no names, please!" said holmes, as we knocked at gilchrist's door. a tall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and made us welcome when he understood our errand. there were some really curious pieces of mediaeval domestic architecture within. holmes was so charmed with one of them that he insisted on drawing it on his note-book, broke his pencil, had to borrow one from our host, and finally borrowed a knife to sharpen his own. the same curious accident happened to him in the rooms of the indian--a silent, little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance and was obviously glad when holmes's architectural studies had come to an end. i could not see that in either case holmes had come upon the clue for which he was searching. only at the third did our visit prove abortive. the outer door would not open to our knock, and nothing more substantial than a torrent of bad language came from behind it. "i don't care who you are. you can go to blazes!" roared the angry voice. "to-morrow's the exam, and i won't be drawn by anyone." "a rude fellow," said our guide, flushing with anger as we withdrew down the stair. "of course, he did not realize that it was i who was knocking, but none the less his conduct was very uncourteous, and, indeed, under the circumstances rather suspicious." holmes's response was a curious one. "can you tell me his exact height?" he asked. "really, mr. holmes, i cannot undertake to say. he is taller than the indian, not so tall as gilchrist. i suppose five foot six would be about it." "that is very important," said holmes. "and now, mr. soames, i wish you good-night." our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. "good gracious, mr. holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in this abrupt fashion! you don't seem to realize the position. to-morrow is the examination. i must take some definite action to-night. i cannot allow the examination to be held if one of the papers has been tampered with. the situation must be faced." "you must leave it as it is. i shall drop round early to-morrow morning and chat the matter over. it is possible that i may be in a position then to indicate some course of action. meanwhile you change nothing--nothing at all." "very good, mr. holmes." "you can be perfectly easy in your mind. we shall certainly find some way out of your difficulties. i will take the black clay with me, also the pencil cuttings. good-bye." when we were out in the darkness of the quadrangle we again looked up at the windows. the indian still paced his room. the others were invisible. "well, watson, what do you think of it?" holmes asked, as we came out into the main street. "quite a little parlour game--sort of three-card trick, is it not? there are your three men. it must be one of them. you take your choice. which is yours?" "the foul-mouthed fellow at the top. he is the one with the worst record. and yet that indian was a sly fellow also. why should he be pacing his room all the time?" "there is nothing in that. many men do it when they are trying to learn anything by heart." "he looked at us in a queer way." "so would you if a flock of strangers came in on you when you were preparing for an examination next day, and every moment was of value. no, i see nothing in that. pencils, too, and knives--all was satisfactory. but that fellow does puzzle me." "who?" "why, bannister, the servant. what's his game in the matter?" "he impressed me as being a perfectly honest man." "so he did me. that's the puzzling part. why should a perfectly honest man--well, well, here's a large stationer's. we shall begin our researches here." there were only four stationers of any consequence in the town, and at each holmes produced his pencil chips and bid high for a duplicate. all were agreed that one could be ordered, but that it was not a usual size of pencil and that it was seldom kept in stock. my friend did not appear to be depressed by his failure, but shrugged his shoulders in half-humorous resignation. "no good, my dear watson. this, the best and only final clue, has run to nothing. but, indeed, i have little doubt that we can build up a sufficient case without it. by jove! my dear fellow, it is nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green peas at seven-thirty. what with your eternal tobacco, watson, and your irregularity at meals, i expect that you will get notice to quit and that i shall share your downfall--not, however, before we have solved the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless servant, and the three enterprising students." holmes made no further allusion to the matter that day, though he sat lost in thought for a long time after our belated dinner. at eight in the morning he came into my room just as i finished my toilet. "well, watson," said he, "it is time we went down to st. luke's. can you do without breakfast?" "certainly." "soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tell him something positive." "have you anything positive to tell him?" "i think so." "you have formed a conclusion?" "yes, my dear watson; i have solved the mystery." "but what fresh evidence could you have got?" "aha! it is not for nothing that i have turned myself out of bed at the untimely hour of six. i have put in two hours' hard work and covered at least five miles, with something to show for it. look at that!" he held out his hand. on the palm were three little pyramids of black, doughy clay. "why, holmes, you had only two yesterday!" "and one more this morning. it is a fair argument that wherever no. 3 came from is also the source of nos. 1 and 2. eh, watson? well, come along and put friend soames out of his pain." the unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of pitiable agitation when we found him in his chambers. in a few hours the examination would commence, and he was still in the dilemma between making the facts public and allowing the culprit to compete for the valuable scholarship. he could hardly stand still, so great was his mental agitation, and he ran towards holmes with two eager hands outstretched. "thank heaven that you have come! i feared that you had given it up in despair. what am i to do? shall the examination proceed?" "yes; let it proceed by all means." "but this rascal--?" "he shall not compete." "you know him?" "i think so. if this matter is not to become public we must give ourselves certain powers, and resolve ourselves into a small private court-martial. you there, if you please, soames! watson, you here! i'll take the arm-chair in the middle. i think that we are now sufficiently imposing to strike terror into a guilty breast. kindly ring the bell!" bannister entered, and shrunk back in evident surprise and fear at our judicial appearance. "you will kindly close the door," said holmes. "now, bannister, will you please tell us the truth about yesterday's incident?" the man turned white to the roots of his hair. "i have told you everything, sir." "nothing to add?" "nothing at all, sir." "well, then, i must make some suggestions to you. when you sat down on that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to conceal some object which would have shown who had been in the room?" bannister's face was ghastly. "no, sir; certainly not." "it is only a suggestion," said holmes, suavely. "i frankly admit that i am unable to prove it. but it seems probable enough, since the moment that mr. soames's back was turned you released the man who was hiding in that bedroom." bannister licked his dry lips. "there was no man, sir." "ah, that's a pity, bannister. up to now you may have spoken the truth, but now i know that you have lied." the man's face set in sullen defiance. "there was no man, sir." "come, come, bannister!" "no, sir; there was no one." "in that case you can give us no further information. would you please remain in the room? stand over there near the bedroom door. now, soames, i am going to ask you to have the great kindness to go up to the room of young gilchrist, and to ask him to step down into yours." an instant later the tutor returned, bringing with him the student. he was a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step and a pleasant, open face. his troubled blue eyes glanced at each of us, and finally rested with an expression of blank dismay upon bannister in the farther corner. "just close the door," said holmes. "now, mr. gilchrist, we are all quite alone here, and no one need ever know one word of what passes between us. we can be perfectly frank with each other. we want to know, mr. gilchrist, how you, an honourable man, ever came to commit such an action as that of yesterday?" the unfortunate young man staggered back and cast a look full of horror and reproach at bannister. "no, no, mr. gilchrist, sir; i never said a word--never one word!" cried the servant. "no, but you have now," said holmes. "now, sir, you must see that after bannister's words your position is hopeless, and that your only chance lies in a frank confession." for a moment gilchrist, with upraised hand, tried to control his writhing features. the next he had thrown himself on his knees beside the table and, burying his face in his hands, he had burst into a storm of passionate sobbing. "come, come," said holmes, kindly; "it is human to err, and at least no one can accuse you of being a callous criminal. perhaps it would be easier for you if i were to tell mr. soames what occurred, and you can check me where i am wrong. shall i do so? well, well, don't trouble to answer. listen, and see that i do you no injustice. "from the moment, mr. soames, that you said to me that no one, not even bannister, could have told that the papers were in your room, the case began to take a definite shape in my mind. the printer one could, of course, dismiss. he could examine the papers in his own office. the indian i also thought nothing of. if the proofs were in a roll he could not possibly know what they were. on the other hand, it seemed an unthinkable coincidence that a man should dare to enter the room, and that by chance on that very day the papers were on the table. i dismissed that. the man who entered knew that the papers were there. how did he know? "when i approached your room i examined the window. you amused me by supposing that i was contemplating the possibility of someone having in broad daylight, under the eyes of all these opposite rooms, forced himself through it. such an idea was absurd. i was measuring how tall a man would need to be in order to see as he passed what papers were on the central table. i am six feet high, and i could do it with an effort. no one less than that would have a chance. already you see i had reason to think that if one of your three students was a man of unusual height he was the most worth watching of the three. "i entered and i took you into my confidence as to the suggestions of the side table. of the centre table i could make nothing, until in your description of gilchrist you mentioned that he was a long-distance jumper. then the whole thing came to me in an instant, and i only needed certain corroborative proofs, which i speedily obtained. "what happened was this. this young fellow had employed his afternoon at the athletic grounds, where he had been practising the jump. he returned carrying his jumping shoes, which are provided, as you are aware, with several sharp spikes. as he passed your window he saw, by means of his great height, these proofs upon your table, and conjectured what they were. no harm would have been done had it not been that as he passed your door he perceived the key which had been left by the carelessness of your servant. a sudden impulse came over him to enter and see if they were indeed the proofs. it was not a dangerous exploit, for he could always pretend that he had simply looked in to ask a question. "well, when he saw that they were indeed the proofs, it was then that he yielded to temptation. he put his shoes on the table. what was it you put on that chair near the window?" "gloves," said the young man. holmes looked triumphantly at bannister. "he put his gloves on the chair, and he took the proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy them. he thought the tutor must return by the main gate, and that he would see him. as we know, he came back by the side gate. suddenly he heard him at the very door. there was no possible escape. he forgot his gloves, but he caught up his shoes and darted into the bedroom. you observe that the scratch on that table is slight at one side, but deepens in the direction of the bedroom door. that in itself is enough to show us that the shoe had been drawn in that direction and that the culprit had taken refuge there. the earth round the spike had been left on the table, and a second sample was loosened and fell in the bedroom. i may add that i walked out to the athletic grounds this morning, saw that tenacious black clay is used in the jumping-pit, and carried away a specimen of it, together with some of the fine tan or sawdust which is strewn over it to prevent the athlete from slipping. have i told the truth, mr. gilchrist?" the student had drawn himself erect. "yes, sir, it is true," said he. "good heavens, have you nothing to add?" cried soames. "yes, sir, i have, but the shock of this disgraceful exposure has bewildered me. i have a letter here, mr. soames, which i wrote to you early this morning in the middle of a restless night. it was before i knew that my sin had found me out. here it is, sir. you will see that i have said, 'i have determined not to go in for the examination. i have been offered a commission in the rhodesian police, and i am going out to south africa at once.'" "i am indeed pleased to hear that you did not intend to profit by your unfair advantage," said soames. "but why did you change your purpose?" gilchrist pointed to bannister. "there is the man who set me in the right path," said he. "come now, bannister," said holmes. "it will be clear to you from what i have said that only you could have let this young man out, since you were left in the room, and must have locked the door when you went out. as to his escaping by that window, it was incredible. can you not clear up the last point in this mystery, and tell us the reasons for your action?" "it was simple enough, sir, if you only had known; but with all your cleverness it was impossible that you could know. time was, sir, when i was butler to old sir jabez gilchrist, this young gentleman's father. when he was ruined i came to the college as servant, but i never forgot my old employer because he was down in the world. i watched his son all i could for the sake of the old days. well, sir, when i came into this room yesterday when the alarm was given, the very first thing i saw was mr. gilchrist's tan gloves a-lying in that chair. i knew those gloves well, and i understood their message. if mr. soames saw them the game was up. i flopped down into that chair, and nothing would budge me until mr. soames he went for you. then out came my poor young master, whom i had dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me. wasn't it natural, sir, that i should save him, and wasn't it natural also that i should try to speak to him as his dead father would have done, and make him understand that he could not profit by such a deed? could you blame me, sir?" "no, indeed," said holmes, heartily, springing to his feet. "well, soames, i think we have cleared your little problem up, and our breakfast awaits us at home. come, watson! as to you, sir, i trust that a bright future awaits you in rhodesia. for once you have fallen low. let us see in the future how high you can rise." the adventure of the golden pince-nez when i look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our work for the year 1894 i confess that it is very difficult for me, out of such a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting in themselves and at the same time most conducive to a display of those peculiar powers for which my friend was famous. as i turn over the pages i see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red leech and the terrible death of crosby the banker. here also i find an account of the addleton tragedy and the singular contents of the ancient british barrow. the famous smith-mortimer succession case comes also within this period, and so does the tracking and arrest of huret, the boulevard assassin--an exploit which won for holmes an autograph letter of thanks from the french president and the order of the legion of honour. each of these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole i am of opinion that none of them unite so many singular points of interest as the episode of yoxley old place, which includes not only the lamentable death of young willoughby smith, but also those subsequent developments which threw so curious a light upon the causes of the crime. it was a wild, tempestuous night towards the close of november. holmes and i sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with a powerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon a palimpsest, i deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. outside the wind howled down baker street, while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. it was strange there in the very depths of the town, with ten miles of man's handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip of nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all london was no more than the molehills that dot the fields. i walked to the window and looked out on the deserted street. the occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy road and shining pavement. a single cab was splashing its way from the oxford street end. "well, watson, it's as well we have not to turn out to-night," said holmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. "i've done enough for one sitting. it is trying work for the eyes. so far as i can make out it is nothing more exciting than an abbey's accounts dating from the second half of the fifteenth century. halloa! halloa! halloa! what's this?" amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horse's hoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the kerb. the cab which i had seen had pulled up at our door. "what can he want?" i ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it. "want! he wants us. and we, my poor watson, want overcoats and cravats and galoshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight the weather. wait a bit, though! there's the cab off again! there's hope yet. he'd have kept it if he had wanted us to come. run down, my dear fellow, and open the door, for all virtuous folk have been long in bed." when the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor i had no difficulty in recognising him. it was young stanley hopkins, a promising detective, in whose career holmes had several times shown a very practical interest. "is he in?" he asked, eagerly. "come up, my dear sir," said holmes's voice from above. "i hope you have no designs upon us on such a night as this." the detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon his shining waterproof. i helped him out of it while holmes knocked a blaze out of the logs in the grate. "now, my dear hopkins, draw up and warm your toes," said he. "here's a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water and a lemon which is good medicine on a night like this. it must be something important which has brought you out in such a gale." "it is indeed, mr. holmes. i've had a bustling afternoon, i promise you. did you see anything of the yoxley case in the latest editions?" "i've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day." "well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have not missed anything. i haven't let the grass grow under my feet. it's down in kent, seven miles from chatham and three from the railway line. i was wired for at three-fifteen, reached yoxley old place at five, conducted my investigation, was back at charing cross by the last train, and straight to you by cab." "which means, i suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?" "it means that i can make neither head nor tail of it. so far as i can see it is just as tangled a business as ever i handled, and yet at first it seemed so simple that one couldn't go wrong. there's no motive, mr. holmes. that's what bothers me--i can't put my hand on a motive. here's a man dead--there's no denying that--but, so far as i can see, no reason on earth why anyone should wish him harm." holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. "let us hear about it," said he. "i've got my facts pretty clear," said stanley hopkins. "all i want now is to know what they all mean. the story, so far as i can make it out, is like this. some years ago this country house, yoxley old place, was taken by an elderly man, who gave the name of professor coram. he was an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobbling round the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. he was well liked by the few neighbours who called upon him, and he has the reputation down there of being a very learned man. his household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper, mrs. marker, and of a maid, susan tarlton. these have both been with him since his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character. the professor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary about a year ago to engage a secretary. the first two that he tried were not successes; but the third, mr. willoughby smith, a very young man straight from the university, seems to have been just what his employer wanted. his work consisted in writing all the morning to the professor's dictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references and passages which bore upon the next day's work. this willoughby smith has nothing against him either as a boy at uppingham or as a young man at cambridge. i have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was a decent, quiet, hardworking fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. and yet this is the lad who has met his death this morning in the professor's study under circumstances which can point only to murder." the wind howled and screamed at the windows. holmes and i drew closer to the fire while the young inspector slowly and point by point developed his singular narrative. "if you were to search all england," said he, "i don't suppose you could find a household more self-contained or free from outside influences. whole weeks would pass and not one of them go past the garden gate. the professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. young smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as his employer did. the two women had nothing to take them from the house. mortimer the gardener, who wheels the bath-chair, is an army pensioner--an old crimean man of excellent character. he does not live in the house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the garden. those are the only people that you would find within the grounds of yoxley old place. at the same time, the gate of the garden is a hundred yards from the main london to chatham road. it opens with a latch, and there is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in. "now i will give you the evidence of susan tarlton, who is the only person who can say anything positive about the matter. it was in the forenoon, between eleven and twelve. she was engaged at the moment in hanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. professor coram was still in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises before midday. the housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of the house. willoughby smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard him at that moment pass along the passage and descend to the study immediately below her. she did not see him, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. she did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so later there was a dreadful cry in the room below. it was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange and unnatural that it might have come either from a man or a woman. at the same instant there was a heavy thud, which shook the old house, and then all was silence. the maid stood petrified for a moment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. the study door was shut, and she opened it. inside young mr. willoughby smith was stretched upon the floor. at first she could see no injury, but as she tried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the underside of his neck. it was pierced by a very small but very deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery. the instrument with which the injury had been inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him. it was one of those small sealing-wax knives to be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiff blade. it was part of the fittings of the professor's own desk. "at first the maid thought that young smith was already dead, but on pouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyes for an instant. 'the professor,' he murmured--'it was she.' the maid is prepared to swear that those were the exact words. he tried desperately to say something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. then he fell back dead. "in the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, but she was just too late to catch the young man's dying words. leaving susan with the body, she hurried to the professor's room. he was sitting up in bed horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him that something terrible had occurred. mrs. marker is prepared to swear that the professor was still in his night-clothes, and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dress without the help of mortimer, whose orders were to come at twelve o'clock. the professor declares that he heard the distant cry, but that he knows nothing more. he can give no explanation of the young man's last words, 'the professor--it was she,' but imagines that they were the outcome of delirium. he believes that willoughby smith had not an enemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime. his first action was to send mortimer the gardener for the local police. a little later the chief constable sent for me. nothing was moved before i got there, and strict orders were given that no one should walk upon the paths leading to the house. it was a splendid chance of putting your theories into practice, mr. sherlock holmes. there was really nothing wanting." "except mr. sherlock holmes," said my companion, with a somewhat bitter smile. "well, let us hear about it. what sort of job did you make of it?" "i must ask you first, mr. holmes, to glance at this rough plan, which will give you a general idea of the position of the professor's study and the various points of the case. it will help you in following my investigation." he unfolded the rough chart, which i here reproduce, and he laid it across holmes's knee. i rose, and, standing behind holmes, i studied it over his shoulder. [ picture: sketch of the building's room and corridors ] "it is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points which seem to me to be essential. all the rest you will see later for yourself. now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the house, how did he or she come in? undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door, from which there is direct access to the study. any other way would have been exceedingly complicated. the escape must have also been made along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one was blocked by susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to the professor's bedroom. i therefore directed my attention at once to the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and would certainly show any footmarks. "my examination showed me that i was dealing with a cautious and expert criminal. no footmarks were to be found on the path. there could be no question, however, that someone had passed along the grass border which lines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving a track. i could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression, but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly passed. it could only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone else had been there that morning and the rain had only begun during the night." "one moment," said holmes. "where does this path lead to?" "to the road." "how long is it?" "a hundred yards or so." "at the point where the path passes through the gate you could surely pick up the tracks?" "unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point." "well, on the road itself?" "no; it was all trodden into mire." "tut-tut! well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming or going?" "it was impossible to say. there was never any outline." "a large foot or a small?" "you could not distinguish." holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience. "it has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since," said he. "it will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. well, well, it can't be helped. what did you do, hopkins, after you had made certain that you had made certain of nothing?" "i think i made certain of a good deal, mr. holmes. i knew that someone had entered the house cautiously from without. i next examined the corridor. it is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken no impression of any kind. this brought me into the study itself. it is a scantily-furnished room. the main article is a large writing-table with a fixed bureau. this bureau consists of a double column of drawers with a central small cupboard between them. the drawers were open, the cupboard locked. the drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing of value was kept in them. there were some papers of importance in the cupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, and the professor assures me that nothing was missing. it is certain that no robbery has been committed. "i come now to the body of the young man. it was found near the bureau, and just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. the stab was on the right side of the neck and from behind forwards, so that it is almost impossible that it could have been self-inflicted." "unless he fell upon the knife," said holmes. "exactly. the idea crossed my mind. but we found the knife some feet away from the body, so that seems impossible. then, of course, there are the man's own dying words. and, finally, there was this very important piece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man's right hand." from his pocket stanley hopkins drew a small paper packet. he unfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black silk cord dangling from the end of it. "willoughby smith had excellent sight," he added. "there can be no question that this was snatched from the face or the person of the assassin." sherlock holmes took the glasses into his hand and examined them with the utmost attention and interest. he held them on his nose, endeavoured to read through them, went to the window and stared up the street with them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to stanley hopkins. "that's the best i can do for you," said he. "it may prove to be of some use." the astonished detective read the note aloud. it ran as follows: "wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. she has a remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either side of it. she has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, and probably rounded shoulders. there are indications that she has had recourse to an optician at least twice during the last few months. as her glasses are of remarkable strength and as opticians are not very numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her." holmes smiled at the astonishment of hopkins, which must have been reflected upon my features. "surely my deductions are simplicity itself," said he. "it would be difficult to name any articles which afford a finer field for inference than a pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. that they belong to a woman i infer from their delicacy, and also, of course, from the last words of the dying man. as to her being a person of refinement and well dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in other respects. you will find that the clips are too wide for your nose, showing that the lady's nose was very broad at the base. this sort of nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there are a sufficient number of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or from insisting upon this point in my description. my own face is a narrow one, and yet i find that i cannot get my eyes into the centre, or near the centre, of these glasses. therefore the lady's eyes are set very near to the sides of the nose. you will perceive, watson, that the glasses are concave and of unusual strength. a lady whose vision has been so extremely contracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics of such vision, which are seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders." "yes," i said, "i can follow each of your arguments. i confess, however, that i am unable to understand how you arrive at the double visit to the optician." holmes took the glasses in his hand. "you will perceive," he said, "that the clips are lined with tiny bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. one of these is discoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the other is new. evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. i should judge that the older of them has not been there more than a few months. they exactly correspond, so i gather that the lady went back to the same establishment for the second." "by george, it's marvellous!" cried hopkins, in an ecstasy of admiration. "to think that i had all that evidence in my hand and never knew it! i had intended, however, to go the round of the london opticians." "of course you would. meanwhile, have you anything more to tell us about the case?" "nothing, mr. holmes. i think that you know as much as i do now--probably more. we have had inquiries made as to any stranger seen on the country roads or at the railway station. we have heard of none. what beats me is the utter want of all object in the crime. not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest." "ah! there i am not in a position to help you. but i suppose you want us to come out to-morrow?" "if it is not asking too much, mr. holmes. there's a train from charing cross to chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at yoxley old place between eight and nine." "then we shall take it. your case has certainly some features of great interest, and i shall be delighted to look into it. well, it's nearly one, and we had best get a few hours' sleep. i dare say you can manage all right on the sofa in front of the fire. i'll light my spirit-lamp and give you a cup of coffee before we start." the gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morning when we started upon our journey. we saw the cold winter sun rise over the dreary marshes of the thames and the long, sullen reaches of the river, which i shall ever associate with our pursuit of the andaman islander in the earlier days of our career. after a long and weary journey we alighted at a small station some miles from chatham. while a horse was being put into a trap at the local inn we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at yoxley old place. a constable met us at the garden gate. "well, wilson, any news?" "no, sir, nothing." "no reports of any stranger seen?" "no, sir. down at the station they are certain that no stranger either came or went yesterday." "have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?" "yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account for." "well, it's only a reasonable walk to chatham. anyone might stay there, or take a train without being observed. this is the garden path of which i spoke, mr. holmes. i'll pledge my word there was no mark on it yesterday." "on which side were the marks on the grass?" "this side, sir. this narrow margin of grass between the path and the flower-bed. i can't see the traces now, but they were clear to me then." "yes, yes; someone has passed along," said holmes, stooping over the grass border. "our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must she not, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on the other an even clearer one on the soft bed?" "yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand." i saw an intent look pass over holmes's face. "you say that she must have come back this way?" "yes, sir; there is no other." "on this strip of grass?" "certainly, mr. holmes." "hum! it was a very remarkable performance--very remarkable. well, i think we have exhausted the path. let us go farther. this garden door is usually kept open, i suppose? then this visitor had nothing to do but to walk in. the idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would have provided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick this knife off the writing-table. she advanced along this corridor, leaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting. then she found herself in this study. how long was she there? we have no means of judging." "not more than a few minutes, sir. i forgot to tell you that mrs. marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long before--about a quarter of an hour, she says." "well, that gives us a limit. our lady enters this room and what does she do? she goes over to the writing-table. what for? not for anything in the drawers. if there had been anything worth her taking it would surely have been locked up. no; it was for something in that wooden bureau. halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? just hold a match, watson. why did you not tell me of this, hopkins?" the mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches, where it had scratched the varnish from the surface. "i noticed it, mr. holmes. but you'll always find scratches round a keyhole." "this is recent, quite recent. see how the brass shines where it is cut. an old scratch would be the same colour as the surface. look at it through my lens. there's the varnish, too, like earth on each side of a furrow. is mrs. marker there?" a sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room. "did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?" "yes, sir." "did you notice this scratch?" "no, sir, i did not." "i am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away these shreds of varnish. who has the key of this bureau?" "the professor keeps it on his watch-chain." "is it a simple key?" "no, sir; it is a chubb's key." "very good. mrs. marker, you can go. now we are making a little progress. our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and either opens it or tries to do so. while she is thus engaged young willoughby smith enters the room. in her hurry to withdraw the key she makes this scratch upon the door. he seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearest object, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to make him let go his hold. the blow is a fatal one. he falls and she escapes, either with or without the object for which she has come. is susan the maid there? could anyone have got away through that door after the time that you heard the cry, susan?" "no sir; it is impossible. before i got down the stair i'd have seen anyone in the passage. besides, the door never opened, for i would have heard it." "that settles this exit. then no doubt the lady went out the way she came. i understand that this other passage leads only to the professor's room. there is no exit that way?" "no, sir." "we shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the professor. halloa, hopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. the professor's corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting." "well, sir, what of that?" "don't you see any bearing upon the case? well, well, i don't insist upon it. no doubt i am wrong. and yet it seems to me to be suggestive. come with me and introduce me." we passed down the passage, which was of the same length as that which led to the garden. at the end was a short flight of steps ending in a door. our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the professor's bedroom. it was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were stacked all round at the base of the cases. the bed was in the centre of the room, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. i have seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. it was a gaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. his hair and beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stained with yellow around his mouth. a cigarette glowed amid the tangle of white hair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco-smoke. as he held out his hand to holmes i perceived that it also was stained yellow with nicotine. "a smoker, mr. holmes?" said he, speaking well-chosen english with a curious little mincing accent. "pray take a cigarette. and you, sir? i can recommend them, for i have them especially prepared by ionides of alexandria. he sends me a thousand at a time, and i grieve to say that i have to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. bad, sir, very bad, but an old man has few pleasures. tobacco and my work--that is all that is left to me." holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little darting glances all over the room. "tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old man exclaimed. "alas! what a fatal interruption! who could have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe? so estimable a young man! i assure you that after a few months' training he was an admirable assistant. what do you think of the matter, mr. holmes?" "i have not yet made up my mind." "i shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light where all is so dark to us. to a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow is paralyzing. i seem to have lost the faculty of thought. but you are a man of action--you are a man of affairs. it is part of the everyday routine of your life. you can preserve your balance in every emergency. we are fortunate indeed in having you at our side." holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst the old professor was talking. i observed that he was smoking with extraordinary rapidity. it was evident that he shared our host's liking for the fresh alexandrian cigarettes. "yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old man. "that is my magnum opus--the pile of papers on the side table yonder. it is my analysis of the documents found in the coptic monasteries of syria and egypt, a work which will cut deep at the very foundations of revealed religion. with my enfeebled health i do not know whether i shall ever be able to complete it now that my assistant has been taken from me. dear me, mr. holmes; why, you are even a quicker smoker than i am myself." holmes smiled. "i am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from the box--his fourth--and lighting it from the stub of that which he had finished. "i will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination, professor coram, since i gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime and could know nothing about it. i would only ask this. what do you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: 'the professor--it was she'?" the professor shook his head. "susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the incredible stupidity of that class. i fancy that the poor fellow murmured some incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into this meaningless message." "i see. you have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?" "possibly an accident; possibly--i only breathe it among ourselves--a suicide. young men have their hidden troubles--some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known. it is a more probable supposition than murder." "but the eye-glasses?" "ah! i am only a student--a man of dreams. i cannot explain the practical things of life. but still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gages may take strange shapes. by all means take another cigarette. it is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. a fan, a glove, glasses--who knows what article may be carried as a token or treasured when a man puts an end to his life? this gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. as to the knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell. it is possible that i speak as a child, but to me it seems that willoughby smith has met his fate by his own hand." holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigarette after cigarette. "tell me, professor coram," he said, at last, "what is in that cupboard in the bureau?" "nothing that would help a thief. family papers, letters from my poor wife, diplomas of universities which have done me honour. here is the key. you can look for yourself." holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant; then he handed it back. "no; i hardly think that it would help me," said he. "i should prefer to go quietly down to your garden and turn the whole matter over in my head. there is something to be said for the theory of suicide which you have put forward. we must apologize for having intruded upon you, professor coram, and i promise that we won't disturb you until after lunch. at two o'clock we will come again and report to you anything which may have happened in the interval." holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden path for some time in silence. "have you a clue?" i asked, at last. "it depends upon those cigarettes that i smoked," said he. "it is possible that i am utterly mistaken. the cigarettes will show me." "my dear holmes," i exclaimed, "how on earth--" "well, well, you may see for yourself. if not, there's no harm done. of course, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but i take a short cut when i can get it. ah, here is the good mrs. marker! let us enjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her." i may have remarked before that holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readily established terms of confidence with them. in half the time which he had named he had captured the housekeeper's goodwill, and was chatting with her as if he had known her for years. "yes, mr. holmes, it is as you say, sir. he does smoke something terrible. all day and sometimes all night, sir. i've seen that room of a morning--well, sir, you'd have thought it was a london fog. poor young mr. smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the professor. his health--well, i don't know that it's better nor worse for the smoking." "ah!" said holmes, "but it kills the appetite." "well, i don't know about that, sir." "i suppose the professor eats hardly anything?" "well, he is variable. i'll say that for him." "i'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't face his lunch after all the cigarettes i saw him consume." "well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable big breakfast this morning. i don't know when i've known him make a better one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. i'm surprised myself, for since i came into that room yesterday and saw young mr. smith lying there on the floor i couldn't bear to look at food. well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the professor hasn't let it take his appetite away." we loitered the morning away in the garden. stanley hopkins had gone down to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who had been seen by some children on the chatham road the previous morning. as to my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. i had never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. even the news brought back by hopkins that he had found the children and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding with holmes's description, and wearing either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouse any sign of keen interest. he was more attentive when susan, who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed mr. smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he had only returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. i could not myself see the bearing of this incident, but i clearly perceived that holmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed in his brain. suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch. "two o'clock, gentlemen," said he. "we must go up and have it out with our friend the professor." the old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dish bore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper had credited him. he was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white mane and his glowing eyes towards us. the eternal cigarette smouldered in his mouth. he had been dressed and was seated in an arm-chair by the fire. "well, mr. holmes, have you solved this mystery yet?" he shoved the large tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards my companion. holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, and between them they tipped the box over the edge. for a minute or two we were all on our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places. when we rose again i observed that holmes's eyes were shining and his cheeks tinged with colour. only at a crisis have i seen those battle-signals flying. "yes," said he, "i have solved it." stanley hopkins and i stared in amazement. something like a sneer quivered over the gaunt features of the old professor. "indeed! in the garden?" "no, here." "here! when?" "this instant." "you are surely joking, mr. sherlock holmes. you compel me to tell you that this is too serious a matter to be treated in such a fashion." "i have forged and tested every link of my chain, professor coram, and i am sure that it is sound. what your motives are or what exact part you play in this strange business i am not yet able to say. in a few minutes i shall probably hear it from your own lips. meanwhile i will reconstruct what is past for your benefit, so that you may know the information which i still require. "a lady yesterday entered your study. she came with the intention of possessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. she had a key of her own. i have had an opportunity of examining yours, and i do not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon the varnish would have produced. you were not an accessory, therefore, and she came, so far as i can read the evidence, without your knowledge to rob you." the professor blew a cloud from his lips. "this is most interesting and instructive," said he. "have you no more to add? surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also say what has become of her." "i will endeavour to do so. in the first place she was seized by your secretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. this catastrophe i am inclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for i am convinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. an assassin does not come unarmed. horrified by what she had done she rushed wildly away from the scene of the tragedy. unfortunately for her she had lost her glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted she was really helpless without them. she ran down a corridor, which she imagined to be that by which she had come--both were lined with cocoanut matting--and it was only when it was too late that she understood that she had taken the wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off behind her. what was she to do? she could not go back. she could not remain where she was. she must go on. she went on. she mounted a stair, pushed open a door, and found herself in your room." the old man sat with his mouth open staring wildly at holmes. amazement and fear were stamped upon his expressive features. now, with an effort, he shrugged his shoulders and burst into insincere laughter. "all very fine, mr. holmes," said he. "but there is one little flaw in your splendid theory. i was myself in my room, and i never left it during the day." "i am aware of that, professor coram." "and you mean to say that i could lie upon that bed and not be aware that a woman had entered my room?" "i never said so. you were aware of it. you spoke with her. you recognised her. you aided her to escape." again the professor burst into high-keyed laughter. he had risen to his feet and his eyes glowed like embers. "you are mad!" he cried. "you are talking insanely. i helped her to escape? where is she now?" "she is there," said holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in the corner of the room. i saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsion passed over his grim face, and he fell back in his chair. at the same instant the bookcase at which holmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and a woman rushed out into the room. "you are right!" she cried, in a strange foreign voice. "you are right! i am here." she was brown with the dust and draped with the cobwebs which had come from the walls of her hiding-place. her face, too, was streaked with grime, and at the best she could never have been handsome, for she had the exact physical characteristics which holmes had divined, with, in addition, a long and obstinate chin. what with her natural blindness, and what with the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed, blinking about her to see where and who we were. and yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the woman's bearing, a gallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which compelled something of respect and admiration. stanley hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm and claimed her as his prisoner, but she waved him aside gently, and yet with an overmastering dignity which compelled obedience. the old man lay back in his chair, with a twitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes. "yes, sir, i am your prisoner," she said. "from where i stood i could hear everything, and i know that you have learned the truth. i confess it all. it was i who killed the young man. but you are right, you who say it was an accident. i did not even know that it was a knife which i held in my hand, for in my despair i snatched anything from the table and struck at him to make him let me go. it is the truth that i tell." "madam," said holmes, "i am sure that it is the truth. i fear that you are far from well." she had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under the dark dust-streaks upon her face. she seated herself on the side of the bed; then she resumed. "i have only a little time here," she said, "but i would have you to know the whole truth. i am this man's wife. he is not an englishman. he is a russian. his name i will not tell." for the first time the old man stirred. "god bless you, anna!" he cried. "god bless you!" she cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. "why should you cling so hard to that wretched life of yours, sergius?" said she. "it has done harm to many and good to none--not even to yourself. however, it is not for me to cause the frail thread to be snapped before god's time. i have enough already upon my soul since i crossed the threshold of this cursed house. but i must speak or i shall be too late. "i have said, gentlemen, that i am this man's wife. he was fifty and i a foolish girl of twenty when we married. it was in a city of russia, a university--i will not name the place." "god bless you, anna!" murmured the old man again. "we were reformers--revolutionists--nihilists, you understand. he and i and many more. then there came a time of trouble, a police officer was killed, many were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order to save his own life and to earn a great reward my husband betrayed his own wife and his companions. yes, we were all arrested upon his confession. some of us found our way to the gallows and some to siberia. i was among these last, but my term was not for life. my husband came to england with his ill-gotten gains, and has lived in quiet ever since, knowing well that if the brotherhood knew where he was not a week would pass before justice would be done." the old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself to a cigarette. "i am in your hands, anna," said he. "you were always good to me." "i have not yet told you the height of his villainy," said she. "among our comrades of the order there was one who was the friend of my heart. he was noble, unselfish, loving--all that my husband was not. he hated violence. we were all guilty--if that is guilt--but he was not. he wrote for ever dissuading us from such a course. these letters would have saved him. so would my diary, in which from day to day i had entered both my feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. my husband found and kept both diary and letters. he hid them, and he tried hard to swear away the young man's life. in this he failed, but alexis was sent a convict to siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a salt mine. think of that, you villain, you villain; now, now, at this very moment, alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak, works and lives like a slave, and yet i have your life in my hands and i let you go." "you were always a noble woman, anna," said the old man, puffing at his cigarette. she had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry of pain. "i must finish," she said. "when my term was over i set myself to get the diary and letters which, if sent to the russian government, would procure my friend's release. i knew that my husband had come to england. after months of searching i discovered where he was. i knew that he still had the diary, for when i was in siberia i had a letter from him once reproaching me and quoting some passages from its pages. yet i was sure that with his revengeful nature he would never give it to me of his own free will. i must get it for myself. with this object i engaged an agent from a private detective firm, who entered my husband's house as secretary--it was your second secretary, sergius, the one who left you so hurriedly. he found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he got an impression of the key. he would not go farther. he furnished me with a plan of the house, and he told me that in the forenoon the study was always empty, as the secretary was employed up here. so at last i took my courage in both hands and i came down to get the papers for myself. i succeeded, but at what a cost! "i had just taken the papers and was locking the cupboard when the young man seized me. i had seen him already that morning. he had met me in the road and i had asked him to tell me where professor coram lived, not knowing that he was in his employ." "exactly! exactly!" said holmes. "the secretary came back and told his employer of the woman he had met. then in his last breath he tried to send a message that it was she--the she whom he had just discussed with him." "you must let me speak," said the woman, in an imperative voice, and her face contracted as if in pain. "when he had fallen i rushed from the room, chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husband's room. he spoke of giving me up. i showed him that if he did so his life was in my hands. if he gave me to the law i could give him to the brotherhood. it was not that i wished to live for my own sake, but it was that i desired to accomplish my purpose. he knew that i would do what i said--that his own fate was involved in mine. for that reason and for no other he shielded me. he thrust me into that dark hiding-place, a relic of old days, known only to himself. he took his meals in his own room, and so was able to give me part of his food. it was agreed that when the police left the house i should slip away by night and come back no more. but in some way you have read our plans." she tore from the bosom of her dress a small packet. "these are my last words," said she; "here is the packet which will save alexis. i confide it to your honour and to your love of justice. take it! you will deliver it at the russian embassy. now i have done my duty, and--" "stop her!" cried holmes. he had bounded across the room and had wrenched a small phial from her hand. "too late!" she said, sinking back on the bed. "too late! i took the poison before i left my hiding-place. my head swims! i am going! i charge you, sir, to remember the packet." "a simple case, and yet in some ways an instructive one," holmes remarked, as we travelled back to town. "it hinged from the outset upon the pince-nez. but for the fortunate chance of the dying man having seized these i am not sure that we could ever have reached our solution. it was clear to me from the strength of the glasses that the wearer must have been very blind and helpless when deprived of them. when you asked me to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of grass without once making a false step i remarked, as you may remember, that it was a noteworthy performance. in my mind i set it down as an impossible performance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair of glasses. i was forced, therefore, to seriously consider the hypothesis that she had remained within the house. on perceiving the similarity of the two corridors it became clear that she might very easily have made such a mistake, and in that case it was evident that she must have entered the professor's room. i was keenly on the alert, therefore, for whatever would bear out this supposition, and i examined the room narrowly for anything in the shape of a hiding-place. the carpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed, so i dismissed the idea of a trap-door. there might well be a recess behind the books. as you are aware, such devices are common in old libraries. i observed that books were piled on the floor at all other points, but that one bookcase was left clear. this, then, might be the door. i could see no marks to guide me, but the carpet was of a dun colour, which lends itself very well to examination. i therefore smoked a great number of those excellent cigarettes, and i dropped the ash all over the space in front of the suspected bookcase. it was a simple trick, but exceedingly effective. i then went downstairs and i ascertained, in your presence, watson, without your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that professor coram's consumption of food had increased--as one would expect when he is supplying a second person. we then ascended to the room again, when, by upsetting the cigarette-box, i obtained a very excellent view of the floor, and was able to see quite clearly, from the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the prisoner had, in our absence, come out from her retreat. well, hopkins, here we are at charing cross, and i congratulate you on having brought your case to a successful conclusion. you are going to head-quarters, no doubt. i think, watson, you and i will drive together to the russian embassy." the adventure of the missing three-quarter we were fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at baker street, but i have a particular recollection of one which reached us on a gloomy february morning some seven or eight years ago and gave mr. sherlock holmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. it was addressed to him, and ran thus: "please await me. terrible misfortune. right wing three-quarter missing; indispensable to-morrow. overton." "strand post-mark and dispatched ten-thirty-six," said holmes, reading it over and over. "mr. overton was evidently considerably excited when he sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence. well, well, he will be here, i dare say, by the time i have looked through the times, and then we shall know all about it. even the most insignificant problem would be welcome in these stagnant days." things had indeed been very slow with us, and i had learned to dread such periods of inaction, for i knew by experience that my companion's brain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it without material upon which to work. for years i had gradually weaned him from that drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkable career. now i knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer craved for this artificial stimulus, but i was well aware that the fiend was not dead, but sleeping; and i have known that the sleep was a light one and the waking near when in periods of idleness i have seen the drawn look upon holmes's ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and inscrutable eyes. therefore i blessed this mr. overton, whoever he might be, since he had come with his enigmatic message to break that dangerous calm which brought more peril to my friend than all the storms of his tempestuous life. as we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, and the card of mr. cyril overton, of trinity college, cambridge, announced the arrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone and muscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders and looked from one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard with anxiety. "mr. sherlock holmes?" my companion bowed. "i've been down to scotland yard, mr. holmes. i saw inspector stanley hopkins. he advised me to come to you. he said the case, so far as he could see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police." "pray sit down and tell me what is the matter." "it's awful, mr. holmes, simply awful! i wonder my hair isn't grey. godfrey staunton--you've heard of him, of course? he's simply the hinge that the whole team turns on. i'd rather spare two from the pack and have godfrey for my three-quarter line. whether it's passing, or tackling, or dribbling, there's no one to touch him; and then, he's got the head and can hold us all together. what am i to do? that's what i ask you, mr. holmes. there's moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trained as a half, and he always edges right in on to the scrum instead of keeping out on the touch-line. he's a fine place-kick, it's true, but, then, he has no judgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. why, morton or johnson, the oxford fliers, could romp round him. stevenson is fast enough, but he couldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a three-quarter who can't either punt or drop isn't worth a place for pace alone. no, mr. holmes, we are done unless you can help me to find godfrey staunton." my friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, which was poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every point being driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speaker's knee. when our visitor was silent holmes stretched out his hand and took down letter "s" of his commonplace book. for once he dug in vain into that mine of varied information. "there is arthur h. staunton, the rising young forger," said he, "and there was henry staunton, whom i helped to hang, but godfrey staunton is a new name to me." it was our visitor's turn to look surprised. "why, mr. holmes, i thought you knew things," said he. "i suppose, then, if you have never heard of godfrey staunton you don't know cyril overton either?" holmes shook his head good-humouredly. "great scot!" cried the athlete. "why, i was first reserve for england against wales, and i've skippered the 'varsity all this year. but that's nothing! i didn't think there was a soul in england who didn't know godfrey staunton, the crack three-quarter, cambridge, blackheath, and five internationals. good lord! mr. holmes, where have you lived?" holmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment. "you live in a different world to me, mr. overton, a sweeter and healthier one. my ramifications stretch out into many sections of society, but never, i am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is the best and soundest thing in england. however, your unexpected visit this morning shows me that even in that world of fresh air and fair play there may be work for me to do; so now, my good sir, i beg you to sit down and to tell me slowly and quietly exactly what it is that has occurred, and how you desire that i should help you." young overton's face assumed the bothered look of the man who is more accustomed to using his muscles than his wits; but by degrees, with many repetitions and obscurities which i may omit from his narrative, he laid his strange story before us. "it's this way, mr. holmes. as i have said, i am the skipper of the rugger team of cambridge 'varsity, and godfrey staunton is my best man. to-morrow we play oxford. yesterday we all came up and we settled at bentley's private hotel. at ten o'clock i went round and saw that all the fellows had gone to roost, for i believe in strict training and plenty of sleep to keep a team fit. i had a word or two with godfrey before he turned in. he seemed to me to be pale and bothered. i asked him what was the matter. he said he was all right--just a touch of headache. i bade him good-night and left him. half an hour later the porter tells me that a rough-looking man with a beard called with a note for godfrey. he had not gone to bed and the note was taken to his room. godfrey read it and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole-axed. the porter was so scared that he was going to fetch me, but godfrey stopped him, had a drink of water, and pulled himself together. then he went downstairs, said a few words to the man who was waiting in the hall, and the two of them went off together. the last that the porter saw of them, they were almost running down the street in the direction of the strand. this morning godfrey's room was empty, his bed had never been slept in, and his things were all just as i had seen them the night before. he had gone off at a moment's notice with this stranger, and no word has come from him since. i don't believe he will ever come back. he was a sportsman, was godfrey, down to his marrow, and he wouldn't have stopped his training and let in his skipper if it were not for some cause that was too strong for him. no; i feel as if he were gone for good and we should never see him again." sherlock holmes listened with the deepest attention to this singular narrative. "what did you do?" he asked. "i wired to cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of him there. i have had an answer. no one has seen him." "could he have got back to cambridge?" "yes, there is a late train--quarter-past eleven." "but so far as you can ascertain he did not take it?" "no, he has not been seen." "what did you do next?" "i wired to lord mount-james." "why to lord mount-james?" "godfrey is an orphan, and lord mount-james is his nearest relative--his uncle, i believe." "indeed. this throws new light upon the matter. lord mount-james is one of the richest men in england." "so i've heard godfrey say." "and your friend was closely related?" "yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eighty--cram full of gout, too. they say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles. he never allowed godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an absolute miser, but it will all come to him right enough." "have you heard from lord mount-james?" "no." "what motive could your friend have in going to lord mount-james?" "well, something was worrying him the night before, and if it was to do with money it is possible that he would make for his nearest relative who had so much of it, though from all i have heard he would not have much chance of getting it. godfrey was not fond of the old man. he would not go if he could help it." "well, we can soon determine that. if your friend was going to his relative, lord mount-james, you have then to explain the visit of this rough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitation that was caused by his coming." cyril overton pressed his hands to his head. "i can make nothing of it," said he. "well, well, i have a clear day, and i shall be happy to look into the matter," said holmes. "i should strongly recommend you to make your preparations for your match without reference to this young gentleman. it must, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore him away in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold him away. let us step round together to this hotel, and see if the porter can throw any fresh light upon the matter." sherlock holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humble witness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of godfrey staunton's abandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell. the visitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he a working man. he was simply what the porter described as a "medium-looking chap"; a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face, quietly dressed. he seemed himself to be agitated. the porter had observed his hand trembling when he had held out the note. godfrey staunton had crammed the note into his pocket. staunton had not shaken hands with the man in the hall. they had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porter had only distinguished the one word "time." then they had hurried off in the manner described. it was just half-past ten by the hall clock. "let me see," said holmes, seating himself on staunton's bed. "you are the day porter, are you not?" "yes, sir; i go off duty at eleven." "the night porter saw nothing, i suppose?" "no, sir; one theatre party came in late. no one else." "were you on duty all day yesterday?" "yes, sir." "did you take any messages to mr. staunton?" "yes, sir; one telegram." "ah! that's interesting. what o'clock was this?" "about six." "where was mr. staunton when he received it?" "here in his room." "were you present when he opened it?" "yes, sir; i waited to see if there was an answer." "well, was there?" "yes, sir. he wrote an answer." "did you take it?" "no; he took it himself." "but he wrote it in your presence?" "yes, sir. i was standing by the door, and he with his back turned at that table. when he had written it he said, 'all right, porter, i will take this myself.'" "what did he write it with?" "a pen, sir." "was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?" "yes, sir; it was the top one." holmes rose. taking the forms he carried them over to the window and carefully examined that which was uppermost. "it is a pity he did not write in pencil," said he, throwing them down again with a shrug of disappointment. "as you have no doubt frequently observed, watson, the impression usually goes through--a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage. however, i can find no trace here. i rejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed quill pen, and i can hardly doubt that we will find some impression upon this blotting-pad. ah, yes, surely this is the very thing!" he tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us the following hieroglyphic: [ picture: several unreadable scrawls on paper ] cyril overton was much excited. "hold it to the glass!" he cried. "that is unnecessary," said holmes. "the paper is thin, and the reverse will give the message. here it is." he turned it over and we read: [ picture: stand by us for gods sake! ] "so that is the tail end of the telegram which godfrey staunton dispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. there are at least six words of the message which have escaped us; but what remains--'stand by us for god's sake!'--proves that this young man saw a formidable danger which approached him, and from which someone else could protect him. 'us,' mark you! another person was involved. who should it be but the pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in so nervous a state? what, then, is the connection between godfrey staunton and the bearded man? and what is the third source from which each of them sought for help against pressing danger? our inquiry has already narrowed down to that." "we have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed," i suggested. "exactly, my dear watson. your reflection, though profound, had already crossed my mind. but i dare say it may have come to your notice that if you walk into a post-office and demand to see the counterfoil of another man's message there may be some disinclination on the part of the officials to oblige you. there is so much red tape in these matters! however, i have no doubt that with a little delicacy and finesse the end may be attained. meanwhile, i should like in your presence, mr. overton, to go through these papers which have been left upon the table." there were a number of letters, bills, and note-books, which holmes turned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting, penetrating eyes. "nothing here," he said, at last. "by the way, i suppose your friend was a healthy young fellow--nothing amiss with him?" "sound as a bell." "have you ever known him ill?" "not a day. he has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped his knee-cap, but that was nothing." "perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. i should think he may have had some secret trouble. with your assent i will put one or two of these papers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our future inquiry." "one moment! one moment!" cried a querulous voice, and we looked up to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. he was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad brimmed top-hat and a loose white necktie--the whole effect being that of a very rustic parson or of an undertaker's mute. yet, in spite of his shabby and even absurd appearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner a quick intensity which commanded attention. "who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentleman's papers?" he asked. "i am a private detective, and i am endeavouring to explain his disappearance." "oh, you are, are you? and who instructed you, eh?" "this gentleman, mr. staunton's friend, was referred to me by scotland yard." "who are you, sir?" "i am cyril overton." "then it is you who sent me a telegram. my name is lord mount-james. i came round as quickly as the bayswater 'bus would bring me. so you have instructed a detective?" "yes, sir." "and are you prepared to meet the cost?" "i have no doubt, sir, that my friend godfrey, when we find him, will be prepared to do that." "but if he is never found, eh? answer me that!" "in that case no doubt his family--" "nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little man. "don't look to me for a penny--not a penny! you understand that, mr. detective! i am all the family that this young man has got, and i tell you that i am not responsible. if he has any expectations it is due to the fact that i have never wasted money, and i do not propose to begin to do so now. as to those papers with which you are making so free, i may tell you that in case there should be anything of any value among them you will be held strictly to account for what you do with them." "very good, sir," said sherlock holmes. "may i ask in the meanwhile whether you have yourself any theory to account for this young man's disappearance?" "no, sir, i have not. he is big enough and old enough to look after himself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself i entirely refuse to accept the responsibility of hunting for him." "i quite understand your position," said holmes, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "perhaps you don't quite understand mine. godfrey staunton appears to have been a poor man. if he has been kidnapped it could not have been for anything which he himself possesses. the fame of your wealth has gone abroad, lord mount-james, and it is entirely possible that a gang of thieves have secured your nephew in order to gain from him some information as to your house, your habits, and your treasure." the face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as his neckcloth. "heavens, sir, what an idea! i never thought of such villainy! what inhuman rogues there are in the world! but godfrey is a fine lad--a staunch lad. nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away. i'll have the plate moved over to the bank this evening. in the meantime spare no pains, mr. detective! i beg you to leave no stone unturned to bring him safely back. as to money, well, so far as a fiver, or even a tenner, goes, you can always look to me." even in his chastened frame of mind the noble miser could give us no information which could help us, for he knew little of the private life of his nephew. our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and with a copy of this in his hand holmes set forth to find a second link for his chain. we had shaken off lord mount-james, and overton had gone to consult with the other members of his team over the misfortune which had befallen them. there was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. we halted outside it. "it's worth trying, watson," said holmes. "of course, with a warrant we could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached that stage yet. i don't suppose they remember faces in so busy a place. let us venture it." "i am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his blandest manner, to the young woman behind the grating; "there is some small mistake about a telegram i sent yesterday. i have had no answer, and i very much fear that i must have omitted to put my name at the end. could you tell me if this was so?" the young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils. "what o'clock was it?" she asked. "a little after six." "whom was it to?" holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. "the last words in it were 'for god's sake,'" he whispered, confidentially; "i am very anxious at getting no answer." the young woman separated one of the forms. "this is it. there is no name," said she, smoothing it out upon the counter. "then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer," said holmes. "dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! good morning, miss, and many thanks for having relieved my mind." he chuckled and rubbed his hands when we found ourselves in the street once more. "well?" i asked. "we progress, my dear watson, we progress. i had seven different schemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but i could hardly hope to succeed the very first time." "and what have you gained?" "a starting-point for our investigation." he hailed a cab. "king's cross station," said he. "we have a journey, then?" "yes; i think we must run down to cambridge together. all the indications seem to me to point in that direction." "tell me," i asked, as we rattled up gray's inn road, "have you any suspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? i don't think that among all our cases i have known one where the motives are more obscure. surely you don't really imagine that he may be kidnapped in order to give information against his wealthy uncle?" "i confess, my dear watson, that that does not appeal to me as a very probable explanation. it struck me, however, as being the one which was most likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person." "it certainly did that. but what are your alternatives?" "i could mention several. you must admit that it is curious and suggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this important match, and should involve the only man whose presence seems essential to the success of the side. it may, of course, be coincidence, but it is interesting. amateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal of outside betting goes on among the public, and it is possible that it might be worth someone's while to get at a player as the ruffians of the turf get at a race-horse. there is one explanation. a second very obvious one is that this young man really is the heir of a great property, however modest his means may at present be, and it is not impossible that a plot to hold him for ransom might be concocted." "these theories take no account of the telegram." "quite true, watson. the telegram still remains the only solid thing with which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention to wander away from it. it is to gain light upon the purpose of this telegram that we are now upon our way to cambridge. the path of our investigation is at present obscure, but i shall be very much surprised if before evening we have not cleared it up or made a considerable advance along it." it was already dark when we reached the old university city. holmes took a cab at the station, and ordered the man to drive to the house of dr. leslie armstrong. a few minutes later we had stopped at a large mansion in the busiest thoroughfare. we were shown in, and after a long wait were at last admitted into the consulting-room, where we found the doctor seated behind his table. it argues the degree in which i had lost touch with my profession that the name of leslie armstrong was unknown to me. now i am aware that he is not only one of the heads of the medical school of the university, but a thinker of european reputation in more than one branch of science. yet even without knowing his brilliant record one could not fail to be impressed by a mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, the brooding eyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of the inflexible jaw. a man of deep character, a man with an alert mind, grim, ascetic, self-contained, formidable--so i read dr. leslie armstrong. he held my friend's card in his hand, and he looked up with no very pleased expression upon his dour features. "i have heard your name, mr. sherlock holmes, and i am aware of your profession, one of which i by no means approve." "in that, doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with every criminal in the country," said my friend, quietly. "so far as your efforts are directed towards the suppression of crime, sir, they must have the support of every reasonable member of the community, though i cannot doubt that the official machinery is amply sufficient for the purpose. where your calling is more open to criticism is when you pry into the secrets of private individuals, when you rake up family matters which are better hidden, and when you incidentally waste the time of men who are more busy than yourself. at the present moment, for example, i should be writing a treatise instead of conversing with you." "no doubt, doctor; and yet the conversation may prove more important than the treatise. incidentally i may tell you that we are doing the reverse of what you very justly blame, and that we are endeavouring to prevent anything like public exposure of private matters which must necessarily follow when once the case is fairly in the hands of the official police. you may look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer who goes in front of the regular forces of the country. i have come to ask you about mr. godfrey staunton." "what about him?" "you know him, do you not?" "he is an intimate friend of mine." "you are aware that he has disappeared?" "ah, indeed!" there was no change of expression in the rugged features of the doctor. "he left his hotel last night. he has not been heard of." "no doubt he will return." "to-morrow is the 'varsity football match." "i have no sympathy with these childish games. the young man's fate interests me deeply, since i know him and like him. the football match does not come within my horizon at all." "i claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of mr. staunton's fate. do you know where he is?" "certainly not." "you have not seen him since yesterday?" "no, i have not." "was mr. staunton a healthy man?" "absolutely." "did you ever know him ill?" "never." holmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctor's eyes. "then perhaps you will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid by mr. godfrey staunton last month to dr. leslie armstrong of cambridge. i picked it out from among the papers upon his desk." the doctor flushed with anger. "i do not feel that there is any reason why i should render an explanation to you, mr. holmes." holmes replaced the bill in his note-book. "if you prefer a public explanation it must come sooner or later," said he. "i have already told you that i can hush up that which others will be bound to publish, and you would really be wiser to take me into your complete confidence." "i know nothing about it." "did you hear from mr. staunton in london?" "certainly not." "dear me, dear me; the post-office again!" holmes sighed, wearily. "a most urgent telegram was dispatched to you from london by godfrey staunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening--a telegram which is undoubtedly associated with his disappearance--and yet you have not had it. it is most culpable. i shall certainly go down to the office here and register a complaint." dr. leslie armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and his dark face was crimson with fury. "i'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir," said he. "you can tell your employer, lord mount-james, that i do not wish to have anything to do either with him or with his agents. no, sir, not another word!" he rang the bell furiously. "john, show these gentlemen out!" a pompous butler ushered us severely to the door, and we found ourselves in the street. holmes burst out laughing. "dr. leslie armstrong is certainly a man of energy and character," said he. "i have not seen a man who, if he turned his talents that way, was more calculated to fill the gap left by the illustrious moriarty. and now, my poor watson, here we are, stranded and friendless in this inhospitable town, which we cannot leave without abandoning our case. this little inn just opposite armstrong's house is singularly adapted to our needs. if you would engage a front room and purchase the necessaries for the night, i may have time to make a few inquiries." these few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthy proceeding than holmes had imagined, for he did not return to the inn until nearly nine o'clock. he was pale and dejected, stained with dust, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue. a cold supper was ready upon the table, and when his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was ready to take that half comic and wholly philosophic view which was natural to him when his affairs were going awry. the sound of carriage wheels caused him to rise and glance out of the window. a brougham and pair of greys under the glare of a gas-lamp stood before the doctor's door. "it's been out three hours," said holmes; "started at half-past six, and here it is back again. that gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, and he does it once, or sometimes twice, a day." "no unusual thing for a doctor in practice." "but armstrong is not really a doctor in practice. he is a lecturer and a consultant, but he does not care for general practice, which distracts him from his literary work. why, then, does he make these long journeys, which must be exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?" "his coachman--" "my dear watson, can you doubt that it was to him that i first applied? i do not know whether it came from his own innate depravity or from the promptings of his master, but he was rude enough to set a dog at me. neither dog nor man liked the look of my stick, however, and the matter fell through. relations were strained after that, and further inquiries out of the question. all that i have learned i got from a friendly native in the yard of our own inn. it was he who told me of the doctor's habits and of his daily journey. at that instant, to give point to his words, the carriage came round to the door." "could you not follow it?" "excellent, watson! you are scintillating this evening. the idea did cross my mind. there is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop next to our inn. into this i rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was able to get started before the carriage was quite out of sight. i rapidly overtook it, and then, keeping at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, i followed its lights until we were clear of the town. we had got well out on the country road when a somewhat mortifying incident occurred. the carriage stopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly back to where i had also halted, and told me in an excellent sardonic fashion that he feared the road was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not impede the passage of my bicycle. nothing could have been more admirable than his way of putting it. i at once rode past the carriage, and, keeping to the main road, i went on for a few miles, and then halted in a convenient place to see if the carriage passed. there was no sign of it, however, and so it became evident that it had turned down one of several side roads which i had observed. i rode back, but again saw nothing of the carriage, and now, as you perceive, it has returned after me. of course, i had at the outset no particular reason to connect these journeys with the disappearance of godfrey staunton, and was only inclined to investigate them on the general grounds that everything which concerns dr. armstrong is at present of interest to us; but, now that i find he keeps so keen a look-out upon anyone who may follow him on these excursions, the affair appears more important, and i shall not be satisfied until i have made the matter clear." "we can follow him to-morrow." "can we? it is not so easy as you seem to think. you are not familiar with cambridgeshire scenery, are you? it does not lend itself to concealment. all this country that i passed over to-night is as flat and clean as the palm of your hand, and the man we are following is no fool, as he very clearly showed to-night. i have wired to overton to let us know any fresh london developments at this address, and in the meantime we can only concentrate our attention upon dr. armstrong, whose name the obliging young lady at the office allowed me to read upon the counterfoil of staunton's urgent message. he knows where the young man is--to that i'll swear--and if he knows, then it must be our own fault if we cannot manage to know also. at present it must be admitted that the odd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, watson, it is not my habit to leave the game in that condition." and yet the next day brought us no nearer to the solution of the mystery. a note was handed in after breakfast, which holmes passed across to me with a smile. sir [it ran]: i can assure you that you are wasting your time in dogging my movements. i have, as you discovered last night, a window at the back of my brougham, and if you desire a twenty-mile ride which will lead you to the spot from which you started, you have only to follow me. meanwhile, i can inform you that no spying upon me can in any way help mr. godfrey staunton, and i am convinced that the best service you can do to that gentleman is to return at once to london and to report to your employer that you are unable to trace him. your time in cambridge will certainly be wasted. yours faithfully, leslie armstrong. "an outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor," said holmes. "well, well, he excites my curiosity, and i must really know more before i leave him." "his carriage is at his door now," said i. "there he is stepping into it. i saw him glance up at our window as he did so. suppose i try my luck upon the bicycle?" "no, no, my dear watson! with all respect for your natural acumen i do not think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. i think that possibly i can attain our end by some independent explorations of my own. i am afraid that i must leave you to your own devices, as the appearance of two inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside might excite more gossip than i care for. no doubt you will find some sights to amuse you in this venerable city, and i hope to bring back a more favourable report to you before evening." once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. he came back at night weary and unsuccessful. "i have had a blank day, watson. having got the doctor's general direction, i spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that side of cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local news agencies. i have covered some ground: chesterton, histon, waterbeach, and oakington have each been explored and have each proved disappointing. the daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardly have been overlooked in such sleepy hollows. the doctor has scored once more. is there a telegram for me?" "yes; i opened it. here it is: "'ask for pompey from jeremy dixon, trinity college.' "i don't understand it." "oh, it is clear enough. it is from our friend overton, and is in answer to a question from me. i'll just send round a note to mr. jeremy dixon, and then i have no doubt that our luck will turn. by the way, is there any news of the match?" "yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its last edition. oxford won by a goal and two tries. the last sentences of the description say: "'the defeat of the light blues may be entirely attributed to the unfortunate absence of the crack international, godfrey staunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game. the lack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weakness both in attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of a heavy and hard-working pack.'" "then our friend overton's forebodings have been justified," said holmes. "personally i am in agreement with dr. armstrong, and football does not come within my horizon. early to bed to-night, watson, for i foresee that to-morrow may be an eventful day." i was horrified by my first glimpse of holmes next morning, for he sat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. i associated that instrument with the single weakness of his nature, and i feared the worst when i saw it glittering in his hand. he laughed at my expression of dismay, and laid it upon the table. "no, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. it is not upon this occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be the key which will unlock our mystery. on this syringe i base all my hopes. i have just returned from a small scouting expedition and everything is favourable. eat a good breakfast, watson, for i propose to get upon dr. armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it i will not stop for rest or food until i run him to his burrow." "in that case," said i, "we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he is making an early start. his carriage is at the door." "never mind. let him go. he will be clever if he can drive where i cannot follow him. when you have finished come downstairs with me, and i will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist in the work that lies before us." when we descended i followed holmes into the stable yard, where he opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared, white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound. "let me introduce you to pompey," said he. "pompey is the pride of the local draghounds, no very great flier, as his build will show, but a staunch hound on a scent. well, pompey, you may not be fast, but i expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged london gentlemen, so i will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash to your collar. now, boy, come along, and show what you can do." he led him across to the doctor's door. the dog sniffed round for an instant, and then with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street, tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. in half an hour, we were clear of the town and hastening down a country road. "what have you done, holmes?" i asked. "a threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. i walked into the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe full of aniseed over the hind wheel. a draghound will follow aniseed from here to john o' groat's, and our friend armstrong would have to drive through the cam before he would shake pompey off his trail. oh, the cunning rascal! this is how he gave me the slip the other night." the dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grown lane. half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and the trail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which we had just quitted. the road took a sweep to the south of the town and continued in the opposite direction to that in which we started. "this dtour has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said holmes. "no wonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing. the doctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would like to know the reason for such elaborate deception. this should be the village of trumpington to the right of us. and, by jove! here is the brougham coming round the corner. quick, watson, quick, or we are done!" he sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant pompey after him. we had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when the carriage rattled past. i caught a glimpse of dr. armstrong within, his shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress. i could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen. "i fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "it cannot be long before we know it. come, pompey! ah, it is the cottage in the field!" there could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey. pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks of the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. a footpath led across to the lonely cottage. holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastened onwards. my friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked again without response. and yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low sound came to our ears--a kind of drone of misery and despair, which was indescribably melancholy. holmes paused irresolute, and then he glanced back at the road which we had just traversed. a brougham was coming down it, and there could be no mistaking those grey horses. "by jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried holmes. "that settles it. we are bound to see what it means before he comes." he opened the door and we stepped into the hall. the droning sound swelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail of distress. it came from upstairs. holmes darted up and i followed him. he pushed open a half-closed door and we both stood appalled at the sight before us. a woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. her calm, pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid a great tangle of golden hair. at the foot of the bed, half sitting, half kneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose frame was racked by his sobs. so absorbed was he by his bitter grief that he never looked up until holmes's hand was on his shoulder. "are you mr. godfrey staunton?" "yes, yes; i am--but you are too late. she is dead." the man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that we were anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. holmes was endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation, and to explain the alarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearance, when there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern, questioning face of dr. armstrong at the door. "so, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained your end, and have certainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. i would not brawl in the presence of death, but i can assure you that if i were a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass with impunity." "excuse me, dr. armstrong, i think we are a little at cross-purposes," said my friend, with dignity. "if you could step downstairs with us we may each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserable affair." a minute later the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-room below. "well, sir?" said he. "i wish you to understand, in the first place, that i am not employed by lord mount-james, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirely against that nobleman. when a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain his fate, but having done so the matter ends so far as i am concerned; and so long as there is nothing criminal, i am much more anxious to hush up private scandals than to give them publicity. if, as i imagine, there is no breach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon my discretion and my co-operation in keeping the facts out of the papers." dr. armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung holmes by the hand. "you are a good fellow," said he. "i had misjudged you. i thank heaven that my compunction at leaving poor staunton all alone in this plight caused me to turn my carriage back, and so to make your acquaintance. knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained. a year ago godfrey staunton lodged in london for a time, and became passionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he married. she was as good as she was beautiful, and as intelligent as she was good. no man need be ashamed of such a wife. but godfrey was the heir to this crabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of his marriage would have been the end of his inheritance. i knew the lad well, and i loved him for his many excellent qualities. i did all i could to help him to keep things straight. we did our very best to keep the thing from everyone, for when once such a whisper gets about it is not long before everyone has heard it. thanks to this lonely cottage and his own discretion, godfrey has up to now succeeded. their secret was known to no one save to me and to one excellent servant who has at present gone for assistance to trumpington. but at last there came a terrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness to his wife. it was consumption of the most virulent kind. the poor boy was half crazed with grief, and yet he had to go to london to play this match, for he could not get out of it without explanations which would expose his secret. i tried to cheer him up by a wire, and he sent me one in reply imploring me to do all i could. this was the telegram which you appear in some inexplicable way to have seen. i did not tell him how urgent the danger was, for i knew that he could do no good here, but i sent the truth to the girl's father, and he very injudiciously communicated it to godfrey. the result was that he came straight away in a state bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the same state, kneeling at the end of her bed, until this morning death put an end to her sufferings. that is all, mr. holmes, and i am sure that i can rely upon your discretion and that of your friend." holmes grasped the doctor's hand. "come, watson," said he, and we passed from that house of grief into the pale sunlight of the winter day. the adventure of the abbey grange it was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of '97 that i was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. it was holmes. the candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at a glance that something was amiss. "come, watson, come!" he cried. "the game is afoot. not a word! into your clothes and come!" ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through the silent streets on our way to charing cross station. the first faint winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in the opalescent london reek. holmes nestled in silence into his heavy coat, and i was glad to do the same, for the air was most bitter and neither of us had broken our fast. it was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station, and taken our places in the kentish train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he to speak and i to listen. holmes drew a note from his pocket and read it aloud: "abbey grange, marsham, kent, "3.30 a.m. "my dear mr. holmes: "i should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. it is something quite in your line. except for releasing the lady i will see that everything is kept exactly as i have found it, but i beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave sir eustace there. "yours faithfully, "stanley hopkins." "hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summons has been entirely justified," said holmes. "i fancy that every one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and i must admit, watson, that you have some power of selection which atones for much which i deplore in your narratives. your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. you slur over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon sensational details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader." "why do you not write them yourself?" i said, with some bitterness. "i will, my dear watson, i will. at present i am, as you know, fairly busy, but i propose to devote my declining years to the composition of a text-book which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume. our present research appears to be a case of murder." "you think this sir eustace is dead, then?" "i should say so. hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and he is not an emotional man. yes, i gather there has been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. a mere suicide would not have caused him to send for me. as to the release of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy. we are moving in high life, watson; crackling paper, 'e.b.' monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. i think that friend hopkins will live up to his reputation and that we shall have an interesting morning. the crime was committed before twelve last night." "how can you possibly tell?" "by an inspection of the trains and by reckoning the time. the local police had to be called in, they had to communicate with scotland yard, hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. all that makes a fair night's work. well, here we are at chislehurst station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest." a drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. the avenue ran through a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of palladio. the central part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new. the youthful figure and alert, eager face of inspector stanley hopkins confronted us in the open doorway. "i'm very glad you have come, mr. holmes. and you too, dr. watson! but, indeed, if i had my time over again i should not have troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself she has given so clear an account of the affair that there is not much left for us to do. you remember that lewisham gang of burglars?" "what, the three randalls?" "exactly; the father and two sons. it's their work. i have not a doubt of it. they did a job at sydenham a fortnight ago, and were seen and described. rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. it's a hanging matter this time." "sir eustace is dead, then?" "yes; his head was knocked in with his own poker." "sir eustace brackenstall, the driver tells me." "exactly--one of the richest men in kent. lady brackenstall is in the morning-room. poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience. she seemed half dead when i saw her first. i think you had best see her and hear her account of the facts. then we will examine the dining-room together." lady brackenstall was no ordinary person. seldom have i seen so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. she was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would, no doubt, have had the perfect complexion which goes with such colouring had not her recent experience left her drawn and haggard. her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. the lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, observant gaze as we entered the room, and the alert expression of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage had been shaken by her terrible experience. she was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered dinner-dress was hung upon the couch beside her. "i have told you all that happened, mr. hopkins," she said, wearily; "could you not repeat it for me? well, if you think it necessary, i will tell these gentlemen what occurred. have they been in the dining-room yet?" "i thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first." "i shall be glad when you can arrange matters. it is horrible to me to think of him still lying there." she shuddered and buried her face in her hands. as she did so the loose gown fell back from her forearms. holmes uttered an exclamation. "you have other injuries, madam! what is this?" two vivid red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. she hastily covered it. "it is nothing. it has no connection with the hideous business of last night. if you and your friend will sit down i will tell you all i can. "i am the wife of sir eustace brackenstall. i have been married about a year. i suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our marriage has not been a happy one. i fear that all our neighbours would tell you that, even if i were to attempt to deny it. perhaps the fault may be partly mine. i was brought up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of south australia, and this english life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me. but the main reason lies in the one fact which is notorious to everyone, and that is that sir eustace was a confirmed drunkard. to be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant. can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? it is a sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. i say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land--heaven will not let such wickedness endure." for an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate sobbing. at last she continued:-- "i will tell you about last night. you are aware, perhaps, that in this house all servants sleep in the modern wing. this central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom above. my maid theresa sleeps above my room. there is no one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing. this must have been well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did. "sir eustace retired about half-past ten. the servants had already gone to their quarters. only my maid was up, and she had remained in her room at the top of the house until i needed her services. i sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a book. then i walked round to see that all was right before i went upstairs. it was my custom to do this myself, for, as i have explained, sir eustace was not always to be trusted. i went into the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. as i approached the window, which is covered with thick curtains, i suddenly felt the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. i flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad-shouldered, elderly man who had just stepped into the room. the window is a long french one, which really forms a door leading to the lawn. i held my bedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man i saw two others, who were in the act of entering. i stepped back, but the fellow was on me in an instant. he caught me first by the wrist and then by the throat. i opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. i must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for when i came to myself i found that they had torn down the bell-rope and had secured me tightly to the oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-room table. i was so firmly bound that i could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth prevented me from uttering any sound. it was at this instant that my unfortunate husband entered the room. he had evidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he found. he was dressed in his shirt and trousers, with his favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. he rushed at one of the burglars, but another--it was the elderly man--stooped, picked the poker out of the grate, and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. he fell without a groan, and never moved again. i fainted once more, but again it could only have been a very few minutes during which i was insensible. when i opened my eyes i found that they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. each of them had a glass in his hand. i have already told you, have i not, that one was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. they might have been a father with his two sons. they talked together in whispers. then they came over and made sure that i was still securely bound. finally they withdrew, closing the window after them. it was quite a quarter of an hour before i got my mouth free. when i did so my screams brought the maid to my assistance. the other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent for the local police, who instantly communicated with london. that is really all that i can tell you, gentlemen, and i trust that it will not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story again." "any questions, mr. holmes?" asked hopkins. "i will not impose any further tax upon lady brackenstall's patience and time," said holmes. "before i go into the dining-room i should like to hear your experience." he looked at the maid. "i saw the men before ever they came into the house," said she. "as i sat by my bedroom window i saw three men in the moonlight down by the lodge gate yonder, but i thought nothing of it at the time. it was more than an hour after that i heard my mistress scream, and down i ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor with his blood and brains over the room. it was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted with him; but she never wanted courage, did miss mary fraser of adelaide, and lady brackenstall of abbey grange hasn't learned new ways. you've questioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room, just with her old theresa, to get the rest that she badly needs." with a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her mistress and led her from the room. "she has been with her all her life," said hopkins. "nursed her as a baby, and came with her to england when they first left australia eighteen months ago. theresa wright is her name, and the kind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. this way, mr. holmes, if you please!" the keen interest had passed out of holmes's expressive face, and i knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. there still remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands with them? an abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles would experience something of the annoyance which i read in my friend's eyes. yet the scene in the dining-room of the abbey grange was sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning interest. it was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling, oaken panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient weapons around the walls. at the farther end from the door was the high french window of which we had heard. three smaller windows on the right-hand side filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. on the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a massive, over-hanging oak mantelpiece. beside the fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and cross-bars at the bottom. in and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord, which was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. in releasing the lady the cord had been slipped off her, but the knots with which it had been secured still remained. these details only struck our attention afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the tiger-skin hearthrug in front of the fire. it was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of age. he lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth grinning through his short black beard. his two clenched hands were raised above his head, and a heavy blackthorn stick lay across them. his dark, handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. he had evidently been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he wore a foppish embroidered night-shirt, and his bare feet projected from his trousers. his head was horribly injured, and the whole room bore witness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck him down. beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. holmes examined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought. "he must be a powerful man, this elder randall," he remarked. "yes," said hopkins. "i have some record of the fellow, and he is a rough customer." "you should have no difficulty in getting him." "not the slightest. we have been on the look-out for him, and there was some idea that he had got away to america. now that we know the gang are here i don't see how they can escape. we have the news at every seaport already, and a reward will be offered before evening. what beats me is how they could have done so mad a thing, knowing that the lady could describe them, and that we could not fail to recognise the description." "exactly. one would have expected that they would have silenced lady brackenstall as well." "they may not have realized," i suggested, "that she had recovered from her faint." "that is likely enough. if she seemed to be senseless they would not take her life. what about this poor fellow, hopkins? i seem to have heard some queer stories about him." "he was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom really went the whole way. the devil seemed to be in him at such times, and he was capable of anything. from what i hear, in spite of all his wealth and his title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. there was a scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on fire--her ladyship's dog, to make the matter worse--and that was only hushed up with difficulty. then he threw a decanter at that maid, theresa wright; there was trouble about that. on the whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house without him. what are you looking at now?" holmes was down on his knees examining with great attention the knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. then he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had snapped off when the burglar had dragged it down. "when this was pulled down the bell in the kitchen must have rung loudly," he remarked. "no one could hear it. the kitchen stands right at the back of the house." "how did the burglar know no one would hear it? how dared he pull at a bell-rope in that reckless fashion?" "exactly, mr. holmes, exactly. you put the very question which i have asked myself again and again. there can be no doubt that this fellow must have known the house and its habits. he must have perfectly understood that the servants would all be in bed at that comparatively early hour, and that no one could possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. therefore he must have been in close league with one of the servants. surely that is evident. but there are eight servants, and all of good character." "other things being equal," said holmes, "one would suspect the one at whose head the master threw a decanter. and yet that would involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems devoted. well, well, the point is a minor one, and when you have randall you will probably find no difficulty in securing his accomplice. the lady's story certainly seems to be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every detail which we see before us." he walked to the french window and threw it open. "there are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard, and one would not expect them. i see that these candles on the mantelpiece have been lighted." "yes; it was by their light and that of the lady's bedroom candle that the burglars saw their way about." "and what did they take?" "well, they did not take much--only half-a-dozen articles of plate off the sideboard. lady brackenstall thinks that they were themselves so disturbed by the death of sir eustace that they did not ransack the house as they would otherwise have done." "no doubt that is true. and yet they drank some wine, i understand." "to steady their own nerves." "exactly. these three glasses upon the sideboard have been untouched, i suppose?" "yes; and the bottle stands as they left it." "let us look at it. halloa! halloa! what is this?" the three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged with wine, and one of them containing some dregs of bees-wing. the bottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply-stained cork. its appearance and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was no common vintage which the murderers had enjoyed. a change had come over holmes's manner. he had lost his listless expression, and again i saw an alert light of interest in his keen, deep-set eyes. he raised the cork and examined it minutely. "how did they draw it?" he asked. hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. in it lay some table linen and a large cork-screw. "did lady brackenstall say that screw was used?" "no; you remember that she was senseless at the moment when the bottle was opened." "quite so. as a matter of fact that screw was not used. this bottle was opened by a pocket-screw, probably contained in a knife, and not more than an inch and a half long. if you examine the top of the cork you will observe that the screw was driven in three times before the cork was extracted. it has never been transfixed. this long screw would have transfixed it and drawn it with a single pull. when you catch this fellow you will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in his possession." "excellent!" said hopkins. "but these glasses do puzzle me, i confess. lady brackenstall actually saw the three men drinking, did she not?" "yes; she was clear about that." "then there is an end of it. what more is to be said? and yet you must admit that the three glasses are very remarkable, hopkins. what, you see nothing remarkable! well, well, let it pass. perhaps when a man has special knowledge and special powers like my own it rather encourages him to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is at hand. of course, it must be a mere chance about the glasses. well, good morning, hopkins. i don't see that i can be of any use to you, and you appear to have your case very clear. you will let me know when randall is arrested, and any further developments which may occur. i trust that i shall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful conclusion. come, watson, i fancy that we may employ ourselves more profitably at home." during our return journey i could see by holmes's face that he was much puzzled by something which he had observed. every now and then, by an effort, he would throw off the impression and talk as if the matter were clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon him again, and his knitted brows and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had gone back once more to the great dining-room of the abbey grange in which this midnight tragedy had been enacted. at last, by a sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out of a suburban station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after him. "excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched the rear carriages of our train disappearing round a curve; "i am sorry to make you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, watson, i simply can't leave that case in this condition. every instinct that i possess cries out against it. it's wrong--it's all wrong--i'll swear that it's wrong. and yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the detail was fairly exact. what have i to put against that? three wine-glasses, that is all. but if i had not taken things for granted, if i had examined everything with care which i would have shown had we approached the case de novo and had no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, would i not then have found something more definite to go upon? of course i should. sit down on this bench, watson, until a train for chislehurst arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must necessarily be true. the lady's charming personality must not be permitted to warp our judgment. "surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at it in cold blood, would excite our suspicion. these burglars made a considerable haul at sydenham a fortnight ago. some account of them and of their appearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part. as a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without embarking on another perilous undertaking. again, it is unusual for burglars to operate at so early an hour; it is unusual for burglars to strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one would imagine that was the sure way to make her scream; it is unusual for them to commit murder when their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man; it is unusual for them to be content with a limited plunder when there is much more within their reach; and finally i should say that it was very unusual for such men to leave a bottle half empty. how do all these unusuals strike you, watson?" "their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet each of them is quite possible in itself. the most unusual thing of all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair." "well, i am not so clear about that, watson; for it is evident that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way that she could not give immediate notice of their escape. but at any rate i have shown, have i not, that there is a certain element of improbability about the lady's story? and now on the top of this comes the incident of the wine-glasses." "what about the wine-glasses?" "can you see them in your mind's eye?" "i see them clearly." "we are told that three men drank from them. does that strike you as likely?" "why not? there was wine in each glass." "exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one glass. you must have noticed that fact. what does that suggest to your mind?" "the last glass filled would be most likely to contain bees-wing." "not at all. the bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable that the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged with it. there are two possible explanations, and only two. one is that after the second glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so the third glass received the bees-wing. that does not appear probable. no, no; i am sure that i am right." "what, then, do you suppose?" "that only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that three people had been here. in that way all the bees-wing would be in the last glass, would it not? yes, i am convinced that this is so. but if i have hit upon the true explanation of this one small phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from the commonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only mean that lady brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us, that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they have some very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and that we must construct our case for ourselves without any help from them. that is the mission which now lies before us, and here, watson, is the chislehurst train." the household of the abbey grange were much surprised at our return, but sherlock holmes, finding that stanley hopkins had gone off to report to head-quarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investigations which formed the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deduction were reared. seated in a corner like an interested student who observes the demonstration of his professor, i followed every step of that remarkable research. the window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope--each in turn was minutely examined and duly pondered. the body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, but all else remained as we had seen it in the morning. then, to my astonishment, holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. far above his head hung the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. for a long time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall. this brought his hand within a few inches of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket itself which seemed to engage his attention. finally he sprang down with an ejaculation of satisfaction. "it's all right, watson," said he. "we have got our case--one of the most remarkable in our collection. but, dear me, how slow-witted i have been, and how nearly i have committed the blunder of my lifetime! now, i think that with a few missing links my chain is almost complete." "you have got your men?" "man, watson, man. only one, but a very formidable person. strong as a lion--witness the blow that bent that poker. six foot three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers; finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction. yes, watson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual. and yet in that bell-rope he has given us a clue which should not have left us a doubt." "where was the clue?" "well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, watson, where would you expect it to break? surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire. why should it break three inches from the top as this one has done?" "because it is frayed there?" "exactly. this end, which we can examine, is frayed. he was cunning enough to do that with his knife. but the other end is not frayed. you could not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever. you can reconstruct what occurred. the man needed the rope. he would not tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell. what did he do? he sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket--you will see the impression in the dust--and so got his knife to bear upon the cord. i could not reach the place by at least three inches, from which i infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than i. look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! what is it?" "blood." "undoubtedly it is blood. this alone puts the lady's story out of court. if she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes that mark? no, no; she was placed in the chair after the death of her husband. i'll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this. we have not yet met our waterloo, watson, but this is our marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends in victory. i should like now to have a few words with the nurse theresa. we must be wary for awhile, if we are to get the information which we want." she was an interesting person, this stern australian nurse. taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a corresponding amiability. she did not attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer. "yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. i heard him call my mistress a name, and i told him that he would not dare to speak so if her brother had been there. then it was that he threw it at me. he might have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone. he was for ever illtreating her, and she too proud to complain. she will not even tell me all that he has done to her. she never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw this morning, but i know very well that they come from a stab with a hat-pin. the sly fiend--heaven forgive me that i should speak of him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever one walked the earth. he was all honey when first we met him, only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen years. she had only just arrived in london. yes, it was her first voyage--she had never been from home before. he won her with his title and his money and his false london ways. if she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. what month did we meet him? well, i tell you it was just after we arrived. we arrived in june, and it was july. they were married in january of last year. yes, she is down in the morning-room again, and i have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood will stand." lady brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked brighter than before. the maid had entered with us, and began once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow. "i hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-examine me again?" "no," holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "i will not cause you any unnecessary trouble, lady brackenstall, and my whole desire is to make things easy for you, for i am convinced that you are a much-tried woman. if you will treat me as a friend and trust me you may find that i will justify your trust." "what do you want me to do?" "to tell me the truth." "mr. holmes!" "no, no, lady brackenstall, it is no use. you may have heard of any little reputation which i possess. i will stake it all on the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication." mistress and maid were both staring at holmes with pale faces and frightened eyes. "you are an impudent fellow!" cried theresa. "do you mean to say that my mistress has told a lie?" holmes rose from his chair. "have you nothing to tell me?" "i have told you everything." "think once more, lady brackenstall. would it not be better to be frank?" for an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. then some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask. "i have told you all i know." holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "i am sorry," he said, and without another word we left the room and the house. there was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. it was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary swan. holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the lodge gate. there he scribbled a short note for stanley hopkins and left it with the lodge-keeper. "it may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do something for friend hopkins, just to justify this second visit," said he. "i will not quite take him into my confidence yet. i think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of the adelaide-southampton line, which stands at the end of pall mall, if i remember right. there is a second line of steamers which connect south australia with england, but we will draw the larger cover first." holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention, and he was not long in acquiring all the information which he needed. in june of '95 only one of their line had reached a home port. it was the rock of gibraltar, their largest and best boat. a reference to the passenger list showed that miss fraser of adelaide, with her maid, had made the voyage in her. the boat was now on her way to australia, somewhere to the south of the suez canal. her officers were the same as in '95, with one exception. the first officer, mr. jack croker, had been made a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the bass rock, sailing in two days' time from southampton. he lived at sydenham, but he was likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to wait for him. no; mr. holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know more about his record and character. his record was magnificent. there was not an officer in the fleet to touch him. as to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship, hot-headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. that was the pith of the information with which holmes left the office of the adelaide-southampton company. thence he drove to scotland yard, but instead of entering he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down, lost in profound thought. finally he drove round to the charing cross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at last, we made for baker street once more. "no, i couldn't do it, watson," said he, as we re-entered our room. "once that warrant was made out nothing on earth would save him. once or twice in my career i feel that i have done more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. i have learned caution now, and i had rather play tricks with the law of england than with my own conscience. let us know a little more before we act." before evening we had a visit from inspector stanley hopkins. things were not going very well with him. "i believe that you are a wizard, mr. holmes. i really do sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. now, how on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?" "i didn't know it." "but you told me to examine it." "you got it, then?" "yes, i got it." "i am very glad if i have helped you." "but you haven't helped me. you have made the affair far more difficult. what sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw it into the nearest pond?" "it was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. i was merely going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not want it, who merely took it for a blind as it were, then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it." "but why should such an idea cross your mind?" "well, i thought it was possible. when they came out through the french window there was the pond, with one tempting little hole in the ice, right in front of their noses. could there be a better hiding-place?" "ah, a hiding-place--that is better!" cried stanley hopkins. "yes, yes, i see it all now! it was early, there were folk upon the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear. excellent, mr. holmes--that is better than your idea of a blind." "quite so; you have got an admirable theory. i have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended in discovering the silver." "yes, sir, yes. it was all your doing. but i have had a bad set-back." "a set-back?" "yes, mr. holmes. the randall gang were arrested in new york this morning." "dear me, hopkins! that is certainly rather against your theory that they committed a murder in kent last night." "it is fatal, mr. holmes, absolutely fatal. still, there are other gangs of three besides the randalls, or it may be some new gang of which the police have never heard." "quite so; it is perfectly possible. what, are you off?" "yes, mr. holmes; there is no rest for me until i have got to the bottom of the business. i suppose you have no hint to give me?" "i have given you one." "which?" "well, i suggested a blind." "but why, mr. holmes, why?" "ah, that's the question, of course. but i commend the idea to your mind. you might possibly find that there was something in it. you won't stop for dinner? well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on." dinner was over and the table cleared before holmes alluded to the matter again. he had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerful blaze of the fire. suddenly he looked at his watch. "i expect developments, watson." "when?" "now--within a few minutes. i dare say you thought i acted rather badly to stanley hopkins just now?" "i trust your judgment." "a very sensible reply, watson. you must look at it this way: what i know is unofficial; what he knows is official. i have the right to private judgment, but he has none. he must disclose all, or he is a traitor to his service. in a doubtful case i would not put him in so painful a position, and so i reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon the matter." "but when will that be?" "the time has come. you will now be present at the last scene of a remarkable little drama." there was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. he was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong. he closed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion. "sit down, captain croker. you got my telegram?" our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked from one to the other of us with questioning eyes. "i got your telegram, and i came at the hour you said. i heard that you had been down to the office. there was no getting away from you. let's hear the worst. what are you going to do with me? arrest me? speak out, man! you can't sit there and play with me like a cat with a mouse." "give him a cigar," said holmes. "bite on that, captain croker, and don't let your nerves run away with you. i should not sit here smoking with you if i thought that you were a common criminal, you may be sure of that. be frank with me, and we may do some good. play tricks with me, and i'll crush you." "what do you wish me to do?" "to give me a true account of all that happened at the abbey grange last night--a true account, mind you, with nothing added and nothing taken off. i know so much already that if you go one inch off the straight i'll blow this police whistle from my window and the affair goes out of my hands for ever." the sailor thought for a little. then he struck his leg with his great, sun-burned hand. "i'll chance it," he cried. "i believe you are a man of your word, and a white man, and i'll tell you the whole story. but one thing i will say first. so far as i am concerned i regret nothing and i fear nothing, and i would do it all again and be proud of the job. curse the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat he would owe them all to me! but it's the lady, mary--mary fraser--for never will i call her by that accursed name. when i think of getting her into trouble, i who would give my life just to bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into water. and yet--and yet--what less could i do? i'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then i'll ask you as man to man what less could i do. "i must go back a bit. you seem to know everything, so i expect that you know that i met her when she was a passenger and i was first officer of the rock of gibraltar. from the first day i met her she was the only woman to me. every day of that voyage i loved her more, and many a time since have i kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship because i knew her dear feet had trod it. she was never engaged to me. she treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. i have no complaint to make. it was all love on my side, and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. when we parted she was a free woman, but i could never again be a free man. "next time i came back from sea i heard of her marriage. well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? title and money--who could carry them better than she? she was born for all that is beautiful and dainty. i didn't grieve over her marriage. i was not such a selfish hound as that. i just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself away on a penniless sailor. that's how i loved mary fraser. "well, i never thought to see her again; but last voyage i was promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so i had to wait for a couple of months with my people at sydenham. one day out in a country lane i met theresa wright, her old maid. she told me about her, about him, about everything. i tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. this drunken hound, that he should dare to raise his hand to her whose boots he was not worthy to lick! i met theresa again. then i met mary herself--and met her again. then she would meet me no more. but the other day i had a notice that i was to start on my voyage within a week, and i determined that i would see her once before i left. theresa was always my friend, for she loved mary and hated this villain almost as much as i did. from her i learned the ways of the house. mary used to sit up reading in her own little room downstairs. i crept round there last night and scratched at the window. at first she would not open to me, but in her heart i know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the frosty night. she whispered to me to come round to the big front window, and i found it open before me so as to let me into the dining-room. again i heard from her own lips things that made my blood boil, and again i cursed this brute who mishandled the woman that i loved. well, gentlemen, i was standing with her just inside the window, in all innocence, as heaven is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across the face with the stick he had in his hand. i had sprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight between us. see here on my arm where his first blow fell. then it was my turn, and i went through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. do you think i was sorry? not i! it was his life or mine, but far more than that it was his life or hers, for how could i leave her in the power of this madman? that was how i killed him. was i wrong? well, then, what would either of you gentlemen have done if you had been in my position? "she had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old theresa down from the room above. there was a bottle of wine on the sideboard, and i opened it and poured a little between mary's lips, for she was half dead with the shock. then i took a drop myself. theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much as mine. we must make it appear that burglars had done the thing. theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress, while i swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. then i lashed her in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got up there to cut it. then i gathered up a few plates and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of a robbery, and there i left them with orders to give the alarm when i had a quarter of an hour's start. i dropped the silver into the pond and made off for sydenham, feeling that for once in my life i had done a real good night's work. and that's the truth and the whole truth, mr. holmes, if it costs me my neck." holmes smoked for some time in silence. then he crossed the room and shook our visitor by the hand. "that's what i think," said he. "i know that every word is true, for you have hardly said a word which i did not know. no one but an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened to the chair. only once had this lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life, since she was trying hard to shield him and so showing that she loved him. you see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once i had started upon the right trail." "i thought the police never could have seen through our dodge." "and the police haven't; nor will they, to the best of my belief. now, look here, captain croker, this is a very serious matter, though i am willing to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected. i am not sure that in defence of your own life your action will not be pronounced legitimate. however, that is for a british jury to decide. meanwhile i have so much sympathy for you that if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours i will promise you that no one will hinder you." "and then it will all come out?" "certainly it will come out." the sailor flushed with anger. "what sort of proposal is that to make a man? i know enough of law to understand that mary would be had as accomplice. do you think i would leave her alone to face the music while i slunk away? no, sir; let them do their worst upon me, but for heaven's sake, mr. holmes, find some way of keeping my poor mary out of the courts." holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor. "i was only testing you, and you ring true every time. well, it is a great responsibility that i take upon myself, but i have given hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it i can do no more. see here, captain croker, we'll do this in due form of law. you are the prisoner. watson, you are a british jury, and i never met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one. i am the judge. now, gentleman of the jury, you have heard the evidence. do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?" "not guilty, my lord," said i. "vox populi, vox dei. you are acquitted, captain croker. so long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe from me. come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced this night." the adventure of the second stain i had intended "the adventure of the abbey grange" to be the last of those exploits of my friend, mr. sherlock holmes, which i should ever communicate to the public. this resolution of mine was not due to any lack of material, since i have notes of many hundreds of cases to which i have never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man. the real reason lay in the reluctance which mr. holmes has shown to the continued publication of his experiences. so long as he was in actual professional practice the records of his successes were of some practical value to him; but since he has definitely retired from london and betaken himself to study and bee-farming on the sussex downs, notoriety has become hateful to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this matter should be strictly observed. it was only upon my representing to him that i had given a promise that "the adventure of the second stain" should be published when the times were ripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this long series of episodes should culminate in the most important international case which he has ever been called upon to handle, that i at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully-guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the public. if in telling the story i seem to be somewhat vague in certain details the public will readily understand that there is an excellent reason for my reticence. it was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be nameless, that upon one tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors of european fame within the walls of our humble room in baker street. the one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was none other than the illustrious lord bellinger, twice premier of britain. the other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty of body and of mind, was the right honourable trelawney hope, secretary for european affairs, and the most rising statesman in the country. they sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was business of the most pressing importance which had brought them. the premier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from holmes to me. the european secretary pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of his watch-chain. "when i discovered my loss, mr. holmes, which was at eight o'clock this morning, i at once informed the prime minister. it was at his suggestion that we have both come to you." "have you informed the police?" "no, sir," said the prime minister, with the quick, decisive manner for which he was famous. "we have not done so, nor is it possible that we should do so. to inform the police must, in the long run, mean to inform the public. this is what we particularly desire to avoid." "and why, sir?" "because the document in question is of such immense importance that its publication might very easily--i might almost say probably--lead to european complications of the utmost moment. it is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue. unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents should be generally known." "i understand. now, mr. trelawney hope, i should be much obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this document disappeared." "that can be done in a very few words, mr. holmes. the letter--for it was a letter from a foreign potentate--was received six days ago. it was of such importance that i have never left it in my safe, but i have taken it across each evening to my house in whitehall terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked despatch-box. it was there last night. of that i am certain. i actually opened the box while i was dressing for dinner, and saw the document inside. this morning it was gone. the despatch-box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. i am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. we are both prepared to swear that no one could have entered the room during the night. and yet i repeat that the paper is gone." "what time did you dine?" "half-past seven." "how long was it before you went to bed?" "my wife had gone to the theatre. i waited up for her. it was half-past eleven before we went to our room." "then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?" "no one is ever permitted to enter that room save the housemaid in the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during the rest of the day. they are both trusty servants who have been with us for some time. besides, neither of them could possibly have known that there was anything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers in my despatch-box." "who did know of the existence of that letter?" "no one in the house." "surely your wife knew?" "no, sir; i had said nothing to my wife until i missed the paper this morning." the premier nodded approvingly. "i have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty," said he. "i am convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance it would rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties." the european secretary bowed. "you do me no more than justice, sir. until this morning i have never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter." "could she have guessed?" "no, mr. holmes, she could not have guessed--nor could anyone have guessed." "have you lost any documents before?" "no, sir." "who is there in england who did know of the existence of this letter?" "each member of the cabinet was informed of it yesterday; but the pledge of secrecy which attends every cabinet meeting was increased by the solemn warning which was given by the prime minister. good heavens, to think that within a few hours i should myself have lost it!" his handsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. for a moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. the next the aristocratic mask was replaced, and the gentle voice had returned. "besides the members of the cabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental officials who know of the letter. no one else in england, mr. holmes, i assure you." "but abroad?" "i believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it. i am well convinced that his ministers--that the usual official channels have not been employed." holmes considered for some little time. "now, sir, i must ask you more particularly what this document is, and why its disappearance should have such momentous consequences?" the two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the premier's shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown. "mr. holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour. there is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. it is addressed in large, bold handwriting to--" "i fear, sir," said holmes, "that, interesting and indeed essential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to the root of things. what was the letter?" "that is a state secret of the utmost importance, and i fear that i cannot tell you, nor do i see that it is necessary. if by the aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can find such an envelope as i describe with its enclosure, you will have deserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it lies in our power to bestow." sherlock holmes rose with a smile. "you are two of the most busy men in the country," said he, "and in my own small way i have also a good many calls upon me. i regret exceedingly that i cannot help you in this matter, and any continuation of this interview would be a waste of time." the premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of his deep-set eyes before which a cabinet has cowered. "i am not accustomed, sir--" he began, but mastered his anger and resumed his seat. for a minute or more we all sat in silence. then the old statesman shrugged his shoulders. "we must accept your terms, mr. holmes. no doubt you are right, and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we give you our entire confidence." "i agree with you, sir," said the younger statesman. "then i will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and that of your colleague, dr. watson. i may appeal to your patriotism also, for i could not imagine a greater misfortune for the country than that this affair should come out." "you may safely trust us." "the letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has been ruffled by some recent colonial developments of this country. it has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility entirely. inquiries have shown that his ministers know nothing of the matter. at the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a manner, and certain phrases in it are of so provocative a character, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to a most dangerous state of feeling in this country. there would be such a ferment, sir, that i do not hesitate to say that within a week of the publication of that letter this country would be involved in a great war." holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the premier. "exactly. it was he. and it is this letter--this letter which may well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the lives of a hundred thousand men--which has become lost in this unaccountable fashion." "have you informed the sender?" "yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched." "perhaps he desires the publication of the letter." "no, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already understands that he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed manner. it would be a greater blow to him and to his country than to us if this letter were to come out." "if this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come out? why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?" "there, mr. holmes, you take me into regions of high international politics. but if you consider the european situation you will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive. the whole of europe is an armed camp. there is a double league which makes a fair balance of military power. great britain holds the scales. if britain were driven into war with one confederacy, it would assure the supremacy of the other confederacy, whether they joined in the war or not. do you follow?" "very clearly. it is then the interest of the enemies of this potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach between his country and ours?" "yes, sir." "and to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the hands of an enemy?" "to any of the great chancelleries of europe. it is probably speeding on its way thither at the present instant as fast as steam can take it." mr. trelawney hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned aloud. the premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder. "it is your misfortune, my dear fellow. no one can blame you. there is no precaution which you have neglected. now, mr. holmes, you are in full possession of the facts. what course do you recommend?" holmes shook his head mournfully. "you think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there will be war?" "i think it is very probable." "then, sir, prepare for war." "that is a hard saying, mr. holmes." "consider the facts, sir. it is inconceivable that it was taken after eleven-thirty at night, since i understand that mr. hope and his wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss was found out. it was taken, then, yesterday evening between seven-thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and would naturally secure it as early as possible. now, sir, if a document of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now? no one has any reason to retain it. it has been passed rapidly on to those who need it. what chance have we now to overtake or even to trace it? it is beyond our reach." the prime minister rose from the settee. "what you say is perfectly logical, mr. holmes. i feel that the matter is indeed out of our hands." "let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document was taken by the maid or by the valet--" "they are both old and tried servants." "i understand you to say that your room is on the second floor, that there is no entrance from without, and that from within no one could go up unobserved. it must, then, be somebody in the house who has taken it. to whom would the thief take it? to one of several international spies and secret agents, whose names are tolerably familiar to me. there are three who may be said to be the heads of their profession. i will begin my research by going round and finding if each of them is at his post. if one is missing--especially if he has disappeared since last night--we will have some indication as to where the document has gone." "why should he be missing?" asked the european secretary. "he would take the letter to an embassy in london, as likely as not." "i fancy not. these agents work independently, and their relations with the embassies are often strained." the prime minister nodded his acquiescence. "i believe you are right, mr. holmes. he would take so valuable a prize to head-quarters with his own hands. i think that your course of action is an excellent one. meanwhile, hope, we cannot neglect all our other duties on account of this one misfortune. should there be any fresh developments during the day we shall communicate with you, and you will no doubt let us know the results of your own inquiries." the two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room. when our illustrious visitors had departed holmes lit his pipe in silence, and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. i had opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational crime which had occurred in london the night before, when my friend gave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe down upon the mantelpiece. "yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it. the situation is desperate, but not hopeless. even now, if we could be sure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it has not yet passed out of his hands. after all, it is a question of money with these fellows, and i have the british treasury behind me. if it's on the market i'll buy it--if it means another penny on the income-tax. it is conceivable that the fellow might hold it back to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luck on the other. there are only those three capable of playing so bold a game; there are oberstein, la rothiere, and eduardo lucas. i will see each of them." i glanced at my morning paper. "is that eduardo lucas of godolphin street?" "yes." "you will not see him." "why not?" "he was murdered in his house last night." my friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventures that it was with a sense of exultation that i realized how completely i had astonished him. he stared in amazement, and then snatched the paper from my hands. this was the paragraph which i had been engaged in reading when he rose from his chair: murder in westminster a crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16, godolphin street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of eighteenth-century houses which lie between the river and the abbey, almost in the shadow of the great tower of the houses of parliament. this small but select mansion has been inhabited for some years by mr. eduardo lucas, well known in society circles both on account of his charming personality and because he has the well-deserved reputation of being one of the best amateur tenors in the country. mr. lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-four years of age, and his establishment consists of mrs. pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of mitton, his valet. the former retires early and sleeps at the top of the house. the valet was out for the evening, visiting a friend at hammersmith. from ten o'clock onwards mr. lucas had the house to himself. what occurred during that time has not yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve police-constable barrett, passing along godolphin street, observed that the door of no. 16 was ajar. he knocked, but received no answer. perceiving a light in the front room he advanced into the passage and again knocked, but without reply. he then pushed open the door and entered. the room was in a state of wild disorder, the furniture being all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its back in the centre. beside this chair, and still grasping one of its legs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. he had been stabbed to the heart and must have died instantly. the knife with which the crime had been committed was a curved indian dagger, plucked down from a trophy of oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. robbery does not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there had been no attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. mr. eduardo lucas was so well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fate will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a wide-spread circle of friends. "well, watson, what do you make of this?" asked holmes, after a long pause. "it is an amazing coincidence." "a coincidence! here is one of the three men whom we had named as possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent death during the very hours when we know that that drama was being enacted. the odds are enormous against its being coincidence. no figures could express them. no, my dear watson, the two events are connected--must be connected. it is for us to find the connection." "but now the official police must know all." "not at all. they know all they see at godolphin street. they know--and shall know--nothing of whitehall terrace. only we know of both events, and can trace the relation between them. there is one obvious point which would, in any case, have turned my suspicions against lucas. godolphin street, westminster, is only a few minutes' walk from whitehall terrace. the other secret agents whom i have named live in the extreme west-end. it was easier, therefore, for lucas than for the others to establish a connection or receive a message from the european secretary's household--a small thing, and yet where events are compressed into a few hours it may prove essential. halloa! what have we here?" mrs. hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver. holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to me. "ask lady hilda trelawney hope if she will be kind enough to step up," said he. a moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguished that morning, was further honoured by the entrance of the most lovely woman in london. i had often heard of the beauty of the youngest daughter of the duke of belminster, but no description of it, and no contemplation of colourless photographs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm and the beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. and yet as we saw it that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the first thing to impress the observer. the cheek was lovely, but it was paled with emotion; the eyes were bright, but it was the brightness of fever; the sensitive mouth was tight and drawn in an effort after self-command. terror--not beauty--was what sprang first to the eye as our fair visitor stood framed for an instant in the open door. "has my husband been here, mr. holmes?" "yes, madam, he has been here." "mr. holmes, i implore you not to tell him that i came here." holmes bowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair. "your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. i beg that you will sit down and tell me what you desire; but i fear that i cannot make any unconditional promise." she swept across the room and seated herself with her back to the window. it was a queenly presence--tall, graceful, and intensely womanly. "mr. holmes," she said, and her white-gloved hands clasped and unclasped as she spoke--"i will speak frankly to you in the hope that it may induce you to speak frankly in return. there is complete confidence between my husband and me on all matters save one. that one is politics. on this his lips are sealed. he tells me nothing. now, i am aware that there was a most deplorable occurrence in our house last night. i know that a paper has disappeared. but because the matter is political my husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence. now it is essential--essential, i say--that i should thoroughly understand it. you are the only other person, save only these politicians, who knows the true facts. i beg you, then, mr. holmes, to tell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. tell me all, mr. holmes. let no regard for your client's interests keep you silent, for i assure you that his interests, if he would only see it, would be best served by taking me into his complete confidence. what was this paper which was stolen?" "madam, what you ask me is really impossible." she groaned and sank her face in her hands. "you must see that this is so, madam. if your husband thinks fit to keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has only learned the true facts under the pledge of professional secrecy, to tell what he has withheld? it is not fair to ask it. it is him whom you must ask." "i have asked him. i come to you as a last resource. but without your telling me anything definite, mr. holmes, you may do a great service if you would enlighten me on one point." "what is it, madam?" "is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this incident?" "well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a very unfortunate effect." "ah!" she drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts are resolved. "one more question, mr. holmes. from an expression which my husband dropped in the first shock of this disaster i understood that terrible public consequences might arise from the loss of this document." "if he said so, i certainly cannot deny it." "of what nature are they?" "nay, madam, there again you ask me more than i can possibly answer." "then i will take up no more of your time. i cannot blame you, mr. holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and you on your side will not, i am sure, think the worse of me because i desire, even against his will, to share my husband's anxieties. once more i beg that you will say nothing of my visit." she looked back at us from the door, and i had a last impression of that beautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the drawn mouth. then she was gone. "now, watson, the fair sex is your department," said holmes, with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the slam of the front door. "what was the fair lady's game? what did she really want?" "surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very natural." "hum! think of her appearance, watson--her manner, her suppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions. remember that she comes of a caste who do not lightly show emotion." "she was certainly much moved." "remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured us that it was best for her husband that she should know all. what did she mean by that? and you must have observed, watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at her back. she did not wish us to read her expression." "yes; she chose the one chair in the room." "and yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. you remember the woman at margate whom i suspected for the same reason. no powder on her nose--that proved to be the correct solution. how can you build on such a quicksand? their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling-tongs. good morning, watson." "you are off?" "yes; i will wile away the morning at godolphin street with our friends of the regular establishment. with eduardo lucas lies the solution of our problem, though i must admit that i have not an inkling as to what form it may take. it is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of the facts. do you stay on guard, my good watson, and receive any fresh visitors. i'll join you at lunch if i am able." all that day and the next and the next holmes was in a mood which his friends would call taciturn, and others morose. he ran out and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours, and hardly answered the casual questions which i put to him. it was evident to me that things were not going well with him or his quest. he would say nothing of the case, and it was from the papers that i learned the particulars of the inquest, and the arrest with the subsequent release of john mitton, the valet of the deceased. the coroner's jury brought in the obvious "wilful murder," but the parties remained as unknown as ever. no motive was suggested. the room was full of articles of value, but none had been taken. the dead man's papers had not been tampered with. they were carefully examined, and showed that he was a keen student of international politics, an indefatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter-writer. he had been on intimate terms with the leading politicians of several countries. but nothing sensational was discovered among the documents which filled his drawers. as to his relations with women, they appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial. he had many acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom he loved. his habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. his death was an absolute mystery, and likely to remain so. as to the arrest of john mitton, the valet, it was a counsel of despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. but no case could be sustained against him. he had visited friends in hammersmith that night. the alibi was complete. it is true that he started home at an hour which should have brought him to westminster before the time when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation that he had walked part of the way seemed probable enough in view of the fineness of the night. he had actually arrived at twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed by the unexpected tragedy. he had always been on good terms with his master. several of the dead man's possessions--notably a small case of razors--had been found in the valet's boxes, but he explained that they had been presents from the deceased, and the housekeeper was able to corroborate the story. mitton had been in lucas's employment for three years. it was noticeable that lucas did not take mitton on the continent with him. sometimes he visited paris for three months on end, but mitton was left in charge of the godolphin street house. as to the housekeeper, she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. if her master had a visitor he had himself admitted him. so for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as i could follow it in the papers. if holmes knew more he kept his own counsel, but, as he told me that inspector lestrade had taken him into his confidence in the case, i knew that he was in close touch with every development. upon the fourth day there appeared a long telegram from paris which seemed to solve the whole question. a discovery has just been made by the parisian police [said the daily telegraph] which raises the veil which hung round the tragic fate of mr. eduardo lucas, who met his death by violence last monday night at godolphin street, westminster. our readers will remember that the deceased gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that some suspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down on an alibi. yesterday a lady, who has been known as mme. henri fournaye, occupying a small villa in the rue austerlitz, was reported to the authorities by her servants as being insane. an examination showed that she had indeed developed mania of a dangerous and permanent form. on inquiry the police have discovered that mme. henri fournaye only returned from a journey to london on tuesday last, and there is evidence to connect her with the crime at westminster. a comparison of photographs has proved conclusively that m. henri fournaye and eduardo lucas were really one and the same person, and that the deceased had for some reason lived a double life in london and paris. mme. fournaye, who is of creole origin, is of an extremely excitable nature, and has suffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to frenzy. it is conjectured that it was in one of these that she committed the terrible crime which has caused such a sensation in london. her movements upon the monday night have not yet been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering to her description attracted much attention at charing cross station on tuesday morning by the wildness of her appearance and the violence of her gestures. it is probable, therefore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or that its immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman out of her mind. at present she is unable to give any coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold out no hopes of the re-establishment of her reason. there is evidence that a woman, who might have been mme. fournaye, was seen for some hours on monday night watching the house in godolphin street. "what do you think of that, holmes?" i had read the account aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast. "my dear watson," said he, as he rose from the table and paced up and down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but if i have told you nothing in the last three days it is because there is nothing to tell. even now this report from paris does not help us much." "surely it is final as regards the man's death." "the man's death is a mere incident--a trivial episode--in comparison with our real task, which is to trace this document and save a european catastrophe. only one important thing has happened in the last three days, and that is that nothing has happened. i get reports almost hourly from the government, and it is certain that nowhere in europe is there any sign of trouble. now, if this letter were loose--no, it can't be loose--but if it isn't loose, where can it be? who has it? why is it held back? that's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer. was it, indeed, a coincidence that lucas should meet his death on the night when the letter disappeared? did the letter ever reach him? if so, why is it not among his papers? did this mad wife of his carry it off with her? if so, is it in her house in paris? how could i search for it without the french police having their suspicions aroused? it is a case, my dear watson, where the law is as dangerous to us as the criminals are. every man's hand is against us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. should i bring it to a successful conclusion it will certainly represent the crowning glory of my career. ah, here is my latest from the front!" he glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in. "halloa! lestrade seems to have observed something of interest. put on your hat, watson, and we will stroll down together to westminster." it was my first visit to the scene of the crime--a high, dingy, narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century which gave it birth. lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a big constable had opened the door and let us in. the room into which we were shown was that in which the crime had been committed, but no trace of it now remained, save an ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet. this carpet was a small square drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks highly polished. over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of which had been used on that tragic night. in the window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy. "seen the paris news?" asked lestrade. holmes nodded. "our french friends seem to have touched the spot this time. no doubt it's just as they say. she knocked at the door--surprise visit, i guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments. he let her in--couldn't keep her in the street. she told him how she had traced him, reproached him, one thing led to another, and then with that dagger so handy the end soon came. it wasn't all done in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her off with it. we've got it all clear as if we had seen it." holmes raised his eyebrows. "and yet you have sent for me?" "ah, yes, that's another matter--a mere trifle, but the sort of thing you take an interest in--queer, you know, and what you might call freakish. it has nothing to do with the main fact--can't have, on the face of it." "what is it, then?" "well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful to keep things in their position. nothing has been moved. officer in charge here day and night. this morning, as the man was buried and the investigation over--so far as this room is concerned--we thought we could tidy up a bit. this carpet. you see, it is not fastened down; only just laid there. we had occasion to raise it. we found--" "yes? you found--" holmes's face grew tense with anxiety. "well, i'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years what we did find. you see that stain on the carpet? well, a great deal must have soaked through, must it not?" "undoubtedly it must." "well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on the white woodwork to correspond." "no stain! but there must--" "yes; so you would say. but the fact remains that there isn't." he took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over, he showed that it was indeed as he said. "but the underside is as stained as the upper. it must have left a mark." lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous expert. "now i'll show you the explanation. there is a second stain, but it does not correspond with the other. see for yourself." as he spoke he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sure enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white facing of the old-fashioned floor. "what do you make of that, mr. holmes?" "why, it is simple enough. the two stains did correspond, but the carpet has been turned round. as it was square and unfastened it was easily done." "the official police don't need you, mr. holmes, to tell them that the carpet must have been turned round. that's clear enough, for the stains lie above each other--if you lay it over this way. but what i want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?" i could see from holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating with inward excitement. "look here, lestrade," said he, "has that constable in the passage been in charge of the place all the time?" "yes, he has." "well, take my advice. examine him carefully. don't do it before us. we'll wait here. you take him into the back room. you'll be more likely to get a confession out of him alone. ask him how he dared to admit people and leave them alone in this room. don't ask him if he has done it. take it for granted. tell him you know someone has been here. press him. tell him that a full confession is his only chance of forgiveness. do exactly what i tell you!" "by george, if he knows i'll have it out of him!" cried lestrade. he darted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voice sounded from the back room. "now, watson, now!" cried holmes, with frenzied eagerness. all the demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless manner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. he tore the drugget from the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it. one turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it. it hinged back like the lid of a box. a small black cavity opened beneath it. holmes plunged his eager hand into it, and drew it out with a bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. it was empty. "quick, watson, quick! get it back again!" the wooden lid was replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight when lestrade's voice was heard in the passage. he found holmes leaning languidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and patient, endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns. "sorry to keep you waiting, mr. holmes. i can see that you are bored to death with the whole affair. well, he has confessed, all right. come in here, macpherson. let these gentlemen hear of your most inexcusable conduct." the big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room. "i meant no harm, sir, i'm sure. the young woman came to the door last evening--mistook the house, she did. and then we got talking. it's lonesome, when you're on duty here all day." "well, what happened then?" "she wanted to see where the crime was done--had read about it in the papers, she said. she was a very respectable, well-spoken young woman, sir, and i saw no harm in letting her have a peep. when she saw that mark on the carpet, down she dropped on the floor, and lay as if she were dead. i ran to the back and got some water, but i could not bring her to. then i went round the corner to the ivy plant for some brandy, and by the time i had brought it back the young woman had recovered and was off--ashamed of herself, i dare say, and dared not face me." "how about moving that drugget?" "well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when i came back. you see, she fell on it, and it lies on a polished floor with nothing to keep it in place. i straightened it out afterwards." "it's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, constable macpherson," said lestrade, with dignity. "no doubt you thought that your breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a mere glance at that drugget was enough to convince me that someone had been admitted to the room. it's lucky for you, my man, that nothing is missing, or you would find yourself in queer street. i'm sorry to have called you down over such a petty business, mr. holmes, but i thought the point of the second stain not corresponding with the first would interest you." "certainly, it was most interesting. has this woman only been here once, constable?" "yes, sir, only once." "who was she?" "don't know the name, sir. was answering an advertisement about type-writing, and came to the wrong number--very pleasant, genteel young woman, sir." "tall? handsome?" "yes, sir; she was a well-grown young woman. i suppose you might say she was handsome. perhaps some would say she was very handsome. 'oh, officer, do let me have a peep!' says she. she had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say, and i thought there was no harm in letting her just put her head through the door." "how was she dressed?" "quiet, sir--a long mantle down to her feet." "what time was it?" "it was just growing dusk at the time. they were lighting the lamps as i came back with the brandy." "very good," said holmes. "come, watson, i think that we have more important work elsewhere." as we left the house lestrade remained in the front room, while the repentant constable opened the door to let us out. holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand. the constable stared intently. "good lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face. holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast-pocket, and burst out laughing as we turned down the street. "excellent!" said he. "come, friend watson, the curtain rings up for the last act. you will be relieved to hear that there will be no war, that the right honourable trelawney hope will suffer no set-back in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet sovereign will receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that the prime minister will have no european complication to deal with, and that with a little tact and management upon our part nobody will be a penny the worse for what might have been a very ugly incident." my mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man. "you have solved it!" i cried. "hardly that, watson. there are some points which are as dark as ever. but we have so much that it will be our own fault if we cannot get the rest. we will go straight to whitehall terrace and bring the matter to a head." when we arrived at the residence of the european secretary it was for lady hilda trelawney hope that sherlock holmes inquired. we were shown into the morning-room. "mr. holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with her indignation, "this is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon your part. i desired, as i have explained, to keep my visit to you a secret, lest my husband should think that i was intruding into his affairs. and yet you compromise me by coming here and so showing that there are business relations between us." "unfortunately, madam, i had no possible alternative. i have been commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. i must therefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in my hands." the lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an instant from her beautiful face. her eyes glazed--she tottered--i thought that she would faint. then with a grand effort she rallied from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignation chased every other expression from her features. "you--you insult me, mr. holmes." "come, come, madam, it is useless. give up the letter." she darted to the bell. "the butler shall show you out." "do not ring, lady hilda. if you do, then all my earnest efforts to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. give up the letter and all will be set right. if you will work with me i can arrange everything. if you work against me i must expose you." she stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed upon his as if she would read his very soul. her hand was on the bell, but she had forborne to ring it. "you are trying to frighten me. it is not a very manly thing, mr. holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. you say that you know something. what is it that you know?" "pray sit down, madam. you will hurt yourself there if you fall. i will not speak until you sit down. thank you." "i give you five minutes, mr. holmes." "one is enough, lady hilda. i know of your visit to eduardo lucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious return to the room last night, and of the manner in which you took the letter from the hiding-place under the carpet." she stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before she could speak. "you are mad, mr. holmes--you are mad!" she cried, at last. he drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. it was the face of a woman cut out of a portrait. "i have carried this because i thought it might be useful," said he. "the policeman has recognised it." she gave a gasp and her head dropped back in the chair. "come, lady hilda. you have the letter. the matter may still be adjusted. i have no desire to bring trouble to you. my duty ends when i have returned the lost letter to your husband. take my advice and be frank with me; it is your only chance." her courage was admirable. even now she would not own defeat. "i tell you again, mr. holmes, that you are under some absurd illusion." holmes rose from his chair. "i am sorry for you, lady hilda. i have done my best for you; i can see that it is all in vain." he rang the bell. the butler entered. "is mr. trelawney hope at home?" "he will be home, sir, at a quarter to one." holmes glanced at his watch. "still a quarter of an hour," said he. "very good, i shall wait." the butler had hardly closed the door behind him when lady hilda was down on her knees at holmes's feet, her hands out-stretched, her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears. "oh, spare me, mr. holmes! spare me!" she pleaded, in a frenzy of supplication. "for heaven's sake, don't tell him! i love him so! i would not bring one shadow on his life, and this i know would break his noble heart." holmes raised the lady. "i am thankful, madam, that you have come to your senses even at this last moment! there is not an instant to lose. where is the letter?" she darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out a long blue envelope. "here it is, mr. holmes. would to heaven i had never seen it!" "how can we return it?" holmes muttered. "quick, quick, we must think of some way! where is the despatch-box?" "still in his bedroom." "what a stroke of luck! quick, madam, bring it here!" a moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her hand. "how did you open it before? you have a duplicate key? yes, of course you have. open it!" from out of her bosom lady hilda had drawn a small key. the box flew open. it was stuffed with papers. holmes thrust the blue envelope deep down into the heart of them, between the leaves of some other document. the box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom. "now we are ready for him," said holmes; "we have still ten minutes. i am going far to screen you, lady hilda. in return you will spend the time in telling me frankly the real meaning of this extraordinary affair." "mr. holmes, i will tell you everything," cried the lady. "oh, mr. holmes, i would cut off my right hand before i gave him a moment of sorrow! there is no woman in all london who loves her husband as i do, and yet if he knew how i have acted--how i have been compelled to act--he would never forgive me. for his own honour stands so high that he could not forget or pardon a lapse in another. help me, mr. holmes! my happiness, his happiness, our very lives are at stake!" "quick, madam, the time grows short!" "it was a letter of mine, mr. holmes, an indiscreet letter written before my marriage--a foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive, loving girl. i meant no harm, and yet he would have thought it criminal. had he read that letter his confidence would have been for ever destroyed. it is years since i wrote it. i had thought that the whole matter was forgotten. then at last i heard from this man, lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and that he would lay it before my husband. i implored his mercy. he said that he would return my letter if i would bring him a certain document which he described in my husband's despatch-box. he had some spy in the office who had told him of its existence. he assured me that no harm could come to my husband. put yourself in my position, mr. holmes! what was i to do?" "take your husband into your confidence." "i could not, mr. holmes, i could not! on the one side seemed certain ruin; on the other, terrible as it seemed to take my husband's paper, still in a matter of politics i could not understand the consequences, while in a matter of love and trust they were only too clear to me. i did it, mr. holmes! i took an impression of his key; this man lucas furnished a duplicate. i opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed it to godolphin street." "what happened there, madam?" "i tapped at the door as agreed. lucas opened it. i followed him into his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for i feared to be alone with the man. i remember that there was a woman outside as i entered. our business was soon done. he had my letter on his desk; i handed him the document. he gave me the letter. at this instant there was a sound at the door. there were steps in the passage. lucas quickly turned back the drugget, thrust the document into some hiding-place there, and covered it over. "what happened after that is like some fearful dream. i have a vision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamed in french, 'my waiting is not in vain. at last, at last i have found you with her!' there was a savage struggle. i saw him with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. i rushed from the horrible scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in the paper did i learn the dreadful result. that night i was happy, for i had my letter, and i had not seen yet what the future would bring. "it was the next morning that i realized that i had only exchanged one trouble for another. my husband's anguish at the loss of his paper went to my heart. i could hardly prevent myself from there and then kneeling down at his feet and telling him what i had done. but that again would mean a confession of the past. i came to you that morning in order to understand the full enormity of my offence. from the instant that i grasped it my whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting back my husband's paper. it must still be where lucas had placed it, for it was concealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. if it had not been for her coming, i should not have known where his hiding-place was. how was i to get into the room? for two days i watched the place, but the door was never left open. last night i made a last attempt. what i did and how i succeeded, you have already learned. i brought the paper back with me, and thought of destroying it since i could see no way of returning it, without confessing my guilt to my husband. heavens, i hear his step upon the stair!" the european secretary burst excitedly into the room. "any news, mr. holmes, any news?" he cried. "i have some hopes." "ah, thank heaven!" his face became radiant. "the prime minister is lunching with me. may he share your hopes? he has nerves of steel, and yet i know that he has hardly slept since this terrible event. jacobs, will you ask the prime minister to come up? as to you, dear, i fear that this is a matter of politics. we will join you in a few minutes in the dining-room." the prime minister's manner was subdued, but i could see by the gleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that he shared the excitement of his young colleague. "i understand that you have something to report, mr. holmes?" "purely negative as yet," my friend answered. "i have inquired at every point where it might be, and i am sure that there is no danger to be apprehended." "but that is not enough, mr. holmes. we cannot live for ever on such a volcano. we must have something definite." "i am in hopes of getting it. that is why i am here. the more i think of the matter the more convinced i am that the letter has never left this house." "mr. holmes!" "if it had it would certainly have been public by now." "but why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his house?" "i am not convinced that anyone did take it." "then how could it leave the despatch-box?" "i am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box." "mr. holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. you have my assurance that it left the box." "have you examined the box since tuesday morning?" "no; it was not necessary." "you may conceivably have overlooked it." "impossible, i say." "but i am not convinced of it; i have known such things to happen. i presume there are other papers there. well, it may have got mixed with them." "it was on the top." "someone may have shaken the box and displaced it." "no, no; i had everything out." "surely it is easily decided, hope," said the premier. "let us have the despatch-box brought in." the secretary rang the bell. "jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. this is a farcical waste of time, but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall be done. thank you, jacobs; put it here. i have always had the key on my watch-chain. here are the papers, you see. letter from lord merrow, report from sir charles hardy, memorandum from belgrade, note on the russo-german grain taxes, letter from madrid, note from lord flowers--good heavens! what is this? lord bellinger! lord bellinger!" the premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand. "yes, it is it--and the letter is intact. hope, i congratulate you." "thank you! thank you! what a weight from my heart. but this is inconceivable--impossible. mr. holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer! how did you know it was there?" "because i knew it was nowhere else." "i cannot believe my eyes!" he ran wildly to the door. "where is my wife? i must tell her that all is well. hilda! hilda!" we heard his voice on the stairs. the premier looked at holmes with twinkling eyes. "come, sir," said he. "there is more in this than meets the eye. how came the letter back in the box?" holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those wonderful eyes. "we also have our diplomatic secrets," said he, and picking up his hat he turned to the door. the hound of the baskervilles table of contents mr. sherlock holmes the curse of the baskervilles the problem sir henry baskerville three broken threads baskerville hall the stapletons of merripit house first report of dr. watson second report of dr. watson extract from the diary of dr. watson the man on the tor death on the moor fixing the nets the hound of the baskervilles a retrospection chapter i mr. sherlock holmes mr. sherlock holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. i stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. it was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "penang lawyer." just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across. "to james mortimer, m.r.c.s., from his friends of the c.c.h.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." it was just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carry--dignified, solid, and reassuring. "well, watson, what do you make of it?" holmes was sitting with his back to me, and i had given him no sign of my occupation. "how did you know what i was doing? i believe you have eyes in the back of your head." "i have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front of me," said he. "but, tell me, watson, what do you make of our visitor's stick? since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. let me hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it." "i think," said i, following as far as i could the methods of my companion, "that dr. mortimer is a successful, elderly medical man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of their appreciation." "good!" said holmes. "excellent!" "i think also that the probability is in favour of his being a country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot." "why so?" "because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has been so knocked about that i can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it. the thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it." "perfectly sound!" said holmes. "and then again, there is the 'friends of the c.c.h.' i should guess that to be the something hunt, the local hunt to whose members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a small presentation in return." "really, watson, you excel yourself," said holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. "i am bound to say that in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities. it may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. i confess, my dear fellow, that i am very much in your debt." he had never said as much before, and i must admit that his words gave me keen pleasure, for i had often been piqued by his indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which i had made to give publicity to his methods. i was proud, too, to think that i had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way which earned his approval. he now took the stick from my hands and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. then with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a convex lens. "interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to his favourite corner of the settee. "there are certainly one or two indications upon the stick. it gives us the basis for several deductions." "has anything escaped me?" i asked with some self-importance. "i trust that there is nothing of consequence which i have overlooked?" "i am afraid, my dear watson, that most of your conclusions were erroneous. when i said that you stimulated me i meant, to be frank, that in noting your fallacies i was occasionally guided towards the truth. not that you are entirely wrong in this instance. the man is certainly a country practitioner. and he walks a good deal." "then i was right." "to that extent." "but that was all." "no, no, my dear watson, not all--by no means all. i would suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials 'c.c.' are placed before that hospital the words 'charing cross' very naturally suggest themselves." "you may be right." "the probability lies in that direction. and if we take this as a working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our construction of this unknown visitor." "well, then, supposing that 'c.c.h.' does stand for 'charing cross hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?" "do none suggest themselves? you know my methods. apply them!" "i can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has practised in town before going to the country." "i think that we might venture a little farther than this. look at it in this light. on what occasion would it be most probable that such a presentation would be made? when would his friends unite to give him a pledge of their good will? obviously at the moment when dr. mortimer withdrew from the service of the hospital in order to start in practice for himself. we know there has been a presentation. we believe there has been a change from a town hospital to a country practice. is it, then, stretching our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the occasion of the change?" "it certainly seems probable." "now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of the hospital, since only a man well-established in a london practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. what was he, then? if he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior student. and he left five years ago--the date is on the stick. so your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog, which i should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff." i laughed incredulously as sherlock holmes leaned back in his settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling. "as to the latter part, i have no means of checking you," said i, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man's age and professional career." from my small medical shelf i took down the medical directory and turned up the name. there were several mortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. i read his record aloud. "mortimer, james, m.r.c.s., 1882, grimpen, dartmoor, devon. house-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at charing cross hospital. winner of the jackson prize for comparative pathology, with essay entitled 'is disease a reversion?' corresponding member of the swedish pathological society. author of 'some freaks of atavism' (lancet 1882). 'do we progress?' (journal of psychology, march, 1883). medical officer for the parishes of grimpen, thorsley, and high barrow." "no mention of that local hunt, watson," said holmes with a mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. i think that i am fairly justified in my inferences. as to the adjectives, i said, if i remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. it is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a london career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room." "and the dog?" "has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. the dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. it may have been--yes, by jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel." he had risen and paced the room as he spoke. now he halted in the recess of the window. there was such a ring of conviction in his voice that i glanced up in surprise. "my dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?" "for the very simple reason that i see the dog himself on our very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. don't move, i beg you, watson. he is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be of assistance to me. now is the dramatic moment of fate, watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. what does dr. james mortimer, the man of science, ask of sherlock holmes, the specialist in crime? come in!" the appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since i had expected a typical country practitioner. he was a very tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. he was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. though young, his long back was already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. as he entered his eyes fell upon the stick in holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. "i am so very glad," said he. "i was not sure whether i had left it here or in the shipping office. i would not lose that stick for the world." "a presentation, i see," said holmes. "yes, sir." "from charing cross hospital?" "from one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage." "dear, dear, that's bad!" said holmes, shaking his head. dr. mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment. "why was it bad?" "only that you have disarranged our little deductions. your marriage, you say?" "yes, sir. i married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of a consulting practice. it was necessary to make a home of my own." "come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said holmes. "and now, dr. james mortimer--" "mister, sir, mister--a humble m.r.c.s." "and a man of precise mind, evidently." "a dabbler in science, mr. holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the great unknown ocean. i presume that it is mr. sherlock holmes whom i am addressing and not--" "no, this is my friend dr. watson." "glad to meet you, sir. i have heard your name mentioned in connection with that of your friend. you interest me very much, mr. holmes. i had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked supra-orbital development. would you have any objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? a cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornament to any anthropological museum. it is not my intention to be fulsome, but i confess that i covet your skull." sherlock holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. "you are an enthusiast in your line of thought, i perceive, sir, as i am in mine," said he. "i observe from your forefinger that you make your own cigarettes. have no hesitation in lighting one." the man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the other with surprising dexterity. he had long, quivering fingers as agile and restless as the antennae of an insect. holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me the interest which he took in our curious companion. "i presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was not merely for the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the honour to call here last night and again to-day?" "no, sir, no; though i am happy to have had the opportunity of doing that as well. i came to you, mr. holmes, because i recognized that i am myself an unpractical man and because i am suddenly confronted with a most serious and extraordinary problem. recognizing, as i do, that you are the second highest expert in europe--" "indeed, sir! may i inquire who has the honour to be the first?" asked holmes with some asperity. "to the man of precisely scientific mind the work of monsieur bertillon must always appeal strongly." "then had you not better consult him?" "i said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. but as a practical man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. i trust, sir, that i have not inadvertently--" "just a little," said holmes. "i think, dr. mortimer, you would do wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly what the exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my assistance." chapter ii the curse of the baskervilles "i have in my pocket a manuscript," said dr. james mortimer. "i observed it as you entered the room," said holmes. "it is an old manuscript." "early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery." "how can you say that, sir?" "you have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time that you have been talking. it would be a poor expert who could not give the date of a document within a decade or so. you may possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject. i put that at 1730." "the exact date is 1742." dr. mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket. "this family paper was committed to my care by sir charles baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement in devonshire. i may say that i was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. he was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as unimaginative as i am myself. yet he took this document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him." holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon his knee. "you will observe, watson, the alternative use of the long s and the short. it is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date." i looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. at the head was written: "baskerville hall," and below in large, scrawling figures: "1742." "it appears to be a statement of some sort." "yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the baskerville family." "but i understand that it is something more modern and practical upon which you wish to consult me?" "most modern. a most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided within twenty-four hours. but the manuscript is short and is intimately connected with the affair. with your permission i will read it to you." holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. dr. mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following curious, old-world narrative:-- "of the origin of the hound of the baskervilles there have been many statements, yet as i come in a direct line from hugo baskerville, and as i had the story from my father, who also had it from his, i have set it down with all belief that it occurred even as is here set forth. and i would have you believe, my sons, that the same justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and repentance it may be removed. learn then from this story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not again be loosed to our undoing. "know then that in the time of the great rebellion (the history of which by the learned lord clarendon i most earnestly commend to your attention) this manor of baskerville was held by hugo of that name, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless man. this, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned, seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a byword through the west. it chanced that this hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter of a yeoman who held lands near the baskerville estate. but the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. so it came to pass that one michaelmas this hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and brothers being from home, as he well knew. when they had brought her to the hall the maiden was placed in an upper chamber, while hugo and his friends sat down to a long carouse, as was their nightly custom. now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by hugo baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who said them. at last in the stress of her fear she did that which might have daunted the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues betwixt the hall and her father's farm. "it chanced that some little time later hugo left his guests to carry food and drink--with other worse things, perchance--to his captive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. then, as it would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table, flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud before all the company that he would that very night render his body and soul to the powers of evil if he might but overtake the wench. and while the revellers stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her. whereat hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of the maid's, he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor. "now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable to understand all that had been done in such haste. but anon their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be done upon the moorlands. everything was now in an uproar, some calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for another flask of wine. but at length some sense came back to their crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took horse and started in pursuit. the moon shone clear above them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home. "they had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if he had seen the hunt. and the man, as the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. 'but i have seen more than that,' said he, 'for hugo baskerville passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind him such a hound of hell as god forbid should ever be at my heels.' so the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode onward. but soon their skins turned cold, for there came a galloping across the moor, and the black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing bridle and empty saddle. then the revellers rode close together, for a great fear was on them, but they still followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad to have turned his horse's head. riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. these, though known for their valour and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them. "the company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you may guess, than when they started. the most of them would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal. now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old. the moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fear and of fatigue. but it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of hugo baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three daredevil roysterers, but it was that, standing over hugo, and plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon. and even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of hugo baskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. one, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days. "such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. if i have set it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed. nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. yet may we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of providence, which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generation which is threatened in holy writ. to that providence, my sons, i hereby commend you, and i counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted. "[this from hugo baskerville to his sons rodger and john, with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their sister elizabeth.]" when dr. mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at mr. sherlock holmes. the latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire. "well?" said he. "do you not find it interesting?" "to a collector of fairy tales." dr. mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket. "now, mr. holmes, we will give you something a little more recent. this is the devon county chronicle of may 14th of this year. it is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of sir charles baskerville which occurred a few days before that date." my friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:-- "the recent sudden death of sir charles baskerville, whose name has been mentioned as the probable liberal candidate for mid-devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county. though sir charles had resided at baskerville hall for a comparatively short period his amiability of character and extreme generosity had won the affection and respect of all who had been brought into contact with him. in these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old county family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. sir charles, as is well known, made large sums of money in south african speculation. more wise than those who go on until the wheel turns against them, he realized his gains and returned to england with them. it is only two years since he took up his residence at baskerville hall, and it is common talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement which have been interrupted by his death. being himself childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the whole country-side should, within his own lifetime, profit by his good fortune, and many will have personal reasons for bewailing his untimely end. his generous donations to local and county charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns. "the circumstances connected with the death of sir charles cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours to which local superstition has given rise. there is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any but natural causes. sir charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. in spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal tastes, and his indoor servants at baskerville hall consisted of a married couple named barrymore, the husband acting as butler and the wife as housekeeper. their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that sir charles's health has for some time been impaired, and points especially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous depression. dr. james mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect. "the facts of the case are simple. sir charles baskerville was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the famous yew alley of baskerville hall. the evidence of the barrymores shows that this had been his custom. on the 4th of may sir charles had declared his intention of starting next day for london, and had ordered barrymore to prepare his luggage. that night he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. he never returned. at twelve o'clock barrymore, finding the hall door still open, became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of his master. the day had been wet, and sir charles's footmarks were easily traced down the alley. half-way down this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. there were indications that sir charles had stood for some little time here. he then proceeded down the alley, and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered. one fact which has not been explained is the statement of barrymore that his master's footprints altered their character from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared from thence onward to have been walking upon his toes. one murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears by his own confession to have been the worse for drink. he declares that he heard cries, but is unable to state from what direction they came. no signs of violence were to be discovered upon sir charles's person, and though the doctor's evidence pointed to an almost incredible facial distortion--so great that dr. mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who lay before him--it was explained that that is a symptom which is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion. this explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing organic disease, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence. it is well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost importance that sir charles's heir should settle at the hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly interrupted. had the prosaic finding of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant for baskerville hall. it is understood that the next of kin is mr. henry baskerville, if he be still alive, the son of sir charles baskerville's younger brother. the young man when last heard of was in america, and inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune." dr. mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket. "those are the public facts, mr. holmes, in connection with the death of sir charles baskerville." "i must thank you," said sherlock holmes, "for calling my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. i had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but i was exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the pope i lost touch with several interesting english cases. this article, you say, contains all the public facts?" "it does." "then let me have the private ones." he leaned back, put his finger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression. "in doing so," said dr. mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some strong emotion, "i am telling that which i have not confided to anyone. my motive for withholding it from the coroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popular superstition. i had the further motive that baskerville hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation. for both these reasons i thought that i was justified in telling rather less than i knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there is no reason why i should not be perfectly frank. "the moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near each other are thrown very much together. for this reason i saw a good deal of sir charles baskerville. with the exception of mr. frankland, of lafter hall, and mr. stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many miles. sir charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests in science kept us so. he had brought back much scientific information from south africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy of the bushman and the hottentot. "within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that sir charles's nervous system was strained to the breaking point. he had taken this legend which i have read you exceedingly to heart--so much so that, although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at night. incredible as it may appear to you, mr. holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and certainly the records which he was able to give of his ancestors were not encouraging. the idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether i had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. the latter question he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with excitement. "i can well remember driving up to his house in the evening some three weeks before the fatal event. he chanced to be at his hall door. i had descended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when i saw his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder, and stare past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. i whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something which i took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the drive. so excited and alarmed was he that i was compelled to go down to the spot where the animal had been and look around for it. it was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. i stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which i read to you when first i came. i mention this small episode because it assumes some importance in view of the tragedy which followed, but i was convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his excitement had no justification. "it was at my advice that sir charles was about to go to london. his heart was, i knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health. i thought that a few months among the distractions of town would send him back a new man. mr. stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. at the last instant came this terrible catastrophe. "on the night of sir charles's death barrymore the butler, who made the discovery, sent perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as i was sitting up late i was able to reach baskerville hall within an hour of the event. i checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. i followed the footsteps down the yew alley, i saw the spot at the moor-gate where he seemed to have waited, i remarked the change in the shape of the prints after that point, i noted that there were no other footsteps save those of barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally i carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. sir charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to such an extent that i could hardly have sworn to his identity. there was certainly no physical injury of any kind. but one false statement was made by barrymore at the inquest. he said that there were no traces upon the ground round the body. he did not observe any. but i did--some little distance off, but fresh and clear." "footprints?" "footprints." "a man's or a woman's?" dr. mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:-- "mr. holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" chapter iii the problem i confess at these words a shudder passed through me. there was a thrill in the doctor's voice which showed that he was himself deeply moved by that which he told us. holmes leaned forward in his excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot from them when he was keenly interested. "you saw this?" "as clearly as i see you." "and you said nothing?" "what was the use?" "how was it that no one else saw it?" "the marks were some twenty yards from the body and no one gave them a thought. i don't suppose i should have done so had i not known this legend." "there are many sheep-dogs on the moor?" "no doubt, but this was no sheep-dog." "you say it was large?" "enormous." "but it had not approached the body?" "no." "what sort of night was it?" "damp and raw." "but not actually raining?" "no." "what is the alley like?" "there are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and impenetrable. the walk in the centre is about eight feet across." "is there anything between the hedges and the walk?" "yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either side." "i understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by a gate?" "yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor." "is there any other opening?" "none." "so that to reach the yew alley one either has to come down it from the house or else to enter it by the moor-gate?" "there is an exit through a summer-house at the far end." "had sir charles reached this?" "no; he lay about fifty yards from it." "now, tell me, dr. mortimer--and this is important--the marks which you saw were on the path and not on the grass?" "no marks could show on the grass." "were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?" "yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as the moor-gate." "you interest me exceedingly. another point. was the wicket-gate closed?" "closed and padlocked." "how high was it?" "about four feet high." "then anyone could have got over it?" "yes." "and what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?" "none in particular." "good heaven! did no one examine?" "yes, i examined myself." "and found nothing?" "it was all very confused. sir charles had evidently stood there for five or ten minutes." "how do you know that?" "because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar." "excellent! this is a colleague, watson, after our own heart. but the marks?" "he had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. i could discern no others." sherlock holmes struck his hand against his knee with an impatient gesture. "if i had only been there!" he cried. "it is evidently a case of extraordinary interest, and one which presented immense opportunities to the scientific expert. that gravel page upon which i might have read so much has been long ere this smudged by the rain and defaced by the clogs of curious peasants. oh, dr. mortimer, dr. mortimer, to think that you should not have called me in! you have indeed much to answer for." "i could not call you in, mr. holmes, without disclosing these facts to the world, and i have already given my reasons for not wishing to do so. besides, besides--" "why do you hesitate?" "there is a realm in which the most acute and most experienced of detectives is helpless." "you mean that the thing is supernatural?" "i did not positively say so." "no, but you evidently think it." "since the tragedy, mr. holmes, there have come to my ears several incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled order of nature." "for example?" "i find that before the terrible event occurred several people had seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with this baskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal known to science. they all agreed that it was a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral. i have cross-examined these men, one of them a hard-headed countryman, one a farrier, and one a moorland farmer, who all tell the same story of this dreadful apparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of the legend. i assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night." "and you, a trained man of science, believe it to be supernatural?" "i do not know what to believe." holmes shrugged his shoulders. "i have hitherto confined my investigations to this world," said he. "in a modest way i have combated evil, but to take on the father of evil himself would, perhaps, be too ambitious a task. yet you must admit that the footmark is material." "the original hound was material enough to tug a man's throat out, and yet he was diabolical as well." "i see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists. but now, dr. mortimer, tell me this. if you hold these views, why have you come to consult me at all? you tell me in the same breath that it is useless to investigate sir charles's death, and that you desire me to do it." "i did not say that i desired you to do it." "then, how can i assist you?" "by advising me as to what i should do with sir henry baskerville, who arrives at waterloo station"--dr. mortimer looked at his watch--"in exactly one hour and a quarter." "he being the heir?" "yes. on the death of sir charles we inquired for this young gentleman and found that he had been farming in canada. from the accounts which have reached us he is an excellent fellow in every way. i speak not as a medical man but as a trustee and executor of sir charles's will." "there is no other claimant, i presume?" "none. the only other kinsman whom we have been able to trace was rodger baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor sir charles was the elder. the second brother, who died young, is the father of this lad henry. the third, rodger, was the black sheep of the family. he came of the old masterful baskerville strain, and was the very image, they tell me, of the family picture of old hugo. he made england too hot to hold him, fled to central america, and died there in 1876 of yellow fever. henry is the last of the baskervilles. in one hour and five minutes i meet him at waterloo station. i have had a wire that he arrived at southampton this morning. now, mr. holmes, what would you advise me to do with him?" "why should he not go to the home of his fathers?" "it seems natural, does it not? and yet, consider that every baskerville who goes there meets with an evil fate. i feel sure that if sir charles could have spoken with me before his death he would have warned me against bringing this, the last of the old race, and the heir to great wealth, to that deadly place. and yet it cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor, bleak country-side depends upon his presence. all the good work which has been done by sir charles will crash to the ground if there is no tenant of the hall. i fear lest i should be swayed too much by my own obvious interest in the matter, and that is why i bring the case before you and ask for your advice." holmes considered for a little time. "put into plain words, the matter is this," said he. "in your opinion there is a diabolical agency which makes dartmoor an unsafe abode for a baskerville--that is your opinion?" "at least i might go the length of saying that there is some evidence that this may be so." "exactly. but surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it could work the young man evil in london as easily as in devonshire. a devil with merely local powers like a parish vestry would be too inconceivable a thing." "you put the matter more flippantly, mr. holmes, than you would probably do if you were brought into personal contact with these things. your advice, then, as i understand it, is that the young man will be as safe in devonshire as in london. he comes in fifty minutes. what would you recommend?" "i recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spaniel who is scratching at my front door, and proceed to waterloo to meet sir henry baskerville." "and then?" "and then you will say nothing to him at all until i have made up my mind about the matter." "how long will it take you to make up your mind?" "twenty-four hours. at ten o'clock to-morrow, dr. mortimer, i will be much obliged to you if you will call upon me here, and it will be of help to me in my plans for the future if you will bring sir henry baskerville with you." "i will do so, mr. holmes." he scribbled the appointment on his shirtcuff and hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-minded fashion. holmes stopped him at the head of the stair. "only one more question, dr. mortimer. you say that before sir charles baskerville's death several people saw this apparition upon the moor?" "three people did." "did any see it after?" "i have not heard of any." "thank you. good morning." holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of inward satisfaction which meant that he had a congenial task before him. "going out, watson?" "unless i can help you." "no, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that i turn to you for aid. but this is splendid, really unique from some points of view. when you pass bradley's, would you ask him to send up a pound of the strongest shag tobacco? thank you. it would be as well if you could make it convenient not to return before evening. then i should be very glad to compare impressions as to this most interesting problem which has been submitted to us this morning." i knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my friend in those hours of intense mental concentration during which he weighed every particle of evidence, constructed alternative theories, balanced one against the other, and made up his mind as to which points were essential and which immaterial. i therefore spent the day at my club and did not return to baker street until evening. it was nearly nine o'clock when i found myself in the sitting-room once more. my first impression as i opened the door was that a fire had broken out, for the room was so filled with smoke that the light of the lamp upon the table was blurred by it. as i entered, however, my fears were set at rest, for it was the acrid fumes of strong coarse tobacco which took me by the throat and set me coughing. through the haze i had a vague vision of holmes in his dressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black clay pipe between his lips. several rolls of paper lay around him. "caught cold, watson?" said he. "no, it's this poisonous atmosphere." "i suppose it is pretty thick, now that you mention it." "thick! it is intolerable." "open the window, then! you have been at your club all day, i perceive." "my dear holmes!" "am i right?" "certainly, but how?" he laughed at my bewildered expression. "there is a delightful freshness about you, watson, which makes it a pleasure to exercise any small powers which i possess at your expense. a gentleman goes forth on a showery and miry day. he returns immaculate in the evening with the gloss still on his hat and his boots. he has been a fixture therefore all day. he is not a man with intimate friends. where, then, could he have been? is it not obvious?" "well, it is rather obvious." "the world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes. where do you think that i have been?" "a fixture also." "on the contrary, i have been to devonshire." "in spirit?" "exactly. my body has remained in this arm-chair and has, i regret to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of coffee and an incredible amount of tobacco. after you left i sent down to stamford's for the ordnance map of this portion of the moor, and my spirit has hovered over it all day. i flatter myself that i could find my way about." "a large scale map, i presume?" "very large." he unrolled one section and held it over his knee. "here you have the particular district which concerns us. that is baskerville hall in the middle." "with a wood round it?" "exactly. i fancy the yew alley, though not marked under that name, must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you perceive, upon the right of it. this small clump of buildings here is the hamlet of grimpen, where our friend dr. mortimer has his headquarters. within a radius of five miles there are, as you see, only a very few scattered dwellings. here is lafter hall, which was mentioned in the narrative. there is a house indicated here which may be the residence of the naturalist--stapleton, if i remember right, was his name. here are two moorland farm-houses, high tor and foulmire. then fourteen miles away the great convict prison of princetown. between and around these scattered points extends the desolate, lifeless moor. this, then, is the stage upon which tragedy has been played, and upon which we may help to play it again." "it must be a wild place." "yes, the setting is a worthy one. if the devil did desire to have a hand in the affairs of men--" "then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural explanation." "the devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not? there are two questions waiting for us at the outset. the one is whether any crime has been committed at all; the second is, what is the crime and how was it committed? of course, if dr. mortimer's surmise should be correct, and we are dealing with forces outside the ordinary laws of nature, there is an end of our investigation. but we are bound to exhaust all other hypotheses before falling back upon this one. i think we'll shut that window again, if you don't mind. it is a singular thing, but i find that a concentrated atmosphere helps a concentration of thought. i have not pushed it to the length of getting into a box to think, but that is the logical outcome of my convictions. have you turned the case over in your mind?" "yes, i have thought a good deal of it in the course of the day." "what do you make of it?" "it is very bewildering." "it has certainly a character of its own. there are points of distinction about it. that change in the footprints, for example. what do you make of that?" "mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down that portion of the alley." "he only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest. why should a man walk on tiptoe down the alley?" "what then?" "he was running, watson--running desperately, running for his life, running until he burst his heart and fell dead upon his face." "running from what?" "there lies our problem. there are indications that the man was crazed with fear before ever he began to run." "how can you say that?" "i am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him across the moor. if that were so, and it seems most probable, only a man who had lost his wits would have run from the house instead of towards it. if the gipsy's evidence may be taken as true, he ran with cries for help in the direction where help was least likely to be. then, again, whom was he waiting for that night, and why was he waiting for him in the yew alley rather than in his own house?" "you think that he was waiting for someone?" "the man was elderly and infirm. we can understand his taking an evening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement. is it natural that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as dr. mortimer, with more practical sense than i should have given him credit for, deduced from the cigar ash?" "but he went out every evening." "i think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every evening. on the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the moor. that night he waited there. it was the night before he made his departure for london. the thing takes shape, watson. it becomes coherent. might i ask you to hand me my violin, and we will postpone all further thought upon this business until we have had the advantage of meeting dr. mortimer and sir henry baskerville in the morning." chapter iv sir henry baskerville our breakfast-table was cleared early, and holmes waited in his dressing-gown for the promised interview. our clients were punctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when dr. mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet. the latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. he wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his time in the open air, and yet there was something in his steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the gentleman. "this is sir henry baskerville," said dr. mortimer. "why, yes," said he, "and the strange thing is, mr. sherlock holmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to you this morning i should have come on my own account. i understand that you think out little puzzles, and i've had one this morning which wants more thinking out than i am able to give it." "pray take a seat, sir henry. do i understand you to say that you have yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in london?" "nothing of much importance, mr. holmes. only a joke, as like as not. it was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reached me this morning." he laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. it was of common quality, grayish in colour. the address, "sir henry baskerville, northumberland hotel," was printed in rough characters; the postmark "charing cross," and the date of posting the preceding evening. "who knew that you were going to the northumberland hotel?" asked holmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor. "no one could have known. we only decided after i met dr. mortimer." "but dr. mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?" "no, i had been staying with a friend," said the doctor. "there was no possible indication that we intended to go to this hotel." "hum! someone seems to be very deeply interested in your movements." out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscap paper folded into four. this he opened and spread flat upon the table. across the middle of it a single sentence had been formed by the expedient of pasting printed words upon it. it ran: as you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor. the word "moor" only was printed in ink. "now," said sir henry baskerville, "perhaps you will tell me, mr. holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is that takes so much interest in my affairs?" "what do you make of it, dr. mortimer? you must allow that there is nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?" "no, sir, but it might very well come from someone who was convinced that the business is supernatural." "what business?" asked sir henry sharply. "it seems to me that all you gentlemen know a great deal more than i do about my own affairs." "you shall share our knowledge before you leave this room, sir henry. i promise you that," said sherlock holmes. "we will confine ourselves for the present with your permission to this very interesting document, which must have been put together and posted yesterday evening. have you yesterday's times, watson?" "it is here in the corner." "might i trouble you for it--the inside page, please, with the leading articles?" he glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes up and down the columns. "capital article this on free trade. permit me to give you an extract from it. "'you may be cajoled into imagining that your own special trade or your own industry will be encouraged by a protective tariff, but it stands to reason that such legislation must in the long run keep away wealth from the country, diminish the value of our imports, and lower the general conditions of life in this island.' "what do you think of that, watson?" cried holmes in high glee, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. "don't you think that is an admirable sentiment?" dr. mortimer looked at holmes with an air of professional interest, and sir henry baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark eyes upon me. "i don't know much about the tariff and things of that kind," said he; "but it seems to me we've got a bit off the trail so far as that note is concerned." "on the contrary, i think we are particularly hot upon the trail, sir henry. watson here knows more about my methods than you do, but i fear that even he has not quite grasped the significance of this sentence." "no, i confess that i see no connection." "and yet, my dear watson, there is so very close a connection that the one is extracted out of the other. 'you,' 'your,' 'your,' 'life,' 'reason,' 'value,' 'keep away,' 'from the.' don't you see now whence these words have been taken?" "by thunder, you're right! well, if that isn't smart!" cried sir henry. "if any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that 'keep away' and 'from the' are cut out in one piece." "well, now--so it is!" "really, mr. holmes, this exceeds anything which i could have imagined," said dr. mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement. "i could understand anyone saying that the words were from a newspaper; but that you should name which, and add that it came from the leading article, is really one of the most remarkable things which i have ever known. how did you do it?" "i presume, doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from that of an esquimau?" "most certainly." "but how?" "because that is my special hobby. the differences are obvious. the supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the--" "but this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. there is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a times article and the slovenly print of an evening half-penny paper as there could be between your negro and your esquimau. the detection of types is one of the most elementary branches of knowledge to the special expert in crime, though i confess that once when i was very young i confused the leeds mercury with the western morning news. but a times leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could have been taken from nothing else. as it was done yesterday the strong probability was that we should find the words in yesterday's issue." "so far as i can follow you, then, mr. holmes," said sir henry baskerville, "someone cut out this message with a scissors--" "nail-scissors," said holmes. "you can see that it was a very short-bladed scissors, since the cutter had to take two snips over 'keep away.'" "that is so. someone, then, cut out the message with a pair of short-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste--" "gum," said holmes. "with gum on to the paper. but i want to know why the word 'moor' should have been written?" "because he could not find it in print. the other words were all simple and might be found in any issue, but 'moor' would be less common." "why, of course, that would explain it. have you read anything else in this message, mr. holmes?" "there are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains have been taken to remove all clues. the address, you observe is printed in rough characters. but the times is a paper which is seldom found in any hands but those of the highly educated. we may take it, therefore, that the letter was composed by an educated man who wished to pose as an uneducated one, and his effort to conceal his own writing suggests that that writing might be known, or come to be known, by you. again, you will observe that the words are not gummed on in an accurate line, but that some are much higher than others. 'life,' for example is quite out of its proper place. that may point to carelessness or it may point to agitation and hurry upon the part of the cutter. on the whole i incline to the latter view, since the matter was evidently important, and it is unlikely that the composer of such a letter would be careless. if he were in a hurry it opens up the interesting question why he should be in a hurry, since any letter posted up to early morning would reach sir henry before he would leave his hotel. did the composer fear an interruption--and from whom?" "we are coming now rather into the region of guesswork," said dr. mortimer. "say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities and choose the most likely. it is the scientific use of the imagination, but we have always some material basis on which to start our speculation. now, you would call it a guess, no doubt, but i am almost certain that this address has been written in a hotel." "how in the world can you say that?" "if you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and the ink have given the writer trouble. the pen has spluttered twice in a single word, and has run dry three times in a short address, showing that there was very little ink in the bottle. now, a private pen or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such a state, and the combination of the two must be quite rare. but you know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rare to get anything else. yes, i have very little hesitation in saying that could we examine the waste-paper baskets of the hotels around charing cross until we found the remains of the mutilated times leader we could lay our hands straight upon the person who sent this singular message. halloa! halloa! what's this?" he was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the words were pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes. "well?" "nothing," said he, throwing it down. "it is a blank half-sheet of paper, without even a water-mark upon it. i think we have drawn as much as we can from this curious letter; and now, sir henry, has anything else of interest happened to you since you have been in london?" "why, no, mr. holmes. i think not." "you have not observed anyone follow or watch you?" "i seem to have walked right into the thick of a dime novel," said our visitor. "why in thunder should anyone follow or watch me?" "we are coming to that. you have nothing else to report to us before we go into this matter?" "well, it depends upon what you think worth reporting." "i think anything out of the ordinary routine of life well worth reporting." sir henry smiled. "i don't know much of british life yet, for i have spent nearly all my time in the states and in canada. but i hope that to lose one of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life over here." "you have lost one of your boots?" "my dear sir," cried dr. mortimer, "it is only mislaid. you will find it when you return to the hotel. what is the use of troubling mr. holmes with trifles of this kind?" "well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine." "exactly," said holmes, "however foolish the incident may seem. you have lost one of your boots, you say?" "well, mislaid it, anyhow. i put them both outside my door last night, and there was only one in the morning. i could get no sense out of the chap who cleans them. the worst of it is that i only bought the pair last night in the strand, and i have never had them on." "if you have never worn them, why did you put them out to be cleaned?" "they were tan boots and had never been varnished. that was why i put them out." "then i understand that on your arrival in london yesterday you went out at once and bought a pair of boots?" "i did a good deal of shopping. dr. mortimer here went round with me. you see, if i am to be squire down there i must dress the part, and it may be that i have got a little careless in my ways out west. among other things i bought these brown boots--gave six dollars for them--and had one stolen before ever i had them on my feet." "it seems a singularly useless thing to steal," said sherlock holmes. "i confess that i share dr. mortimer's belief that it will not be long before the missing boot is found." "and, now, gentlemen," said the baronet with decision, "it seems to me that i have spoken quite enough about the little that i know. it is time that you kept your promise and gave me a full account of what we are all driving at." "your request is a very reasonable one," holmes answered. "dr. mortimer, i think you could not do better than to tell your story as you told it to us." thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from his pocket, and presented the whole case as he had done upon the morning before. sir henry baskerville listened with the deepest attention, and with an occasional exclamation of surprise. "well, i seem to have come into an inheritance with a vengeance," said he when the long narrative was finished. "of course, i've heard of the hound ever since i was in the nursery. it's the pet story of the family, though i never thought of taking it seriously before. but as to my uncle's death--well, it all seems boiling up in my head, and i can't get it clear yet. you don't seem quite to have made up your mind whether it's a case for a policeman or a clergyman." "precisely." "and now there's this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. i suppose that fits into its place." "it seems to show that someone knows more than we do about what goes on upon the moor," said dr. mortimer. "and also," said holmes, "that someone is not ill-disposed towards you, since they warn you of danger." "or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scare me away." "well, of course, that is possible also. i am very much indebted to you, dr. mortimer, for introducing me to a problem which presents several interesting alternatives. but the practical point which we now have to decide, sir henry, is whether it is or is not advisable for you to go to baskerville hall." "why should i not go?" "there seems to be danger." "do you mean danger from this family fiend or do you mean danger from human beings?" "well, that is what we have to find out." "whichever it is, my answer is fixed. there is no devil in hell, mr. holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can prevent me from going to the home of my own people, and you may take that to be my final answer." his dark brows knitted and his face flushed to a dusky red as he spoke. it was evident that the fiery temper of the baskervilles was not extinct in this their last representative. "meanwhile," said he, "i have hardly had time to think over all that you have told me. it's a big thing for a man to have to understand and to decide at one sitting. i should like to have a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind. now, look here, mr. holmes, it's half-past eleven now and i am going back right away to my hotel. suppose you and your friend, dr. watson, come round and lunch with us at two. i'll be able to tell you more clearly then how this thing strikes me." "is that convenient to you, watson?" "perfectly." "then you may expect us. shall i have a cab called?" "i'd prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried me rather." "i'll join you in a walk, with pleasure," said his companion. "then we meet again at two o'clock. au revoir, and good-morning!" we heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and the bang of the front door. in an instant holmes had changed from the languid dreamer to the man of action. "your hat and boots, watson, quick! not a moment to lose!" he rushed into his room in his dressing-gown and was back again in a few seconds in a frock-coat. we hurried together down the stairs and into the street. dr. mortimer and baskerville were still visible about two hundred yards ahead of us in the direction of oxford street. "shall i run on and stop them?" "not for the world, my dear watson. i am perfectly satisfied with your company if you will tolerate mine. our friends are wise, for it is certainly a very fine morning for a walk." he quickened his pace until we had decreased the distance which divided us by about half. then, still keeping a hundred yards behind, we followed into oxford street and so down regent street. once our friends stopped and stared into a shop window, upon which holmes did the same. an instant afterwards he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and, following the direction of his eager eyes, i saw that a hansom cab with a man inside which had halted on the other side of the street was now proceeding slowly onward again. "there's our man, watson! come along! we'll have a good look at him, if we can do no more." at that instant i was aware of a bushy black beard and a pair of piercing eyes turned upon us through the side window of the cab. instantly the trapdoor at the top flew up, something was screamed to the driver, and the cab flew madly off down regent street. holmes looked eagerly round for another, but no empty one was in sight. then he dashed in wild pursuit amid the stream of the traffic, but the start was too great, and already the cab was out of sight. "there now!" said holmes bitterly as he emerged panting and white with vexation from the tide of vehicles. "was ever such bad luck and such bad management, too? watson, watson, if you are an honest man you will record this also and set it against my successes!" "who was the man?" "i have not an idea." "a spy?" "well, it was evident from what we have heard that baskerville has been very closely shadowed by someone since he has been in town. how else could it be known so quickly that it was the northumberland hotel which he had chosen? if they had followed him the first day i argued that they would follow him also the second. you may have observed that i twice strolled over to the window while dr. mortimer was reading his legend." "yes, i remember." "i was looking out for loiterers in the street, but i saw none. we are dealing with a clever man, watson. this matter cuts very deep, and though i have not finally made up my mind whether it is a benevolent or a malevolent agency which is in touch with us, i am conscious always of power and design. when our friends left i at once followed them in the hopes of marking down their invisible attendant. so wily was he that he had not trusted himself upon foot, but he had availed himself of a cab so that he could loiter behind or dash past them and so escape their notice. his method had the additional advantage that if they were to take a cab he was all ready to follow them. it has, however, one obvious disadvantage." "it puts him in the power of the cabman." "exactly." "what a pity we did not get the number!" "my dear watson, clumsy as i have been, you surely do not seriously imagine that i neglected to get the number? no. 2704 is our man. but that is no use to us for the moment." "i fail to see how you could have done more." "on observing the cab i should have instantly turned and walked in the other direction. i should then at my leisure have hired a second cab and followed the first at a respectful distance, or, better still, have driven to the northumberland hotel and waited there. when our unknown had followed baskerville home we should have had the opportunity of playing his own game upon himself and seeing where he made for. as it is, by an indiscreet eagerness, which was taken advantage of with extraordinary quickness and energy by our opponent, we have betrayed ourselves and lost our man." we had been sauntering slowly down regent street during this conversation, and dr. mortimer, with his companion, had long vanished in front of us. "there is no object in our following them," said holmes. "the shadow has departed and will not return. we must see what further cards we have in our hands and play them with decision. could you swear to that man's face within the cab?" "i could swear only to the beard." "and so could i--from which i gather that in all probability it was a false one. a clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use for a beard save to conceal his features. come in here, watson!" he turned into one of the district messenger offices, where he was warmly greeted by the manager. "ah, wilson, i see you have not forgotten the little case in which i had the good fortune to help you?" "no, sir, indeed i have not. you saved my good name, and perhaps my life." "my dear fellow, you exaggerate. i have some recollection, wilson, that you had among your boys a lad named cartwright, who showed some ability during the investigation." "yes, sir, he is still with us." "could you ring him up?--thank you! and i should be glad to have change of this five-pound note." a lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed the summons of the manager. he stood now gazing with great reverence at the famous detective. "let me have the hotel directory," said holmes. "thank you! now, cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all in the immediate neighbourhood of charing cross. do you see?" "yes, sir." "you will visit each of these in turn." "yes, sir." "you will begin in each case by giving the outside porter one shilling. here are twenty-three shillings." "yes, sir." "you will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper of yesterday. you will say that an important telegram has miscarried and that you are looking for it. you understand?" "yes, sir." "but what you are really looking for is the centre page of the times with some holes cut in it with scissors. here is a copy of the times. it is this page. you could easily recognize it, could you not?" "yes, sir." "in each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter, to whom also you will give a shilling. here are twenty-three shillings. you will then learn in possibly twenty cases out of the twenty-three that the waste of the day before has been burned or removed. in the three other cases you will be shown a heap of paper and you will look for this page of the times among it. the odds are enormously against your finding it. there are ten shillings over in case of emergencies. let me have a report by wire at baker street before evening. and now, watson, it only remains for us to find out by wire the identity of the cabman, no. 2704, and then we will drop into one of the bond street picture galleries and fill in the time until we are due at the hotel." chapter v three broken threads sherlock holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power of detaching his mind at will. for two hours the strange business in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern belgian masters. he would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas, from our leaving the gallery until we found ourselves at the northumberland hotel. "sir henry baskerville is upstairs expecting you," said the clerk. "he asked me to show you up at once when you came." "have you any objection to my looking at your register?" said holmes. "not in the least." the book showed that two names had been added after that of baskerville. one was theophilus johnson and family, of newcastle; the other mrs. oldmore and maid, of high lodge, alton. "surely that must be the same johnson whom i used to know," said holmes to the porter. "a lawyer, is he not, gray-headed, and walks with a limp?" "no, sir; this is mr. johnson, the coal-owner, a very active gentleman, not older than yourself." "surely you are mistaken about his trade?" "no, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is very well known to us." "ah, that settles it. mrs. oldmore, too; i seem to remember the name. excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend one finds another." "she is an invalid lady, sir. her husband was once mayor of gloucester. she always comes to us when she is in town." "thank you; i am afraid i cannot claim her acquaintance. we have established a most important fact by these questions, watson," he continued in a low voice as we went upstairs together. "we know now that the people who are so interested in our friend have not settled down in his own hotel. that means that while they are, as we have seen, very anxious to watch him, they are equally anxious that he should not see them. now, this is a most suggestive fact." "what does it suggest?" "it suggests--halloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is the matter?" as we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against sir henry baskerville himself. his face was flushed with anger, and he held an old and dusty boot in one of his hands. so furious was he that he was hardly articulate, and when he did speak it was in a much broader and more western dialect than any which we had heard from him in the morning. "seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel," he cried. "they'll find they've started in to monkey with the wrong man unless they are careful. by thunder, if that chap can't find my missing boot there will be trouble. i can take a joke with the best, mr. holmes, but they've got a bit over the mark this time." "still looking for your boot?" "yes, sir, and mean to find it." "but, surely, you said that it was a new brown boot?" "so it was, sir. and now it's an old black one." "what! you don't mean to say--?" "that's just what i do mean to say. i only had three pairs in the world--the new brown, the old black, and the patent leathers, which i am wearing. last night they took one of my brown ones, and to-day they have sneaked one of the black. well, have you got it? speak out, man, and don't stand staring!" an agitated german waiter had appeared upon the scene. "no, sir; i have made inquiry all over the hotel, but i can hear no word of it." "well, either that boot comes back before sundown or i'll see the manager and tell him that i go right straight out of this hotel." "it shall be found, sir--i promise you that if you will have a little patience it will be found." "mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that i'll lose in this den of thieves. well, well, mr. holmes, you'll excuse my troubling you about such a trifle--" "i think it's well worth troubling about." "why, you look very serious over it." "how do you explain it?" "i just don't attempt to explain it. it seems the very maddest, queerest thing that ever happened to me." "the queerest perhaps--" said holmes, thoughtfully. "what do you make of it yourself?" "well, i don't profess to understand it yet. this case of yours is very complex, sir henry. when taken in conjunction with your uncle's death i am not sure that of all the five hundred cases of capital importance which i have handled there is one which cuts so deep. but we hold several threads in our hands, and the odds are that one or other of them guides us to the truth. we may waste time in following the wrong one, but sooner or later we must come upon the right." we had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the business which had brought us together. it was in the private sitting-room to which we afterwards repaired that holmes asked baskerville what were his intentions. "to go to baskerville hall." "and when?" "at the end of the week." "on the whole," said holmes, "i think that your decision is a wise one. i have ample evidence that you are being dogged in london, and amid the millions of this great city it is difficult to discover who these people are or what their object can be. if their intentions are evil they might do you a mischief, and we should be powerless to prevent it. you did not know, dr. mortimer, that you were followed this morning from my house?" dr. mortimer started violently. "followed! by whom?" "that, unfortunately, is what i cannot tell you. have you among your neighbours or acquaintances on dartmoor any man with a black, full beard?" "no--or, let me see--why, yes. barrymore, sir charles's butler, is a man with a full, black beard." "ha! where is barrymore?" "he is in charge of the hall." "we had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any possibility he might be in london." "how can you do that?" "give me a telegraph form. 'is all ready for sir henry?' that will do. address to mr. barrymore, baskerville hall. what is the nearest telegraph-office? grimpen. very good, we will send a second wire to the postmaster, grimpen: 'telegram to mr. barrymore to be delivered into his own hand. if absent, please return wire to sir henry baskerville, northumberland hotel.' that should let us know before evening whether barrymore is at his post in devonshire or not." "that's so," said baskerville. "by the way, dr. mortimer, who is this barrymore, anyhow?" "he is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. they have looked after the hall for four generations now. so far as i know, he and his wife are as respectable a couple as any in the county." "at the same time," said baskerville, "it's clear enough that so long as there are none of the family at the hall these people have a mighty fine home and nothing to do." "that is true." "did barrymore profit at all by sir charles's will?" asked holmes. "he and his wife had five hundred pounds each." "ha! did they know that they would receive this?" "yes; sir charles was very fond of talking about the provisions of his will." "that is very interesting." "i hope," said dr. mortimer, "that you do not look with suspicious eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from sir charles, for i also had a thousand pounds left to me." "indeed! and anyone else?" "there were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a large number of public charities. the residue all went to sir henry." "and how much was the residue?" "seven hundred and forty thousand pounds." holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. "i had no idea that so gigantic a sum was involved," said he. "sir charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not know how very rich he was until we came to examine his securities. the total value of the estate was close on to a million." "dear me! it is a stake for which a man might well play a desperate game. and one more question, dr. mortimer. supposing that anything happened to our young friend here--you will forgive the unpleasant hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?" "since rodger baskerville, sir charles's younger brother died unmarried, the estate would descend to the desmonds, who are distant cousins. james desmond is an elderly clergyman in westmoreland." "thank you. these details are all of great interest. have you met mr. james desmond?" "yes; he once came down to visit sir charles. he is a man of venerable appearance and of saintly life. i remember that he refused to accept any settlement from sir charles, though he pressed it upon him." "and this man of simple tastes would be the heir to sir charles's thousands." "he would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. he would also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise by the present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it." "and have you made your will, sir henry?" "no, mr. holmes, i have not. i've had no time, for it was only yesterday that i learned how matters stood. but in any case i feel that the money should go with the title and estate. that was my poor uncle's idea. how is the owner going to restore the glories of the baskervilles if he has not money enough to keep up the property? house, land, and dollars must go together." "quite so. well, sir henry, i am of one mind with you as to the advisability of your going down to devonshire without delay. there is only one provision which i must make. you certainly must not go alone." "dr. mortimer returns with me." "but dr. mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is miles away from yours. with all the good will in the world he may be unable to help you. no, sir henry, you must take with you someone, a trusty man, who will be always by your side." "is it possible that you could come yourself, mr. holmes?" "if matters came to a crisis i should endeavour to be present in person; but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting practice and with the constant appeals which reach me from many quarters, it is impossible for me to be absent from london for an indefinite time. at the present instant one of the most revered names in england is being besmirched by a blackmailer, and only i can stop a disastrous scandal. you will see how impossible it is for me to go to dartmoor." "whom would you recommend, then?" holmes laid his hand upon my arm. "if my friend would undertake it there is no man who is better worth having at your side when you are in a tight place. no one can say so more confidently than i." the proposition took me completely by surprise, but before i had time to answer, baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it heartily. "well, now, that is real kind of you, dr. watson," said he. "you see how it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter as i do. if you will come down to baskerville hall and see me through i'll never forget it." the promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and i was complimented by the words of holmes and by the eagerness with which the baronet hailed me as a companion. "i will come, with pleasure," said i. "i do not know how i could employ my time better." "and you will report very carefully to me," said holmes. "when a crisis comes, as it will do, i will direct how you shall act. i suppose that by saturday all might be ready?" "would that suit dr. watson?" "perfectly." "then on saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the 10.30 train from paddington." we had risen to depart when baskerville gave a cry, of triumph, and diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from under a cabinet. "my missing boot!" he cried. "may all our difficulties vanish as easily!" said sherlock holmes. "but it is a very singular thing," dr. mortimer remarked. "i searched this room carefully before lunch." "and so did i," said baskerville. "every inch of it." "there was certainly no boot in it then." "in that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were lunching." the german was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter, nor could any inquiry clear it up. another item had been added to that constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had succeeded each other so rapidly. setting aside the whole grim story of sir charles's death, we had a line of inexplicable incidents all within the limits of two days, which included the receipt of the printed letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot, the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new brown boot. holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to baker street, and i knew from his drawn brows and keen face that his mind, like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted. all afternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco and thought. just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. the first ran: have just heard that barrymore is at the hall. baskerville. the second: visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry to report unable to trace cut sheet of times. cartwright. "there go two of my threads, watson. there is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you. we must cast round for another scent." "we have still the cabman who drove the spy." "exactly. i have wired to get his name and address from the official registry. i should not be surprised if this were an answer to my question." the ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactory than an answer, however, for the door opened and a rough-looking fellow entered who was evidently the man himself. "i got a message from the head office that a gent at this address had been inquiring for 2704," said he. "i've driven my cab this seven years and never a word of complaint. i came here straight from the yard to ask you to your face what you had against me." "i have nothing in the world against you, my good man," said holmes. "on the contrary, i have half a sovereign for you if you will give me a clear answer to my questions." "well, i've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman, with a grin. "what was it you wanted to ask, sir?" "first of all your name and address, in case i want you again." "john clayton, 3 turpey street, the borough. my cab is out of shipley's yard, near waterloo station." sherlock holmes made a note of it. "now, clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched this house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed the two gentlemen down regent street." the man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "why, there's no good my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as i do already," said he. "the truth is that the gentleman told me that he was a detective and that i was to say nothing about him to anyone." "my good fellow, this is a very serious business, and you may find yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from me. you say that your fare told you that he was a detective?" "yes, he did." "when did he say this?" "when he left me." "did he say anything more?" "he mentioned his name." holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. "oh, he mentioned his name, did he? that was imprudent. what was the name that he mentioned?" "his name," said the cabman, "was mr. sherlock holmes." never have i seen my friend more completely taken aback than by the cabman's reply. for an instant he sat in silent amazement. then he burst into a hearty laugh. "a touch, watson--an undeniable touch!" said he. "i feel a foil as quick and supple as my own. he got home upon me very prettily that time. so his name was sherlock holmes, was it?" "yes, sir, that was the gentleman's name." "excellent! tell me where you picked him up and all that occurred." "he hailed me at half-past nine in trafalgar square. he said that he was a detective, and he offered me two guineas if i would do exactly what he wanted all day and ask no questions. i was glad enough to agree. first we drove down to the northumberland hotel and waited there until two gentlemen came out and took a cab from the rank. we followed their cab until it pulled up somewhere near here." "this very door," said holmes. "well, i couldn't be sure of that, but i dare say my fare knew all about it. we pulled up half-way down the street and waited an hour and a half. then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and we followed down baker street and along--" "i know," said holmes. "until we got three-quarters down regent street. then my gentleman threw up the trap, and he cried that i should drive right away to waterloo station as hard as i could go. i whipped up the mare and we were there under the ten minutes. then he paid up his two guineas, like a good one, and away he went into the station. only just as he was leaving he turned round and he said: 'it might interest you to know that you have been driving mr. sherlock holmes.' that's how i come to know the name." "i see. and you saw no more of him?" "not after he went into the station." "and how would you describe mr. sherlock holmes?" the cabman scratched his head. "well, he wasn't altogether such an easy gentleman to describe. i'd put him at forty years of age, and he was of a middle height, two or three inches shorter than you, sir. he was dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cut square at the end, and a pale face. i don't know as i could say more than that." "colour of his eyes?" "no, i can't say that." "nothing more that you can remember?" "no, sir; nothing." "well, then, here is your half-sovereign. there's another one waiting for you if you can bring any more information. good night!" "good night, sir, and thank you!" john clayton departed chuckling, and holmes turned to me with a shrug of his shoulders and a rueful smile. "snap goes our third thread, and we end where we began," said he. "the cunning rascal! he knew our number, knew that sir henry baskerville had consulted me, spotted who i was in regent street, conjectured that i had got the number of the cab and would lay my hands on the driver, and so sent back this audacious message. i tell you, watson, this time we have got a foeman who is worthy of our steel. i've been checkmated in london. i can only wish you better luck in devonshire. but i'm not easy in my mind about it." "about what?" "about sending you. it's an ugly business, watson, an ugly dangerous business, and the more i see of it the less i like it. yes, my dear fellow, you may laugh, but i give you my word that i shall be very glad to have you back safe and sound in baker street once more." chapter vi baskerville hall sir henry baskerville and dr. mortimer were ready upon the appointed day, and we started as arranged for devonshire. mr. sherlock holmes drove with me to the station and gave me his last parting injunctions and advice. "i will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions, watson," said he; "i wish you simply to report facts in the fullest possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing." "what sort of facts?" i asked. "anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon the case, and especially the relations between young baskerville and his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of sir charles. i have made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the results have, i fear, been negative. one thing only appears to be certain, and that is that mr. james desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does not arise from him. i really think that we may eliminate him entirely from our calculations. there remain the people who will actually surround sir henry baskerville upon the moor." "would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this barrymore couple?" "by no means. you could not make a greater mistake. if they are innocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. no, no, we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. then there is a groom at the hall, if i remember right. there are two moorland farmers. there is our friend dr. mortimer, whom i believe to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, of whom we know nothing. there is this naturalist, stapleton, and there is his sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. there is mr. frankland, of lafter hall, who is also an unknown factor, and there are one or two other neighbours. these are the folk who must be your very special study." "i will do my best." "you have arms, i suppose?" "yes, i thought it as well to take them." "most certainly. keep your revolver near you night and day, and never relax your precautions." our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waiting for us upon the platform. "no, we have no news of any kind," said dr. mortimer in answer to my friend's questions. "i can swear to one thing, and that is that we have not been shadowed during the last two days. we have never gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our notice." "you have always kept together, i presume?" "except yesterday afternoon. i usually give up one day to pure amusement when i come to town, so i spent it at the museum of the college of surgeons." "and i went to look at the folk in the park," said baskerville. "but we had no trouble of any kind." "it was imprudent, all the same," said holmes, shaking his head and looking very grave. "i beg, sir henry, that you will not go about alone. some great misfortune will befall you if you do. did you get your other boot?" "no, sir, it is gone forever." "indeed. that is very interesting. well, good-bye," he added as the train began to glide down the platform. "bear in mind, sir henry, one of the phrases in that queer old legend which dr. mortimer has read to us, and avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil are exalted." i looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind, and saw the tall, austere figure of holmes standing motionless and gazing after us. the journey was a swift and pleasant one, and i spent it in making the more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing with dr. mortimer's spaniel. in a very few hours the brown earth had become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in well-hedged fields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if a damper, climate. young baskerville stared eagerly out of the window, and cried aloud with delight as he recognized the familiar features of the devon scenery. "i've been over a good part of the world since i left it, dr. watson," said he; "but i have never seen a place to compare with it." "i never saw a devonshire man who did not swear by his county," i remarked. "it depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county," said dr. mortimer. "a glance at our friend here reveals the rounded head of the celt, which carries inside it the celtic enthusiasm and power of attachment. poor sir charles's head was of a very rare type, half gaelic, half ivernian in its characteristics. but you were very young when you last saw baskerville hall, were you not?" "i was a boy in my 'teens at the time of my father's death, and had never seen the hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the south coast. thence i went straight to a friend in america. i tell you it is all as new to me as it is to dr. watson, and i'm as keen as possible to see the moor." "are you? then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first sight of the moor," said dr. mortimer, pointing out of the carriage window. over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in a dream. baskerville sat for a long time, his eyes fixed upon it, and i read upon his eager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where the men of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark so deep. there he sat, with his tweed suit and his american accent, in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as i looked at his dark and expressive face i felt more than ever how true a descendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. there were pride, valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. if on that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should lie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one might venture to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravely share it. the train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended. outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs was waiting. our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master and porters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. it was a sweet, simple country spot, but i was surprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms, who leaned upon their short rifles and glanced keenly at us as we passed. the coachman, a hard-faced, gnarled little fellow, saluted sir henry baskerville, and in a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road. rolling pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit country-side there rose ever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills. the wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue ferns. bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. still steadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge, and skirted a noisy stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir. at every turn baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. to his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the country-side, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed. the rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the baskervilles. "halloa!" cried dr. mortimer, "what is this?" a steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us. on the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. he was watching the road along which we travelled. "what is this, perkins?" asked dr. mortimer. our driver half turned in his seat. "there's a convict escaped from princetown, sir. he's been out three days now, and the warders watch every road and every station, but they've had no sight of him yet. the farmers about here don't like it, sir, and that's a fact." "well, i understand that they get five pounds if they can give information." "yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared to the chance of having your throat cut. you see, it isn't like any ordinary convict. this is a man that would stick at nothing." "who is he, then?" "it is selden, the notting hill murderer." i remembered the case well, for it was one in which holmes had taken an interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the wanton brutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. the commutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to his complete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled and craggy cairns and tors. a cold wind swept down from it and set us shivering. somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out. it needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. even baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him. we had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. we looked back on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. the road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. now and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no creeper to break its harsh outline. suddenly we looked down into a cup-like depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. the driver pointed with his whip. "baskerville hall," said he. its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. a few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars' heads of the baskervilles. the lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first fruit of sir charles's south african gold. through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a sombre tunnel over our heads. baskerville shuddered as he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end. "was it here?" he asked in a low voice. "no, no, the yew alley is on the other side." the young heir glanced round with a gloomy face. "it's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in such a place as this," said he. "it's enough to scare any man. i'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of six months, and you won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power swan and edison right here in front of the hall door." the avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before us. in the fading light i could see that the centre was a heavy block of building from which a porch projected. the whole front was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat-of-arms broke through the dark veil. from this central block rose the twin towers, ancient, crenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. to right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. a dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single black column of smoke. "welcome, sir henry! welcome to baskerville hall!" a tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the door of the wagonette. the figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow light of the hall. she came out and helped the man to hand down our bags. "you don't mind my driving straight home, sir henry?" said dr. mortimer. "my wife is expecting me." "surely you will stay and have some dinner?" "no, i must go. i shall probably find some work awaiting me. i would stay to show you over the house, but barrymore will be a better guide than i. good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if i can be of service." the wheels died away down the drive while sir henry and i turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. it was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge balks of age-blackened oak. in the great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. sir henry and i held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags' heads, the coats-of-arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp. "it's just as i imagined it," said sir henry. "is it not the very picture of an old family home? to think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. it strikes me solemn to think of it." i saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed about him. the light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows trailed down the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. barrymore had returned from taking our luggage to our rooms. he stood in front of us now with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. he was a remarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard and pale, distinguished features. "would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?" "is it ready?" "in a very few minutes, sir. you will find hot water in your rooms. my wife and i will be happy, sir henry, to stay with you until you have made your fresh arrangements, but you will understand that under the new conditions this house will require a considerable staff." "what new conditions?" "i only meant, sir, that sir charles led a very retired life, and we were able to look after his wants. you would, naturally, wish to have more company, and so you will need changes in your household." "do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?" "only when it is quite convenient to you, sir." "but your family have been with us for several generations, have they not? i should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old family connection." i seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's white face. "i feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. but to tell the truth, sir, we were both very much attached to sir charles, and his death gave us a shock and made these surroundings very painful to us. i fear that we shall never again be easy in our minds at baskerville hall." "but what do you intend to do?" "i have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves in some business. sir charles's generosity has given us the means to do so. and now, sir, perhaps i had best show you to your rooms." a square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall, approached by a double stair. from this central point two long corridors extended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedrooms opened. my own was in the same wing as baskerville's and almost next door to it. these rooms appeared to be much more modern than the central part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles did something to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had left upon my mind. but the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of shadow and gloom. it was a long chamber with a step separating the dais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents. at one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it. black beams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. with rows of flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of an old-time banquet, it might have softened; but now, when two black-clothed gentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one's voice became hushed and one's spirit subdued. a dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from the elizabethan knight to the buck of the regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their silent company. we talked little, and i for one was glad when the meal was over and we were able to retire into the modern billiard-room and smoke a cigarette. "my word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said sir henry. "i suppose one can tone down to it, but i feel a bit out of the picture at present. i don't wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone in such a house as this. however, if it suits you, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning." i drew aside my curtains before i went to bed and looked out from my window. it opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the hall door. beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. a half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. in its cold light i saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. i closed the curtain, feeling that my last impression was in keeping with the rest. and yet it was not quite the last. i found myself weary and yet wakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep which would not come. far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. and then suddenly, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to my ears, clear, resonant, and unmistakable. it was the sob of a woman, the muffled, strangling gasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. i sat up in bed and listened intently. the noise could not have been far away and was certainly in the house. for half an hour i waited with every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the chiming clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall. chapter vii the stapletons of merripit house the fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both of us by our first experience of baskerville hall. as sir henry and i sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered them. the dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before. "i guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!" said the baronet. "we were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. now we are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more." "and yet it was not entirely a question of imagination," i answered. "did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman i think, sobbing in the night?" "that is curious, for i did when i was half asleep fancy that i heard something of the sort. i waited quite a time, but there was no more of it, so i concluded that it was all a dream." "i heard it distinctly, and i am sure that it was really the sob of a woman." "we must ask about this right away." he rang the bell and asked barrymore whether he could account for our experience. it seemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to his master's question. "there are only two women in the house, sir henry," he answered. "one is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. the other is my wife, and i can answer for it that the sound could not have come from her." and yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast i met mrs. barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. she was a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth. but her tell-tale eyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. it was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband must know it. yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so. why had he done this? and why did she weep so bitterly? already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. it was he who had been the first to discover the body of sir charles, and we had only his word for all the circumstances which led up to the old man's death. was it possible that it was barrymore after all whom we had seen in the cab in regent street? the beard might well have been the same. the cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such an impression might easily have been erroneous. how could i settle the point forever? obviously the first thing to do was to see the grimpen postmaster, and find whether the test telegram had really been placed in barrymore's own hands. be the answer what it might, i should at least have something to report to sherlock holmes. sir henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for my excursion. it was a pleasant walk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house of dr. mortimer, stood high above the rest. the postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram. "certainly, sir," said he, "i had the telegram delivered to mr. barrymore exactly as directed." "who delivered it?" "my boy here. james, you delivered that telegram to mr. barrymore at the hall last week, did you not?" "yes, father, i delivered it." "into his own hands?" i asked. "well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that i could not put it into his own hands, but i gave it into mrs. barrymore's hands, and she promised to deliver it at once." "did you see mr. barrymore?" "no, sir; i tell you he was in the loft." "if you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?" "well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is," said the postmaster testily. "didn't he get the telegram? if there is any mistake it is for mr. barrymore himself to complain." it seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clear that in spite of holmes's ruse we had no proof that barrymore had not been in london all the time. suppose that it were so--suppose that the same man had been the last who had seen sir charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when he returned to england. what then? was he the agent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? what interest could he have in persecuting the baskerville family? i thought of the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the times. was that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting his schemes? the only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by sir henry, that if the family could be scared away a comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the barrymores. but surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. holmes himself had said that no more complex case had come to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations. i prayed, as i walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders. suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. i turned, expecting to see dr. mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who was pursuing me. he was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. a tin box for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net in one of his hands. "you will, i am sure, excuse my presumption, dr. watson," said he, as he came panting up to where i stood. "here on the moor we are homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. you may possibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, mortimer. i am stapleton, of merripit house." "your net and box would have told me as much," said i, "for i knew that mr. stapleton was a naturalist. but how did you know me?" "i have been calling on mortimer, and he pointed you out to me from the window of his surgery as you passed. as our road lay the same way i thought that i would overtake you and introduce myself. i trust that sir henry is none the worse for his journey?" "he is very well, thank you." "we were all rather afraid that after the sad death of sir charles the new baronet might refuse to live here. it is asking much of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but i need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the country-side. sir henry has, i suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?" "i do not think that it is likely." "of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts the family?" "i have heard it." "it is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creature upon the moor." he spoke with a smile, but i seemed to read in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. "the story took a great hold upon the imagination of sir charles, and i have no doubt that it led to his tragic end." "but how?" "his nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. i fancy that he really did see something of the kind upon that last night in the yew alley. i feared that some disaster might occur, for i was very fond of the old man, and i knew that his heart was weak." "how did you know that?" "my friend mortimer told me." "you think, then, that some dog pursued sir charles, and that he died of fright in consequence?" "have you any better explanation?" "i have not come to any conclusion." "has mr. sherlock holmes?" the words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise was intended. "it is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, dr. watson," said he. "the records of your detective have reached us here, and you could not celebrate him without being known yourself. when mortimer told me your name he could not deny your identity. if you are here, then it follows that mr. sherlock holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and i am naturally curious to know what view he may take." "i am afraid that i cannot answer that question." "may i ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?" "he cannot leave town at present. he has other cases which engage his attention." "what a pity! he might throw some light on that which is so dark to us. but as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which i can be of service to you i trust that you will command me. if i had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, i might perhaps even now give you some aid or advice." "i assure you that i am simply here upon a visit to my friend, sir henry, and that i need no help of any kind." "excellent!" said stapleton. "you are perfectly right to be wary and discreet. i am justly reproved for what i feel was an unjustifiable intrusion, and i promise you that i will not mention the matter again." we had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. a steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. the face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. from over a distant rise there floated a gray plume of smoke. "a moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to merripit house," said he. "perhaps you will spare an hour that i may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister." my first thought was that i should be by sir henry's side. but then i remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was littered. it was certain that i could not help with those. and holmes had expressly said that i should study the neighbours upon the moor. i accepted stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path. "it is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. "you never tire of the moor. you cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. it is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious." "you know it well, then?" "i have only been here two years. the residents would call me a newcomer. we came shortly after sir charles settled. but my tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and i should think that there are few men who know it better than i do." "is it hard to know?" "very hard. you see, for example, this great plain to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it. do you observe anything remarkable about that?" "it would be a rare place for a gallop." "you would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their lives before now. you notice those bright green spots scattered thickly over it?" "yes, they seem more fertile than the rest." stapleton laughed. "that is the great grimpen mire," said he. "a false step yonder means death to man or beast. only yesterday i saw one of the moor ponies wander into it. he never came out. i saw his head for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. and yet i can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. by george, there is another of those miserable ponies!" something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. it turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine. "it's gone!" said he. "the mire has him. two in two days, and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather, and never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. it's a bad place, the great grimpen mire." "and you say you can penetrate it?" "yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. i have found them out." "but why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?" "well, you see the hills beyond? they are really islands cut off on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. that is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them." "i shall try my luck some day." he looked at me with a surprised face. "for god's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he. "your blood would be upon my head. i assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. it is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that i am able to do it." "halloa!" i cried. "what is that?" a long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. it filled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. from a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face. "queer place, the moor!" said he. "but what is it?" "the peasants say it is the hound of the baskervilles calling for its prey. i've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud." i looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. nothing stirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor behind us. "you are an educated man. you don't believe such nonsense as that?" said i. "what do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?" "bogs make queer noises sometimes. it's the mud settling, or the water rising, or something." "no, no, that was a living voice." "well, perhaps it was. did you ever hear a bittern booming?" "no, i never did." "it's a very rare bird--practically extinct--in england now, but all things are possible upon the moor. yes, i should not be surprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns." "it's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever i heard in my life." "yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. look at the hill-side yonder. what do you make of those?" the whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a score of them at least. "what are they? sheep-pens?" "no, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. these are his wigwams with the roofs off. you can even see his hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to go inside." "but it is quite a town. when was it inhabited?" "neolithic man--no date." "what did he do?" "he grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. look at the great trench in the opposite hill. that is his mark. yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, dr. watson. oh, excuse me an instant! it is surely cyclopides." a small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of it. to my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net waving in the air. his gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself. i was standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in the treacherous mire, when i heard the sound of steps, and turning round found a woman near me upon the path. she had come from the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of merripit house, but the dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close. i could not doubt that this was the miss stapleton of whom i had been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and i remembered that i had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. the woman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. there could not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister, for stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while she was darker than any brunette whom i have seen in england--slim, elegant, and tall. she had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. with her perfect figure and elegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. her eyes were on her brother as i turned, and then she quickened her pace towards me. i had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark, when her own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel. "go back!" she said. "go straight back to london, instantly." i could only stare at her in stupid surprise. her eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot. "why should i go back?" i asked. "i cannot explain." she spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lisp in her utterance. "but for god's sake do what i ask you. go back and never set foot upon the moor again." "but i have only just come." "man, man!" she cried. "can you not tell when a warning is for your own good? go back to london! start to-night! get away from this place at all costs! hush, my brother is coming! not a word of what i have said. would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mares-tails yonder? we are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties of the place." stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and flushed with his exertions. "halloa, beryl!" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his greeting was not altogether a cordial one. "well, jack, you are very hot." "yes, i was chasing a cyclopides. he is very rare and seldom found in the late autumn. what a pity that i should have missed him!" he spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me. "you have introduced yourselves, i can see." "yes. i was telling sir henry that it was rather late for him to see the true beauties of the moor." "why, who do you think this is?" "i imagine that it must be sir henry baskerville." "no, no," said i. "only a humble commoner, but his friend. my name is dr. watson." a flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "we have been talking at cross purposes," said she. "why, you had not very much time for talk," her brother remarked with the same questioning eyes. "i talked as if dr. watson were a resident instead of being merely a visitor," said she. "it cannot much matter to him whether it is early or late for the orchids. but you will come on, will you not, and see merripit house?" a short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling. an orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. we were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with the house. inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which i seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. as i looked from their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon i could not but marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in such a place. "queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer to my thought. "and yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, beryl?" "quite happy," said she, but there was no ring of conviction in her words. "i had a school," said stapleton. "it was in the north country. the work to a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals, was very dear to me. however, the fates were against us. a serious epidemic broke out in the school and three of the boys died. it never recovered from the blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. and yet, if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, i could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, i find an unlimited field of work here, and my sister is as devoted to nature as i am. all this, dr. watson, has been brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window." "it certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull--less for you, perhaps, than for your sister." "no, no, i am never dull," said she, quickly. "we have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours. dr. mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. poor sir charles was also an admirable companion. we knew him well, and miss him more than i can tell. do you think that i should intrude if i were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of sir henry?" "i am sure that he would be delighted." "then perhaps you would mention that i propose to do so. we may in our humble way do something to make things more easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. will you come upstairs, dr. watson, and inspect my collection of lepidoptera? i think it is the most complete one in the south-west of england. by the time that you have looked through them lunch will be almost ready." but i was eager to get back to my charge. the melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had been associated with the grim legend of the baskervilles, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. then on the top of these more or less vague impressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of miss stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that i could not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. i resisted all pressure to stay for lunch, and i set off at once upon my return journey, taking the grass-grown path by which we had come. it seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for those who knew it, for before i had reached the road i was astounded to see miss stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she held her hand to her side. "i have run all the way in order to cut you off, dr. watson," said she. "i had not even time to put on my hat. i must not stop, or my brother may miss me. i wanted to say to you how sorry i am about the stupid mistake i made in thinking that you were sir henry. please forget the words i said, which have no application whatever to you." "but i can't forget them, miss stapleton," said i. "i am sir henry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. tell me why it was that you were so eager that sir henry should return to london." "a woman's whim, dr. watson. when you know me better you will understand that i cannot always give reasons for what i say or do." "no, no. i remember the thrill in your voice. i remember the look in your eyes. please, please, be frank with me, miss stapleton, for ever since i have been here i have been conscious of shadows all round me. life has become like that great grimpen mire, with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track. tell me then what it was that you meant, and i will promise to convey your warning to sir henry." an expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me. "you make too much of it, dr. watson," said she. "my brother and i were very much shocked by the death of sir charles. we knew him very intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. he was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family, and when this tragedy came i naturally felt that there must be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. i was distressed therefore when another member of the family came down to live here, and i felt that he should be warned of the danger which he will run. that was all which i intended to convey. "but what is the danger?" "you know the story of the hound?" "i do not believe in such nonsense." "but i do. if you have any influence with sir henry, take him away from a place which has always been fatal to his family. the world is wide. why should he wish to live at the place of danger?" "because it is the place of danger. that is sir henry's nature. i fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it would be impossible to get him to move." "i cannot say anything definite, for i do not know anything definite." "i would ask you one more question, miss stapleton. if you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your brother to overhear what you said? there is nothing to which he, or anyone else, could object." "my brother is very anxious to have the hall inhabited, for he thinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. he would be very angry if he knew that i have said anything which might induce sir henry to go away. but i have done my duty now and i will say no more. i must get back, or he will miss me and suspect that i have seen you. good-bye!" she turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while i, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to baskerville hall. chapter viii first report of dr. watson from this point onward i will follow the course of events by transcribing my own letters to mr. sherlock holmes which lie before me on the table. one page is missing, but otherwise they are exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of the moment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon these tragic events, can possibly do. baskerville hall, october 13th. my dear holmes: my previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to date as to all that has occurred in this most god-forsaken corner of the world. the longer one stays here the more does the spirit of the moor sink into one's soul, its vastness, and also its grim charm. when you are once out upon its bosom you have left all traces of modern england behind you, but on the other hand you are conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of the prehistoric people. on all sides of you as you walk are the houses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the huge monoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples. as you look at their gray stone huts against the scarred hill-sides you leave your own age behind you, and if you were to see a skin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you would feel that his presence there was more natural than your own. the strange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what must always have been most unfruitful soil. i am no antiquarian, but i could imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried race who were forced to accept that which none other would occupy. all this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me and will probably be very uninteresting to your severely practical mind. i can still remember your complete indifference as to whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth round the sun. let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning sir henry baskerville. if you have not had any report within the last few days it is because up to to-day there was nothing of importance to relate. then a very surprising circumstance occurred, which i shall tell you in due course. but, first of all, i must keep you in touch with some of the other factors in the situation. one of these, concerning which i have said little, is the escaped convict upon the moor. there is strong reason now to believe that he has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the lonely householders of this district. a fortnight has passed since his flight, during which he has not been seen and nothing has been heard of him. it is surely inconceivable that he could have held out upon the moor during all that time. of course, so far as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. any one of these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. but there is nothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter one of the moor sheep. we think, therefore, that he has gone, and the outlying farmers sleep the better in consequence. we are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could take good care of ourselves, but i confess that i have had uneasy moments when i have thought of the stapletons. they live miles from any help. there are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, and the brother, the latter not a very strong man. they would be helpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this notting hill criminal, if he could once effect an entrance. both sir henry and i were concerned at their situation, and it was suggested that perkins the groom should go over to sleep there, but stapleton would not hear of it. the fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a considerable interest in our fair neighbour. it is not to be wondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an active man like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful woman. there is something tropical and exotic about her which forms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother. yet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. he has certainly a very marked influence over her, for i have seen her continually glance at him as she talked as if seeking approbation for what she said. i trust that he is kind to her. there is a dry glitter in his eyes, and a firm set of his thin lips, which goes with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. you would find him an interesting study. he came over to call upon baskerville on that first day, and the very next morning he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the wicked hugo is supposed to have had its origin. it was an excursion of some miles across the moor to a place which is so dismal that it might have suggested the story. we found a short valley between rugged tors which led to an open, grassy space flecked over with the white cotton grass. in the middle of it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end, until they looked like the huge corroding fangs of some monstrous beast. in every way it corresponded with the scene of the old tragedy. sir henry was much interested and asked stapleton more than once whether he did really believe in the possibility of the interference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. he spoke lightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest. stapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that he said less than he might, and that he would not express his whole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of the baronet. he told us of similar cases, where families had suffered from some evil influence, and he left us with the impression that he shared the popular view upon the matter. on our way back we stayed for lunch at merripit house, and it was there that sir henry made the acquaintance of miss stapleton. from the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly attracted by her, and i am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual. he referred to her again and again on our walk home, and since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen something of the brother and sister. they dine here to-night, and there is some talk of our going to them next week. one would imagine that such a match would be very welcome to stapleton, and yet i have more than once caught a look of the strongest disapprobation in his face when sir henry has been paying some attention to his sister. he is much attached to her, no doubt, and would lead a lonely life without her, but it would seem the height of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. yet i am certain that he does not wish their intimacy to ripen into love, and i have several times observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from being tte--tte. by the way, your instructions to me never to allow sir henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous if a love affair were to be added to our other difficulties. my popularity would soon suffer if i were to carry out your orders to the letter. the other day--thursday, to be more exact--dr. mortimer lunched with us. he has been excavating a barrow at long down, and has got a prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. never was there such a single-minded enthusiast as he! the stapletons came in afterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the yew alley, at sir henry's request, to show us exactly how everything occurred upon that fatal night. it is a long, dismal walk, the yew alley, between two high walls of clipped hedge, with a narrow band of grass upon either side. at the far end is an old tumble-down summer-house. half-way down is the moor-gate, where the old gentleman left his cigar-ash. it is a white wooden gate with a latch. beyond it lies the wide moor. i remembered your theory of the affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. as the old man stood there he saw something coming across the moor, something which terrified him so that he lost his wits, and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion. there was the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. and from what? a sheep-dog of the moor? or a spectral hound, black, silent, and monstrous? was there a human agency in the matter? did the pale, watchful barrymore know more than he cared to say? it was all dim and vague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind it. one other neighbour i have met since i wrote last. this is mr. frankland, of lafter hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us. he is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. his passion is for the british law, and he has spent a large fortune in litigation. he fights for the mere pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a question, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly amusement. sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him open it. at others he will with his own hands tear down some other man's gate and declare that a path has existed there from time immemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass. he is learned in old manorial and communal rights, and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of fernworthy and sometimes against them, so that he is periodically either carried in triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy, according to his latest exploit. he is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his hands at present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his fortune and so draw his sting and leave him harmless for the future. apart from the law he seems a kindly, good-natured person, and i only mention him because you were particular that i should send some description of the people who surround us. he is curiously employed at present, for, being an amateur astronomer, he has an excellent telescope, with which he lies upon the roof of his own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. if he would confine his energies to this all would be well, but there are rumours that he intends to prosecute dr. mortimer for opening a grave without the consent of the next-of-kin, because he dug up the neolithic skull in the barrow on long down. he helps to keep our lives from being monotonous and gives a little comic relief where it is badly needed. and now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict, the stapletons, dr. mortimer, and frankland, of lafter hall, let me end on that which is most important and tell you more about the barrymores, and especially about the surprising development of last night. first of all about the test telegram, which you sent from london in order to make sure that barrymore was really here. i have already explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows that the test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or the other. i told sir henry how the matter stood, and he at once, in his downright fashion, had barrymore up and asked him whether he had received the telegram himself. barrymore said that he had. "did the boy deliver it into your own hands?" asked sir henry. barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time. "no," said he, "i was in the box-room at the time, and my wife brought it up to me." "did you answer it yourself?" "no; i told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it." in the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord. "i could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning, sir henry," said he. "i trust that they do not mean that i have done anything to forfeit your confidence?" sir henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by giving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the london outfit having now all arrived. mrs. barrymore is of interest to me. she is a heavy, solid person, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical. you could hardly conceive a less emotional subject. yet i have told you how, on the first night here, i heard her sobbing bitterly, and since then i have more than once observed traces of tears upon her face. some deep sorrow gnaws ever at her heart. sometimes i wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts her, and sometimes i suspect barrymore of being a domestic tyrant. i have always felt that there was something singular and questionable in this man's character, but the adventure of last night brings all my suspicions to a head. and yet it may seem a small matter in itself. you are aware that i am not a very sound sleeper, and since i have been on guard in this house my slumbers have been lighter than ever. last night, about two in the morning, i was aroused by a stealthy step passing my room. i rose, opened my door, and peeped out. a long black shadow was trailing down the corridor. it was thrown by a man who walked softly down the passage with a candle held in his hand. he was in shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet. i could merely see the outline, but his height told me that it was barrymore. he walked very slowly and circumspectly, and there was something indescribably guilty and furtive in his whole appearance. i have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which runs round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side. i waited until he had passed out of sight and then i followed him. when i came round the balcony he had reached the end of the farther corridor, and i could see from the glimmer of light through an open door that he had entered one of the rooms. now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied, so that his expedition became more mysterious than ever. the light shone steadily as if he were standing motionless. i crept down the passage as noiselessly as i could and peeped round the corner of the door. barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle held against the glass. his profile was half turned towards me, and his face seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out into the blackness of the moor. for some minutes he stood watching intently. then he gave a deep groan and with an impatient gesture he put out the light. instantly i made my way back to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing once more upon their return journey. long afterwards when i had fallen into a light sleep i heard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but i could not tell whence the sound came. what it all means i cannot guess, but there is some secret business going on in this house of gloom which sooner or later we shall get to the bottom of. i do not trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to furnish you only with facts. i have had a long talk with sir henry this morning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded upon my observations of last night. i will not speak about it just now, but it should make my next report interesting reading. chapter ix second report of dr. watson the light upon the moor baskerville hall, oct. 15th. my dear holmes: if i was compelled to leave you without much news during the early days of my mission you must acknowledge that i am making up for lost time, and that events are now crowding thick and fast upon us. in my last report i ended upon my top note with barrymore at the window, and now i have quite a budget already which will, unless i am much mistaken, considerably surprise you. things have taken a turn which i could not have anticipated. in some ways they have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and in some ways they have become more complicated. but i will tell you all and you shall judge for yourself. before breakfast on the morning following my adventure i went down the corridor and examined the room in which barrymore had been on the night before. the western window through which he had stared so intently has, i noticed, one peculiarity above all other windows in the house--it commands the nearest outlook on the moor. there is an opening between two trees which enables one from this point of view to look right down upon it, while from all the other windows it is only a distant glimpse which can be obtained. it follows, therefore, that barrymore, since only this window would serve the purpose, must have been looking out for something or somebody upon the moor. the night was very dark, so that i can hardly imagine how he could have hoped to see anyone. it had struck me that it was possible that some love intrigue was on foot. that would have accounted for his stealthy movements and also for the uneasiness of his wife. the man is a striking-looking fellow, very well equipped to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theory seemed to have something to support it. that opening of the door which i had heard after i had returned to my room might mean that he had gone out to keep some clandestine appointment. so i reasoned with myself in the morning, and i tell you the direction of my suspicions, however much the result may have shown that they were unfounded. but whatever the true explanation of barrymore's movements might be, i felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself until i could explain them was more than i could bear. i had an interview with the baronet in his study after breakfast, and i told him all that i had seen. he was less surprised than i had expected. "i knew that barrymore walked about nights, and i had a mind to speak to him about it," said he. "two or three times i have heard his steps in the passage, coming and going, just about the hour you name." "perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular window," i suggested. "perhaps he does. if so, we should be able to shadow him, and see what it is that he is after. i wonder what your friend holmes would do, if he were here." "i believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest," said i. "he would follow barrymore and see what he did." "then we shall do it together." "but surely he would hear us." "the man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance of that. we'll sit up in my room to-night and wait until he passes." sir henry rubbed his hands with pleasure, and it was evident that he hailed the adventure as a relief to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor. the baronet has been in communication with the architect who prepared the plans for sir charles, and with a contractor from london, so that we may expect great changes to begin here soon. there have been decorators and furnishers up from plymouth, and it is evident that our friend has large ideas, and means to spare no pains or expense to restore the grandeur of his family. when the house is renovated and refurnished, all that he will need will be a wife to make it complete. between ourselves there are pretty clear signs that this will not be wanting if the lady is willing, for i have seldom seen a man more infatuated with a woman than he is with our beautiful neighbour, miss stapleton. and yet the course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as one would under the circumstances expect. to-day, for example, its surface was broken by a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friend considerable perplexity and annoyance. after the conversation which i have quoted about barrymore, sir henry put on his hat and prepared to go out. as a matter of course i did the same. "what, are you coming, watson?" he asked, looking at me in a curious way. "that depends on whether you are going on the moor," said i. "yes, i am." "well, you know what my instructions are. i am sorry to intrude, but you heard how earnestly holmes insisted that i should not leave you, and especially that you should not go alone upon the moor." sir henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile. "my dear fellow," said he, "holmes, with all his wisdom, did not foresee some things which have happened since i have been on the moor. you understand me? i am sure that you are the last man in the world who would wish to be a spoil-sport. i must go out alone." it put me in a most awkward position. i was at a loss what to say or what to do, and before i had made up my mind he picked up his cane and was gone. but when i came to think the matter over my conscience reproached me bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my sight. i imagined what my feelings would be if i had to return to you and to confess that some misfortune had occurred through my disregard for your instructions. i assure you my cheeks flushed at the very thought. it might not even now be too late to overtake him, so i set off at once in the direction of merripit house. i hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing anything of sir henry, until i came to the point where the moor path branches off. there, fearing that perhaps i had come in the wrong direction after all, i mounted a hill from which i could command a view--the same hill which is cut into the dark quarry. thence i saw him at once. he was on the moor path, about a quarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only be miss stapleton. it was clear that there was already an understanding between them and that they had met by appointment. they were walking slowly along in deep conversation, and i saw her making quick little movements of her hands as if she were very earnest in what she was saying, while he listened intently, and once or twice shook his head in strong dissent. i stood among the rocks watching them, very much puzzled as to what i should do next. to follow them and break into their intimate conversation seemed to be an outrage, and yet my clear duty was never for an instant to let him out of my sight. to act the spy upon a friend was a hateful task. still, i could see no better course than to observe him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by confessing to him afterwards what i had done. it is true that if any sudden danger had threatened him i was too far away to be of use, and yet i am sure that you will agree with me that the position was very difficult, and that there was nothing more which i could do. our friend, sir henry, and the lady had halted on the path and were standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when i was suddenly aware that i was not the only witness of their interview. a wisp of green floating in the air caught my eye, and another glance showed me that it was carried on a stick by a man who was moving among the broken ground. it was stapleton with his butterfly-net. he was very much closer to the pair than i was, and he appeared to be moving in their direction. at this instant sir henry suddenly drew miss stapleton to his side. his arm was round her, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from him with her face averted. he stooped his head to hers, and she raised one hand as if in protest. next moment i saw them spring apart and turn hurriedly round. stapleton was the cause of the interruption. he was running wildly towards them, his absurd net dangling behind him. he gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front of the lovers. what the scene meant i could not imagine, but it seemed to me that stapleton was abusing sir henry, who offered explanations, which became more angry as the other refused to accept them. the lady stood by in haughty silence. finally stapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in a peremptory way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at sir henry, walked off by the side of her brother. the naturalist's angry gestures showed that the lady was included in his displeasure. the baronet stood for a minute looking after them, and then he walked slowly back the way that he had come, his head hanging, the very picture of dejection. what all this meant i could not imagine, but i was deeply ashamed to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend's knowledge. i ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom. his face was flushed with anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to do. "halloa, watson! where have you dropped from?" said he. "you don't mean to say that you came after me in spite of all?" i explained everything to him: how i had found it impossible to remain behind, how i had followed him, and how i had witnessed all that had occurred. for an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a rather rueful laugh. "you would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe place for a man to be private," said he, "but, by thunder, the whole country-side seems to have been out to see me do my wooing--and a mighty poor wooing at that! where had you engaged a seat?" "i was on that hill." "quite in the back row, eh? but her brother was well up to the front. did you see him come out on us?" "yes, i did." "did he ever strike you as being crazy--this brother of hers?" "i can't say that he ever did." "i dare say not. i always thought him sane enough until to-day, but you can take it from me that either he or i ought to be in a strait-jacket. what's the matter with me, anyhow? you've lived near me for some weeks, watson. tell me straight, now! is there anything that would prevent me from making a good husband to a woman that i loved?" "i should say not." "he can't object to my worldly position, so it must be myself that he has this down on. what has he against me? i never hurt man or woman in my life that i know of. and yet he would not so much as let me touch the tips of her fingers." "did he say so?" "that, and a deal more. i tell you, watson, i've only known her these few weeks, but from the first i just felt that she was made for me, and she, too--she was happy when she was with me, and that i'll swear. there's a light in a woman's eyes that speaks louder than words. but he has never let us get together, and it was only to-day for the first time that i saw a chance of having a few words with her alone. she was glad to meet me, but when she did it was not love that she would talk about, and she wouldn't have let me talk about it either if she could have stopped it. she kept coming back to it that this was a place of danger, and that she would never be happy until i had left it. i told her that since i had seen her i was in no hurry to leave it, and that if she really wanted me to go, the only way to work it was for her to arrange to go with me. with that i offered in as many words to marry her, but before she could answer, down came this brother of hers, running at us with a face on him like a madman. he was just white with rage, and those light eyes of his were blazing with fury. what was i doing with the lady? how dared i offer her attentions which were distasteful to her? did i think that because i was a baronet i could do what i liked? if he had not been her brother i should have known better how to answer him. as it was i told him that my feelings towards his sister were such as i was not ashamed of, and that i hoped that she might honour me by becoming my wife. that seemed to make the matter no better, so then i lost my temper too, and i answered him rather more hotly than i should perhaps, considering that she was standing by. so it ended by his going off with her, as you saw, and here am i as badly puzzled a man as any in this county. just tell me what it all means, watson, and i'll owe you more than ever i can hope to pay." i tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, i was completely puzzled myself. our friend's title, his fortune, his age, his character, and his appearance are all in his favour, and i know nothing against him unless it be this dark fate which runs in his family. that his advances should be rejected so brusquely without any reference to the lady's own wishes, and that the lady should accept the situation without protest, is very amazing. however, our conjectures were set at rest by a visit from stapleton himself that very afternoon. he had come to offer apologies for his rudeness of the morning, and after a long private interview with sir henry in his study, the upshot of their conversation was that the breach is quite healed, and that we are to dine at merripit house next friday as a sign of it. "i don't say now that he isn't a crazy man," said sir henry; "i can't forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning, but i must allow that no man could make a more handsome apology than he has done." "did he give any explanation of his conduct?" "his sister is everything in his life, he says. that is natural enough, and i am glad that he should understand her value. they have always been together, and according to his account he has been a very lonely man with only her as a companion, so that the thought of losing her was really terrible to him. he had not understood, he said, that i was becoming attached to her, but when he saw with his own eyes that it was really so, and that she might be taken away from him, it gave him such a shock that for a time he was not responsible for what he said or did. he was very sorry for all that had passed, and he recognized how foolish and how selfish it was that he should imagine that he could hold a beautiful woman like his sister to himself for her whole life. if she had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour like myself than to anyone else. but in any case it was a blow to him, and it would take him some time before he could prepare himself to meet it. he would withdraw all opposition upon his part if i would promise for three months to let the matter rest and to be content with cultivating the lady's friendship during that time without claiming her love. this i promised, and so the matter rests." so there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. it is something to have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we are floundering. we know now why stapleton looked with disfavour upon his sister's suitor--even when that suitor was so eligible a one as sir henry. and now i pass on to another thread which i have extricated out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the sobs in the night, of the tear-stained face of mrs. barrymore, of the secret journey of the butler to the western lattice window. congratulate me, my dear holmes, and tell me that i have not disappointed you as an agent--that you do not regret the confidence which you showed in me when you sent me down. all these things have by one night's work been thoroughly cleared. i have said "by one night's work," but, in truth, it was by two nights' work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. i sat up with sir henry in his rooms until nearly three o'clock in the morning, but no sound of any sort did we hear except the chiming clock upon the stairs. it was a most melancholy vigil, and ended by each of us falling asleep in our chairs. fortunately we were not discouraged, and we determined to try again. the next night we lowered the lamp, and sat smoking cigarettes without making the least sound. it was incredible how slowly the hours crawled by, and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient interest which the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into which he hopes the game may wander. one struck, and two, and we had almost for the second time given it up in despair, when in an instant we both sat bolt upright in our chairs, with all our weary senses keenly on the alert once more. we had heard the creak of a step in the passage. very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the distance. then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in pursuit. already our man had gone round the gallery, and the corridor was all in darkness. softly we stole along until we had come into the other wing. we were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure, his shoulders rounded, as he tip-toed down the passage. then he passed through the same door as before, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness and shot one single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor. we shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every plank before we dared to put our whole weight upon it. we had taken the precaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards snapped and creaked beneath our tread. sometimes it seemed impossible that he should fail to hear our approach. however, the man is fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which he was doing. when at last we reached the door and peeped through we found him crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent face pressed against the pane, exactly as i had seen him two nights before. we had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom the most direct way is always the most natural. he walked into the room, and as he did so barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp hiss of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, before us. his dark eyes, glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of horror and astonishment as he gazed from sir henry to me. "what are you doing here, barrymore?" "nothing, sir." his agitation was so great that he could hardly speak, and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle. "it was the window, sir. i go round at night to see that they are fastened." "on the second floor?" "yes, sir, all the windows." "look here, barrymore," said sir henry, sternly; "we have made up our minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell it sooner rather than later. come, now! no lies! what were you doing at that window?" the fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his hands together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery. "i was doing no harm, sir. i was holding a candle to the window." "and why were you holding a candle to the window?" "don't ask me, sir henry--don't ask me! i give you my word, sir, that it is not my secret, and that i cannot tell it. if it concerned no one but myself i would not try to keep it from you." a sudden idea occurred to me, and i took the candle from the trembling hand of the butler. "he must have been holding it as a signal," said i. "let us see if there is any answer." i held it as he had done, and stared out into the darkness of the night. vaguely i could discern the black bank of the trees and the lighter expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the clouds. and then i gave a cry of exultation, for a tiny pin-point of yellow light had suddenly transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily in the centre of the black square framed by the window. "there it is!" i cried. "no, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!" the butler broke in; "i assure you, sir--" "move your light across the window, watson!" cried the baronet. "see, the other moves also! now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal? come, speak up! who is your confederate out yonder, and what is this conspiracy that is going on?" the man's face became openly defiant. "it is my business, and not yours. i will not tell." "then you leave my employment right away." "very good, sir. if i must i must." "and you go in disgrace. by thunder, you may well be ashamed of yourself. your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years under this roof, and here i find you deep in some dark plot against me." "no, no, sir; no, not against you!" it was a woman's voice, and mrs. barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standing at the door. her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comic were it not for the intensity of feeling upon her face. "we have to go, eliza. this is the end of it. you can pack our things," said the butler. "oh, john, john, have i brought you to this? it is my doing, sir henry--all mine. he has done nothing except for my sake and because i asked him." "speak out, then! what does it mean?" "my unhappy brother is starving on the moor. we cannot let him perish at our very gates. the light is a signal to him that food is ready for him, and his light out yonder is to show the spot to which to bring it." "then your brother is--" "the escaped convict, sir--selden, the criminal." "that's the truth, sir," said barrymore. "i said that it was not my secret and that i could not tell it to you. but now you have heard it, and you will see that if there was a plot it was not against you." this, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at night and the light at the window. sir henry and i both stared at the woman in amazement. was it possible that this stolidly respectable person was of the same blood as one of the most notorious criminals in the country? "yes, sir, my name was selden, and he is my younger brother. we humoured him too much when he was a lad, and gave him his own way in everything until he came to think that the world was made for his pleasure, and that he could do what he liked in it. then as he grew older he met wicked companions, and the devil entered into him until he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name in the dirt. from crime to crime he sank lower and lower, until it is only the mercy of god which has snatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the little curly-headed boy that i had nursed and played with, as an elder sister would. that was why he broke prison, sir. he knew that i was here and that we could not refuse to help him. when he dragged himself here one night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what could we do? we took him in and fed him and cared for him. then you returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than anywhere else until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there. but every second night we made sure if he was still there by putting a light in the window, and if there was an answer my husband took out some bread and meat to him. every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long as he was there we could not desert him. that is the whole truth, as i am an honest christian woman, and you will see that if there is blame in the matter it does not lie with my husband, but with me, for whose sake he has done all that he has." the woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried conviction with them. "is this true, barrymore?" "yes, sir henry. every word of it." "well, i cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. forget what i have said. go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about this matter in the morning." when they were gone we looked out of the window again. sir henry had flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces. far away in the black distance there still glowed that one tiny point of yellow light. "i wonder he dares," said sir henry. "it may be so placed as to be only visible from here." "very likely. how far do you think it is?" "out by the cleft tor, i think." "not more than a mile or two off." "hardly that." "well, it cannot be far if barrymore had to carry out the food to it. and he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. by thunder, watson, i am going out to take that man!" the same thought had crossed my own mind. it was not as if the barrymores had taken us into their confidence. their secret had been forced from them. the man was a danger to the community, an unmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. we were only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting him back where he could do no harm. with his brutal and violent nature, others would have to pay the price if we held our hands. any night, for example, our neighbours the stapletons might be attacked by him, and it may have been the thought of this which made sir henry so keen upon the adventure. "i will come," said i. "then get your revolver and put on your boots. the sooner we start the better, as the fellow may put out his light and be off." in five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our expedition. we hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull moaning of the autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves. the night air was heavy with the smell of damp and decay. now and again the moon peeped out for an instant, but clouds were driving over the face of the sky, and just as we came out on the moor a thin rain began to fall. the light still burned steadily in front. "are you armed?" i asked. "i have a hunting-crop." "we must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperate fellow. we shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy before he can resist." "i say, watson," said the baronet, "what would holmes say to this? how about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?" as if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloom of the moor that strange cry which i had already heard upon the borders of the great grimpen mire. it came with the wind through the silence of the night, a long, deep mutter, then a rising howl, and then the sad moan in which it died away. again and again it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it, strident, wild, and menacing. the baronet caught my sleeve and his face glimmered white through the darkness. "my god, what's that, watson?" "i don't know. it's a sound they have on the moor. i heard it once before." it died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. we stood straining our ears, but nothing came. "watson," said the baronet, "it was the cry of a hound." my blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice which told of the sudden horror which had seized him. "what do they call this sound?" he asked. "who?" "the folk on the country-side." "oh, they are ignorant people. why should you mind what they call it?" "tell me, watson. what do they say of it?" i hesitated but could not escape the question. "they say it is the cry of the hound of the baskervilles." he groaned and was silent for a few moments. "a hound it was," he said, at last, "but it seemed to come from miles away, over yonder, i think." "it was hard to say whence it came." "it rose and fell with the wind. isn't that the direction of the great grimpen mire?" "yes, it is." "well, it was up there. come now, watson, didn't you think yourself that it was the cry of a hound? i am not a child. you need not fear to speak the truth." "stapleton was with me when i heard it last. he said that it might be the calling of a strange bird." "no, no, it was a hound. my god, can there be some truth in all these stories? is it possible that i am really in danger from so dark a cause? you don't believe it, do you, watson?" "no, no." "and yet it was one thing to laugh about it in london, and it is another to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry as that. and my uncle! there was the footprint of the hound beside him as he lay. it all fits together. i don't think that i am a coward, watson, but that sound seemed to freeze my very blood. feel my hand!" it was as cold as a block of marble. "you'll be all right to-morrow." "i don't think i'll get that cry out of my head. what do you advise that we do now?" "shall we turn back?" "no, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it. we after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us. come on! we'll see it through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon the moor." we stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of the craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily in front. there is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon the horizon and sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us. but at last we could see whence it came, and then we knew that we were indeed very close. a guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which flanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent it from being visible, save in the direction of baskerville hall. a boulder of granite concealed our approach, and crouching behind it we gazed over it at the signal light. it was strange to see this single candle burning there in the middle of the moor, with no sign of life near it--just the one straight yellow flame and the gleam of the rock on each side of it. "what shall we do now?" whispered sir henry. "wait here. he must be near his light. let us see if we can get a glimpse of him." the words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. over the rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with vile passions. foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have belonged to one of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides. the light beneath him was reflected in his small, cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and left through the darkness, like a crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps of the hunters. something had evidently aroused his suspicions. it may have been that barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to give, or the fellow may have had some other reason for thinking that all was not well, but i could read his fears upon his wicked face. any instant he might dash out the light and vanish in the darkness. i sprang forward therefore, and sir henry did the same. at the same moment the convict screamed out a curse at us and hurled a rock which splintered up against the boulder which had sheltered us. i caught one glimpse of his short, squat, strongly-built figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run. at the same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds. we rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our man running with great speed down the other side, springing over the stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. a lucky long shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but i had brought it only to defend myself if attacked, and not to shoot an unarmed man who was running away. we were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soon found that we had no chance of overtaking him. we saw him for a long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck moving swiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill. we ran and ran until we were completely blown, but the space between us grew ever wider. finally we stopped and sat panting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the distance. and it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and unexpected thing. we had risen from our rocks and were turning to go home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. the moon was low upon the right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the lower curve of its silver disc. there, outlined as black as an ebony statue on that shining back-ground, i saw the figure of a man upon the tor. do not think that it was a delusion, holmes. i assure you that i have never in my life seen anything more clearly. as far as i could judge, the figure was that of a tall, thin man. he stood with his legs a little separated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which lay before him. he might have been the very spirit of that terrible place. it was not the convict. this man was far from the place where the latter had disappeared. besides, he was a much taller man. with a cry of surprise i pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instant during which i had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone. there was the sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but its peak bore no trace of that silent and motionless figure. i wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it was some distance away. the baronet's nerves were still quivering from that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and he was not in the mood for fresh adventures. he had not seen this lonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which his strange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. "a warder, no doubt," said he. "the moor has been thick with them since this fellow escaped." well, perhaps his explanation may be the right one, but i should like to have some further proof of it. to-day we mean to communicate to the princetown people where they should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that we have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our own prisoner. such are the adventures of last night, and you must acknowledge, my dear holmes, that i have done you very well in the matter of a report. much of what i tell you is no doubt quite irrelevant, but still i feel that it is best that i should let you have all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those which will be of most service to you in helping you to your conclusions. we are certainly making some progress. so far as the barrymores go we have found the motive of their actions, and that has cleared up the situation very much. but the moor with its mysteries and its strange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as ever. perhaps in my next i may be able to throw some light upon this also. best of all would it be if you could come down to us. in any case you will hear from me again in the course of the next few days. chapter x extract from the diary of dr. watson so far i have been able to quote from the reports which i have forwarded during these early days to sherlock holmes. now, however, i have arrived at a point in my narrative where i am compelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to my recollections, aided by the diary which i kept at the time. a few extracts from the latter will carry me on to those scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. i proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the convict and our other strange experiences upon the moor. october 16th.--a dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. the house is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins upon the sides of the hills, and the distant boulders gleaming where the light strikes upon their wet faces. it is melancholy outside and in. the baronet is in a black reaction after the excitements of the night. i am conscious myself of a weight at my heart and a feeling of impending danger--ever present danger, which is the more terrible because i am unable to define it. and have i not cause for such a feeling? consider the long sequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is at work around us. there is the death of the last occupant of the hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions of the family legend, and there are the repeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor. twice i have with my own ears heard the sound which resembled the distant baying of a hound. it is incredible, impossible, that it should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. a spectral hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howling is surely not to be thought of. stapleton may fall in with such a superstition, and mortimer also; but if i have one quality upon earth it is common-sense, and nothing will persuade me to believe in such a thing. to do so would be to descend to the level of these poor peasants, who are not content with a mere fiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shooting from his mouth and eyes. holmes would not listen to such fancies, and i am his agent. but facts are facts, and i have twice heard this crying upon the moor. suppose that there were really some huge hound loose upon it; that would go far to explain everything. but where could such a hound lie concealed, where did it get its food, where did it come from, how was it that no one saw it by day? it must be confessed that the natural explanation offers almost as many difficulties as the other. and always, apart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency in london, the man in the cab, and the letter which warned sir henry against the moor. this at least was real, but it might have been the work of a protecting friend as easily as of an enemy. where is that friend or enemy now? has he remained in london, or has he followed us down here? could he--could he be the stranger whom i saw upon the tor? it is true that i have had only the one glance at him, and yet there are some things to which i am ready to swear. he is no one whom i have seen down here, and i have now met all the neighbours. the figure was far taller than that of stapleton, far thinner than that of frankland. barrymore it might possibly have been, but we had left him behind us, and i am certain that he could not have followed us. a stranger then is still dogging us, just as a stranger dogged us in london. we have never shaken him off. if i could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might find ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. to this one purpose i must now devote all my energies. my first impulse was to tell sir henry all my plans. my second and wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible to anyone. he is silent and distrait. his nerves have been strangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. i will say nothing to add to his anxieties, but i will take my own steps to attain my own end. we had a small scene this morning after breakfast. barrymore asked leave to speak with sir henry, and they were closeted in his study some little time. sitting in the billiard-room i more than once heard the sound of voices raised, and i had a pretty good idea what the point was which was under discussion. after a time the baronet opened his door and called for me. "barrymore considers that he has a grievance," he said. "he thinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law down when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret." the butler was standing very pale but very collected before us. "i may have spoken too warmly, sir," said he, "and if i have, i am sure that i beg your pardon. at the same time, i was very much surprised when i heard you two gentlemen come back this morning and learned that you had been chasing selden. the poor fellow has enough to fight against without my putting more upon his track." "if you had told us of your own free will it would have been a different thing," said the baronet, "you only told us, or rather your wife only told us, when it was forced from you and you could not help yourself." "i didn't think you would have taken advantage of it, sir henry--indeed i didn't." "the man is a public danger. there are lonely houses scattered over the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. you only want to get a glimpse of his face to see that. look at mr. stapleton's house, for example, with no one but himself to defend it. there's no safety for anyone until he is under lock and key." "he'll break into no house, sir. i give you my solemn word upon that. but he will never trouble anyone in this country again. i assure you, sir henry, that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to south america. for god's sake, sir, i beg of you not to let the police know that he is still on the moor. they have given up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for him. you can't tell on him without getting my wife and me into trouble. i beg you, sir, to say nothing to the police." "what do you say, watson?" i shrugged my shoulders. "if he were safely out of the country it would relieve the tax-payer of a burden." "but how about the chance of his holding someone up before he goes?" "he would not do anything so mad, sir. we have provided him with all that he can want. to commit a crime would be to show where he was hiding." "that is true," said sir henry. "well, barrymore--" "god bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! it would have killed my poor wife had he been taken again." "i guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, watson? but, after what we have heard i don't feel as if i could give the man up, so there is an end of it. all right, barrymore, you can go." with a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he hesitated and then came back. "you've been so kind to us, sir, that i should like to do the best i can for you in return. i know something, sir henry, and perhaps i should have said it before, but it was long after the inquest that i found it out. i've never breathed a word about it yet to mortal man. it's about poor sir charles's death." the baronet and i were both upon our feet. "do you know how he died?" "no, sir, i don't know that." "what then?" "i know why he was at the gate at that hour. it was to meet a woman." "to meet a woman! he?" "yes, sir." "and the woman's name?" "i can't give you the name, sir, but i can give you the initials. her initials were l. l." "how do you know this, barrymore?" "well, sir henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. he had usually a great many letters, for he was a public man and well known for his kind heart, so that everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. but that morning, as it chanced, there was only this one letter, so i took the more notice of it. it was from coombe tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand." "well?" "well, sir, i thought no more of the matter, and never would have done had it not been for my wife. only a few weeks ago she was cleaning out sir charles's study--it had never been touched since his death--and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grate. the greater part of it was charred to pieces, but one little slip, the end of a page, hung together, and the writing could still be read, though it was gray on a black ground. it seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the letter, and it said: 'please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock'. beneath it were signed the initials l. l." "have you got that slip?" "no, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it." "had sir charles received any other letters in the same writing?" "well, sir, i took no particular notice of his letters. i should not have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone." "and you have no idea who l. l. is?" "no, sir. no more than you have. but i expect if we could lay our hands upon that lady we should know more about sir charles's death." "i cannot understand, barrymore, how you came to conceal this important information." "well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble came to us. and then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of sir charles, as we well might be considering all that he has done for us. to rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's well to go carefully when there's a lady in the case. even the best of us--" "you thought it might injure his reputation?" "well, sir, i thought no good could come of it. but now you have been kind to us, and i feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to tell you all that i know about the matter." "very good, barrymore; you can go." when the butler had left us sir henry turned to me. "well, watson, what do you think of this new light?" "it seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before." "so i think. but if we can only trace l. l. it should clear up the whole business. we have gained that much. we know that there is someone who has the facts if we can only find her. what do you think we should do?" "let holmes know all about it at once. it will give him the clue for which he has been seeking. i am much mistaken if it does not bring him down." i went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning's conversation for holmes. it was evident to me that he had been very busy of late, for the notes which i had from baker street were few and short, with no comments upon the information which i had supplied and hardly any reference to my mission. no doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. and yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his interest. i wish that he were here. october 17th.--all day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on the ivy and dripping from the eaves. i thought of the convict out upon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. poor devil! whatever his crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. and then i thought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure against the moon. was he also out in that deluged--the unseen watcher, the man of darkness? in the evening i put on my waterproof and i walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling about my ears. god help those who wander into the great mire now, for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. i found the black tor upon which i had seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit i looked out myself across the melancholy downs. rain squalls drifted across their russet face, and the heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over the landscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastic hills. in the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two thin towers of baskerville hall rose above the trees. they were the only signs of human life which i could see, save only those prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the hills. nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whom i had seen on the same spot two nights before. as i walked back i was overtaken by dr. mortimer driving in his dog-cart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouse of foulmire. he has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passed that he has not called at the hall to see how we were getting on. he insisted upon my climbing into his dog-cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. i found him much troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. it had wandered on to the moor and had never come back. i gave him such consolation as i might, but i thought of the pony on the grimpen mire, and i do not fancy that he will see his little dog again. "by the way, mortimer," said i as we jolted along the rough road, "i suppose there are few people living within driving distance of this whom you do not know?" "hardly any, i think." "can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are l. l.?" he thought for a few minutes. "no," said he. "there are a few gipsies and labouring folk for whom i can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whose initials are those. wait a bit though," he added after a pause. "there is laura lyons--her initials are l. l.--but she lives in coombe tracey." "who is she?" i asked. "she is frankland's daughter." "what! old frankland the crank?" "exactly. she married an artist named lyons, who came sketching on the moor. he proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. the fault from what i hear may not have been entirely on one side. her father refused to have anything to do with her because she had married without his consent, and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. so, between the old sinner and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time." "how does she live?" "i fancy old frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more, for his own affairs are considerably involved. whatever she may have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. her story got about, and several of the people here did something to enable her to earn an honest living. stapleton did for one, and sir charles for another. i gave a trifle myself. it was to set her up in a typewriting business." he wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but i managed to satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why we should take anyone into our confidence. to-morrow morning i shall find my way to coombe tracey, and if i can see this mrs. laura lyons, of equivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearing one incident in this chain of mysteries. i am certainly developing the wisdom of the serpent, for when mortimer pressed his questions to an inconvenient extent i asked him casually to what type frankland's skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. i have not lived for years with sherlock holmes for nothing. i have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous and melancholy day. this was my conversation with barrymore just now, which gives me one more strong card which i can play in due time. mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played cart afterwards. the butler brought me my coffee into the library, and i took the chance to ask him a few questions. "well," said i, "has this precious relation of yours departed, or is he still lurking out yonder?" "i don't know, sir. i hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has brought nothing but trouble here! i've not heard of him since i left out food for him last, and that was three days ago." "did you see him then?" "no, sir, but the food was gone when next i went that way." "then he was certainly there?" "so you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it." i sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at barrymore. "you know that there is another man then?" "yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor." "have you seen him?" "no, sir." "how do you know of him then?" "selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. he's in hiding, too, but he's not a convict as far as i can make out. i don't like it, dr. watson--i tell you straight, sir, that i don't like it." he spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness. "now, listen to me, barrymore! i have no interest in this matter but that of your master. i have come here with no object except to help him. tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like." barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst, or found it difficult to express his own feelings in words. "it's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving his hand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. "there's foul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that i'll swear! very glad i should be, sir, to see sir henry on his way back to london again!" "but what is it that alarms you?" "look at sir charles's death! that was bad enough, for all that the coroner said. look at the noises on the moor at night. there's not a man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. look at this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! what's he waiting for? what does it mean? it means no good to anyone of the name of baskerville, and very glad i shall be to be quit of it all on the day that sir henry's new servants are ready to take over the hall." "but about this stranger," said i. "can you tell me anything about him? what did selden say? did he find out where he hid, or what he was doing?" "he saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one, and gives nothing away. at first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that he had some lay of his own. a kind of gentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doing he could not make out." "and where did he say that he lived?" "among the old houses on the hillside--the stone huts where the old folk used to live." "but how about his food?" "selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and brings him all he needs. i dare say he goes to coombe tracey for what he wants." "very good, barrymore. we may talk further of this some other time." when the butler had gone i walked over to the black window, and i looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. it is a wild night indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor. what passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time! and what deep and earnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial! there, in that hut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has vexed me so sorely. i swear that another day shall not have passed before i have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery. chapter xi the man on the tor the extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter has brought my narrative up to the 18th of october, a time when these strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion. the incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon my recollection, and i can tell them without reference to the notes made at the time. i start then from the day which succeeded that upon which i had established two facts of great importance, the one that mrs. laura lyons of coombe tracey had written to sir charles baskerville and made an appointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among the stone huts upon the hill-side. with these two facts in my possession i felt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if i could not throw some further light upon these dark places. i had no opportunity to tell the baronet what i had learned about mrs. lyons upon the evening before, for dr. mortimer remained with him at cards until it was very late. at breakfast, however, i informed him about my discovery, and asked him whether he would care to accompany me to coombe tracey. at first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if i went alone the results might be better. the more formal we made the visit the less information we might obtain. i left sir henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest. when i reached coombe tracey i told perkins to put up the horses, and i made inquiries for the lady whom i had come to interrogate. i had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well appointed. a maid showed me in without ceremony, and as i entered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting before a remington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome. her face fell, however, when she saw that i was a stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of my visit. the first impression left by mrs. lyons was one of extreme beauty. her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and her cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with the exquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at the heart of the sulphur rose. admiration was, i repeat, the first impression. but the second was criticism. there was something subtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip which marred its perfect beauty. but these, of course, are after-thoughts. at the moment i was simply conscious that i was in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking me the reasons for my visit. i had not quite understood until that instant how delicate my mission was. "i have the pleasure," said i, "of knowing your father." it was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it. "there is nothing in common between my father and me," she said. "i owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. if it were not for the late sir charles baskerville and some other kind hearts i might have starved for all that my father cared." "it was about the late sir charles baskerville that i have come here to see you." the freckles started out on the lady's face. "what can i tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers played nervously over the stops of her typewriter. "you knew him, did you not?" "i have already said that i owe a great deal to his kindness. if i am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest which he took in my unhappy situation." "did you correspond with him?" the lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes. "what is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply. "the object is to avoid a public scandal. it is better that i should ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our control." she was silent and her face was still very pale. at last she looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner. "well, i'll answer," she said. "what are your questions?" "did you correspond with sir charles?" "i certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy and his generosity." "have you the dates of those letters?" "no." "have you ever met him?" "yes, once or twice, when he came into coombe tracey. he was a very retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth." "but if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he know enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say that he has done?" she met my difficulty with the utmost readiness. "there were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united to help me. one was mr. stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of sir charles's. he was exceedingly kind, and it was through him that sir charles learned about my affairs." i knew already that sir charles baskerville had made stapleton his almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore the impress of truth upon it. "did you ever write to sir charles asking him to meet you?" i continued. mrs. lyons flushed with anger again. "really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question." "i am sorry, madam, but i must repeat it." "then i answer, certainly not." "not on the very day of sir charles's death?" the flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before me. her dry lips could not speak the "no" which i saw rather than heard. "surely your memory deceives you," said i. "i could even quote a passage of your letter. it ran 'please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.'" i thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme effort. "is there no such thing as a gentleman?" she gasped. "you do sir charles an injustice. he did burn the letter. but sometimes a letter may be legible even when burned. you acknowledge now that you wrote it?" "yes, i did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent of words. "i did write it. why should i deny it? i have no reason to be ashamed of it. i wished him to help me. i believed that if i had an interview i could gain his help, so i asked him to meet me." "but why at such an hour?" "because i had only just learned that he was going to london next day and might be away for months. there were reasons why i could not get there earlier." "but why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the house?" "do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor's house?" "well, what happened when you did get there?" "i never went." "mrs. lyons!" "no, i swear it to you on all i hold sacred. i never went. something intervened to prevent my going." "what was that?" "that is a private matter. i cannot tell it." "you acknowledge then that you made an appointment with sir charles at the very hour and place at which he met his death, but you deny that you kept the appointment." "that is the truth." again and again i cross-questioned her, but i could never get past that point. "mrs. lyons," said i, as i rose from this long and inconclusive interview, "you are taking a very great responsibility and putting yourself in a very false position by not making an absolutely clean breast of all that you know. if i have to call in the aid of the police you will find how seriously you are compromised. if your position is innocent, why did you in the first instance deny having written to sir charles upon that date?" "because i feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from it and that i might find myself involved in a scandal." "and why were you so pressing that sir charles should destroy your letter?" "if you have read the letter you will know." "i did not say that i had read all the letter." "you quoted some of it." "i quoted the postscript. the letter had, as i said, been burned and it was not all legible. i ask you once again why it was that you were so pressing that sir charles should destroy this letter which he received on the day of his death." "the matter is a very private one." "the more reason why you should avoid a public investigation." "i will tell you, then. if you have heard anything of my unhappy history you will know that i made a rash marriage and had reason to regret it." "i have heard so much." "my life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom i abhor. the law is upon his side, and every day i am faced by the possibility that he may force me to live with him. at the time that i wrote this letter to sir charles i had learned that there was a prospect of my regaining my freedom if certain expenses could be met. it meant everything to me--peace of mind, happiness, self-respect--everything. i knew sir charles's generosity, and i thought that if he heard the story from my own lips he would help me." "then how is it that you did not go?" "because i received help in the interval from another source." "why then, did you not write to sir charles and explain this?" "so i should have done had i not seen his death in the paper next morning." the woman's story hung coherently together, and all my questions were unable to shake it. i could only check it by finding if she had, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband at or about the time of the tragedy. it was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been to baskerville hall if she really had been, for a trap would be necessary to take her there, and could not have returned to coombe tracey until the early hours of the morning. such an excursion could not be kept secret. the probability was, therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part of the truth. i came away baffled and disheartened. once again i had reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every path by which i tried to get at the object of my mission. and yet the more i thought of the lady's face and of her manner the more i felt that something was being held back from me. why should she turn so pale? why should she fight against every admission until it was forced from her? why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy? surely the explanation of all this could not be as innocent as she would have me believe. for the moment i could proceed no farther in that direction, but must turn back to that other clue which was to be sought for among the stone huts upon the moor. and that was a most vague direction. i realized it as i drove back and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient people. barrymore's only indication had been that the stranger lived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout the length and breadth of the moor. but i had my own experience for a guide since it had shown me the man himself standing upon the summit of the black tor. that then should be the centre of my search. from there i should explore every hut upon the moor until i lighted upon the right one. if this man were inside it i should find out from his own lips, at the point of my revolver if necessary, who he was and why he had dogged us so long. he might slip away from us in the crowd of regent street, but it would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely moor. on the other hand, if i should find the hut and its tenant should not be within it i must remain there, however long the vigil, until he returned. holmes had missed him in london. it would indeed be a triumph for me if i could run him to earth, where my master had failed. luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now at last it came to my aid. and the messenger of good fortune was none other than mr. frankland, who was standing, gray-whiskered and red-faced, outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the high road along which i travelled. "good-day, dr. watson," cried he with unwonted good humour, "you must really give your horses a rest, and come in to have a glass of wine and to congratulate me." my feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after what i had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but i was anxious to send perkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunity was a good one. i alighted and sent a message to sir henry that i should walk over in time for dinner. then i followed frankland into his dining-room. "it is a great day for me, sir--one of the red-letter days of my life," he cried with many chuckles. "i have brought off a double event. i mean to teach them in these parts that law is law, and that there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. i have established a right of way through the centre of old middleton's park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own front door. what do you think of that? we'll teach these magnates that they cannot ride roughshod over the rights of the commoners, confound them! and i've closed the wood where the fernworthy folk used to picnic. these infernal people seem to think that there are no rights of property, and that they can swarm where they like with their papers and their bottles. both cases decided, dr. watson, and both in my favour. i haven't had such a day since i had sir john morland for trespass, because he shot in his own warren." "how on earth did you do that?" "look it up in the books, sir. it will repay reading--frankland v. morland, court of queen's bench. it cost me 200 pounds, but i got my verdict." "did it do you any good?" "none, sir, none. i am proud to say that i had no interest in the matter. i act entirely from a sense of public duty. i have no doubt, for example, that the fernworthy people will burn me in effigy to-night. i told the police last time they did it that they should stop these disgraceful exhibitions. the county constabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not afforded me the protection to which i am entitled. the case of frankland v. regina will bring the matter before the attention of the public. i told them that they would have occasion to regret their treatment of me, and already my words have come true." "how so?" i asked. the old man put on a very knowing expression. "because i could tell them what they are dying to know; but nothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way." i had been casting round for some excuse by which i could get away from his gossip, but now i began to wish to hear more of it. i had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences. "some poaching case, no doubt?" said i, with an indifferent manner. "ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! what about the convict on the moor?" i started. "you don't mean that you know where he is?" said i. "i may not know exactly where he is, but i am quite sure that i could help the police to lay their hands on him. has it never struck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where he got his food, and so trace it to him?" he certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth. "no doubt," said i; "but how do you know that he is anywhere upon the moor?" "i know it because i have seen with my own eyes the messenger who takes him his food." my heart sank for barrymore. it was a serious thing to be in the power of this spiteful old busybody. but his next remark took a weight from my mind. "you'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child. i see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. he passes along the same path at the same hour, and to whom should he be going except to the convict?" here was luck indeed! and yet i suppressed all appearance of interest. a child! barrymore had said that our unknown was supplied by a boy. it was on his track, and not upon the convict's, that frankland had stumbled. if i could get his knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. but incredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest cards. "i should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of one of the moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner." the least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old autocrat. his eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whiskers bristled like those of an angry cat. "indeed, sir!" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching moor. "do you see that black tor over yonder? well, do you see the low hill beyond with the thornbush upon it? it is the stoniest part of the whole moor. is that a place where a shepherd would be likely to take his station? your suggestion, sir, is a most absurd one." i meekly answered that i had spoken without knowing all the facts. my submission pleased him and led him to further confidences. "you may be sure, sir, that i have very good grounds before i come to an opinion. i have seen the boy again and again with his bundle. every day, and sometimes twice a day, i have been able--but wait a moment, dr. watson. do my eyes deceive me, or is there at the present moment something moving upon that hill-side?" it was several miles off, but i could distinctly see a small dark dot against the dull green and gray. "come, sir, come!" cried frankland, rushing upstairs. "you will see with your own eyes and judge for yourself." the telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod, stood upon the flat leads of the house. frankland clapped his eye to it and gave a cry of satisfaction. "quick, dr. watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!" there he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon his shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. when he reached the crest i saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant against the cold blue sky. he looked round him with a furtive and stealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. then he vanished over the hill. "well! am i right?" "certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand." "and what the errand is even a county constable could guess. but not one word shall they have from me, and i bind you to secrecy also, dr. watson. not a word! you understand!" "just as you wish." "they have treated me shamefully--shamefully. when the facts come out in frankland v. regina i venture to think that a thrill of indignation will run through the country. nothing would induce me to help the police in any way. for all they cared it might have been me, instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned at the stake. surely you are not going! you will help me to empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion!" but i resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading him from his announced intention of walking home with me. i kept the road as long as his eye was on me, and then i struck off across the moor and made for the stony hill over which the boy had disappeared. everything was working in my favour, and i swore that it should not be through lack of energy or perseverance that i should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in my way. the sun was already sinking when i reached the summit of the hill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and gray shadow on the other. a haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of belliver and vixen tor. over the wide expanse there was no sound and no movement. one great gray bird, a gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. he and i seemed to be the only living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath it. the barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. the boy was nowhere to be seen. but down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a screen against the weather. my heart leaped within me as i saw it. this must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. at last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding place--his secret was within my grasp. as i approached the hut, walking as warily as stapleton would do when with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, i satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as a habitation. a vague pathway among the boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a door. all was silent within. the unknown might be lurking there, or he might be prowling on the moor. my nerves tingled with the sense of adventure. throwing aside my cigarette, i closed my hand upon the butt of my revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, i looked in. the place was empty. but there were ample signs that i had not come upon a false scent. this was certainly where the man lived. some blankets rolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which neolithic man had once slumbered. the ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. a litter of empty tins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and i saw, as my eyes became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. in the middle of the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small cloth bundle--the same, no doubt, which i had seen through the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. it contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of preserved peaches. as i set it down again, after having examined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. i raised it, and this was what i read, roughly scrawled in pencil:-- dr. watson has gone to coombe tracey. for a minute i stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out the meaning of this curt message. it was i, then, and not sir henry, who was being dogged by this secret man. he had not followed me himself, but he had set an agent--the boy, perhaps--upon my track, and this was his report. possibly i had taken no step since i had been upon the moor which had not been observed and reported. always there was this feeling of an unseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes. if there was one report there might be others, so i looked round the hut in search of them. there was no trace, however, of anything of the kind, nor could i discover any sign which might indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he must be of spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life. when i thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof i understood how strong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that inhospitable abode. was he our malignant enemy, or was he by chance our guardian angel? i swore that i would not leave the hut until i knew. outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarlet and gold. its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distant pools which lay amid the great grimpen mire. there were the two towers of baskerville hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the village of grimpen. between the two, behind the hill, was the house of the stapletons. all was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as i looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant was bringing nearer. with tingling nerves, but a fixed purpose, i sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant. and then at last i heard him. far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a stone. then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer. i shrank back into the darkest corner, and cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself until i had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger. there was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the opening of the hut. "it is a lovely evening, my dear watson," said a well-known voice. "i really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in." chapter xii death on the moor for a moment or two i sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears. then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from my soul. that cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the world. "holmes!" i cried--"holmes!" "come out," said he, "and please be careful with the revolver." i stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone outside, his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon my astonished features. he was thin and worn, but clear and alert, his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. in his tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other tourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen as perfect as if he were in baker street. "i never was more glad to see anyone in my life," said i, as i wrung him by the hand. "or more astonished, eh?" "well, i must confess to it." "the surprise was not all on one side, i assure you. i had no idea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that you were inside it, until i was within twenty paces of the door." "my footprint, i presume?" "no, watson; i fear that i could not undertake to recognize your footprint amid all the footprints of the world. if you seriously desire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when i see the stub of a cigarette marked bradley, oxford street, i know that my friend watson is in the neighbourhood. you will see it there beside the path. you threw it down, no doubt, at that supreme moment when you charged into the empty hut." "exactly." "i thought as much--and knowing your admirable tenacity i was convinced that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach, waiting for the tenant to return. so you actually thought that i was the criminal?" "i did not know who you were, but i was determined to find out." "excellent, watson! and how did you localize me? you saw me, perhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when i was so imprudent as to allow the moon to rise behind me?" "yes, i saw you then." "and have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this one?" "no, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide where to look." "the old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. i could not make it out when first i saw the light flashing upon the lens." he rose and peeped into the hut. "ha, i see that cartwright has brought up some supplies. what's this paper? so you have been to coombe tracey, have you?" "yes." "to see mrs. laura lyons?" "exactly." "well done! our researches have evidently been running on parallel lines, and when we unite our results i expect we shall have a fairly full knowledge of the case." "well, i am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed the responsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for my nerves. but how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what have you been doing? i thought that you were in baker street working out that case of blackmailing." "that was what i wished you to think." "then you use me, and yet do not trust me!" i cried with some bitterness. "i think that i have deserved better at your hands, holmes." "my dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other cases, and i beg that you will forgive me if i have seemed to play a trick upon you. in truth, it was partly for your own sake that i did it, and it was my appreciation of the danger which you ran which led me to come down and examine the matter for myself. had i been with sir henry and you it is confident that my point of view would have been the same as yours, and my presence would have warned our very formidable opponents to be on their guard. as it is, i have been able to get about as i could not possibly have done had i been living in the hall, and i remain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my weight at a critical moment." "but why keep me in the dark?" "for you to know could not have helped us, and might possibly have led to my discovery. you would have wished to tell me something, or in your kindness you would have brought me out some comfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. i brought cartwright down with me--you remember the little chap at the express office--and he has seen after my simple wants: a loaf of bread and a clean collar. what does man want more? he has given me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of feet, and both have been invaluable." "then my reports have all been wasted!"--my voice trembled as i recalled the pains and the pride with which i had composed them. holmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket. "here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, i assure you. i made excellent arrangements, and they are only delayed one day upon their way. i must compliment you exceedingly upon the zeal and the intelligence which you have shown over an extraordinarily difficult case." i was still rather raw over the deception which had been practised upon me, but the warmth of holmes's praise drove my anger from my mind. i felt also in my heart that he was right in what he said and that it was really best for our purpose that i should not have known that he was upon the moor. "that's better," said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face. "and now tell me the result of your visit to mrs. laura lyons--it was not difficult for me to guess that it was to see her that you had gone, for i am already aware that she is the one person in coombe tracey who might be of service to us in the matter. in fact, if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable that i should have gone to-morrow." the sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. the air had turned chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. there, sitting together in the twilight, i told holmes of my conversation with the lady. so interested was he that i had to repeat some of it twice before he was satisfied. "this is most important," said he when i had concluded. "it fills up a gap which i had been unable to bridge, in this most complex affair. you are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists between this lady and the man stapleton?" "i did not know of a close intimacy." "there can be no doubt about the matter. they meet, they write, there is a complete understanding between them. now, this puts a very powerful weapon into our hands. if i could only use it to detach his wife--" "his wife?" "i am giving you some information now, in return for all that you have given me. the lady who has passed here as miss stapleton is in reality his wife." "good heavens, holmes! are you sure of what you say? how could he have permitted sir henry to fall in love with her?" "sir henry's falling in love could do no harm to anyone except sir henry. he took particular care that sir henry did not make love to her, as you have yourself observed. i repeat that the lady is his wife and not his sister." "but why this elaborate deception?" "because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful to him in the character of a free woman." all my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took shape and centred upon the naturalist. in that impassive, colourless man, with his straw hat and his butterfly-net, i seemed to see something terrible--a creature of infinite patience and craft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart. "it is he, then, who is our enemy--it is he who dogged us in london?" "so i read the riddle." "and the warning--it must have come from her!" "exactly." the shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed, loomed through the darkness which had girt me so long. "but are you sure of this, holmes? how do you know that the woman is his wife?" "because he so far forgot himself as to tell you a true piece of autobiography upon the occasion when he first met you, and i dare say he has many a time regretted it since. he was once a schoolmaster in the north of england. now, there is no one more easy to trace than a schoolmaster. there are scholastic agencies by which one may identify any man who has been in the profession. a little investigation showed me that a school had come to grief under atrocious circumstances, and that the man who had owned it--the name was different--had disappeared with his wife. the descriptions agreed. when i learned that the missing man was devoted to entomology the identification was complete." the darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the shadows. "if this woman is in truth his wife, where does mrs. laura lyons come in?" i asked. "that is one of the points upon which your own researches have shed a light. your interview with the lady has cleared the situation very much. i did not know about a projected divorce between herself and her husband. in that case, regarding stapleton as an unmarried man, she counted no doubt upon becoming his wife." "and when she is undeceived?" "why, then we may find the lady of service. it must be our first duty to see her--both of us--to-morrow. don't you think, watson, that you are away from your charge rather long? your place should be at baskerville hall." the last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had settled upon the moor. a few faint stars were gleaming in a violet sky. "one last question, holmes," i said, as i rose. "surely there is no need of secrecy between you and me. what is the meaning of it all? what is he after?" holmes's voice sank as he answered:-- "it is murder, watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. do not ask me for particulars. my nets are closing upon him, even as his are upon sir henry, and with your help he is already almost at my mercy. there is but one danger which can threaten us. it is that he should strike before we are ready to do so. another day--two at the most--and i have my case complete, but until then guard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother watched her ailing child. your mission to-day has justified itself, and yet i could almost wish that you had not left his side. hark!" a terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst out of the silence of the moor. that frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins. "oh, my god!" i gasped. "what is it? what does it mean?" holmes had sprung to his feet, and i saw his dark, athletic outline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward, his face peering into the darkness. "hush!" he whispered. "hush!" the cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. now it burst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before. "where is it?" holmes whispered; and i knew from the thrill of his voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul. "where is it, watson?" "there, i think." i pointed into the darkness. "no, there!" again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and much nearer than ever. and a new sound mingled with it, a deep, muttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling like the low, constant murmur of the sea. "the hound!" cried holmes. "come, watson, come! great heavens, if we are too late!" he had started running swiftly over the moor, and i had followed at his heels. but now from somewhere among the broken ground immediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull, heavy thud. we halted and listened. not another sound broke the heavy silence of the windless night. i saw holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted. he stamped his feet upon the ground. "he has beaten us, watson. we are too late." "no, no, surely not!" "fool that i was to hold my hand. and you, watson, see what comes of abandoning your charge! but, by heaven, if the worst has happened, we'll avenge him!" blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders, forcing our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and rushing down slopes, heading always in the direction whence those dreadful sounds had come. at every rise holmes looked eagerly round him, but the shadows were thick upon the moor, and nothing moved upon its dreary face. "can you see anything?" "nothing." "but, hark, what is that?" a low moan had fallen upon our ears. there it was again upon our left! on that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which overlooked a stone-strewn slope. on its jagged face was spread-eagled some dark, irregular object. as we ran towards it the vague outline hardened into a definite shape. it was a prostrate man face downward upon the ground, the head doubled under him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded and the body hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault. so grotesque was the attitude that i could not for the instant realize that that moan had been the passing of his soul. not a whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which we stooped. holmes laid his hand upon him, and held it up again, with an exclamation of horror. the gleam of the match which he struck shone upon his clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim. and it shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint within us--the body of sir henry baskerville! there was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddy tweed suit--the very one which he had worn on the first morning that we had seen him in baker street. we caught the one clear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out of our souls. holmes groaned, and his face glimmered white through the darkness. "the brute! the brute!" i cried with clenched hands. "oh holmes, i shall never forgive myself for having left him to his fate." "i am more to blame than you, watson. in order to have my case well rounded and complete, i have thrown away the life of my client. it is the greatest blow which has befallen me in my career. but how could i know--how could l know--that he would risk his life alone upon the moor in the face of all my warnings?" "that we should have heard his screams--my god, those screams!--and yet have been unable to save him! where is this brute of a hound which drove him to his death? it may be lurking among these rocks at this instant. and stapleton, where is he? he shall answer for this deed." "he shall. i will see to that. uncle and nephew have been murdered--the one frightened to death by the very sight of a beast which he thought to be supernatural, the other driven to his end in his wild flight to escape from it. but now we have to prove the connection between the man and the beast. save from what we heard, we cannot even swear to the existence of the latter, since sir henry has evidently died from the fall. but, by heavens, cunning as he is, the fellow shall be in my power before another day is past!" we stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body, overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had brought all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end. then, as the moon rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over which our poor friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed out over the shadowy moor, half silver and half gloom. far away, miles off, in the direction of grimpen, a single steady yellow light was shining. it could only come from the lonely abode of the stapletons. with a bitter curse i shook my fist at it as i gazed. "why should we not seize him at once?" "our case is not complete. the fellow is wary and cunning to the last degree. it is not what we know, but what we can prove. if we make one false move the villain may escape us yet." "what can we do?" "there will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. to-night we can only perform the last offices to our poor friend." together we made our way down the precipitous slope and approached the body, black and clear against the silvered stones. the agony of those contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain and blurred my eyes with tears. "we must send for help, holmes! we cannot carry him all the way to the hall. good heavens, are you mad?" he had uttered a cry and bent over the body. now he was dancing and laughing and wringing my hand. could this be my stern, self-contained friend? these were hidden fires, indeed! "a beard! a beard! the man has a beard!" "a beard?" "it is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the convict!" with feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that dripping beard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. there could be no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal eyes. it was indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the light of the candle from over the rock--the face of selden, the criminal. then in an instant it was all clear to me. i remembered how the baronet had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to barrymore. barrymore had passed it on in order to help selden in his escape. boots, shirt, cap--it was all sir henry's. the tragedy was still black enough, but this man had at least deserved death by the laws of his country. i told holmes how the matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy. "then the clothes have been the poor devil's death," said he. "it is clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article of sir henry's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in all probability--and so ran this man down. there is one very singular thing, however: how came selden, in the darkness, to know that the hound was on his trail?" "he heard him." "to hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like this convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk recapture by screaming wildly for help. by his cries he must have run a long way after he knew the animal was on his track. how did he know?" "a greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all our conjectures are correct--" "i presume nothing." "well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. i suppose that it does not always run loose upon the moor. stapleton would not let it go unless he had reason to think that sir henry would be there." "my difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for i think that we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remain forever a mystery. the question now is, what shall we do with this poor wretch's body? we cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens." "i suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicate with the police." "exactly. i have no doubt that you and i could carry it so far. halloa, watson, what's this? it's the man himself, by all that's wonderful and audacious! not a word to show your suspicions--not a word, or my plans crumble to the ground." a figure was approaching us over the moor, and i saw the dull red glow of a cigar. the moon shone upon him, and i could distinguish the dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. he stopped when he saw us, and then came on again. "why, dr. watson, that's not you, is it? you are the last man that i should have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night. but, dear me, what's this? somebody hurt? not--don't tell me that it is our friend sir henry!" he hurried past me and stooped over the dead man. i heard a sharp intake of his breath and the cigar fell from his fingers. "who--who's this?" he stammered. "it is selden, the man who escaped from princetown." stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort he had overcome his amazement and his disappointment. he looked sharply from holmes to me. "dear me! what a very shocking affair! how did he die?" "he appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks. my friend and i were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry." "i heard a cry also. that was what brought me out. i was uneasy about sir henry." "why about sir henry in particular?" i could not help asking. "because i had suggested that he should come over. when he did not come i was surprised, and i naturally became alarmed for his safety when i heard cries upon the moor. by the way"--his eyes darted again from my face to holmes's--"did you hear anything else besides a cry?" "no," said holmes; "did you?" "no." "what do you mean, then?" "oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom hound, and so on. it is said to be heard at night upon the moor. i was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound to-night." "we heard nothing of the kind," said i. "and what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?" "i have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off his head. he has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over here and broken his neck." "that seems the most reasonable theory," said stapleton, and he gave a sigh which i took to indicate his relief. "what do you think about it, mr. sherlock holmes?" my friend bowed his compliments. "you are quick at identification," said he. "we have been expecting you in these parts since dr. watson came down. you are in time to see a tragedy." "yes, indeed. i have no doubt that my friend's explanation will cover the facts. i will take an unpleasant remembrance back to london with me to-morrow." "oh, you return to-morrow?" "that is my intention." "i hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have puzzled us?" holmes shrugged his shoulders. "one cannot always have the success for which one hopes. an investigator needs facts, and not legends or rumours. it has not been a satisfactory case." my friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner. stapleton still looked hard at him. then he turned to me. "i would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it would give my sister such a fright that i do not feel justified in doing it. i think that if we put something over his face he will be safe until morning." and so it was arranged. resisting stapleton's offer of hospitality, holmes and i set off to baskerville hall, leaving the naturalist to return alone. looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away over the broad moor, and behind him that one black smudge on the silvered slope which showed where the man was lying who had come so horribly to his end. chapter xiii fixing the nets "we're at close grips at last," said holmes as we walked together across the moor. "what a nerve the fellow has! how he pulled himself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when he found that the wrong man had fallen a victim to his plot. i told you in london, watson, and i tell you now again, that we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel." "i am sorry that he has seen you." "and so was i at first. but there was no getting out of it." "what effect do you think it will have upon his plans now that he knows you are here?" "it may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to desperate measures at once. like most clever criminals, he may be too confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he has completely deceived us." "why should we not arrest him at once?" "my dear watson, you were born to be a man of action. your instinct is always to do something energetic. but supposing, for argument's sake, that we had him arrested to-night, what on earth the better off should we be for that? we could prove nothing against him. there's the devilish cunning of it! if he were acting through a human agent we could get some evidence, but if we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would not help us in putting a rope round the neck of its master." "surely we have a case." "not a shadow of one--only surmise and conjecture. we should be laughed out of court if we came with such a story and such evidence." "there is sir charles's death." "found dead without a mark upon him. you and i know that he died of sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how are we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? what signs are there of a hound? where are the marks of its fangs? of course we know that a hound does not bite a dead body and that sir charles was dead before ever the brute overtook him. but we have to prove all this, and we are not in a position to do it." "well, then, to-night?" "we are not much better off to-night. again, there was no direct connection between the hound and the man's death. we never saw the hound. we heard it; but we could not prove that it was running upon this man's trail. there is a complete absence of motive. no, my dear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that we have no case at present, and that it is worth our while to run any risk in order to establish one." "and how do you propose to do so?" "i have great hopes of what mrs. laura lyons may do for us when the position of affairs is made clear to her. and i have my own plan as well. sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but i hope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last." i could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in thought, as far as the baskerville gates. "are you coming up?" "yes; i see no reason for further concealment. but one last word, watson. say nothing of the hound to sir henry. let him think that selden's death was as stapleton would have us believe. he will have a better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergo to-morrow, when he is engaged, if i remember your report aright, to dine with these people." "and so am i." "then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. that will be easily arranged. and now, if we are too late for dinner, i think that we are both ready for our suppers." sir henry was more pleased than surprised to see sherlock holmes, for he had for some days been expecting that recent events would bring him down from london. he did raise his eyebrows, however, when he found that my friend had neither any luggage nor any explanations for its absence. between us we soon supplied his wants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the baronet as much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he should know. but first i had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news to barrymore and his wife. to him it may have been an unmitigated relief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. to all the world he was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her he always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the child who had clung to her hand. evil indeed is the man who has not one woman to mourn him. "i've been moping in the house all day since watson went off in the morning," said the baronet. "i guess i should have some credit, for i have kept my promise. if i hadn't sworn not to go about alone i might have had a more lively evening, for i had a message from stapleton asking me over there." "i have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening," said holmes drily. "by the way, i don't suppose you appreciate that we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck?" sir henry opened his eyes. "how was that?" "this poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. i fear your servant who gave them to him may get into trouble with the police." "that is unlikely. there was no mark on any of them, as far as i know." "that's lucky for him--in fact, it's lucky for all of you, since you are all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. i am not sure that as a conscientious detective my first duty is not to arrest the whole household. watson's reports are most incriminating documents." "but how about the case?" asked the baronet. "have you made anything out of the tangle? i don't know that watson and i are much the wiser since we came down." "i think that i shall be in a position to make the situation rather more clear to you before long. it has been an exceedingly difficult and most complicated business. there are several points upon which we still want light--but it is coming all the same." "we've had one experience, as watson has no doubt told you. we heard the hound on the moor, so i can swear that it is not all empty superstition. i had something to do with dogs when i was out west, and i know one when i hear one. if you can muzzle that one and put him on a chain i'll be ready to swear you are the greatest detective of all time." "i think i will muzzle him and chain him all right if you will give me your help." "whatever you tell me to do i will do." "very good; and i will ask you also to do it blindly, without always asking the reason." "just as you like." "if you will do this i think the chances are that our little problem will soon be solved. i have no doubt--" he stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the air. the lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so still that it might have been that of a clear-cut classical statue, a personification of alertness and expectation. "what is it?" we both cried. i could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internal emotion. his features were still composed, but his eyes shone with amused exultation. "excuse the admiration of a connoisseur," said he as he waved his hand towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite wall. "watson won't allow that i know anything of art, but that is mere jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ. now, these are a really very fine series of portraits." "well, i'm glad to hear you say so," said sir henry, glancing with some surprise at my friend. "i don't pretend to know much about these things, and i'd be a better judge of a horse or a steer than of a picture. i didn't know that you found time for such things." "i know what is good when i see it, and i see it now. that's a kneller, i'll swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, and the stout gentleman with the wig ought to be a reynolds. they are all family portraits, i presume?" "every one." "do you know the names?" "barrymore has been coaching me in them, and i think i can say my lessons fairly well." "who is the gentleman with the telescope?" "that is rear-admiral baskerville, who served under rodney in the west indies. the man with the blue coat and the roll of paper is sir william baskerville, who was chairman of committees of the house of commons under pitt." "and this cavalier opposite to me--the one with the black velvet and the lace?" "ah, you have a right to know about him. that is the cause of all the mischief, the wicked hugo, who started the hound of the baskervilles. we're not likely to forget him." i gazed with interest and some surprise upon the portrait. "dear me!" said holmes, "he seems a quiet, meek-mannered man enough, but i dare say that there was a lurking devil in his eyes. i had pictured him as a more robust and ruffianly person." "there's no doubt about the authenticity, for the name and the date, 1647, are on the back of the canvas." holmes said little more, but the picture of the old roysterer seemed to have a fascination for him, and his eyes were continually fixed upon it during supper. it was not until later, when sir henry had gone to his room, that i was able to follow the trend of his thoughts. he led me back into the banqueting-hall, his bedroom candle in his hand, and he held it up against the time-stained portrait on the wall. "do you see anything there?" i looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the white lace collar, and the straight, severe face which was framed between them. it was not a brutal countenance, but it was prim, hard, and stern, with a firm-set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly intolerant eye. "is it like anyone you know?" "there is something of sir henry about the jaw." "just a suggestion, perhaps. but wait an instant!" he stood upon a chair, and, holding up the light in his left hand, he curved his right arm over the broad hat and round the long ringlets. "good heavens!" i cried, in amazement. the face of stapleton had sprung out of the canvas. "ha, you see it now. my eyes have been trained to examine faces and not their trimmings. it is the first quality of a criminal investigator that he should see through a disguise." "but this is marvellous. it might be his portrait." "yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears to be both physical and spiritual. a study of family portraits is enough to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. the fellow is a baskerville--that is evident." "with designs upon the succession." "exactly. this chance of the picture has supplied us with one of our most obvious missing links. we have him, watson, we have him, and i dare swear that before to-morrow night he will be fluttering in our net as helpless as one of his own butterflies. a pin, a cork, and a card, and we add him to the baker street collection!" he burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned away from the picture. i have not heard him laugh often, and it has always boded ill to somebody. i was up betimes in the morning, but holmes was afoot earlier still, for i saw him as i dressed, coming up the drive. "yes, we should have a full day to-day," he remarked, and he rubbed his hands with the joy of action. "the nets are all in place, and the drag is about to begin. we'll know before the day is out whether we have caught our big, lean-jawed pike, or whether he has got through the meshes." "have you been on the moor already?" "i have sent a report from grimpen to princetown as to the death of selden. i think i can promise that none of you will be troubled in the matter. and i have also communicated with my faithful cartwright, who would certainly have pined away at the door of my hut, as a dog does at his master's grave, if i had not set his mind at rest about my safety." "what is the next move?" "to see sir henry. ah, here he is!" "good morning, holmes," said the baronet. "you look like a general who is planning a battle with his chief of the staff." "that is the exact situation. watson was asking for orders." "and so do i." "very good. you are engaged, as i understand, to dine with our friends the stapletons to-night." "i hope that you will come also. they are very hospitable people, and i am sure that they would be very glad to see you." "i fear that watson and i must go to london." "to london?" "yes, i think that we should be more useful there at the present juncture." the baronet's face perceptibly lengthened. "i hoped that you were going to see me through this business. the hall and the moor are not very pleasant places when one is alone." "my dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what i tell you. you can tell your friends that we should have been happy to have come with you, but that urgent business required us to be in town. we hope very soon to return to devonshire. will you remember to give them that message?" "if you insist upon it." "there is no alternative, i assure you." i saw by the baronet's clouded brow that he was deeply hurt by what he regarded as our desertion. "when do you desire to go?" he asked coldly. "immediately after breakfast. we will drive in to coombe tracey, but watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come back to you. watson, you will send a note to stapleton to tell him that you regret that you cannot come." "i have a good mind to go to london with you," said the baronet. "why should i stay here alone?" "because it is your post of duty. because you gave me your word that you would do as you were told, and i tell you to stay." "all right, then, i'll stay." "one more direction! i wish you to drive to merripit house. send back your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walk home." "to walk across the moor?" "yes." "but that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me not to do." "this time you may do it with safety. if i had not every confidence in your nerve and courage i would not suggest it, but it is essential that you should do it." "then i will do it." "and as you value your life do not go across the moor in any direction save along the straight path which leads from merripit house to the grimpen road, and is your natural way home." "i will do just what you say." "very good. i should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast as possible, so as to reach london in the afternoon." i was much astounded by this programme, though i remembered that holmes had said to stapleton on the night before that his visit would terminate next day. it had not crossed my mind, however, that he would wish me to go with him, nor could i understand how we could both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to be critical. there was nothing for it, however, but implicit obedience; so we bade good-bye to our rueful friend, and a couple of hours afterwards we were at the station of coombe tracey and had dispatched the trap upon its return journey. a small boy was waiting upon the platform. "any orders, sir?" "you will take this train to town, cartwright. the moment you arrive you will send a wire to sir henry baskerville, in my name, to say that if he finds the pocket-book which i have dropped he is to send it by registered post to baker street." "yes, sir." "and ask at the station office if there is a message for me." the boy returned with a telegram, which holmes handed to me. it ran: wire received. coming down with unsigned warrant. arrive five-forty. lestrade. "that is in answer to mine of this morning. he is the best of the professionals, i think, and we may need his assistance. now, watson, i think that we cannot employ our time better than by calling upon your acquaintance, mrs. laura lyons." his plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. he would use the baronet in order to convince the stapletons that we were really gone, while we should actually return at the instant when we were likely to be needed. that telegram from london, if mentioned by sir henry to the stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from their minds. already i seemed to see our nets drawing closer around that lean-jawed pike. mrs. laura lyons was in her office, and sherlock holmes opened his interview with a frankness and directness which considerably amazed her. "i am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of the late sir charles baskerville," said he. "my friend here, dr. watson, has informed me of what you have communicated, and also of what you have withheld in connection with that matter." "what have i withheld?" she asked defiantly. "you have confessed that you asked sir charles to be at the gate at ten o'clock. we know that that was the place and hour of his death. you have withheld what the connection is between these events." "there is no connection." "in that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one. but i think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection after all. i wish to be perfectly frank with you, mrs. lyons. we regard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicate not only your friend mr. stapleton, but his wife as well." the lady sprang from her chair. "his wife!" she cried. "the fact is no longer a secret. the person who has passed for his sister is really his wife." mrs. lyons had resumed her seat. her hands were grasping the arms of her chair, and i saw that the pink nails had turned white with the pressure of her grip. "his wife!" she said again. "his wife! he is not a married man." sherlock holmes shrugged his shoulders. "prove it to me! prove it to me! and if you can do so--!" the fierce flash of her eyes said more than any words. "i have come prepared to do so," said holmes, drawing several papers from his pocket. "here is a photograph of the couple taken in york four years ago. it is indorsed 'mr. and mrs. vandeleur,' but you will have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also, if you know her by sight. here are three written descriptions by trustworthy witnesses of mr. and mrs. vandeleur, who at that time kept st. oliver's private school. read them and see if you can doubt the identity of these people." she glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid face of a desperate woman. "mr. holmes," she said, "this man had offered me marriage on condition that i could get a divorce from my husband. he has lied to me, the villain, in every conceivable way. not one word of truth has he ever told me. and why--why? i imagined that all was for my own sake. but now i see that i was never anything but a tool in his hands. why should i preserve faith with him who never kept any with me? why should i try to shield him from the consequences of his own wicked acts? ask me what you like, and there is nothing which i shall hold back. one thing i swear to you, and that is that when i wrote the letter i never dreamed of any harm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend." "i entirely believe you, madam," said sherlock holmes. "the recital of these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps it will make it easier if i tell you what occurred, and you can check me if i make any material mistake. the sending of this letter was suggested to you by stapleton?" "he dictated it." "i presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive help from sir charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce?" "exactly." "and then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from keeping the appointment?" "he told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other man should find the money for such an object, and that though he was a poor man himself he would devote his last penny to removing the obstacles which divided us." "he appears to be a very consistent character. and then you heard nothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?" "no." "and he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment with sir charles?" "he did. he said that the death was a very mysterious one, and that i should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. he frightened me into remaining silent." "quite so. but you had your suspicions?" she hesitated and looked down. "i knew him," she said. "but if he had kept faith with me i should always have done so with him." "i think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape," said sherlock holmes. "you have had him in your power and he knew it, and yet you are alive. you have been walking for some months very near to the edge of a precipice. we must wish you good-morning now, mrs. lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly hear from us again." "our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty thins away in front of us," said holmes as we stood waiting for the arrival of the express from town. "i shall soon be in the position of being able to put into a single connected narrative one of the most singular and sensational crimes of modern times. students of criminology will remember the analogous incidents in godno, in little russia, in the year '66, and of course there are the anderson murders in north carolina, but this case possesses some features which are entirely its own. even now we have no clear case against this very wily man. but i shall be very much surprised if it is not clear enough before we go to bed this night." the london express came roaring into the station, and a small, wiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. we all three shook hands, and i saw at once from the reverential way in which lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since the days when they had first worked together. i could well remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in the practical man. "anything good?" he asked. "the biggest thing for years," said holmes. "we have two hours before we need think of starting. i think we might employ it in getting some dinner and then, lestrade, we will take the london fog out of your throat by giving you a breath of the pure night air of dartmoor. never been there? ah, well, i don't suppose you will forget your first visit." chapter xiv the hound of the baskervilles one of sherlock holmes's defects--if, indeed, one may call it a defect--was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full plans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment. partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprise those who were around him. partly also from his professional caution, which urged him never to take any chances. the result, however, was very trying for those who were acting as his agents and assistants. i had often suffered under it, but never more so than during that long drive in the darkness. the great ordeal was in front of us; at last we were about to make our final effort, and yet holmes had said nothing, and i could only surmise what his course of action would be. my nerves thrilled with anticipation when at last the cold wind upon our faces and the dark, void spaces on either side of the narrow road told me that we were back upon the moor once again. every stride of the horses and every turn of the wheels was taking us nearer to our supreme adventure. our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver of the hired wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivial matters when our nerves were tense with emotion and anticipation. it was a relief to me, after that unnatural restraint, when we at last passed frankland's house and knew that we were drawing near to the hall and to the scene of action. we did not drive up to the door but got down near the gate of the avenue. the wagonette was paid off and ordered to return to coombe tracey forthwith, while we started to walk to merripit house. "are you armed, lestrade?" the little detective smiled. "as long as i have my trousers i have a hip-pocket, and as long as i have my hip-pocket i have something in it." "good! my friend and i are also ready for emergencies." "you're mighty close about this affair, mr. holmes. what's the game now?" "a waiting game." "my word, it does not seem a very cheerful place," said the detective with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes of the hill and at the huge lake of fog which lay over the grimpen mire. "i see the lights of a house ahead of us." "that is merripit house and the end of our journey. i must request you to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper." we moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for the house, but holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards from it. "this will do," said he. "these rocks upon the right make an admirable screen." "we are to wait here?" "yes, we shall make our little ambush here. get into this hollow, lestrade. you have been inside the house, have you not, watson? can you tell the position of the rooms? what are those latticed windows at this end?" "i think they are the kitchen windows." "and the one beyond, which shines so brightly?" "that is certainly the dining-room." "the blinds are up. you know the lie of the land best. creep forward quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven's sake don't let them know that they are watched!" i tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall which surrounded the stunted orchard. creeping in its shadow i reached a point whence i could look straight through the uncurtained window. there were only two men in the room, sir henry and stapleton. they sat with their profiles towards me on either side of the round table. both of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and wine were in front of them. stapleton was talking with animation, but the baronet looked pale and distrait. perhaps the thought of that lonely walk across the ill-omened moor was weighing heavily upon his mind. as i watched them stapleton rose and left the room, while sir henry filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffing at his cigar. i heard the creak of a door and the crisp sound of boots upon gravel. the steps passed along the path on the other side of the wall under which i crouched. looking over, i saw the naturalist pause at the door of an out-house in the corner of the orchard. a key turned in a lock, and as he passed in there was a curious scuffling noise from within. he was only a minute or so inside, and then i heard the key turn once more and he passed me and re-entered the house. i saw him rejoin his guest, and i crept quietly back to where my companions were waiting to tell them what i had seen. "you say, watson, that the lady is not there?" holmes asked, when i had finished my report. "no." "where can she be, then, since there is no light in any other room except the kitchen?" "i cannot think where she is." i have said that over the great grimpen mire there hung a dense, white fog. it was drifting slowly in our direction, and banked itself up like a wall on that side of us, low, but thick and well defined. the moon shone on it, and it looked like a great shimmering ice-field, with the heads of the distant tors as rocks borne upon its surface. holmes's face was turned towards it, and he muttered impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift. "it's moving towards us, watson." "is that serious?" "very serious, indeed--the one thing upon earth which could have disarranged my plans. he can't be very long, now. it is already ten o'clock. our success and even his life may depend upon his coming out before the fog is over the path." the night was clear and fine above us. the stars shone cold and bright, while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft, uncertain light. before us lay the dark bulk of the house, its serrated roof and bristling chimneys hard outlined against the silver-spangled sky. broad bars of golden light from the lower windows stretched across the orchard and the moor. one of them was suddenly shut off. the servants had left the kitchen. there only remained the lamp in the dining-room where the two men, the murderous host and the unconscious guest, still chatted over their cigars. every minute that white woolly plain which covered one half of the moor was drifting closer and closer to the house. already the first thin wisps of it were curling across the golden square of the lighted window. the farther wall of the orchard was already invisible, and the trees were standing out of a swirl of white vapour. as we watched it the fog-wreaths came crawling round both corners of the house and rolled slowly into one dense bank, on which the upper floor and the roof floated like a strange ship upon a shadowy sea. holmes struck his hand passionately upon the rock in front of us and stamped his feet in his impatience. "if he isn't out in a quarter of an hour the path will be covered. in half an hour we won't be able to see our hands in front of us." "shall we move farther back upon higher ground?" "yes, i think it would be as well." so as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back before it until we were half a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea, with the moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and inexorably on. "we are going too far," said holmes. "we dare not take the chance of his being overtaken before he can reach us. at all costs we must hold our ground where we are." he dropped on his knees and clapped his ear to the ground. "thank god, i think that i hear him coming." a sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. crouching among the stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank in front of us. the steps grew louder, and through the fog, as through a curtain, there stepped the man whom we were awaiting. he looked round him in surprise as he emerged into the clear, starlit night. then he came swiftly along the path, passed close to where we lay, and went on up the long slope behind us. as he walked he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man who is ill at ease. "hist!" cried holmes, and i heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol. "look out! it's coming!" there was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the heart of that crawling bank. the cloud was within fifty yards of where we lay, and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horror was about to break from the heart of it. i was at holmes's elbow, and i glanced for an instant at his face. it was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. but suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. at the same instant lestrade gave a yell of terror and threw himself face downward upon the ground. i sprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. a hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us out of the wall of fog. with long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. so paralyzed were we by the apparition that we allowed him to pass before we had recovered our nerve. then holmes and i both fired together, and the creature gave a hideous howl, which showed that one at least had hit him. he did not pause, however, but bounded onward. far away on the path we saw sir henry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror, glaring helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down. but that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to the winds. if he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could wound him we could kill him. never have i seen a man run as holmes ran that night. i am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me as much as i outpaced the little professional. in front of us as we flew up the track we heard scream after scream from sir henry and the deep roar of the hound. i was in time to see the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and worry at his throat. but the next instant holmes had emptied five barrels of his revolver into the creature's flank. with a last howl of agony and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its back, four feet pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its side. i stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to the dreadful, shimmering head, but it was useless to press the trigger. the giant hound was dead. sir henry lay insensible where he had fallen. we tore away his collar, and holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw that there was no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in time. already our friend's eyelids shivered and he made a feeble effort to move. lestrade thrust his brandy-flask between the baronet's teeth, and two frightened eyes were looking up at us. "my god!" he whispered. "what was it? what, in heaven's name, was it?" "it's dead, whatever it is," said holmes. "we've laid the family ghost once and forever." in mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was lying stretched before us. it was not a pure bloodhound and it was not a pure mastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of the two--gaunt, savage, and as large as a small lioness. even now, in the stillness of death, the huge jaws seemed to be dripping with a bluish flame and the small, deep-set, cruel eyes were ringed with fire. i placed my hand upon the glowing muzzle, and as i held them up my own fingers smouldered and gleamed in the darkness. "phosphorus," i said. "a cunning preparation of it," said holmes, sniffing at the dead animal. "there is no smell which might have interfered with his power of scent. we owe you a deep apology, sir henry, for having exposed you to this fright. i was prepared for a hound, but not for such a creature as this. and the fog gave us little time to receive him." "you have saved my life." "having first endangered it. are you strong enough to stand?" "give me another mouthful of that brandy and i shall be ready for anything. so! now, if you will help me up. what do you propose to do?" "to leave you here. you are not fit for further adventures to-night. if you will wait, one or other of us will go back with you to the hall." he tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly pale and trembling in every limb. we helped him to a rock, where he sat shivering with his face buried in his hands. "we must leave you now," said holmes. "the rest of our work must be done, and every moment is of importance. we have our case, and now we only want our man. "it's a thousand to one against our finding him at the house," he continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. "those shots must have told him that the game was up." "we were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them." "he followed the hound to call him off--of that you may be certain. no, no, he's gone by this time! but we'll search the house and make sure." the front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from room to room to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met us in the passage. there was no light save in the dining-room, but holmes caught up the lamp and left no corner of the house unexplored. no sign could we see of the man whom we were chasing. on the upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked. "there's someone in here," cried lestrade. "i can hear a movement. open this door!" a faint moaning and rustling came from within. holmes struck the door just over the lock with the flat of his foot and it flew open. pistol in hand, we all three rushed into the room. but there was no sign within it of that desperate and defiant villain whom we expected to see. instead we were faced by an object so strange and so unexpected that we stood for a moment staring at it in amazement. the room had been fashioned into a small museum, and the walls were lined by a number of glass-topped cases full of that collection of butterflies and moths the formation of which had been the relaxation of this complex and dangerous man. in the centre of this room there was an upright beam, which had been placed at some period as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk of timber which spanned the roof. to this post a figure was tied, so swathed and muffled in the sheets which had been used to secure it that one could not for the moment tell whether it was that of a man or a woman. one towel passed round the throat and was secured at the back of the pillar. another covered the lower part of the face, and over it two dark eyes--eyes full of grief and shame and a dreadful questioning--stared back at us. in a minute we had torn off the gag, unswathed the bonds, and mrs. stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us. as her beautiful head fell upon her chest i saw the clear red weal of a whiplash across her neck. "the brute!" cried holmes. "here, lestrade, your brandy-bottle! put her in the chair! she has fainted from ill-usage and exhaustion." she opened her eyes again. "is he safe?" she asked. "has he escaped?" "he cannot escape us, madam." "no, no, i did not mean my husband. sir henry? is he safe?" "yes." "and the hound?" "it is dead." she gave a long sigh of satisfaction. "thank god! thank god! oh, this villain! see how he has treated me!" she shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with horror that they were all mottled with bruises. "but this is nothing--nothing! it is my mind and soul that he has tortured and defiled. i could endure it all, ill-usage, solitude, a life of deception, everything, as long as i could still cling to the hope that i had his love, but now i know that in this also i have been his dupe and his tool." she broke into passionate sobbing as she spoke. "you bear him no good will, madam," said holmes. "tell us then where we shall find him. if you have ever aided him in evil, help us now and so atone." "there is but one place where he can have fled," she answered. "there is an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. it was there that he kept his hound and there also he had made preparations so that he might have a refuge. that is where he would fly." the fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. holmes held the lamp towards it. "see," said he. "no one could find his way into the grimpen mire to-night." she laughed and clapped her hands. her eyes and teeth gleamed with fierce merriment. "he may find his way in, but never out," she cried. "how can he see the guiding wands to-night? we planted them together, he and i, to mark the pathway through the mire. oh, if i could only have plucked them out to-day. then indeed you would have had him at your mercy!" it was evident to us that all pursuit was in vain until the fog had lifted. meanwhile we left lestrade in possession of the house while holmes and i went back with the baronet to baskerville hall. the story of the stapletons could no longer be withheld from him, but he took the blow bravely when he learned the truth about the woman whom he had loved. but the shock of the night's adventures had shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay delirious in a high fever, under the care of dr. mortimer. the two of them were destined to travel together round the world before sir henry had become once more the hale, hearty man that he had been before he became master of that ill-omened estate. and now i come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular narrative, in which i have tried to make the reader share those dark fears and vague surmises which clouded our lives so long and ended in so tragic a manner. on the morning after the death of the hound the fog had lifted and we were guided by mrs. stapleton to the point where they had found a pathway through the bog. it helped us to realize the horror of this woman's life when we saw the eagerness and joy with which she laid us on her husband's track. we left her standing upon the thin peninsula of firm, peaty soil which tapered out into the widespread bog. from the end of it a small wand planted here and there showed where the path zigzagged from tuft to tuft of rushes among those green-scummed pits and foul quagmires which barred the way to the stranger. rank reeds and lush, slimy water-plants sent an odour of decay and a heavy miasmatic vapour onto our faces, while a false step plunged us more than once thigh-deep into the dark, quivering mire, which shook for yards in soft undulations around our feet. its tenacious grip plucked at our heels as we walked, and when we sank into it it was as if some malignant hand was tugging us down into those obscene depths, so grim and purposeful was the clutch in which it held us. once only we saw a trace that someone had passed that perilous way before us. from amid a tuft of cotton grass which bore it up out of the slime some dark thing was projecting. holmes sank to his waist as he stepped from the path to seize it, and had we not been there to drag him out he could never have set his foot upon firm land again. he held an old black boot in the air. "meyers, toronto," was printed on the leather inside. "it is worth a mud bath," said he. "it is our friend sir henry's missing boot." "thrown there by stapleton in his flight." "exactly. he retained it in his hand after using it to set the hound upon the track. he fled when he knew the game was up, still clutching it. and he hurled it away at this point of his flight. we know at least that he came so far in safety." but more than that we were never destined to know, though there was much which we might surmise. there was no chance of finding footsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly for them. but no slightest sign of them ever met our eyes. if the earth told a true story, then stapleton never reached that island of refuge towards which he struggled through the fog upon that last night. somewhere in the heart of the great grimpen mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is forever buried. many traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he had hid his savage ally. a huge driving-wheel and a shaft half-filled with rubbish showed the position of an abandoned mine. beside it were the crumbling remains of the cottages of the miners, driven away no doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. in one of these a staple and chain with a quantity of gnawed bones showed where the animal had been confined. a skeleton with a tangle of brown hair adhering to it lay among the debris. "a dog!" said holmes. "by jove, a curly-haired spaniel. poor mortimer will never see his pet again. well, i do not know that this place contains any secret which we have not already fathomed. he could hide his hound, but he could not hush its voice, and hence came those cries which even in daylight were not pleasant to hear. on an emergency he could keep the hound in the out-house at merripit, but it was always a risk, and it was only on the supreme day, which he regarded as the end of all his efforts, that he dared do it. this paste in the tin is no doubt the luminous mixture with which the creature was daubed. it was suggested, of course, by the story of the family hell-hound, and by the desire to frighten old sir charles to death. no wonder the poor devil of a convict ran and screamed, even as our friend did, and as we ourselves might have done, when he saw such a creature bounding through the darkness of the moor upon his track. it was a cunning device, for, apart from the chance of driving your victim to his death, what peasant would venture to inquire too closely into such a creature should he get sight of it, as many have done, upon the moor? i said it in london, watson, and i say it again now, that never yet have we helped to hunt down a more dangerous man than he who is lying yonder"--he swept his long arm towards the huge mottled expanse of green-splotched bog which stretched away until it merged into the russet slopes of the moor. chapter xv a retrospection it was the end of november and holmes and i sat, upon a raw and foggy night, on either side of a blazing fire in our sitting-room in baker street. since the tragic upshot of our visit to devonshire he had been engaged in two affairs of the utmost importance, in the first of which he had exposed the atrocious conduct of colonel upwood in connection with the famous card scandal of the nonpareil club, while in the second he had defended the unfortunate mme. montpensier from the charge of murder which hung over her in connection with the death of her step-daughter, mlle. carere, the young lady who, as it will be remembered, was found six months later alive and married in new york. my friend was in excellent spirits over the success which had attended a succession of difficult and important cases, so that i was able to induce him to discuss the details of the baskerville mystery. i had waited patiently for the opportunity, for i was aware that he would never permit cases to overlap, and that his clear and logical mind would not be drawn from its present work to dwell upon memories of the past. sir henry and dr. mortimer were, however, in london, on their way to that long voyage which had been recommended for the restoration of his shattered nerves. they had called upon us that very afternoon, so that it was natural that the subject should come up for discussion. "the whole course of events," said holmes, "from the point of view of the man who called himself stapleton was simple and direct, although to us, who had no means in the beginning of knowing the motives of his actions and could only learn part of the facts, it all appeared exceedingly complex. i have had the advantage of two conversations with mrs. stapleton, and the case has now been so entirely cleared up that i am not aware that there is anything which has remained a secret to us. you will find a few notes upon the matter under the heading b in my indexed list of cases." "perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course of events from memory." "certainly, though i cannot guarantee that i carry all the facts in my mind. intense mental concentration has a curious way of blotting out what has passed. the barrister who has his case at his fingers' ends, and is able to argue with an expert upon his own subject finds that a week or two of the courts will drive it all out of his head once more. so each of my cases displaces the last, and mlle. carere has blurred my recollection of baskerville hall. to-morrow some other little problem may be submitted to my notice which will in turn dispossess the fair french lady and the infamous upwood. so far as the case of the hound goes, however, i will give you the course of events as nearly as i can, and you will suggest anything which i may have forgotten. "my inquiries show beyond all question that the family portrait did not lie, and that this fellow was indeed a baskerville. he was a son of that rodger baskerville, the younger brother of sir charles, who fled with a sinister reputation to south america, where he was said to have died unmarried. he did, as a matter of fact, marry, and had one child, this fellow, whose real name is the same as his father's. he married beryl garcia, one of the beauties of costa rica, and, having purloined a considerable sum of public money, he changed his name to vandeleur and fled to england, where he established a school in the east of yorkshire. his reason for attempting this special line of business was that he had struck up an acquaintance with a consumptive tutor upon the voyage home, and that he had used this man's ability to make the undertaking a success. fraser, the tutor, died however, and the school which had begun well sank from disrepute into infamy. the vandeleurs found it convenient to change their name to stapleton, and he brought the remains of his fortune, his schemes for the future, and his taste for entomology to the south of england. i learned at the british museum that he was a recognized authority upon the subject, and that the name of vandeleur has been permanently attached to a certain moth which he had, in his yorkshire days, been the first to describe. "we now come to that portion of his life which has proved to be of such intense interest to us. the fellow had evidently made inquiry and found that only two lives intervened between him and a valuable estate. when he went to devonshire his plans were, i believe, exceedingly hazy, but that he meant mischief from the first is evident from the way in which he took his wife with him in the character of his sister. the idea of using her as a decoy was clearly already in his mind, though he may not have been certain how the details of his plot were to be arranged. he meant in the end to have the estate, and he was ready to use any tool or run any risk for that end. his first act was to establish himself as near to his ancestral home as he could, and his second was to cultivate a friendship with sir charles baskerville and with the neighbours. "the baronet himself told him about the family hound, and so prepared the way for his own death. stapleton, as i will continue to call him, knew that the old man's heart was weak and that a shock would kill him. so much he had learned from dr. mortimer. he had heard also that sir charles was superstitious and had taken this grim legend very seriously. his ingenious mind instantly suggested a way by which the baronet could be done to death, and yet it would be hardly possible to bring home the guilt to the real murderer. "having conceived the idea he proceeded to carry it out with considerable finesse. an ordinary schemer would have been content to work with a savage hound. the use of artificial means to make the creature diabolical was a flash of genius upon his part. the dog he bought in london from ross and mangles, the dealers in fulham road. it was the strongest and most savage in their possession. he brought it down by the north devon line and walked a great distance over the moor so as to get it home without exciting any remarks. he had already on his insect hunts learned to penetrate the grimpen mire, and so had found a safe hiding-place for the creature. here he kennelled it and waited his chance. "but it was some time coming. the old gentleman could not be decoyed outside of his grounds at night. several times stapleton lurked about with his hound, but without avail. it was during these fruitless quests that he, or rather his ally, was seen by peasants, and that the legend of the demon dog received a new confirmation. he had hoped that his wife might lure sir charles to his ruin, but here she proved unexpectedly independent. she would not endeavour to entangle the old gentleman in a sentimental attachment which might deliver him over to his enemy. threats and even, i am sorry to say, blows refused to move her. she would have nothing to do with it, and for a time stapleton was at a deadlock. "he found a way out of his difficulties through the chance that sir charles, who had conceived a friendship for him, made him the minister of his charity in the case of this unfortunate woman, mrs. laura lyons. by representing himself as a single man he acquired complete influence over her, and he gave her to understand that in the event of her obtaining a divorce from her husband he would marry her. his plans were suddenly brought to a head by his knowledge that sir charles was about to leave the hall on the advice of dr. mortimer, with whose opinion he himself pretended to coincide. he must act at once, or his victim might get beyond his power. he therefore put pressure upon mrs. lyons to write this letter, imploring the old man to give her an interview on the evening before his departure for london. he then, by a specious argument, prevented her from going, and so had the chance for which he had waited. "driving back in the evening from coombe tracey he was in time to get his hound, to treat it with his infernal paint, and to bring the beast round to the gate at which he had reason to expect that he would find the old gentleman waiting. the dog, incited by its master, sprang over the wicket-gate and pursued the unfortunate baronet, who fled screaming down the yew alley. in that gloomy tunnel it must indeed have been a dreadful sight to see that huge black creature, with its flaming jaws and blazing eyes, bounding after its victim. he fell dead at the end of the alley from heart disease and terror. the hound had kept upon the grassy border while the baronet had run down the path, so that no track but the man's was visible. on seeing him lying still the creature had probably approached to sniff at him, but finding him dead had turned away again. it was then that it left the print which was actually observed by dr. mortimer. the hound was called off and hurried away to its lair in the grimpen mire, and a mystery was left which puzzled the authorities, alarmed the country-side, and finally brought the case within the scope of our observation. "so much for the death of sir charles baskerville. you perceive the devilish cunning of it, for really it would be almost impossible to make a case against the real murderer. his only accomplice was one who could never give him away, and the grotesque, inconceivable nature of the device only served to make it more effective. both of the women concerned in the case, mrs. stapleton and mrs. laura lyons, were left with a strong suspicion against stapleton. mrs. stapleton knew that he had designs upon the old man, and also of the existence of the hound. mrs. lyons knew neither of these things, but had been impressed by the death occurring at the time of an uncancelled appointment which was only known to him. however, both of them were under his influence, and he had nothing to fear from them. the first half of his task was successfully accomplished but the more difficult still remained. "it is possible that stapleton did not know of the existence of an heir in canada. in any case he would very soon learn it from his friend dr. mortimer, and he was told by the latter all details about the arrival of henry baskerville. stapleton's first idea was that this young stranger from canada might possibly be done to death in london without coming down to devonshire at all. he distrusted his wife ever since she had refused to help him in laying a trap for the old man, and he dared not leave her long out of his sight for fear he should lose his influence over her. it was for this reason that he took her to london with him. they lodged, i find, at the mexborough private hotel, in craven street, which was actually one of those called upon by my agent in search of evidence. here he kept his wife imprisoned in her room while he, disguised in a beard, followed dr. mortimer to baker street and afterwards to the station and to the northumberland hotel. his wife had some inkling of his plans; but she had such a fear of her husband--a fear founded upon brutal ill-treatment--that she dare not write to warn the man whom she knew to be in danger. if the letter should fall into stapleton's hands her own life would not be safe. eventually, as we know, she adopted the expedient of cutting out the words which would form the message, and addressing the letter in a disguised hand. it reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his danger. "it was very essential for stapleton to get some article of sir henry's attire so that, in case he was driven to use the dog, he might always have the means of setting him upon his track. with characteristic promptness and audacity he set about this at once, and we cannot doubt that the boots or chamber-maid of the hotel was well bribed to help him in his design. by chance, however, the first boot which was procured for him was a new one and, therefore, useless for his purpose. he then had it returned and obtained another--a most instructive incident, since it proved conclusively to my mind that we were dealing with a real hound, as no other supposition could explain this anxiety to obtain an old boot and this indifference to a new one. the more outr and grotesque an incident is the more carefully it deserves to be examined, and the very point which appears to complicate a case is, when duly considered and scientifically handled, the one which is most likely to elucidate it. "then we had the visit from our friends next morning, shadowed always by stapleton in the cab. from his knowledge of our rooms and of my appearance, as well as from his general conduct, i am inclined to think that stapleton's career of crime has been by no means limited to this single baskerville affair. it is suggestive that during the last three years there have been four considerable burglaries in the west country, for none of which was any criminal ever arrested. the last of these, at folkestone court, in may, was remarkable for the cold-blooded pistoling of the page, who surprised the masked and solitary burglar. i cannot doubt that stapleton recruited his waning resources in this fashion, and that for years he has been a desperate and dangerous man. "we had an example of his readiness of resource that morning when he got away from us so successfully, and also of his audacity in sending back my own name to me through the cabman. from that moment he understood that i had taken over the case in london, and that therefore there was no chance for him there. he returned to dartmoor and awaited the arrival of the baronet." "one moment!" said i. "you have, no doubt, described the sequence of events correctly, but there is one point which you have left unexplained. what became of the hound when its master was in london?" "i have given some attention to this matter and it is undoubtedly of importance. there can be no question that stapleton had a confidant, though it is unlikely that he ever placed himself in his power by sharing all his plans with him. there was an old manservant at merripit house, whose name was anthony. his connection with the stapletons can be traced for several years, as far back as the schoolmastering days, so that he must have been aware that his master and mistress were really husband and wife. this man has disappeared and has escaped from the country. it is suggestive that anthony is not a common name in england, while antonio is so in all spanish or spanish-american countries. the man, like mrs. stapleton herself, spoke good english, but with a curious lisping accent. i have myself seen this old man cross the grimpen mire by the path which stapleton had marked out. it is very probable, therefore, that in the absence of his master it was he who cared for the hound, though he may never have known the purpose for which the beast was used. "the stapletons then went down to devonshire, whither they were soon followed by sir henry and you. one word now as to how i stood myself at that time. it may possibly recur to your memory that when i examined the paper upon which the printed words were fastened i made a close inspection for the water-mark. in doing so i held it within a few inches of my eyes, and was conscious of a faint smell of the scent known as white jessamine. there are seventy-five perfumes, which it is very necessary that a criminal expert should be able to distinguish from each other, and cases have more than once within my own experience depended upon their prompt recognition. the scent suggested the presence of a lady, and already my thoughts began to turn towards the stapletons. thus i had made certain of the hound, and had guessed at the criminal before ever we went to the west country. "it was my game to watch stapleton. it was evident, however, that i could not do this if i were with you, since he would be keenly on his guard. i deceived everybody, therefore, yourself included, and i came down secretly when i was supposed to be in london. my hardships were not so great as you imagined, though such trifling details must never interfere with the investigation of a case. i stayed for the most part at coombe tracey, and only used the hut upon the moor when it was necessary to be near the scene of action. cartwright had come down with me, and in his disguise as a country boy he was of great assistance to me. i was dependent upon him for food and clean linen. when i was watching stapleton, cartwright was frequently watching you, so that i was able to keep my hand upon all the strings. "i have already told you that your reports reached me rapidly, being forwarded instantly from baker street to coombe tracey. they were of great service to me, and especially that one incidentally truthful piece of biography of stapleton's. i was able to establish the identity of the man and the woman and knew at last exactly how i stood. the case had been considerably complicated through the incident of the escaped convict and the relations between him and the barrymores. this also you cleared up in a very effective way, though i had already come to the same conclusions from my own observations. "by the time that you discovered me upon the moor i had a complete knowledge of the whole business, but i had not a case which could go to a jury. even stapleton's attempt upon sir henry that night which ended in the death of the unfortunate convict did not help us much in proving murder against our man. there seemed to be no alternative but to catch him red-handed, and to do so we had to use sir henry, alone and apparently unprotected, as a bait. we did so, and at the cost of a severe shock to our client we succeeded in completing our case and driving stapleton to his destruction. that sir henry should have been exposed to this is, i must confess, a reproach to my management of the case, but we had no means of foreseeing the terrible and paralyzing spectacle which the beast presented, nor could we predict the fog which enabled him to burst upon us at such short notice. we succeeded in our object at a cost which both the specialist and dr. mortimer assure me will be a temporary one. a long journey may enable our friend to recover not only from his shattered nerves but also from his wounded feelings. his love for the lady was deep and sincere, and to him the saddest part of all this black business was that he should have been deceived by her. "it only remains to indicate the part which she had played throughout. there can be no doubt that stapleton exercised an influence over her which may have been love or may have been fear, or very possibly both, since they are by no means incompatible emotions. it was, at least, absolutely effective. at his command she consented to pass as his sister, though he found the limits of his power over her when he endeavoured to make her the direct accessory to murder. she was ready to warn sir henry so far as she could without implicating her husband, and again and again she tried to do so. stapleton himself seems to have been capable of jealousy, and when he saw the baronet paying court to the lady, even though it was part of his own plan, still he could not help interrupting with a passionate outburst which revealed the fiery soul which his self-contained manner so cleverly concealed. by encouraging the intimacy he made it certain that sir henry would frequently come to merripit house and that he would sooner or later get the opportunity which he desired. on the day of the crisis, however, his wife turned suddenly against him. she had learned something of the death of the convict, and she knew that the hound was being kept in the out-house on the evening that sir henry was coming to dinner. she taxed her husband with his intended crime, and a furious scene followed, in which he showed her for the first time that she had a rival in his love. her fidelity turned in an instant to bitter hatred and he saw that she would betray him. he tied her up, therefore, that she might have no chance of warning sir henry, and he hoped, no doubt, that when the whole country-side put down the baronet's death to the curse of his family, as they certainly would do, he could win his wife back to accept an accomplished fact and to keep silent upon what she knew. in this i fancy that in any case he made a miscalculation, and that, if we had not been there, his doom would none the less have been sealed. a woman of spanish blood does not condone such an injury so lightly. and now, my dear watson, without referring to my notes, i cannot give you a more detailed account of this curious case. i do not know that anything essential has been left unexplained." "he could not hope to frighten sir henry to death as he had done the old uncle with his bogie hound." "the beast was savage and half-starved. if its appearance did not frighten its victim to death, at least it would paralyze the resistance which might be offered." "no doubt. there only remains one difficulty. if stapleton came into the succession, how could he explain the fact that he, the heir, had been living unannounced under another name so close to the property? how could he claim it without causing suspicion and inquiry?" "it is a formidable difficulty, and i fear that you ask too much when you expect me to solve it. the past and the present are within the field of my inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is a hard question to answer. mrs. stapleton has heard her husband discuss the problem on several occasions. there were three possible courses. he might claim the property from south america, establish his identity before the british authorities there and so obtain the fortune without ever coming to england at all; or he might adopt an elaborate disguise during the short time that he need be in london; or, again, he might furnish an accomplice with the proofs and papers, putting him in as heir, and retaining a claim upon some proportion of his income. we cannot doubt from what we know of him that he would have found some way out of the difficulty. and now, my dear watson, we have had some weeks of severe work, and for one evening, i think, we may turn our thoughts into more pleasant channels. i have a box for 'les huguenots.' have you heard the de reszkes? might i trouble you then to be ready in half an hour, and we can stop at marcini's for a little dinner on the way?" the valley of fear table of contents part i the warning sherlock holmes discourses the tragedy of birlstone darkness the people of the drama a dawning light the solution part ii the man the bodymaster lodge 341, vermissa the valley of fear the darkest hour danger the trapping of birdy edwards epilogue part i the tragedy of birlstone chapter i the warning "i am inclined to think--" said i. "i should do so," sherlock holmes remarked impatiently. i believe that i am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but i'll admit that i was annoyed at the sardonic interruption. "really, holmes," said i severely, "you are a little trying at times." he was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate answer to my remonstrance. he leaned upon his hand, with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. then he took the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the flap. "it is porlock's writing," said he thoughtfully. "i can hardly doubt that it is porlock's writing, though i have seen it only twice before. the greek e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. but if it is porlock, then it must be something of the very first importance." he was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexation disappeared in the interest which the words awakened. "who then is porlock?" i asked. "porlock, watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere identification mark; but behind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. in a former letter he frankly informed me that the name was not his own, and defied me ever to trace him among the teeming millions of this great city. porlock is important, not for himself, but for the great man with whom he is in touch. picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lion--anything that is insignificant in companionship with what is formidable: not only formidable, watson, but sinister--in the highest degree sinister. that is where he comes within my purview. you have heard me speak of professor moriarty?" "the famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as--" "my blushes, watson!" holmes murmured in a deprecating voice. "i was about to say, as he is unknown to the public." "a touch! a distinct touch!" cried holmes. "you are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky humour, watson, against which i must learn to guard myself. but in calling moriarty a criminal you are uttering libel in the eyes of the law--and there lie the glory and the wonder of it! the greatest schemer of all time, the organizer of every deviltry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations--that's the man! but so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. is he not the celebrated author of the dynamics of an asteroid, a book which ascends to such rarefied heights of pure mathematics that it is said that there was no man in the scientific press capable of criticizing it? is this a man to traduce? foul-mouthed doctor and slandered professor--such would be your respective roles! that's genius, watson. but if i am spared by lesser men, our day will surely come." "may i be there to see!" i exclaimed devoutly. "but you were speaking of this man porlock." "ah, yes--the so-called porlock is a link in the chain some little way from its great attachment. porlock is not quite a sound link--between ourselves. he is the only flaw in that chain so far as i have been able to test it." "but no chain is stronger than its weakest link." "exactly, my dear watson! hence the extreme importance of porlock. led on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, and encouraged by the judicious stimulation of an occasional ten-pound note sent to him by devious methods, he has once or twice given me advance information which has been of value--that highest value which anticipates and prevents rather than avenges crime. i cannot doubt that, if we had the cipher, we should find that this communication is of the nature that i indicate." again holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. i rose and, leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription, which ran as follows: 534 c2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41 douglas 109 293 5 37 birlstone 26 birlstone 9 47 171 "what do you make of it, holmes?" "it is obviously an attempt to convey secret information." "but what is the use of a cipher message without the cipher?" "in this instance, none at all." "why do you say 'in this instance'?" "because there are many ciphers which i would read as easily as i do the apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devices amuse the intelligence without fatiguing it. but this is different. it is clearly a reference to the words in a page of some book. until i am told which page and which book i am powerless." "but why 'douglas' and 'birlstone'?" "clearly because those are words which were not contained in the page in question." "then why has he not indicated the book?" "your native shrewdness, my dear watson, that innate cunning which is the delight of your friends, would surely prevent you from inclosing cipher and message in the same envelope. should it miscarry, you are undone. as it is, both have to go wrong before any harm comes from it. our second post is now overdue, and i shall be surprised if it does not bring us either a further letter of explanation, or, as is more probable, the very volume to which these figures refer." holmes's calculation was fulfilled within a very few minutes by the appearance of billy, the page, with the very letter which we were expecting. "the same writing," remarked holmes, as he opened the envelope, "and actually signed," he added in an exultant voice as he unfolded the epistle. "come, we are getting on, watson." his brow clouded, however, as he glanced over the contents. "dear me, this is very disappointing! i fear, watson, that all our expectations come to nothing. i trust that the man porlock will come to no harm. "dear mr. holmes [he says]: "i will go no further in this matter. it is too dangerous--he suspects me. i can see that he suspects me. he came to me quite unexpectedly after i had actually addressed this envelope with the intention of sending you the key to the cipher. i was able to cover it up. if he had seen it, it would have gone hard with me. but i read suspicion in his eyes. please burn the cipher message, which can now be of no use to you. "fred porlock." holmes sat for some little time twisting this letter between his fingers, and frowning, as he stared into the fire. "after all," he said at last, "there may be nothing in it. it may be only his guilty conscience. knowing himself to be a traitor, he may have read the accusation in the other's eyes." "the other being, i presume, professor moriarty." "no less! when any of that party talk about 'he' you know whom they mean. there is one predominant 'he' for all of them." "but what can he do?" "hum! that's a large question. when you have one of the first brains of europe up against you, and all the powers of darkness at his back, there are infinite possibilities. anyhow, friend porlock is evidently scared out of his senses--kindly compare the writing in the note to that upon its envelope; which was done, he tells us, before this ill-omened visit. the one is clear and firm. the other hardly legible." "why did he write at all? why did he not simply drop it?" "because he feared i would make some inquiry after him in that case, and possibly bring trouble on him." "no doubt," said i. "of course." i had picked up the original cipher message and was bending my brows over it. "it's pretty maddening to think that an important secret may lie here on this slip of paper, and that it is beyond human power to penetrate it." sherlock holmes had pushed away his untasted breakfast and lit the unsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepest meditations. "i wonder!" said he, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "perhaps there are points which have escaped your machiavellian intellect. let us consider the problem in the light of pure reason. this man's reference is to a book. that is our point of departure." "a somewhat vague one." "let us see then if we can narrow it down. as i focus my mind upon it, it seems rather less impenetrable. what indications have we as to this book?" "none." "well, well, it is surely not quite so bad as that. the cipher message begins with a large 534, does it not? we may take it as a working hypothesis that 534 is the particular page to which the cipher refers. so our book has already become a large book which is surely something gained. what other indications have we as to the nature of this large book? the next sign is c2. what do you make of that, watson?" "chapter the second, no doubt." "hardly that, watson. you will, i am sure, agree with me that if the page be given, the number of the chapter is immaterial. also that if page 534 finds us only in the second chapter, the length of the first one must have been really intolerable." "column!" i cried. "brilliant, watson. you are scintillating this morning. if it is not column, then i am very much deceived. so now, you see, we begin to visualize a large book printed in double columns which are each of a considerable length, since one of the words is numbered in the document as the two hundred and ninety-third. have we reached the limits of what reason can supply?" "i fear that we have." "surely you do yourself an injustice. one more coruscation, my dear watson--yet another brain-wave! had the volume been an unusual one, he would have sent it to me. instead of that, he had intended, before his plans were nipped, to send me the clue in this envelope. he says so in his note. this would seem to indicate that the book is one which he thought i would have no difficulty in finding for myself. he had it--and he imagined that i would have it, too. in short, watson, it is a very common book." "what you say certainly sounds plausible." "so we have contracted our field of search to a large book, printed in double columns and in common use." "the bible!" i cried triumphantly. "good, watson, good! but not, if i may say so, quite good enough! even if i accepted the compliment for myself i could hardly name any volume which would be less likely to lie at the elbow of one of moriarty's associates. besides, the editions of holy writ are so numerous that he could hardly suppose that two copies would have the same pagination. this is clearly a book which is standardized. he knows for certain that his page 534 will exactly agree with my page 534." "but very few books would correspond with that." "exactly. therein lies our salvation. our search is narrowed down to standardized books which anyone may be supposed to possess." "bradshaw!" "there are difficulties, watson. the vocabulary of bradshaw is nervous and terse, but limited. the selection of words would hardly lend itself to the sending of general messages. we will eliminate bradshaw. the dictionary is, i fear, inadmissible for the same reason. what then is left?" "an almanac!" "excellent, watson! i am very much mistaken if you have not touched the spot. an almanac! let us consider the claims of whitaker's almanac. it is in common use. it has the requisite number of pages. it is in double column. though reserved in its earlier vocabulary, it becomes, if i remember right, quite garrulous towards the end." he picked the volume from his desk. "here is page 534, column two, a substantial block of print dealing, i perceive, with the trade and resources of british india. jot down the words, watson! number thirteen is 'mahratta.' not, i fear, a very auspicious beginning. number one hundred and twenty-seven is 'government'; which at least makes sense, though somewhat irrelevant to ourselves and professor moriarty. now let us try again. what does the mahratta government do? alas! the next word is 'pig's-bristles.' we are undone, my good watson! it is finished!" he had spoken in jesting vein, but the twitching of his bushy eyebrows bespoke his disappointment and irritation. i sat helpless and unhappy, staring into the fire. a long silence was broken by a sudden exclamation from holmes, who dashed at a cupboard, from which he emerged with a second yellow-covered volume in his hand. "we pay the price, watson, for being too up-to-date!" he cried. "we are before our time, and suffer the usual penalties. being the seventh of january, we have very properly laid in the new almanac. it is more than likely that porlock took his message from the old one. no doubt he would have told us so had his letter of explanation been written. now let us see what page 534 has in store for us. number thirteen is 'there,' which is much more promising. number one hundred and twenty-seven is 'is'--'there is'"--holmes's eyes were gleaming with excitement, and his thin, nervous fingers twitched as he counted the words--"'danger.' ha! ha! capital! put that down, watson. 'there is danger-- may-- come-- very-- soon-- one.' then we have the name 'douglas' --'rich-- country-- now-- at-- birlstone-- house-- birlstone-- confidence-- is-- pressing.' there, watson! what do you think of pure reason and its fruit? if the greengrocer had such a thing as a laurel wreath, i should send billy round for it." i was staring at the strange message which i had scrawled, as he deciphered it, upon a sheet of foolscap on my knee. "what a queer, scrambling way of expressing his meaning!" said i. "on the contrary, he has done quite remarkably well," said holmes. "when you search a single column for words with which to express your meaning, you can hardly expect to get everything you want. you are bound to leave something to the intelligence of your correspondent. the purport is perfectly clear. some deviltry is intended against one douglas, whoever he may be, residing as stated, a rich country gentleman. he is sure--'confidence' was as near as he could get to 'confident'--that it is pressing. there is our result--and a very workmanlike little bit of analysis it was!" holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his better work, even as he mourned darkly when it fell below the high level to which he aspired. he was still chuckling over his success when billy swung open the door and inspector macdonald of scotland yard was ushered into the room. those were the early days at the end of the '80's, when alec macdonald was far from having attained the national fame which he has now achieved. he was a young but trusted member of the detective force, who had distinguished himself in several cases which had been entrusted to him. his tall, bony figure gave promise of exceptional physical strength, while his great cranium and deep-set, lustrous eyes spoke no less clearly of the keen intelligence which twinkled out from behind his bushy eyebrows. he was a silent, precise man with a dour nature and a hard aberdonian accent. twice already in his career had holmes helped him to attain success, his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. for this reason the affection and respect of the scotchman for his amateur colleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness with which he consulted holmes in every difficulty. mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and macdonald had talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive that there was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who already stood alone in europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. holmes was not prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big scotchman, and smiled at the sight of him. "you are an early bird, mr. mac," said he. "i wish you luck with your worm. i fear this means that there is some mischief afoot." "if you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer the truth, i'm thinking, mr. holmes," the inspector answered, with a knowing grin. "well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. no, i won't smoke, i thank you. i'll have to be pushing on my way; for the early hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better than your own self. but--but--" the inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look of absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. it was the sheet upon which i had scrawled the enigmatic message. "douglas!" he stammered. "birlstone! what's this, mr. holmes? man, it's witchcraft! where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those names?" "it is a cipher that dr. watson and i have had occasion to solve. but why--what's amiss with the names?" the inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment. "just this," said he, "that mr. douglas of birlstone manor house was horribly murdered last night!" chapter ii sherlock holmes discourses it was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. it would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited by the amazing announcement. without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual perceptions were exceedingly active. there was no trace then of the horror which i had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution. "remarkable!" said he. "remarkable!" "you don't seem surprised." "interested, mr. mac, but hardly surprised. why should i be surprised? i receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which i know to be important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. within an hour i learn that this danger has actually materialized and that the person is dead. i am interested; but, as you observe, i am not surprised." in a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts about the letter and the cipher. macdonald sat with his chin on his hands and his great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle. "i was going down to birlstone this morning," said he. "i had come to ask you if you cared to come with me--you and your friend here. but from what you say we might perhaps be doing better work in london." "i rather think not," said holmes. "hang it all, mr. holmes!" cried the inspector. "the papers will be full of the birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's the mystery if there is a man in london who prophesied the crime before ever it occurred? we have only to lay our hands on that man, and the rest will follow." "no doubt, mr. mac. but how do you propose to lay your hands on the so-called porlock?" macdonald turned over the letter which holmes had handed him. "posted in camberwell--that doesn't help us much. name, you say, is assumed. not much to go on, certainly. didn't you say that you have sent him money?" "twice." "and how?" "in notes to camberwell post-office." "did you ever trouble to see who called for them?" "no." the inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. "why not?" "because i always keep faith. i had promised when he first wrote that i would not try to trace him." "you think there is someone behind him?" "i know there is." "this professor that i've heard you mention?" "exactly!" inspector macdonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glanced towards me. "i won't conceal from you, mr. holmes, that we think in the c. i. d. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over this professor. i made some inquiries myself about the matter. he seems to be a very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man." "i'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent." "man, you can't but recognize it! after i heard your view i made it my business to see him. i had a chat with him on eclipses. how the talk got that way i canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and a globe, and made it all clear in a minute. he lent me a book; but i don't mind saying that it was a bit above my head, though i had a good aberdeen upbringing. he'd have made a grand meenister with his thin face and gray hair and solemn-like way of talking. when he put his hand on my shoulder as we were parting, it was like a father's blessing before you go out into the cold, cruel world." holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "great!" he said. "great! tell me, friend macdonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, i suppose, in the professor's study?" "that's so." "a fine room, is it not?" "very fine--very handsome indeed, mr. holmes." "you sat in front of his writing desk?" "just so." "sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?" "well, it was evening; but i mind that the lamp was turned on my face." "it would be. did you happen to observe a picture over the professor's head?" "i don't miss much, mr. holmes. maybe i learned that from you. yes, i saw the picture--a young woman with her head on her hands, peeping at you sideways." "that painting was by jean baptiste greuze." the inspector endeavoured to look interested. "jean baptiste greuze," holmes continued, joining his finger tips and leaning well back in his chair, "was a french artist who flourished between the years 1750 and 1800. i allude, of course to his working career. modern criticism has more than indorsed the high opinion formed of him by his contemporaries." the inspector's eyes grew abstracted. "hadn't we better--" he said. "we are doing so," holmes interrupted. "all that i am saying has a very direct and vital bearing upon what you have called the birlstone mystery. in fact, it may in a sense be called the very centre of it." macdonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. "your thoughts move a bit too quick for me, mr. holmes. you leave out a link or two, and i can't get over the gap. what in the whole wide world can be the connection between this dead painting man and the affair at birlstone?" "all knowledge comes useful to the detective," remarked holmes. "even the trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by greuze entitled la jeune fille a l'agneau fetched one million two hundred thousand francs--more than forty thousand pounds--at the portalis sale may start a train of reflection in your mind." it was clear that it did. the inspector looked honestly interested. "i may remind you," holmes continued, "that the professor's salary can be ascertained in several trustworthy books of reference. it is seven hundred a year." "then how could he buy--" "quite so! how could he?" "ay, that's remarkable," said the inspector thoughtfully. "talk away, mr. holmes. i'm just loving it. it's fine!" holmes smiled. he was always warmed by genuine admiration--the characteristic of the real artist. "what about birlstone?" he asked. "we've time yet," said the inspector, glancing at his watch. "i've a cab at the door, and it won't take us twenty minutes to victoria. but about this picture: i thought you told me once, mr. holmes, that you had never met professor moriarty." "no, i never have." "then how do you know about his rooms?" "ah, that's another matter. i have been three times in his rooms, twice waiting for him under different pretexts and leaving before he came. once--well, i can hardly tell about the once to an official detective. it was on the last occasion that i took the liberty of running over his papers--with the most unexpected results." "you found something compromising?" "absolutely nothing. that was what amazed me. however, you have now seen the point of the picture. it shows him to be a very wealthy man. how did he acquire wealth? he is unmarried. his younger brother is a station master in the west of england. his chair is worth seven hundred a year. and he owns a greuze." "well?" "surely the inference is plain." "you mean that he has a great income and that he must earn it in an illegal fashion?" "exactly. of course i have other reasons for thinking so--dozens of exiguous threads which lead vaguely up towards the centre of the web where the poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. i only mention the greuze because it brings the matter within the range of your own observation." "well, mr. holmes, i admit that what you say is interesting: it's more than interesting--it's just wonderful. but let us have it a little clearer if you can. is it forgery, coining, burglary--where does the money come from?" "have you ever read of jonathan wild?" "well, the name has a familiar sound. someone in a novel, was he not? i don't take much stock of detectives in novels--chaps that do things and never let you see how they do them. that's just inspiration: not business." "jonathan wild wasn't a detective, and he wasn't in a novel. he was a master criminal, and he lived last century--1750 or thereabouts." "then he's no use to me. i'm a practical man." "mr. mac, the most practical thing that you ever did in your life would be to shut yourself up for three months and read twelve hours a day at the annals of crime. everything comes in circles--even professor moriarty. jonathan wild was the hidden force of the london criminals, to whom he sold his brains and his organization on a fifteen per cent commission. the old wheel turns, and the same spoke comes up. it's all been done before, and will be again. i'll tell you one or two things about moriarty which may interest you." "you'll interest me, right enough." "i happen to know who is the first link in his chain--a chain with this napoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred broken fighting men, pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every sort of crime in between. his chief of staff is colonel sebastian moran, as aloof and guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself. what do you think he pays him?" "i'd like to hear." "six thousand a year. that's paying for brains, you see--the american business principle. i learned that detail quite by chance. it's more than the prime minister gets. that gives you an idea of moriarty's gains and of the scale on which he works. another point: i made it my business to hunt down some of moriarty's checks lately--just common innocent checks that he pays his household bills with. they were drawn on six different banks. does that make any impression on your mind?" "queer, certainly! but what do you gather from it?" "that he wanted no gossip about his wealth. no single man should know what he had. i have no doubt that he has twenty banking accounts; the bulk of his fortune abroad in the deutsche bank or the credit lyonnais as likely as not. sometime when you have a year or two to spare i commend to you the study of professor moriarty." inspector macdonald had grown steadily more impressed as the conversation proceeded. he had lost himself in his interest. now his practical scotch intelligence brought him back with a snap to the matter in hand. "he can keep, anyhow," said he. "you've got us side-tracked with your interesting anecdotes, mr. holmes. what really counts is your remark that there is some connection between the professor and the crime. that you get from the warning received through the man porlock. can we for our present practical needs get any further than that?" "we may form some conception as to the motives of the crime. it is, as i gather from your original remarks, an inexplicable, or at least an unexplained, murder. now, presuming that the source of the crime is as we suspect it to be, there might be two different motives. in the first place, i may tell you that moriarty rules with a rod of iron over his people. his discipline is tremendous. there is only one punishment in his code. it is death. now we might suppose that this murdered man--this douglas whose approaching fate was known by one of the arch-criminal's subordinates--had in some way betrayed the chief. his punishment followed, and would be known to all--if only to put the fear of death into them." "well, that is one suggestion, mr. holmes." "the other is that it has been engineered by moriarty in the ordinary course of business. was there any robbery?" "i have not heard." "if so, it would, of course, be against the first hypothesis and in favour of the second. moriarty may have been engaged to engineer it on a promise of part spoils, or he may have been paid so much down to manage it. either is possible. but whichever it may be, or if it is some third combination, it is down at birlstone that we must seek the solution. i know our man too well to suppose that he has left anything up here which may lead us to him." "then to birlstone we must go!" cried macdonald, jumping from his chair. "my word! it's later than i thought. i can give you, gentlemen, five minutes for preparation, and that is all." "and ample for us both," said holmes, as he sprang up and hastened to change from his dressing gown to his coat. "while we are on our way, mr. mac, i will ask you to be good enough to tell me all about it." "all about it" proved to be disappointingly little, and yet there was enough to assure us that the case before us might well be worthy of the expert's closest attention. he brightened and rubbed his thin hands together as he listened to the meagre but remarkable details. a long series of sterile weeks lay behind us, and here at last there was a fitting object for those remarkable powers which, like all special gifts, become irksome to their owner when they are not in use. that razor brain blunted and rusted with inaction. sherlock holmes's eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmer hue, and his whole eager face shone with an inward light when the call for work reached him. leaning forward in the cab, he listened intently to macdonald's short sketch of the problem which awaited us in sussex. the inspector was himself dependent, as he explained to us, upon a scribbled account forwarded to him by the milk train in the early hours of the morning. white mason, the local officer, was a personal friend, and hence macdonald had been notified much more promptly than is usual at scotland yard when provincials need their assistance. it is a very cold scent upon which the metropolitan expert is generally asked to run. "dear inspector macdonald [said the letter which he read to us]: "official requisition for your services is in separate envelope. this is for your private eye. wire me what train in the morning you can get for birlstone, and i will meet it--or have it met if i am too occupied. this case is a snorter. don't waste a moment in getting started. if you can bring mr. holmes, please do so; for he will find something after his own heart. we would think the whole thing had been fixed up for theatrical effect if there wasn't a dead man in the middle of it. my word! it is a snorter." "your friend seems to be no fool," remarked holmes. "no, sir, white mason is a very live man, if i am any judge." "well, have you anything more?" "only that he will give us every detail when we meet." "then how did you get at mr. douglas and the fact that he had been horribly murdered?" "that was in the enclosed official report. it didn't say 'horrible': that's not a recognized official term. it gave the name john douglas. it mentioned that his injuries had been in the head, from the discharge of a shotgun. it also mentioned the hour of the alarm, which was close on to midnight last night. it added that the case was undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest had been made, and that the case was one which presented some very perplexing and extraordinary features. that's absolutely all we have at present, mr. holmes." "then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, mr. mac. the temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession. i can see only two things for certain at present--a great brain in london, and a dead man in sussex. it's the chain between that we are going to trace." chapter iii the tragedy of birlstone now for a moment i will ask leave to remove my own insignificant personality and to describe events which occurred before we arrived upon the scene by the light of knowledge which came to us afterwards. only in this way can i make the reader appreciate the people concerned and the strange setting in which their fate was cast. the village of birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of half-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county of sussex. for centuries it had remained unchanged; but within the last few years its picturesque appearance and situation have attracted a number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep out from the woods around. these woods are locally supposed to be the extreme fringe of the great weald forest, which thins away until it reaches the northern chalk downs. a number of small shops have come into being to meet the wants of the increased population; so there seems some prospect that birlstone may soon grow from an ancient village into a modern town. it is the centre for a considerable area of country, since tunbridge wells, the nearest place of importance, is ten or twelve miles to the eastward, over the borders of kent. about half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for its huge beech trees, is the ancient manor house of birlstone. part of this venerable building dates back to the time of the first crusade, when hugo de capus built a fortalice in the centre of the estate, which had been granted to him by the red king. this was destroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its smoke-blackened corner stones were used when, in jacobean times, a brick country house rose upon the ruins of the feudal castle. the manor house, with its many gables and its small diamond-paned windows, was still much as the builder had left it in the early seventeenth century. of the double moats which had guarded its more warlike predecessor, the outer had been allowed to dry up, and served the humble function of a kitchen garden. the inner one was still there, and lay forty feet in breadth, though now only a few feet in depth, round the whole house. a small stream fed it and continued beyond it, so that the sheet of water, though turbid, was never ditch-like or unhealthy. the ground floor windows were within a foot of the surface of the water. the only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains and windlass of which had long been rusted and broken. the latest tenants of the manor house had, however, with characteristic energy, set this right, and the drawbridge was not only capable of being raised, but actually was raised every evening and lowered every morning. by thus renewing the custom of the old feudal days the manor house was converted into an island during the night--a fact which had a very direct bearing upon the mystery which was soon to engage the attention of all england. the house had been untenanted for some years and was threatening to moulder into a picturesque decay when the douglases took possession of it. this family consisted of only two individuals--john douglas and his wife. douglas was a remarkable man, both in character and in person. in age he may have been about fifty, with a strong-jawed, rugged face, a grizzling moustache, peculiarly keen gray eyes, and a wiry, vigorous figure which had lost nothing of the strength and activity of youth. he was cheery and genial to all, but somewhat offhand in his manners, giving the impression that he had seen life in social strata on some far lower horizon than the county society of sussex. yet, though looked at with some curiosity and reserve by his more cultivated neighbours, he soon acquired a great popularity among the villagers, subscribing handsomely to all local objects, and attending their smoking concerts and other functions, where, having a remarkably rich tenor voice, he was always ready to oblige with an excellent song. he appeared to have plenty of money, which was said to have been gained in the california gold fields, and it was clear from his own talk and that of his wife that he had spent a part of his life in america. the good impression which had been produced by his generosity and by his democratic manners was increased by a reputation gained for utter indifference to danger. though a wretched rider, he turned out at every meet, and took the most amazing falls in his determination to hold his own with the best. when the vicarage caught fire he distinguished himself also by the fearlessness with which he reentered the building to save property, after the local fire brigade had given it up as impossible. thus it came about that john douglas of the manor house had within five years won himself quite a reputation in birlstone. his wife, too, was popular with those who had made her acquaintance; though, after the english fashion, the callers upon a stranger who settled in the county without introductions were few and far between. this mattered the less to her, as she was retiring by disposition, and very much absorbed, to all appearance, in her husband and her domestic duties. it was known that she was an english lady who had met mr. douglas in london, he being at that time a widower. she was a beautiful woman, tall, dark, and slender, some twenty years younger than her husband, a disparity which seemed in no wise to mar the contentment of their family life. it was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew them best, that the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete, since the wife was either very reticent about her husband's past life, or else, as seemed more likely, was imperfectly informed about it. it had also been noted and commented upon by a few observant people that there were signs sometimes of some nerve-strain upon the part of mrs. douglas, and that she would display acute uneasiness if her absent husband should ever be particularly late in his return. on a quiet countryside, where all gossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady of the manor house did not pass without remark, and it bulked larger upon people's memory when the events arose which gave it a very special significance. there was yet another individual whose residence under that roof was, it is true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence at the time of the strange happenings which will now be narrated brought his name prominently before the public. this was cecil james barker, of hales lodge, hampstead. cecil barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in the main street of birlstone village; for he was a frequent and welcome visitor at the manor house. he was the more noticed as being the only friend of the past unknown life of mr. douglas who was ever seen in his new english surroundings. barker was himself an undoubted englishman; but by his remarks it was clear that he had first known douglas in america and had there lived on intimate terms with him. he appeared to be a man of considerable wealth, and was reputed to be a bachelor. in age he was rather younger than douglas--forty-five at the most--a tall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved, prize-fighter face, thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of masterful black eyes which might, even without the aid of his very capable hands, clear a way for him through a hostile crowd. he neither rode nor shot, but spent his days in wandering round the old village with his pipe in his mouth, or in driving with his host, or in his absence with his hostess, over the beautiful countryside. "an easy-going, free-handed gentleman," said ames, the butler. "but, my word! i had rather not be the man that crossed him!" he was cordial and intimate with douglas, and he was no less friendly with his wife--a friendship which more than once seemed to cause some irritation to the husband, so that even the servants were able to perceive his annoyance. such was the third person who was one of the family when the catastrophe occurred. as to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice out of a large household to mention the prim, respectable, and capable ames, and mrs. allen, a buxom and cheerful person, who relieved the lady of some of her household cares. the other six servants in the house bear no relation to the events of the night of january 6th. it was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the small local police station, in charge of sergeant wilson of the sussex constabulary. cecil barker, much excited, had rushed up to the door and pealed furiously upon the bell. a terrible tragedy had occurred at the manor house, and john douglas had been murdered. that was the breathless burden of his message. he had hurried back to the house, followed within a few minutes by the police sergeant, who arrived at the scene of the crime a little after twelve o'clock, after taking prompt steps to warn the county authorities that something serious was afoot. on reaching the manor house, the sergeant had found the drawbridge down, the windows lighted up, and the whole household in a state of wild confusion and alarm. the white-faced servants were huddling together in the hall, with the frightened butler wringing his hands in the doorway. only cecil barker seemed to be master of himself and his emotions; he had opened the door which was nearest to the entrance and he had beckoned to the sergeant to follow him. at that moment there arrived dr. wood, a brisk and capable general practitioner from the village. the three men entered the fatal room together, while the horror-stricken butler followed at their heels, closing the door behind him to shut out the terrible scene from the maid servants. the dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched limbs in the centre of the room. he was clad only in a pink dressing gown, which covered his night clothes. there were carpet slippers on his bare feet. the doctor knelt beside him and held down the hand lamp which had stood on the table. one glance at the victim was enough to show the healer that his presence could be dispensed with. the man had been horribly injured. lying across his chest was a curious weapon, a shotgun with the barrel sawed off a foot in front of the triggers. it was clear that this had been fired at close range and that he had received the whole charge in the face, blowing his head almost to pieces. the triggers had been wired together, so as to make the simultaneous discharge more destructive. the country policeman was unnerved and troubled by the tremendous responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. "we will touch nothing until my superiors arrive," he said in a hushed voice, staring in horror at the dreadful head. "nothing has been touched up to now," said cecil barker. "i'll answer for that. you see it all exactly as i found it." "when was that?" the sergeant had drawn out his notebook. "it was just half-past eleven. i had not begun to undress, and i was sitting by the fire in my bedroom when i heard the report. it was not very loud--it seemed to be muffled. i rushed down--i don't suppose it was thirty seconds before i was in the room." "was the door open?" "yes, it was open. poor douglas was lying as you see him. his bedroom candle was burning on the table. it was i who lit the lamp some minutes afterward." "did you see no one?" "no. i heard mrs. douglas coming down the stair behind me, and i rushed out to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight. mrs. allen, the housekeeper, came and took her away. ames had arrived, and we ran back into the room once more." "but surely i have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all night." "yes, it was up until i lowered it." "then how could any murderer have got away? it is out of the question! mr. douglas must have shot himself." "that was our first idea. but see!" barker drew aside the curtain, and showed that the long, diamond-paned window was open to its full extent. "and look at this!" he held the lamp down and illuminated a smudge of blood like the mark of a boot-sole upon the wooden sill. "someone has stood there in getting out." "you mean that someone waded across the moat?" "exactly!" "then if you were in the room within half a minute of the crime, he must have been in the water at that very moment." "i have not a doubt of it. i wish to heaven that i had rushed to the window! but the curtain screened it, as you can see, and so it never occurred to me. then i heard the step of mrs. douglas, and i could not let her enter the room. it would have been too horrible." "horrible enough!" said the doctor, looking at the shattered head and the terrible marks which surrounded it. "i've never seen such injuries since the birlstone railway smash." "but, i say," remarked the police sergeant, whose slow, bucolic common sense was still pondering the open window. "it's all very well your saying that a man escaped by wading this moat, but what i ask you is, how did he ever get into the house at all if the bridge was up?" "ah, that's the question," said barker. "at what o'clock was it raised?" "it was nearly six o'clock," said ames, the butler. "i've heard," said the sergeant, "that it was usually raised at sunset. that would be nearer half-past four than six at this time of year." "mrs. douglas had visitors to tea," said ames. "i couldn't raise it until they went. then i wound it up myself." "then it comes to this," said the sergeant: "if anyone came from outside--if they did--they must have got in across the bridge before six and been in hiding ever since, until mr. douglas came into the room after eleven." "that is so! mr. douglas went round the house every night the last thing before he turned in to see that the lights were right. that brought him in here. the man was waiting and shot him. then he got away through the window and left his gun behind him. that's how i read it; for nothing else will fit the facts." the sergeant picked up a card which lay beside the dead man on the floor. the initials v. v. and under them the number 341 were rudely scrawled in ink upon it. "what's this?" he asked, holding it up. barker looked at it with curiosity. "i never noticed it before," he said. "the murderer must have left it behind him." "v. v.--341. i can make no sense of that." the sergeant kept turning it over in his big fingers. "what's v. v.? somebody's initials, maybe. what have you got there, dr. wood?" it was a good-sized hammer which had been lying on the rug in front of the fireplace--a substantial, workmanlike hammer. cecil barker pointed to a box of brass-headed nails upon the mantelpiece. "mr. douglas was altering the pictures yesterday," he said. "i saw him myself, standing upon that chair and fixing the big picture above it. that accounts for the hammer." "we'd best put it back on the rug where we found it," said the sergeant, scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity. "it will want the best brains in the force to get to the bottom of this thing. it will be a london job before it is finished." he raised the hand lamp and walked slowly round the room. "hullo!" he cried, excitedly, drawing the window curtain to one side. "what o'clock were those curtains drawn?" "when the lamps were lit," said the butler. "it would be shortly after four." "someone had been hiding here, sure enough." he held down the light, and the marks of muddy boots were very visible in the corner. "i'm bound to say this bears out your theory, mr. barker. it looks as if the man got into the house after four when the curtains were drawn and before six when the bridge was raised. he slipped into this room, because it was the first that he saw. there was no other place where he could hide, so he popped in behind this curtain. that all seems clear enough. it is likely that his main idea was to burgle the house; but mr. douglas chanced to come upon him, so he murdered him and escaped." "that's how i read it," said barker. "but, i say, aren't we wasting precious time? couldn't we start out and scour the country before the fellow gets away?" the sergeant considered for a moment. "there are no trains before six in the morning; so he can't get away by rail. if he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it's odds that someone will notice him. anyhow, i can't leave here myself until i am relieved. but i think none of you should go until we see more clearly how we all stand." the doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing the body. "what's this mark?" he asked. "could this have any connection with the crime?" the dead man's right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown, and exposed as high as the elbow. about halfway up the forearm was a curious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out in vivid relief upon the lard-coloured skin. "it's not tattooed," said the doctor, peering through his glasses. "i never saw anything like it. the man has been branded at some time as they brand cattle. what is the meaning of this?" "i don't profess to know the meaning of it," said cecil barker; "but i have seen the mark on douglas many times this last ten years." "and so have i," said the butler. "many a time when the master has rolled up his sleeves i have noticed that very mark. i've often wondered what it could be." "then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow," said the sergeant. "but it's a rum thing all the same. everything about this case is rum. well, what is it now?" the butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and was pointing at the dead man's outstretched hand. "they've taken his wedding ring!" he gasped. "what!" "yes, indeed. master always wore his plain gold wedding ring on the little finger of his left hand. that ring with the rough nugget on it was above it, and the twisted snake ring on the third finger. there's the nugget and there's the snake, but the wedding ring is gone." "he's right," said barker. "do you tell me," said the sergeant, "that the wedding ring was below the other?" "always!" "then the murderer, or whoever it was, first took off this ring you call the nugget ring, then the wedding ring, and afterwards put the nugget ring back again." "that is so!" the worthy country policeman shook his head. "seems to me the sooner we get london on to this case the better," said he. "white mason is a smart man. no local job has ever been too much for white mason. it won't be long now before he is here to help us. but i expect we'll have to look to london before we are through. anyhow, i'm not ashamed to say that it is a deal too thick for the likes of me." chapter iv darkness at three in the morning the chief sussex detective, obeying the urgent call from sergeant wilson of birlstone, arrived from headquarters in a light dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. by the five-forty train in the morning he had sent his message to scotland yard, and he was at the birlstone station at twelve o'clock to welcome us. white mason was a quiet, comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with a clean-shaved, ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legs adorned with gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retired gamekeeper, or anything upon earth except a very favourable specimen of the provincial criminal officer. "a real downright snorter, mr. macdonald!" he kept repeating. "we'll have the pressmen down like flies when they understand it. i'm hoping we will get our work done before they get poking their noses into it and messing up all the trails. there has been nothing like this that i can remember. there are some bits that will come home to you, mr. holmes, or i am mistaken. and you also, dr. watson; for the medicos will have a word to say before we finish. your room is at the westville arms. there's no other place; but i hear that it is clean and good. the man will carry your bags. this way, gentlemen, if you please." he was a very bustling and genial person, this sussex detective. in ten minutes we had all found our quarters. in ten more we were seated in the parlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketch of those events which have been outlined in the previous chapter. macdonald made an occasional note, while holmes sat absorbed, with the expression of surprised and reverent admiration with which the botanist surveys the rare and precious bloom. "remarkable!" he said, when the story was unfolded, "most remarkable! i can hardly recall any case where the features have been more peculiar." "i thought you would say so, mr. holmes," said white mason in great delight. "we're well up with the times in sussex. i've told you now how matters were, up to the time when i took over from sergeant wilson between three and four this morning. my word! i made the old mare go! but i need not have been in such a hurry, as it turned out; for there was nothing immediate that i could do. sergeant wilson had all the facts. i checked them and considered them and maybe added a few of my own." "what were they?" asked holmes eagerly. "well, i first had the hammer examined. there was dr. wood there to help me. we found no signs of violence upon it. i was hoping that if mr. douglas defended himself with the hammer, he might have left his mark upon the murderer before he dropped it on the mat. but there was no stain." "that, of course, proves nothing at all," remarked inspector macdonald. "there has been many a hammer murder and no trace on the hammer." "quite so. it doesn't prove it wasn't used. but there might have been stains, and that would have helped us. as a matter of fact there were none. then i examined the gun. they were buckshot cartridges, and, as sergeant wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so that, if you pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged. whoever fixed that up had made up his mind that he was going to take no chances of missing his man. the sawed gun was not more than two foot long--one could carry it easily under one's coat. there was no complete maker's name; but the printed letters p-e-n were on the fluting between the barrels, and the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw." "a big p with a flourish above it, e and n smaller?" asked holmes. "exactly." "pennsylvania small arms company--well-known american firm," said holmes. white mason gazed at my friend as the little village practitioner looks at the harley street specialist who by a word can solve the difficulties that perplex him. "that is very helpful, mr. holmes. no doubt you are right. wonderful! wonderful! do you carry the names of all the gun makers in the world in your memory?" holmes dismissed the subject with a wave. "no doubt it is an american shotgun," white mason continued. "i seem to have read that a sawed-off shotgun is a weapon used in some parts of america. apart from the name upon the barrel, the idea had occurred to me. there is some evidence then, that this man who entered the house and killed its master was an american." macdonald shook his head. "man, you are surely travelling overfast," said he. "i have heard no evidence yet that any stranger was ever in the house at all." "the open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card, the marks of boots in the corner, the gun!" "nothing there that could not have been arranged. mr. douglas was an american, or had lived long in america. so had mr. barker. you don't need to import an american from outside in order to account for american doings." "ames, the butler--" "what about him? is he reliable?" "ten years with sir charles chandos--as solid as a rock. he has been with douglas ever since he took the manor house five years ago. he has never seen a gun of this sort in the house." "the gun was made to conceal. that's why the barrels were sawed. it would fit into any box. how could he swear there was no such gun in the house?" "well, anyhow, he had never seen one." macdonald shook his obstinate scotch head. "i'm not convinced yet that there was ever anyone in the house," said he. "i'm asking you to conseedar" (his accent became more aberdonian as he lost himself in his argument) "i'm asking you to conseedar what it involves if you suppose that this gun was ever brought into the house, and that all these strange things were done by a person from outside. oh, man, it's just inconceivable! it's clean against common sense! i put it to you, mr. holmes, judging it by what we have heard." "well, state your case, mr. mac," said holmes in his most judicial style. "the man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. the ring business and the card point to premeditated murder for some private reason. very good. here is a man who slips into a house with the deliberate intention of committing murder. he knows, if he knows anything, that he will have a deeficulty in making his escape, as the house is surrounded with water. what weapon would he choose? you would say the most silent in the world. then he could hope when the deed was done to slip quickly from the window, to wade the moat, and to get away at his leisure. that's understandable. but is it understandable that he should go out of his way to bring with him the most noisy weapon he could select, knowing well that it will fetch every human being in the house to the spot as quick as they can run, and that it is all odds that he will be seen before he can get across the moat? is that credible, mr. holmes?" "well, you put the case strongly," my friend replied thoughtfully. "it certainly needs a good deal of justification. may i ask, mr. white mason, whether you examined the farther side of the moat at once to see if there were any signs of the man having climbed out from the water?" "there were no signs, mr. holmes. but it is a stone ledge, and one could hardly expect them." "no tracks or marks?" "none." "ha! would there be any objection, mr. white mason, to our going down to the house at once? there may possibly be some small point which might be suggestive." "i was going to propose it, mr. holmes; but i thought it well to put you in touch with all the facts before we go. i suppose if anything should strike you--" white mason looked doubtfully at the amateur. "i have worked with mr. holmes before," said inspector macdonald. "he plays the game." "my own idea of the game, at any rate," said holmes, with a smile. "i go into a case to help the ends of justice and the work of the police. if i have ever separated myself from the official force, it is because they have first separated themselves from me. i have no wish ever to score at their expense. at the same time, mr. white mason, i claim the right to work in my own way and give my results at my own time--complete rather than in stages." "i am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you all we know," said white mason cordially. "come along, dr. watson, and when the time comes we'll all hope for a place in your book." we walked down the quaint village street with a row of pollarded elms on each side of it. just beyond were two ancient stone pillars, weather-stained and lichen-blotched bearing upon their summits a shapeless something which had once been the rampant lion of capus of birlstone. a short walk along the winding drive with such sward and oaks around it as one only sees in rural england, then a sudden turn, and the long, low jacobean house of dingy, liver-coloured brick lay before us, with an old-fashioned garden of cut yews on each side of it. as we approached it, there was the wooden drawbridge and the beautiful broad moat as still and luminous as quicksilver in the cold, winter sunshine. three centuries had flowed past the old manor house, centuries of births and of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetings of fox hunters. strange that now in its old age this dark business should have cast its shadow upon the venerable walls! and yet those strange, peaked roofs and quaint, overhung gables were a fitting covering to grim and terrible intrigue. as i looked at the deep-set windows and the long sweep of the dull-coloured, water-lapped front, i felt that no more fitting scene could be set for such a tragedy. "that's the window," said white mason, "that one on the immediate right of the drawbridge. it's open just as it was found last night." "it looks rather narrow for a man to pass." "well, it wasn't a fat man, anyhow. we don't need your deductions, mr. holmes, to tell us that. but you or i could squeeze through all right." holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across. then he examined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it. "i've had a good look, mr. holmes," said white mason. "there is nothing there, no sign that anyone has landed--but why should he leave any sign?" "exactly. why should he? is the water always turbid?" "generally about this colour. the stream brings down the clay." "how deep is it?" "about two feet at each side and three in the middle." "so we can put aside all idea of the man having been drowned in crossing." "no, a child could not be drowned in it." we walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint, gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, ames. the poor old fellow was white and quivering from the shock. the village sergeant, a tall, formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil in the room of fate. the doctor had departed. "anything fresh, sergeant wilson?" asked white mason. "no, sir." "then you can go home. you've had enough. we can send for you if we want you. the butler had better wait outside. tell him to warn mr. cecil barker, mrs. douglas, and the housekeeper that we may want a word with them presently. now, gentlemen, perhaps you will allow me to give you the views i have formed first, and then you will be able to arrive at your own." he impressed me, this country specialist. he had a solid grip of fact and a cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take him some way in his profession. holmes listened to him intently, with no sign of that impatience which the official exponent too often produced. "is it suicide, or is it murder--that's our first question, gentlemen, is it not? if it were suicide, then we have to believe that this man began by taking off his wedding ring and concealing it; that he then came down here in his dressing gown, trampled mud into a corner behind the curtain in order to give the idea someone had waited for him, opened the window, put blood on the--" "we can surely dismiss that," said macdonald. "so i think. suicide is out of the question. then a murder has been done. what we have to determine is, whether it was done by someone outside or inside the house." "well, let's hear the argument." "there are considerable difficulties both ways, and yet one or the other it must be. we will suppose first that some person or persons inside the house did the crime. they got this man down here at a time when everything was still and yet no one was asleep. they then did the deed with the queerest and noisiest weapon in the world so as to tell everyone what had happened--a weapon that was never seen in the house before. that does not seem a very likely start, does it?" "no, it does not." "well, then, everyone is agreed that after the alarm was given only a minute at the most had passed before the whole household--not mr. cecil barker alone, though he claims to have been the first, but ames and all of them were on the spot. do you tell me that in that time the guilty person managed to make footmarks in the corner, open the window, mark the sill with blood, take the wedding ring off the dead man's finger, and all the rest of it? it's impossible!" "you put it very clearly," said holmes. "i am inclined to agree with you." "well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was done by someone from outside. we are still faced with some big difficulties; but anyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities. the man got into the house between four-thirty and six; that is to say, between dusk and the time when the bridge was raised. there had been some visitors, and the door was open; so there was nothing to prevent him. he may have been a common burglar, or he may have had some private grudge against mr. douglas. since mr. douglas has spent most of his life in america, and this shotgun seems to be an american weapon, it would seem that the private grudge is the more likely theory. he slipped into this room because it was the first he came to, and he hid behind the curtain. there he remained until past eleven at night. at that time mr. douglas entered the room. it was a short interview, if there were any interview at all; for mrs. douglas declares that her husband had not left her more than a few minutes when she heard the shot." "the candle shows that," said holmes. "exactly. the candle, which was a new one, is not burned more than half an inch. he must have placed it on the table before he was attacked; otherwise, of course, it would have fallen when he fell. this shows that he was not attacked the instant that he entered the room. when mr. barker arrived the candle was lit and the lamp was out." "that's all clear enough." "well, now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. mr. douglas enters the room. he puts down the candle. a man appears from behind the curtain. he is armed with this gun. he demands the wedding ring--heaven only knows why, but so it must have been. mr. douglas gave it up. then either in cold blood or in the course of a struggle--douglas may have gripped the hammer that was found upon the mat--he shot douglas in this horrible way. he dropped his gun and also it would seem this queer card--v. v. 341, whatever that may mean--and he made his escape through the window and across the moat at the very moment when cecil barker was discovering the crime. how's that, mr. holmes?" "very interesting, but just a little unconvincing." "man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn't that anything else is even worse!" cried macdonald. "somebody killed the man, and whoever it was i could clearly prove to you that he should have done it some other way. what does he mean by allowing his retreat to be cut off like that? what does he mean by using a shotgun when silence was his one chance of escape? come, mr. holmes, it's up to you to give us a lead, since you say mr. white mason's theory is unconvincing." holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion, missing no word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to right and to left, and his forehead wrinkled with speculation. "i should like a few more facts before i get so far as a theory, mr. mac," said he, kneeling down beside the body. "dear me! these injuries are really appalling. can we have the butler in for a moment? ... ames, i understand that you have often seen this very unusual mark--a branded triangle inside a circle--upon mr. douglas's forearm?" "frequently, sir." "you never heard any speculation as to what it meant?" "no, sir." "it must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. it is undoubtedly a burn. now, i observe, ames, that there is a small piece of plaster at the angle of mr. douglas's jaw. did you observe that in life?" "yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning." "did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before?" "not for a very long time, sir." "suggestive!" said holmes. "it may, of course, be a mere coincidence, or it may point to some nervousness which would indicate that he had reason to apprehend danger. had you noticed anything unusual in his conduct, yesterday, ames?" "it struck me that he was a little restless and excited, sir." "ha! the attack may not have been entirely unexpected. we do seem to make a little progress, do we not? perhaps you would rather do the questioning, mr. mac?" "no, mr. holmes, it's in better hands than mine." "well, then, we will pass to this card--v. v. 341. it is rough cardboard. have you any of the sort in the house?" "i don't think so." holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink from each bottle on to the blotting paper. "it was not printed in this room," he said; "this is black ink and the other purplish. it was done by a thick pen, and these are fine. no, it was done elsewhere, i should say. can you make anything of the inscription, ames?" "no, sir, nothing." "what do you think, mr. mac?" "it gives me the impression of a secret society of some sort; the same with his badge upon the forearm." "that's my idea, too," said white mason. "well, we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see how far our difficulties disappear. an agent from such a society makes his way into the house, waits for mr. douglas, blows his head nearly off with this weapon, and escapes by wading the moat, after leaving a card beside the dead man, which will when mentioned in the papers, tell other members of the society that vengeance has been done. that all hangs together. but why this gun, of all weapons?" "exactly." "and why the missing ring?" "quite so." "and why no arrest? it's past two now. i take it for granted that since dawn every constable within forty miles has been looking out for a wet stranger?" "that is so, mr. holmes." "well, unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothes ready, they can hardly miss him. and yet they have missed him up to now!" holmes had gone to the window and was examining with his lens the blood mark on the sill. "it is clearly the tread of a shoe. it is remarkably broad; a splay-foot, one would say. curious, because, so far as one can trace any footmark in this mud-stained corner, one would say it was a more shapely sole. however, they are certainly very indistinct. what's this under the side table?" "mr. douglas's dumb-bells," said ames. "dumb-bell--there's only one. where's the other?" "i don't know, mr. holmes. there may have been only one. i have not noticed them for months." "one dumb-bell--" holmes said seriously; but his remarks were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. a tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked in at us. i had no difficulty in guessing that it was the cecil barker of whom i had heard. his masterful eyes travelled quickly with a questioning glance from face to face. "sorry to interrupt your consultation," said he, "but you should hear the latest news." "an arrest?" "no such luck. but they've found his bicycle. the fellow left his bicycle behind him. come and have a look. it is within a hundred yards of the hall door." we found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the drive inspecting a bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump of evergreens in which it had been concealed. it was a well used rudge-whitworth, splashed as from a considerable journey. there was a saddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no clue as to the owner. "it would be a grand help to the police," said the inspector, "if these things were numbered and registered. but we must be thankful for what we've got. if we can't find where he went to, at least we are likely to get where he came from. but what in the name of all that is wonderful made the fellow leave it behind? and how in the world has he got away without it? we don't seem to get a gleam of light in the case, mr. holmes." "don't we?" my friend answered thoughtfully. "i wonder!" chapter v the people of the drama "have you seen all you want of the study?" asked white mason as we reentered the house. "for the time," said the inspector, and holmes nodded. "then perhaps you would now like to hear the evidence of some of the people in the house. we could use the dining-room, ames. please come yourself first and tell us what you know." the butler's account was a simple and a clear one, and he gave a convincing impression of sincerity. he had been engaged five years before, when douglas first came to birlstone. he understood that mr. douglas was a rich gentleman who had made his money in america. he had been a kind and considerate employer--not quite what ames was used to, perhaps; but one can't have everything. he never saw any signs of apprehension in mr. douglas: on the contrary, he was the most fearless man he had ever known. he ordered the drawbridge to be pulled up every night because it was the ancient custom of the old house, and he liked to keep the old ways up. mr. douglas seldom went to london or left the village; but on the day before the crime he had been shopping at tunbridge wells. he (ames) had observed some restlessness and excitement on the part of mr. douglas that day; for he had seemed impatient and irritable, which was unusual with him. he had not gone to bed that night; but was in the pantry at the back of the house, putting away the silver, when he heard the bell ring violently. he heard no shot; but it was hardly possible he would, as the pantry and kitchens were at the very back of the house and there were several closed doors and a long passage between. the housekeeper had come out of her room, attracted by the violent ringing of the bell. they had gone to the front of the house together. as they reached the bottom of the stair he had seen mrs. douglas coming down it. no, she was not hurrying; it did not seem to him that she was particularly agitated. just as she reached the bottom of the stair mr. barker had rushed out of the study. he had stopped mrs. douglas and begged her to go back. "for god's sake, go back to your room!" he cried. "poor jack is dead! you can do nothing. for god's sake, go back!" after some persuasion upon the stairs mrs. douglas had gone back. she did not scream. she made no outcry whatever. mrs. allen, the housekeeper, had taken her upstairs and stayed with her in the bedroom. ames and mr. barker had then returned to the study, where they had found everything exactly as the police had seen it. the candle was not lit at that time; but the lamp was burning. they had looked out of the window; but the night was very dark and nothing could be seen or heard. they had then rushed out into the hall, where ames had turned the windlass which lowered the drawbridge. mr. barker had then hurried off to get the police. such, in its essentials, was the evidence of the butler. the account of mrs. allen, the housekeeper, was, so far as it went, a corroboration of that of her fellow servant. the housekeeper's room was rather nearer to the front of the house than the pantry in which ames had been working. she was preparing to go to bed when the loud ringing of the bell had attracted her attention. she was a little hard of hearing. perhaps that was why she had not heard the shot; but in any case the study was a long way off. she remembered hearing some sound which she imagined to be the slamming of a door. that was a good deal earlier--half an hour at least before the ringing of the bell. when mr. ames ran to the front she went with him. she saw mr. barker, very pale and excited, come out of the study. he intercepted mrs. douglas, who was coming down the stairs. he entreated her to go back, and she answered him, but what she said could not be heard. "take her up! stay with her!" he had said to mrs. allen. she had therefore taken her to the bedroom, and endeavoured to soothe her. she was greatly excited, trembling all over, but made no other attempt to go downstairs. she just sat in her dressing gown by her bedroom fire, with her head sunk in her hands. mrs. allen stayed with her most of the night. as to the other servants, they had all gone to bed, and the alarm did not reach them until just before the police arrived. they slept at the extreme back of the house, and could not possibly have heard anything. so far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination save lamentations and expressions of amazement. cecil barker succeeded mrs. allen as a witness. as to the occurrences of the night before, he had very little to add to what he had already told the police. personally, he was convinced that the murderer had escaped by the window. the bloodstain was conclusive, in his opinion, on that point. besides, as the bridge was up, there was no other possible way of escaping. he could not explain what had become of the assassin or why he had not taken his bicycle, if it were indeed his. he could not possibly have been drowned in the moat, which was at no place more than three feet deep. in his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder. douglas was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in his life of which he never spoke. he had emigrated to america when he was a very young man. he had prospered well, and barker had first met him in california, where they had become partners in a successful mining claim at a place called benito canyon. they had done very well; but douglas had suddenly sold out and started for england. he was a widower at that time. barker had afterwards realized his money and come to live in london. thus they had renewed their friendship. douglas had given him the impression that some danger was hanging over his head, and he had always looked upon his sudden departure from california, and also his renting a house in so quiet a place in england, as being connected with this peril. he imagined that some secret society, some implacable organization, was on douglas's track, which would never rest until it killed him. some remarks of his had given him this idea; though he had never told him what the society was, nor how he had come to offend it. he could only suppose that the legend upon the placard had some reference to this secret society. "how long were you with douglas in california?" asked inspector macdonald. "five years altogether." "he was a bachelor, you say?" "a widower." "have you ever heard where his first wife came from?" "no, i remember his saying that she was of german extraction, and i have seen her portrait. she was a very beautiful woman. she died of typhoid the year before i met him." "you don't associate his past with any particular part of america?" "i have heard him talk of chicago. he knew that city well and had worked there. i have heard him talk of the coal and iron districts. he had travelled a good deal in his time." "was he a politician? had this secret society to do with politics?" "no, he cared nothing about politics." "you have no reason to think it was criminal?" "on the contrary, i never met a straighter man in my life." "was there anything curious about his life in california?" "he liked best to stay and to work at our claim in the mountains. he would never go where other men were if he could help it. that's why i first thought that someone was after him. then when he left so suddenly for europe i made sure that it was so. i believe that he had a warning of some sort. within a week of his leaving half a dozen men were inquiring for him." "what sort of men?" "well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. they came up to the claim and wanted to know where he was. i told them that he was gone to europe and that i did not know where to find him. they meant him no good--it was easy to see that." "were these men americans--californians?" "well, i don't know about californians. they were americans, all right. but they were not miners. i don't know what they were, and was very glad to see their backs." "that was six years ago?" "nearer seven." "and then you were together five years in california, so that this business dates back not less than eleven years at the least?" "that is so." "it must be a very serious feud that would be kept up with such earnestness for as long as that. it would be no light thing that would give rise to it." "i think it shadowed his whole life. it was never quite out of his mind." "but if a man had a danger hanging over him, and knew what it was, don't you think he would turn to the police for protection?" "maybe it was some danger that he could not be protected against. there's one thing you should know. he always went about armed. his revolver was never out of his pocket. but, by bad luck, he was in his dressing gown and had left it in the bedroom last night. once the bridge was up, i guess he thought he was safe." "i should like these dates a little clearer," said macdonald. "it is quite six years since douglas left california. you followed him next year, did you not?" "that is so." "and he had been married five years. you must have returned about the time of his marriage." "about a month before. i was his best man." "did you know mrs. douglas before her marriage?" "no, i did not. i had been away from england for ten years." "but you have seen a good deal of her since." barker looked sternly at the detective. "i have seen a good deal of him since," he answered. "if i have seen her, it is because you cannot visit a man without knowing his wife. if you imagine there is any connection--" "i imagine nothing, mr. barker. i am bound to make every inquiry which can bear upon the case. but i mean no offense." "some inquiries are offensive," barker answered angrily. "it's only the facts that we want. it is in your interest and everyone's interest that they should be cleared up. did mr. douglas entirely approve your friendship with his wife?" barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were clasped convulsively together. "you have no right to ask such questions!" he cried. "what has this to do with the matter you are investigating?" "i must repeat the question." "well, i refuse to answer." "you can refuse to answer; but you must be aware that your refusal is in itself an answer, for you would not refuse if you had not something to conceal." barker stood for a moment with his face set grimly and his strong black eyebrows drawn low in intense thought. then he looked up with a smile. "well, i guess you gentlemen are only doing your clear duty after all, and i have no right to stand in the way of it. i'd only ask you not to worry mrs. douglas over this matter; for she has enough upon her just now. i may tell you that poor douglas had just one fault in the world, and that was his jealousy. he was fond of me--no man could be fonder of a friend. and he was devoted to his wife. he loved me to come here, and was forever sending for me. and yet if his wife and i talked together or there seemed any sympathy between us, a kind of wave of jealousy would pass over him, and he would be off the handle and saying the wildest things in a moment. more than once i've sworn off coming for that reason, and then he would write me such penitent, imploring letters that i just had to. but you can take it from me, gentlemen, if it was my last word, that no man ever had a more loving, faithful wife--and i can say also no friend could be more loyal than i!" it was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet inspector macdonald could not dismiss the subject. "you are aware," said he, "that the dead man's wedding ring has been taken from his finger?" "so it appears," said barker. "what do you mean by 'appears'? you know it as a fact." the man seemed confused and undecided. "when i said 'appears' i meant that it was conceivable that he had himself taken off the ring." "the mere fact that the ring should be absent, whoever may have removed it, would suggest to anyone's mind, would it not, that the marriage and the tragedy were connected?" barker shrugged his broad shoulders. "i can't profess to say what it means." he answered. "but if you mean to hint that it could reflect in any way upon this lady's honour"--his eyes blazed for an instant, and then with an evident effort he got a grip upon his own emotions--"well, you are on the wrong track, that's all." "i don't know that i've anything else to ask you at present," said macdonald, coldly. "there was one small point," remarked sherlock holmes. "when you entered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table, was there not?" "yes, that was so." "by its light you saw that some terrible incident had occurred?" "exactly." "you at once rang for help?" "yes." "and it arrived very speedily?" "within a minute or so." "and yet when they arrived they found that the candle was out and that the lamp had been lighted. that seems very remarkable." again barker showed some signs of indecision. "i don't see that it was remarkable, mr. holmes," he answered after a pause. "the candle threw a very bad light. my first thought was to get a better one. the lamp was on the table; so i lit it." "and blew out the candle?" "exactly." holmes asked no further question, and barker, with a deliberate look from one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me, something of defiance in it, turned and left the room. inspector macdonald had sent up a note to the effect that he would wait upon mrs. douglas in her room; but she had replied that she would meet us in the dining room. she entered now, a tall and beautiful woman of thirty, reserved and self-possessed to a remarkable degree, very different from the tragic and distracted figure i had pictured. it is true that her face was pale and drawn, like that of one who has endured a great shock; but her manner was composed, and the finely moulded hand which she rested upon the edge of the table was as steady as my own. her sad, appealing eyes travelled from one to the other of us with a curiously inquisitive expression. that questioning gaze transformed itself suddenly into abrupt speech. "have you found anything out yet?" she asked. was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear rather than of hope in the question? "we have taken every possible step, mrs. douglas," said the inspector. "you may rest assured that nothing will be neglected." "spare no money," she said in a dead, even tone. "it is my desire that every possible effort should be made." "perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some light upon the matter." "i fear not; but all i know is at your service." "we have heard from mr. cecil barker that you did not actually see--that you were never in the room where the tragedy occurred?" "no, he turned me back upon the stairs. he begged me to return to my room." "quite so. you had heard the shot, and you had at once come down." "i put on my dressing gown and then came down." "how long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped on the stair by mr. barker?" "it may have been a couple of minutes. it is so hard to reckon time at such a moment. he implored me not to go on. he assured me that i could do nothing. then mrs. allen, the housekeeper, led me upstairs again. it was all like some dreadful dream." "can you give us any idea how long your husband had been downstairs before you heard the shot?" "no, i cannot say. he went from his dressing room, and i did not hear him go. he did the round of the house every night, for he was nervous of fire. it is the only thing that i have ever known him nervous of." "that is just the point which i want to come to, mrs. douglas. you have known your husband only in england, have you not?" "yes, we have been married five years." "have you heard him speak of anything which occurred in america and might bring some danger upon him?" mrs. douglas thought earnestly before she answered. "yes." she said at last, "i have always felt that there was a danger hanging over him. he refused to discuss it with me. it was not from want of confidence in me--there was the most complete love and confidence between us--but it was out of his desire to keep all alarm away from me. he thought i should brood over it if i knew all, and so he was silent." "how did you know it, then?" mrs. douglas's face lit with a quick smile. "can a husband ever carry about a secret all his life and a woman who loves him have no suspicion of it? i knew it by his refusal to talk about some episodes in his american life. i knew it by certain precautions he took. i knew it by certain words he let fall. i knew it by the way he looked at unexpected strangers. i was perfectly certain that he had some powerful enemies, that he believed they were on his track, and that he was always on his guard against them. i was so sure of it that for years i have been terrified if ever he came home later than was expected." "might i ask," asked holmes, "what the words were which attracted your attention?" "the valley of fear," the lady answered. "that was an expression he has used when i questioned him. 'i have been in the valley of fear. i am not out of it yet.'--'are we never to get out of the valley of fear?' i have asked him when i have seen him more serious than usual. 'sometimes i think that we never shall,' he has answered." "surely you asked him what he meant by the valley of fear?" "i did; but his face would become very grave and he would shake his head. 'it is bad enough that one of us should have been in its shadow,' he said. 'please god it shall never fall upon you!' it was some real valley in which he had lived and in which something terrible had occurred to him, of that i am certain; but i can tell you no more." "and he never mentioned any names?" "yes, he was delirious with fever once when he had his hunting accident three years ago. then i remember that there was a name that came continually to his lips. he spoke it with anger and a sort of horror. mcginty was the name--bodymaster mcginty. i asked him when he recovered who bodymaster mcginty was, and whose body he was master of. 'never of mine, thank god!' he answered with a laugh, and that was all i could get from him. but there is a connection between bodymaster mcginty and the valley of fear." "there is one other point," said inspector macdonald. "you met mr. douglas in a boarding house in london, did you not, and became engaged to him there? was there any romance, anything secret or mysterious, about the wedding?" "there was romance. there is always romance. there was nothing mysterious." "he had no rival?" "no, i was quite free." "you have heard, no doubt, that his wedding ring has been taken. does that suggest anything to you? suppose that some enemy of his old life had tracked him down and committed this crime, what possible reason could he have for taking his wedding ring?" for an instant i could have sworn that the faintest shadow of a smile flickered over the woman's lips. "i really cannot tell," she answered. "it is certainly a most extraordinary thing." "well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry to have put you to this trouble at such a time," said the inspector. "there are some other points, no doubt; but we can refer to you as they arise." she rose, and i was again conscious of that quick, questioning glance with which she had just surveyed us. "what impression has my evidence made upon you?" the question might as well have been spoken. then, with a bow, she swept from the room. "she's a beautiful woman--a very beautiful woman," said macdonald thoughtfully, after the door had closed behind her. "this man barker has certainly been down here a good deal. he is a man who might be attractive to a woman. he admits that the dead man was jealous, and maybe he knew best himself what cause he had for jealousy. then there's that wedding ring. you can't get past that. the man who tears a wedding ring off a dead man's--what do you say to it, mr. holmes?" my friend had sat with his head upon his hands, sunk in the deepest thought. now he rose and rang the bell. "ames," he said, when the butler entered, "where is mr. cecil barker now?" "i'll see, sir." he came back in a moment to say that barker was in the garden. "can you remember, ames, what mr. barker had on his feet last night when you joined him in the study?" "yes, mr. holmes. he had a pair of bedroom slippers. i brought him his boots when he went for the police." "where are the slippers now?" "they are still under the chair in the hall." "very good, ames. it is, of course, important for us to know which tracks may be mr. barker's and which from outside." "yes, sir. i may say that i noticed that the slippers were stained with blood--so indeed were my own." "that is natural enough, considering the condition of the room. very good, ames. we will ring if we want you." a few minutes later we were in the study. holmes had brought with him the carpet slippers from the hall. as ames had observed, the soles of both were dark with blood. "strange!" murmured holmes, as he stood in the light of the window and examined them minutely. "very strange indeed!" stooping with one of his quick feline pounces, he placed the slipper upon the blood mark on the sill. it exactly corresponded. he smiled in silence at his colleagues. the inspector was transfigured with excitement. his native accent rattled like a stick upon railings. "man," he cried, "there's not a doubt of it! barker has just marked the window himself. it's a good deal broader than any bootmark. i mind that you said it was a splay-foot, and here's the explanation. but what's the game, mr. holmes--what's the game?" "ay, what's the game?" my friend repeated thoughtfully. white mason chuckled and rubbed his fat hands together in his professional satisfaction. "i said it was a snorter!" he cried. "and a real snorter it is!" chapter vi a dawning light the three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire; so i returned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. but before doing so i took a stroll in the curious old-world garden which flanked the house. rows of very ancient yew trees cut into strange designs girded it round. inside was a beautiful stretch of lawn with an old sundial in the middle, the whole effect so soothing and restful that it was welcome to my somewhat jangled nerves. in that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember only as some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling, bloodstained figure on the floor. and yet, as i strolled round it and tried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange incident occurred, which brought me back to the tragedy and left a sinister impression in my mind. i have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. at the end farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge. on the other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyone approaching from the direction of the house, there was a stone seat. as i approached the spot i was aware of voices, some remark in the deep tones of a man, answered by a little ripple of feminine laughter. an instant later i had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes lit upon mrs. douglas and the man barker before they were aware of my presence. her appearance gave me a shock. in the dining-room she had been demure and discreet. now all pretense of grief had passed away from her. her eyes shone with the joy of living, and her face still quivered with amusement at some remark of her companion. he sat forward, his hands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with an answering smile upon his bold, handsome face. in an instant--but it was just one instant too late--they resumed their solemn masks as my figure came into view. a hurried word or two passed between them, and then barker rose and came towards me. "excuse me, sir," said he, "but am i addressing dr. watson?" i bowed with a coldness which showed, i dare say, very plainly the impression which had been produced upon my mind. "we thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with mr. sherlock holmes is so well known. would you mind coming over and speaking to mrs. douglas for one instant?" i followed him with a dour face. very clearly i could see in my mind's eye that shattered figure on the floor. here within a few hours of the tragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind a bush in the garden which had been his. i greeted the lady with reserve. i had grieved with her grief in the dining-room. now i met her appealing gaze with an unresponsive eye. "i fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted," said she. i shrugged my shoulders. "it is no business of mine," said i. "perhaps some day you will do me justice. if you only realized--" "there is no need why dr. watson should realize," said barker quickly. "as he has himself said, it is no possible business of his." "exactly," said i, "and so i will beg leave to resume my walk." "one moment, dr. watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice. "there is one question which you can answer with more authority than anyone else in the world, and it may make a very great difference to me. you know mr. holmes and his relations with the police better than anyone else can. supposing that a matter were brought confidentially to his knowledge, is it absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to the detectives?" "yes, that's it," said barker eagerly. "is he on his own or is he entirely in with them?" "i really don't know that i should be justified in discussing such a point." "i beg--i implore that you will, dr. watson! i assure you that you will be helping us--helping me greatly if you will guide us on that point." there was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that for the instant i forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will. "mr. holmes is an independent investigator," i said. "he is his own master, and would act as his own judgment directed. at the same time, he would naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were working on the same case, and he would not conceal from them anything which would help them in bringing a criminal to justice. beyond this i can say nothing, and i would refer you to mr. holmes himself if you wanted fuller information." so saying i raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them still seated behind that concealing hedge. i looked back as i rounded the far end of it, and saw that they were still talking very earnestly together, and, as they were gazing after me, it was clear that it was our interview that was the subject of their debate. "i wish none of their confidences," said holmes, when i reported to him what had occurred. he had spent the whole afternoon at the manor house in consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with a ravenous appetite for a high tea which i had ordered for him. "no confidences, watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrest for conspiracy and murder." "you think it will come to that?" he was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "my dear watson, when i have exterminated that fourth egg i shall be ready to put you in touch with the whole situation. i don't say that we have fathomed it--far from it--but when we have traced the missing dumb-bell--" "the dumb-bell!" "dear me, watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the fact that the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? well, well, you need not be downcast; for between ourselves i don't think that either inspector mac or the excellent local practitioner has grasped the overwhelming importance of this incident. one dumb-bell, watson! consider an athlete with one dumb-bell! picture to yourself the unilateral development, the imminent danger of a spinal curvature. shocking, watson, shocking!" he sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with mischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. the mere sight of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for i had very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food, when his baffled mind had chafed before some problem while his thin, eager features became more attenuated with the asceticism of complete mental concentration. finally he lit his pipe, and sitting in the inglenook of the old village inn he talked slowly and at random about his case, rather as one who thinks aloud than as one who makes a considered statement. "a lie, watson--a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising lie--that's what meets us on the threshold! there is our starting point. the whole story told by barker is a lie. but barker's story is corroborated by mrs. douglas. therefore she is lying also. they are both lying, and in a conspiracy. so now we have the clear problem. why are they lying, and what is the truth which they are trying so hard to conceal? let us try, watson, you and i, if we can get behind the lie and reconstruct the truth. "how do i know that they are lying? because it is a clumsy fabrication which simply could not be true. consider! according to the story given to us, the assassin had less than a minute after the murder had been committed to take that ring, which was under another ring, from the dead man's finger, to replace the other ring--a thing which he would surely never have done--and to put that singular card beside his victim. i say that this was obviously impossible. "you may argue--but i have too much respect for your judgment, watson, to think that you will do so--that the ring may have been taken before the man was killed. the fact that the candle had been lit only a short time shows that there had been no lengthy interview. was douglas, from what we hear of his fearless character, a man who would be likely to give up his wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive of his giving it up at all? no, no, watson, the assassin was alone with the dead man for some time with the lamp lit. of that i have no doubt at all. "but the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. therefore the shot must have been fired some time earlier than we are told. but there could be no mistake about such a matter as that. we are in the presence, therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon the part of the two people who heard the gunshot--of the man barker and of the woman douglas. when on the top of this i am able to show that the blood mark on the windowsill was deliberately placed there by barker, in order to give a false clue to the police, you will admit that the case grows dark against him. "now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actually did occur. up to half-past ten the servants were moving about the house; so it was certainly not before that time. at a quarter to eleven they had all gone to their rooms with the exception of ames, who was in the pantry. i have been trying some experiments after you left us this afternoon, and i find that no noise which macdonald can make in the study can penetrate to me in the pantry when the doors are all shut. "it is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. it is not so far down the corridor, and from it i could vaguely hear a voice when it was very loudly raised. the sound from a shotgun is to some extent muffled when the discharge is at very close range, as it undoubtedly was in this instance. it would not be very loud, and yet in the silence of the night it should have easily penetrated to mrs. allen's room. she is, as she has told us, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her evidence that she did hear something like a door slamming half an hour before the alarm was given. half an hour before the alarm was given would be a quarter to eleven. i have no doubt that what she heard was the report of the gun, and that this was the real instant of the murder. "if this is so, we have now to determine what barker and mrs. douglas, presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could have been doing from quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot brought them down, until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell and summoned the servants. what were they doing, and why did they not instantly give the alarm? that is the question which faces us, and when it has been answered we shall surely have gone some way to solve our problem." "i am convinced myself," said i, "that there is an understanding between those two people. she must be a heartless creature to sit laughing at some jest within a few hours of her husband's murder." "exactly. she does not shine as a wife even in her own account of what occurred. i am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, as you are aware, watson, but my experience of life has taught me that there are few wives, having any regard for their husbands, who would let any man's spoken word stand between them and that husband's dead body. should i ever marry, watson, i should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of her. it was badly stage-managed; for even the rawest investigators must be struck by the absence of the usual feminine ululation. if there had been nothing else, this incident alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my mind." "you think then, definitely, that barker and mrs. douglas are guilty of the murder?" "there is an appalling directness about your questions, watson," said holmes, shaking his pipe at me. "they come at me like bullets. if you put it that mrs. douglas and barker know the truth about the murder, and are conspiring to conceal it, then i can give you a whole-souled answer. i am sure they do. but your more deadly proposition is not so clear. let us for a moment consider the difficulties which stand in the way. "we will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a guilty love, and that they have determined to get rid of the man who stands between them. it is a large supposition; for discreet inquiry among servants and others has failed to corroborate it in any way. on the contrary, there is a good deal of evidence that the douglases were very attached to each other." "that, i am sure, cannot he true." said i, thinking of the beautiful smiling face in the garden. "well at least they gave that impression. however, we will suppose that they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone upon this point, and conspire to murder the husband. he happens to be a man over whose head some danger hangs--" "we have only their word for that." holmes looked thoughtful. "i see, watson. you are sketching out a theory by which everything they say from the beginning is false. according to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secret society, or valley of fear, or boss macsomebody, or anything else. well, that is a good sweeping generalization. let us see what that brings us to. they invent this theory to account for the crime. they then play up to the idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof of the existence of some outsider. the stain on the windowsill conveys the same idea. so does the card on the body, which might have been prepared in the house. that all fits into your hypothesis, watson. but now we come on the nasty, angular, uncompromising bits which won't slip into their places. why a cut-off shotgun of all weapons--and an american one at that? how could they be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to them? it's a mere chance as it is that mrs. allen did not start out to inquire for the slamming door. why did your guilty couple do all this, watson?" "i confess that i can't explain it." "then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband, are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing his wedding ring after his death? does that strike you as very probable, watson?" "no, it does not." "and once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outside had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when the dullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as the bicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in order to make his escape." "i can conceive of no explanation." "and yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit of man cannot conceive an explanation. simply as a mental exercise, without any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible line of thought. it is, i admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination the mother of truth? "we will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful secret in the life of this man douglas. this leads to his murder by someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside. this avenger, for some reason which i confess i am still at a loss to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. the vendetta might conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the ring be taken for some such reason. "before this avenger got away, barker and the wife had reached the room. the assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him would lead to the publication of some hideous scandal. they were converted to this idea, and preferred to let him go. for this purpose they probably lowered the bridge, which can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised it again. he made his escape, and for some reason thought that he could do so more safely on foot than on the bicycle. he therefore left his machine where it would not be discovered until he had got safely away. so far we are within the bounds of possibility, are we not?" "well, it is possible, no doubt," said i, with some reserve. "we have to remember, watson, that whatever occurred is certainly something very extraordinary. well, now, to continue our supposititious case, the couple--not necessarily a guilty couple--realize after the murderer is gone that they have placed themselves in a position in which it may be difficult for them to prove that they did not themselves either do the deed or connive at it. they rapidly and rather clumsily met the situation. the mark was put by barker's bloodstained slipper upon the window-sill to suggest how the fugitive got away. they obviously were the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good half hour after the event." "and how do you propose to prove all this?" "well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. that would be the most effective of all proofs. but if not--well, the resources of science are far from being exhausted. i think that an evening alone in that study would help me much." "an evening alone!" "i propose to go up there presently. i have arranged it with the estimable ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about barker. i shall sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. i'm a believer in the genius loci. you smile, friend watson. well, we shall see. by the way, you have that big umbrella of yours, have you not?" "it is here." "well, i'll borrow that if i may." "certainly--but what a wretched weapon! if there is danger--" "nothing serious, my dear watson, or i should certainly ask for your assistance. but i'll take the umbrella. at present i am only awaiting the return of our colleagues from tunbridge wells, where they are at present engaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle." it was nightfall before inspector macdonald and white mason came back from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a great advance in our investigation. "man, i'll admeet that i had my doubts if there was ever an outsider," said macdonald, "but that's all past now. we've had the bicycle identified, and we have a description of our man; so that's a long step on our journey." "it sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said holmes. "i'm sure i congratulate you both with all my heart." "well, i started from the fact that mr. douglas had seemed disturbed since the day before, when he had been at tunbridge wells. it was at tunbridge wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. it was clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it was from tunbridge wells that he might be expected to have come. we took the bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. it was identified at once by the manager of the eagle commercial as belonging to a man named hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before. this bicycle and a small valise were his whole belongings. he had registered his name as coming from london, but had given no address. the valise was london made, and the contents were british; but the man himself was undoubtedly an american." "well, well," said holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done some solid work while i have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! it's a lesson in being practical, mr. mac." "ay, it's just that, mr. holmes," said the inspector with satisfaction. "but this may all fit in with your theories," i remarked. "that may or may not be. but let us hear the end, mr. mac. was there nothing to identify this man?" "so little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himself against identification. there were no papers or letters, and no marking upon the clothes. a cycle map of the county lay on his bedroom table. he had left the hotel after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle, and no more was heard of him until our inquiries." "that's what puzzles me, mr. holmes," said white mason. "if the fellow did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would imagine that he would have returned and remained at the hotel as an inoffensive tourist. as it is, he must know that he will be reported to the police by the hotel manager and that his disappearance will be connected with the murder." "so one would imagine. still, he has been justified of his wisdom up to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. but his description--what of that?" macdonald referred to his notebook. "here we have it so far as they could give it. they don't seem to have taken any very particular stock of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are all agreed that this about covers the points. he was a man about five foot nine in height, fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of them described as fierce and forbidding." "well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description of douglas himself," said holmes. "he is just over fifty, with grizzled hair and moustache, and about the same height. did you get anything else?" "he was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he wore a short yellow overcoat and a soft cap." "what about the shotgun?" "it is less than two feet long. it could very well have fitted into his valise. he could have carried it inside his overcoat without difficulty." "and how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?" "well, mr. holmes," said macdonald, "when we have got our man--and you may be sure that i had his description on the wires within five minutes of hearing it--we shall be better able to judge. but, even as it stands, we have surely gone a long way. we know that an american calling himself hargrave came to tunbridge wells two days ago with bicycle and valise. in the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came with the deliberate purpose of crime. yesterday morning he set off for this place on his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. no one saw him arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through the village to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road. presumably he at once concealed his cycle among the laurels where it was found, and possibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house, waiting for mr. douglas to come out. the shotgun is a strange weapon to use inside a house; but he had intended to use it outside, and there it has very obvious advantages, as it would be impossible to miss with it, and the sound of shots is so common in an english sporting neighbourhood that no particular notice would be taken." "that is all very clear," said holmes. "well, mr. douglas did not appear. what was he to do next? he left his bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. he found the bridge down and no one about. he took his chance, intending, no doubt, to make some excuse if he met anyone. he met no one. he slipped into the first room that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain. thence he could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape was through the moat. he waited until quarter-past eleven, when mr. douglas upon his usual nightly round came into the room. he shot him and escaped, as arranged. he was aware that the bicycle would be described by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and made his way by some other means to london or to some safe hiding place which he had already arranged. how is that, mr. holmes?" "well, mr. mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. that is your end of the story. my end is that the crime was committed half an hour earlier than reported; that mrs. douglas and barker are both in a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer's escape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--and that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the bridge. that's my reading of the first half." the two detectives shook their heads. "well, mr. holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery into another," said the london inspector. "and in some ways a worse one," added white mason. "the lady has never been in america in all her life. what possible connection could she have with an american assassin which would cause her to shelter him?" "i freely admit the difficulties," said holmes. "i propose to make a little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it may contribute something to the common cause." "can we help you, mr. holmes?" "no, no! darkness and dr. watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. and ames, the faithful ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. all my lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question--why should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?" it was late that night when holmes returned from his solitary excursion. we slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little country inn could do for us. i was already asleep when i was partly awakened by his entrance. "well, holmes," i murmured, "have you found anything out?" he stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. then the tall, lean figure inclined towards me. "i say, watson," he whispered, "would you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?" "not in the least," i answered in astonishment. "ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter that night. chapter vii the solution next morning, after breakfast, we found inspector macdonald and white mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the local police sergeant. on the table in front of them were piled a number of letters and telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing. three had been placed on one side. "still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?" holmes asked cheerfully. "what is the latest news of the ruffian?" macdonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence. "he is at present reported from leicester, nottingham, southampton, derby, east ham, richmond, and fourteen other places. in three of them--east ham, leicester, and liverpool--there is a clear case against him, and he has actually been arrested. the country seems to be full of the fugitives with yellow coats." "dear me!" said holmes sympathetically. "now, mr. mac and you, mr. white mason, i wish to give you a very earnest piece of advice. when i went into this case with you i bargained, as you will no doubt remember, that i should not present you with half-proved theories, but that i should retain and work out my own ideas until i had satisfied myself that they were correct. for this reason i am not at the present moment telling you all that is in my mind. on the other hand, i said that i would play the game fairly by you, and i do not think it is a fair game to allow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your energies upon a profitless task. therefore i am here to advise you this morning, and my advice to you is summed up in three words--abandon the case." macdonald and white mason stared in amazement at their celebrated colleague. "you consider it hopeless!" cried the inspector. "i consider your case to be hopeless. i do not consider that it is hopeless to arrive at the truth." "but this cyclist. he is not an invention. we have his description, his valise, his bicycle. the fellow must be somewhere. why should we not get him?" "yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall get him; but i would not have you waste your energies in east ham or liverpool. i am sure that we can find some shorter cut to a result." "you are holding something back. it's hardly fair of you, mr. holmes." the inspector was annoyed. "you know my methods of work, mr. mac. but i will hold it back for the shortest time possible. i only wish to verify my details in one way, which can very readily be done, and then i make my bow and return to london, leaving my results entirely at your service. i owe you too much to act otherwise; for in all my experience i cannot recall any more singular and interesting study." "this is clean beyond me, mr. holmes. we saw you when we returned from tunbridge wells last night, and you were in general agreement with our results. what has happened since then to give you a completely new idea of the case?" "well, since you ask me, i spent, as i told you that i would, some hours last night at the manor house." "well, what happened?" "ah, i can only give you a very general answer to that for the moment. by the way, i have been reading a short but clear and interesting account of the old building, purchasable at the modest sum of one penny from the local tobacconist." here holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude engraving of the ancient manor house, from his waistcoat pocket. "it immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear mr. mac, when one is in conscious sympathy with the historical atmosphere of one's surroundings. don't look so impatient; for i assure you that even so bald an account as this raises some sort of picture of the past in one's mind. permit me to give you a sample. 'erected in the fifth year of the reign of james i, and standing upon the site of a much older building, the manor house of birlstone presents one of the finest surviving examples of the moated jacobean residence--' " "you are making fools of us, mr. holmes!" "tut, tut, mr. mac!--the first sign of temper i have detected in you. well, i won't read it verbatim, since you feel so strongly upon the subject. but when i tell you that there is some account of the taking of the place by a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of the concealment of charles for several days in the course of the civil war, and finally of a visit there by the second george, you will admit that there are various associations of interest connected with this ancient house." "i don't doubt it, mr. holmes; but that is no business of ours." "is it not? is it not? breadth of view, my dear mr. mac, is one of the essentials of our profession. the interplay of ideas and the oblique uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest. you will excuse these remarks from one who, though a mere connoisseur of crime, is still rather older and perhaps more experienced than yourself." "i'm the first to admit that," said the detective heartily. "you get to your point, i admit; but you have such a deuced round-the-corner way of doing it." "well, well, i'll drop past history and get down to present-day facts. i called last night, as i have already said, at the manor house. i did not see either barker or mrs. douglas. i saw no necessity to disturb them; but i was pleased to hear that the lady was not visibly pining and that she had partaken of an excellent dinner. my visit was specially made to the good mr. ames, with whom i exchanged some amiabilities, which culminated in his allowing me, without reference to anyone else, to sit alone for a time in the study." "what! with that?" i ejaculated. "no, no, everything is now in order. you gave permission for that, mr. mac, as i am informed. the room was in its normal state, and in it i passed an instructive quarter of an hour." "what were you doing?" "well, not to make a mystery of so simple a matter, i was looking for the missing dumb-bell. it has always bulked rather large in my estimate of the case. i ended by finding it." "where?" "ah, there we come to the edge of the unexplored. let me go a little further, a very little further, and i will promise that you shall share everything that i know." "well, we're bound to take you on your own terms," said the inspector; "but when it comes to telling us to abandon the case--why in the name of goodness should we abandon the case?" "for the simple reason, my dear mr. mac, that you have not got the first idea what it is that you are investigating." "we are investigating the murder of mr. john douglas of birlstone manor." "yes, yes, so you are. but don't trouble to trace the mysterious gentleman upon the bicycle. i assure you that it won't help you." "then what do you suggest that we do?" "i will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do it." "well, i'm bound to say i've always found you had reason behind all your queer ways. i'll do what you advise." "and you, mr. white mason?" the country detective looked helplessly from one to the other. holmes and his methods were new to him. "well, if it is good enough for the inspector, it is good enough for me," he said at last. "capital!" said holmes. "well, then, i should recommend a nice, cheery country walk for both of you. they tell me that the views from birlstone ridge over the weald are very remarkable. no doubt lunch could be got at some suitable hostelry; though my ignorance of the country prevents me from recommending one. in the evening, tired but happy--" "man, this is getting past a joke!" cried macdonald, rising angrily from his chair. "well, well, spend the day as you like," said holmes, patting him cheerfully upon the shoulder. "do what you like and go where you will, but meet me here before dusk without fail--without fail, mr. mac." "that sounds more like sanity." "all of it was excellent advice; but i don't insist, so long as you are here when i need you. but now, before we part, i want you to write a note to mr. barker." "well?" "i'll dictate it, if you like. ready? "dear sir: "it has struck me that it is our duty to drain the moat, in the hope that we may find some--" "it's impossible," said the inspector. "i've made inquiry." "tut, tut! my dear sir, please do what i ask you." "well, go on." "--in the hope that we may find something which may bear upon our investigation. i have made arrangements, and the workmen will be at work early to-morrow morning diverting the stream--" "impossible!" "--diverting the stream; so i thought it best to explain matters beforehand. "now sign that, and send it by hand about four o'clock. at that hour we shall meet again in this room. until then we may each do what we like; for i can assure you that this inquiry has come to a definite pause." evening was drawing in when we reassembled. holmes was very serious in his manner, myself curious, and the detectives obviously critical and annoyed. "well, gentlemen," said my friend gravely, "i am asking you now to put everything to the test with me, and you will judge for yourselves whether the observations i have made justify the conclusions to which i have come. it is a chill evening, and i do not know how long our expedition may last; so i beg that you will wear your warmest coats. it is of the first importance that we should be in our places before it grows dark; so with your permission we shall get started at once." we passed along the outer bounds of the manor house park until we came to a place where there was a gap in the rails which fenced it. through this we slipped, and then in the gathering gloom we followed holmes until we had reached a shrubbery which lies nearly opposite to the main door and the drawbridge. the latter had not been raised. holmes crouched down behind the screen of laurels, and we all three followed his example. "well, what are we to do now?" asked macdonald with some gruffness. "possess our souls in patience and make as little noise as possible," holmes answered. "what are we here for at all? i really think that you might treat us with more frankness." holmes laughed. "watson insists that i am the dramatist in real life," said he. "some touch of the artist wells up within me, and calls insistently for a well-staged performance. surely our profession, mr. mac, would be a drab and sordid one if we did not sometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results. the blunt accusation, the brutal tap upon the shoulder--what can one make of such a dnouement? but the quick inference, the subtle trap, the clever forecast of coming events, the triumphant vindication of bold theories--are these not the pride and the justification of our life's work? at the present moment you thrill with the glamour of the situation and the anticipation of the hunt. where would be that thrill if i had been as definite as a timetable? i only ask a little patience, mr. mac, and all will be clear to you." "well, i hope the pride and justification and the rest of it will come before we all get our death of cold," said the london detective with comic resignation. we all had good reason to join in the aspiration; for our vigil was a long and bitter one. slowly the shadows darkened over the long, sombre face of the old house. a cold, damp reek from the moat chilled us to the bones and set our teeth chattering. there was a single lamp over the gateway and a steady globe of light in the fatal study. everything else was dark and still. "how long is this to last?" asked the inspector finally. "and what is it we are watching for?" "i have no more notion than you how long it is to last," holmes answered with some asperity. "if criminals would always schedule their movements like railway trains, it would certainly be more convenient for all of us. as to what it is we--well, that's what we are watching for!" as he spoke the bright, yellow light in the study was obscured by somebody passing to and fro before it. the laurels among which we lay were immediately opposite the window and not more than a hundred feet from it. presently it was thrown open with a whining of hinges, and we could dimly see the dark outline of a man's head and shoulders looking out into the gloom. for some minutes he peered forth in furtive, stealthy fashion, as one who wishes to be assured that he is unobserved. then he leaned forward, and in the intense silence we were aware of the soft lapping of agitated water. he seemed to be stirring up the moat with something which he held in his hand. then suddenly he hauled something in as a fisherman lands a fish--some large, round object which obscured the light as it was dragged through the open casement. "now!" cried holmes. "now!" we were all upon our feet, staggering after him with our stiffened limbs, while he ran swiftly across the bridge and rang violently at the bell. there was the rasping of bolts from the other side, and the amazed ames stood in the entrance. holmes brushed him aside without a word and, followed by all of us, rushed into the room which had been occupied by the man whom we had been watching. the oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had seen from outside. it was now in the hand of cecil barker, who held it towards us as we entered. its light shone upon his strong, resolute, clean-shaved face and his menacing eyes. "what the devil is the meaning of all this?" he cried. "what are you after, anyhow?" holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a sodden bundle tied together with cord which lay where it had been thrust under the writing table. "this is what we are after, mr. barker--this bundle, weighted with a dumb-bell, which you have just raised from the bottom of the moat." barker stared at holmes with amazement in his face. "how in thunder came you to know anything about it?" he asked. "simply that i put it there." "you put it there! you!" "perhaps i should have said 'replaced it there,'" said holmes. "you will remember, inspector macdonald, that i was somewhat struck by the absence of a dumb-bell. i drew your attention to it; but with the pressure of other events you had hardly the time to give it the consideration which would have enabled you to draw deductions from it. when water is near and a weight is missing it is not a very far-fetched supposition that something has been sunk in the water. the idea was at least worth testing; so with the help of ames, who admitted me to the room, and the crook of dr. watson's umbrella, i was able last night to fish up and inspect this bundle. "it was of the first importance, however, that we should be able to prove who placed it there. this we accomplished by the very obvious device of announcing that the moat would be dried to-morrow, which had, of course, the effect that whoever had hidden the bundle would most certainly withdraw it the moment that darkness enabled him to do so. we have no less than four witnesses as to who it was who took advantage of the opportunity, and so, mr. barker, i think the word lies now with you." sherlock holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside the lamp and undid the cord which bound it. from within he extracted a dumb-bell, which he tossed down to its fellow in the corner. next he drew forth a pair of boots. "american, as you perceive," he remarked, pointing to the toes. then he laid upon the table a long, deadly, sheathed knife. finally he unravelled a bundle of clothing, comprising a complete set of underclothes, socks, a gray tweed suit, and a short yellow overcoat. "the clothes are commonplace," remarked holmes, "save only the overcoat, which is full of suggestive touches." he held it tenderly towards the light. "here, as you perceive, is the inner pocket prolonged into the lining in such fashion as to give ample space for the truncated fowling piece. the tailor's tab is on the neck--'neal, outfitter, vermissa, u. s. a.' i have spent an instructive afternoon in the rector's library, and have enlarged my knowledge by adding the fact that vermissa is a flourishing little town at the head of one of the best known coal and iron valleys in the united states. i have some recollection, mr. barker, that you associated the coal districts with mr. douglas's first wife, and it would surely not be too far-fetched an inference that the v. v. upon the card by the dead body might stand for vermissa valley, or that this very valley which sends forth emissaries of murder may be that valley of fear of which we have heard. so much is fairly clear. and now, mr. barker, i seem to be standing rather in the way of your explanation." it was a sight to see cecil barker's expressive face during this exposition of the great detective. anger, amazement, consternation, and indecision swept over it in turn. finally he took refuge in a somewhat acrid irony. "you know such a lot, mr. holmes, perhaps you had better tell us some more," he sneered. "i have no doubt that i could tell you a great deal more, mr. barker; but it would come with a better grace from you." "oh, you think so, do you? well, all i can say is that if there's any secret here it is not my secret, and i am not the man to give it away." "well, if you take that line, mr. barker," said the inspector quietly, "we must just keep you in sight until we have the warrant and can hold you." "you can do what you damn please about that," said barker defiantly. the proceedings seemed to have come to a definite end so far as he was concerned; for one had only to look at that granite face to realize that no peine forte et dure would ever force him to plead against his will. the deadlock was broken, however, by a woman's voice. mrs. douglas had been standing listening at the half opened door, and now she entered the room. "you have done enough for now, cecil," said she. "whatever comes of it in the future, you have done enough." "enough and more than enough," remarked sherlock holmes gravely. "i have every sympathy with you, madam, and should strongly urge you to have some confidence in the common sense of our jurisdiction and to take the police voluntarily into your complete confidence. it may be that i am myself at fault for not following up the hint which you conveyed to me through my friend, dr. watson; but, at that time i had every reason to believe that you were directly concerned in the crime. now i am assured that this is not so. at the same time, there is much that is unexplained, and i should strongly recommend that you ask mr. douglas to tell us his own story." mrs. douglas gave a cry of astonishment at holmes's words. the detectives and i must have echoed it, when we were aware of a man who seemed to have emerged from the wall, who advanced now from the gloom of the corner in which he had appeared. mrs. douglas turned, and in an instant her arms were round him. barker had seized his outstretched hand. "it's best this way, jack," his wife repeated; "i am sure that it is best." "indeed, yes, mr. douglas," said sherlock holmes, "i am sure that you will find it best." the man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one who comes from the dark into the light. it was a remarkable face, bold gray eyes, a strong, short-clipped, grizzled moustache, a square, projecting chin, and a humorous mouth. he took a good look at us all, and then to my amazement he advanced to me and handed me a bundle of paper. "i've heard of you," said he in a voice which was not quite english and not quite american, but was altogether mellow and pleasing. "you are the historian of this bunch. well, dr. watson, you've never had such a story as that pass through your hands before, and i'll lay my last dollar on that. tell it your own way; but there are the facts, and you can't miss the public so long as you have those. i've been cooped up two days, and i've spent the daylight hours--as much daylight as i could get in that rat trap--in putting the thing into words. you're welcome to them--you and your public. there's the story of the valley of fear." "that's the past, mr. douglas," said sherlock holmes quietly. "what we desire now is to hear your story of the present." "you'll have it, sir," said douglas. "may i smoke as i talk? well, thank you, mr. holmes. you're a smoker yourself, if i remember right, and you'll guess what it is to be sitting for two days with tobacco in your pocket and afraid that the smell will give you away." he leaned against the mantelpiece and sucked at the cigar which holmes had handed him. "i've heard of you, mr. holmes. i never guessed that i should meet you. but before you are through with that," he nodded at my papers, "you will say i've brought you something fresh." inspector macdonald had been staring at the newcomer with the greatest amazement. "well, this fairly beats me!" he cried at last. "if you are mr. john douglas of birlstone manor, then whose death have we been investigating for these two days, and where in the world have you sprung from now? you seemed to me to come out of the floor like a jack-in-a-box." "ah, mr. mac," said holmes, shaking a reproving forefinger, "you would not read that excellent local compilation which described the concealment of king charles. people did not hide in those days without excellent hiding places, and the hiding place that has once been used may be again. i had persuaded myself that we should find mr. douglas under this roof." "and how long have you been playing this trick upon us, mr. holmes?" said the inspector angrily. "how long have you allowed us to waste ourselves upon a search that you knew to be an absurd one?" "not one instant, my dear mr. mac. only last night did i form my views of the case. as they could not be put to the proof until this evening, i invited you and your colleague to take a holiday for the day. pray what more could i do? when i found the suit of clothes in the moat, it at once became apparent to me that the body we had found could not have been the body of mr. john douglas at all, but must be that of the bicyclist from tunbridge wells. no other conclusion was possible. therefore i had to determine where mr. john douglas himself could be, and the balance of probability was that with the connivance of his wife and his friend he was concealed in a house which had such conveniences for a fugitive, and awaiting quieter times when he could make his final escape." "well, you figured it out about right," said douglas approvingly. "i thought i'd dodge your british law; for i was not sure how i stood under it, and also i saw my chance to throw these hounds once for all off my track. mind you, from first to last i have done nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing that i would not do again; but you'll judge that for yourselves when i tell you my story. never mind warning me, inspector: i'm ready to stand pat upon the truth. "i'm not going to begin at the beginning. that's all there," he indicated my bundle of papers, "and a mighty queer yarn you'll find it. it all comes down to this: that there are some men that have good cause to hate me and would give their last dollar to know that they had got me. so long as i am alive and they are alive, there is no safety in this world for me. they hunted me from chicago to california, then they chased me out of america; but when i married and settled down in this quiet spot i thought my last years were going to be peaceable. "i never explained to my wife how things were. why should i pull her into it? she would never have a quiet moment again; but would always be imagining trouble. i fancy she knew something, for i may have dropped a word here or a word there; but until yesterday, after you gentlemen had seen her, she never knew the rights of the matter. she told you all she knew, and so did barker here; for on the night when this thing happened there was mighty little time for explanations. she knows everything now, and i would have been a wiser man if i had told her sooner. but it was a hard question, dear," he took her hand for an instant in his own, "and i acted for the best. "well, gentlemen, the day before these happenings i was over in tunbridge wells, and i got a glimpse of a man in the street. it was only a glimpse; but i have a quick eye for these things, and i never doubted who it was. it was the worst enemy i had among them all--one who has been after me like a hungry wolf after a caribou all these years. i knew there was trouble coming, and i came home and made ready for it. i guessed i'd fight through it all right on my own, my luck was a proverb in the states about '76. i never doubted that it would be with me still. "i was on my guard all that next day, and never went out into the park. it's as well, or he'd have had the drop on me with that buckshot gun of his before ever i could draw on him. after the bridge was up--my mind was always more restful when that bridge was up in the evenings--i put the thing clear out of my head. i never dreamed of his getting into the house and waiting for me. but when i made my round in my dressing gown, as was my habit, i had no sooner entered the study than i scented danger. i guess when a man has had dangers in his life--and i've had more than most in my time--there is a kind of sixth sense that waves the red flag. i saw the signal clear enough, and yet i couldn't tell you why. next instant i spotted a boot under the window curtain, and then i saw why plain enough. "i'd just the one candle that was in my hand; but there was a good light from the hall lamp through the open door. i put down the candle and jumped for a hammer that i'd left on the mantel. at the same moment he sprang at me. i saw the glint of a knife, and i lashed at him with the hammer. i got him somewhere; for the knife tinkled down on the floor. he dodged round the table as quick as an eel, and a moment later he'd got his gun from under his coat. i heard him cock it; but i had got hold of it before he could fire. i had it by the barrel, and we wrestled for it all ends up for a minute or more. it was death to the man that lost his grip. "he never lost his grip; but he got it butt downward for a moment too long. maybe it was i that pulled the trigger. maybe we just jolted it off between us. anyhow, he got both barrels in the face, and there i was, staring down at all that was left of ted baldwin. i'd recognized him in the township, and again when he sprang for me; but his own mother wouldn't recognize him as i saw him then. i'm used to rough work; but i fairly turned sick at the sight of him. "i was hanging on the side of the table when barker came hurrying down. i heard my wife coming, and i ran to the door and stopped her. it was no sight for a woman. i promised i'd come to her soon. i said a word or two to barker--he took it all in at a glance--and we waited for the rest to come along. but there was no sign of them. then we understood that they could hear nothing, and that all that had happened was known only to ourselves. "it was at that instant that the idea came to me. i was fairly dazzled by the brilliance of it. the man's sleeve had slipped up and there was the branded mark of the lodge upon his forearm. see here!" the man whom we had known as douglas turned up his own coat and cuff to show a brown triangle within a circle exactly like that which we had seen upon the dead man. "it was the sight of that which started me on it. i seemed to see it all clear at a glance. there were his height and hair and figure, about the same as my own. no one could swear to his face, poor devil! i brought down this suit of clothes, and in a quarter of an hour barker and i had put my dressing gown on him and he lay as you found him. we tied all his things into a bundle, and i weighted them with the only weight i could find and put them through the window. the card he had meant to lay upon my body was lying beside his own. "my rings were put on his finger; but when it came to the wedding ring," he held out his muscular hand, "you can see for yourselves that i had struck the limit. i have not moved it since the day i was married, and it would have taken a file to get it off. i don't know, anyhow, that i should have cared to part with it; but if i had wanted to i couldn't. so we just had to leave that detail to take care of itself. on the other hand, i brought a bit of plaster down and put it where i am wearing one myself at this instant. you slipped up there, mr. holmes, clever as you are; for if you had chanced to take off that plaster you would have found no cut underneath it. "well, that was the situation. if i could lie low for a while and then get away where i could be joined by my 'widow' we should have a chance at last of living in peace for the rest of our lives. these devils would give me no rest so long as i was above ground; but if they saw in the papers that baldwin had got his man, there would be an end of all my troubles. i hadn't much time to make it all clear to barker and to my wife; but they understood enough to be able to help me. i knew all about this hiding place, so did ames; but it never entered his head to connect it with the matter. i retired into it, and it was up to barker to do the rest. "i guess you can fill in for yourselves what he did. he opened the window and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how the murderer escaped. it was a tall order, that; but as the bridge was up there was no other way. then, when everything was fixed, he rang the bell for all he was worth. what happened afterward you know. and so, gentlemen, you can do what you please; but i've told you the truth and the whole truth, so help me god! what i ask you now is how do i stand by the english law?" there was a silence which was broken by sherlock holmes. "the english law is in the main a just law. you will get no worse than your deserts from that, mr. douglas. but i would ask you how did this man know that you lived here, or how to get into your house, or where to hide to get you?" "i know nothing of this." holmes's face was very white and grave. "the story is not over yet, i fear," said he. "you may find worse dangers than the english law, or even than your enemies from america. i see trouble before you, mr. douglas. you'll take my advice and still be on your guard." and now, my long-suffering readers, i will ask you to come away with me for a time, far from the sussex manor house of birlstone, and far also from the year of grace in which we made our eventful journey which ended with the strange story of the man who had been known as john douglas. i wish you to journey back some twenty years in time, and westward some thousands of miles in space, that i may lay before you a singular and terrible narrative--so singular and so terrible that you may find it hard to believe that even as i tell it, even so did it occur. do not think that i intrude one story before another is finished. as you read on you will find that this is not so. and when i have detailed those distant events and you have solved this mystery of the past, we shall meet once more in those rooms on baker street, where this, like so many other wonderful happenings, will find its end. part ii the scowrers chapter i the man it was the fourth of february in the year 1875. it had been a severe winter, and the snow lay deep in the gorges of the gilmerton mountains. the steam ploughs had, however, kept the railroad open, and the evening train which connects the long line of coal-mining and iron-working settlements was slowly groaning its way up the steep gradients which lead from stagville on the plain to vermissa, the central township which lies at the head of vermissa valley. from this point the track sweeps downward to bartons crossing, helmdale, and the purely agricultural county of merton. it was a single-track railroad; but at every siding--and they were numerous--long lines of trucks piled with coal and iron ore told of the hidden wealth which had brought a rude population and a bustling life to this most desolate corner of the united states of america. for desolate it was! little could the first pioneer who had traversed it have ever imagined that the fairest prairies and the most lush water pastures were valueless compared to this gloomy land of black crag and tangled forest. above the dark and often scarcely penetrable woods upon their flanks, the high, bare crowns of the mountains, white snow, and jagged rock towered upon each flank, leaving a long, winding, tortuous valley in the centre. up this the little train was slowly crawling. the oil lamps had just been lit in the leading passenger car, a long, bare carriage in which some twenty or thirty people were seated. the greater number of these were workmen returning from their day's toil in the lower part of the valley. at least a dozen, by their grimed faces and the safety lanterns which they carried, proclaimed themselves miners. these sat smoking in a group and conversed in low voices, glancing occasionally at two men on the opposite side of the car, whose uniforms and badges showed them to be policemen. several women of the labouring class and one or two travellers who might have been small local storekeepers made up the rest of the company, with the exception of one young man in a corner by himself. it is with this man that we are concerned. take a good look at him, for he is worth it. he is a fresh-complexioned, middle-sized young man, not far, one would guess, from his thirtieth year. he has large, shrewd, humorous gray eyes which twinkle inquiringly from time to time as he looks round through his spectacles at the people about him. it is easy to see that he is of a sociable and possibly simple disposition, anxious to be friendly to all men. anyone could pick him at once as gregarious in his habits and communicative in his nature, with a quick wit and a ready smile. and yet the man who studied him more closely might discern a certain firmness of jaw and grim tightness about the lips which would warn him that there were depths beyond, and that this pleasant, brown-haired young irishman might conceivably leave his mark for good or evil upon any society to which he was introduced. having made one or two tentative remarks to the nearest miner, and receiving only short, gruff replies, the traveller resigned himself to uncongenial silence, staring moodily out of the window at the fading landscape. it was not a cheering prospect. through the growing gloom there pulsed the red glow of the furnaces on the sides of the hills. great heaps of slag and dumps of cinders loomed up on each side, with the high shafts of the collieries towering above them. huddled groups of mean, wooden houses, the windows of which were beginning to outline themselves in light, were scattered here and there along the line, and the frequent halting places were crowded with their swarthy inhabitants. the iron and coal valleys of the vermissa district were no resorts for the leisured or the cultured. everywhere there were stern signs of the crudest battle of life, the rude work to be done, and the rude, strong workers who did it. the young traveller gazed out into this dismal country with a face of mingled repulsion and interest, which showed that the scene was new to him. at intervals he drew from his pocket a bulky letter to which he referred, and on the margins of which he scribbled some notes. once from the back of his waist he produced something which one would hardly have expected to find in the possession of so mild-mannered a man. it was a navy revolver of the largest size. as he turned it slantwise to the light, the glint upon the rims of the copper shells within the drum showed that it was fully loaded. he quickly restored it to his secret pocket, but not before it had been observed by a working man who had seated himself upon the adjoining bench. "hullo, mate!" said he. "you seem heeled and ready." the young man smiled with an air of embarrassment. "yes," said he, "we need them sometimes in the place i come from." "and where may that be?" "i'm last from chicago." "a stranger in these parts?" "yes." "you may find you need it here," said the workman. "ah! is that so?" the young man seemed interested. "have you heard nothing of doings hereabouts?" "nothing out of the way." "why, i thought the country was full of it. you'll hear quick enough. what made you come here?" "i heard there was always work for a willing man." "are you a member of the union?" "sure." "then you'll get your job, i guess. have you any friends?" "not yet; but i have the means of making them." "how's that, then?" "i am one of the eminent order of freemen. there's no town without a lodge, and where there is a lodge i'll find my friends." the remark had a singular effect upon his companion. he glanced round suspiciously at the others in the car. the miners were still whispering among themselves. the two police officers were dozing. he came across, seated himself close to the young traveller, and held out his hand. "put it there," he said. a hand-grip passed between the two. "i see you speak the truth," said the workman. "but it's well to make certain." he raised his right hand to his right eyebrow. the traveller at once raised his left hand to his left eyebrow. "dark nights are unpleasant," said the workman. "yes, for strangers to travel," the other answered. "that's good enough. i'm brother scanlan, lodge 341, vermissa valley. glad to see you in these parts." "thank you. i'm brother john mcmurdo, lodge 29, chicago. bodymaster j. h. scott. but i am in luck to meet a brother so early." "well, there are plenty of us about. you won't find the order more flourishing anywhere in the states than right here in vermissa valley. but we could do with some lads like you. i can't understand a spry man of the union finding no work to do in chicago." "i found plenty of work to do," said mcmurdo. "then why did you leave?" mcmurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. "i guess those chaps would be glad to know," he said. scanlan groaned sympathetically. "in trouble?" he asked in a whisper. "deep." "a penitentiary job?" "and the rest." "not a killing!" "it's early days to talk of such things," said mcmurdo with the air of a man who had been surprised into saying more than he intended. "i've my own good reasons for leaving chicago, and let that be enough for you. who are you that you should take it on yourself to ask such things?" his gray eyes gleamed with sudden and dangerous anger from behind his glasses. "all right, mate, no offense meant. the boys will think none the worse of you, whatever you may have done. where are you bound for now?" "vermissa." "that's the third halt down the line. where are you staying?" mcmurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murky oil lamp. "here is the address--jacob shafter, sheridan street. it's a boarding house that was recommended by a man i knew in chicago." "well, i don't know it; but vermissa is out of my beat. i live at hobson's patch, and that's here where we are drawing up. but, say, there's one bit of advice i'll give you before we part: if you're in trouble in vermissa, go straight to the union house and see boss mcginty. he is the bodymaster of vermissa lodge, and nothing can happen in these parts unless black jack mcginty wants it. so long, mate! maybe we'll meet in lodge one of these evenings. but mind my words: if you are in trouble, go to boss mcginty." scanlan descended, and mcmurdo was left once again to his thoughts. night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequent furnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. against their lurid background dark figures were bending and straining, twisting and turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to the rhythm of an eternal clank and roar. "i guess hell must look something like that," said a voice. mcmurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shifted in his seat and was staring out into the fiery waste. "for that matter," said the other policeman, "i allow that hell must be something like that. if there are worse devils down yonder than some we could name, it's more than i'd expect. i guess you are new to this part, young man?" "well, what if i am?" mcmurdo answered in a surly voice. "just this, mister, that i should advise you to be careful in choosing your friends. i don't think i'd begin with mike scanlan or his gang if i were you." "what the hell is it to you who are my friends?" roared mcmurdo in a voice which brought every head in the carriage round to witness the altercation. "did i ask you for your advice, or did you think me such a sucker that i couldn't move without it? you speak when you are spoken to, and by the lord you'd have to wait a long time if it was me!" he thrust out his face and grinned at the patrolmen like a snarling dog. the two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were taken aback by the extraordinary vehemence with which their friendly advances had been rejected. "no offense, stranger," said one. "it was a warning for your own good, seeing that you are, by your own showing, new to the place." "i'm new to the place; but i'm not new to you and your kind!" cried mcmurdo in cold fury. "i guess you're the same in all places, shoving your advice in when nobody asks for it." "maybe we'll see more of you before very long," said one of the patrolmen with a grin. "you're a real hand-picked one, if i am a judge." "i was thinking the same," remarked the other. "i guess we may meet again." "i'm not afraid of you, and don't you think it!" cried mcmurdo. "my name's jack mcmurdo--see? if you want me, you'll find me at jacob shafter's on sheridan street, vermissa; so i'm not hiding from you, am i? day or night i dare to look the like of you in the face--don't make any mistake about that!" there was a murmur of sympathy and admiration from the miners at the dauntless demeanour of the newcomer, while the two policemen shrugged their shoulders and renewed a conversation between themselves. a few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, and there was a general clearing; for vermissa was by far the largest town on the line. mcmurdo picked up his leather gripsack and was about to start off into the darkness, when one of the miners accosted him. "by gar, mate! you know how to speak to the cops," he said in a voice of awe. "it was grand to hear you. let me carry your grip and show you the road. i'm passing shafter's on the way to my own shack." there was a chorus of friendly "good-nights" from the other miners as they passed from the platform. before ever he had set foot in it, mcmurdo the turbulent had become a character in vermissa. the country had been a place of terror; but the town was in its way even more depressing. down that long valley there was at least a certain gloomy grandeur in the huge fires and the clouds of drifting smoke, while the strength and industry of man found fitting monuments in the hills which he had spilled by the side of his monstrous excavations. but the town showed a dead level of mean ugliness and squalor. the broad street was churned up by the traffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow. the sidewalks were narrow and uneven. the numerous gas-lamps served only to show more clearly a long line of wooden houses, each with its veranda facing the street, unkempt and dirty. as they approached the centre of the town the scene was brightened by a row of well-lit stores, and even more by a cluster of saloons and gaming houses, in which the miners spent their hard-earned but generous wages. "that's the union house," said the guide, pointing to one saloon which rose almost to the dignity of being a hotel. "jack mcginty is the boss there." "what sort of a man is he?" mcmurdo asked. "what! have you never heard of the boss?" "how could i have heard of him when you know that i am a stranger in these parts?" "well, i thought his name was known clear across the country. it's been in the papers often enough." "what for?" "well," the miner lowered his voice--"over the affairs." "what affairs?" "good lord, mister! you are queer, if i must say it without offense. there's only one set of affairs that you'll hear of in these parts, and that's the affairs of the scowrers." "why, i seem to have read of the scowrers in chicago. a gang of murderers, are they not?" "hush, on your life!" cried the miner, standing still in alarm, and gazing in amazement at his companion. "man, you won't live long in these parts if you speak in the open street like that. many a man has had the life beaten out of him for less." "well, i know nothing about them. it's only what i have read." "and i'm not saying that you have not read the truth." the man looked nervously round him as he spoke, peering into the shadows as if he feared to see some lurking danger. "if killing is murder, then god knows there is murder and to spare. but don't you dare to breathe the name of jack mcginty in connection with it, stranger; for every whisper goes back to him, and he is not one that is likely to let it pass. now, that's the house you're after, that one standing back from the street. you'll find old jacob shafter that runs it as honest a man as lives in this township." "i thank you," said mcmurdo, and shaking hands with his new acquaintance he plodded, gripsack in hand, up the path which led to the dwelling house, at the door of which he gave a resounding knock. it was opened at once by someone very different from what he had expected. it was a woman, young and singularly beautiful. she was of the german type, blonde and fair-haired, with the piquant contrast of a pair of beautiful dark eyes with which she surveyed the stranger with surprise and a pleasing embarrassment which brought a wave of colour over her pale face. framed in the bright light of the open doorway, it seemed to mcmurdo that he had never seen a more beautiful picture; the more attractive for its contrast with the sordid and gloomy surroundings. a lovely violet growing upon one of those black slag-heaps of the mines would not have seemed more surprising. so entranced was he that he stood staring without a word, and it was she who broke the silence. "i thought it was father," said she with a pleasing little touch of a german accent. "did you come to see him? he is downtown. i expect him back every minute." mcmurdo continued to gaze at her in open admiration until her eyes dropped in confusion before this masterful visitor. "no, miss," he said at last, "i'm in no hurry to see him. but your house was recommended to me for board. i thought it might suit me--and now i know it will." "you are quick to make up your mind," said she with a smile. "anyone but a blind man could do as much," the other answered. she laughed at the compliment. "come right in, sir," she said. "i'm miss ettie shafter, mr. shafter's daughter. my mother's dead, and i run the house. you can sit down by the stove in the front room until father comes along--ah, here he is! so you can fix things with him right away." a heavy, elderly man came plodding up the path. in a few words mcmurdo explained his business. a man of the name of murphy had given him the address in chicago. he in turn had had it from someone else. old shafter was quite ready. the stranger made no bones about terms, agreed at once to every condition, and was apparently fairly flush of money. for seven dollars a week paid in advance he was to have board and lodging. so it was that mcmurdo, the self-confessed fugitive from justice, took up his abode under the roof of the shafters, the first step which was to lead to so long and dark a train of events, ending in a far distant land. chapter ii the bodymaster mcmurdo was a man who made his mark quickly. wherever he was the folk around soon knew it. within a week he had become infinitely the most important person at shafter's. there were ten or a dozen boarders there; but they were honest foremen or commonplace clerks from the stores, of a very different calibre from the young irishman. of an evening when they gathered together his joke was always the readiest, his conversation the brightest, and his song the best. he was a born boon companion, with a magnetism which drew good humour from all around him. and yet he showed again and again, as he had shown in the railway carriage, a capacity for sudden, fierce anger, which compelled the respect and even the fear of those who met him. for the law, too, and all who were connected with it, he exhibited a bitter contempt which delighted some and alarmed others of his fellow boarders. from the first he made it evident, by his open admiration, that the daughter of the house had won his heart from the instant that he had set eyes upon her beauty and her grace. he was no backward suitor. on the second day he told her that he loved her, and from then onward he repeated the same story with an absolute disregard of what she might say to discourage him. "someone else?" he would cry. "well, the worse luck for someone else! let him look out for himself! am i to lose my life's chance and all my heart's desire for someone else? you can keep on saying no, ettie: the day will come when you will say yes, and i'm young enough to wait." he was a dangerous suitor, with his glib irish tongue, and his pretty, coaxing ways. there was about him also that glamour of experience and of mystery which attracts a woman's interest, and finally her love. he could talk of the sweet valleys of county monaghan from which he came, of the lovely, distant island, the low hills and green meadows of which seemed the more beautiful when imagination viewed them from this place of grime and snow. then he was versed in the life of the cities of the north, of detroit, and the lumber camps of michigan, and finally of chicago, where he had worked in a planing mill. and afterwards came the hint of romance, the feeling that strange things had happened to him in that great city, so strange and so intimate that they might not be spoken of. he spoke wistfully of a sudden leaving, a breaking of old ties, a flight into a strange world, ending in this dreary valley, and ettie listened, her dark eyes gleaming with pity and with sympathy--those two qualities which may turn so rapidly and so naturally to love. mcmurdo had obtained a temporary job as bookkeeper; for he was a well-educated man. this kept him out most of the day, and he had not found occasion yet to report himself to the head of the lodge of the eminent order of freemen. he was reminded of his omission, however, by a visit one evening from mike scanlan, the fellow member whom he had met in the train. scanlan, the small, sharp-faced, nervous, black-eyed man, seemed glad to see him once more. after a glass or two of whisky he broached the object of his visit. "say, mcmurdo," said he, "i remembered your address, so l made bold to call. i'm surprised that you've not reported to the bodymaster. why haven't you seen boss mcginty yet?" "well, i had to find a job. i have been busy." "you must find time for him if you have none for anything else. good lord, man! you're a fool not to have been down to the union house and registered your name the first morning after you came here! if you run against him--well, you mustn't, that's all!" mcmurdo showed mild surprise. "i've been a member of the lodge for over two years, scanlan, but i never heard that duties were so pressing as all that." "maybe not in chicago." "well, it's the same society here." "is it?" scanlan looked at him long and fixedly. there was something sinister in his eyes. "isn't it?" "you'll tell me that in a month's time. i hear you had a talk with the patrolmen after i left the train." "how did you know that?" "oh, it got about--things do get about for good and for bad in this district." "well, yes. i told the hounds what i thought of them." "by the lord, you'll be a man after mcginty's heart!" "what, does he hate the police too?" scanlan burst out laughing. "you go and see him, my lad," said he as he took his leave. "it's not the police but you that he'll hate if you don't! now, take a friend's advice and go at once!" it chanced that on the same evening mcmurdo had another more pressing interview which urged him in the same direction. it may have been that his attentions to ettie had been more evident than before, or that they had gradually obtruded themselves into the slow mind of his good german host; but, whatever the cause, the boarding-house keeper beckoned the young man into his private room and started on the subject without any circumlocution. "it seems to me, mister," said he, "that you are gettin' set on my ettie. ain't that so, or am i wrong?" "yes, that is so," the young man answered. "vell, i vant to tell you right now that it ain't no manner of use. there's someone slipped in afore you." "she told me so." "vell, you can lay that she told you truth. but did she tell you who it vas?" "no, i asked her; but she wouldn't tell." "i dare say not, the leetle baggage! perhaps she did not vish to frighten you avay." "frighten!" mcmurdo was on fire in a moment. "ah, yes, my friend! you need not be ashamed to be frightened of him. it is teddy baldwin." "and who the devil is he?" "he is a boss of scowrers." "scowrers! i've heard of them before. it's scowrers here and scowrers there, and always in a whisper! what are you all afraid of? who are the scowrers?" the boarding-house keeper instinctively sank his voice, as everyone did who talked about that terrible society. "the scowrers," said he, "are the eminent order of freemen!" the young man stared. "why, i am a member of that order myself." "you! i vould never have had you in my house if i had known it--not if you vere to pay me a hundred dollar a week." "what's wrong with the order? it's for charity and good fellowship. the rules say so." "maybe in some places. not here!" "what is it here?" "it's a murder society, that's vat it is." mcmurdo laughed incredulously. "how can you prove that?" he asked. "prove it! are there not fifty murders to prove it? vat about milman and van shorst, and the nicholson family, and old mr. hyam, and little billy james, and the others? prove it! is there a man or a voman in this valley vat does not know it?" "see here!" said mcmurdo earnestly. "i want you to take back what you've said, or else make it good. one or the other you must do before i quit this room. put yourself in my place. here am i, a stranger in the town. i belong to a society that i know only as an innocent one. you'll find it through the length and breadth of the states, but always as an innocent one. now, when i am counting upon joining it here, you tell me that it is the same as a murder society called the scowrers. i guess you owe me either an apology or else an explanation, mr. shafter." "i can but tell you vat the whole vorld knows, mister. the bosses of the one are the bosses of the other. if you offend the one, it is the other vat vill strike you. we have proved it too often." "that's just gossip--i want proof!" said mcmurdo. "if you live here long you vill get your proof. but i forget that you are yourself one of them. you vill soon be as bad as the rest. but you vill find other lodgings, mister. i cannot have you here. is it not bad enough that one of these people come courting my ettie, and that i dare not turn him down, but that i should have another for my boarder? yes, indeed, you shall not sleep here after to-night!" mcmurdo found himself under sentence of banishment both from his comfortable quarters and from the girl whom he loved. he found her alone in the sitting-room that same evening, and he poured his troubles into her ear. "sure, your father is after giving me notice," he said. "it's little i would care if it was just my room, but indeed, ettie, though it's only a week that i've known you, you are the very breath of life to me, and i can't live without you!" "oh, hush, mr. mcmurdo, don't speak so!" said the girl. "i have told you, have i not, that you are too late? there is another, and if i have not promised to marry him at once, at least i can promise no one else." "suppose i had been first, ettie, would i have had a chance?" the girl sank her face into her hands. "i wish to heaven that you had been first!" she sobbed. mcmurdo was down on his knees before her in an instant. "for god's sake, ettie, let it stand at that!" he cried. "will you ruin your life and my own for the sake of this promise? follow your heart, acushla! 'tis a safer guide than any promise before you knew what it was that you were saying." he had seized ettie's white hand between his own strong brown ones. "say that you will be mine, and we will face it out together!" "not here?" "yes, here." "no, no, jack!" his arms were round her now. "it could not be here. could you take me away?" a struggle passed for a moment over mcmurdo's face; but it ended by setting like granite. "no, here," he said. "i'll hold you against the world, ettie, right here where we are!" "why should we not leave together?" "no, ettie, i can't leave here." "but why?" "i'd never hold my head up again if i felt that i had been driven out. besides, what is there to be afraid of? are we not free folks in a free country? if you love me, and i you, who will dare to come between?" "you don't know, jack. you've been here too short a time. you don't know this baldwin. you don't know mcginty and his scowrers." "no, i don't know them, and i don't fear them, and i don't believe in them!" said mcmurdo. "i've lived among rough men, my darling, and instead of fearing them it has always ended that they have feared me--always, ettie. it's mad on the face of it! if these men, as your father says, have done crime after crime in the valley, and if everyone knows them by name, how comes it that none are brought to justice? you answer me that, ettie!" "because no witness dares to appear against them. he would not live a month if he did. also because they have always their own men to swear that the accused one was far from the scene of the crime. but surely, jack, you must have read all this. i had understood that every paper in the united states was writing about it." "well, i have read something, it is true; but i had thought it was a story. maybe these men have some reason in what they do. maybe they are wronged and have no other way to help themselves." "oh, jack, don't let me hear you speak so! that is how he speaks--the other one!" "baldwin--he speaks like that, does he?" "and that is why i loathe him so. oh, jack, now i can tell you the truth. i loathe him with all my heart; but i fear him also. i fear him for myself; but above all i fear him for father. i know that some great sorrow would come upon us if i dared to say what i really felt. that is why i have put him off with half-promises. it was in real truth our only hope. but if you would fly with me, jack, we could take father with us and live forever far from the power of these wicked men." again there was the struggle upon mcmurdo's face, and again it set like granite. "no harm shall come to you, ettie--nor to your father either. as to wicked men, i expect you may find that i am as bad as the worst of them before we're through." "no, no, jack! i would trust you anywhere." mcmurdo laughed bitterly. "good lord! how little you know of me! your innocent soul, my darling, could not even guess what is passing in mine. but, hullo, who's the visitor?" the door had opened suddenly, and a young fellow came swaggering in with the air of one who is the master. he was a handsome, dashing young man of about the same age and build as mcmurdo himself. under his broad-brimmed black felt hat, which he had not troubled to remove, a handsome face with fierce, domineering eyes and a curved hawk-bill of a nose looked savagely at the pair who sat by the stove. ettie had jumped to her feet full of confusion and alarm. "i'm glad to see you, mr. baldwin," said she. "you're earlier than i had thought. come and sit down." baldwin stood with his hands on his hips looking at mcmurdo. "who is this?" he asked curtly. "it's a friend of mine, mr. baldwin, a new boarder here. mr. mcmurdo, may i introduce you to mr. baldwin?" the young men nodded in surly fashion to each other. "maybe miss ettie has told you how it is with us?" said baldwin. "i didn't understand that there was any relation between you." "didn't you? well, you can understand it now. you can take it from me that this young lady is mine, and you'll find it a very fine evening for a walk." "thank you, i am in no humour for a walk." "aren't you?" the man's savage eyes were blazing with anger. "maybe you are in a humour for a fight, mr. boarder!" "that i am!" cried mcmurdo, springing to his feet. "you never said a more welcome word." "for god's sake, jack! oh, for god's sake!" cried poor, distracted ettie. "oh, jack, jack, he will hurt you!" "oh, it's jack, is it?" said baldwin with an oath. "you've come to that already, have you?" "oh, ted, be reasonable--be kind! for my sake, ted, if ever you loved me, be big-hearted and forgiving!" "i think, ettie, that if you were to leave us alone we could get this thing settled," said mcmurdo quietly. "or maybe, mr. baldwin, you will take a turn down the street with me. it's a fine evening, and there's some open ground beyond the next block." "i'll get even with you without needing to dirty my hands," said his enemy. "you'll wish you had never set foot in this house before i am through with you!" "no time like the present," cried mcmurdo. "i'll choose my own time, mister. you can leave the time to me. see here!" he suddenly rolled up his sleeve and showed upon his forearm a peculiar sign which appeared to have been branded there. it was a circle with a triangle within it. "d'you know what that means?" "i neither know nor care!" "well, you will know, i'll promise you that. you won't be much older, either. perhaps miss ettie can tell you something about it. as to you, ettie, you'll come back to me on your knees--d'ye hear, girl?--on your knees--and then i'll tell you what your punishment may be. you've sowed--and by the lord, i'll see that you reap!" he glanced at them both in fury. then he turned upon his heel, and an instant later the outer door had banged behind him. for a few moments mcmurdo and the girl stood in silence. then she threw her arms around him. "oh, jack, how brave you were! but it is no use, you must fly! to-night--jack--to-night! it's your only hope. he will have your life. i read it in his horrible eyes. what chance have you against a dozen of them, with boss mcginty and all the power of the lodge behind them?" mcmurdo disengaged her hands, kissed her, and gently pushed her back into a chair. "there, acushla, there! don't be disturbed or fear for me. i'm a freeman myself. i'm after telling your father about it. maybe i am no better than the others; so don't make a saint of me. perhaps you hate me too, now that i've told you as much?" "hate you, jack? while life lasts i could never do that! i've heard that there is no harm in being a freeman anywhere but here; so why should i think the worse of you for that? but if you are a freeman, jack, why should you not go down and make a friend of boss mcginty? oh, hurry, jack, hurry! get your word in first, or the hounds will be on your trail." "i was thinking the same thing," said mcmurdo. "i'll go right now and fix it. you can tell your father that i'll sleep here to-night and find some other quarters in the morning." the bar of mcginty's saloon was crowded as usual, for it was the favourite loafing place of all the rougher elements of the town. the man was popular; for he had a rough, jovial disposition which formed a mask, covering a great deal which lay behind it. but apart from this popularity, the fear in which he was held throughout the township, and indeed down the whole thirty miles of the valley and past the mountains on each side of it, was enough in itself to fill his bar; for none could afford to neglect his good will. besides those secret powers which it was universally believed that he exercised in so pitiless a fashion, he was a high public official, a municipal councillor, and a commissioner of roads, elected to the office through the votes of the ruffians who in turn expected to receive favours at his hands. assessments and taxes were enormous; the public works were notoriously neglected, the accounts were slurred over by bribed auditors, and the decent citizen was terrorized into paying public blackmail, and holding his tongue lest some worse thing befall him. thus it was that, year by year, boss mcginty's diamond pins became more obtrusive, his gold chains more weighty across a more gorgeous vest, and his saloon stretched farther and farther, until it threatened to absorb one whole side of the market square. mcmurdo pushed open the swinging door of the saloon and made his way amid the crowd of men within, through an atmosphere blurred with tobacco smoke and heavy with the smell of spirits. the place was brilliantly lighted, and the huge, heavily gilt mirrors upon every wall reflected and multiplied the garish illumination. there were several bartenders in their shirt sleeves, hard at work mixing drinks for the loungers who fringed the broad, brass-trimmed counter. at the far end, with his body resting upon the bar and a cigar stuck at an acute angle from the corner of his mouth, stood a tall, strong, heavily built man who could be none other than the famous mcginty himself. he was a black-maned giant, bearded to the cheek-bones, and with a shock of raven hair which fell to his collar. his complexion was as swarthy as that of an italian, and his eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combined with a slight squint, gave them a particularly sinister appearance. all else in the man--his noble proportions, his fine features, and his frank bearing--fitted in with that jovial, man-to-man manner which he affected. here, one would say, is a bluff, honest fellow, whose heart would be sound however rude his outspoken words might seem. it was only when those dead, dark eyes, deep and remorseless, were turned upon a man that he shrank within himself, feeling that he was face to face with an infinite possibility of latent evil, with a strength and courage and cunning behind it which made it a thousand times more deadly. having had a good look at his man, mcmurdo elbowed his way forward with his usual careless audacity, and pushed himself through the little group of courtiers who were fawning upon the powerful boss, laughing uproariously at the smallest of his jokes. the young stranger's bold gray eyes looked back fearlessly through their glasses at the deadly black ones which turned sharply upon him. "well, young man, i can't call your face to mind." "i'm new here, mr. mcginty." "you are not so new that you can't give a gentleman his proper title." "he's councillor mcginty, young man," said a voice from the group. "i'm sorry, councillor. i'm strange to the ways of the place. but i was advised to see you." "well, you see me. this is all there is. what d'you think of me?" "well, it's early days. if your heart is as big as your body, and your soul as fine as your face, then i'd ask for nothing better," said mcmurdo. "by gar! you've got an irish tongue in your head anyhow," cried the saloon-keeper, not quite certain whether to humour this audacious visitor or to stand upon his dignity. "so you are good enough to pass my appearance?" "sure," said mcmurdo. "and you were told to see me?" "i was." "and who told you?" "brother scanlan of lodge 341, vermissa. i drink your health councillor, and to our better acquaintance." he raised a glass with which he had been served to his lips and elevated his little finger as he drank it. mcginty, who had been watching him narrowly, raised his thick black eyebrows. "oh, it's like that, is it?" said he. "i'll have to look a bit closer into this, mister--" "mcmurdo." "a bit closer, mr. mcmurdo; for we don't take folk on trust in these parts, nor believe all we're told neither. come in here for a moment, behind the bar." there was a small room there, lined with barrels. mcginty carefully closed the door, and then seated himself on one of them, biting thoughtfully on his cigar and surveying his companion with those disquieting eyes. for a couple of minutes he sat in complete silence. mcmurdo bore the inspection cheerfully, one hand in his coat pocket, the other twisting his brown moustache. suddenly mcginty stooped and produced a wicked-looking revolver. "see here, my joker," said he, "if i thought you were playing any game on us, it would be short work for you." "this is a strange welcome," mcmurdo answered with some dignity, "for the bodymaster of a lodge of freemen to give to a stranger brother." "ay, but it's just that same that you have to prove," said mcginty, "and god help you if you fail! where were you made?" "lodge 29, chicago." "when?" "june 24, 1872." "what bodymaster?" "james h. scott." "who is your district ruler?" "bartholomew wilson." "hum! you seem glib enough in your tests. what are you doing here?" "working, the same as you--but a poorer job." "you have your back answer quick enough." "yes, i was always quick of speech." "are you quick of action?" "i have had that name among those that knew me best." "well, we may try you sooner than you think. have you heard anything of the lodge in these parts?" "i've heard that it takes a man to be a brother." "true for you, mr. mcmurdo. why did you leave chicago?" "i'm damned if i tell you that!" mcginty opened his eyes. he was not used to being answered in such fashion, and it amused him. "why won't you tell me?" "because no brother may tell another a lie." "then the truth is too bad to tell?" "you can put it that way if you like." "see here, mister, you can't expect me, as bodymaster, to pass into the lodge a man for whose past he can't answer." mcmurdo looked puzzled. then he took a worn newspaper cutting from an inner pocket. "you wouldn't squeal on a fellow?" said he. "i'll wipe my hand across your face if you say such words to me!" cried mcginty hotly. "you are right, councillor," said mcmurdo meekly. "i should apologize. i spoke without thought. well, i know that i am safe in your hands. look at that clipping." mcginty glanced his eyes over the account of the shooting of one jonas pinto, in the lake saloon, market street, chicago, in the new year week of 1874. "your work?" he asked, as he handed back the paper. mcmurdo nodded. "why did you shoot him?" "i was helping uncle sam to make dollars. maybe mine were not as good gold as his, but they looked as well and were cheaper to make. this man pinto helped me to shove the queer--" "to do what?" "well, it means to pass the dollars out into circulation. then he said he would split. maybe he did split. i didn't wait to see. i just killed him and lighted out for the coal country." "why the coal country?" "'cause i'd read in the papers that they weren't too particular in those parts." mcginty laughed. "you were first a coiner and then a murderer, and you came to these parts because you thought you'd be welcome." "that's about the size of it," mcmurdo answered. "well, i guess you'll go far. say, can you make those dollars yet?" mcmurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. "those never passed the philadelphia mint," said he. "you don't say!" mcginty held them to the light in his enormous hand, which was hairy as a gorilla's. "i can see no difference. gar! you'll be a mighty useful brother, i'm thinking! we can do with a bad man or two among us, friend mcmurdo: for there are times when we have to take our own part. we'd soon be against the wall if we didn't shove back at those that were pushing us." "well, i guess i'll do my share of shoving with the rest of the boys." "you seem to have a good nerve. you didn't squirm when i shoved this gun at you." "it was not me that was in danger." "who then?" "it was you, councillor." mcmurdo drew a cocked pistol from the side pocket of his peajacket. "i was covering you all the time. i guess my shot would have been as quick as yours." "by gar!" mcginty flushed an angry red and then burst into a roar of laughter. "say, we've had no such holy terror come to hand this many a year. i reckon the lodge will learn to be proud of you ... well, what the hell do you want? and can't i speak alone with a gentleman for five minutes but you must butt in on us?" the bartender stood abashed. "i'm sorry, councillor, but it's ted baldwin. he says he must see you this very minute." the message was unnecessary; for the set, cruel face of the man himself was looking over the servant's shoulder. he pushed the bartender out and closed the door on him. "so," said he with a furious glance at mcmurdo, "you got here first, did you? i've a word to say to you, councillor, about this man." "then say it here and now before my face," cried mcmurdo. "i'll say it at my own time, in my own way." "tut! tut!" said mcginty, getting off his barrel. "this will never do. we have a new brother here, baldwin, and it's not for us to greet him in such fashion. hold out your hand, man, and make it up!" "never!" cried baldwin in a fury. "i've offered to fight him if he thinks i have wronged him," said mcmurdo. "i'll fight him with fists, or, if that won't satisfy him, i'll fight him any other way he chooses. now, i'll leave it to you, councillor, to judge between us as a bodymaster should." "what is it, then?" "a young lady. she's free to choose for herself." "is she?" cried baldwin. "as between two brothers of the lodge i should say that she was," said the boss. "oh, that's your ruling, is it?" "yes, it is, ted baldwin," said mcginty, with a wicked stare. "is it you that would dispute it?" "you would throw over one that has stood by you this five years in favour of a man that you never saw before in your life? you're not bodymaster for life, jack mcginty, and by god! when next it comes to a vote--" the councillor sprang at him like a tiger. his hand closed round the other's neck, and he hurled him back across one of the barrels. in his mad fury he would have squeezed the life out of him if mcmurdo had not interfered. "easy, councillor! for heaven's sake, go easy!" he cried, as he dragged him back. mcginty released his hold, and baldwin, cowed and shaken gasping for breath, and shivering in every limb, as one who has looked over the very edge of death, sat up on the barrel over which he had been hurled. "you've been asking for it this many a day, ted baldwin--now you've got it!" cried mcginty, his huge chest rising and falling. "maybe you think if i was voted down from bodymaster you would find yourself in my shoes. it's for the lodge to say that. but so long as i am the chief i'll have no man lift his voice against me or my rulings." "i have nothing against you," mumbled baldwin, feeling his throat. "well, then," cried the other, relapsing in a moment into a bluff joviality, "we are all good friends again and there's an end of the matter." he took a bottle of champagne down from the shelf and twisted out the cork. "see now," he continued, as he filled three high glasses. "let us drink the quarrelling toast of the lodge. after that, as you know, there can be no bad blood between us. now, then the left hand on the apple of my throat. i say to you, ted baldwin, what is the offense, sir?" "the clouds are heavy," answered baldwin. "but they will forever brighten." "and this i swear!" the men drank their glasses, and the same ceremony was performed between baldwin and mcmurdo "there!" cried mcginty, rubbing his hands. "that's the end of the black blood. you come under lodge discipline if it goes further, and that's a heavy hand in these parts, as brother baldwin knows--and as you will damn soon find out, brother mcmurdo, if you ask for trouble!" "faith, i'd be slow to do that," said mcmurdo. he held out his hand to baldwin. "i'm quick to quarrel and quick to forgive. it's my hot irish blood, they tell me. but it's over for me, and i bear no grudge." baldwin had to take the proffered hand, for the baleful eye of the terrible boss was upon him. but his sullen face showed how little the words of the other had moved him. mcginty clapped them both on the shoulders. "tut! these girls! these girls!" he cried. "to think that the same petticoats should come between two of my boys! it's the devil's own luck! well, it's the colleen inside of them that must settle the question for it's outside the jurisdiction of a bodymaster--and the lord be praised for that! we have enough on us, without the women as well. you'll have to be affiliated to lodge 341, brother mcmurdo. we have our own ways and methods, different from chicago. saturday night is our meeting, and if you come then, we'll make you free forever of the vermissa valley." chapter iii lodge 341, vermissa on the day following the evening which had contained so many exciting events, mcmurdo moved his lodgings from old jacob shafter's and took up his quarters at the widow macnamara's on the extreme outskirts of the town. scanlan, his original acquaintance aboard the train, had occasion shortly afterwards to move into vermissa, and the two lodged together. there was no other boarder, and the hostess was an easy-going old irishwoman who left them to themselves; so that they had a freedom for speech and action welcome to men who had secrets in common. shafter had relented to the extent of letting mcmurdo come to his meals there when he liked; so that his intercourse with ettie was by no means broken. on the contrary, it drew closer and more intimate as the weeks went by. in his bedroom at his new abode mcmurdo felt it safe to take out the coining moulds, and under many a pledge of secrecy a number of brothers from the lodge were allowed to come in and see them, each carrying away in his pocket some examples of the false money, so cunningly struck that there was never the slightest difficulty or danger in passing it. why, with such a wonderful art at his command, mcmurdo should condescend to work at all was a perpetual mystery to his companions; though he made it clear to anyone who asked him that if he lived without any visible means it would very quickly bring the police upon his track. one policeman was indeed after him already; but the incident, as luck would have it, did the adventurer a great deal more good than harm. after the first introduction there were few evenings when he did not find his way to mcginty's saloon, there to make closer acquaintance with "the boys," which was the jovial title by which the dangerous gang who infested the place were known to one another. his dashing manner and fearlessness of speech made him a favourite with them all; while the rapid and scientific way in which he polished off his antagonist in an "all in" bar-room scrap earned the respect of that rough community. another incident, however, raised him even higher in their estimation. just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a man entered with the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the mine police. this was a special body raised by the railways and colliery owners to supplement the efforts of the ordinary civil police, who were perfectly helpless in the face of the organized ruffianism which terrorized the district. there was a hush as he entered, and many a curious glance was cast at him; but the relations between policemen and criminals are peculiar in some parts of the states, and mcginty himself standing behind his counter, showed no surprise when the policeman enrolled himself among his customers. "a straight whisky, for the night is bitter," said the police officer. "i don't think we have met before, councillor?" "you'll be the new captain?" said mcginty. "that's so. we're looking to you, councillor, and to the other leading citizens, to help us in upholding law and order in this township. captain marvin is my name." "we'd do better without you, captain marvin," said mcginty coldly; "for we have our own police of the township, and no need for any imported goods. what are you but the paid tool of the capitalists, hired by them to club or shoot your poorer fellow citizen?" "well, well, we won't argue about that," said the police officer good-humouredly. "i expect we all do our duty same as we see it; but we can't all see it the same." he had drunk off his glass and had turned to go, when his eyes fell upon the face of jack mcmurdo, who was scowling at his elbow. "hullo! hullo!" he cried, looking him up and down. "here's an old acquaintance!" mcmurdo shrank away from him. "i was never a friend to you nor any other cursed copper in my life," said he. "an acquaintance isn't always a friend," said the police captain, grinning. "you're jack mcmurdo of chicago, right enough, and don't you deny it!" mcmurdo shrugged his shoulders. "i'm not denying it," said he. "d'ye think i'm ashamed of my own name?" "you've got good cause to be, anyhow." "what the devil d'you mean by that?" he roared with his fists clenched. "no, no, jack, bluster won't do with me. i was an officer in chicago before ever i came to this darned coal bunker, and i know a chicago crook when i see one." mcmurdo's face fell. "don't tell me that you're marvin of the chicago central!" he cried. "just the same old teddy marvin, at your service. we haven't forgotten the shooting of jonas pinto up there." "i never shot him." "did you not? that's good impartial evidence, ain't it? well, his death came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had you for shoving the queer. well, we can let that be bygones; for, between you and me--and perhaps i'm going further than my duty in saying it--they could get no clear case against you, and chicago's open to you to-morrow." "i'm very well where i am." "well, i've given you the pointer, and you're a sulky dog not to thank me for it." "well, i suppose you mean well, and i do thank you," said mcmurdo in no very gracious manner. "it's mum with me so long as i see you living on the straight," said the captain. "but, by the lord! if you get off after this, it's another story! so good-night to you--and goodnight, councillor." he left the bar-room; but not before he had created a local hero. mcmurdo's deeds in far chicago had been whispered before. he had put off all questions with a smile, as one who did not wish to have greatness thrust upon him. but now the thing was officially confirmed. the bar loafers crowded round him and shook him heartily by the hand. he was free of the community from that time on. he could drink hard and show little trace of it; but that evening, had his mate scanlan not been at hand to lead him home, the feted hero would surely have spent his night under the bar. on a saturday night mcmurdo was introduced to the lodge. he had thought to pass in without ceremony as being an initiate of chicago; but there were particular rites in vermissa of which they were proud, and these had to be undergone by every postulant. the assembly met in a large room reserved for such purposes at the union house. some sixty members assembled at vermissa; but that by no means represented the full strength of the organization, for there were several other lodges in the valley, and others across the mountains on each side, who exchanged members when any serious business was afoot, so that a crime might be done by men who were strangers to the locality. altogether there were not less than five hundred scattered over the coal district. in the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a long table. at the side was a second one laden with bottles and glasses, on which some members of the company were already turning their eyes. mcginty sat at the head with a flat black velvet cap upon his shock of tangled black hair, and a coloured purple stole round his neck, so that he seemed to be a priest presiding over some diabolical ritual. to right and left of him were the higher lodge officials, the cruel, handsome face of ted baldwin among them. each of these wore some scarf or medallion as emblem of his office. they were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest of the company consisted of young fellows from eighteen to twenty-five, the ready and capable agents who carried out the commands of their seniors. among the older men were many whose features showed the tigerish, lawless souls within; but looking at the rank and file it was difficult to believe that these eager and open-faced young fellows were in very truth a dangerous gang of murderers, whose minds had suffered such complete moral perversion that they took a horrible pride in their proficiency at the business, and looked with deepest respect at the man who had the reputation of making what they called "a clean job." to their contorted natures it had become a spirited and chivalrous thing to volunteer for service against some man who had never injured them, and whom in many cases they had never seen in their lives. the crime committed, they quarrelled as to who had actually struck the fatal blow, and amused one another and the company by describing the cries and contortions of the murdered man. at first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; but at the time which this narrative describes their proceedings were extraordinarily open, for the repeated failures of the law had proved to them that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witness against them, and on the other they had an unlimited number of stanch witnesses upon whom they could call, and a well-filled treasure chest from which they could draw the funds to engage the best legal talent in the state. in ten long years of outrage there had been no single conviction, and the only danger that ever threatened the scowrers lay in the victim himself--who, however outnumbered and taken by surprise, might and occasionally did leave his mark upon his assailants. mcmurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but no one would tell him in what it consisted. he was led now into an outer room by two solemn brothers. through the plank partition he could hear the murmur of many voices from the assembly within. once or twice he caught the sound of his own name, and he knew that they were discussing his candidacy. then there entered an inner guard with a green and gold sash across his chest. "the bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded, and entered," said he. the three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of his right arm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows and made it fast. they next placed a thick black cap right over his head and the upper part of his face, so that he could see nothing. he was then led into the assembly hall. it was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. he heard the rustle and murmur of the people round him, and then the voice of mcginty sounded dull and distant through the covering of his ears. "john mcmurdo," said the voice, "are you already a member of the ancient order of freemen?" he bowed in assent. "is your lodge no. 29, chicago?" he bowed again. "dark nights are unpleasant," said the voice. "yes, for strangers to travel," he answered. "the clouds are heavy." "yes, a storm is approaching." "are the brethren satisfied?" asked the bodymaster. there was a general murmur of assent. "we know, brother, by your sign and by your countersign that you are indeed one of us," said mcginty. "we would have you know, however, that in this county and in other counties of these parts we have certain rites, and also certain duties of our own which call for good men. are you ready to be tested?" "i am." "are you of stout heart?" "i am." "take a stride forward to prove it." as the words were said he felt two hard points in front of his eyes, pressing upon them so that it appeared as if he could not move forward without a danger of losing them. none the less, he nerved himself to step resolutely out, and as he did so the pressure melted away. there was a low murmur of applause. "he is of stout heart," said the voice. "can you bear pain?" "as well as another," he answered. "test him!" it was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, for an agonizing pain shot through his forearm. he nearly fainted at the sudden shock of it; but he bit his lip and clenched his hands to hide his agony. "i can take more than that," said he. this time there was loud applause. a finer first appearance had never been made in the lodge. hands clapped him on the back, and the hood was plucked from his head. he stood blinking and smiling amid the congratulations of the brothers. "one last word, brother mcmurdo," said mcginty. "you have already sworn the oath of secrecy and fidelity, and you are aware that the punishment for any breach of it is instant and inevitable death?" "i am," said mcmurdo. "and you accept the rule of the bodymaster for the time being under all circumstances?" "i do." "then in the name of lodge 341, vermissa, i welcome you to its privileges and debates. you will put the liquor on the table, brother scanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother." mcmurdo's coat had been brought to him; but before putting it on he examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. there on the flesh of the forearm was a circle with a triangle within it, deep and red, as the branding iron had left it. one or two of his neighbours pulled up their sleeves and showed their own lodge marks. "we've all had it," said one; "but not all as brave as you over it." "tut! it was nothing," said he; but it burned and ached all the same. when the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation had all been disposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded. mcmurdo, accustomed only to the prosaic performances of chicago, listened with open ears and more surprise than he ventured to show to what followed. "the first business on the agenda paper," said mcginty, "is to read the following letter from division master windle of merton county lodge 249. he says: "dear sir: "there is a job to be done on andrew rae of rae & sturmash, coal owners near this place. you will remember that your lodge owes us a return, having had the service of two brethren in the matter of the patrolman last fall. you will send two good men, they will be taken charge of by treasurer higgins of this lodge, whose address you know. he will show them when to act and where. yours in freedom, "j. w. windle d. m. a. o. f. "windle has never refused us when we have had occasion to ask for the loan of a man or two, and it is not for us to refuse him." mcginty paused and looked round the room with his dull, malevolent eyes. "who will volunteer for the job?" several young fellows held up their hands. the bodymaster looked at them with an approving smile. "you'll do, tiger cormac. if you handle it as well as you did the last, you won't be wrong. and you, wilson." "i've no pistol," said the volunteer, a mere boy in his teens. "it's your first, is it not? well, you have to be blooded some time. it will be a great start for you. as to the pistol, you'll find it waiting for you, or i'm mistaken. if you report yourselves on monday, it will be time enough. you'll get a great welcome when you return." "any reward this time?" asked cormac, a thick-set, dark-faced, brutal-looking young man, whose ferocity had earned him the nickname of "tiger." "never mind the reward. you just do it for the honour of the thing. maybe when it is done there will be a few odd dollars at the bottom of the box." "what has the man done?" asked young wilson. "sure, it's not for the likes of you to ask what the man has done. he has been judged over there. that's no business of ours. all we have to do is to carry it out for them, same as they would for us. speaking of that, two brothers from the merton lodge are coming over to us next week to do some business in this quarter." "who are they?" asked someone. "faith, it is wiser not to ask. if you know nothing, you can testify nothing, and no trouble can come of it. but they are men who will make a clean job when they are about it." "and time, too!" cried ted baldwin. "folk are gettin' out of hand in these parts. it was only last week that three of our men were turned off by foreman blaker. it's been owing him a long time, and he'll get it full and proper." "get what?" mcmurdo whispered to his neighbour. "the business end of a buckshot cartridge!" cried the man with a loud laugh. "what think you of our ways, brother?" mcmurdo's criminal soul seemed to have already absorbed the spirit of the vile association of which he was now a member. "i like it well," said he. "'tis a proper place for a lad of mettle." several of those who sat around heard his words and applauded them. "what's that?" cried the black-maned bodymaster from the end of the table. "'tis our new brother, sir, who finds our ways to his taste." mcmurdo rose to his feet for an instant. "i would say, eminent bodymaster, that if a man should be wanted i should take it as an honour to be chosen to help the lodge." there was great applause at this. it was felt that a new sun was pushing its rim above the horizon. to some of the elders it seemed that the progress was a little too rapid. "i would move," said the secretary, harraway, a vulture-faced old graybeard who sat near the chairman, "that brother mcmurdo should wait until it is the good pleasure of the lodge to employ him." "sure, that was what i meant; i'm in your hands," said mcmurdo. "your time will come, brother," said the chairman. "we have marked you down as a willing man, and we believe that you will do good work in these parts. there is a small matter to-night in which you may take a hand if it so please you." "i will wait for something that is worth while." "you can come to-night, anyhow, and it will help you to know what we stand for in this community. i will make the announcement later. meanwhile," he glanced at his agenda paper, "i have one or two more points to bring before the meeting. first of all, i will ask the treasurer as to our bank balance. there is the pension to jim carnaway's widow. he was struck down doing the work of the lodge, and it is for us to see that she is not the loser." "jim was shot last month when they tried to kill chester wilcox of marley creek," mcmurdo's neighbour informed him. "the funds are good at the moment," said the treasurer, with the bankbook in front of him. "the firms have been generous of late. max linder & co. paid five hundred to be left alone. walker brothers sent in a hundred; but i took it on myself to return it and ask for five. if i do not hear by wednesday, their winding gear may get out of order. we had to burn their breaker last year before they became reasonable. then the west section coaling company has paid its annual contribution. we have enough on hand to meet any obligations." "what about archie swindon?" asked a brother. "he has sold out and left the district. the old devil left a note for us to say that he had rather be a free crossing sweeper in new york than a large mine owner under the power of a ring of blackmailers. by gar! it was as well that he made a break for it before the note reached us! i guess he won't show his face in this valley again." an elderly, clean-shaved man with a kindly face and a good brow rose from the end of the table which faced the chairman. "mr. treasurer," he asked, "may i ask who has bought the property of this man that we have driven out of the district?" "yes, brother morris. it has been bought by the state & merton county railroad company." "and who bought the mines of todman and of lee that came into the market in the same way last year?" "the same company, brother morris." "and who bought the ironworks of manson and of shuman and of van deher and of atwood, which have all been given up of late?" "they were all bought by the west gilmerton general mining company." "i don't see, brother morris," said the chairman, "that it matters to us who buys them, since they can't carry them out of the district." "with all respect to you, eminent bodymaster, i think it may matter very much to us. this process has been going on now for ten long years. we are gradually driving all the small men out of trade. what is the result? we find in their places great companies like the railroad or the general iron, who have their directors in new york or philadelphia, and care nothing for our threats. we can take it out of their local bosses, but it only means that others will be sent in their stead. and we are making it dangerous for ourselves. the small men could not harm us. they had not the money nor the power. so long as we did not squeeze them too dry, they would stay on under our power. but if these big companies find that we stand between them and their profits, they will spare no pains and no expense to hunt us down and bring us to court." there was a hush at these ominous words, and every face darkened as gloomy looks were exchanged. so omnipotent and unchallenged had they been that the very thought that there was possible retribution in the background had been banished from their minds. and yet the idea struck a chill to the most reckless of them. "it is my advice," the speaker continued, "that we go easier upon the small men. on the day that they have all been driven out the power of this society will have been broken." unwelcome truths are not popular. there were angry cries as the speaker resumed his seat. mcginty rose with gloom upon his brow. "brother morris," said he, "you were always a croaker. so long as the members of this lodge stand together there is no power in the united states that can touch them. sure, have we not tried it often enough in the law courts? i expect the big companies will find it easier to pay than to fight, same as the little companies do. and now, brethren," mcginty took off his black velvet cap and his stole as he spoke, "this lodge has finished its business for the evening, save for one small matter which may be mentioned when we are parting. the time has now come for fraternal refreshment and for harmony." strange indeed is human nature. here were these men, to whom murder was familiar, who again and again had struck down the father of the family, some man against whom they had no personal feeling, without one thought of compunction or of compassion for his weeping wife or helpless children, and yet the tender or pathetic in music could move them to tears. mcmurdo had a fine tenor voice, and if he had failed to gain the good will of the lodge before, it could no longer have been withheld after he had thrilled them with "i'm sitting on the stile, mary," and "on the banks of allan water." in his very first night the new recruit had made himself one of the most popular of the brethren, marked already for advancement and high office. there were other qualities needed, however, besides those of good fellowship, to make a worthy freeman, and of these he was given an example before the evening was over. the whisky bottle had passed round many times, and the men were flushed and ripe for mischief when their bodymaster rose once more to address them. "boys," said he, "there's one man in this town that wants trimming up, and it's for you to see that he gets it. i'm speaking of james stanger of the herald. you've seen how he's been opening his mouth against us again?" there was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath. mcginty took a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket. law and order! that's how he heads it. "reign of terror in the coal and iron district "twelve years have now elapsed since the first assassinations which proved the existence of a criminal organization in our midst. from that day these outrages have never ceased, until now they have reached a pitch which makes us the opprobrium of the civilized world. is it for such results as this that our great country welcomes to its bosom the alien who flies from the despotisms of europe? is it that they shall themselves become tyrants over the very men who have given them shelter, and that a state of terrorism and lawlessness should be established under the very shadow of the sacred folds of the starry flag of freedom which would raise horror in our minds if we read of it as existing under the most effete monarchy of the east? the men are known. the organization is patent and public. how long are we to endure it? can we forever live-- sure, i've read enough of the slush!" cried the chairman, tossing the paper down upon the table. "that's what he says of us. the question i'm asking you is what shall we say to him?" "kill him!" cried a dozen fierce voices. "i protest against that," said brother morris, the man of the good brow and shaved face. "i tell you, brethren, that our hand is too heavy in this valley, and that there will come a point where in self-defense every man will unite to crush us out. james stanger is an old man. he is respected in the township and the district. his paper stands for all that is solid in the valley. if that man is struck down, there will be a stir through this state that will only end with our destruction." "and how would they bring about our destruction, mr. standback?" cried mcginty. "is it by the police? sure, half of them are in our pay and half of them afraid of us. or is it by the law courts and the judge? haven't we tried that before now, and what ever came of it?" "there is a judge lynch that might try the case," said brother morris. a general shout of anger greeted the suggestion. "i have but to raise my finger," cried mcginty, "and i could put two hundred men into this town that would clear it out from end to end." then suddenly raising his voice and bending his huge black brows into a terrible frown, "see here, brother morris, i have my eye on you, and have had for some time! you've no heart yourself, and you try to take the heart out of others. it will be an ill day for you, brother morris, when your own name comes on our agenda paper, and i'm thinking that it's just there that i ought to place it." morris had turned deadly pale, and his knees seemed to give way under him as he fell back into his chair. he raised his glass in his trembling hand and drank before he could answer. "i apologize, eminent bodymaster, to you and to every brother in this lodge if i have said more than i should. i am a faithful member--you all know that--and it is my fear lest evil come to the lodge which makes me speak in anxious words. but i have greater trust in your judgment than in my own, eminent bodymaster, and i promise you that i will not offend again." the bodymaster's scowl relaxed as he listened to the humble words. "very good, brother morris. it's myself that would be sorry if it were needful to give you a lesson. but so long as i am in this chair we shall be a united lodge in word and in deed. and now, boys," he continued, looking round at the company, "i'll say this much, that if stanger got his full deserts there would be more trouble than we need ask for. these editors hang together, and every journal in the state would be crying out for police and troops. but i guess you can give him a pretty severe warning. will you fix it, brother baldwin?" "sure!" said the young man eagerly. "how many will you take?" "half a dozen, and two to guard the door. you'll come, gower, and you, mansel, and you, scanlan, and the two willabys." "i promised the new brother he should go," said the chairman. ted baldwin looked at mcmurdo with eyes which showed that he had not forgotten nor forgiven. "well, he can come if he wants," he said in a surly voice. "that's enough. the sooner we get to work the better." the company broke up with shouts and yells and snatches of drunken song. the bar was still crowded with revellers, and many of the brethren remained there. the little band who had been told off for duty passed out into the street, proceeding in twos and threes along the sidewalk so as not to provoke attention. it was a bitterly cold night, with a half-moon shining brilliantly in a frosty, star-spangled sky. the men stopped and gathered in a yard which faced a high building. the words "vermissa herald" were printed in gold lettering between the brightly lit windows. from within came the clanking of the printing press. "here, you," said baldwin to mcmurdo, "you can stand below at the door and see that the road is kept open for us. arthur willaby can stay with you. you others come with me. have no fears, boys; for we have a dozen witnesses that we are in the union bar at this very moment." it was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for one or two revellers upon their way home. the party crossed the road, and, pushing open the door of the newspaper office, baldwin and his men rushed in and up the stair which faced them. mcmurdo and another remained below. from the room above came a shout, a cry for help, and then the sound of trampling feet and of falling chairs. an instant later a gray-haired man rushed out on the landing. he was seized before he could get farther, and his spectacles came tinkling down to mcmurdo's feet. there was a thud and a groan. he was on his face, and half a dozen sticks were clattering together as they fell upon him. he writhed, and his long, thin limbs quivered under the blows. the others ceased at last; but baldwin, his cruel face set in an infernal smile, was hacking at the man's head, which he vainly endeavoured to defend with his arms. his white hair was dabbled with patches of blood. baldwin was still stooping over his victim, putting in a short, vicious blow whenever he could see a part exposed, when mcmurdo dashed up the stair and pushed him back. "you'll kill the man," said he. "drop it!" baldwin looked at him in amazement. "curse you!" he cried. "who are you to interfere--you that are new to the lodge? stand back!" he raised his stick; but mcmurdo had whipped his pistol out of his hip pocket. "stand back yourself!" he cried. "i'll blow your face in if you lay a hand on me. as to the lodge, wasn't it the order of the bodymaster that the man was not to be killed--and what are you doing but killing him?" "it's truth he says," remarked one of the men. "by gar! you'd best hurry yourselves!" cried the man below. "the windows are all lighting up, and you'll have the whole town here inside of five minutes." there was indeed the sound of shouting in the street, and a little group of compositors and pressmen was forming in the hall below and nerving itself to action. leaving the limp and motionless body of the editor at the head of the stair, the criminals rushed down and made their way swiftly along the street. having reached the union house, some of them mixed with the crowd in mcginty's saloon, whispering across the bar to the boss that the job had been well carried through. others, and among them mcmurdo, broke away into side streets, and so by devious paths to their own homes. chapter iv the valley of fear when mcmurdo awoke next morning he had good reason to remember his initiation into the lodge. his head ached with the effect of the drink, and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot and swollen. having his own peculiar source of income, he was irregular in his attendance at his work; so he had a late breakfast, and remained at home for the morning writing a long letter to a friend. afterwards he read the daily herald. in a special column put in at the last moment he read: outrage at the herald office -- editor seriously injured it was a short account of the facts with which he was himself more familiar than the writer could have been. it ended with the statement: the matter is now in the hands of the police; but it can hardly be hoped that their exertions will be attended by any better results than in the past. some of the men were recognized, and there is hope that a conviction may be obtained. the source of the outrage was, it need hardly be said, that infamous society which has held this community in bondage for so long a period, and against which the herald has taken so uncompromising a stand. mr. stanger's many friends will rejoice to hear that, though he has been cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has sustained severe injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger to his life. below it stated that a guard of police, armed with winchester rifles, had been requisitioned for the defense of the office. mcmurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with a hand which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening, when there was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a note which had just been handed in by a lad. it was unsigned, and ran thus: i should wish to speak to you, but would rather not do so in your house. you will find me beside the flagstaff upon miller hill. if you will come there now, i have something which it is important for you to hear and for me to say. mcmurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he could not imagine what it meant or who was the author of it. had it been in a feminine hand, he might have imagined that it was the beginning of one of those adventures which had been familiar enough in his past life. but it was the writing of a man, and of a well educated one, too. finally, after some hesitation, he determined to see the matter through. miller hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of the town. in summer it is a favourite resort of the people; but in winter it is desolate enough. from the top of it one has a view not only of the whole straggling, grimy town, but of the winding valley beneath, with its scattered mines and factories blackening the snow on each side of it, and of the wooded and white-capped ranges flanking it. mcmurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens until he reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of summer gaiety. beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it a man, his hat drawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned up. when he turned his face mcmurdo saw that it was brother morris, he who had incurred the anger of the bodymaster the night before. the lodge sign was given and exchanged as they met. "i wanted to have a word with you, mr. mcmurdo," said the older man, speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on delicate ground. "it was kind of you to come." "why did you not put your name to the note?" "one has to be cautious, mister. one never knows in times like these how a thing may come back to one. one never knows either who to trust or who not to trust." "surely one may trust brothers of the lodge." "no, no, not always," cried morris with vehemence. "whatever we say, even what we think, seems to go back to that man mcginty." "look here!" said mcmurdo sternly. "it was only last night, as you know well, that i swore good faith to our bodymaster. would you be asking me to break my oath?" "if that is the view you take," said morris sadly, "i can only say that i am sorry i gave you the trouble to come and meet me. things have come to a bad pass when two free citizens cannot speak their thoughts to each other." mcmurdo, who had been watching his companion very narrowly, relaxed somewhat in his bearing. "sure i spoke for myself only," said he. "i am a newcomer, as you know, and i am strange to it all. it is not for me to open my mouth, mr. morris, and if you think well to say anything to me i am here to hear it." "and to take it back to boss mcginty!" said morris bitterly. "indeed, then, you do me injustice there," cried mcmurdo. "for myself i am loyal to the lodge, and so i tell you straight; but i would be a poor creature if i were to repeat to any other what you might say to me in confidence. it will go no further than me; though i warn you that you may get neither help nor sympathy." "i have given up looking for either the one or the other," said morris. "i may be putting my very life in your hands by what i say; but, bad as you are--and it seemed to me last night that you were shaping to be as bad as the worst--still you are new to it, and your conscience cannot yet be as hardened as theirs. that was why i thought to speak with you." "well, what have you to say?" "if you give me away, may a curse be on you!" "sure, i said i would not." "i would ask you, then, when you joined the freeman's society in chicago and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross your mind that you might find it would lead you to crime?" "if you call it crime," mcmurdo answered. "call it crime!" cried morris, his voice vibrating with passion. "you have seen little of it if you can call it anything else. was it crime last night when a man old enough to be your father was beaten till the blood dripped from his white hairs? was that crime--or what else would you call it?" "there are some would say it was war," said mcmurdo, "a war of two classes with all in, so that each struck as best it could." "well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the freeman's society at chicago?" "no, i'm bound to say i did not." "nor did i when i joined it at philadelphia. it was just a benefit club and a meeting place for one's fellows. then i heard of this place--curse the hour that the name first fell upon my ears!--and i came to better myself! my god! to better myself! my wife and three children came with me. i started a dry goods store on market square, and i prospered well. the word had gone round that i was a freeman, and i was forced to join the local lodge, same as you did last night. i've the badge of shame on my forearm and something worse branded on my heart. i found that i was under the orders of a black villain and caught in a meshwork of crime. what could i do? every word i said to make things better was taken as treason, same as it was last night. i can't get away; for all i have in the world is in my store. if i leave the society, i know well that it means murder to me, and god knows what to my wife and children. oh, man, it is awful--awful!" he put his hands to his face, and his body shook with convulsive sobs. mcmurdo shrugged his shoulders. "you were too soft for the job," said he. "you are the wrong sort for such work." "i had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal among them. i was chosen for a job. if i backed down i knew well what would come to me. maybe i'm a coward. maybe it's the thought of my poor little woman and the children that makes me one. anyhow i went. i guess it will haunt me forever. "it was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder. i was told off for the door, same as you were last night. they could not trust me with the job. the others went in. when they came out their hands were crimson to the wrists. as we turned away a child was screaming out of the house behind us. it was a boy of five who had seen his father murdered. i nearly fainted with the horror of it, and yet i had to keep a bold and smiling face; for well i knew that if i did not it would be out of my house that they would come next with their bloody hands and it would be my little fred that would be screaming for his father. "but i was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in this world, and lost also in the next. i am a good catholic; but the priest would have no word with me when he heard i was a scowrer, and i am excommunicated from my faith. that's how it stands with me. and i see you going down the same road, and i ask you what the end is to be. are you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything to stop it?" "what would you do?" asked mcmurdo abruptly. "you would not inform?" "god forbid!" cried morris. "sure, the very thought would cost me my life." "that's well," said mcmurdo. "i'm thinking that you are a weak man and that you make too much of the matter." "too much! wait till you have lived here longer. look down the valley! see the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! i tell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of the people. it is the valley of fear, the valley of death. the terror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself." "well, i'll let you know what i think when i have seen more," said mcmurdo carelessly. "what is very clear is that you are not the man for the place, and that the sooner you sell out--if you only get a dime a dollar for what the business is worth--the better it will be for you. what you have said is safe with me; but, by gar! if i thought you were an informer--" "no, no!" cried morris piteously. "well, let it rest at that. i'll bear what you have said in mind, and maybe some day i'll come back to it. i expect you meant kindly by speaking to me like this. now i'll be getting home." "one word before you go," said morris. "we may have been seen together. they may want to know what we have spoken about." "ah! that's well thought of." "i offer you a clerkship in my store." "and i refuse it. that's our business. well, so long, brother morris, and may you find things go better with you in the future." that same afternoon, as mcmurdo sat smoking, lost in thought beside the stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework was filled with the huge figure of boss mcginty. he passed the sign, and then seating himself opposite to the young man he looked at him steadily for some time, a look which was as steadily returned. "i'm not much of a visitor, brother mcmurdo," he said at last. "i guess i am too busy over the folk that visit me. but i thought i'd stretch a point and drop down to see you in your own house." "i'm proud to see you here, councillor," mcmurdo answered heartily, bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. "it's an honour that i had not expected." "how's the arm?" asked the boss. mcmurdo made a wry face. "well, i'm not forgetting it," he said; "but it's worth it." "yes, it's worth it," the other answered, "to those that are loyal and go through with it and are a help to the lodge. what were you speaking to brother morris about on miller hill this morning?" the question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his answer prepared. he burst into a hearty laugh. "morris didn't know i could earn a living here at home. he shan't know either; for he has got too much conscience for the likes of me. but he's a good-hearted old chap. it was his idea that i was at a loose end, and that he would do me a good turn by offering me a clerkship in a dry goods store." "oh, that was it?" "yes, that was it." "and you refused it?" "sure. couldn't i earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with four hours' work?" "that's so. but i wouldn't get about too much with morris." "why not?" "well, i guess because i tell you not. that's enough for most folk in these parts." "it may be enough for most folk; but it ain't enough for me, councillor," said mcmurdo boldly. "if you are a judge of men, you'll know that." the swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for an instant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of his companion. then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincere fashion. "you're a queer card, for sure," said he. "well, if you want reasons, i'll give them. did morris say nothing to you against the lodge?" "no." "nor against me?" "no." "well, that's because he daren't trust you. but in his heart he is not a loyal brother. we know that well. so we watch him and we wait for the time to admonish him. i'm thinking that the time is drawing near. there's no room for scabby sheep in our pen. but if you keep company with a disloyal man, we might think that you were disloyal, too. see?" "there's no chance of my keeping company with him; for i dislike the man," mcmurdo answered. "as to being disloyal, if it was any man but you he would not use the word to me twice." "well, that's enough," said mcginty, draining off his glass. "i came down to give you a word in season, and you've had it." "i'd like to know," said mcmurdo, "how you ever came to learn that i had spoken with morris at all?" mcginty laughed. "it's my business to know what goes on in this township," said he. "i guess you'd best reckon on my hearing all that passes. well, time's up, and i'll just say--" but his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion. with a sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intent faces glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps. mcmurdo sprang to his feet and half drew his revolver; but his arm stopped midway as he became conscious that two winchester rifles were levelled at his head. a man in uniform advanced into the room, a six-shooter in his hand. it was captain marvin, once of chicago, and now of the mine constabulary. he shook his head with a half-smile at mcmurdo. "i thought you'd be getting into trouble, mr. crooked mcmurdo of chicago," said he. "can't keep out of it, can you? take your hat and come along with us." "i guess you'll pay for this, captain marvin," said mcginty. "who are you, i'd like to know, to break into a house in this fashion and molest honest, law-abiding men?" "you're standing out in this deal, councillor mcginty," said the police captain. "we are not out after you, but after this man mcmurdo. it is for you to help, not to hinder us in our duty," "he is a friend of mine, and i'll answer for his conduct," said the boss. "by all accounts, mr. mcginty, you may have to answer for your own conduct some of these days," the captain answered. "this man mcmurdo was a crook before ever he came here, and he's a crook still. cover him, patrolman, while i disarm him." "there's my pistol," said mcmurdo coolly. "maybe, captain marvin, if you and i were alone and face to face you would not take me so easily." "where's your warrant?" asked mcginty. "by gar! a man might as well live in russia as in vermissa while folk like you are running the police. it's a capitalist outrage, and you'll hear more of it, i reckon." "you do what you think is your duty the best way you can, councillor. we'll look after ours." "what am i accused of?" asked mcmurdo. "of being concerned in the beating of old editor stanger at the herald office. it wasn't your fault that it isn't a murder charge." "well, if that's all you have against him," cried mcginty with a laugh, "you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping it right now. this man was with me in my saloon playing poker up to midnight, and i can bring a dozen to prove it." "that's your affair, and i guess you can settle it in court to-morrow. meanwhile, come on, mcmurdo, and come quietly if you don't want a gun across your head. you stand wide, mr. mcginty; for i warn you i will stand no resistance when i am on duty!" so determined was the appearance of the captain that both mcmurdo and his boss were forced to accept the situation. the latter managed to have a few whispered words with the prisoner before they parted. "what about--" he jerked his thumb upward to signify the coining plant. "all right," whispered mcmurdo, who had devised a safe hiding place under the floor. "i'll bid you good-bye," said the boss, shaking hands. "i'll see reilly the lawyer and take the defense upon myself. take my word for it that they won't be able to hold you." "i wouldn't bet on that. guard the prisoner, you two, and shoot him if he tries any games. i'll search the house before i leave." he did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant. when he had descended he and his men escorted mcmurdo to headquarters. darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowing so that the streets were nearly deserted; but a few loiterers followed the group, and emboldened by invisibility shouted imprecations at the prisoner. "lynch the cursed scowrer!" they cried. "lynch him!" they laughed and jeered as he was pushed into the police station. after a short, formal examination from the inspector in charge he was put into the common cell. here he found baldwin and three other criminals of the night before, all arrested that afternoon and waiting their trial next morning. but even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of the freemen was able to extend. late at night there came a jailer with a straw bundle for their bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles of whisky, some glasses, and a pack of cards. they spent a hilarious night, without an anxious thought as to the ordeal of the morning. nor had they cause, as the result was to show. the magistrate could not possibly, on the evidence, have held them for a higher court. on the one hand the compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the light was uncertain, that they were themselves much perturbed, and that it was difficult for them to swear to the identity of the assailants; although they believed that the accused were among them. cross examined by the clever attorney who had been engaged by mcginty, they were even more nebulous in their evidence. the injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the fact that the first man who struck him wore a moustache. he added that he knew them to be scowrers, since no one else in the community could possibly have any enmity to him, and he had long been threatened on account of his outspoken editorials. on the other hand, it was clearly shown by the united and unfaltering evidence of six citizens, including that high municipal official, councillor mcginty, that the men had been at a card party at the union house until an hour very much later than the commission of the outrage. needless to say that they were discharged with something very near to an apology from the bench for the inconvenience to which they had been put, together with an implied censure of captain marvin and the police for their officious zeal. the verdict was greeted with loud applause by a court in which mcmurdo saw many familiar faces. brothers of the lodge smiled and waved. but there were others who sat with compressed lips and brooding eyes as the men filed out of the dock. one of them, a little, dark-bearded, resolute fellow, put the thoughts of himself and comrades into words as the ex-prisoners passed him. "you damned murderers!" he said. "we'll fix you yet!" chapter v the darkest hour if anything had been needed to give an impetus to jack mcmurdo's popularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest and acquittal. that a man on the very night of joining the lodge should have done something which brought him before the magistrate was a new record in the annals of the society. already he had earned the reputation of a good boon companion, a cheery reveller, and withal a man of high temper, who would not take an insult even from the all-powerful boss himself. but in addition to this he impressed his comrades with the idea that among them all there was not one whose brain was so ready to devise a bloodthirsty scheme, or whose hand would be more capable of carrying it out. "he'll be the boy for the clean job," said the oldsters to one another, and waited their time until they could set him to his work. mcginty had instruments enough already; but he recognized that this was a supremely able one. he felt like a man holding a fierce bloodhound in leash. there were curs to do the smaller work; but some day he would slip this creature upon its prey. a few members of the lodge, ted baldwin among them, resented the rapid rise of the stranger and hated him for it; but they kept clear of him, for he was as ready to fight as to laugh. but if he gained favour with his fellows, there was another quarter, one which had become even more vital to him, in which he lost it. ettie shafter's father would have nothing more to do with him, nor would he allow him to enter the house. ettie herself was too deeply in love to give him up altogether, and yet her own good sense warned her of what would come from a marriage with a man who was regarded as a criminal. one morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him, possibly for the last time, and make one strong endeavour to draw him from those evil influences which were sucking him down. she went to his house, as he had often begged her to do, and made her way into the room which he used as his sitting-room. he was seated at a table, with his back turned and a letter in front of him. a sudden spirit of girlish mischief came over her--she was still only nineteen. he had not heard her when she pushed open the door. now she tiptoed forward and laid her hand lightly upon his bended shoulders. if she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; but only in turn to be startled herself. with a tiger spring he turned on her, and his right hand was feeling for her throat. at the same instant with the other hand he crumpled up the paper that lay before him. for an instant he stood glaring. then astonishment and joy took the place of the ferocity which had convulsed his features--a ferocity which had sent her shrinking back in horror as from something which had never before intruded into her gentle life. "it's you!" said he, mopping his brow. "and to think that you should come to me, heart of my heart, and i should find nothing better to do than to want to strangle you! come then, darling," and he held out his arms, "let me make it up to you." but she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guilty fear which she had read in the man's face. all her woman's instinct told her that it was not the mere fright of a man who is startled. guilt--that was it--guilt and fear! "what's come over you, jack?" she cried. "why were you so scared of me? oh, jack, if your conscience was at ease, you would not have looked at me like that!" "sure, i was thinking of other things, and when you came tripping so lightly on those fairy feet of yours--" "no, no, it was more than that, jack." then a sudden suspicion seized her. "let me see that letter you were writing." "ah, ettie, i couldn't do that." her suspicions became certainties. "it's to another woman," she cried. "i know it! why else should you hold it from me? was it to your wife that you were writing? how am i to know that you are not a married man--you, a stranger, that nobody knows?" "i am not married, ettie. see now, i swear it! you're the only one woman on earth to me. by the cross of christ i swear it!" he was so white with passionate earnestness that she could not but believe him. "well, then," she cried, "why will you not show me the letter?" "i'll tell you, acushla," said he. "i'm under oath not to show it, and just as i wouldn't break my word to you so i would keep it to those who hold my promise. it's the business of the lodge, and even to you it's secret. and if i was scared when a hand fell on me, can't you understand it when it might have been the hand of a detective?" she felt that he was telling the truth. he gathered her into his arms and kissed away her fears and doubts. "sit here by me, then. it's a queer throne for such a queen; but it's the best your poor lover can find. he'll do better for you some of these days, i'm thinking. now your mind is easy once again, is it not?" "how can it ever be at ease, jack, when i know that you are a criminal among criminals, when i never know the day that i may hear you are in court for murder? 'mcmurdo the scowrer,' that's what one of our boarders called you yesterday. it went through my heart like a knife." "sure, hard words break no bones." "but they were true." "well, dear, it's not so bad as you think. we are but poor men that are trying in our own way to get our rights." ettie threw her arms round her lover's neck. "give it up, jack! for my sake, for god's sake, give it up! it was to ask you that i came here to-day. oh, jack, see--i beg it of you on my bended knees! kneeling here before you i implore you to give it up!" he raised her and soothed her with her head against his breast. "sure, my darlin', you don't know what it is you are asking. how could i give it up when it would be to break my oath and to desert my comrades? if you could see how things stand with me you could never ask it of me. besides, if i wanted to, how could i do it? you don't suppose that the lodge would let a man go free with all its secrets?" "i've thought of that, jack. i've planned it all. father has saved some money. he is weary of this place where the fear of these people darkens our lives. he is ready to go. we would fly together to philadelphia or new york, where we would be safe from them." mcmurdo laughed. "the lodge has a long arm. do you think it could not stretch from here to philadelphia or new york?" "well, then, to the west, or to england, or to germany, where father came from--anywhere to get away from this valley of fear!" mcmurdo thought of old brother morris. "sure, it is the second time i have heard the valley so named," said he. "the shadow does indeed seem to lie heavy on some of you." "it darkens every moment of our lives. do you suppose that ted baldwin has ever forgiven us? if it were not that he fears you, what do you suppose our chances would be? if you saw the look in those dark, hungry eyes of his when they fall on me!" "by gar! i'd teach him better manners if i caught him at it! but see here, little girl. i can't leave here. i can't--take that from me once and for all. but if you will leave me to find my own way, i will try to prepare a way of getting honourably out of it." "there is no honour in such a matter." "well, well, it's just how you look at it. but if you'll give me six months, i'll work it so that i can leave without being ashamed to look others in the face." the girl laughed with joy. "six months!" she cried. "is it a promise?" "well, it may be seven or eight. but within a year at the furthest we will leave the valley behind us." it was the most that ettie could obtain, and yet it was something. there was this distant light to illuminate the gloom of the immediate future. she returned to her father's house more light-hearted than she had ever been since jack mcmurdo had come into her life. it might be thought that as a member, all the doings of the society would be told to him; but he was soon to discover that the organization was wider and more complex than the simple lodge. even boss mcginty was ignorant as to many things; for there was an official named the county delegate, living at hobson's patch farther down the line, who had power over several different lodges which he wielded in a sudden and arbitrary way. only once did mcmurdo see him, a sly, little gray-haired rat of a man, with a slinking gait and a sidelong glance which was charged with malice. evans pott was his name, and even the great boss of vermissa felt towards him something of the repulsion and fear which the huge danton may have felt for the puny but dangerous robespierre. one day scanlan, who was mcmurdo's fellow boarder, received a note from mcginty inclosing one from evans pott, which informed him that he was sending over two good men, lawler and andrews, who had instructions to act in the neighbourhood; though it was best for the cause that no particulars as to their objects should be given. would the bodymaster see to it that suitable arrangements be made for their lodgings and comfort until the time for action should arrive? mcginty added that it was impossible for anyone to remain secret at the union house, and that, therefore, he would be obliged if mcmurdo and scanlan would put the strangers up for a few days in their boarding house. the same evening the two men arrived, each carrying his gripsack. lawler was an elderly man, shrewd, silent, and self-contained, clad in an old black frock coat, which with his soft felt hat and ragged, grizzled beard gave him a general resemblance to an itinerant preacher. his companion andrews was little more than a boy, frank-faced and cheerful, with the breezy manner of one who is out for a holiday and means to enjoy every minute of it. both men were total abstainers, and behaved in all ways as exemplary members of the society, with the one simple exception that they were assassins who had often proved themselves to be most capable instruments for this association of murder. lawler had already carried out fourteen commissions of the kind, and andrews three. they were, as mcmurdo found, quite ready to converse about their deeds in the past, which they recounted with the half-bashful pride of men who had done good and unselfish service for the community. they were reticent, however, as to the immediate job in hand. "they chose us because neither i nor the boy here drink," lawler explained. "they can count on us saying no more than we should. you must not take it amiss, but it is the orders of the county delegate that we obey." "sure, we are all in it together," said scanlan, mcmurdo's mate, as the four sat together at supper. "that's true enough, and we'll talk till the cows come home of the killing of charlie williams or of simon bird, or any other job in the past. but till the work is done we say nothing." "there are half a dozen about here that i have a word to say to," said mcmurdo, with an oath. "i suppose it isn't jack knox of ironhill that you are after. i'd go some way to see him get his deserts." "no, it's not him yet." "or herman strauss?" "no, nor him either." "well, if you won't tell us we can't make you; but i'd be glad to know." lawler smiled and shook his head. he was not to be drawn. in spite of the reticence of their guests, scanlan and mcmurdo were quite determined to be present at what they called "the fun." when, therefore, at an early hour one morning mcmurdo heard them creeping down the stairs he awakened scanlan, and the two hurried on their clothes. when they were dressed they found that the others had stolen out, leaving the door open behind them. it was not yet dawn, and by the light of the lamps they could see the two men some distance down the street. they followed them warily, treading noiselessly in the deep snow. the boarding house was near the edge of the town, and soon they were at the crossroads which is beyond its boundary. here three men were waiting, with whom lawler and andrews held a short, eager conversation. then they all moved on together. it was clearly some notable job which needed numbers. at this point there are several trails which lead to various mines. the strangers took that which led to the crow hill, a huge business which was in strong hands which had been able, thanks to their energetic and fearless new england manager, josiah h. dunn, to keep some order and discipline during the long reign of terror. day was breaking now, and a line of workmen were slowly making their way, singly and in groups, along the blackened path. mcmurdo and scanlan strolled on with the others, keeping in sight of the men whom they followed. a thick mist lay over them, and from the heart of it there came the sudden scream of a steam whistle. it was the ten-minute signal before the cages descended and the day's labour began. when they reached the open space round the mine shaft there were a hundred miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers; for it was bitterly cold. the strangers stood in a little group under the shadow of the engine house. scanlan and mcmurdo climbed a heap of slag from which the whole scene lay before them. they saw the mine engineer, a great bearded scotchman named menzies, come out of the engine house and blow his whistle for the cages to be lowered. at the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with a clean-shaved, earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head. as he came forward his eyes fell upon the group, silent and motionless, under the engine house. the men had drawn down their hats and turned up their collars to screen their faces. for a moment the presentiment of death laid its cold hand upon the manager's heart. at the next he had shaken it off and saw only his duty towards intrusive strangers. "who are you?" he asked as he advanced. "what are you loitering there for?" there was no answer; but the lad andrews stepped forward and shot him in the stomach. the hundred waiting miners stood as motionless and helpless as if they were paralyzed. the manager clapped his two hands to the wound and doubled himself up. then he staggered away; but another of the assassins fired, and he went down sidewise, kicking and clawing among a heap of clinkers. menzies, the scotchman, gave a roar of rage at the sight and rushed with an iron spanner at the murderers; but was met by two balls in the face which dropped him dead at their very feet. there was a surge forward of some of the miners, and an inarticulate cry of pity and of anger; but a couple of the strangers emptied their six-shooters over the heads of the crowd, and they broke and scattered, some of them rushing wildly back to their homes in vermissa. when a few of the bravest had rallied, and there was a return to the mine, the murderous gang had vanished in the mists of morning, without a single witness being able to swear to the identity of these men who in front of a hundred spectators had wrought this double crime. scanlan and mcmurdo made their way back; scanlan somewhat subdued, for it was the first murder job that he had seen with his own eyes, and it appeared less funny than he had been led to believe. the horrible screams of the dead manager's wife pursued them as they hurried to the town. mcmurdo was absorbed and silent; but he showed no sympathy for the weakening of his companion. "sure, it is like a war," he repeated. "what is it but a war between us and them, and we hit back where we best can." there was high revel in the lodge room at the union house that night, not only over the killing of the manager and engineer of the crow hill mine, which would bring this organization into line with the other blackmailed and terror-stricken companies of the district, but also over a distant triumph which had been wrought by the hands of the lodge itself. it would appear that when the county delegate had sent over five good men to strike a blow in vermissa, he had demanded that in return three vermissa men should be secretly selected and sent across to kill william hales of stake royal, one of the best known and most popular mine owners in the gilmerton district, a man who was believed not to have an enemy in the world; for he was in all ways a model employer. he had insisted, however, upon efficiency in the work, and had, therefore, paid off certain drunken and idle employees who were members of the all-powerful society. coffin notices hung outside his door had not weakened his resolution, and so in a free, civilized country he found himself condemned to death. the execution had now been duly carried out. ted baldwin, who sprawled now in the seat of honour beside the bodymaster, had been chief of the party. his flushed face and glazed, blood-shot eyes told of sleeplessness and drink. he and his two comrades had spent the night before among the mountains. they were unkempt and weather-stained. but no heroes, returning from a forlorn hope, could have had a warmer welcome from their comrades. the story was told and retold amid cries of delight and shouts of laughter. they had waited for their man as he drove home at nightfall, taking their station at the top of a steep hill, where his horse must be at a walk. he was so furred to keep out the cold that he could not lay his hand on his pistol. they had pulled him out and shot him again and again. he had screamed for mercy. the screams were repeated for the amusement of the lodge. "let's hear again how he squealed," they cried. none of them knew the man; but there is eternal drama in a killing, and they had shown the scowrers of gilmerton that the vermissa men were to be relied upon. there had been one contretemps; for a man and his wife had driven up while they were still emptying their revolvers into the silent body. it had been suggested that they should shoot them both; but they were harmless folk who were not connected with the mines, so they were sternly bidden to drive on and keep silent, lest a worse thing befall them. and so the blood-mottled figure had been left as a warning to all such hard-hearted employers, and the three noble avengers had hurried off into the mountains where unbroken nature comes down to the very edge of the furnaces and the slag heaps. here they were, safe and sound, their work well done, and the plaudits of their companions in their ears. it had been a great day for the scowrers. the shadow had fallen even darker over the valley. but as the wise general chooses the moment of victory in which to redouble his efforts, so that his foes may have no time to steady themselves after disaster, so boss mcginty, looking out upon the scene of his operations with his brooding and malicious eyes, had devised a new attack upon those who opposed him. that very night, as the half-drunken company broke up, he touched mcmurdo on the arm and led him aside into that inner room where they had their first interview. "see here, my lad," said he, "i've got a job that's worthy of you at last. you'll have the doing of it in your own hands." "proud i am to hear it," mcmurdo answered. "you can take two men with you--manders and reilly. they have been warned for service. we'll never be right in this district until chester wilcox has been settled, and you'll have the thanks of every lodge in the coal fields if you can down him." "i'll do my best, anyhow. who is he, and where shall i find him?" mcginty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from the corner of his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on a page torn from his notebook. "he's the chief foreman of the iron dike company. he's a hard citizen, an old colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle. we've had two tries at him; but had no luck, and jim carnaway lost his life over it. now it's for you to take it over. that's the house--all alone at the iron dike crossroad, same as you see here on the map--without another within earshot. it's no good by day. he's armed and shoots quick and straight, with no questions asked. but at night--well, there he is with his wife, three children, and a hired help. you can't pick or choose. it's all or none. if you could get a bag of blasting powder at the front door with a slow match to it--" "what's the man done?" "didn't i tell you he shot jim carnaway?" "why did he shoot him?" "what in thunder has that to do with you? carnaway was about his house at night, and he shot him. that's enough for me and you. you've got to settle the thing right." "there's these two women and the children. do they go up too?" "they have to--else how can we get him?" "it seems hard on them; for they've done nothing." "what sort of fool's talk is this? do you back out?" "easy, councillor, easy! what have i ever said or done that you should think i would be after standing back from an order of the bodymaster of my own lodge? if it's right or if it's wrong, it's for you to decide." "you'll do it, then?" "of course i will do it." "when?" "well, you had best give me a night or two that i may see the house and make my plans. then--" "very good," said mcginty, shaking him by the hand. "i leave it with you. it will be a great day when you bring us the news. it's just the last stroke that will bring them all to their knees." mcmurdo thought long and deeply over the commission which had been so suddenly placed in his hands. the isolated house in which chester wilcox lived was about five miles off in an adjacent valley. that very night he started off all alone to prepare for the attempt. it was daylight before he returned from his reconnaissance. next day he interviewed his two subordinates, manders and reilly, reckless youngsters who were as elated as if it were a deer-hunt. two nights later they met outside the town, all three armed, and one of them carrying a sack stuffed with the powder which was used in the quarries. it was two in the morning before they came to the lonely house. the night was a windy one, with broken clouds drifting swiftly across the face of a three-quarter moon. they had been warned to be on their guard against bloodhounds; so they moved forward cautiously, with their pistols cocked in their hands. but there was no sound save the howling of the wind, and no movement but the swaying branches above them. mcmurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all was still within. then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped a hole in it with his knife, and attached the fuse. when it was well alight he and his two companions took to their heels, and were some distance off, safe and snug in a sheltering ditch, before the shattering roar of the explosion, with the low, deep rumble of the collapsing building, told them that their work was done. no cleaner job had ever been carried out in the bloodstained annals of the society. but alas that work so well organized and boldly carried out should all have gone for nothing! warned by the fate of the various victims, and knowing that he was marked down for destruction, chester wilcox had moved himself and his family only the day before to some safer and less known quarters, where a guard of police should watch over them. it was an empty house which had been torn down by the gunpowder, and the grim old colour sergeant of the war was still teaching discipline to the miners of iron dike. "leave him to me," said mcmurdo. "he's my man, and i'll get him sure if i have to wait a year for him." a vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and so for the time the matter ended. when a few weeks later it was reported in the papers that wilcox had been shot at from an ambuscade, it was an open secret that mcmurdo was still at work upon his unfinished job. such were the methods of the society of freemen, and such were the deeds of the scowrers by which they spread their rule of fear over the great and rich district which was for so long a period haunted by their terrible presence. why should these pages be stained by further crimes? have i not said enough to show the men and their methods? these deeds are written in history, and there are records wherein one may read the details of them. there one may learn of the shooting of policemen hunt and evans because they had ventured to arrest two members of the society--a double outrage planned at the vermissa lodge and carried out in cold blood upon two helpless and disarmed men. there also one may read of the shooting of mrs. larbey when she was nursing her husband, who had been beaten almost to death by orders of boss mcginty. the killing of the elder jenkins, shortly followed by that of his brother, the mutilation of james murdoch, the blowing up of the staphouse family, and the murder of the stendals all followed hard upon one another in the same terrible winter. darkly the shadow lay upon the valley of fear. the spring had come with running brooks and blossoming trees. there was hope for all nature bound so long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there any hope for the men and women who lived under the yoke of the terror. never had the cloud above them been so dark and hopeless as in the early summer of the year 1875. chapter vi danger it was the height of the reign of terror. mcmurdo, who had already been appointed inner deacon, with every prospect of some day succeeding mcginty as bodymaster, was now so necessary to the councils of his comrades that nothing was done without his help and advice. the more popular he became, however, with the freemen, the blacker were the scowls which greeted him as he passed along the streets of vermissa. in spite of their terror the citizens were taking heart to band themselves together against their oppressors. rumours had reached the lodge of secret gatherings in the herald office and of distribution of firearms among the law-abiding people. but mcginty and his men were undisturbed by such reports. they were numerous, resolute, and well armed. their opponents were scattered and powerless. it would all end, as it had done in the past, in aimless talk and possibly in impotent arrests. so said mcginty, mcmurdo, and all the bolder spirits. it was a saturday evening in may. saturday was always the lodge night, and mcmurdo was leaving his house to attend it when morris, the weaker brother of the order, came to see him. his brow was creased with care, and his kindly face was drawn and haggard. "can i speak with you freely, mr. mcmurdo?" "sure." "i can't forget that i spoke my heart to you once, and that you kept it to yourself, even though the boss himself came to ask you about it." "what else could i do if you trusted me? it wasn't that i agreed with what you said." "i know that well. but you are the one that i can speak to and be safe. i've a secret here," he put his hand to his breast, "and it is just burning the life out of me. i wish it had come to any one of you but me. if i tell it, it will mean murder, for sure. if i don't, it may bring the end of us all. god help me, but i am near out of my wits over it!" mcmurdo looked at the man earnestly. he was trembling in every limb. he poured some whisky into a glass and handed it to him. "that's the physic for the likes of you," said he. "now let me hear of it." morris drank, and his white face took a tinge of colour. "i can tell it to you all in one sentence," said he. "there's a detective on our trail." mcmurdo stared at him in astonishment. "why, man, you're crazy," he said. "isn't the place full of police and detectives and what harm did they ever do us?" "no, no, it's no man of the district. as you say, we know them, and it is little that they can do. but you've heard of pinkerton's?" "i've read of some folk of that name." "well, you can take it from me you've no show when they are on your trail. it's not a take-it-or-miss-it government concern. it's a dead earnest business proposition that's out for results and keeps out till by hook or crook it gets them. if a pinkerton man is deep in this business, we are all destroyed." "we must kill him." "ah, it's the first thought that came to you! so it will be up at the lodge. didn't i say to you that it would end in murder?" "sure, what is murder? isn't it common enough in these parts?" "it is, indeed; but it's not for me to point out the man that is to be murdered. i'd never rest easy again. and yet it's our own necks that may be at stake. in god's name what shall i do?" he rocked to and fro in his agony of indecision. but his words had moved mcmurdo deeply. it was easy to see that he shared the other's opinion as to the danger, and the need for meeting it. he gripped morris's shoulder and shook him in his earnestness. "see here, man," he cried, and he almost screeched the words in his excitement, "you won't gain anything by sitting keening like an old wife at a wake. let's have the facts. who is the fellow? where is he? how did you hear of him? why did you come to me?" "i came to you; for you are the one man that would advise me. i told you that i had a store in the east before i came here. i left good friends behind me, and one of them is in the telegraph service. here's a letter that i had from him yesterday. it's this part from the top of the page. you can read it yourself." this was what mcmurdo read: how are the scowrers getting on in your parts? we read plenty of them in the papers. between you and me i expect to hear news from you before long. five big corporations and the two railroads have taken the thing up in dead earnest. they mean it, and you can bet they'll get there! they are right deep down into it. pinkerton has taken hold under their orders, and his best man, birdy edwards, is operating. the thing has got to be stopped right now. "now read the postscript." of course, what i give you is what i learned in business; so it goes no further. it's a queer cipher that you handle by the yard every day and can get no meaning from. mcmurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in his listless hands. the mist had lifted for a moment, and there was the abyss before him. "does anyone else know of this?" he asked. "i have told no one else." "but this man--your friend--has he any other person that he would be likely to write to?" "well, i dare say he knows one or two more." "of the lodge?" "it's likely enough." "i was asking because it is likely that he may have given some description of this fellow birdy edwards--then we could get on his trail." "well, it's possible. but i should not think he knew him. he is just telling me the news that came to him by way of business. how would he know this pinkerton man?" mcmurdo gave a violent start. "by gar!" he cried, "i've got him. what a fool i was not to know it. lord! but we're in luck! we will fix him before he can do any harm. see here, morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?" "sure, if you will only take it off mine." "i'll do that. you can stand right back and let me run it. even your name need not be mentioned. i'll take it all on myself, as if it were to me that this letter has come. will that content you?" "it's just what i would ask." "then leave it at that and keep your head shut. now i'll get down to the lodge, and we'll soon make old man pinkerton sorry for himself." "you wouldn't kill this man?" "the less you know, friend morris, the easier your conscience will be, and the better you will sleep. ask no questions, and let these things settle themselves. i have hold of it now." morris shook his head sadly as he left. "i feel that his blood is on my hands," he groaned. "self-protection is no murder, anyhow," said mcmurdo, smiling grimly. "it's him or us. i guess this man would destroy us all if we left him long in the valley. why, brother morris, we'll have to elect you bodymaster yet; for you've surely saved the lodge." and yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more seriously of this new intrusion than his words would show. it may have been his guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation of the pinkerton organization, it may have been the knowledge that great, rich corporations had set themselves the task of clearing out the scowrers; but, whatever his reason, his actions were those of a man who is preparing for the worst. every paper which would incriminate him was destroyed before he left the house. after that he gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed to him that he was safe. and yet the danger must still have pressed somewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old man shafter's. the house was forbidden him; but when he tapped at the window ettie came out to him. the dancing irish deviltry had gone from her lover's eyes. she read his danger in his earnest face. "something has happened!" she cried. "oh, jack, you are in danger!" "sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. and yet it may be wise that we make a move before it is worse." "make a move?" "i promised you once that i would go some day. i think the time is coming. i had news to-night, bad news, and i see trouble coming." "the police?" "well, a pinkerton. but, sure, you wouldn't know what that is, acushla, nor what it may mean to the likes of me. i'm too deep in this thing, and i may have to get out of it quick. you said you would come with me if i went." "oh, jack, it would be the saving of you!" "i'm an honest man in some things, ettie. i wouldn't hurt a hair of your bonny head for all that the world can give, nor ever pull you down one inch from the golden throne above the clouds where i always see you. would you trust me?" she put her hand in his without a word. "well, then, listen to what i say, and do as i order you, for indeed it's the only way for us. things are going to happen in this valley. i feel it in my bones. there may be many of us that will have to look out for ourselves. i'm one, anyhow. if i go, by day or night, it's you that must come with me!" "i'd come after you, jack." "no, no, you shall come with me. if this valley is closed to me and i can never come back, how can i leave you behind, and me perhaps in hiding from the police with never a chance of a message? it's with me you must come. i know a good woman in the place i come from, and it's there i'd leave you till we can get married. will you come?" "yes, jack, i will come." "god bless you for your trust in me! it's a fiend out of hell that i should be if i abused it. now, mark you, ettie, it will be just a word to you, and when it reaches you, you will drop everything and come right down to the waiting room at the depot and stay there till i come for you." "day or night, i'll come at the word, jack." somewhat eased in mind, now that his own preparations for escape had been begun, mcmurdo went on to the lodge. it had already assembled, and only by complicated signs and counter-signs could he pass through the outer guard and inner guard who close-tiled it. a buzz of pleasure and welcome greeted him as he entered. the long room was crowded, and through the haze of tobacco smoke he saw the tangled black mane of the bodymaster, the cruel, unfriendly features of baldwin, the vulture face of harraway, the secretary, and a dozen more who were among the leaders of the lodge. he rejoiced that they should all be there to take counsel over his news. "indeed, it's glad we are to see you, brother!" cried the chairman. "there's business here that wants a solomon in judgment to set it right." "it's lander and egan," explained his neighbour as he took his seat. "they both claim the head money given by the lodge for the shooting of old man crabbe over at stylestown, and who's to say which fired the bullet?" mcmurdo rose in his place and raised his hand. the expression of his face froze the attention of the audience. there was a dead hush of expectation. "eminent bodymaster," he said, in a solemn voice, "i claim urgency!" "brother mcmurdo claims urgency," said mcginty. "it's a claim that by the rules of this lodge takes precedence. now brother, we attend you." mcmurdo took the letter from his pocket. "eminent bodymaster and brethren," he said, "i am the bearer of ill news this day; but it is better that it should be known and discussed, than that a blow should fall upon us without warning which would destroy us all. i have information that the most powerful and richest organizations in this state have bound themselves together for our destruction, and that at this very moment there is a pinkerton detective, one birdy edwards, at work in the valley collecting the evidence which may put a rope round the necks of many of us, and send every man in this room into a felon's cell. that is the situation for the discussion of which i have made a claim of urgency." there was a dead silence in the room. it was broken by the chairman. "what is your evidence for this, brother mcmurdo?" he asked. "it is in this letter which has come into my hands," said mcmurdo. he read the passage aloud. "it is a matter of honour with me that i can give no further particulars about the letter, nor put it into your hands; but i assure you that there is nothing else in it which can affect the interests of the lodge. i put the case before you as it has reached me." "let me say, mr. chairman," said one of the older brethren, "that i have heard of birdy edwards, and that he has the name of being the best man in the pinkerton service." "does anyone know him by sight?" asked mcginty. "yes," said mcmurdo, "i do." there was a murmur of astonishment through the hall. "i believe we hold him in the hollow of our hands," he continued with an exulting smile upon his face. "if we act quickly and wisely, we can cut this thing short. if i have your confidence and your help, it is little that we have to fear." "what have we to fear, anyhow? what can he know of our affairs?" "you might say so if all were as stanch as you, councillor. but this man has all the millions of the capitalists at his back. do you think there is no weaker brother among all our lodges that could not be bought? he will get at our secrets--maybe has got them already. there's only one sure cure." "that he never leaves the valley," said baldwin. mcmurdo nodded. "good for you, brother baldwin," he said. "you and i have had our differences, but you have said the true word to-night." "where is he, then? where shall we know him?" "eminent bodymaster," said mcmurdo, earnestly, "i would put it to you that this is too vital a thing for us to discuss in open lodge. god forbid that i should throw a doubt on anyone here; but if so much as a word of gossip got to the ears of this man, there would be an end of any chance of our getting him. i would ask the lodge to choose a trusty committee, mr. chairman--yourself, if i might suggest it, and brother baldwin here, and five more. then i can talk freely of what i know and of what i advise should be done." the proposition was at once adopted, and the committee chosen. besides the chairman and baldwin there were the vulture-faced secretary, harraway, tiger cormac, the brutal young assassin, carter, the treasurer, and the brothers willaby, fearless and desperate men who would stick at nothing. the usual revelry of the lodge was short and subdued: for there was a cloud upon the men's spirits, and many there for the first time began to see the cloud of avenging law drifting up in that serene sky under which they had dwelt so long. the horrors they had dealt out to others had been so much a part of their settled lives that the thought of retribution had become a remote one, and so seemed the more startling now that it came so closely upon them. they broke up early and left their leaders to their council. "now, mcmurdo!" said mcginty when they were alone. the seven men sat frozen in their seats. "i said just now that i knew birdy edwards," mcmurdo explained. "i need not tell you that he is not here under that name. he's a brave man, but not a crazy one. he passes under the name of steve wilson, and he is lodging at hobson's patch." "how do you know this?" "because i fell into talk with him. i thought little of it at the time, nor would have given it a second thought but for this letter; but now i'm sure it's the man. i met him on the cars when i went down the line on wednesday--a hard case if ever there was one. he said he was a reporter. i believed it for the moment. wanted to know all he could about the scowrers and what he called 'the outrages' for a new york paper. asked me every kind of question so as to get something. you bet i was giving nothing away. 'i'd pay for it and pay well,' said he, 'if i could get some stuff that would suit my editor.' i said what i thought would please him best, and he handed me a twenty-dollar bill for my information. 'there's ten times that for you,' said he, 'if you can find me all that i want.'" "what did you tell him, then?" "any stuff i could make up." "how do you know he wasn't a newspaper man?" "i'll tell you. he got out at hobson's patch, and so did i. i chanced into the telegraph bureau, and he was leaving it. "'see here,' said the operator after he'd gone out, 'i guess we should charge double rates for this.'--'i guess you should,' said i. he had filled the form with stuff that might have been chinese, for all we could make of it. 'he fires a sheet of this off every day,' said the clerk. 'yes,' said i; 'it's special news for his paper, and he's scared that the others should tap it.' that was what the operator thought and what i thought at the time; but i think differently now." "by gar! i believe you are right," said mcginty. "but what do you allow that we should do about it?" "why not go right down now and fix him?" someone suggested. "ay, the sooner the better." "i'd start this next minute if i knew where we could find him," said mcmurdo. "he's in hobson's patch; but i don't know the house. i've got a plan, though, if you'll only take my advice." "well, what is it?" "i'll go to the patch to-morrow morning. i'll find him through the operator. he can locate him, i guess. well, then i'll tell him that i'm a freeman myself. i'll offer him all the secrets of the lodge for a price. you bet he'll tumble to it. i'll tell him the papers are at my house, and that it's as much as my life would be worth to let him come while folk were about. he'll see that that's horse sense. let him come at ten o'clock at night, and he shall see everything. that will fetch him sure." "well?" "you can plan the rest for yourselves. widow macnamara's is a lonely house. she's as true as steel and as deaf as a post. there's only scanlan and me in the house. if i get his promise--and i'll let you know if i do--i'd have the whole seven of you come to me by nine o'clock. we'll get him in. if ever he gets out alive--well, he can talk of birdy edwards's luck for the rest of his days!" "there's going to be a vacancy at pinkerton's or i'm mistaken. leave it at that, mcmurdo. at nine to-morrow we'll be with you. you once get the door shut behind him, and you can leave the rest with us." chapter vii the trapping of birdy edwards as mcmurdo had said, the house in which he lived was a lonely one and very well suited for such a crime as they had planned. it was on the extreme fringe of the town and stood well back from the road. in any other case the conspirators would have simply called out their man, as they had many a time before, and emptied their pistols into his body; but in this instance it was very necessary to find out how much he knew, how he knew it, and what had been passed on to his employers. it was possible that they were already too late and that the work had been done. if that was indeed so, they could at least have their revenge upon the man who had done it. but they were hopeful that nothing of great importance had yet come to the detective's knowledge, as otherwise, they argued, he would not have troubled to write down and forward such trivial information as mcmurdo claimed to have given him. however, all this they would learn from his own lips. once in their power, they would find a way to make him speak. it was not the first time that they had handled an unwilling witness. mcmurdo went to hobson's patch as agreed. the police seemed to take particular interest in him that morning, and captain marvin--he who had claimed the old acquaintance with him at chicago--actually addressed him as he waited at the station. mcmurdo turned away and refused to speak with him. he was back from his mission in the afternoon, and saw mcginty at the union house. "he is coming," he said. "good!" said mcginty. the giant was in his shirt sleeves, with chains and seals gleaming athwart his ample waistcoat and a diamond twinkling through the fringe of his bristling beard. drink and politics had made the boss a very rich as well as powerful man. the more terrible, therefore, seemed that glimpse of the prison or the gallows which had risen before him the night before. "do you reckon he knows much?" he asked anxiously. mcmurdo shook his head gloomily. "he's been here some time--six weeks at the least. i guess he didn't come into these parts to look at the prospect. if he has been working among us all that time with the railroad money at his back, i should expect that he has got results, and that he has passed them on." "there's not a weak man in the lodge," cried mcginty. "true as steel, every man of them. and yet, by the lord! there is that skunk morris. what about him? if any man gives us away, it would be he. i've a mind to send a couple of the boys round before evening to give him a beating up and see what they can get from him." "well, there would be no harm in that," mcmurdo answered. "i won't deny that i have a liking for morris and would be sorry to see him come to harm. he has spoken to me once or twice over lodge matters, and though he may not see them the same as you or i, he never seemed the sort that squeals. but still it is not for me to stand between him and you." "i'll fix the old devil!" said mcginty with an oath. "i've had my eye on him this year past." "well, you know best about that," mcmurdo answered. "but whatever you do must be to-morrow; for we must lie low until the pinkerton affair is settled up. we can't afford to set the police buzzing, to-day of all days." "true for you," said mcginty. "and we'll learn from birdy edwards himself where he got his news if we have to cut his heart out first. did he seem to scent a trap?" mcmurdo laughed. "i guess i took him on his weak point," he said. "if he could get on a good trail of the scowrers, he's ready to follow it into hell. i took his money," mcmurdo grinned as he produced a wad of dollar notes, "and as much more when he has seen all my papers." "what papers?" "well, there are no papers. but i filled him up about constitutions and books of rules and forms of membership. he expects to get right down to the end of everything before he leaves." "faith, he's right there," said mcginty grimly. "didn't he ask you why you didn't bring him the papers?" "as if i would carry such things, and me a suspected man, and captain marvin after speaking to me this very day at the depot!" "ay, i heard of that," said mcginty. "i guess the heavy end of this business is coming on to you. we could put him down an old shaft when we've done with him; but however we work it we can't get past the man living at hobson's patch and you being there to-day." mcmurdo shrugged his shoulders. "if we handle it right, they can never prove the killing," said he. "no one can see him come to the house after dark, and i'll lay to it that no one will see him go. now see here, councillor, i'll show you my plan and i'll ask you to fit the others into it. you will all come in good time. very well. he comes at ten. he is to tap three times, and me to open the door for him. then i'll get behind him and shut it. he's our man then." "that's all easy and plain." "yes; but the next step wants considering. he's a hard proposition. he's heavily armed. i've fooled him proper, and yet he is likely to be on his guard. suppose i show him right into a room with seven men in it where he expected to find me alone. there is going to be shooting, and somebody is going to be hurt." "that's so." "and the noise is going to bring every damned copper in the township on top of it." "i guess you are right." "this is how i should work it. you will all be in the big room--same as you saw when you had a chat with me. i'll open the door for him, show him into the parlour beside the door, and leave him there while i get the papers. that will give me the chance of telling you how things are shaping. then i will go back to him with some faked papers. as he is reading them i will jump for him and get my grip on his pistol arm. you'll hear me call and in you will rush. the quicker the better; for he is as strong a man as i, and i may have more than i can manage. but i allow that i can hold him till you come." "it's a good plan," said mcginty. "the lodge will owe you a debt for this. i guess when i move out of the chair i can put a name to the man that's coming after me." "sure, councillor, i am little more than a recruit," said mcmurdo; but his face showed what he thought of the great man's compliment. when he had returned home he made his own preparations for the grim evening in front of him. first he cleaned, oiled, and loaded his smith & wesson revolver. then he surveyed the room in which the detective was to be trapped. it was a large apartment, with a long deal table in the centre, and the big stove at one side. at each of the other sides were windows. there were no shutters on these: only light curtains which drew across. mcmurdo examined these attentively. no doubt it must have struck him that the apartment was very exposed for so secret a meeting. yet its distance from the road made it of less consequence. finally he discussed the matter with his fellow lodger. scanlan, though a scowrer, was an inoffensive little man who was too weak to stand against the opinion of his comrades, but was secretly horrified by the deeds of blood at which he had sometimes been forced to assist. mcmurdo told him shortly what was intended. "and if i were you, mike scanlan, i would take a night off and keep clear of it. there will be bloody work here before morning." "well, indeed then, mac," scanlan answered. "it's not the will but the nerve that is wanting in me. when i saw manager dunn go down at the colliery yonder it was just more than i could stand. i'm not made for it, same as you or mcginty. if the lodge will think none the worse of me, i'll just do as you advise and leave you to yourselves for the evening." the men came in good time as arranged. they were outwardly respectable citizens, well clad and cleanly; but a judge of faces would have read little hope for birdy edwards in those hard mouths and remorseless eyes. there was not a man in the room whose hands had not been reddened a dozen times before. they were as hardened to human murder as a butcher to sheep. foremost, of course, both in appearance and in guilt, was the formidable boss. harraway, the secretary, was a lean, bitter man with a long, scraggy neck and nervous, jerky limbs, a man of incorruptible fidelity where the finances of the order were concerned, and with no notion of justice or honesty to anyone beyond. the treasurer, carter, was a middle-aged man, with an impassive, rather sulky expression, and a yellow parchment skin. he was a capable organizer, and the actual details of nearly every outrage had sprung from his plotting brain. the two willabys were men of action, tall, lithe young fellows with determined faces, while their companion, tiger cormac, a heavy, dark youth, was feared even by his own comrades for the ferocity of his disposition. these were the men who assembled that night under the roof of mcmurdo for the killing of the pinkerton detective. their host had placed whisky upon the table, and they had hastened to prime themselves for the work before them. baldwin and cormac were already half-drunk, and the liquor had brought out all their ferocity. cormac placed his hands on the stove for an instant--it had been lighted, for the nights were still cold. "that will do," said he, with an oath. "ay," said baldwin, catching his meaning. "if he is strapped to that, we will have the truth out of him." "we'll have the truth out of him, never fear," said mcmurdo. he had nerves of steel, this man; for though the whole weight of the affair was on him his manner was as cool and unconcerned as ever. the others marked it and applauded. "you are the one to handle him," said the boss approvingly. "not a warning will he get till your hand is on his throat. it's a pity there are no shutters to your windows." mcmurdo went from one to the other and drew the curtains tighter. "sure no one can spy upon us now. it's close upon the hour." "maybe he won't come. maybe he'll get a sniff of danger," said the secretary. "he'll come, never fear," mcmurdo answered. "he is as eager to come as you can be to see him. hark to that!" they all sat like wax figures, some with their glasses arrested halfway to their lips. three loud knocks had sounded at the door. "hush!" mcmurdo raised his hand in caution. an exulting glance went round the circle, and hands were laid upon hidden weapons. "not a sound, for your lives!" mcmurdo whispered, as he went from the room, closing the door carefully behind him. with strained ears the murderers waited. they counted the steps of their comrade down the passage. then they heard him open the outer door. there were a few words as of greeting. then they were aware of a strange step inside and of an unfamiliar voice. an instant later came the slam of the door and the turning of the key in the lock. their prey was safe within the trap. tiger cormac laughed horribly, and boss mcginty clapped his great hand across his mouth. "be quiet, you fool!" he whispered. "you'll be the undoing of us yet!" there was a mutter of conversation from the next room. it seemed interminable. then the door opened, and mcmurdo appeared, his finger upon his lip. he came to the end of the table and looked round at them. a subtle change had come over him. his manner was as of one who has great work to do. his face had set into granite firmness. his eyes shone with a fierce excitement behind his spectacles. he had become a visible leader of men. they stared at him with eager interest; but he said nothing. still with the same singular gaze he looked from man to man. "well!" cried boss mcginty at last. "is he here? is birdy edwards here?" "yes," mcmurdo answered slowly. "birdy edwards is here. i am birdy edwards!" there were ten seconds after that brief speech during which the room might have been empty, so profound was the silence. the hissing of a kettle upon the stove rose sharp and strident to the ear. seven white faces, all turned upward to this man who dominated them, were set motionless with utter terror. then, with a sudden shivering of glass, a bristle of glistening rifle barrels broke through each window, while the curtains were torn from their hangings. at the sight boss mcginty gave the roar of a wounded bear and plunged for the half-opened door. a levelled revolver met him there with the stern blue eyes of captain marvin of the mine police gleaming behind the sights. the boss recoiled and fell back into his chair. "you're safer there, councillor," said the man whom they had known as mcmurdo. "and you, baldwin, if you don't take your hand off your pistol, you'll cheat the hangman yet. pull it out, or by the lord that made me--there, that will do. there are forty armed men round this house, and you can figure it out for yourself what chance you have. take their pistols, marvin!" there was no possible resistance under the menace of those rifles. the men were disarmed. sulky, sheepish, and amazed, they still sat round the table. "i'd like to say a word to you before we separate," said the man who had trapped them. "i guess we may not meet again until you see me on the stand in the courthouse. i'll give you something to think over between now and then. you know me now for what i am. at last i can put my cards on the table. i am birdy edwards of pinkerton's. i was chosen to break up your gang. i had a hard and dangerous game to play. not a soul, not one soul, not my nearest and dearest, knew that i was playing it. only captain marvin here and my employers knew that. but it's over to-night, thank god, and i am the winner!" the seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. there was unappeasable hatred in their eyes. he read the relentless threat. "maybe you think that the game is not over yet. well, i take my chance of that. anyhow, some of you will take no further hand, and there are sixty more besides yourselves that will see a jail this night. i'll tell you this, that when i was put upon this job i never believed there was such a society as yours. i thought it was paper talk, and that i would prove it so. they told me it was to do with the freemen; so i went to chicago and was made one. then i was surer than ever that it was just paper talk; for i found no harm in the society, but a deal of good. "still, i had to carry out my job, and i came to the coal valleys. when i reached this place i learned that i was wrong and that it wasn't a dime novel after all. so i stayed to look after it. i never killed a man in chicago. i never minted a dollar in my life. those i gave you were as good as any others; but i never spent money better. but i knew the way into your good wishes and so i pretended to you that the law was after me. it all worked just as i thought. "so i joined your infernal lodge, and i took my share in your councils. maybe they will say that i was as bad as you. they can say what they like, so long as i get you. but what is the truth? the night i joined you beat up old man stanger. i could not warn him, for there was no time; but i held your hand, baldwin, when you would have killed him. if ever i have suggested things, so as to keep my place among you, they were things which i knew i could prevent. i could not save dunn and menzies, for i did not know enough; but i will see that their murderers are hanged. i gave chester wilcox warning, so that when i blew his house in he and his folk were in hiding. there was many a crime that i could not stop; but if you look back and think how often your man came home the other road, or was down in town when you went for him, or stayed indoors when you thought he would come out, you'll see my work." "you blasted traitor!" hissed mcginty through his closed teeth. "ay, john mcginty, you may call me that if it eases your smart. you and your like have been the enemy of god and man in these parts. it took a man to get between you and the poor devils of men and women that you held under your grip. there was just one way of doing it, and i did it. you call me a traitor; but i guess there's many a thousand will call me a deliverer that went down into hell to save them. i've had three months of it. i wouldn't have three such months again if they let me loose in the treasury at washington for it. i had to stay till i had it all, every man and every secret right here in this hand. i'd have waited a little longer if it hadn't come to my knowledge that my secret was coming out. a letter had come into the town that would have set you wise to it all. then i had to act and act quickly. "i've nothing more to say to you, except that when my time comes i'll die the easier when i think of the work i have done in this valley. now, marvin, i'll keep you no more. take them in and get it over." there is little more to tell. scanlan had been given a sealed note to be left at the address of miss ettie shafter, a mission which he had accepted with a wink and a knowing smile. in the early hours of the morning a beautiful woman and a much muffled man boarded a special train which had been sent by the railroad company, and made a swift, unbroken journey out of the land of danger. it was the last time that ever either ettie or her lover set foot in the valley of fear. ten days later they were married in chicago, with old jacob shafter as witness of the wedding. the trial of the scowrers was held far from the place where their adherents might have terrified the guardians of the law. in vain they struggled. in vain the money of the lodge--money squeezed by blackmail out of the whole countryside--was spent like water in the attempt to save them. that cold, clear, unimpassioned statement from one who knew every detail of their lives, their organization, and their crimes was unshaken by all the wiles of their defenders. at last after so many years they were broken and scattered. the cloud was lifted forever from the valley. mcginty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whining when the last hour came. eight of his chief followers shared his fate. fifty-odd had various degrees of imprisonment. the work of birdy edwards was complete. and yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet. there was another hand to be played, and yet another and another. ted baldwin, for one, had escaped the scaffold; so had the willabys; so had several others of the fiercest spirits of the gang. for ten years they were out of the world, and then came a day when they were free once more--a day which edwards, who knew his men, was very sure would be an end of his life of peace. they had sworn an oath on all that they thought holy to have his blood as a vengeance for their comrades. and well they strove to keep their vow! from chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near success that it was sure that the third would get him. from chicago he went under a changed name to california, and it was there that the light went for a time out of his life when ettie edwards died. once again he was nearly killed, and once again under the name of douglas he worked in a lonely canyon, where with an english partner named barker he amassed a fortune. at last there came a warning to him that the bloodhounds were on his track once more, and he cleared--only just in time--for england. and thence came the john douglas who for a second time married a worthy mate, and lived for five years as a sussex county gentleman, a life which ended with the strange happenings of which we have heard. chapter viii epilogue the police trial had passed, in which the case of john douglas was referred to a higher court. so had the quarter sessions, at which he was acquitted as having acted in self-defense. "get him out of england at any cost," wrote holmes to the wife. "there are forces here which may be more dangerous than those he has escaped. there is no safety for your husband in england." two months had gone by, and the case had to some extent passed from our minds. then one morning there came an enigmatic note slipped into our letter box. "dear me, mr. holmes. dear me!" said this singular epistle. there was neither superscription nor signature. i laughed at the quaint message; but holmes showed unwonted seriousness. "deviltry, watson!" he remarked, and sat long with a clouded brow. late last night mrs. hudson, our landlady, brought up a message that a gentleman wished to see holmes, and that the matter was of the utmost importance. close at the heels of his messenger came cecil barker, our friend of the moated manor house. his face was drawn and haggard. "i've had bad news--terrible news, mr. holmes," said he. "i feared as much," said holmes. "you have not had a cable, have you?" "i have had a note from someone who has." "it's poor douglas. they tell me his name is edwards; but he will always be jack douglas of benito canyon to me. i told you that they started together for south africa in the palmyra three weeks ago." "exactly." "the ship reached cape town last night. i received this cable from mrs. douglas this morning:-- "jack has been lost overboard in gale off st. helena. no one knows how accident occurred. "ivy douglas." "ha! it came like that, did it?" said holmes, thoughtfully. "well, i've no doubt it was well stage-managed." "you mean that you think there was no accident?" "none in the world." "he was murdered?" "surely!" "so i think also. these infernal scowrers, this cursed vindictive nest of criminals--" "no, no, my good sir," said holmes. "there is a master hand here. it is no case of sawed-off shot-guns and clumsy six-shooters. you can tell an old master by the sweep of his brush. i can tell a moriarty when i see one. this crime is from london, not from america." "but for what motive?" "because it is done by a man who cannot afford to fail--one whose whole unique position depends upon the fact that all he does must succeed. a great brain and a huge organization have been turned to the extinction of one man. it is crushing the nut with the hammer--an absurd extravagance of energy--but the nut is very effectually crushed all the same." "how came this man to have anything to do with it?" "i can only say that the first word that ever came to us of the business was from one of his lieutenants. these americans were well advised. having an english job to do, they took into partnership, as any foreign criminal could do, this great consultant in crime. from that moment their man was doomed. at first he would content himself by using his machinery in order to find their victim. then he would indicate how the matter might be treated. finally, when he read in the reports of the failure of this agent, he would step in himself with a master touch. you heard me warn this man at birlstone manor house that the coming danger was greater than the past. was i right?" barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent anger. "do you tell me that we have to sit down under this? do you say that no one can ever get level with this king-devil?" "no, i don't say that," said holmes, and his eyes seemed to be looking far into the future. "i don't say that he can't be beat. but you must give me time--you must give me time!" we all sat in silence for some minutes, while those fateful eyes still strained to pierce the veil. his last bow preface the friends of mr. sherlock holmes will be glad to learn that he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. he has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the downs five miles from eastbourne, where his time is divided between philosophy and agriculture. during this period of rest he has refused the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retirement was a permanent one. the approach of the german war caused him, however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the government, with historical results which are recounted in his last bow. several previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio have been added to his last bow so as to complete the volume. john h. watson, m. d. the adventure of wisteria lodge table of contents the singular experience of mr. john scott eccles the tiger of san pedro chapter i the singular experience of mr. john scott eccles i find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day towards the end of march in the year 1892. holmes had received a telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. he made no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood in front of the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe, and casting an occasional glance at the message. suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "i suppose, watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters," said he. "how do you define the word 'grotesque'?" "strange--remarkable," i suggested. he shook his head at my definition. "there is surely something more than that," said he; "some underlying suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. if you cast your mind back to some of those narratives with which you have afflicted a long-suffering public, you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened into the criminal. think of that little affair of the red-headed men. that was grotesque enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at robbery. or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orange pips, which let straight to a murderous conspiracy. the word puts me on the alert." "have you it there?" i asked. he read the telegram aloud. "have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. may i consult you? "scott eccles, "post office, charing cross." "man or woman?" i asked. "oh, man, of course. no woman would ever send a reply-paid telegram. she would have come." "will you see him?" "my dear watson, you know how bored i have been since we locked up colonel carruthers. my mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. can you ask me, then, whether i am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may prove? but here, unless i am mistaken, is our client." a measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout, tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into the room. his life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner. from his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to the last degree. but some amazing experience had disturbed his native composure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angry cheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. he plunged instantly into his business. "i have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, mr. holmes," said he. "never in my life have i been placed in such a situation. it is most improper--most outrageous. i must insist upon some explanation." he swelled and puffed in his anger. "pray sit down, mr. scott eccles," said holmes in a soothing voice. "may i ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?" "well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the police, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that i could not leave it where it was. private detectives are a class with whom i have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your name--" "quite so. but, in the second place, why did you not come at once?" "what do you mean?" holmes glanced at his watch. "it is a quarter-past two," he said. "your telegram was dispatched about one. but no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking." our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin. "you are right, mr. holmes. i never gave a thought to my toilet. i was only too glad to get out of such a house. but i have been running round making inquiries before i came to you. i went to the house agents, you know, and they said that mr. garcia's rent was paid up all right and that everything was in order at wisteria lodge." "come, come, sir," said holmes, laughing. "you are like my friend, dr. watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost. please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance." our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance. "i'm sure it must look very bad, mr. holmes, and i am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. but will tell you the whole queer business, and when i have done so you will admit, i am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me." but his narrative was nipped in the bud. there was a bustle outside, and mrs. hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as inspector gregson of scotland yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capable officer. he shook hands with holmes and introduced his comrade as inspector baynes, of the surrey constabulary. "we are hunting together, mr. holmes, and our trail lay in this direction." he turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "are you mr. john scott eccles, of popham house, lee?" "i am." "we have been following you about all the morning." "you traced him through the telegram, no doubt," said holmes. "exactly, mr. holmes. we picked up the scent at charing cross post-office and came on here." "but why do you follow me? what do you want?" "we wish a statement, mr. scott eccles, as to the events which let up to the death last night of mr. aloysius garcia, of wisteria lodge, near esher." our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face. "dead? did you say he was dead?" "yes, sir, he is dead." "but how? an accident?" "murder, if ever there was one upon earth." "good god! this is awful! you don't mean--you don't mean that i am suspected?" "a letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and we know by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house." "so i did." "oh, you did, did you?" out came the official notebook. "wait a bit, gregson," said sherlock holmes. "all you desire is a plain statement, is it not?" "and it is my duty to warn mr. scott eccles that it may be used against him." "mr. eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. i think, watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. now, sir, i suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you never been interrupted." our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to his face. with a dubious glance at the inspector's notebook, he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement. "i am a bachelor," said he, "and being of a sociable turn i cultivate a large number of friends. among these are the family of a retired brewer called melville, living at abermarle mansion, kensington. it was at his table that i met some weeks ago a young fellow named garcia. he was, i understood, of spanish descent and connected in some way with the embassy. he spoke perfect english, was pleasing in his manners, and as good-looking a man as ever i saw in my life. "in some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and i. he seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of our meeting he came to see me at lee. one thing led to another, and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, wisteria lodge, between esher and oxshott. yesterday evening i went to esher to fulfil this engagement. "he had described his household to me before i went there. he lived with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all his needs. this fellow could speak english and did his housekeeping for him. then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he had picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. i remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart of surrey, and that i agreed with him, though it has proved a good deal queerer than i thought. "i drove to the place--about two miles on the south side of esher. the house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. it was an old, tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair. when the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-stained door, i had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom i knew so slightly. he opened the door himself, however, and greeted me with a great show of cordiality. i was handed over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy individual, who led the way, my bag in his hand, to my bedroom. the whole place was depressing. our dinner was tte--tte, and though my host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemed to continually wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that i could hardly understand him. he continually drummed his fingers on the table, gnawed his nails, and gave other signs of nervous impatience. the dinner itself was neither well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy presence of the taciturn servant did not help to enliven us. i can assure you that many times in the course of the evening i wished that i could invent some excuse which would take me back to lee. "one thing comes back to my memory which may have a bearing upon the business that you two gentlemen are investigating. i thought nothing of it at the time. near the end of dinner a note was handed in by the servant. i noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even more distrait and strange than before. he gave up all pretence at conversation and sat, smoking endless cigarettes, lost in his own thoughts, but he made no remark as to the contents. about eleven i was glad to go to bed. some time later garcia looked in at my door--the room was dark at the time--and asked me if i had rung. i said that i had not. he apologized for having disturbed me so late, saying that it was nearly one o'clock. i dropped off after this and slept soundly all night. "and now i come to the amazing part of my tale. when i woke it was broad daylight. i glanced at my watch, and the time was nearly nine. i had particularly asked to be called at eight, so i was very much astonished at this forgetfulness. i sprang up and rang for the servant. there was no response. i rang again and again, with the same result. then i came to the conclusion that the bell was out of order. i huddled on my clothes and hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper to order some hot water. you can imagine my surprise when i found that there was no one there. i shouted in the hall. there was no answer. then i ran from room to room. all were deserted. my host had shown me which was his bedroom the night before, so i knocked at the door. no reply. i turned the handle and walked in. the room was empty, and the bed had never been slept in. he had gone with the rest. the foreign host, the foreign footman, the foreign cook, all had vanished in the night! that was the end of my visit to wisteria lodge." sherlock holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added this bizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes. "your experience is, so far as i know, perfectly unique," said he. "may i ask, sir, what you did then?" "i was furious. my first idea was that i had been the victim of some absurd practical joke. i packed my things, banged the hall door behind me, and set off for esher, with my bag in my hand. i called at allan brothers', the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was from this firm that the villa had been rented. it struck me that the whole proceeding could hardly be for the purpose of making a fool of me, and that the main objet must be to get out of the rent. it is late in march, so quarter-day is at hand. but this theory would not work. the agent was obliged to me for my warning, but told me that the rent had been paid in advance. then i made my way to town and called at the spanish embassy. the man was unknown there. after this i went to see melville, at whose house i had first met garcia, but i found that he really knew rather less about him than i did. finally when i got your reply to my wire i came out to you, since i gather that you are a person who gives advice in difficult cases. but now, mr. inspector, i understand, from what you said when you entered the room, that you can carry the story on, and that some tragedy had occurred. i can assure you that every word i have said is the truth, and that, outside of what i have told you, i know absolutely nothing about the fate of this man. my only desire is to help the law in every possible way." "i am sure of it, mr. scott eccles--i am sure of it," said inspector gregson in a very amiable tone. "i am bound to say that everything which you have said agrees very closely with the facts as they have come to our notice. for example, there was that note which arrived during dinner. did you chance to observe what became of it?" "yes, i did. garcia rolled it up and threw it into the fire." "what do you say to that, mr. baynes?" the country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. with a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket. "it was a dog-grate, mr. holmes, and he overpitched it. i picked this out unburned from the back of it." holmes smiled his appreciation. "you must have examined the house very carefully to find a single pellet of paper." "i did, mr. holmes. it's my way. shall i read it, mr. gregson?" the londoner nodded. "the note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without watermark. it is a quarter-sheet. the paper is cut off in two snips with a short-bladed scissors. it has been folded over three times and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down with some flat oval object. it is addressed to mr. garcia, wisteria lodge. it says: "our own colours, green and white. green open, white shut. main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize. godspeed. d. "it is a woman's writing, done with a sharp-pointed pen, but the address is either done with another pen or by someone else. it is thicker and bolder, as you see." "a very remarkable note," said holmes, glancing it over. "i must compliment you, mr. baynes, upon your attention to detail in your examination of it. a few trifling points might perhaps be added. the oval seal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-link--what else is of such a shape? the scissors were bent nail scissors. short as the two snips are, you can distinctly see the same slight curve in each." the country detective chuckled. "i thought i had squeezed all the juice out of it, but i see there was a little over," he said. "i'm bound to say that i make nothing of the note except that there was something on hand, and that a woman, as usual, was at the bottom of it." mr. scott eccles had fidgeted in his seat during this conversation. "i am glad you found the note, since it corroborates my story," said he. "but i beg to point out that i have not yet heard what has happened to mr. garcia, nor what has become of his household." "as to garcia," said gregson, "that is easily answered. he was found dead this morning upon oxshott common, nearly a mile from his home. his head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded. it is a lonely corner, and there is no house within a quarter of a mile of the spot. he had apparently been struck down first from behind, but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he was dead. it was a most furious assault. there are no footsteps nor any clue to the criminals." "robbed?" "no, there was no attempt at robbery." "this is very painful--very painful and terrible," said mr. scott eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonly hard on me. i had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. how do i come to be mixed up with the case?" "very simply, sir," inspector baynes answered. "the only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. it was the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name and address. it was after nine this morning when we reached his house and found neither you nor anyone else inside it. i wired to mr. gregson to run you down in london while i examined wisteria lodge. then i came into town, joined mr. gregson, and here we are." "i think now," said gregson, rising, "we had best put this matter into an official shape. you will come round with us to the station, mr. scott eccles, and let us have your statement in writing." "certainly, i will come at once. but i retain your services, mr. holmes. i desire you to spare no expense and no pains to get at the truth." my friend turned to the country inspector. "i suppose that you have no objection to my collaborating with you, mr. baynes?" "highly honoured, sir, i am sure." "you appear to have been very prompt and businesslike in all that you have done. was there any clue, may i ask, as to the exact hour that the man met his death?" "he had been there since one o'clock. there was rain about that time, and his death had certainly been before the rain." "but that is perfectly impossible, mr. baynes," cried our client. "his voice is unmistakable. i could swear to it that it was he who addressed me in my bedroom at that very hour." "remarkable, but by no means impossible," said holmes, smiling. "you have a clue?" asked gregson. "on the face of it the case is not a very complex one, though it certainly presents some novel and interesting features. a further knowledge of facts is necessary before i would venture to give a final and definite opinion. by the way, mr. baynes, did you find anything remarkable besides this note in your examination of the house?" the detective looked at my friend in a singular way. "there were," said he, "one or two very remarkable things. perhaps when i have finished at the police-station you would care to come out and give me your opinion of them." "in am entirely at your service," said sherlock holmes, ringing the bell. "you will show these gentlemen out, mrs. hudson, and kindly send the boy with this telegram. he is to pay a five-shilling reply." we sat for some time in silence after our visitors had left. holmes smoked hard, with his browns drawn down over his keen eyes, and his head thrust forward in the eager way characteristic of the man. "well, watson," he asked, turning suddenly upon me, "what do you make of it?" "i can make nothing of this mystification of scott eccles." "but the crime?" "well, taken with the disappearance of the man's companions, i should say that they were in some way concerned in the murder and had fled from justice." "that is certainly a possible point of view. on the face of it you must admit, however, that it is very strange that his two servants should have been in a conspiracy against him and should have attacked him on the one night when he had a guest. they had him alone at their mercy every other night in the week." "then why did they fly?" "quite so. why did they fly? there is a big fact. another big fact is the remarkable experience of our client, scott eccles. now, my dear watson, is it beyond the limits of human ingenuity to furnish an explanation which would cover both of these big facts? if it were one which would also admit of the mysterious note with its very curious phraseology, why, then it would be worth accepting as a temporary hypothesis. if the fresh facts which come to our knowledge all fit themselves into the scheme, then our hypothesis may gradually become a solution." "but what is our hypothesis?" holmes leaned back in his chair with half-closed eyes. "you must admit, my dear watson, that the idea of a joke is impossible. there were grave events afoot, as the sequel showed, and the coaxing of scott eccles to wisteria lodge had some connection with them." "but what possible connection?" "let us take it link by link. there is, on the face of it, something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the young spaniard and scott eccles. it was the former who forced the pace. he called upon eccles at the other end of london on the very day after he first met him, and he kept in close touch with him until he got him down to esher. now, what did he want with eccles? what could eccles supply? i see no charm in the man. he is not particulary intelligent--not a man likely to be congenial to a quick-witted latin. why, then, was he picked out from all the other people whom garcia met as particularly suited to his purpose? has he any one outstanding quality? i say that he has. he is the very type of conventional british respectability, and the very man as a witness to impress another briton. you saw yourself how neither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement, extraordinary as it was." "but what was he to witness?" "nothing, as things turned out, but everything had they gone another way. that is how i read the matter." "i see, he might have proved an alibi." "exactly, my dear watson; he might have proved an alibi. we will suppose, for argument's sake, that the household of wisteria lodge are confederates in some design. the attempt, whatever it may be, is to come off, we will say, before one o'clock. by some juggling of the clocks it is quite possible that they may have got scott eccles to bed earlier than he thought, but in any case it is likely that when garcia went out of his way to tell him that it was one it was really not more than twelve. if garcia could do whatever he had to do and be back by the hour mentioned he had evidently a powerful reply to any accusation. here was this irreproachable englishman ready to swear in any court of law that the accused was in the house all the time. it was an insurance against the worst." "yes, yes, i see that. but how about the disappearance of the others?" "i have not all my facts yet, but i do not think there are any insuperable difficulties. still, it is an error to argue in front of your data. you find yourself insensibly twisting them round to fit your theories." "and the message?" "how did it run? 'our own colours, green and white.' sounds like racing. 'green open, white shut.' that is clearly a signal. 'main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize.' this is an assignation. we may find a jealous husband at the bottom of it all. it was clearly a dangerous quest. she would not have said 'godspeed' had it not been so. 'd'--that should be a guide." "the man was a spaniard. i suggest that 'd' stands for dolores, a common female name in spain." "good, watson, very good--but quite inadmissable. a spaniard would write to a spaniard in spanish. the writer of this note is certainly english. well, we can only possess our soul in patience until this excellent inspector come back for us. meanwhile we can thank our lucky fate which has rescued us for a few short hours from the insufferable fatigues of idleness." an answer had arrived to holmes's telegram before our surrey officer had returned. holmes read it and was about to place it in his notebook when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. he tossed it across with a laugh. "we are moving in exalted circles," said he. the telegram was a list of names and addresses: lord harringby, the dingle; sir george ffolliott, oxshott towers; mr. hynes hynes, j.p., purdley place; mr. james baker williams, forton old hall; mr. henderson, high gable; rev. joshua stone, nether walsling. "this is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations," said holmes. "no doubt baynes, with his methodical mind, has already adopted some similar plan." "i don't quite understand." "well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion that the massage received by garcia at dinner was an appointment or an assignation. now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, and in order to keep the tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seek the seventh door in a corridor, it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large one. it is equally certain that this house cannot be more than a mile or two from oxshott, since garcia was walking in that direction and hoped, according to my reading of the facts, to be back in wisteria lodge in time to avail himself of an alibi, which would only be valid up to one o'clock. as the number of large houses close to oxshott must be limited, i adopted the obvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by scott eccles and obtaining a list of them. here they are in this telegram, and the other end of our tangled skein must lie among them." it was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in the pretty surrey village of esher, with inspector baynes as our companion. holmes and i had taken things for the night, and found comfortable quarters at the bull. finally we set out in the company of the detective on our visit to wisteria lodge. it was a cold, dark march evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces, a fit setting for the wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which it led us. chapter ii the tiger of san pedro a cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a high wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. the curved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-black against a slate-coloured sky. from the front window upon the left of the door there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light. "there's a constable in possession," said baynes. "i'll knock at the window." he stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand on the pane. through the fogged glass i dimly saw a man spring up from a chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. an instant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened the door, the candle wavering in his trembling hand. "what's the matter, walters?" asked baynes sharply. the man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and agave a long sigh of relief. "i am glad you have come, sir. it has been a long evening, and i don't think my nerve is as good as it was." "your nerve, walters? i should not have thought you had a nerve in your body." "well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in the kitchen. then when you tapped at the window i thought it had come again." "that what had come again?" "the devil, sir, for all i know. it was at the window." "what was at the window, and when?" "it was just about two hours ago. the light was just fading. i was sitting reading in the chair. i don't know what made me look up, but there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane. lord, sir, what a face it was! i'll see it in my dreams." "tut, tut, walters. this is not talk for a police-constable." "i know, sir, i know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to deny it. it wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that i know but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. then there was the size of it--it was twice yours, sir. and the look of it--the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a hungry beast. i tell you, sir, i couldn't move a finger, nor get my breath, till it whisked away and was gone. out i ran and through the shrubbery, but thank god there was no one there." "if i didn't know you were a good man, walters, i should put a black mark against you for this. if it were the devil himself a constable on duty should never thank god that he could not lay his hands upon him. i suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?" "that, at least, is very easily settled," said holmes, lighting his little pocket lantern. "yes," he reported, after a short examination of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, i should say. if he was all on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant." "what became of him?" "he seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the road." "well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. now, mr. holmes, with your permission, i will show you round the house." the various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a careful search. apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing with them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been taken over with the house. a good deal of clothing with the stamp of marx and co., high holborn, had been left behind. telegraphic inquiries had been already made which showed that marx knew nothing of his customer save that he was a good payer. odds and ends, some pipes, a few novels, two of them in spanish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar were among the personal property. "nothing in all this," said baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from room to room. "but now, mr. holmes, i invite your attention to the kitchen." it was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the cook. the table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the debris of last night's dinner. "look at this," said baynes. "what do you make of it?" he held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the back of the dresser. it was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that it was difficult to say what it might have been. one could but say that it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a dwarfish, human figure. at first, as i examined it, i thought that it was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey. finally i was left in doubt as to whether it was animal or human. a double band of white shells were strung round the centre of it. "very interesting--very interesting, indeed!" said holmes, peering at this sinister relic. "anything more?" in silence baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle. the limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. holmes pointed to the wattles on the severed head. "a white cock," said he. "most interesting! it is really a very curious case." but mr. baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. from under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood. then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of charred bone. "something has been killed and something has been burned. we raked all these out of the fire. we had a doctor in this morning. he says that they are not human." holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. "i must congratulate you, inspector, on handling so distinctive and instructive a case. your powers, if i may say so without offence, seem superior to your opportunities." inspector baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure. "you're right, mr. holmes. we stagnate in the provinces. a case of this sort gives a man a chance, and i hope that i shall take it. what do you make of these bones?" "a lamb, i should say, or a kid." "and the white cock?" "curious, mr. baynes, very curious. i should say almost unique." "yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some very strange ways in this house. one of them is dead. did his companions follow him and kill him? if they did we should have them, for every port is watched. but my own views are different. yes, sir, my own views are very different." "you have a theory then?" "and i'll work it myself, mr. holmes. it's only due to my own credit to do so. your name is made, but i have still to make mine. i should be glad to be able to say afterwards that i had solved it without your help." holmes laughed good-humoredly. "well, well, inspector," said he. "do you follow your path and i will follow mine. my results are always very much at your service if you care to apply to me for them. i think that i have seen all that i wish in this house, and that my time may be more profitably employed elsewhere. au revoir and good luck!" i could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost upon anyone but myself, that holmes was on a hot scent. as impassive as ever to the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker manner which assured me that the game was afoot. after his habit he said nothing, and after mine i asked no questions. sufficient for me to share the sport and lend my humble help to the capture without distracting that intent brain with needless interruption. all would come round to me in due time. i waited, therefore--but to my ever-deepening disappointment i waited in vain. day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. one morning he spent in town, and i learned from a casual reference that he had visited the british museum. save for this one excursion, he spent his days in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated. "i'm sure, watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you," he remarked. "it is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again. with a spud, a tin box, and an elementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be spent." he prowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a poor show of plants which he would bring back of an evening. occasionally in our rambles we came across inspector baynes. his fat, red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he greeted my companion. he said little about the case, but from that little we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events. i must admit, however, that i was somewhat surprised when, some five days after the crime, i opened my morning paper to find in large letters: the oxshott mystery a solution arrest of supposed assassin holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when i read the headlines. "by jove!" he cried. "you don't mean that baynes has got him?" "apparently," said i as i read the following report: "great excitement was caused in esher and the neighbouring district when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected in connection with the oxshott murder. it will be remembered that mr. garcia, of wisteria lodge, was found dead on oxshott common, his body showing signs of extreme violence, and that on the same night his servant and his cook fled, which appeared to show their participation in the crime. it was suggested, but never proved, that the deceased gentleman may have had valuables in the house, and that their abstraction was the motive of the crime. every effort was made by inspector baynes, who has the case in hand, to ascertain the hiding place of the fugitives, and he had good reason to believe that they had not gone far but were lurking in some retreat which had been already prepared. it was certain from the first, however, that they would eventually be detected, as the cook, from the evidence of one or two tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through the window, was a man of most remarkable appearance--being a huge and hideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronounced negroid type. this man has been seen since the crime, for he was detected and pursued by constable walters on the same evening, when he had the audacity to revisit wisteria lodge. inspector baynes, considering that such a visit must have some purpose in view and was likely, therefore, to be repeated, abandoned the house but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. the man walked into the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in which constable downing was badly bitten by the savage. we understand that when the prison is brought before the magistrates a remand will be applied for by the police, and that great developments are hoped from his capture." "really we must see baynes at once," cried holmes, picking up his hat. "we will just catch him before he starts." we hurried down the village street and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was just leaving his lodgings. "you've seen the paper, mr. holmes?" he asked, holding one out to us. "yes, baynes, i've seen it. pray don't think it a liberty if i give you a word of friendly warning." "of warning, mr. holmes?" "i have looked into this case with some care, and i am not convinced that you are on the right lines. i don't want you to commit yourself too far unless you are sure." "you're very kind, mr. holmes." "i assure you i speak for your good." it seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant over one of mr. baynes's tiny eyes. "we agreed to work on our own lines, mr. holmes. that's what i am doing." "oh, very good," said holmes. "don't blame me." "no, sir; i believe you mean well by me. but we all have our own systems, mr. holmes. you have yours, and maybe i have mine." "let us say no more about it." "you're welcome always to my news. this fellow is a perfect savage, as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. he chewed downing's thumb nearly off before they could master him. he hardly speaks a word of english, and we can get nothing out of him but grunts." "and you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?" "i didn't say so, mr. holmes; i didn't say so. we all have our little ways. you try yours and i will try mine. that's the agreement." holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "i can't make the man out. he seems to be riding for a fall. well, as he says, we must each try our own way and see what comes of it. but there's something in inspector baynes which i can't quite understand." "just sit down in that chair, watson," said sherlock holmes when we had returned to our apartment at the bull. "i want to put you in touch with the situation, as i may need your help to-night. let me show you the evolution of this case so far as i have been able to follow it. simple as it has been in its leading features, it has none the less presented surprising difficulties in the way of an arrest. there are gaps in that direction which we have still to fill. "we will go back to the note which was handed in to garcia upon the evening of his death. we may put aside this idea of baynes's that garcia's servants were concerned in the matter. the proof of this lies in the fact that it was he who had arranged for the presence of scott eccles, which could only have been done for the purpose of an alibi. it was garcia, then, who had an enterprise, and apparently a criminal enterprise, in hand that night in the course of which he met his death. i say 'criminal' because only a man with a criminal enterprise desires to establish an alibi. who, then, is most likely to have taken his life? surely the person against whom the criminal enterprise was directed. so far it seems to me that we are on safe ground. "we can now see a reason for the disappearance of garcia's household. they were all confederates in the same unknown crime. if it came off when garcia returned, any possible suspicion would be warded off by the englishman's evidence, and all would be well. but the attempt was a dangerous one, and if garcia did not return by a certain hour it was probable that his own life had been sacrificed. it had been arranged, therefore, that in such a case his two subordinates were to make for some prearranged spot where they could escape investigation and be in a position afterwards to renew their attempt. that would fully explain the facts, would it not?" the whole inexplicable tangle seemed to straighten out before me. i wondered, as i always did, how it had not been obvious to me before. "but why should one servant return?" "we can imagine that in the confusion of flight something precious, something which he could not bear to part with, had been left behind. that would explain his persistence, would it not?" "well, what is the next step?" "the next step is the note received by garcia at the dinner. it indicates a confederate at the other end. now, where was the other end? i have already shown you that it could only lie in some large house, and that the number of large houses is limited. my first days in this village were devoted to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my botanical researches i made a reconnaissance of all the large houses and an examination of the family history of the occupants. one house, and only one, riveted my attention. it is the famous old jacobean grange of high gable, one mile on the farther side of oxshott, and less than half a mile from the scene of the tragedy. the other mansions belonged to prosaic and respectable people who live far aloof from romance. but mr. henderson, of high gable, was by all accounts a curious man to whom curious adventures might befall. i concentrated my attention, therefore, upon him and his household. "a singular set of people, watson--the man himself the most singular of them all. i managed to see him on a plausible pretext, but i seemed to read in his dark, deepset, brooding eyes that he was perfectly aware of my true business. he is a man of fifty, strong, active, with iron-gray hair, great bunched black eyebrows, the step of a deer and the air of an emperor--a fierce, masterful man, with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face. he is either a foreigner or has lived long in the tropics, for he is yellow and sapless, but tough as whipcord. his friend and secretary, mr. lucas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown, wily, suave, and catlike, with a poisonous gentleness of speech. you see, watson, we have come already upon two sets of foreigners--one at wisteria lodge and one at high gable--so our gaps are beginning to close. "these two men, close and confidential friends, are the centre of the household; but there is one other person who for our immediate purpose may be even more important. henderson has two children--girls of eleven and thirteen. their governess is a miss burnet, an englishwoman of forty or thereabouts. there is also one confidential manservant. this little group forms the real family, for their travel about together, and henderson is a great traveller, always on the move. it is only within the last weeks that he has returned, after a year's absence, to high gable. i may add that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims may be he can very easily satisfy them. for the rest, his house is full of butlers, footmen, maidservants, and the usual overfed, underworked staff of a large english country house. "so much i learned partly from village gossip and partly from my own observation. there are no better instruments than discharged servants with a grievance, and i was lucky enough to find one. i call it luck, but it would not have come my way had i not been looking out for it. as baynes remarks, we all have our systems. it was my system which enabled me to find john warner, late gardener of high gable, sacked in a moment of temper by his imperious employer. he in turn had friends among the indoor servants who unite in their fear and dislike of their master. so i had my key to the secrets of the establishment. "curious people, watson! i don't pretend to understand it all yet, but very curious people anyway. it's a double-winged house, and the servants live on one side, the family on the other. there's no link between the two save for henderson's own servant, who serves the family's meals. everything is carried to a certain door, which forms the one connection. governess and children hardly go out at all, except into the garden. henderson never by any chance walks alone. his dark secretary is like his shadow. the gossip among the servants is that their master is terribly afraid of something. 'sold his soul to the devil in exchange for money,' says warner, 'and expects his creditor to come up and claim his own.' where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. they are very violent. twice henderson has lashed at folk with his dog-whip, and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out of the courts. "well, now, watson, let us judge the situation by this new information. we may take it that the letter came out of this strange household and was an invitation to garcia to carry out some attempt which had already been planned. who wrote the note? it was someone within the citadel, and it was a woman. who then but miss burnet, the governess? all our reasoning seems to point that way. at any rate, we may take it as a hypothesis and see what consequences it would entail. i may add that miss burnet's age and character make it certain that my first idea that there might be a love interest in our story is out of the question. "if she wrote the note she was presumably the friend and confederate of garcia. what, then, might she be expected to do if she heard of his death? if he met it in some nefarious enterprise her lips might be sealed. still, in her heart, she must retain bitterness and hatred against those who had killed him and would presumably help so far as she could to have revenge upon them. could we see her, then and try to use her? that was my first thought. but now we come to a sinister fact. miss burnet has not been seen by any human eye since the night of the murder. from that evening she has utterly vanished. is she alive? has she perhaps met her end on the same night as the friend whom she had summoned? or is she merely a prisoner? there is the point which we still have to decide. "you will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, watson. there is nothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. our whole scheme might seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. the woman's disappearance counts for nothing, since in that extraordinary household any member of it might be invisible for a week. and yet she may at the present moment be in danger of her life. all i can do is to watch the house and leave my agent, warner, on guard at the gates. we can't let such a situation continue. if the law can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves." "what do you suggest?" "i know which is her room. it is accessible from the top of an outhouse. my suggestion is that you and i go to-night and see if we can strike at the very heart of the mystery." it was not, i must confess, a very alluring prospect. the old house with its atmosphere of murder, the singular and formidable inhabitants, the unknown dangers of the approach, and the fact that we were putting ourselves legally in a false position all combined to damp my ardour. but there was something in the ice-cold reasoning of holmes which made it impossible to shrink from any adventure which he might recommend. one knew that thus, and only thus, could a solution be found. i clasped his hand in silence, and the die was cast. but it was not destined that our investigation should have so adventurous an ending. it was about five o'clock, and the shadows of the march evening were beginning to fall, when an excited rustic rushed into our room. "they've gone, mr. holmes. they went by the last train. the lady broke away, and i've got her in a cab downstairs." "excellent, warner!" cried holmes, springing to his feet. "watson, the gaps are closing rapidly." in the cab was a woman, half-collapsed from nervous exhaustion. she bore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of some recent tragedy. her head hung listlessly upon her breast, but as she raised it and turned her dull eyes upon us i saw that her pupils were dark dots in the centre of the broad gray iris. she was drugged with opium. "i watched at the gate, same as you advised, mr. holmes," said our emissary, the discharged gardener. "when the carriage came out i followed it to the station. she was like one walking in her sleep, but when they tried to get her into the train she came to life and struggled. they pushed her into the carriage. she fought her way out again. i took her part, got her into a cab, and here we are. i shan't forget the face at the carriage window as i led her away. i'd have a short life if he had his way--the black-eyed, scowling, yellow devil." we carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa, and a couple of cups of the strongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mists of the drug. baynes had been summoned by holmes, and the situation rapidly explained to him. "why, sir, you've got me the very evidence i want," said the inspector warmly, shaking my friend by the hand. "i was on the same scent as you from the first." "what! you were after henderson?" "why, mr. holmes, when you were crawling in the shrubbery at high gable i was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw you down below. it was just who would get his evidence first." "then why did you arrest the mulatto?" baynes chuckled. "i was sure henderson, as he calls himself, felt that he was suspected, and that he would lie low and make no move so long as he thought he was in any danger. i arrested the wrong man to make him believe that our eyes were off him. i knew he would be likely to clear off then and give us a chance of getting at miss burnet." holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's shoulder. "you will rise high in your profession. you have instinct and intuition," said he. baynes flushed with pleasure. "i've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all the week. wherever the high gable folk go he will keep them in sight. but he must have been hard put to it when miss burnet broke away. however, your man picked her up, and it all ends well. we can't arrest without her evidence, that is clear, so the sooner we get a statement the better." "every minute she gets stronger," said holmes, glancing at the governess. "but tell me, baynes, who is this man henderson?" "henderson," the inspector answered, "is don murillo, once called the tiger of san pedro." the tiger of san pedro! the whole history of the man came back to me in a flash. he had made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrant that had ever governed any country with a pretence to civilization. strong, fearless, and energetic, he had sufficient virtue to enable him to impose his odious vices upon a cowering people for ten or twelve years. his name was a terror through all central america. at the end of that time there was a universal rising against him. but he was as cunning as he was cruel, and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly conveyed his treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devoted adherents. it was an empty palace which was stormed by the insurgents next day. the dictator, his two children, his secretary, and his wealth had all escaped them. from that moment he had vanished from the world, and his identity had been a frequent subject for comment in the european press. "yes, sir, don murillo, the tiger of san pedro," said baynes. "if you look it up you will find that the san pedro colours are green and white, same as in the note, mr. holmes. henderson he called himself, but i traced him back, paris and rome and madrid to barcelona, where his ship came in in '86. they've been looking for him all the time for their revenge, but it is only now that they have begun to find him out." "they discovered him a year ago," said miss burnet, who had sat up and was now intently following the conversation. "once already his life has been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him. now, again, it is the noble, chivalrous garcia who has fallen, while the monster goes safe. but another will come, and yet another, until some day justice will be done; that is as certain as the rise of to-morrow's sun." her thin hands clenched, and her worn face blanched with the passion of her hatred. "but how come you into this matter, miss burnet?" asked holmes. "how can an english lady join in such a murderous affair?" "i join in it because there is no other way in the world by which justice can be gained. what does the law of england care for the rivers of blood shed years ago in san pedro, or for the shipload of treasure which this man has stolen? to you they are like crimes committed in some other planet. but we know. we have learned the truth in sorrow and in suffering. to us there is no fiend in hell like juan murillo, and no peace in life while his victims still cry for vengeance." "no doubt," said holmes, "he was as you say. i have heard that he was atrocious. but how are you affected?" "i will tell you it all. this villain's policy was to murder, on one pretext or another, every man who showed such promise that he might in time come to be a dangerous rival. my husband--yes, my real name is signora victor durando--was the san pedro minister in london. he met me and married me there. a nobler man never lived upon earth. unhappily, murillo heard of his excellence, recalled him on some pretext, and had him shot. with a premonition of his fate he had refused to take me with him. his estates were confiscated, and i was left with a pittance and a broken heart. "then came the downfall of the tyrant. he escaped as you have just described. but the many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest and dearest had suffered torture and death at his hands, would not let the matter rest. they banded themselves into a society which should never be dissolved until the work was done. it was my part after we had discovered in the transformed henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to his household and keep the others in touch with his movements. this i was able to do by securing the position of governess in his family. he little knew that the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whose husband he had hurried at an hour's notice into eternity. i smiled on him, did my duty to his children, and bided my time. an attempt was made in paris and failed. we zig-zagged swiftly here and there over europe to throw off the pursuers and finally returned to this house, which he had taken upon his first arrival in england. "but here also the ministers of justice were waiting. knowing that he would return there, garcia, who is the son of the former highest dignitary in san pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions of humble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. he could do little during the day, for murillo took every precaution and never went out save with his satellite lucas, or lopez as he was known in the days of his greatness. at night, however, he slept alone, and the avenger might find him. on a certain evening, which had been prearranged, i sent my friend final instructions, for the man was forever on the alert and continually changed his room. i was to see that the doors were open and the signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive was to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed. "but everything went wrong with us. in some way i had excited the suspicion of lopez, the secretary. he crept up behind me and sprang upon me just as i had finished the note. he and his master dragged me to my room and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. then and there they would have plunged their knives into me could they have seen how to escape the consequences of the deed. finally, after much debate, they concluded that my murder was too dangerous. but they determined to get rid forever of garcia. they had gagged me, and murillo twisted my arm round until i gave him the address. i swear that he might have twisted it off had i understood what it would mean to garcia. lopez addressed the note which i had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent it by the hand of the servant, jose. how they murdered him i do not know, save that it was murillo's hand who struck him down, for lopez had remained to guard me. i believe he must have waited among the gorse bushes through which the path winds and struck him down as he passed. at first they were of a mind to let him enter the house and to kill him as a detected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquiry their own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would be open to further attacks. with the death of garcia, the pursuit might cease, since such a death might frighten others from the task. "all would now have been well for them had it not been for my knowledge of what they had done. i have no doubt that there were times when my life hung in the balance. i was confined to my room, terrorized by the most horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spirit--see this stab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my arms--and a gag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when i tried to call from the window. for five days this cruel imprisonment continued, with hardly enough food to hold body and soul together. this afternoon a good lunch was brought me, but the moment after i took it i knew that i had been drugged. in a sort of dream i remember being half-led, half-carried to the carriage; in the same state i was conveyed to the train. only then, when the wheels were almost moving, did i suddenly realize that my liberty lay in my own hands. i sprang out, they tried to drag me back, and had it not been for the help of this good man, who led me to the cab, i should never had broken away. now, thank god, i am beyond their power forever." we had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. it was holmes who broke the silence. "our difficulties are not over," he remarked, shaking his head. "our police work ends, but our legal work begins." "exactly," said i. "a plausible lawyer could make it out as an act of self-defence. there may be a hundred crimes in the background, but it is only on this one that they can be tried." "come, come," said baynes cheerily, "i think better of the law than that. self-defence is one thing. to entice a man in cold blood with the object of murdering him is another, whatever danger you may fear from him. no, no, we shall all be justified when we see the tenants of high gable at the next guildford assizes." it is a matter of history, however, that a little time was still to elapse before the tiger of san pedro should meet with his deserts. wily and bold, he and his companion threw their pursuer off their track by entering a lodging-house in edmonton street and leaving by the back-gate into curzon square. from that day they were seen no more in england. some six months afterwards the marquess of montalva and signor rulli, his secretary, were both murdered in their rooms at the hotel escurial at madrid. the crime was ascribed to nihilism, and the murderers were never arrested. inspector baynes visited us at baker street with a printed description of the dark face of the secretary, and of the masterful features, the magnetic black eyes, and the tufted brows of his master. we could not doubt that justice, if belated, had come at last. "a chaotic case, my dear watson," said holmes over an evening pipe. "it will not be possible for you to present in that compact form which is dear to your heart. it covers two continents, concerns two groups of mysterious persons, and is further complicated by the highly respectable presence of our friend, scott eccles, whose inclusion shows me that the deceased garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developed instinct of self-preservation. it is remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfect jungle of possibilities we, with our worthy collaborator, the inspector, have kept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along the crooked and winding path. is there any point which is not quite clear to you?" "the object of the mulatto cook's return?" "i think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account for it. the man was a primitive savage from the backwoods of san pedro, and this was his fetish. when his companion and he had fled to some prearranged retreat--already occupied, no doubt by a confederate--the companion had persuaded him to leave so compromising an article of furniture. but the mulatto's heart was with it, and he was driven back to it next day, when, on reconnoitering through the window, he found policeman walters in possession. he waited three days longer, and then his piety or his superstition drove him to try once more. inspector baynes, who, with his usual astuteness, had minimized the incident before me, had really recognized its importance and had left a trap into which the creature walked. any other point, watson?" "the torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all the mystery of that weird kitchen?" holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his note-book. "i spent a morning in the british museum reading up on that and other points. here is a quotation from eckermann's voodooism and the negroid religions: "'the true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importance without certain sacrifices which are intended to propitiate his unclean gods. in extreme cases these rites take the form of human sacrifices followed by cannibalism. the more usual victims are a white cock, which is plucked in pieces alive, or a black goat, whose throat is cut and body burned.' "so you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual. it is grotesque, watson," holmes added, as he slowly fastened his notebook, "but, as i have had occasion to remark, there is but one step from the grotesque to the horrible." the adventure of the cardboard box in choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, sherlock holmes, i have endeavoured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. it is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with. with this short preface i shall turn to my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events. it was a blazing hot day in august. baker street was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the road was painful to the eye. it was hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. our blinds were half-drawn, and holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. for myself, my term of service in india had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. but the morning paper was uninteresting. parliament had risen. everybody was out of town, and i yearned for the glades of the new forest or the shingle of southsea. a depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. he loved to lie in the very center of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country. finding that holmes was too absorbed for conversation i had tossed side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair i fell into a brown study. suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts: "you are right, watson," said he. "it does seem a most preposterous way of settling a dispute." "most preposterous!" i exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, i sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement. "what is this, holmes?" i cried. "this is beyond anything which i could have imagined." he laughed heartily at my perplexity. "you remember," said he, "that some little time ago when i read you the passage in one of poe's sketches in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. on my remarking that i was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity." "oh, no!" "perhaps not with your tongue, my dear watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. so when i saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, i was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that i had been in rapport with you." but i was still far from satisfied. "in the example which you read to me," said i, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. if i remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. but i have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can i have given you?" "you do yourself an injustice. the features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants." "do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?" "your features and especially your eyes. perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?" "no, i cannot." "then i will tell you. after throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly framed picture of general gordon, and i saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. but it did not lead very far. your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of henry ward beecher which stands upon the top of your books. then you glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. you were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with gordon's picture there." "you have followed me wonderfully!" i exclaimed. "so far i could hardly have gone astray. but now your thoughts went back to beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. you were recalling the incidents of beecher's career. i was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the north at the time of the civil war, for i remember your expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more turbulent of our people. you felt so strongly about it that i knew you could not think of beecher without thinking of that also. when a moment later i saw your eyes wander away from the picture, i suspected that your mind had now turned to the civil war, and when i observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched i was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. but then, again, your face grew sadder, you shook your head. you were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. your hand stole towards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. at this point i agreed with you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct." "absolutely!" said i. "and now that you have explained it, i confess that i am as amazed as before." "it was very superficial, my dear watson, i assure you. i should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. but i have in my hands here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay in thought reading. have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to miss cushing, of cross street, croydon?" "no, i saw nothing." "ah! then you must have overlooked it. just toss it over to me. here it is, under the financial column. perhaps you would be good enough to read it aloud." i picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read the paragraph indicated. it was headed, "a gruesome packet." "miss susan cushing, living at cross street, croydon, has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the incident. at two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman. a cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. on emptying this, miss cushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. the box had been sent by parcel post from belfast upon the morning before. there is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as miss cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anything through the post. some years ago, however, when she resided at penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. the police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon miss cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of ireland, and, to the best of miss cushing's belief, from belfast. in the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, mr. lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case." "so much for the daily chronicle," said holmes as i finished reading. "now for our friend lestrade. i had a note from him this morning, in which he says: "i think that this case is very much in your line. we have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. we have, of course, wired to the belfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender. the box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any way. the medical student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare i should be very happy to see you out here. i shall be either at the house or in the police-station all day. "what say you, watson? can you rise superior to the heat and run down to croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?" "i was longing for something to do." "you shall have it then. ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. i'll be back in a moment when i have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case." a shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less oppressive in croydon than in town. holmes had sent on a wire, so that lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. a walk of five minutes took us to cross street, where miss cushing resided. it was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors. halfway down, lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. miss cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. she was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. a worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her. "they are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as lestrade entered. "i wish that you would take them away altogether." "so i shall, miss cushing. i only kept them here until my friend, mr. holmes, should have seen them in your presence." "why in my presence, sir?" "in case he wished to ask any questions." "what is the use of asking me questions when i tell you i know nothing whatever about it?" "quite so, madam," said holmes in his soothing way. "i have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business." "indeed i have, sir. i am a quiet woman and live a retired life. it is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. i won't have those things in here, mr. lestrade. if you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse." it was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paper and some string. there was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while homes examined one by one, the articles which lestrade had handed to him. "the string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to the light and sniffing at it. "what do you make of this string, lestrade?" "it has been tarred." "precisely. it is a piece of tarred twine. you have also, no doubt, remarked that miss cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side. this is of importance." "i cannot see the importance," said lestrade. "the importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar character." "it is very neatly tied. i had already made a note of that effect," said lestrade complacently. "so much for the string, then," said holmes, smiling, "now for the box wrapper. brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. what, did you not observe it? i think there can be no doubt of it. address printed in rather straggling characters: 'miss s. cushing, cross street, croydon.' done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a j, and with very inferior ink. the word 'croydon' has been originally spelled with an 'i', which has been changed to 'y'. the parcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing is distinctly masculine--of limited education and unacquainted with the town of croydon. so far, so good! the box is a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the left bottom corner. it is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. and embedded in it are these very singular enclosures." he took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee he examined them minutely, while lestrade and i, bending forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation. "you have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not a pair." "yes, i have noticed that. but if this were the practical joke of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair." "precisely. but this is not a practical joke." "you are sure of it?" "the presumption is strongly against it. bodies in the dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. these ears bear no signs of this. they are fresh, too. they have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. i repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious crime." a vague thrill ran through me as i listened to my companion's words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. this brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background. lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced. "there are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but there are much stronger reasons against the other. we know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at penge and here for the last twenty years. she has hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?" "that is the problem which we have to solve," holmes answered, "and for my part i shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed. one of these ears is a woman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. the other is a man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. these two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story before now. to-day is friday. the packet was posted on thursday morning. the tragedy, then, occurred on wednesday or tuesday, or earlier. if the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would have sent this sign of his work to miss cushing? we may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. but he must have some strong reason for sending miss cushing this packet. what reason then? it must have been to tell her that the deed was done; or to pain her, perhaps. but in that case she knows who it is. does she know? i doubt it. if she knew, why should she call the police in? she might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. that is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. but if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. there is a tangle here which needs straightening out." he had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house. "i have a few questions to ask miss cushing," said he. "in that case i may leave you here," said lestrade, "for i have another small business on hand. i think that i have nothing further to learn from miss cushing. you will find me at the police-station." "we shall look in on our way to the train," answered holmes. a moment later he and i were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. she put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes. "i am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. i have said this several times to the gentlemen from scotland yard, but he simply laughs at me. i have not an enemy in the world, as far as i know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?" "i am coming to be of the same opinion, miss cushing," said holmes, taking a seat beside her. "i think that it is more than probable--" he paused, and i was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. i stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but i could see nothing which could account for my companion's evident excitement. "there were one or two questions--" "oh, i am weary of questions!" cried miss cushing impatiently. "you have two sisters, i believe." "how could you know that?" "i observed the very instant that i entered the room that you have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship." "yes, you are quite right. those are my sisters, sarah and mary." "and here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. i observe that she was unmarried at the time." "you are very quick at observing." "that is my trade." "well, you are quite right. but she was married to mr. browner a few days afterwards. he was on the south american line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the liverpool and london boats." "ah, the conqueror, perhaps?" "no, the may day, when last i heard. jim came down here to see me once. that was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. first he dropped me, then he quarrelled with sarah, and now that mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them." it was evident that miss cushing had come upon a subject on which she felt very deeply. like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. she told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time. "about your second sister, sarah," said he. "i wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together." "ah! you don't know sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. i tried it when i came to croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part. i don't want to say a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was sarah." "you say that she quarrelled with your liverpool relations." "yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. and now she has no word hard enough for jim browner. the last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. he had caught her meddling, i suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was the start of it." "thank you, miss cushing," said holmes, rising and bowing. "your sister sarah lives, i think you said, at new street, wallington? good-bye, and i am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do." there was a cab passing as we came out, and holmes hailed it. "how far to wallington?" he asked. "only about a mile, sir." "very good. jump in, watson. we must strike while the iron is hot. simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection with it. just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby." holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. my companion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step. "is miss cushing at home?" asked holmes. "miss sarah cushing is extremely ill," said he. "she has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. as her medical adviser, i cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. i should recommend you to call again in ten days." he drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street. "well, if we can't we can't," said holmes, cheerfully. "perhaps she could not or would not have told you much." "i did not wish her to tell me anything. i only wanted to look at her. however, i think that i have got all that i want. drive us to some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend lestrade at the police-station." we had a pleasant little meal together, during which holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a jew broker's in tottenham court road for fifty-five shillings. this led him to paganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. the afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at the police-station. lestrade was waiting for us at the door. "a telegram for you, mr. holmes," said he. "ha! it is the answer!" he tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket. "that's all right," said he. "have you found out anything?" "i have found out everything!" "what!" lestrade stared at him in amazement. "you are joking." "i was never more serious in my life. a shocking crime has been committed, and i think i have now laid bare every detail of it." "and the criminal?" holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards and threw it over to lestrade. "that is the name," he said. "you cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. i should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as i choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution. come on, watson." we strode off together to the station, leaving lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which holmes had thrown him. "the case," said sherlock holmes as we chatted over or cigars that night in our rooms at baker street, "is one where, as in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names of 'a study in scarlet' and of 'the sign of four,' we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. i have written to lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he had secured his man. that he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at scotland yard." "your case is not complete, then?" i asked. "it is fairly complete in essentials. we know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. of course, you have formed your own conclusions." "i presume that this jim browner, the steward of a liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?" "oh! it is more than a suspicion." "and yet i cannot see anything save very vague indications." "on the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. let me run over the principal steps. we approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. we had formed no theories. we were simply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. what did we see first? a very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. it instantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one of these. i set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the very singular contents of the little yellow box. "the string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. when i observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, i was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "when i came to examine the address of the packet i observed that it was to miss s. cushing. now, the oldest sister would, of course, be miss cushing, and although her initial was 's' it might belong to one of the others as well. in that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. i therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. i was about to assure miss cushing that i was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that i came suddenly to a stop. the fact was that i had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "as a medical man, you are aware, watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. in last year's anthropological journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. i had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at miss cushing i perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which i had just inspected. the matter was entirely beyond coincidence. there was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. in all essentials it was the same ear. "in the first place, her sister's name was sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with miss sarah that she had actually gone up to liverpool to be near the browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. this quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if browner had occasion to address a packet to miss sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "and now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. we had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. we had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. and why should these proofs of the deed be sent to miss sarah cushing? probably because during her residence in liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. you will observe that this line of boats call at belfast, dublin, and waterford; so that, presuming that browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the may day, belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "a second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although i thought it exceedingly unlikely, i was determined to elucidate it before going further. an unsuccessful lover might have killed mr. and mrs. browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. there were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. i therefore sent off a telegram to my friend algar, of the liverpool force, and asked him to find out if mrs. browner were at home, and if browner had departed in the may day. then we went on to wallington to visit miss sarah. "i was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. then, of course, she might give us very important information, but i was not sanguine that she would. she must have heard of the business the day before, since all croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. if she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. however, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. we found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. it was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "however, we were really independent of her help. our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where i had directed algar to send them. nothing could be more conclusive. mrs. browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. it had been ascertained at the shipping offices that browner had left aboard of the may day, and i calculate that she is due in the thames tomorrow night. when he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute lestrade, and i have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." sherlock holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "lestrade has got him all right," said holmes, glancing up at me. "perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "my dear mr. holmes: "in accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, watson, is it not?"] "i went down to the albert dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the s.s. may day, belonging to the liverpool, dublin, and london steam packet company. on inquiry, i found that there was a steward on board of the name of james browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. on descending to his berth, i found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. he is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. he jumped up when he heard my business, and i had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. we brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. however, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. we had three copies typewritten, one of which i enclose. the affair proves, as i always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but i am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. with kind regards, "yours very truly, "g. lestrade. "hum! the investigation really was a very simple one," remarked holmes, "but i don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. however, let us see what jim browner has to say for himself. this is his statement as made before inspector montgomery at the shadwell police station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'have i anything to say? yes, i have a deal to say. i have to make a clean breast of it all. you can hang me, or you can leave me alone. i don't care a plug which you do. i tell you i've not shut an eye in sleep since i did it, and i don't believe i ever will again until i get past all waking. sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. i'm never without one or the other before me. he looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'but it was sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! it's not that i want to clear myself. i know that i went back to drink, like the beast that i was. but she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. for sarah cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that i thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than i did of her whole body and soul. "'there were three sisters altogether. the old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. sarah was thirty-three, and mary was twenty-nine when i married. we were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all liverpool there was no better woman than my mary. and then we asked sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'i was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. my god, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? whoever would have dreamed it? "'i used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo i would have a whole week at a time, and in this way i saw a deal of my sister-in-law, sarah. she was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. but when little mary was there i had never a thought of her, and that i swear as i hope for god's mercy. "'it had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but i had never thought anything of that. but one evening my eyes were opened. i had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but sarah at home. "where's mary?" i asked. "oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." i was impatient and paced up and down the room. "can't you be happy for five minutes without mary, jim?" says she. "it's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "that's all right, my lass," said i, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. i looked into her eyes and i read it all there. there was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. i frowned and drew my hand away. then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "steady old jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'well, from that time sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. i was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but i never said a word to mary, for i knew it would grieve her. things went on much as before, but after a time i began to find that there was a bit of a change in mary herself. she had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where i had been and what i had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what i had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. i was fairly puzzled by it all. sarah avoided me now, but she and mary were just inseparable. i can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but i was such a blind beetle that i could not understand it at the time. then i broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but i think i should not have done it if mary had been the same as ever. she had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. and then this alec fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'it was to see sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. he was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. he was good company, i won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that i think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. for a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. and then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'it was only a little thing, too. i had come into the parlour unexpected, and as i walked in at the door i saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. but as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. that was enough for me. there was no one but alec fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. if i could have seen him then i should have killed him, for i have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "don't, jim, don't!" says she. "where's sarah?" i asked. "in the kitchen," says she. "sarah," says i as i went in, "this man fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "why not?" says she. "because i order it." "oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then i am not good enough for it either." "you can do what you like," says i, "but if fairbairn shows his face here again i'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." she was frightened by my face, i think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'well, i don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. fairbairn used to stay there, and mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. how often she went i don't know, but i followed her one day, and as i broke in at the door fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. i swore to my wife that i would kill her if i found her in his company again, and i led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. there was no trace of love between us any longer. i could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'well, sarah found that she could not make a living in liverpool, so she went back, as i understand, to live with her sister in croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. and then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'it was in this way. we had gone on the may day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. i left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. the thought was in my head as i turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as i stood watching them from the footpath. "'i tell you, and i give you my word for it, that from that moment i was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when i look back on it. i had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. there's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning i seemed to have all niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'well, i took to my heels, and i ran after the cab. i had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and i tell you i saw red from the first; but as i ran i got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. they pulled up soon at the railway station. there was a good crowd round the booking-office, so i got quite close to them without being seen. they took tickets for new brighton. so did i, but i got in three carriages behind them. when we reached it they walked along the parade, and i was never more than a hundred yards from them. at last i saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'it was just as if they had been given into my hands. there was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. i hired a boat for myself, and i pulled after them. i could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as i, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before i caught them up. the haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. my god, shall i ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? she screamed out. he swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. i got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. i would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "alec." i struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. i was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. if sarah had been there, by the lord, she should have joined them. i pulled out my knife, and--well, there! i've said enough. it gave me a kind of savage joy when i thought how sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. then i tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. i knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. i cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. that night i made up the packet for sarah cushing, and next day i sent it from belfast. "'there you have the whole truth of it. you can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as i have been punished already. i cannot shut my eyes but i see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. i killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if i have another night of it i shall be either mad or dead before morning. you won't put me alone into a cell, sir? for pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "what is the meaning of it, watson?" said holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "what object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? it must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. but what end? there is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." the adventure of the red circle table of contents part one part two chapter i part one "well, mrs. warren, i cannot see that you have any particular cause for uneasiness, nor do i understand why i, whose time is of some value, should interfere in the matter. i really have other things to engage me." so spoke sherlock holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in which he was arranging and indexing some of his recent material. but the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex. she held her ground firmly. "you arranged an affair for a lodger of mine last year," she said--"mr. fairdale hobbs." "ah, yes--a simple matter." "but he would never cease talking of it--your kindness, sir, and the way in which you brought light into the darkness. i remembered his words when i was in doubt and darkness myself. i know you could if you only would." holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and also, to do him justice, upon the side of kindliness. the two forces made him lay down his gum-brush with a sigh of resignation and push back his chair. "well, well, mrs. warren, let us hear about it, then. you don't object to tobacco, i take it? thank you, watson--the matches! you are uneasy, as i understand, because your new lodger remains in his rooms and you cannot see him. why, bless you, mrs. warren, if i were your lodger you often would not see me for weeks on end." "no doubt, sir; but this is different. it frightens me, mr. holmes. i can't sleep for fright. to hear his quick step moving here and moving there from early morning to late at night, and yet never to catch so much as a glimpse of him--it's more than i can stand. my husband is as nervous over it as i am, but he is out at his work all day, while i get no rest from it. what is he hiding for? what has he done? except for the girl, i am all alone in the house with him, and it's more than my nerves can stand." holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers upon the woman's shoulder. he had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when he wished. the scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitated features smoothed into their usual commonplace. she sat down in the chair which he had indicated. "if i take it up i must understand every detail," said he. "take time to consider. the smallest point may be the most essential. you say that the man came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnight's board and lodging?" "he asked my terms, sir. i said fifty shillings a week. there is a small sitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house." "well?" "he said, 'i'll pay you five pounds a week if i can have it on my own terms.' i'm a poor woman, sir, and mr. warren earns little, and the money meant much to me. he took out a ten-pound note, and he held it out to me then and there. 'you can have the same every fortnight for a long time to come if you keep the terms,' he said. 'if not, i'll have no more to do with you.' "what were the terms?" "well, sir, they were that he was to have a key of the house. that was all right. lodgers often have them. also, that he was to be left entirely to himself and never, upon any excuse, to be disturbed." "nothing wonderful in that, surely?" "not in reason, sir. but this is out of all reason. he has been there for ten days, and neither mr. warren, nor i, nor the girl has once set eyes upon him. we can hear that quick step of his pacing up and down, up and down, night, morning, and noon; but except on that first night he had never once gone out of the house." "oh, he went out the first night, did he?" "yes, sir, and returned very late--after we were all in bed. he told me after he had taken the rooms that he would do so and asked me not to bar the door. i heard him come up the stair after midnight." "but his meals?" "it was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang, leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. then he rings again when he has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. if he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it." "prints it?" "yes, sir; prints it in pencil. just the word, nothing more. here's the one i brought to show you--soap. here's another--match. this is one he left the first morning--daily gazette. i leave that paper with his breakfast every morning." "dear me, watson," said homes, staring with great curiosity at the slips of foolscap which the landlady had handed to him, "this is certainly a little unusual. seclusion i can understand; but why print? printing is a clumsy process. why not write? what would it suggest, watson?" "that he desired to conceal his handwriting." "but why? what can it matter to him that his landlady should have a word of his writing? still, it may be as you say. then, again, why such laconic messages?" "i cannot imagine." "it opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. the words are written with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusual pattern. you will observe that the paper is torn away at the side here after the printing was done, so that the 's' of 'soap' is partly gone. suggestive, watson, is it not?" "of caution?" "exactly. there was evidently some mark, some thumbprint, something which might give a clue to the person's identity. now. mrs. warren, you say that the man was of middle size, dark, and bearded. what age would he be?" "youngish, sir--not over thirty." "well, can you give me no further indications?" "he spoke good english, sir, and yet i thought he was a foreigner by his accent." "and he was well dressed?" "very smartly dressed, sir--quite the gentleman. dark clothes--nothing you would note." "he gave no name?" "no, sir." "and has had no letters or callers?" "none." "but surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?" "no, sir; he looks after himself entirely." "dear me! that is certainly remarkable. what about his luggage?" "he had one big brown bag with him--nothing else." "well, we don't seem to have much material to help us. do you say nothing has come out of that room--absolutely nothing?" the landlady drew an envelope from her bag; from it she shook out two burnt matches and a cigarette-end upon the table. "they were on his tray this morning. i brought them because i had heard that you can read great things out of small ones." holmes shrugged his shoulders. "there is nothing here," said he. "the matches have, of course, been used to light cigarettes. that is obvious from the shortness of the burnt end. half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe or cigar. but, dear me! this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. the gentleman was bearded and moustached, you say?" "yes, sir." "i don't understand that. i should say that only a clean-shaven man could have smoked this. why, watson, even your modest moustache would have been singed." "a holder?" i suggested. "no, no; the end is matted. i suppose there could not be two people in your rooms, mrs. warren?" "no, sir. he eats so little that i often wonder it can keep life in one." "well, i think we must wait for a little more material. after all, you have nothing to complain of. you have received your rent, and he is not a troublesome lodger, though he is certainly an unusual one. he pays you well, and if he chooses to lie concealed it is no direct business of yours. we have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have some reason to think that there is a guilty reason for it. i've taken up the matter, and i won't lose sight of it. report to me if anything fresh occurs, and rely upon my assistance if it should be needed. "there are certainly some points of interest in this case, watson," he remarked when the landlady had left us. "it may, of course, be trivial--individual eccentricity; or it may be very much deeper than appears on the surface. the first thing that strike one is the obvious possibility that the person now in the rooms may be entirely different from the one who engaged them." "why should you think so?" "well, apart form this cigarette-end, was it not suggestive that the only time the lodger went out was immediately after his taking the rooms? he came back--or someone came back--when all witnesses were out of the way. we have no proof that the person who came back was the person who went out. then, again, the man who took the rooms spoke english well. this other, however, prints 'match' when it should have been 'matches.' i can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural. the laconic style may be to conceal the absence of knowledge of english. yes, watson, there are good reasons to suspect that there has been a substitution of lodgers." "but for what possible end?" "ah! there lies our problem. there is one rather obvious line of investigation." he took down the great book in which, day by day, he filed the agony columns of the various london journals. "dear me!" said he, turning over the pages, "what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings! what a rag-bag of singular happenings! but surely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! this person is alone and cannot be approached by letter without a breach of that absolute secrecy which is desired. how is any news or any message to reach him from without? obviously by advertisement through a newspaper. there seems no other way, and fortunately we need concern ourselves with the one paper only. here are the daily gazette extracts of the last fortnight. 'lady with a black boa at prince's skating club'--that we may pass. 'surely jimmy will not break his mother's heart'--that appears to be irrelevant. 'if the lady who fainted on brixton bus'--she does not interest me. 'every day my heart longs--' bleat, watson--unmitigated bleat! ah, this is a little more possible. listen to this: 'be patient. will find some sure means of communications. meanwhile, this column. g.' that is two days after mrs. warren's lodger arrived. it sounds plausible, does it not? the mysterious one could understand english, even if he could not print it. let us see if we can pick up the trace again. yes, here we are--three days later. 'am making successful arrangements. patience and prudence. the clouds will pass. g.' nothing for a week after that. then comes something much more definite: 'the path is clearing. if i find chance signal message remember code agreed--one a, two b, and so on. you will hear soon. g.' that was in yesterday's paper, and there is nothing in to-day's. it's all very appropriate to mrs. warren's lodger. if we wait a little, watson, i don't doubt that the affair will grow more intelligible." so it proved; for in the morning i found my friend standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of complete satisfaction upon his face. "how's this, watson?" he cried, picking up the paper from the table. "'high red house with white stone facings. third floor. second window left. after dusk. g.' that is definite enough. i think after breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of mrs. warren's neighbourhood. ah, mrs. warren! what news do you bring us this morning?" our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosive energy which told of some new and momentous development. "it's a police matter, mr. holmes!" she cried. "i'll have no more of it! he shall pack out of there with his baggage. i would have gone straight up and told him so, only i thought it was but fair to you to take your opinion first. but i'm at the end of my patience, and when it comes to knocking my old man about--" "knocking mr. warren about?" "using him roughly, anyway." "but who used him roughly?" "ah! that's what we want to know! it was this morning, sir. mr. warren is a timekeeper at morton and waylight's, in tottenham court road. he has to be out of the house before seven. well, this morning he had not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the curb. they drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot him out. he lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he never saw what became of the cab. when he picked himself up he found he was on hampstead heath; so he took a bus home, and there he lies now on his sofa, while i came straight round to tell you what had happened." "most interesting," said holmes. "did he observe the appearance of these men--did he hear them talk?" "no; he is clean dazed. he just knows that he was lifted up as if by magic and dropped as if by magic. two a least were in it, and maybe three." "and you connect this attack with your lodger?" "well, we've lived there fifteen years and no such happenings ever came before. i've had enough of him. money's not everything. i'll have him out of my house before the day is done." "wait a bit, mrs. warren. do nothing rash. i begin to think that this affair may be very much more important than appeared at first sight. it is clear now that some danger is threatening your lodger. it is equally clear that his enemies, lying in wait for him near your door, mistook your husband for him in the foggy morning light. on discovering their mistake they released him. what they would have done had it not been a mistake, we can only conjecture." "well, what am i to do, mr. holmes?" "i have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, mrs. warren." "i don't see how that is to be managed, unless you break in the door. i always hear him unlock it as i go down the stair after i leave the tray." "he has to take the tray in. surely we could conceal ourselves and see him do it." the landlady thought for a moment. "well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. i could arrange a looking-glass, maybe, and if you were behind the door--" "excellent!" said holmes. "when does he lunch?" "about one, sir." "then dr. watson and i will come round in time. for the present, mrs. warren, good-bye." at half-past twelve we found ourselves upon the steps of mrs. warren's house--a high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in great orme street, a narrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the british museum. standing as it does near the corner of the street, it commands a view down howe street, with its ore pretentious houses. holmes pointed with a chuckle to one of these, a row of residential flats, which projected so that they could not fail to catch the eye. "see, watson!" said he. "'high red house with stone facings.' there is the signal station all right. we know the place, and we know the code; so surely our task should be simple. there's a 'to let' card in that window. it is evidently an empty flat to which the confederate has access. well, mrs. warren, what now?" "i have it all ready for you. if you will both come up and leave your boots below on the landing, i'll put you there now." it was an excellent hiding-place which she had arranged. the mirror was so placed that, seated in the dark, we could very plainly see the door opposite. we had hardly settled down in it, and mrs. warren left us, when a distant tinkle announced that our mysterious neighbour had rung. presently the landlady appeared with the tray, laid it down upon a chair beside the closed door, and then, treading heavily, departed. crouching together in the angle of the door, we kept our eyes fixed upon the mirror. suddenly, as the landlady's footsteps died away, there was the creak of a turning key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands darted out and lifted the tray form the chair. an instant later it was hurriedly replaced, and i caught a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face glaring at the narrow opening of the box-room. then the door crashed to, the key turned once more, and all was silence. holmes twitched my sleeve, and together we stole down the stair. "i will call again in the evening," said he to the expectant landlady. "i think, watson, we can discuss this business better in our own quarters." "my surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct," said he, speaking from the depths of his easy-chair. "there has been a substitution of lodgers. what i did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinary woman, watson." "she saw us." "well, she saw something to alarm her. that is certain. the general sequence of events is pretty clear, is it not? a couple seek refuge in london from a very terrible and instant danger. the measure of that danger is the rigour of their precautions. the man, who has some work which he must do, desires to leave the woman in absolute safety while he does it. it is not an easy problem, but he solved it in an original fashion, and so effectively that her presence was not even known to the landlady who supplies her with food. the printed messages, as is now evident, were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing. the man cannot come near the woman, or he will guide their enemies to her. since he cannot communicate with her direct, he has recourse to the agony column of a paper. so far all is clear." "but what is at the root of it?" "ah, yes, watson--severely practical, as usual! what is at the root of it all? mrs. warren's whimsical problem enlarges somewhat and assumes a more sinister aspect as we proceed. this much we can say: that it is no ordinary love escapade. you saw the woman's face at the sign of danger. we have heard, too, of the attack upon the landlord, which was undoubtedly meant for the lodger. these alarms, and the desperate need for secrecy, argue that the matter is one of life or death. the attack upon mr. warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male. it is very curious and complex, watson." "why should you go further in it? what have you to gain from it?" "what, indeed? it is art for art's sake, watson. i suppose when you doctored you found yourself studying cases without thought of a fee?" "for my education, holmes." "education never ends, watson. it is a series of lessons with the greatest for the last. this is an instructive case. there is neither money nor credit in it, and yet one would wish to tidy it up. when dusk comes we should find ourselves one stage advanced in our investigation." when we returned to mrs. warren's rooms, the gloom of a london winter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotone of colour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windows and the blurred haloes of the gas-lamps. as we peered from the darkened sitting-room of the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered high up through the obscurity. "someone is moving in that room," said holmes in a whisper, his gaunt and eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. "yes, i can see his shadow. there he is again! he has a candle in his hand. now he is peering across. he wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. now he begins to flash. take the message also, watson, that we may check each other. a single flash--that is a, surely. now, then. how many did you make it? twenty. do did in. that should mean t. at--that's intelligible enough. another t. surely this is the beginning of a second word. now, then--tenta. dead stop. that can't be all, watson? attenta gives no sense. nor is it any better as three words at, ten, ta, unless t. a. are a person's initials. there it goes again! what's that? atte--why, it is the same message over again. curious, watson, very curious. now he is off once more! at--why he is repeating it for the third time. attenta three times! how often will he repeat it? no, that seems to be the finish. he has withdrawn form the window. what do you make of it, watson?" "a cipher message, holmes." my companion gave a sudden chuckle of comprehension. "and not a very obscure cipher, watson," said he. "why, of course, it is italian! the a means that it is addressed to a woman. 'beware! beware! beware!' how's that, watson? "i believe you have hit it." "not a doubt of it. it is a very urgent message, thrice repeated to make it more so. but beware of what? wait a bit, he is coming to the window once more." again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whisk of the small flame across the window as the signals were renewed. they came more rapidly than before--so rapid that it was hard to follow them. "pericolo--pericolo--eh, what's that, watson? 'danger,' isn't it? yes, by jove, it's a danger signal. there he goes again! peri. halloa, what on earth--" the light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of window had disappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round the lofty building, with its tiers of shining casements. that last warning cry had been suddenly cut short. how, and by whom? the same thought occurred on the instant to us both. holmes sprang up from where he crouched by the window. "this is serious, watson," he cried. "there is some devilry going forward! why should such a message stop in such a way? i should put scotland yard in touch with this business--and yet, it is too pressing for us to leave." "shall i go for the police?" "we must define the situation a little more clearly. it may bear some more innocent interpretation. come, watson, let us go across ourselves and see what we can make of it." chapter ii part two as we walked rapidly down howe street i glanced back at the building which we had left. there, dimly outlined at the top window, i could see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing tensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of that interrupted message. at the doorway of the howe street flats a man, muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. he started as the hall-light fell upon our faces. "holmes!" he cried. "why, gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with the scotland yard detective. "journeys end with lovers' meetings. what brings you here?" "the same reasons that bring you, i expect," said gregson. "how you got on to it i can't imagine." "different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. i've been taking the signals." "signals?" "yes, from that window. they broke off in the middle. we came over to see the reason. but since it is safe in your hands i see no object in continuing this business." "wait a bit!" cried gregson eagerly. "i'll do you this justice, mr. holmes, that i was never in a case yet that i didn't feel stronger for having you on my side. there's only the one exit to these flats, so we have him safe." "who is he?" "well, well, we score over you for once, mr. holmes. you must give us best this time." he struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. "may i introduce you to mr. sherlock holmes?" he said to the cabman. "this is mr. leverton, of pinkerton's american agency." "the hero of the long island cave mystery?" said holmes. "sir, i am pleased to meet you." the american, a quiet, businesslike young man, with a clean-shaven, hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation. "i am on the trail of my life now, mr. holmes," said he. "if i can get gorgiano--" "what! gorgiano of the red circle?" "oh, he has a european fame, has he? well, we've learned all about him in america. we know he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet we have nothing positive we can take him on. i tracked him over from new york, and i've been close to him for a week in london, waiting some excuse to get my hand on his collar. mr. gregson and i ran him to ground in that big tenement house, and there's only one door, so he can't slip us. there's three folk come out since he went in, but i'll swear he wasn't one of them." "mr. holmes talks of signals," said gregson. "i expect, as usual, he knows a good deal that we don't." in a few clear words holmes explained the situation as it had appeared to us. the american struck his hands together with vexation. "he's on to us!" he cried. "why do you think so?" "well, it figures out that way, does it not? here he is, sending out messages to an accomplice--there are several of his gang in london. then suddenly, just as by your own account he was telling them that there was danger, he broke short off. what could it mean except that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in some way come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must act right away if he was to avoid it? what do you suggest, mr. holmes?" "that we go up at once and see for ourselves." "but we have no warrant for his arrest." "he is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," said gregson. "that is good enough for the moment. when we have him by the heels we can see if new york can't help us to keep him. i'll take the responsibility of arresting him now." our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, but never in that of courage. gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascended the official staircase of scotland yard. the pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but gregson had firmly elbowed him back. london dangers were the privilege of the london force. the door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standing ajar. gregson pushed it open. within all was absolute silence and darkness. i struck a match and lit the detective's lantern. as i did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. on the deal boards of the carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood. the red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, the door of which was closed. gregson flung it open and held his light full blaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly over his shoulders. in the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure of an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in its contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. his knees were drawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre of his broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knife driven blade-deep into his body. giant as he was, the man must have gone down like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. beside his right hand a most formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove. "by george! it's black gorgiano himself!" cried the american detective. "someone has got ahead of us this time." "here is the candle in the window, mr. holmes," said gregson. "why, whatever are you doing?" holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing it backward and forward across the window-panes. then he peered into the darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor. "i rather think that will be helpful," said he. he came over and stood in deep thought while the two professionals were examining the body. "you say that three people came out form the flat while you were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "did you observe them closely?" "yes, i did." "was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?" "yes; he was the last to pass me." "that is your man, i fancy. i can give you his description, and we have a very excellent outline of his footmark. that should be enough for you." "not much, mr. holmes, among the millions of london." "perhaps not. that is why i thought it best to summon this lady to your aid." we all turned round at the words. there, framed in the doorway, was a tall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger of bloomsbury. slowly she advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark figure on the floor. "you have killed him!" she muttered. "oh, dio mio, you have killed him!" then i heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang into the air with a cry of joy. round and round the room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and a thousand pretty italian exclamations pouring from her lips. it was terrible and amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight. suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare. "but you! you are police, are you not? you have killed giuseppe gorgiano. is it not so?" "we are police, madam." she looked round into the shadows of the room. "but where, then, is gennaro?" she asked. "he is my husband, gennaro lucca. i am emilia lucca, and we are both from new york. where is gennaro? he called me this moment from this window, and i ran with all my speed." "it was i who called," said holmes. "you! how could you call?" "your cipher was not difficult, madam. your presence here was desirable. i knew that i had only to flash 'vieni' and you would surely come." the beautiful italian looked with awe at my companion. "i do not understand how you know these things," she said. "giuseppe gorgiano--how did he--" she paused, and then suddenly her face lit up with pride and delight. "now i see it! my gennaro! my splendid, beautiful gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm, he did it, with his own strong hand he killed the monster! oh, gennaro, how wonderful you are! what woman could every be worthy of such a man?" "well, mrs. lucca," said the prosaic gregson, laying his hand upon the lady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a notting hill hooligan, "i am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; but you've said enough to make it very clear that we shall want you at the yard." "one moment, gregson," said holmes. "i rather fancy that this lady may be as anxious to give us information as we can be to get it. you understand, madam, that your husband will be arrested and tried for the death of the man who lies before us? what you say may be used in evidence. but if you think that he has acted from motives which are not criminal, and which he would wish to have known, then you cannot serve him better than by telling us the whole story." "now that gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," said the lady. "he was a devil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the world who would punish my husband for having killed him." "in that case," said holmes, "my suggestion is that we lock this door, leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her room, and form our opinion after we have heard what it is that she has to say to us." half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small sitting-room of signora lucca, listening to her remarkable narrative of those sinister events, the ending of which we had chanced to witness. she spoke in rapid and fluent but very unconventional english, which, for the sake of clearness, i will make grammatical. "i was born in posilippo, near naples," said she, "and was the daughter of augusto barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once the deputy of that part. gennaro was in my father's employment, and i came to love him, as any woman must. he had neither money nor position--nothing but his beauty and strength and energy--so my father forbade the match. we fled together, were married at bari, and sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us to america. this was four years ago, and we have been in new york ever since. "fortune was very good to us at first. gennaro was able to do a service to an italian gentleman--he saved him from some ruffians in the place called the bowery, and so made a powerful friend. his name was tito castalotte, and he was the senior partner of the great firm of castalotte and zamba, who are the chief fruit importers of new york. signor zamba is an invalid, and our new friend castalotte has all power within the firm, which employs more than three hundred men. he took my husband into his employment, made him head of a department, and showed his good-will towards him in every way. signor castalotte was a bachelor, and i believe that he felt as if gennaro was his son, and both my husband and i loved him as if he were our father. we had taken and furnished a little house in brooklyn, and our whole future seemed assured when that black cloud appeared which was soon to overspread our sky. "one night, when gennaro returned from his work, he brought a fellow-countryman back with him. his name was gorgiano, and he had come also from posilippo. he was a huge man, as you can testify, for you have looked upon his corpse. not only was his body that of a giant but everything about him was grotesque, gigantic, and terrifying. his voice was like thunder in our little house. there was scarce room for the whirl of his great arms as he talked. his thoughts, his emotions, his passions, all were exaggerated and monstrous. he talked, or rather roared, with such energy that others could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty stream of words. his eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. he was a terrible and wonderful man. i thank god that he is dead! "he came again and again. yet i was aware that gennaro was no more happy than i was in his presence. my poor husband would sit pale and listless, listening to the endless raving upon politics and upon social questions which made up or visitor's conversation. gennaro said nothing, but i, who knew him so well, could read in his face some emotion which i had never seen there before. at first i thought that it was dislike. and then, gradually, i understood that it was more than dislike. it was fear--a deep, secret, shrinking fear. that night--the night that i read his terror--i put my arms round him and i implored him by his love for me and by all that he held dear to hold nothing from me, and to tell me why this huge man overshadowed him so. "he told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as i listened. my poor gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemed against him and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices of life, had joined a neapolitan society, the red circle, which was allied to the old carbonari. the oaths and secrets of this brotherhood were frightful, but once within its rule no escape was possible. when we had fled to america gennaro thought that he had cast it all off forever. what was his horror one evening to meet in the streets the very man who had initiated him in naples, the giant gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of 'death' in the south of italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! he had come to new york to avoid the italian police, and he had already planted a branch of this dreadful society in his new home. all this gennaro told me and showed me a summons which he had received that very day, a red circle drawn upon the head of it telling him that a lodge would be held upon a certain date, and that his presence at it was required and ordered. "that was bad enough, but worse was to come. i had noticed for some time that when gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in the evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to my husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were always turned upon me. one night his secret came out. i had awakened what he called 'love' within him--the love of a brute--a savage. gennaro had not yet returned when he came. he pushed his way in, seized me in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear's embrace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to come away with him. i was struggling and screaming when gennaro entered and attacked him. he struck gennaro senseless and fled from the house which he was never more to enter. it was a deadly enemy that we made that night. "a few days later came the meeting. gennaro returned from it with a face which told me that something dreadful had occurred. it was worse than we could have imagined possible. the funds of the society were raised by blackmailing rich italians and threatening them with violence should they refuse the money. it seems that castalotte, our dear friend and benefactor, had been approached. he had refused to yield to threats, and he had handed the notices to the police. it was resolved now that such an example should be made of them as would prevent any other victim from rebelling. at the meeting it was arranged that he and his house should be blown up with dynamite. there was a drawing of lots as to who should carry out the deed. gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face smiling at him as he dipped his hand in the bag. no doubt it had been prearranged in some fashion, for it was the fatal disc with the red circle upon it, the mandate for murder, which lay upon his palm. he was to kill his best friend, or he was to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his comrades. it was part of their fiendish system to punish those whom they feared or hated by injuring not only their own persons but those whom they loved, and it was the knowledge of this which hung as a terror over my poor gennaro's head and drove him nearly crazy with apprehension. "all that night we sat together, our arms round each other, each strengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. the very next evening had been fixed for the attempt. by midday my husband and i were on our way to london, but not before he had given our benefactor full warning of this danger, and had also left such information for the police as would safeguard his life for the future. "the rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. we were sure that our enemies would be behind us like our own shadows. gorgiano had his private reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew how ruthless, cunning, and untiring he could be. both italy and america are full of stories of his dreadful powers. if ever they were exerted it would be now. my darling made use of the few clear days which our start had given us in arranging for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no possible danger could reach me. for his own part, he wished to be free that he might communicate both with the american and with the italian police. i do not myself know where he lived, or how. all that i learned was through the columns of a newspaper. but once as i looked through my window, i saw two italians watching the house, and i understood that in some way gorgiano had found our retreat. finally gennaro told me, through the paper, that he would signal to me from a certain window, but when the signals came they were nothing but warnings, which were suddenly interrupted. it is very clear to me now that he knew gorgiano to be close upon him, and that, thank god! he was ready for him when he came. and now, gentleman, i would ask you whether we have anything to fear from the law, or whether any judge upon earth would condemn my gennaro for what he has done?" "well, mr. gregson," said the american, looking across at the official, "i don't know what your british point of view may be, but i guess that in new york this lady's husband will receive a pretty general vote of thanks." "she will have to come with me and see the chief," gregson answered. "if what she says is corroborated, i do not think she or her husband has much to fear. but what i can't make head or tail of, mr. holmes, is how on earth you got yourself mixed up in the matter." "education, gregson, education. still seeking knowledge at the old university. well, watson, you have one more specimen of the tragic and grotesque to add to your collection. by the way, it is not eight o'clock, and a wagner night at covent garden! if we hurry, we might be in time for the second act." the adventure of the bruce-partington plans in the third week of november, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon london. from the monday to the thursday i doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in baker street to see the loom of the opposite houses. the first day holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. the second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he hand recently made his hobby--the music of the middle ages. but when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. he paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction. "nothing of interest in the paper, watson?" he said. in was aware that by anything of interest, holmes meant anything of criminal interest. there was the news of a revolution, of a possible war, and of an impending change of government; but these did not come within the horizon of my companion. i could see nothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. holmes groaned and resumed hs restless meanderings. "the london criminal is certainly a dull fellow," said he in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. "look out this window, watson. see how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. the thief or the murderer could roam london on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim." "there have," said i, "been numerous petty thefts." holmes snorted his contempt. "this great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy than that," said he. "it is fortunate for this community that i am not a criminal." "it is, indeed!" said i heartily. "suppose that i were brooks or woodhouse, or any of the fifty men who have good reason for taking my life, how long could i survive against my own pursuit? a summons, a bogus appointment, and all would be over. it is well they don't have days of fog in the latin countries--the countries of assassination. by jove! here comes something at last to break our dead monotony." it was the maid with a telegram. holmes tore it open and burst out laughing. "well, well! what next?" said he. "brother mycroft is coming round." "why not?" i asked. "why not? it is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. his pall mall lodgings, the diogenes club, whitehall--that is his cycle. once, and only once, he has been here. what upheaval can possibly have derailed him?" "does he not explain?" holmes handed me his brother's telegram. must see you over cadogen west. coming at once. mycroft. "cadogen west? i have heard the name." "it recalls nothing to my mind. but that mycroft should break out in this erratic fashion! a planet might as well leave its orbit. by the way, do you know what mycroft is?" i had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of the adventure of the greek interpreter. "you told me that he had some small office under the british government." holmes chuckled. "i did not know you quite so well in those days. one has to be discreet when one talks of high matters of state. you are right in thinking that he under the british government. you would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the british government." "my dear holmes!" "i thought i might surprise you. mycroft draws four hundred and fifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the most indispensable man in the country." "but how?" "well, his position is unique. he has made it for himself. there has never been anything like it before, nor will be again. he has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living. the same great powers which i have turned to the detection of crime he has used for this particular business. the conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. all other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. we will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the navy, india, canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. they began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. in that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. again and again his word has decided the national policy. he lives in it. he thinks of nothing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if i call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. but jupiter is descending to-day. what on earth can it mean? who is cadogan west, and what is he to mycroft?" "i have it," i cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon the sofa. "yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! cadogen west was the young man who was found dead on the underground on tuesday morning." holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips. "this must be serious, watson. a death which has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. what in the world can he have to do with it? the case was featureless as i remember it. the young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. he had not been robbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. is that not so?" "there has been an inquest," said i, "and a good many fresh facts have come out. looked at more closely, i should certainly say that it was a curious case." "judging by its effect upon my brother, i should think it must be a most extraordinary one." he snuggled down in his armchair. "now, watson, let us have the facts." "the man's name was arthur cadogan west. he was twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at woolwich arsenal." "government employ. behold the link with brother mycroft!" "he left woolwich suddenly on monday night. was last seen by his fiancee, miss violet westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7.30 that evening. there was no quarrel between them and she can give no motive for his action. the next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer named mason, just outside aldgate station on the underground system in london." "when?" "the body was found at six on tuesday morning. it was lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward, at a point close to the station, where the line emerges from the tunnel in which it runs. the head was badly crushed--an injury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train. the body could only have come on the line in that way. had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. this point seems absolutely certain." "very good. the case is definite enough. the man, dead or alive, either fell or was precipitated from a train. so much is clear to me. continue." "the trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body was found are those which run from west to east, some being purely metropolitan, and some from willesden and outlying junctions. it can be stated for certain that this young man, when he met his death, was travelling in this direction at some late hour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state." "his ticket, of course, would show that." "there was no ticket in his pockets." "no ticket! dear me, watson, this is really very singular. according to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket. presumably, then, the young man had one. was it taken from him in order to conceal the station from which he came? it is possible. or did he drop it in the carriage? that is also possible. but the point is of curious interest. i understand that there was no sign of robbery?" "apparently not. there is a list here of his possessions. his purse contained two pounds fifteen. he had also a check-book on the woolwich branch of the capital and counties bank. through this his identity was established. there were also two dress-circle tickets for the woolwich theatre, dated for that very evening. also a small packet of technical papers." holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction. "there we have it at last, watson! british government--woolwich. arsenal--technical papers--brother mycroft, the chain is complete. but here he comes, if i am not mistaken, to speak for himself." a moment later the tall and portly form of mycroft holmes was ushered into the room. heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind. at his heels came our old friend lestrade, of scotland yard--thin and austere. the gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest. the detective shook hands without a word. mycroft holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into an armchair. "a most annoying business, sherlock," said he. "i extremely dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. in the present state of siam it is most awkward that i should be away from the office. but it is a real crisis. i have never seen the prime minister so upset. as to the admiralty--it is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive. have you read up the case?" "we have just done so. what were the technical papers?" "ah, there's the point! fortunately, it has not come out. the press would be furious if it did. the papers which this wretched youth had in his pocket were the plans of the bruce-partington submarine." mycroft holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense of the importance of the subject. his brother and i sat expectant. "surely you have heard of it? i thought everyone had heard of it." "only as a name." "its importance can hardly be exaggerated. it has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets. you may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a bruce-partington's operation. two years ago a very large sum was smuggled through the estimates and was expended in acquiring a monopoly of the invention. every effort has been made to keep the secret. the plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents, each essential to the working of the whole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. under no conceivable circumstances were the plans to be taken from the office. if the chief constructor of the navy desired to consult them, even he was forced to go to the woolwich office for the purpose. and yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of london. from an official point of view it's simply awful." "but you have recovered them?" "no, sherlock, no! that's the pinch. we have not. ten papers were taken from woolwich. there were seven in the pocket of cadogan west. the three most essential are gone--stolen, vanished. you must drop everything, sherlock. never mind your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. it's a vital international problem that you have to solve. why did cadogan west take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be set right? find an answer to all these questions, and you will have done good service for your country." "why do you not solve it yourself, mycroft? you can see as far as i." "possibly, sherlock. but it is a question of getting details. give me your details, and from an armchair i will return you an excellent expert opinion. but to run here and run there, to cross-question railway guards, and lie on my face with a lens to my eye--it is not my mtier. no, you are the one man who can clear the matter up. if you have a fancy to see your name in the next honours list--" my friend smiled and shook his head. "i play the game for the game's own sake," said he. "but the problem certainly presents some points of interest, and i shall be very pleased to look into it. some more facts, please." "i have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet of paper, together with a few addresses which you will find of service. the actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, sir james walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. he has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion. he is one of two who have a key of the safe. i may add that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working hours on monday, and that sir james left for london about three o'clock taking his key with him. he was at the house of admiral sinclair at barclay square during the whole of the evening when this incident occurred." "has the fact been verified?" "yes; his brother, colonel valentine walter, has testified to his departure from woolwich, and admiral sinclair to his arrival in london; so sir james is no longer a direct factor in the problem." "who was the other man with a key?" "the senior clerk and draughtsman, mr. sidney johnson. he is a man of forty, married, with five children. he is a silent, morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the public service. he is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker. according to his own account, corroborated only by the word of his wife, he was at home the whole of monday evening after office hours, and his key has never left the watch-chain upon which it hangs." "tell us about cadogan west." "he has been ten years in the service and has done good work. he has the reputation of being hot-headed and imperious, but a straight, honest man. we have nothing against him. he was next sidney johnson in the office. his duties brought him into daily, personal contact with the plans. no one else had the handling of them." "who locked up the plans that night?" "mr. sidney johnson, the senior clerk." "well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them away. they are actually found upon the person of this junior clerk, cadogan west. that seems final, does it not?" "it does, sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. in the first place, why did he take them?" "i presume they were of value?" "he could have got several thousands for them very easily." "can you suggest any possible motive for taking the papers to london except to sell them?" "no, i cannot." "then we must take that as our working hypothesis. young west took the papers. now this could only be done by having a false key--" "several false keys. he had to open the building and the room." "he had, then, several false keys. he took the papers to london to sell the secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plans themselves back in the safe next morning before they were missed. while in london on this treasonable mission he met his end." "how?" "we will suppose that he was travelling back to woolwich when he was killed and thrown out of the compartment." "aldgate, where the body was found, is considerably past the station london bridge, which would be his route to woolwich." "many circumstances could be imagined under which he would pass london bridge. there was someone in the carriage, for example, with whom he was having an absorbing interview. this interview led to a violent scene in which he lost his life. possibly he tried to leave the carriage, fell out on the line, and so met his end. the other closed the door. there was a thick fog, and nothing could be seen." "no better explanation can be given with our present knowledge; and yet consider, sherlock, how much you leave untouched. we will suppose, for argument's sake, that young cadogan west had determined to convey these papers to london. he would naturally have made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. instead of that he took two tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenly disappeared." "a blind," said lestrade, who had sat listening with some impatience to the conversation. "a very singular one. that is objection no. 1. objection no. 2: we will suppose that he reaches london and sees the foreign agent. he must bring back the papers before morning or the loss will be discovered. he took away ten. only seven were in his pocket. what had become of the other three? he certainly would not leave them of his own free will. then, again, where is the price of his treason? once would have expected to find a large sum of money in his pocket." "it seems to me perfectly clear," said lestrade. "i have no doubt at all as to what occurred. he took the papers to sell them. he saw the agent. they could not agree as to price. he started home again, but the agent went with him. in the train the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his body from the carriage. that would account for everything, would it not?" "why had he no ticket?" "the ticket would have shown which station was nearest the agent's house. therefore he took it from the murdered man's pocket." "good, lestrade, very good," said holmes. "your theory holds together. but if this is true, then the case is at an end. on the one hand, the traitor is dead. on the other, the plans of the bruce-partington submarine are presumably already on the continent. what is there for us to do?" "to act, sherlock--to act!" cried mycroft, springing to his feet. "all my instincts are against this explanation. use your powers! go to the scene of the crime! see the people concerned! leave no stone unturned! in all your career you have never had so great a chance of serving your country." "well, well!" said holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "come, watson! and you, lestrade, could you favour us with your company for an hour or two? we will begin our investigation by a visit to aldgate station. good-bye, mycroft. i shall let you have a report before evening, but i warn you in advance that you have little to expect." an hour later holmes, lestrade and i stood upon the underground railroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel immediately before aldgate station. a courteous red-faced old gentleman represented the railway company. "this is where the young man's body lay," said he, indicating a spot about three feet from the metals. "it could not have fallen from above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls. therefore, it could only have come from a train, and that train, so far as we can trace it, must have passed about midnight on monday." "have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?" "there are no such signs, and no ticket has been found." "no record of a door being found open?" "none." "we have had some fresh evidence this morning," said lestrade. "a passenger who passed aldgate in an ordinary metropolitan train about 11.40 on monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud, as of a body striking the line, just before the train reached the station. there was dense fog, however, and nothing could be seen. he made no report of it at the time. why, whatever is the matter with mr. holmes?" my friend was standing with an expression of strained intensity upon his face, staring at the railway metals where they curved out of the tunnel. aldgate is a junction, and there was a network of points. on these his eager, questioning eyes were fixed, and i saw on his keen, alert face that tightening of the lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of the heavy, tufted brows which i knew so well. "points," he muttered; "the points." "what of it? what do you mean?" "i suppose there are no great number of points on a system such as this?" "no; they are very few." "and a curve, too. points, and a curve. by jove! if it were only so." "what is it, mr. holmes? have you a clue?" "an idea--an indication, no more. but the case certainly grows in interest. unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? i do not see any indications of bleeding on the line." "there were hardly any." "but i understand that there was a considerable wound." "the bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury." "and yet one would have expected some bleeding. would it be possible for me to inspect the train which contained the passenger who heard the thud of a fall in the fog?" "i fear not, mr. holmes. the train has been broken up before now, and the carriages redistributed." "i can assure you, mr. holmes," said lestrade, "that every carriage has been carefully examined. i saw to it myself." it was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he was impatient with less alert intelligences than his own. "very likely," said he, turning away. "as it happens, it was not the carriages which i desired to examine. watson, we have done all we can here. we need not trouble you any further, mr. lestrade. i think our investigations must now carry us to woolwich." at london bridge, holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which he handed to me before dispatching it. it ran thus: see some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out. meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at baker street, a complete list of all foreign spies or international agents known to be in england, with full address. sherlock. "that should be helpful, watson," he remarked as we took our seats in the woolwich train. "we certainly owe brother mycroft a debt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really very remarkable case." his eager face still wore that expression of intense and high-strung energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive circumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. see the foxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about the kennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with gleaming eyes and straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent--such was the change in holmes since the morning. he was a different man from the limp and lounging figure in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly only a few hours before round the fog-girt room. "there is material here. there is scope," said he. "i am dull indeed not to have understood its possibilities." "even now they are dark to me." "the end is dark to me also, but i have hold of one idea which may lead us far. the man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the roof of a carriage." "on the roof!" "remarkable, is it not? but consider the facts. is it a coincidence that it is found at the very point where the train pitches and sways as it comes round on the points? is not that the place where an object upon the roof might be expected to fall off? the points would affect no object inside the train. either the body fell from the roof, or a very curious coincidence has occurred. but now consider the question of the blood. of course, there was no bleeding on the line if the body had bled elsewhere. each fact is suggestive in itself. together they have a cumulative force." "and the ticket, too!" i cried. "exactly. we could not explain the absence of a ticket. this would explain it. everything fits together." "but suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from unravelling the mystery of his death. indeed, it becomes not simpler but stranger." "perhaps," said holmes, thoughtfully, "perhaps." he relapsed into a silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up at last in woolwich station. there he called a cab and drew mycroft's paper from his pocket. "we have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," said he. "i think that sir james walter claims our first attention." the house of the famous official was a fine villa with green lawns stretching down to the thames. as we reached it the fog was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. a butler answered our ring. "sir james, sir!" said he with solemn face. "sir james died this morning." "good heavens!" cried holmes in amazement. "how did he die?" "perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother, colonel valentine?" "yes, we had best do so." we were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. his wild eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden blow which had fallen upon the household. he was hardly articulate as he spoke of it. "it was this horrible scandal," said he. "my brother, sir james, was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such an affair. it broke his heart. he was always so proud of the efficiency of his department, and this was a crushing blow." "we had hoped that he might have given us some indications which would have helped us to clear the matter up." "i assure you that it was all a mystery to him as it is to you and to all of us. he had already put all his knowledge at the disposal of the police. naturally he had no doubt that cadogan west was guilty. but all the rest was inconceivable." "you cannot throw any new light upon the affair?" "i know nothing myself save what i have read or heard. i have no desire to be discourteous, but you can understand, mr. holmes, that we are much disturbed at present, and i must ask you to hasten this interview to an end." "this is indeed an unexpected development," said my friend when we had regained the cab. "i wonder if the death was natural, or whether the poor old fellow killed himself! if the latter, may it be taken as some sign of self-reproach for duty neglected? we must leave that question to the future. now we shall turn to the cadogan wests." a small but well-kept house in the outskirts of the town sheltered the bereaved mother. the old lady was too dazed with grief to be of any use to us, but at her side was a white-faced young lady, who introduced herself as miss violet westbury, the fiancee of the dead man, and the last to see him upon that fatal night. "i cannot explain it, mr. holmes," she said. "i have not shut an eye since the tragedy, thinking, thinking, thinking, night and day, what the true meaning of it can be. arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. he would have cut his right hand off before he would sell a state secret confided to his keeping. it is absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who knew him." "but the facts, miss westbury?" "yes, yes; i admit i cannot explain them." "was he in any want of money?" "no; his needs were very simple and his salary ample. he had saved a few hundreds, and we were to marry at the new year." "no signs of any mental excitement? come, miss westbury, be absolutely frank with us." the quick eye of my companion had noted some change in her manner. she coloured and hesitated. "yes," she said at last, "i had a feeling that there was something on his mind." "for long?" "only for the last week or so. he was thoughtful and worried. once i pressed him about it. he admitted that there was something, and that it was concerned with his official life. 'it is too serious for me to speak about, even to you,' said he. i could get nothing more." holmes looked grave. "go on, miss westbury. even if it seems to tell against him, go on. we cannot say what it may lead to." "indeed, i have nothing more to tell. once or twice it seemed to me that he was on the point of telling me something. he spoke one evening of the importance of the secret, and i have some recollection that he said that no doubt foreign spies would pay a great deal to have it." my friend's face grew graver still. "anything else?" "he said that we were slack about such matters--that it would be easy for a traitor to get the plans." "was it only recently that he made such remarks?" "yes, quite recently." "now tell us of that last evening." "we were to go to the theatre. the fog was so thick that a cab was useless. we walked, and our way took us close to the office. suddenly he darted away into the fog." "without a word?" "he gave an exclamation; that was all. i waited but he never returned. then i walked home. next morning, after the office opened, they came to inquire. about twelve o'clock we heard the terrible news. oh, mr. holmes, if you could only, only save his honour! it was so much to him." holmes shook his head sadly. "come, watson," said he, "our ways lie elsewhere. our next station must be the office from which the papers were taken. "it was black enough before against this young man, but our inquiries make it blacker," he remarked as the cab lumbered off. "his coming marriage gives a motive for the crime. he naturally wanted money. the idea was in his head, since he spoke about it. he nearly made the girl an accomplice in the treason by telling her his plans. it is all very bad." "but surely, holmes, character goes for something? then, again, why should he leave the girl in the street and dart away to commit a felony?" "exactly! there are certainly objections. but it is a formidable case which they have to meet." mr. sidney johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office and received us with that respect which my companion's card always commanded. he was a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age, his cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the nervous strain to which he had been subjected. "it is bad, mr. holmes, very bad! have you heard of the death of the chief?" "we have just come from his house." "the place is disorganized. the chief dead, cadogan west dead, our papers stolen. and yet, when we closed our door on monday evening, we were as efficient an office as any in the government service. good god, it's dreadful to think of! that west, of all men, should have done such a thing!" "you are sure of his guilt, then?" "i can see no other way out of it. and yet i would have trusted him as i trust myself." "at what hour was the office closed on monday?" "at five." "did you close it?" "i am always the last man out." "where were the plans?" "in that safe. i put them there myself." "is there no watchman to the building?" "there is, but he has other departments to look after as well. he is an old soldier and a most trustworthy man. he saw nothing that evening. of course the fog was very thick." "suppose that cadogan west wished to make his way into the building after hours; he would need three keys, would he not, before the could reach the papers?" "yes, he would. the key of the outer door, the key of the office, and the key of the safe." "only sir james walter and you had those keys?" "i had no keys of the doors--only of the safe." "was sir james a man who was orderly in his habits?" "yes, i think he was. i know that so far as those three keys are concerned he kept them on the same ring. i have often seen them there." "and that ring went with him to london?" "he said so." "and your key never left your possession?" "never." "then west, if he is the culprit, must have had a duplicate. and yet none was found upon his body. one other point: if a clerk in this office desired to sell the plans, would it not be simply to copy the plans for himself than to take the originals, as was actually done?" "it would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the plans in an effective way." "but i suppose either sir james, or you, or west has that technical knowledge?" "no doubt we had, but i beg you won't try to drag me into the matter, mr. holmes. what is the use of our speculating in this way when the original plans were actually found on west?" "well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk of taking originals if he could safely have taken copies, which would have equally served his turn." "singular, no doubt--and yet he did so." "every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable. now there are three papers still missing. they are, as i understand, the vital ones." "yes, that is so." "do you mean to say that anyone holding these three papers, and without the seven others, could construct a bruce-partington submarine?" "i reported to that effect to the admiralty. but to-day i have been over the drawings again, and i am not so sure of it. the double valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers which have been returned. until the foreigners had invented that for themselves they could not make the boat. of course they might soon get over the difficulty." "but the three missing drawings are the most important?" "undoubtedly." "i think, with your permission, i will now take a stroll round the premises. i do not recall any other question which i desired to ask." he examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, and finally the iron shutters of the window. it was only when we were on the lawn outside that his interest was strongly excited. there was a laurel bush outside the window, and several of the branches bore signs of having been twisted or snapped. he examined them carefully with his lens, and then some dim and vague marks upon the earth beneath. finally he asked the chief clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me that they hardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for anyone outside to see what was going on within the room. "the indications are ruined by three days' delay. they may mean something or nothing. well, watson, i do not think that woolwich can help us further. it is a small crop which we have gathered. let us see if we can do better in london." yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we left woolwich station. the clerk in the ticket office was able to say with confidence that he saw cadogan west--whom he knew well by sight--upon the monday night, and that he went to london by the 8.15 to london bridge. he was alone and took a single third-class ticket. the clerk was struck at the time by his excited and nervous manner. so shaky was he that he could hardly pick up his change, and the clerk had helped him with it. a reference to the timetable showed that the 8.15 was the first train which it was possible for west to take after he had left the lady about 7.30. "let us reconstruct, watson," said holmes after half an hour of silence. "i am not aware that in all our joint researches we have ever had a case which was more difficult to get at. every fresh advance which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond. and yet we have surely made some appreciable progress. "the effect of our inquiries at woolwich has in the main been against young cadogan west; but the indications at the window would lend themselves to a more favourable hypothesis. let us suppose, for example, that he had been approached by some foreign agent. it might have been done under such pledges as would have prevented him from speaking of it, and yet would have affected his thoughts in the direction indicated by his remarks to his fiancee. very good. we will now suppose that as he went to the theatre with the young lady he suddenly, in the fog, caught a glimpse of this same agent going in the direction of the office. he was an impetuous man, quick in his decisions. everything gave way to his duty. he followed the man, reached the window, saw the abstraction of the documents, and pursued the thief. in this way we get over the objection that no one would take originals when he could make copies. this outsider had to take originals. so far it holds together." "what is the next step?" "then we come into difficulties. one would imagine that under such circumstances the first act of young cadogan west would be to seize the villain and raise the alarm. why did he not do so? could it have been an official superior who took the papers? that would explain west's conduct. or could the chief have given west the slip in the fog, and west started at once to london to head him off from his own rooms, presuming that he knew where the rooms were? the call must have been very pressing, since he left his girl standing in the fog and made no effort to communicate with her. our scent runs cold here, and there is a vast gap between either hypothesis and the laying of west's body, with seven papers in his pocket, on the roof of a metropolitan train. my instinct now is to work form the other end. if mycroft has given us the list of addresses we may be able to pick our man and follow two tracks instead of one." surely enough, a note awaited us at baker street. a government messenger had brought it post-haste. holmes glanced at it and threw it over to me. there are numerous small fry, but few who would handle so big an affair. the only men worth considering are adolph mayer, of 13 great george street, westminster; louis la rothiere, of campden mansions, notting hill; and hugo oberstein, 13 caulfield gardens, kensington. the latter was known to be in town on monday and is now reported as having left. glad to hear you have seen some light. the cabinet awaits your final report with the utmost anxiety. urgent representations have arrived from the very highest quarter. the whole force of the state is at your back if you should need it. mycroft. "i'm afraid," said holmes, smiling, "that all the queen's horses and all the queen's men cannot avail in this matter." he had spread out his big map of london and leaned eagerly over it. "well, well," said he presently with an exclamation of satisfaction, "things are turning a little in our direction at last. why, watson, i do honestly believe that we are going to pull it off, after all." he slapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burst of hilarity. "i am going out now. it is only a reconnaissance. i will do nothing serious without my trusted comrade and biographer at my elbow. do you stay here, and the odds are that you will see me again in an hour or two. if time hangs heavy get foolscap and a pen, and begin your narrative of how we saved the state." i felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for i knew well that he would not depart so far from his usual austerity of demeanour unless there was good cause for exultation. all the long november evening i waited, filled with impatience for his return. at last, shortly after nine o'clock, there arrived a messenger with a note: am dining at goldini's restaurant, gloucester road, kensington. please come at once and join me there. bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver. s.h. it was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry through the dim, fog-draped streets. i stowed them all discreetly away in my overcoat and drove straight to the address given. there sat my friend at a little round table near the door of the garish italian restaurant. "have you had something to eat? then join me in a coffee and curacao. try one of the proprietor's cigars. they are less poisonous than one would expect. have you the tools?" "they are here, in my overcoat." "excellent. let me give you a short sketch of what i have done, with some indication of what we are about to do. now it must be evident to you, watson, that this young man's body was placed on the roof of the train. that was clear from the instant that i determined the fact that it was from the roof, and not from a carriage, that he had fallen." "could it not have been dropped from a bridge?" "i should say it was impossible. if you examine the roofs you will find that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railing round them. therefore, we can say for certain that young cadogan west was placed on it." "how could he be placed there?" "that was the question which we had to answer. there is only one possible way. you are aware that the underground runs clear of tunnels at some points in the west end. i had a vague memory that as i have travelled by it i have occasionally seen windows just above my head. now, suppose that a train halted under such a window, would there be any difficulty in laying a body upon the roof?" "it seems most improbable." "we must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. here all other contingencies have failed. when i found that the leading international agent, who had just left london, lived in a row of houses which abutted upon the underground, i was so pleased that you were a little astonished at my sudden frivolity." "oh, that was it, was it?" "yes, that was it. mr. hugo oberstein, of 13 caulfield gardens, had become my objective. i began my operations at gloucester road station, where a very helpful official walked with me along the track and allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the back-stair windows of caulfield gardens open on the line but the even more essential fact that, owing to the intersection of one of the larger railways, the underground trains are frequently held motionless for some minutes at that very spot." "splendid, holmes! you have got it!" "so far--so far, watson. we advance, but the goal is afar. well, having seen the back of caulfield gardens, i visited the front and satisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. it is a considerable house, unfurnished, so far as i could judge, in the upper rooms. oberstein lived there with a single valet, who was probably a confederate entirely in his confidence. we must bear in mind that oberstein has gone to the continent to dispose of his booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear a warrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainly never occur to him. yet that is precisely what we are about to make." "could we not get a warrant and legalize it?" "hardly on the evidence." "what can we hope to do?" "we cannot tell what correspondence may be there." "i don't like it, holmes." "my dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. i'll do the criminal part. it's not a time to stick at trifles. think of mycroft's note, of the admiralty, the cabinet, the exalted person who waits for news. we are bound to go." my answer was to rise from the table. "you are right, holmes. we are bound to go." he sprang up and shook me by the hand. "i knew you would not shrink at the last," said he, and for a moment i saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tenderness than i had ever seen. the next instant he was his masterful, practical self once more. "it is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. let us walk," said he. "don't drop the instruments, i beg. your arrest as a suspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication." caulfield gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared, and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the middle victorian epoch in the west end of london. next door there appeared to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of young voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through the night. the fog still hung about and screened us with its friendly shade. holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the massive door. "this is a serious proposition," said he. "it is certainly bolted as well as locked. we would do better in the area. there is an excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous policeman should intrude. give me a hand, watson, and i'll do the same for you." a minute later we were both in the area. hardly had we reached the dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in the fog above. as its soft rhythm died away, holmes set to work upon the lower door. i saw him stoop and strain until with a sharp crash it flew open. we sprang through into the dark passage, closing the area door behind us. holmes let the way up the curving, uncarpeted stair. his little fan of yellow light shone upon a low window. "here we are, watson--this must be the one." he threw it open, and as he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. holmes swept his light along the window-sill. it was thickly coated with soot from the passing engines, but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in places. "you can see where they rested the body. halloa, watson! what is this? there can be no doubt that it is a blood mark." he was pointing to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the window. "here it is on the stone of the stair also. the demonstration is complete. let us stay here until a train stops." we had not long to wait. the very next train roared from the tunnel as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creaking of brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. it was not four feet from the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages. holmes softly closed the window. "so far we are justified," said he. "what do you think of it, watson?" "a masterpiece. you have never risen to a greater height." "i cannot agree with you there. from the moment that i conceived the idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not a very abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. if it were not for the grave interests involved the affair up to this point would be insignificant. our difficulties are still before us. but perhaps we may find something here which may help us." we had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of rooms upon the first floor. one was a dining-room, severely furnished and containing nothing of interest. a second was a bedroom, which also drew blank. the remaining room appeared more promising, and my companion settled down to a systematic examination. it was littered with books and papers, and was evidently used as a study. swiftly and methodically holmes turned over the contents of drawer after drawer and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austere face. at the end of an hour he was no further than when he started. "the cunning dog has covered his tracks," said he. "he has left nothing to incriminate him. his dangerous correspondence has been destroyed or removed. this is our last chance." it was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk. holmes pried it open with his chisel. several rolls of paper were within, covered with figures and calculations, without any note to show to what they referred. the recurring words, "water pressure" and "pressure to the square inch" suggested some possible relation to a submarine. holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. there only remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips inside it. he shook them out on the table, and at once i saw by his eager face that his hopes had been raised. "what's this, watson? eh? what's this? record of a series of messages in the advertisements of a paper. daily telegraph agony column by the print and paper. right-hand top corner of a page. no dates--but messages arrange themselves. this must be the first: "hoped to hear sooner. terms agreed to. write fully to address given on card. pierrot. "next comes: "too complex for description. must have full report, stuff awaits you when goods delivered. pierrot. "then comes: "matter presses. must withdraw offer unless contract completed. make appointment by letter. will confirm by advertisement. pierrot. "finally: "monday night after nine. two taps. only ourselves. do not be so suspicious. payment in hard cash when goods delivered. pierrot. "a fairly complete record, watson! if we could only get at the man at the other end!" he sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table. finally he sprang to his feet. "well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all. there is nothing more to be done here, watson. i think we might drive round to the offices of the daily telegraph, and so bring a good day's work to a conclusion." mycroft holmes and lestrade had come round by appointment after breakfast next day and sherlock holmes had recounted to them our proceedings of the day before. the professional shook his head over our confessed burglary. "we can't do these things in the force, mr. holmes," said he. "no wonder you get results that are beyond us. but some of these days you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend in trouble." "for england, home and beauty--eh, watson? martyrs on the altar of our country. but what do you think of it, mycroft?" "excellent, sherlock! admirable! but what use will you make of it?" holmes picked up the daily telegraph which lay upon the table. "have you seen pierrot's advertisement to-day?" "what? another one?" "yes, here it is: "to-night. same hour. same place. two taps. most vitally important. your own safety at stake. pierrot. "by george!" cried lestrade. "if he answers that we've got him!" "that was my idea when i put it in. i think if you could both make it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to caulfield gardens we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution." one of the most remarkable characteristics of sherlock holmes was his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that he could no longer work to advantage. i remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the polyphonic motets of lassus. for my own part i had none of this power of detachment, and the day, in consequence, appeared to be interminable. the great national importance of the issue, the suspense in high quarters, the direct nature of the experiment which we were trying--all combined to work upon my nerve. it was a relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. lestrade and mycroft met us by appointment at the outside of gloucester road station. the area door of oberstein's house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary for me, as mycroft holmes absolutely and indignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. by nine o'clock we were all seated in the study, waiting patently for our man. an hour passed and yet another. when eleven struck, the measured beat of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes. lestrade and mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice a minute at their watches. holmes sat silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert. he raised his head with a sudden jerk. "he is coming," said he. there had been a furtive step past the door. now it returned. we heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the knocker. holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. the gas in the hall was a mere point of light. he opened the outer door, and then as a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. "this way!" we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us. holmes had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm he caught him by the collar and threw him back into the room. before our prisoner had recovered his balance the door was shut and holmes standing with his back against it. the man glared round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. with the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped sown from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of colonel valentine walter. holmes gave a whistle of surprise. "you can write me down an ass this time, watson," said he. "this was not the bird that i was looking for." "who is he?" asked mycroft eagerly. "the younger brother of the late sir james walter, the head of the submarine department. yes, yes; i see the fall of the cards. he is coming to. i think that you had best leave his examination to me." we had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. now our prisoner sat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses. "what is this?" he asked. "i came here to visit mr. oberstein." "everything is known, colonel walter," said holmes. "how an english gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension. but your whole correspondence and relations with oberstein are within our knowledge. so also are the circumstances connected with the death of young cadogan west. let me advise you to gain at least the small credit for repentance and confession, since there are still some details which we can only learn from your lips." the man groaned and sank his face in his hands. we waited, but he was silent. "i can assure you," said holmes, "that every essential is already known. we know that you were pressed for money; that you took an impress of the keys which your brother held; and that you entered into a correspondence with oberstein, who answered your letters through the advertisement columns of the daily telegraph. we are aware that you went down to the office in the fog on monday night, but that you were seen and followed by young cadogan west, who had probably some previous reason to suspect you. he saw your theft, but could not give the alarm, as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to your brother in london. leaving all his private concerns, like the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog and kept at your heels until you reached this very house. there he intervened, and then it was, colonel walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crime of murder." "i did not! i did not! before god i swear that i did not!" cried our wretched prisoner. "tell us, then, how cadogan west met his end before you laid him upon the roof of a railway carriage." "i will. i swear to you that i will. i did the rest. i confess it. it was just as you say. a stock exchange debt had to be paid. i needed the money badly. oberstein offered me five thousand. it was to save myself from ruin. but as to murder, i am as innocent as you." "what happened, then?" "he had his suspicions before, and he followed me as you describe. i never knew it until i was at the very door. it was thick fog, and one could not see three yards. i had given two taps and oberstein had come to the door. the young man rushed up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the papers. oberstein had a short life-preserver. he always carried it with him. as west forced his way after us into the house oberstein struck him on the head. the blow was a fatal one. he was dead within five minutes. there he lay in the hall, and we were at our wit's end what to do. then oberstein had this idea about the trains which halted under his back window. but first he examined the papers which i had brought. he said that three of them were essential, and that he must keep them. 'you cannot keep them,' said i. 'there will be a dreadful row at woolwich if they are not returned.' 'i must keep them,' said he, 'for they are so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies.' 'then they must all go back together to-night,' said i. he thought for a little, and then he cried out that he had it. 'three i will keep,' said he. 'the others we will stuff into the pocket of this young man. when he is found the whole business will assuredly be put to his account.' i could see no other way out of it, so we did as he suggested. we waited half an hour at the window before a train stopped. it was so thick that nothing could be seen, and we had no difficulty in lowering west's body on to the train. that was the end of the matter so far as i was concerned." "and your brother?" "he said nothing, but he had caught me once with his keys, and i think that he suspected. i read in his eyes that he suspected. as you know, he never held up his head again." there was silence in the room. it was broken by mycroft holmes. "can you not make reparation? it would ease your conscience, and possibly your punishment." "what reparation can i make?" "where is oberstein with the papers?" "i do not know." "did he give you no address?" "he said that letters to the htel du louvre, paris, would eventually reach him." "then reparation is still within your power," said sherlock holmes. "i will do anything i can. i owe this fellow no particular good-will. he has been my ruin and my downfall." "here are paper and pen. sit at this desk and write to my dictation. direct the envelope to the address given. that is right. now the letter: "dear sir: "with regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have observed by now that one essential detail is missing. i have a tracing which will make it complete. this has involved me in extra trouble, however, and i must ask you for a further advance of five hundred pounds. i will not trust it to the post, nor will i take anything but gold or notes. i would come to you abroad, but it would excite remark if i left the country at present. therefore i shall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the charing cross hotel at noon on saturday. remember that only english notes, or gold, will be taken. "that will do very well. i shall be very much surprised if it does not fetch our man." and it did! it is a matter of history--that secret history of a nation which is often so much more intimate and interesting than its public chronicles--that oberstein, eager to complete the coup of his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely engulfed for fifteen years in a british prison. in his trunk were found the invaluable bruce-partington plans, which he had put up for auction in all the naval centres of europe. colonel walter died in prison towards the end of the second year of his sentence. as to holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the polyphonic motets of lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject. some weeks afterwards i learned incidentally that my friend spent a day at windsor, whence be returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. when i asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a present from a certain gracious lady in whose interests he had once been fortunate enough to carry out a small commission. he said no more; but i fancy that i could guess at that lady's august name, and i have little doubt that the emerald pin will forever recall to my friend's memory the adventure of the bruce-partington plans. the adventure of the dying detective mrs. hudson, the landlady of sherlock holmes, was a long-suffering woman. not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience. his incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in london. on the other hand, his payments were princely. i have no doubt that the house might have been purchased at the price which holmes paid for his rooms during the years that i was with him. the landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. she was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. he disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent. knowing how genuine was her regard for him, i listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in the second year of my married life and told me of the sad condition to which my poor friend was reduced. "he's dying, dr. watson," said she. "for three days he has been sinking, and i doubt if he will last the day. he would not let me get a doctor. this morning when i saw his bones sticking out of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me i could stand no more of it. 'with your leave or without it, mr. holmes, i am going for a doctor this very hour,' said i. 'let it be watson, then,' said he. i wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or you may not see him alive." i was horrified for i had heard nothing of his illness. i need not say that i rushed for my coat and my hat. as we drove back i asked for the details. "there is little i can tell you, sir. he has been working at a case down at rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has brought this illness back with him. he took to his bed on wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. for these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips." "good god! why did you not call in a doctor?" "he wouldn't have it, sir. you know how masterful he is. i didn't dare to disobey him. but he's not long for this world, as you'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him." he was indeed a deplorable spectacle. in the dim light of a foggy november day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart. his eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice was croaking and spasmodic. he lay listlessly as i entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes. "well, watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days," said he in a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner. "my dear fellow!" i cried, approaching him. "stand back! stand right back!" said he with the sharp imperiousness which i had associated only with moments of crisis. "if you approach me, watson, i shall order you out of the house." "but why?" "because it is my desire. is that not enough?" yes, mrs. hudson was right. he was more masterful than ever. it was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion. "i only wished to help," i explained. "exactly! you will help best by doing what you are told." "certainly, holmes." he relaxed the austerity of his manner. "you are not angry?" he asked, gasping for breath. poor devil, how could i be angry when i saw him lying in such a plight before me? "it's for your own sake, watson," he croaked. "for my sake?" "i know what is the matter with me. it is a coolie disease from sumatra--a thing that the dutch know more about than we, though they have made little of it up to date. one thing only is certain. it is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious." he spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitching and jerking as he motioned me away. "contagious by touch, watson--that's it, by touch. keep your distance and all is well." "good heavens, holmes! do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? it would not affect me in the case of a stranger. do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?" again i advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger. "if you will stand there i will talk. if you do not you must leave the room." i have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of holmes that i have always deferred to his wishes, even when i least understood them. but now all my professional instincts were aroused. let him be my master elsewhere, i at least was his in a sick room. "holmes," said i, "you are not yourself. a sick man is but a child, and so i will treat you. whether you like it or not, i will examine your symptoms and treat you for them." he looked at me with venomous eyes. "if i am to have a doctor whether i will or not, let me at least have someone in whom i have confidence," said he. "then you have none in me?" "in your friendship, certainly. but facts are facts, watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. it is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice." i was bitterly hurt. "such a remark is unworthy of you, holmes. it shows me very clearly the state of your own nerves. but if you have no confidence in me i would not intrude my services. let me bring sir jasper meek or penrose fisher, or any of the best men in london. but someone you must have, and that is final. if you think that i am going to stand here and see you die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken your man." "you mean well, watson," said the sick man with something between a sob and a groan. "shall i demonstrate your own ignorance? what do you know, pray, of tapanuli fever? what do you know of the black formosa corruption?" "i have never heard of either." "there are many problems of disease, many strange pathological possibilities, in the east, watson." he paused after each sentence to collect his failing strength. "i have learned so much during some recent researches which have a medico-criminal aspect. it was in the course of them that i contracted this complaint. you can do nothing." "possibly not. but i happen to know that dr. ainstree, the greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in london. all remonstrance is useless, holmes, i am going this instant to fetch him." i turned resolutely to the door. never have i had such a shock! in an instant, with a tiger-spring, the dying man had intercepted me. i heard the sharp snap of a twisted key. the next moment he had staggered back to his bed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame of energy. "you won't take the key from be by force, watson, i've got you, my friend. here you are, and here you will stay until i will otherwise. but i'll humour you." (all this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) "you've only my own good at heart. of course i know that very well. you shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. not now, watson, not now. it's four o'clock. at six you can go." "this is insanity, holmes." "only two hours, watson. i promise you will go at six. are you content to wait?" "i seem to have no choice." "none in the world, watson. thank you, i need no help in arranging the clothes. you will please keep your distance. now, watson, there is one other condition that i would make. you will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that i choose." "by all means." "the first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, watson. you will find some books over there. i am somewhat exhausted; i wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor? at six, watson, we resume our conversation." but it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and in circumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused by his spring to the door. i had stood for some minutes looking at the silent figure in the bed. his face was almost covered by the clothes and he appeared to be asleep. then, unable to settle down to reading, i walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned. finally, in my aimless perambulation, i came to the mantelpiece. a litter of pipes, tobacco-pouches, syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges, and other debris was scattered over it. in the midst of these was a small black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. it was a neat little thing, and i had stretched out my hand to examine it more closely when-- it was a dreadful cry that he gave--a yell which might have been heard down the street. my skin went cold and my hair bristled at that horrible scream. as i turned i caught a glimpse of a convulsed face and frantic eyes. i stood paralyzed, with the little box in my hand. "put it down! down, this instant, watson--this instant, i say!" his head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of relief as i replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. "i hate to have my things touched, watson. you know that i hate it. you fidget me beyond endurance. you, a doctor--you are enough to drive a patient into an asylum. sit down, man, and let me have my rest!" the incident left a most unpleasant impression upon my mind. the violent and causeless excitement, followed by this brutality of speech, so far removed from his usual suavity, showed me how deep was the disorganization of his mind. of all ruins, that of a noble mind is the most deplorable. i sat in silent dejection until the stipulated time had passed. he seemed to have been watching the clock as well as i, for it was hardly six before he began to talk with the same feverish animation as before. "now, watson," said he. "have you any change in your pocket?" "yes." "any silver?" "a good deal." "how many half-crowns?" "i have five." "ah, too few! too few! how very unfortunate, watson! however, such as they are you can put them in your watchpocket. and all the rest of your money in your left trouser pocket. thank you. it will balance you so much better like that." this was raving insanity. he shuddered, and again made a sound between a cough and a sob. "you will now light the gas, watson, but you will be very careful that not for one instant shall it be more than half on. i implore you to be careful, watson. thank you, that is excellent. no, you need not draw the blind. now you will have the kindness to place some letters and papers upon this table within my reach. thank you. now some of that litter from the mantelpiece. excellent, watson! there is a sugar-tongs there. kindly raise that small ivory box with its assistance. place it here among the papers. good! you can now go and fetch mr. culverton smith, of 13 lower burke street." to tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened, for poor holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave him. however, he was as eager now to consult the person named as he had been obstinate in refusing. "i never heard the name," said i. "possibly not, my good watson. it may surprise you to know that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. mr. culverton smith is a well-known resident of sumatra, now visiting london. an outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reaching consequences. he is a very methodical person, and i did not desire you to start before six, because i was well aware that you would not find him in his study. if you could persuade him to come here and give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease, the investigation of which has been his dearest hobby, i cannot doubt that he could help me." i gave holmes's remarks as a consecutive whole and will not attempt to indicate how they were interrupted by gaspings for breath and those clutchings of his hands which indicated the pain from which he was suffering. his appearance had changed for the worse during the few hours that i had been with him. those hectic spots were more pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out of darker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon his brow. he still retained, however, the jaunty gallantry of his speech. to the last gasp he would always be the master. "you will tell him exactly how you have left me," said he. "you will convey the very impression which is in your own mind--a dying man--a dying and delirious man. indeed, i cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. ah, i am wondering! strange how the brain controls the brain! what was i saying, watson?" "my directions for mr. culverton smith." "ah, yes, i remember. my life depends upon it. plead with him, watson. there is no good feeling between us. his nephew, watson--i had suspicions of foul play and i allowed him to see it. the boy died horribly. he has a grudge against me. you will soften him, watson. beg him, pray him, get him here by any means. he can save me--only he!" "i will bring him in a cab, if i have to carry him down to it." "you will do nothing of the sort. you will persuade him to come. and then you will return in front of him. make any excuse so as not to come with him. don't forget, watson. you won't fail me. you never did fail me. no doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. you and i, watson, we have done our part. shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? no, no; horrible! you'll convey all that is in your mind." i left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like a foolish child. he had handed me the key, and with a happy thought i took it with me lest he should lock himself in. mrs. hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage. behind me as i passed from the flat i heard holmes's high, thin voice in some delirious chant. below, as i stood whistling for a cab, a man came on me through the fog. "how is mr. holmes, sir?" he asked. it was an old acquaintance, inspector morton, of scotland yard, dressed in unofficial tweeds. "he is very ill," i answered. he looked at me in a most singular fashion. had it not been too fiendish, i could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlight showed exultation in his face. "i heard some rumour of it," said he. the cab had driven up, and i left him. lower burke street proved to be a line of fine houses lying in the vague borderland between notting hill and kensington. the particular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug and demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, its massive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. all was in keeping with a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink radiance of a tinted electrical light behind him. "yes, mr. culverton smith is in. dr. watson! very good, sir, i will take up your card." my humble name and title did not appear to impress mr. culverton smith. through the half-open door i heard a high, petulant, penetrating voice. "who is this person? what does he want? dear me, staples, how often have i said that i am not to be disturbed in my hours of study?" there came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from the butler. "well, i won't see him, staples. i can't have my work interrupted like this. i am not at home. say so. tell him to come in the morning if he really must see me." again the gentle murmur. "well, well, give him that message. he can come in the morning, or he can stay away. my work must not be hindered." i thought of holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness and counting the minutes, perhaps, until i could bring help to him. it was not a time to stand upon ceremony. his life depended upon my promptness. before the apologetic butler had delivered his message i had pushed past him and was in the room. with a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair beside the fire. i saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes which glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. a high bald head had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of its pink curve. the skull was of enormous capacity, and yet as i looked down i saw to my amazement that the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in his childhood. "what's this?" he cried in a high, screaming voice. "what is the meaning of this intrusion? didn't i send you word that i would see you to-morrow morning?" "i am sorry," said i, "but the matter cannot be delayed. mr. sherlock holmes--" the mention of my friend's name had an extraordinary effect upon the little man. the look of anger passed in an instant from his face. his features became tense and alert. "have you come from holmes?" he asked. "i have just left him." "what about holmes? how is he?" "he is desperately ill. that is why i have come." the man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his own. as he did so i caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. i could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and abominable smile. yet i persuaded myself that it must have been some nervous contraction which i had surprised, for he turned to me an instant later with genuine concern upon his features. "i am sorry to hear this," said he. "i only know mr. holmes through some business dealings which we have had, but i have every respect for his talents and his character. he is an amateur of crime, as i am of disease. for him the villain, for me the microbe. there are my prisons," he continued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which stood upon a side table. "among those gelatine cultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are now doing time." "it was on account of your special knowledge that mr. holmes desired to see you. he has a high opinion of you and thought that you were the one man in london who could help him." the little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to the floor. "why?" he asked. "why should mr. homes think that i could help him in his trouble?" "because of your knowledge of eastern diseases." "but why should he think that this disease which he has contracted is eastern?" "because, in some professional inquiry, he has been working among chinese sailors down in the docks." mr. culverton smith smiled pleasantly and picked up his smoking-cap. "oh, that's it--is it?" said he. "i trust the matter is not so grave as you suppose. how long has he been ill?" "about three days." "is he delirious?" "occasionally." "tut, tut! this sounds serious. it would be inhuman not to answer his call. i very much resent any interruption to my work, dr. watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. i will come with you at once." i remembered holmes's injunction. "i have another appointment," said i. "very good. i will go alone. i have a note of mr. holmes's address. you can rely upon my being there within half an hour at most." it was with a sinking heart that i reentered holmes's bedroom. for all that i knew the worst might have happened in my absence. to my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. his appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium had left him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his usual crispness and lucidity. "well, did you see him, watson?" "yes; he is coming." "admirable, watson! admirable! you are the best of messengers." "he wished to return with me." "that would never do, watson. that would be obviously impossible. did he ask what ailed me?" "i told him about the chinese in the east end." "exactly! well, watson, you have done all that a good friend could. you can now disappear from the scene." "i must wait and hear his opinion, holmes." "of course you must. but i have reasons to suppose that this opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we are alone. there is just room behind the head of my bed, watson." "my dear holmes!" "i fear there is no alternative, watson. the room does not lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion. but just there, watson, i fancy that it could be done." suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. "there are the wheels, watson. quick, man, if you love me! and don't budge, whatever happens--whatever happens, do you hear? don't speak! don't move! just listen with all your ears." then in an instant his sudden access of strength departed, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low, vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man. from the hiding-place into which i had been so swiftly hustled i heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the closing of the bedroom door. then, to my surprise, there came a long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings of the sick man. i could imagine that our visitor was standing by the bedside and looking down at the sufferer. at last that strange hush was broken. "holmes!" he cried. "holmes!" in the insistent tone of one who awakens a sleeper. "can't you hear me, holmes?" there was a rustling, as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by the shoulder. "is that you, mr. smith?" holmes whispered. "i hardly dared hope that you would come." the other laughed. "i should imagine not," he said. "and yet, you see, i am here. coals of fire, holmes--coals of fire!" "it is very good of you--very noble of you. i appreciate your special knowledge." our visitor sniggered. "you do. you are, fortunately, the only man in london who does. do you know what is the matter with you?" "the same," said holmes. "ah! you recognize the symptoms?" "only too well." "well, i shouldn't be surprised, holmes. i shouldn't be surprised if it were the same. a bad lookout for you if it is. poor victor was a dead man on the fourth day--a strong, hearty young fellow. it was certainly, as you said, very surprising that he should have contracted and out-of-the-way asiatic disease in the heart of london--a disease, too, of which i had made such a very special study. singular coincidence, holmes. very smart of you to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was cause and effect." "i knew that you did it." "oh, you did, did you? well, you couldn't prove it, anyhow. but what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me like that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble? what sort of a game is that--eh?" i heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. "give me the water!" he gasped. "you're precious near your end, my friend, but i don't want you to go till i have had a word with you. that's why i give you water. there, don't slop it about! that's right. can you understand what i say?" holmes groaned. "do what you can for me. let bygones be bygones," he whispered. "i'll put the words out of my head--i swear i will. only cure me, and i'll forget it." "forget what?" "well, about victor savage's death. you as good as admitted just now that you had done it. i'll forget it." "you can forget it or remember it, just as you like. i don't see you in the witnessbox. quite another shaped box, my good holmes, i assure you. it matters nothing to me that you should know how my nephew died. it's not him we are talking about. it's you." "yes, yes." "the fellow who came for me--i've forgotten his name--said that you contracted it down in the east end among the sailors." "i could only account for it so." "you are proud of your brains, holmes, are you not? think yourself smart, don't you? you came across someone who was smarter this time. now cast your mind back, holmes. can you think of no other way you could have got this thing?" "i can't think. my mind is gone. for heaven's sake help me!" "yes, i will help you. i'll help you to understand just where you are and how you got there. i'd like you to know before you die." "give me something to ease my pain." "painful, is it? yes, the coolies used to do some squealing towards the end. takes you as cramp, i fancy." "yes, yes; it is cramp." "well, you can hear what i say, anyhow. listen now! can you remember any unusual incident in your life just about the time your symptoms began?" "no, no; nothing." "think again." "i'm too ill to think." "well, then, i'll help you. did anything come by post?" "by post?" "a box by chance?" "i'm fainting--i'm gone!" "listen, holmes!" there was a sound as if he was shaking the dying man, and it was all that i could do to hold myself quiet in my hiding-place. "you must hear me. you shall hear me. do you remember a box--an ivory box? it came on wednesday. you opened it--do you remember?" "yes, yes, i opened it. there was a sharp spring inside it. some joke--" "it was no joke, as you will find to your cost. you fool, you would have it and you have got it. who asked you to cross my path? if you had left me alone i would not have hurt you." "i remember," holmes gasped. "the spring! it drew blood. this box--this on the table." "the very one, by george! and it may as well leave the room in my pocket. there goes your last shred of evidence. but you have the truth now, holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that i killed you. you knew too much of the fate of victor savage, so i have sent you to share it. you are very near your end, holmes. i will sit here and i will watch you die." holmes's voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper. "what is that?" said smith. "turn up the gas? ah, the shadows begin to fall, do they? yes, i will turn it up, that i may see you the better." he crossed the room and the light suddenly brightened. "is there any other little service that i can do you, my friend?" "a match and a cigarette." i nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. he was speaking in his natural voice--a little weak, perhaps, but the very voice i knew. there was a long pause, and i felt that culverton smith was standing in silent amazement looking down at his companion. "what's the meaning of this?" i heard him say at last in a dry, rasping tone. "the best way of successfully acting a part is to be it," said holmes. "i give you my word that for three days i have tasted neither food nor drink until you were good enough to pour me out that glass of water. but it is the tobacco which i find most irksome. ah, here are some cigarettes." i heard the striking of a match. "that is very much better. halloa! halloa! do i hear the step of a friend?" there were footfalls outside, the door opened, and inspector morton appeared. "all is in order and this is your man," said holmes. the officer gave the usual cautions. "i arrest you on the charge of the murder of one victor savage," he concluded. "and you might add of the attempted murder of one sherlock holmes," remarked my friend with a chuckle. "to save an invalid trouble, inspector, mr. culverton smith was good enough to give our signal by turning up the gas. by the way, the prisoner has a small box in the right-hand pocket of his coat which it would be as well to remove. thank you. i would handle it gingerly if i were you. put it down here. it may play its part in the trial." there was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash of iron and a cry of pain. "you'll only get yourself hurt," said the inspector. "stand still, will you?" there was the click of the closing handcuffs. "a nice trap!" cried the high, snarling voice. "it will bring you into the dock, holmes, not me. he asked me to come here to cure him. i was sorry for him and i came. now he will pretend, no doubt, that i have said anything which he may invent which will corroborate his insane suspicions. you can lie as you like, holmes. my word is always as good as yours." "good heavens!" cried holmes. "i had totally forgotten him. my dear watson, i owe you a thousand apologies. to think that i should have overlooked you! i need not introduce you to mr. culverton smith, since i understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening. have you the cab below? i will follow you when i am dressed, for i may be of some use at the station. "i never needed it more," said holmes as he refreshed himself with a glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his toilet. "however, as you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat means less to me than to most men. it was very essential that i should impress mrs. hudson with the reality of my condition, since she was to convey it to you, and you in turn to him. you won't be offended, watson? you will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to impress smith with the urgent necessity of his presence, which was the vital point of the whole scheme. knowing his vindictive nature, i was perfectly certain that he would come to look upon his handiwork." "but your appearance, holmes--your ghastly face?" "three days of absolute fast does not improve one's beauty, watson. for the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure. with vaseline upon one's forehead, belladonna in one's eyes, rouge over the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round one's lips, a very satisfying effect can be produced. malingering is a subject upon which i have sometimes thought of writing a monograph. a little occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters, or any other extraneous subject produces a pleasing effect of delirium." "but why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no infection?" "can you ask, my dear watson? do you imagine that i have no respect for your medical talents? could i fancy that your astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse or temperature? at four yards, i could deceive you. if i failed to do so, who would bring my smith within my grasp? no, watson, i would not touch that box. you can just see if you look at it sideways where the sharp spring like a viper's tooth emerges as you open it. i dare say it was by some such device that poor savage, who stood between this monster and a reversion, was done to death. my correspondence, however, is, as you know, a varied one, and i am somewhat upon my guard against any packages which reach me. it was clear to me, however, that by pretending that he had really succeeded in his design i might surprise a confession. that pretence i have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist. thank you, watson, you must help me on with my coat. when we have finished at the police-station i think that something nutritious at simpson's would not be out of place." the disappearance of lady frances carfax "but why turkish?" asked mr. sherlock holmes, gazing fixedly at my boots. i was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention. "english," i answered in some surprise. "i got them at latimer's, in oxford street." holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience. "the bath!" he said; "the bath! why the relaxing and expensive turkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?" "because for the last few days i have been feeling rheumatic and old. a turkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine--a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system. "by the way, holmes," i added, "i have no doubt the connection between my boots and a turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a logical mind, and yet i should be obliged to you if you would indicate it." "the train of reasoning is not very obscure, watson," said holmes with a mischievous twinkle. "it belongs to the same elementary class of deduction which i should illustrate if i were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning." "i don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation," said i with some asperity. "bravo, watson! a very dignified and logical remonstrance. let me see, what were the points? take the last one first--the cab. you observe that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat. had you sat in the centre of a hansom you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical. therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion." "that is very evident." "absurdly commonplace, is it not?" "but the boots and the bath?" "equally childish. you are in the habit of doing up your boots in a certain way. i see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them. you have, therefore, had them off. who has tied them? a bootmaker--or the boy at the bath. it is unlikely that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. well, what remains? the bath. absurd, is it not? but, for all that, the turkish bath has served a purpose." "what is that?" "you say that you have had it because you need a change. let me suggest that you take one. how would lausanne do, my dear watson--first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?" "splendid! but why?" holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook from his pocket. "one of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is the drifting and friendless woman. she is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crime in others. she is helpless. she is migratory. she has sufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. she is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boardinghouses. she is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. when she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. i much fear that some evil has come to the lady frances carfax." i was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular. holmes consulted his notes. "lady frances," he continued, "is the sole survivor of the direct family of the late earl of rufton. the estates went, as you may remember, in the male line. she was left with limited means, but with some very remarkable old spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached--too attached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and always carried them about with her. a rather pathetic figure, the lady frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange change, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet." "what has happened to her, then?" "ah, what has happened to the lady frances? is she alive or dead? there is our problem. she is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it has been her invariable custom to write every second week to miss dobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in camberwell. it is this miss dobney who has consulted me. nearly five weeks have passed without a word. the last letter was from the hotel national at lausanne. lady frances seems to have left there and given no address. the family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clear the matter up." "is miss dobney the only source of information? surely she had other correspondents?" "there is one correspondent who is a sure draw, watson. that is the bank. single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries. she banks at silvester's. i have glanced over her account. the last check but one paid her bill at lausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. only one check has been drawn since." "to whom, and where?" "to miss marie devine. there is nothing to show where the check was drawn. it was cashed at the credit lyonnais at montpellier less than three weeks ago. the sum was fifty pounds." "and who is miss marie devine?" "that also i have been able to discover. miss marie devine was the maid of lady frances carfax. why she should have paid her this check we have not yet determined. i have no doubt, however, that your researches will soon clear the matter up." "my researches!" "hence the health-giving expedition to lausanne. you know that i cannot possibly leave london while old abrahams is in such mortal terror of his life. besides, on general principles it is best that i should not leave the country. scotland yard feels lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes. go, then, my dear watson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the end of the continental wire." two days later found me at the hotel national at lausanne, where i received every courtesy at the hands of m. moser, the well-known manager. lady frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for several weeks. she had been much liked by all who met her. her age was not more than forty. she was still handsome and bore every sign of having in her youth been a very lovely woman. m. moser knew nothing of any valuable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that the heavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was always scrupulously locked. marie devine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. she was actually engaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was no difficulty in getting her address. it was 11 rue de trajan, montpellier. all this i jotted down and felt that holmes himself could not have been more adroit in collecting his facts. only one corner still remained in the shadow. no light which i possessed could clear up the cause for the lady's sudden departure. she was very happy at lausanne. there was every reason to believe that she intended to remain for the season in her luxurious rooms overlooking the lake. and yet she had left at a single day's notice, which involved her in the useless payment of a week's rent. only jules vibart, the lover of the maid, had any suggestion to offer. he connected the sudden departure with the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. "un sauvage--un vritable sauvage!" cried jules vibart. the man had rooms somewhere in the town. he had been seen talking earnestly to madame on the promenade by the lake. then he had called. she had refused to see him. he was english, but of his name there was no record. madame had left the place immediately afterwards. jules vibart, and, what was of more importance, jules vibart's sweetheart, thought that this call and the departure were cause and effect. only one thing jules would not discuss. that was the reason why marie had left her mistress. of that he could or would say nothing. if i wished to know, i must go to montpellier and ask her. so ended the first chapter of my inquiry. the second was devoted to the place which lady frances carfax had sought when she left lausanne. concerning this there had been some secrecy, which confirmed the idea that she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track. otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled for baden? both she and it reached the rhenish spa by some circuitous route. this much i gathered from the manager of cook's local office. so to baden i went, after dispatching to holmes an account of all my proceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorous commendation. at baden the track was not difficult to follow. lady frances had stayed at the englischer hof for a fortnight. while there she had made the acquaintance of a dr. shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from south america. like most lonely ladies, lady frances found her comfort and occupation in religion. dr. shlessinger's remarkable personality, his whole hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. she had helped mrs. shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint. he spent his day, as the manager described it to me, upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon either side of him. he was preparing a map of the holy land, with special reference to the kingdom of the midianites, upon which he was writing a monograph. finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife had returned to london, and lady frances had started thither in their company. this was just three weeks before, and the manager had heard nothing since. as to the maid, marie, she had gone off some days beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she was leaving service forever. dr. shlessinger had paid the bill of the whole party before his departure. "by the way," said the landlord in conclusion, "you are not the only friend of lady frances carfax who is inquiring after her just now. only a week or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand." "did he give a name?" i asked. "none; but he was an englishman, though of an unusual type." "a savage?" said i, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustrious friend. "exactly. that describes him very well. he is a bulky, bearded, sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in a farmers' inn than in a fashionable hotel. a hard, fierce man, i should think, and one whom i should be sorry to offend." already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. here was this good and pious lady pursued from place to place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. she feared him, or she would not have fled from lausanne. he had still followed. sooner or later he would overtake her. had he already overtaken her? was that the secret of her continued silence? could the good people who were her companions not screen her from his violence or his blackmail? what horrible purpose, what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? there was the problem which i had to solve. to holmes i wrote showing how rapidly and surely i had got down to the roots of the matter. in reply i had a telegram asking for a description of dr. shlessinger's left ear. holmes's ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive, so i took no notice of his ill-timed jest--indeed, i had already reached montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, marie, before his message came. i had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that she could tell me. she was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistress because she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her own approaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. her mistress had, as she confessed with distress, shown some irritability of temper towards her during their stay in baden, and had even questioned her once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made the parting easier than it would otherwise have been. lady frances had given her fifty pounds as a wedding-present. like me, marie viewed with deep distrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from lausanne. with her own eyes she had seen him seize the lady's wrist with great violence on the public promenade by the lake. he was a fierce and terrible man. she believed that it was out of dread of him that lady frances had accepted the escort of the shlessingers to london. she had never spoken to marie about it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistress lived in a state of continual nervous apprehension. so far she had got in her narrative, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed with surprise and fear. "see!" she cried. "the miscreant follows still! there is the very man of whom i speak." through the open sitting-room window i saw a huge, swarthy man with a bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. it was clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid. acting upon the impulse of the moment, i rushed out and accosted him. "you are an englishman," i said. "what if i am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl. "may i ask what your name is?" "no, you may not," said he with decision. the situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best. "where is the lady frances carfax?" i asked. he stared at me with amazement. "what have you done with her? why have you pursued her? i insist upon an answer!" said i. the fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. i have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the fury of a fiend. his hand was on my throat and my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven french ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold. he stood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack. then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from which i had just come. i turned to thank my preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway. "well, watson," said he, "a very pretty hash you have made of it! i rather think you had better come back with me to london by the night express." an hour afterwards, sherlock holmes, in his usual garb and style, was seated in my private room at the hotel. his explanation of his sudden and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he could get away from london, he determined to head me off at the next obvious point of my travels. in the disguise of a workingman he had sat in the cabaret waiting for my appearance. "and a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dear watson," said he. "i cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder which you have omitted. the total effect of your proceeding has been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing." "perhaps you would have done no better," i answered bitterly. "there is no 'perhaps' about it. i have done better. here is the hon. philip green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we may find him the starting-point for a more successful investigation." a card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the same bearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. he started when he saw me. "what is this, mr. holmes?" he asked. "i had your note and i have come. but what has this man to do with the matter?" "this is my old friend and associate, dr. watson, who is helping us in this affair." the stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words of apology. "i hope i didn't harm you. when you accused me of hurting her i lost my grip of myself. indeed, i'm not responsible in these days. my nerves are like live wires. but this situation is beyond me. what i want to know, in the first place, mr. holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear of my existence at all." "i am in touch with miss dobney, lady frances's governess." "old susan dobney with the mob cap! i remember her well." "and she remembers you. it was in the days before--before you found it better to go to south africa." "ah, i see you know my whole story. i need hide nothing from you. i swear to you, mr. holmes, that there never was in this world a man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than i had for frances. i was a wild youngster, i know--not worse than others of my class. but her mind was pure as snow. she could not bear a shadow of coarseness. so, when she came to hear of things that i had done, she would have no more to say to me. and yet she loved me--that is the wonder of it!--loved me well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sake alone. when the years had passed and i had made my money at barberton i thought perhaps i could seek her out and soften her. i had heard that she was still unmarried, i found her at lausanne and tried all i knew. she weakened, i think, but her will was strong, and when next i called she had left the town. i traced her to baden, and then after a time heard that her maid was here. i'm a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when dr. watson spoke to me as he did i lost hold of myself for a moment. but for god's sake tell me what has become of the lady frances." "that is for us to find out," said sherlock holmes with peculiar gravity. "what is your london address, mr. green?" "the langham hotel will find me." "then may i recommend that you return there and be on hand in case i should want you? i have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you may rest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of lady frances. i can say no more for the instant. i will leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touch with us. now, watson, if you will pack your bag i will cable to mrs. hudson to make one of her best efforts for two hungry travellers at 7.30 to-morrow." a telegram was awaiting us when we reached our baker street rooms, which holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across to me. "jagged or torn," was the message, and the place of origin, baden. "what is this?" i asked. "it is everything," holmes answered. "you may remember my seemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. you did not answer it." "i had left baden and could not inquire." "exactly. for this reason i sent a duplicate to the manager of the englischer hof, whose answer lies here." "what does it show?" "it shows, my dear watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionally astute and dangerous man. the rev. dr. shlessinger, missionary from south america, is none other than holy peters, one of the most unscrupulous rascals that australia has ever evolved--and for a young country it has turned out some very finished types. his particular specialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-called wife, an englishwoman named fraser, is a worthy helpmate. the nature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and this physical peculiarity--he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at adelaide in '89--confirmed my suspicion. this poor lady is in the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, watson. that she is already dead is a very likely supposition. if not, she is undoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write to miss dobney or her other friends. it is always possible that she never reached london, or that she has passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rouges could not hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep a person under restraint. all my instincts tell me that she is in london, but as we have at present no possible means of telling where, we can only take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls in patience. later in the evening i will stroll down and have a word with friend lestrade at scotland yard." but neither the official police nor holmes's own small but very efficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. amid the crowded millions of london the three persons we sought were as completely obliterated as if they had never lived. advertisements were tried, and failed. clues were followed, and led to nothing. every criminal resort which shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. his old associates were watched, but they kept clear of him. and then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense there came a flash of light. a silver-and-brilliant pendant of old spanish design had been pawned at bovington's, in westminster road. the pawner was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. his name and address were demonstrably false. the ear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of shlessinger. three times had our bearded friend from the langham called for news--the third time within an hour of this fresh development. his clothes were getting looser on his great body. he seemed to be wilting away in his anxiety. "if you will only give me something to do!" was his constant wail. at last holmes could oblige him. "he has begun to pawn the jewels. we should get him now." "but does this mean that any harm has befallen the lady frances?" holmes shook his head very gravely. "supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. we must prepare for the worst." "what can i do?" "these people do not know you by sight?" "no." "it is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the future. in that case, we must begin again. on the other hand, he has had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he will probably come back to bovington's. i will give you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. if the fellow comes you will follow him home. but no indiscretion, and, above all, no violence. i put you on your honour that you will take no step without my knowledge and consent." for two days the hon. philip green (he was, i may mention, the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded the sea of azof fleet in the crimean war) brought us no news. on the evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering with excitement. "we have him! we have him!" he cried. he was incoherent in his agitation. holmes soothed him with a few words and thrust him into an armchair. "come, now, give us the order of events," said he. "she came only an hour ago. it was the wife, this time, but the pendant she brought was the fellow of the other. she is a tall, pale woman, with ferret eyes." "that is the lady," said holmes. "she left the office and i followed her. she walked up the kennington road, and i kept behind her. presently she went into a shop. mr. holmes, it was an undertaker's." my companion started. "well?" he asked in that vibrant voice which told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face. "she was talking to the woman behind the counter. i entered as well. 'it is late,' i heard her say, or words to that effect. the woman was excusing herself. 'it should be there before now,' she answered. 'it took longer, being out of the ordinary.' they both stopped and looked at me, so i asked some questions and then left the shop." "you did excellently well. what happened next?" "the woman came out, but i had hid myself in a doorway. her suspicions had been aroused, i think, for she looked round her. then she called a cab and got in. i was lucky enough to get another and so to follow her. she got down at last at no. 36, poultney square, brixton. i drove past, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house." "did you see anyone?" "the windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. the blind was down, and i could not see in. i was standing there, wondering what i should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it. they descended, took something out of the van, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. mr. holmes, it was a coffin." "ah!" "for an instant i was on the point of rushing in. the door had been opened to admit the men and their burden. it was the woman who had opened it. but as i stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and i think that she recognized me. i saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. i remembered my promise to you, and here i am." "you have done excellent work," said holmes, scribbling a few words upon a half-sheet of paper. "we can do nothing legal without a warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to the authorities and getting one. there may be some difficulty, but i should think that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. lestrade will see to all details." "but they may murder her in the meanwhile. what could the coffin mean, and for whom could it be but for her?" "we will do all that can be done, mr. green. not a moment will be lost. leave it in our hands. now watson," he added as our client hurried away, "he will set the regular forces on the move. we are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own line of action. the situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified. not a moment is to be lost in getting to poultney square. "let us try to reconstruct the situation," said he as we drove swiftly past the houses of parliament and over westminster bridge. "these villains have coaxed this unhappy lady to london, after first alienating her from her faithful maid. if she has written any letters they have been intercepted. through some confederate they have engaged a furnished house. once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their object from the first. already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safe enough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyone is interested in the lady's fate. when she is released she will, of course, denounce them. therefore, she must not be released. but they cannot keep her under lock and key forever. so murder is their only solution." "that seems very clear." "now we will take another line of reasoning. when you follow two separate chains of thought, watson, you will find some point of intersection which should approximate to the truth. we will start now, not from the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. that incident proves, i fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. it points also to an orthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate and official sanction. had the lady been obviously murdered, they would have buried her in a hole in the back garden. but here all is open and regular. what does this mean? surely that they have done her to death in some way which has deceived the doctor and simulated a natural end--poisoning, perhaps. and yet how strange that they should ever let a doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly a credible proposition." "could they have forged a medical certificate?" "dangerous, watson, very dangerous. no, i hardly see them doing that. pull up, cabby! this is evidently the undertaker's, for we have just passed the pawnbroker's. would go in, watson? your appearance inspires confidence. ask what hour the poultney square funeral takes place to-morrow." the woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was to be at eight o'clock in the morning. "you see, watson, no mystery; everything above-board! in some way the legal forms have undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. well, there's nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. are you armed?" "my stick!" "well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' we simply can't afford to wait for the police or to keep within the four corners of the law. you can drive off, cabby. now, watson, we'll just take our luck together, as we have occasionally in the past." he had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre of poultney square. it was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall. "well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us through the darkness. "i want to speak to dr. shlessinger," said holmes. "there is no such person here," she answered, and tried to close the door, but holmes had jammed it with his foot. "well, i want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may call himself," said holmes firmly. she hesitated. then she threw open the door. "well, come in!" said she. "my husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." she closed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "mr. peters will be with you in an instant," she said. her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly into the room. he had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a general air of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel, vicious mouth. "there is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in an unctuous, make-everything-easy voice. "i fancy that you have been misdirected. possibly if you tried farther down the street--" "that will do; we have no time to waste," said my companion firmly. "you are henry peters, of adelaide, late the rev. dr. shlessinger, of baden and south america. i am as sure of that as that my own name is sherlock holmes." peters, as i will now call him, started and stared hard at his formidable pursuer. "i guess your name does not frighten me, mr. holmes," said he coolly. "when a man's conscience is easy you can't rattle him. what is your business in my house?" "i want to know what you have done with the lady frances carfax, whom you brought away with you from baden." "i'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be," peters answered coolly. "i've a bill against her for a nearly a hundred pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants that the dealer would hardly look at. she attached herself to mrs. peters and me at baden--it is a fact that i was using another name at the time--and she stuck on to us until we came to london. i paid her bill and her ticket. once in london, she gave us the slip, and, as i say, left these out-of-date jewels to pay her bills. you find her, mr. holmes, and i'm your debtor." in mean to find her," said sherlock holmes. "i'm going through this house till i do find her." "where is your warrant?" holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. "this will have to serve till a better one comes." "why, you're a common burglar." "so you might describe me," said holmes cheerfully. "my companion is also a dangerous ruffian. and together we are going through your house." our opponent opened the door. "fetch a policeman, annie!" said he. there was a whisk of feminine skirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut. "our time is limited, watson," said holmes. "if you try to stop us, peters, you will most certainly get hurt. where is that coffin which was brought into your house?" "what do you want with the coffin? it is in use. there is a body in it." "i must see the body." "never with my consent." "then without it." with a quick movement holmes pushed the fellow to one side and passed into the hall. a door half opened stood immediately before us. we entered. it was the dining-room. on the table, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. holmes turned up the gas and raised the lid. deep down in the recesses of the coffin lay an emaciated figure. the glare from the lights above beat down upon an aged and withered face. by no possible process of cruelty, starvation, or disease could this wornout wreck be the still beautiful lady frances. holmes's face showed his amazement, and also his relief. "thank god!" he muttered. "it's someone else." "ah, you've blundered badly for once, mr. sherlock holmes," said peters, who had followed us into the room. "who is the dead woman?" "well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife's, rose spender by name, whom we found in the brixton workhouse infirmary. we brought her round here, called in dr. horsom, of 13 firbank villas--mind you take the address, mr. holmes--and had her carefully tended, as christian folk should. on the third day she died--certificate says senile decay--but that's only the doctor's opinion, and of course you know better. we ordered her funeral to be carried out by stimson and co., of the kennington road, who will bury her at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. can you pick any hole in that, mr. holmes? you've made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. i'd give something for a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulled aside that lid expecting to see the lady frances carfax and only found a poor old woman of ninety." holmes's expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers of his antagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acute annoyance. "i am going through your house," said he. "are you, though!" cried peters as a woman's voice and heavy steps sounded in the passage. "we'll soon see about that. this way, officers, if you please. these men have forced their way into my house, and i cannot get rid of them. help me to put them out." a sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. holmes drew his card from his case. "this is my name and address. this is my friend, dr. watson." "bless you, sir, we know you very well," said the sergeant, "but you can't stay here without a warrant." "of course not. i quite understand that." "arrest him!" cried peters. "we know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted," said the sergeant majestically, "but you'll have to go, mr. holmes." "yes, watson, we shall have to go." a minute later we were in the street once more. holmes was as cool as ever, but i was hot with anger and humiliation. the sergeant had followed us. "sorry, mr. holmes, but that's the law." "exactly, sergeant, you could not do otherwise." "i expect there was good reason for your presence there. if there is anything i can do--" "it's a missing lady, sergeant, and we think she is in that house. i expect a warrant presently." "then i'll keep my eye on the parties, mr. holmes. if anything comes along, i will surely let you know." it was only nine o'clock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once. first we drove to brixton workhoused infirmary, where we found that it was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called some days before, that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, and that they had obtained permission to take her away with them. no surprise was expressed at the news that she had since died. the doctor was our next goal. he had been called in, had found the woman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and had signed the certificate in due form. "i assure you that everything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter," said he. nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for people of their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. so far and no further went the doctor. finally we found our way to scotland yard. there had been difficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. some delay was inevitable. the magistrate's signature might not be obtained until next morning. if holmes would call about nine he could go down with lestrade and see it acted upon. so ended the day, save that near midnight our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lights here and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one had left it and none had entered. we could but pray for patience and wait for the morrow. sherlock holmes was too irritable for conversation and too restless for sleep. i left him smoking hard, with his heavy, dark brows knotted together, and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair, as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of the mystery. several times in the course of the night i heard him prowling about the house. finally, just after i had been called in the morning, he rushed into my room. he was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow-eyed face told me that his night had been a sleepless one. "what time was the funeral? eight, was it not?" he asked eagerly. "well, it is 7.20 now. good heavens, watson, what has become of any brains that god has given me? quick, man, quick! it's life or death--a hundred chances on death to one on life. i'll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!" five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom down baker street. but even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed big ben, and eight struck as we tore down the brixton road. but others were late as well as we. ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standing at the door of the house, and even as our foaming horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. holmes darted forward and barred their way. "take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost. "take it back this instant!" "what the devil do you mean? once again i ask you, where is your warrant?" shouted the furious peters, his big red face glaring over the farther end of the coffin. "the warrant is on its way. the coffin shall remain in the house until it comes." the authority in holmes's voice had its effect upon the bearers. peters had suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders. "quick, watson, quick! here is a screw-driver!" he shouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. "here's one for you, my man! a sovreign if the lid comes off in a minute! ask no questions--work away! that's good! another! and another! now pull all together! it's giving! it's giving! ah, that does it at last." with a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. as we did so there came from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. a body lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had been soaked in the narcotic. holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. in an instant he had passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position. "is she gone, watson? is there a spark left? surely we are not too late!" for half an hour it seemed that we were. what with actual suffocation, and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform, the lady frances seemed to have passed the last point of recall. and then, at last, with artificial respiration, with injected ether, and with every device that science could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly returning life. a cab had driven up, and holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. "here is lestrade with his warrant," said he. "he will find that his birds have flown. and here," he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, "is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. good morning, mr. green; i think that the sooner we can move the lady frances the better. meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, and the poor old woman who still lies in that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone." "should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear watson," said holmes that evening, "it can only be as an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. such slips are common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize and repair them. to this modified credit i may, perhaps, make some claim. my night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had been too easily dismissed. then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, the words came back to me. it was the remark of the undertaker's wife, as reported by philip green. she had said, 'it should be there before now. it took longer, being out of the ordinary.' it was the coffin of which she spoke. it had been out of the ordinary. that could only mean that it had been made to some special measurement. but why? why? then in an instant i remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at the bottom. why so large a coffin for so small a body? to leave room for another body. both would be buried under the one certificate. it had all been so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. at eight the lady frances would be buried. our one chance was to stop the coffin before it left the house. "it was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it was a chance, as the result showed. these people had never, to my knowledge, done a murder. they might shrink from actual violence at the last. the could bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she were exhumed there was a chance for them. i hoped that such considerations might prevail with them. you can reconstruct the scene well enough. you saw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long. they rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried her down, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and then screwed down the lid. a clever device, watson. it is new to me in the annals of crime. if our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches of lestrade, i shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their future career." the adventure of the devil's foot in recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and interesting recollections which i associate with my long and intimate friendship with mr. sherlock holmes, i have continually been faced by difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. to his sombre and cynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothing amused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over the actual exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mocking smile to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. it was indeed this attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack of interesting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few of my records before the public. my participation in some if his adventures was always a privilege which entailed discretion and reticence upon me. it was, then, with considerable surprise that i received a telegram from homes last tuesday--he has never been known to write where a telegram would serve--in the following terms: why not tell them of the cornish horror--strangest case i have handled. i have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the matter fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that i should recount it; but i hasten, before another cancelling telegram may arrive, to hunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case and to lay the narrative before my readers. it was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that holmes's iron constitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constant hard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasional indiscretions of his own. in march of that year dr. moore agar, of harley street, whose dramatic introduction to holmes i may some day recount, gave positive injunctions that the famous private agent lay aside all his cases and surrender himself to complete rest if he wished to avert an absolute breakdown. the state of his health was not a matter in which he himself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, but he was induced at last, on the threat of being permanently disqualified from work, to give himself a complete change of scene and air. thus it was that in the early spring of that year we found ourselves together in a small cottage near poldhu bay, at the further extremity of the cornish peninsula. it was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grim humour of my patient. from the windows of our little whitewashed house, which stood high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon the whole sinister semicircle of mounts bay, that old death trap of sailing vessels, with its fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on which innumerable seamen have met their end. with a northerly breeze it lies placid and sheltered, inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest and protection. then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blistering gale from the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle in the creaming breakers. the wise mariner stands far out from that evil place. on the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. it was a country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-colored, with an occasional church tower to mark the site of some old-world village. in every direction upon these moors there were traces of some vanished race which had passed utterly away, and left as it sole record strange monuments of stone, irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes of the dead, and curious earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife. the glamour and mystery of the place, with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations, appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he spent much of his time in long walks and solitary meditations upon the moor. the ancient cornish language had also arrested his attention, and he had, i remember, conceived the idea that it was akin to the chaldean, and had been largely derived from the phoenician traders in tin. he had received a consignment of books upon philology and was settling down to develop this thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned delight, we found ourselves, even in that land of dreams, plunged into a problem at our very doors which was more intense, more engrossing, and infinitely more mysterious than any of those which had driven us from london. our simple life and peaceful, healthy routine were violently interrupted, and we were precipitated into the midst of a series of events which caused the utmost excitement not only in cornwall but throughout the whole west of england. many of my readers may retain some recollection of what was called at the time "the cornish horror," though a most imperfect account of the matter reached the london press. now, after thirteen years, i will give the true details of this inconceivable affair to the public. i have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted this part of cornwall. the nearest of these was the hamlet of tredannick wollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered round an ancient, moss-grown church. the vicar of the parish, mr. roundhay, was something of an archaeologist, and as such holmes had made his acquaintance. he was a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a considerable fund of local lore. at his invitation we had taken tea at the vicarage and had come to know, also, mr. mortimer tregennis, an independent gentleman, who increased the clergyman's scanty resources by taking rooms in his large, straggling house. the vicar, being a bachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement, though he had little in common with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man, with a stoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. i remember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but his lodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs. these were the two men who entered abruptly into our little sitting-room on tuesday, march the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as we were smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the moors. "mr. holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the most extraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night. it is the most unheard-of business. we can only regard it as a special providence that you should chance to be here at the time, for in all england you are the one man we need." i glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but holmes took his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound who hears the view-halloa. he waved his hand to the sofa, and our palpitating visitor with his agitated companion sat side by side upon it. mr. mortimer tregennis was more self-contained than the clergyman, but the twitching of his thin hands and the brightness of his dark eyes showed that they shared a common emotion. "shall i speak or you?" he asked of the vicar. "well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be, and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the speaking," said holmes. i glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressed lodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which holmes's simple deduction had brought to their faces. "perhaps i had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "and then you can judge if you will listen to the details from mr. tregennis, or whether we should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious affair. i may explain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in the company of his two brothers, owen and george, and of his sister brenda, at their house of tredannick wartha, which is near the old stone cross upon the moor. he left them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards round the dining-room table, in excellent health and spirits. this morning, being an early riser, he walked in that direction before breakfast and was overtaken by the carriage of dr. richards, who explained that he had just been sent for on a most urgent call to tredannick wartha. mr. mortimer tregennis naturally went with him. when he arrived at tredannick wartha he found an extraordinary state of things. his two brothers and his sister were seated round the table exactly as he had left them, the cards still spread in front of them and the candles burned down to their sockets. the sister lay back stone-dead in her chair, while the two brothers sat on each side of her laughing, shouting, and singing, the senses stricken clean out of them. all three of them, the dead woman and the two demented men, retained upon their faces an expression of the utmost horror--a convulsion of terror which was dreadful to look upon. there was no sign of the presence of anyone in the house, except mrs. porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who declared that she had slept deeply and heard no sound during the night. nothing had been stolen or disarranged, and there is absolutely no explanation of what the horror can be which has frightened a woman to death and two strong men out of their senses. there is the situation, mr. holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help us to clear it up you will have done a great work." i had hoped that in some way i could coax my companion back into the quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at his intense face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now the expectation. he sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the strange drama which had broken in upon our peace. "i will look into this matter," he said at last. "on the face of it, it would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. have you been there yourself, mr. roundhay?" "no, mr. holmes. mr. tregennis brought back the account to the vicarage, and i at once hurried over with him to consult you." "how far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?" "about a mile inland." "then we shall walk over together. but before we start i must ask you a few questions, mr. mortimer tregennis." the other had been silent all this time, but i had observed that his more controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of the clergyman. he sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze fixed upon holmes, and his thin hands clasped convulsively together. his pale lips quivered as he listened to the dreadful experience which had befallen his family, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of the scene. "ask what you like, mr. holmes," said he eagerly. "it is a bad thing to speak of, but i will answer you the truth." "tell me about last night." "well, mr. holmes, i supped there, as the vicar has said, and my elder brother george proposed a game of whist afterwards. we sat down about nine o'clock. it was a quarter-past ten when i moved to go. i left them all round the table, as merry as could be." "who let you out?" "mrs. porter had gone to bed, so i let myself out. i shut the hall door behind me. the window of the room in which they sat was closed, but the blind was not drawn down. there was no change in door or window this morning, or any reason to think that any stranger had been to the house. yet there they sat, driven clean mad with terror, and brenda lying dead of fright, with her head hanging over the arm of the chair. i'll never get the sight of that room out of my mind so long as i live." "the facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable," said holmes. "i take it that you have no theory yourself which can in any way account for them?" "it's devilish, mr. holmes, devilish!" cried mortimer tregennis. "it is not of this world. something has come into that room which has dashed the light of reason from their minds. what human contrivance could do that?" "i fear," said holmes, "that if the matter is beyond humanity it is certainly beyond me. yet we must exhaust all natural explanations before we fall back upon such a theory as this. as to yourself, mr. tregennis, i take it you were divided in some way from your family, since they lived together and you had rooms apart?" "that is so, mr. holmes, though the matter is past and done with. we were a family of tin-miners at redruth, but we sold our venture to a company, and so retired with enough to keep us. i won't deny that there was some feeling about the division of the money and it stood between us for a time, but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and we were the best of friends together." "looking back at the evening which you spent together, does anything stand out in your memory as throwing any possible light upon the tragedy? think carefully, mr. tregennis, for any clue which can help me." "there is nothing at all, sir." "your people were in their usual spirits?" "never better." "were they nervous people? did they ever show any apprehension of coming danger?" "nothing of the kind." "you have nothing to add then, which could assist me?" mortimer tregennis considered earnestly for a moment. "there is one thing occurs to me," said he at last. "as we sat at the table my back was to the window, and my brother george, he being my partner at cards, was facing it. i saw him once look hard over my shoulder, so i turned round and looked also. the blind was up and the window shut, but i could just make out the bushes on the lawn, and it seemed to me for a moment that i saw something moving among them. i couldn't even say if it was man or animal, but i just thought there was something there. when i asked him what he was looking at, he told me that he had the same feeling. that is all that i can say." "did you not investigate?" "no; the matter passed as unimportant." "you left them, then, without any premonition of evil?" "none at all." "i am not clear how you came to hear the news so early this morning." "i am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast. this morning i had hardly started when the doctor in his carriage overtook me. he told me that old mrs. porter had sent a boy down with an urgent message. i sprang in beside him and we drove on. when we got there we looked into that dreadful room. the candles and the fire must have burned out hours before, and they had been sitting there in the dark until dawn had broken. the doctor said brenda must have been dead at least six hours. there were no signs of violence. she just lay across the arm of the chair with that look on her face. george and owen were singing snatches of songs and gibbering like two great apes. oh, it was awful to see! i couldn't stand it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. indeed, he fell into a chair in a sort of faint, and we nearly had him on our hands as well." "remarkable--most remarkable!" said holmes, rising and taking his hat. "i think, perhaps, we had better go down to tredannick wartha without further delay. i confess that i have seldom known a case which at first sight presented a more singular problem." our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance the investigation. it was marked, however, at the outset by an incident which left the most sinister impression upon my mind. the approach to the spot at which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow, winding, country lane. while we made our way along it we heard the rattle of a carriage coming towards us and stood aside to let it pass. as it drove by us i caught a glimpse through the closed window of a horribly contorted, grinning face glaring out at us. those staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past us like a dreadful vision. "my brothers!" cried mortimer tregennis, white to his lips. "they are taking them to helston." we looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering upon its way. then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house in which they had met their strange fate. it was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than a cottage, with a considerable garden which was already, in that cornish air, well filled with spring flowers. towards this garden the window of the sitting-room fronted, and from it, according to mortimer tregennis, must have come that thing of evil which had by sheer horror in a single instant blasted their minds. holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully among the flower-plots and along the path before we entered the porch. so absorbed was he in his thoughts, i remember, that he stumbled over the watering-pot, upset its contents, and deluged both our feet and the garden path. inside the house we were met by the elderly cornish housekeeper, mrs. porter, who, with the aid of a young girl, looked after the wants of the family. she readily answered all holmes's questions. she had heard nothing in the night. her employers had all been in excellent spirits lately, and she had never known them more cheerful and prosperous. she had fainted with horror upon entering the room in the morning and seeing that dreadful company round the table. she had, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morning air in, and had run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-lad for the doctor. the lady was on her bed upstairs if we cared to see her. it took four strong men to get the brothers into the asylum carriage. she would not herself stay in the house another day and was starting that very afternoon to rejoin her family at st. ives. we ascended the stairs and viewed the body. miss brenda tregennis had been a very beautiful girl, though now verging upon middle age. her dark, clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, but there still lingered upon it something of that convulsion of horror which had been her last human emotion. from her bedroom we descended to the sitting-room, where this strange tragedy had actually occurred. the charred ashes of the overnight fire lay in the grate. on the table were the four guttered and burned-out candles, with the cards scattered over its surface. the chairs had been moved back against the walls, but all else was as it had been the night before. holmes paced with light, swift steps about the room; he sat in the various chairs, drawing them up and reconstructing their positions. he tested how much of the garden was visible; he examined the floor, the ceiling, and the fireplace; but never once did i see that sudden brightening of his eyes and tightening of his lips which would have told me that he saw some gleam of light in this utter darkness. "why a fire?" he asked once. "had they always a fire in this small room on a spring evening?" mortimer tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. for that reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "what are you going to do now, mr. holmes?" he asked. my friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "i think, watson, that i shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so often and so justly condemned," said he. "with your permission, gentlemen, we will now return to our cottage, for i am not aware that any new factor is likely to come to our notice here. i will turn the facts over in my mid, mr, tregennis, and should anything occur to me i will certainly ommunicate with you and the vicar. in the meantime i wish you both good-morning." it was not until long after we were back in poldhu cottage that holmes broke his complete and absorbed silence. he sat coiled in his armchair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blue swirl of his tobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down, his forehead contracted, his eyes vacant and far away. finally he laid down his pipe and sprang to his feet. "it won't do, watson!" said he with a laugh. "let us walk along the cliffs together and search for flint arrows. we are more likely to find them than clues to this problem. to let the brain work without sufficient material is like racing an engine. it racks itself to pieces. the sea air, sunshine, and patience, watson--all else will come. "now, let us calmly define our position, watson," he continued as we skirted the cliffs together. "let us get a firm grip of the very little which we do know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit them into their places. i take it, in the first place, that neither of us is prepared to admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men. let us begin by ruling that entirely out of our minds. very good. there remain three persons who have been grievously stricken by some conscious or unconscious human agency. that is firm ground. now, when did this occur? evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was immediately after mr. mortimer tregennis had left the room. that is a very important point. the presumption is that it was within a few minutes afterwards. the cards still lay upon the table. it was already past their usual hour for bed. yet they had not changed their position or pushed back their chairs. i repeat, then, that the occurrence was immediately after his departure, and not later than eleven o'clock last night. "our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements of mortimer tregennis after he left the room. in this there is no difficulty, and they seem to be above suspicion. knowing my methods as you do, you were, of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which i obtained a clearer impress of his foot than might otherwise have been possible. the wet, sandy path took it admirably. last night was also wet, you will remember, and it was not difficult--having obtained a sample print--to pick out his track among others and to follow his movements. he appears to have walked away swiftly in the direction of the vicarage. "if, then, mortimer tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet some outside person affected the card-players, how can we reconstruct that person, and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? mrs. porter may be eliminated. she is evidently harmless. is there any evidence that someone crept up to the garden window and in some manner produced so terrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of their senses? the only suggestion in this direction comes from mortimer tregennis himself, who says that his brother spoke about some movement in the garden. that is certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. anyone who had the design to alarm these people would be compelled to place his very face against the glass before he could be seen. there is a three-foot flower-border outside this window, but no indication of a footmark. it is difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an impression upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive for so strange and elaborate an attempt. you perceive our difficulties, watson?" "they are only too clear," i answered with conviction. "and yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are not insurmountable," said holmes. "i fancy that among your extensive archives, watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure. meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accurate data are available, and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit of neolithic man." i may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but never have i wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. it was not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottage that we found a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to the matter in hand. neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. the huge body, the craggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard--golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save for the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar--all these were as well known in london as in africa, and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of dr. leon sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer. we had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice caught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. he made no advances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him, as it was well known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him to spend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a small bungalow buried in the lonely wood of beauchamp arriance. here, amid his books and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his own simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs of his neighbours. it was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking holmes in an eager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstruction of this mysterious episode. "the county police are utterly at fault," said he, "but perhaps your wider experience has suggested some conceivable explanation. my only claim to being taken into your confidence is that during my many residences here i have come to know this family of tregennis very well--indeed, upon my cornish mother's side i could call them cousins--and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock to me. i may tell you that i had got as far as plymouth upon my way to africa, but the news reached me this morning, and i came straight back again to help in the inquiry." holmes raised his eyebrows. "did you lose your boat through it?" "i will take the next." "dear me! that is friendship indeed." "i tell you they were relatives." "quite so--cousins of your mother. was your baggage aboard the ship?" "some of it, but the main part at the hotel." "i see. but surely this event could not have found its way into the plymouth morning papers." "no, sir; i had a telegram." "might i ask from whom?" a shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer. "you are very inquisitive, mr. holmes." "it is my business." with an effort dr. sterndale recovered his ruffled composure. "i have no objection to telling you," he said. "it was mr. roundhay, the vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me." "thank you," said holmes. "i may say in answer to your original question that i have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this case, but that i have every hope of reaching some conclusion. it would be premature to say more." "perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in any particular direction?" "no, i can hardly answer that." "then i have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." the famous doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and within five minutes holmes had followed him. i saw him no more until the evening, when he returned with a slow step and haggard face which assured me that he had made no great progress with his investigation. he glanced at a telegram which awaited him and threw it into the grate. "from the plymouth hotel, watson," he said. "i learned the name of it from the vicar, and i wired to make certain that dr. leon sterndale's account was true. it appears that he did indeed spend last night there, and that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to africa, while he returned to be present at this investigation. what do you make of that, watson?" "he is deeply interested." "deeply interested--yes. there is a thread here which we had not yet grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. cheer up, watson, for i am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. when it does we may soon leave our difficulties behind us." little did i think how soon the words of holmes would be realized, or how strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up an entirely fresh line of investigation. i was shaving at my window in the morning when i heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart coming at a gallop down the road. it pulled up at our door, and our friend, the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. holmes was already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him. our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him. "we are devil-ridden, mr. holmes! my poor parish is devil-ridden!" he cried. "satan himself is loose in it! we are given over into his hands!" he danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for his ashy face and startled eyes. finally he shot out his terrible news. "mr. mortimer tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same symptoms as the rest of his family." holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant. "can you fit us both into your dog-cart?" "yes, i can." "then, watson, we will postpone our breakfast. mr. roundhay, we are entirely at your disposal. hurry--hurry, before things get disarranged." the lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle by themselves, the one above the other. below was a large sitting-room; above, his bedroom. they looked out upon a croquet lawn which came up to the windows. we had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that everything was absolutely undisturbed. let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that misty march morning. it has left an impression which can never be effaced from my mind. the atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness. the servant who had first entered had thrown up the window, or it would have been even more intolerable. this might partly be due to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table. beside it sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting, his spectacles pushed up on to his forehead, and his lean dark face turned towards the window and twisted into the same distortion of terror which had marked the features of his dead sister. his limbs were convulsed and his fingers contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear. he was fully clothed, though there were signs that his dressing had been done in a hurry. we had already learned that his bed had been slept in, and that the tragic end had come to him in the early morning. one realized the red-hot energy which underlay holmes's phlegmatic exterior when one saw the sudden change which came over him from the moment that he entered the fatal apartment. in an instant he was tense and alert, his eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with eager activity. he was out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room, and up into the bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a cover. in the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open the window, which appeared to give him some fresh cause for excitement, for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations of interest and delight. then he rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw himself upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more, all with the energy of the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. the lamp, which was an ordinary standard, he examined with minute care, making certain measurements upon its bowl. he carefully scrutinized with his lens the talc shield which covered the top of the chimney and scraped off some ashes which adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into an envelope, which he placed in his pocketbook. finally, just as the doctor and the official police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the vicar and we all three went out upon the lawn. "i am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely barren," he remarked. "i cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police, but i should be exceedingly obliged, mr. roundhay, if you would give the inspector my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom window and to the sitting-room lamp. each is suggestive, and together they are almost conclusive. if the police would desire further information i shall be happy to see any of them at the cottage. and now, watson, i think that, perhaps, we shall be better employed elsewhere." it may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation; but it is certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two days. during this time holmes spent some of his time smoking and dreaming in the cottage; but a greater portion in country walks which he undertook alone, returning after many hours without remark as to where he had been. one experiment served to show me the line of his investigation. he had bought a lamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room of mortimer tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. this he filled with the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and he carefully timed the period which it would take to be exhausted. another experiment which he made was of a more unpleasant nature, and one which i am not likely ever to forget. "you will remember, watson," he remarked one afternoon, "that there is a single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have reached us. this concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in each case upon those who had first entered it. you will recollect that mortimer tregennis, in describing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house, remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair? you had forgotten? well i can answer for it that it was so. now, you will remember also that mrs. porter, the housekeeper, told us that she herself fainted upon entering the room and had afterwards opened the window. in the second case--that of mortimer tregennis himself--you cannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the room when we arrived, though the servant had thrown open the window. that servant, i found upon inquiry, was so ill that she had gone to her bed. you will admit, watson, that these facts are very suggestive. in each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. in each case, also, there is combustion going on in the room--in the one case a fire, in the other a lamp. the fire was needed, but the lamp was lit--as a comparison of the oil consumed will show--long after it was broad daylight. why? surely because there is some connection between three things--the burning, the stuffy atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of those unfortunate people. that is clear, is it not?" "it would appear so." "at least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. we will suppose, then, that something was burned in each case which produced an atmosphere causing strange toxic effects. very good. in the first instance--that of the tregennis family--this substance was placed in the fire. now the window was shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent up the chimney. hence one would expect the effects of the poison to be less than in the second case, where there was less escape for the vapour. the result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only the woman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy which is evidently the first effect of the drug. in the second case the result was complete. the facts, therefore, seem to bear out the theory of a poison which worked by combustion. "with this train of reasoning in my head i naturally looked about in mortimer tregennis's room to find some remains of this substance. the obvious place to look was the talc shelf or smoke-guard of the lamp. there, sure enough, i perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round the edges a fringe of brownish powder, which had not yet been consumed. half of this i took, as you saw, and i placed it in an envelope." "why half, holmes?" "it is not for me, my dear watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. i leave them all the evidence which i found. the poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. now, watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. oh, you will see it out, will you? i thought i knew my watson. this chair i will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. the door we will leave ajar. each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. is that all clear? well, then, i take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and i lay it above the burning lamp. so! now, watson, let us sit down and await developments." they were not long in coming. i had hardly settled in my chair before i was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. at the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. a thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. a freezing horror took possession of me. i felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. the turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. i tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. at the same moment, in some effort of escape, i broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which i had seen upon the features of the dead. it was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. i dashed from my chair, threw my arms round holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone. "upon my word, watson!" said holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "i owe you both my thanks and an apology. it was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. i am really very sorry." "you know," i answered with some emotion, for i have never seen so much of holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you." he relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "it would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear watson," said he. "a candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. i confess that i never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." he dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "we must give the room a little time to clear. i take it, watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?" "none whatever." "but the cause remains as obscure as before. come into the arbour here and let us discuss it together. that villainous stuff seems still to linger round my throat. i think we must admit that all the evidence points to this man, mortimer tregennis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, though he was the victim in the second one. we must remember, in the first place, that there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by a reconciliation. how bitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. when i think of mortimer tregennis, with the foxy face and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom i should judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition. well, in the next place, you will remember that this idea of someone moving in the garden, which took our attention for a moment from the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. he had a motive in misleading us. finally, if he did not throw the substance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, who did do so? the affair happened immediately after his departure. had anyone else come in, the family would certainly have risen from the table. besides, in peaceful cornwall, visitors did not arrive after ten o'clock at night. we may take it, then, that all the evidence points to mortimer tregennis as the culprit." "then his own death was suicide!" "well, watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition. the man who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon his own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon himself. there are, however, some cogent reasons against it. fortunately, there is one man in england who knows all about it, and i have made arrangements by which we shall hear the facts this afternoon from his own lips. ah! he is a little before his time. perhaps you would kindly step this way, dr. leon sterndale. we have been conducing a chemical experiment indoors which has left our little room hardly fit for the reception of so distinguished a visitor." i had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure of the great african explorer appeared upon the path. he turned in some surprise towards the rustic arbour in which we sat. "you sent for me, mr. holmes. i had your note about an hour ago, and i have come, though i really do not know why i should obey your summons." "perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," said holmes. "meanwhile, i am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. you will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend watson and i have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the papers call the cornish horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present. perhaps, since the matters which we have to discuss will affect you personally in a very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talk where there can be no eavesdropping." the explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at my companion. "i am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have to speak about which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion." "the killing of mortimer tregennis," said holmes. for a moment i wished that i were armed. sterndale's fierce face turned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins started out in his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched hands towards my companion. then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold, rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot-headed outburst. "i have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he, "that i have got into the way of being a law to myself. you would do well, mr. holmes, not to forget it, for i have no desire to do you an injury." "nor have i any desire to do you an injury, dr. sterndale. surely the clearest proof of it is that, knowing what i know, i have sent for you and not for the police." sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time in his adventurous life. there was a calm assurance of power in holmes's manner which could not be withstood. our visitor stammered for a moment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation. "what do you mean?" he asked at last. "if this is bluff upon your part, mr. holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. let us have no more beating about the bush. what do you mean?" "i will tell you," said holmes, "and the reason why i tell you is that i hope frankness may beget frankness. what my next step may be will depend entirely upon the nature of your own defence." "my defence?" "yes, sir." "my defence against what?" "against the charge of killing mortimer tregennis." sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "upon my word, you are getting on," said he. "do all your successes depend upon this prodigious power of bluff?" "the bluff," said holmes sternly, "is upon your side, dr. leon sterndale, and not upon mine. as a proof i will tell you some of the facts upon which my conclusions are based. of your return from plymouth, allowing much of your property to go on to africa, i will say nothing save that it first informed me that you were one of the factors which had to be taken into account in reconstructing this drama--" "i came back--" "i have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing and inadequate. we will pass that. you came down here to ask me whom i suspected. i refused to answer you. you then went to the vicarage, waited outside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage." "how do you know that?" "i followed you." "i saw no one." "that is what you may expect to see when i follow you. you spent a restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in the early morning you proceeded to put into execution. leaving your door just as day was breaking, you filled your pocket with some reddish gravel that was lying heaped beside your gate." sterndale gave a violent start and looked at holmes in amazement. "you then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the vicarage. you were wearing, i may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. at the vicarage you passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under the window of the lodger tregennis. it was now daylight, but the household was not yet stirring. you drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and you threw it up at the window above you." sterndale sprang to his feet. "i believe that you are the devil himself!" he cried. holmes smiled at the compliment. "it took two, or possibly three, handfuls before the lodger came to the window. you beckoned him to come down. he dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. you entered by the window. there was an interview--a short one--during which you walked up and down the room. then you passed out and closed the window, standing on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching what occurred. finally, after the death of tregennis, you withdrew as you had come. now, dr. sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and what were the motives for your actions? if you prevaricate or trifle with me, i give you my assurance that the matter will pass out of my hands forever." our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to the words of his accuser. now he sat for some time in thought with his face sunk in his hands. then with a sudden impulsive gesture he plucked a photograph from his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us. "that is why i have done it," said he. it showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. holmes stooped over it. "brenda tregennis," said he. "yes, brenda tregennis," repeated our visitor. "for years i have loved her. for years she has loved me. there is the secret of that cornish seclusion which people have marvelled at. it has brought me close to the one thing on earth that was dear to me. i could not marry her, for i have a wife who has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of england, i could not divorce. for years brenda waited. for years i waited. and this is what we have waited for." a terrible sob shook his great frame, and he clutched his throat under his brindled beard. then with an effort he mastered himself and spoke on: "the vicar knew. he was in our confidence. he would tell you that she was an angel upon earth. that was why he telegraphed to me and i returned. what was my baggage or africa to me when i learned that such a fate had come upon my darling? there you have the missing clue to my action, mr. holmes." "proceed," said my friend. dr. sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon the table. on the outside was written "radix pedis diaboli" with a red poison label beneath it. he pushed it towards me. "i understand that you are a doctor, sir. have you ever heard of this preparation?" "devil's-foot root! no, i have never heard of it." "it is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he, "for i believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at buda, there is no other specimen in europe. it has not yet found its way either into the pharmacopoeia or into the literature of toxicology. the root is shaped like a foot, half human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given by a botanical missionary. it is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine-men in certain districts of west africa and is kept as a secret among them. this particular specimen i obtained under very extraordinary circumstances in the ubangi country." he opened the paper as he spoke and disclosed a heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like powder. "well, sir?" asked holmes sternly. "i am about to tell you, mr. holmes, all that actually occurred, for you already know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you should know all. i have already explained the relationship in which i stood to the tregennis family. for the sake of the sister i was friendly with the brothers. there was a family quarrel about money which estranged this man mortimer, but it was supposed to be made up, and i afterwards met him as i did the others. he was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and several things arose which gave me a suspicion of him, but i had no cause for any positive quarrel. "one day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage and i showed him some of my african curiosities. among other things i exhibited this powder, and i told him of its strange properties, how it stimulates those brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and how either madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjected to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. i told him also how powerless european science would be to detect it. how he took it i cannot say, for i never left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then, while i was opening cabinets and stooping to boxes, that he managed to abstract some of the devil's-foot root. i well remember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but i little dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking. "i thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached me at plymouth. this villain had thought that i would be at sea before the news could reach me, and that i should be lost for years in africa. but i returned at once. of course, i could not listen to the details without feeling assured that my poison had been used. i came round to see you on the chance that some other explanation had suggested itself to you. but there could be none. i was convinced that mortimer tregennis was the murderer; that for the sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family were all insane he would be the sole guardian of their joint property, he had used the devil's-foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of their senses, and killed his sister brenda, the one human being whom i have ever loved or who has ever loved me. there was his crime; what was to be his punishment? "should i appeal to the law? where were my proofs? i knew that the facts were true, but could i help to make a jury of countrymen believe so fantastic a story? i might or i might not. but i could not afford to fail. my soul cried out for revenge. i have said to you once before, mr. holmes, that i have spent much of my life outside the law, and that i have come at last to be a law to myself. so it was even now. i determined that the fate which he had given to others should be shared by himself. either that or i would do justice upon him with my own hand. in all england there can be no man who sets less value upon his own life than i do at the present moment. "now i have told you all. you have yourself supplied the rest. i did, as you say, after a restless night, set off early from my cottage. i foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so i gathered some gravel from the pile which you have mentioned, and i used it to throw up to his window. he came down and admitted me through the window of the sitting-room. i laid his offence before him. i told him that i had come both as judge and executioner. the wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver. i lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside the window, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should he try to leave the room. in five minutes he died. my god! how he died! but my heart was flint, for he endured nothing which my innocent darling had not felt before him. there is my story, mr. holmes. perhaps, if you loved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. at any rate, i am in your hands. you can take what steps you like. as i have already said, there is no man living who can fear death less than i do." holmes sat for some little time in silence. "what were your plans?" he asked at last. "i had intended to bury myself in central africa. my work there is but half finished." "go and do the other half," said holmes. "i, at least, am not prepared to prevent you." dr. sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walked from the arbour. holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch. "some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change," said he. "i think you must agree, watson, that it is not a case in which we are called upon to interfere. our investigation has been independent, and our action shall be so also. you would not denounce the man?" "certainly not," i answered. "i have never loved, watson, but if i did and if the woman i loved had met such an end, i might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. who knows? well, watson, i will not offend your intelligence by explaining what is obvious. the gravel upon the window-sill was, of course, the starting-point of my research. it was unlike anything in the vicarage garden. only when my attention had been drawn to dr. sterndale and his cottage did i find its counterpart. the lamp shining in broad daylight and the remains of powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairly obvious chain. and now, my dear watson, i think we may dismiss the matter from our mind and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in the cornish branch of the great celtic speech." his last bow an epilogue of sherlock holmes it was nine o'clock at night upon the second of august--the most terrible august in the history of the world. one might have thought already that god's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. the sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west. above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay. the two famous germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk, with the long, low, heavily gabled house behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great chalk cliff in which von bork, like some wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. they stood with their heads close together, talking in low, confidential tones. from below the two glowing ends of their cigars might have been the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking down in the darkness. a remarkable man this von bork--a man who could hardly be matched among all the devoted agents of the kaiser. it was his talents which had first recommended him for the english mission, the most important mission of all, but since he had taken it over those talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the world who were really in touch with the truth. one of these was his present companion, baron von herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to london. "so far as i can judge the trend of events, you will probably be back in berlin within the week," the secretary was saying. "when you get there, my dear von bork, i think you will be surprised at the welcome you will receive. i happen to know what is thought in the highest quarters of your work in this country." he was a huge man, the secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavy fashion of speech which had been his main asset in his political career. von bork laughed. "they are not very hard to deceive," he remarked. "a more docile, simple folk could not be imagined." "i don't know about that," said the other thoughtfully. "they have strange limits and one must learn to observe them. it is that surface simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the stranger. one's first impression is that they are entirely soft. then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. they have, for example, their insular conventions which simply must be observed." "meaning 'good form' and that sort of thing?" von bork sighed as one who had suffered much. "meaning british prejudice in all its queer manifestations. as an example i may quote one of my own worst blunders--i can afford to talk of my blunders, for you know my work well enough to be aware of my successes. it was on my first arrival. i was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. the conversation was amazingly indiscreet." von bork nodded. "i've been there," said he dryly. "exactly. well, i naturally sent a resume of the information to berlin. unfortunately our good chancellor is a little heavy-handed in these matters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that he was aware of what had been said. this, of course, took the trail straight up to me. you've no idea the harm that it did me. there was nothing soft about our british hosts on that occasion, i can assure you. i was two years living it down. now you, with this sporting pose of yours--" "no, no, don't call it a pose. a pose is an artificial thing. this is quite natural. i am a born sportsman. i enjoy it." "well, that makes it the more effective. you yacht against them, you hunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game, your four-in-hand takes the prize at olympia. i have even heard that you go the length of boxing with the young officers. what is the result? nobody takes you seriously. you are a 'good old sport,' 'quite a decent fellow for a german,' a hard-drinking, night-club, knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. and all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in england, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in europe. genius, my dear von bork--genius!" "you flatter me, baron. but certainly i may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. i've never shown you my little store. would you mind stepping in for a moment?" the door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. von bork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch of the electric light. he then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest. "some of my papers have gone," said he. "when my wife and the household left yesterday for flushing they took the less important with them. i must, of course, claim the protection of the embassy for the others." "your name has already been filed as one of the personal suite. there will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. of course, it is just possible that we may not have to go. england may leave france to her fate. we are sure that there is no binding treaty between them." "and belgium?" "yes, and belgium, too." von bork shook his head. "i don't see how that could be. there is a definite treaty there. she could never recover from such a humiliation." "she would at least have peace for the moment." "but her honor?" "tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. honour is a mediaeval conception. besides england is not ready. it is an inconceivable thing, but even our special war tax of fifty million, which one would think made our purpose as clear as if we had advertised it on the front page of the times, has not roused these people from their slumbers. here and there one hears a question. it is my business to find an answer. here and there also there is an irritation. it is my business to soothe it. but i can assure you that so far as the essentials go--the storage of munitions, the preparation for submarine attack, the arrangements for making high explosives--nothing is prepared. how, then, can england come in, especially when we have stirred her up such a devil's brew of irish civil war, window-breaking furies, and god knows what to keep her thoughts at home." "she must think of her future." "ah, that is another matter. i fancy that in the future we have our own very definite plans about england, and that your information will be very vital to us. it is to-day or to-morrow with mr. john bull. if he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. if it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. i should think they would be wiser to fight with allies than without them, but that is their own affair. this week is their week of destiny. but you were speaking of your papers." he sat in the armchair with the light shining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar. the large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in the future corner. when this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. von bork detached a small key from his watch chain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavy door. "look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand. the light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. each pigeon-hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as "fords," "harbour-defences," "aeroplanes," "ireland," "egypt," "portsmouth forts," "the channel," "rosythe," and a score of others. each compartment was bristling with papers and plans. "colossal!" said the secretary. putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands. "and all in four years, baron. not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. but the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it." he pointed to a space over which "naval signals" was printed. "but you have a good dossier there already." "out of date and waste paper. the admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed. it was a blow, baron--the worst setback in my whole campaign. but thanks to my check-book and the good altamont all will be well to-night." the baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation of disappointment. "well, i really can wait no longer. you can imagine that things are moving at present in carlton terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. i had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. did altamont name no hour?" von bork pushed over a telegram. will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. --altamont. "sparking plugs, eh?" "you see he poses as a motor expert and i keep a full garage. in our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. if he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. sparking plugs are naval signals." "from portsmouth at midday," said the secretary, examining the superscription. "by the way, what do you give him?" "five hundred pounds for this particular job. of course he has a salary as well." "the greedy rouge. they are useful, these traitors, but i grudge them their blood money." "i grudge altamont nothing. he is a wonderful worker. if i pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. besides he is not a traitor. i assure you that our most pan-germanic junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards england as compared with a real bitter irish-american." "oh, an irish-american?" "if you heard him talk you would not doubt it. sometimes i assure you i can hardly understand him. he seems to have declared war on the king's english as well as on the english king. must you really go? he may be here any moment." "no. i'm sorry, but i have already overstayed my time. we shall expect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal book through the little door on the duke of york's steps you can put a triumphant finis to your record in england. what! tokay!" he indicated a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with two high glasses upon a salver. "may i offer you a glass before your journey?" "no, thanks. but it looks like revelry." "altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my tokay. he is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. i have to study him, i assure you." they had strolled out on to the terrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touch from the baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. "those are the lights of harwich, i suppose," said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat. "how still and peaceful it all seems. there may be other lights within the week, and the english coast a less tranquil place! the heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good zeppelin promises us comes true. by the way, who is that?" only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood a lamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. she was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. "that is martha, the only servant i have left." the secretary chuckled. "she might almost personify britannia," said he, "with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. well, au revoir, von bork!" with a final wave of his hand he sprang into the car, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shot through the darkness. the secretary lay back in the cushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impending european tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung round the village street it nearly passed over a little ford coming in the opposite direction. von bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams of the motor lamps had faded into the distance. as he passed he observed that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired. it was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. it was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. there was a good deal of tidying up to do inside his study and he set himself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat of the burning papers. a leather valise stood beside his table, and into this he began to pack very neatly and systematically the precious contents of his safe. he had hardly got started with the work, however, when his quick ears caught the sounds of a distant car. instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out on to the terrace. he was just in time to see the lights of a small car come to a halt at the gate. a passenger sprang out of it and advanced swiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderly man with a gray moustache, settled down like one who resigns himself to a long vigil. "well?" asked von bork eagerly, running forward to meet his visitor. for answer the man waved a small brown-paper parcel triumphantly above his head. "you can give me the glad hand to-night, mister," he cried. "i'm bringing home the bacon at last." "the signals?" "same as i said in my cable. every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, marconi--a copy, mind you, not the original. that was too dangerous. but it's the real goods, and you can lay to that." he slapped the german upon the shoulder with a rough familiarity from which the other winced. "come in," he said. "i'm all alone in the house. i was only waiting for this. of course a copy is better than the original. if an original were missing they would change the whole thing. you think it's all safe about the copy?" the irish-american had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. he was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of uncle sam. a half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it. "making ready for a move?" he remarked as he looked round him. "say, mister," he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from which the curtain was now removed, "you don't tell me you keep your papers in that?" "why not?" "gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! and they reckon you to be some spy. why, a yankee crook would be into that with a can-opener. if i'd known that any letter of mine was goin' to lie loose in a thing like that i'd have been a mug to write to you at all." "it would puzzle any crook to force that safe," von bork answered. "you won't cut that metal with any tool." "but the lock?" "no, it's a double combination lock. you know what that is?" "search me," said the american. "well, you need a word as well as a set of figures before you can get the lock to work." he rose and showed a double-radiating disc round the keyhole. "this outer one is for the letters, the inner one for the figures." "well, well, that's fine." "so it's not quite as simple as you thought. it was four years ago that i had it made, and what do you think i chose for the word and figures?" "it's beyond me." "well, i chose august for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are." the american's face showed his surprise and admiration. "my, but that was smart! you had it down to a fine thing." "yes, a few of us even then could have guessed the date. here it is, and i'm shutting down to-morrow morning." "well, i guess you'll have to fix me up also. i'm not staying is this gol-darned country all on my lonesome. in a week or less, from what i see, john bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. i'd rather watch him from over the water." "but you're an american citizen?" "well, so was jack james an american citizen, but he's doing time in portland all the same. it cuts no ice with a british copper to tell him you're an american citizen. 'it's british law and order over here,' says he. by the way, mister, talking of jack james, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men." "what do you mean?" von bork asked sharply. "well, you are their employer, ain't you? it's up to you to see that they don't fall down. but they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? there's james--" "it was james's own fault. you know that yourself. he was too self-willed for the job." "james was a bonehead--i give you that. then there was hollis." "the man was mad." "well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. it's enough to make a man bug-house when he has to play a part from morning to night with a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. but now there is steiner--" von bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shade paler. "what about steiner?" "well, they've got him, that's all. they raided his store last night, and he and his papers are all in portsmouth jail. you'll go off and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets off with his life. that's why i want to get over the water as soon as you do." von bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see that the news had shaken him. "how could they have got on to steiner?" he muttered. "that's the worst blow yet." "well, you nearly had a worse one, for i believe they are not far off me." "you don't mean that!" "sure thing. my landlady down fratton way had some inquiries, and when i heard of it i guessed it was time for me to hustle. but what i want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things? steiner is the fifth man you've lost since i signed on with you, and i know the name of the sixth if i don't get a move on. how do you explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men go down like this?" von bork flushed crimson. "how dare you speak in such a way!" "if i didn't dare things, mister, i wouldn't be in your service. but i'll tell you straight what is in my mind. i've heard that with you german politicians when an agent has done his work you are not sorry to see him put away." von bork sprang to his feet. "do you dare to suggest that i have given away my own agents!" "i don't stand for that, mister, but there's a stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it's up to you to find out where it is. anyhow i am taking no more chances. it's me for little holland, and the sooner the better." von bork had mastered his anger. "we have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour of victory," he said. "you've done splendid work and taken risks, and i can't forget it. by all means go to holland, and you can get a boat from rotterdam to new york. no other line will be safe a week from now. i'll take that book and pack it with the rest." the american held the small parcel in his hand, but made no motion to give it up. "what about the dough?" he asked. "the what?" "the boodle. the reward. the 500. the gunner turned damned nasty at the last, and i had to square him with an extra hundred dollars or it would have been nitsky for you and me. 'nothin' doin'!' says he, and he meant it, too, but the last hundred did it. it's cost me two hundred pound from first to last, so it isn't likely i'd give it up without gettin' my wad." von bork smiled with some bitterness. "you don't seem to have a very high opinion of my honour," said he, "you want the money before you give up the book." "well, mister, it is a business proposition." "all right. have your way." he sat down at the table and scribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrained from handing it to his companion. "after all, since we are to be on such terms, mr. altamont," said he, "i don't see why i should trust you any more than you trust me. do you understand?" he added, looking back over his shoulder at the american. "there's the check upon the table. i claim the right to examine that parcel before you pick the money up." the american passed it over without a word. von bork undid a winding of string and two wrappers of paper. then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. across the cover was printed in golden letters practical handbook of bee culture. only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. the next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face. "another glass, watson!" said mr. sherlock holmes as he extended the bottle of imperial tokay. the thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness. "it is a good wine, holmes." "a remarkable wine, watson. our friend upon the sofa has assured me that it is from franz josef's special cellar at the schoenbrunn palace. might i trouble you to open the window, for chloroform vapour does not help the palate." the safe was ajar, and holmes standing in front of it was removing dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and then packing it neatly in von bork's valise. the german lay upon the sofa sleeping stertorously with a strap round his upper arms and another round his legs. "we need not hurry ourselves, watson. we are safe from interruption. would you mind touching the bell? there is no one in the house except old martha, who has played her part to admiration. i got her the situation here when first i took the matter up. ah, martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well." the pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. she curtseyed with a smile to mr. holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at the figure upon the sofa. "it is all right, martha. he has not been hurt at all." "i am glad of that, mr. holmes. according to his lights he has been a kind master. he wanted me to go with his wife to germany yesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir?" "no, indeed, martha. so long as you were here i was easy in my mind. we waited some time for your signal to-night." "it was the secretary, sir." "i know. his car passed ours." "i thought he would never go. i knew that it would not suit your plans, sir, to find him here." "no, indeed. well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or so until i saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. you can report to me to-morrow in london, martha, at claridge's hotel." "very good, sir." "i suppose you have everything ready to leave." "yes, sir. he posted seven letters to-day. i have the addresses as usual." "very good, martha. i will look into them to-morrow. good-night. these papers," he continued as the old lady vanished, "are not of very great importance, for, of course, the information which they represent has been sent off long ago to the german government. these are the originals which cold not safely be got out of the country." "then they are of no use." "i should not go so far as to say that, watson. they will at least show our people what is known and what is not. i may say that a good many of these papers have come through me, and i need not add are thoroughly untrustworthy. it would brighten my declining years to see a german cruiser navigating the solent according to the mine-field plans which i have furnished. but you, watson"--he stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders--"i've hardly seen you in the light yet. how have the years used you? you look the same blithe boy as ever." "i feel twenty years younger, holmes. i have seldom felt so happy as when i got your wire asking me to meet you at harwich with the car. but you, holmes--you have changed very little--save for that horrible goatee." "these are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, watson," said holmes, pulling at his little tuft. "to-morrow it will be but a dreadful memory. with my hair cut and a few other superficial changes i shall no doubt reappear at claridge's to-morrow as i was before this american stunt--i beg your pardon, watson, my well of english seems to be permanently defiled--before this american job came my way." "but you have retired, holmes. we heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the south downs." "exactly, watson. here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" he picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, practical handbook of bee culture, with some observations upon the segregation of the queen. "alone i did it. behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when i watched the little working gangs as once i watched the criminal world of london." "but how did you get to work again?" "ah, i have often marvelled at it myself. the foreign minister alone i could have withstood, but when the premier also deigned to visit my humble roof--! the fact is, watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. he was in a class by himself. things were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going wrong. agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of some strong and secret central force. it was absolutely necessary to expose it. strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. it has cost me two years, watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement. when i say that i started my pilgrimage at chicago, graduated in an irish secret society at buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of von bork, who recommended me as a likely man, you will realize that the matter was complex. since then i have been honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. i watched them, watson, and i picked them as they ripened. well, sir, i hope that you are none the worse!" the last remark was addressed to von bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to holmes's statement. he broke out now into a furious stream of german invective, his face convulsed with passion. holmes continued his swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and swore. "though unmusical, german is the most expressive of all languages," he observed when von bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. "hullo! hullo!" he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "this should put another bird in the cage. i had no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though i have long had an eye upon him. mister von bork, you have a great deal to answer for." the prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor. "i shall get level with you, altamont," he said, speaking with slow deliberation. "if it takes me all my life i shall get level with you!" "the old sweet song," said holmes. "how often have i heard it in days gone by. it was a favorite ditty of the late lamented professor moriarty. colonel sebastian moran has also been known to warble it. and yet i live and keep bees upon the south downs." "curse you, you double traitor!" cried the german, straining against his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes. "no, no, it is not so bad as that," said holmes, smiling. "as my speech surely shows you, mr. altamont of chicago had no existence in fact. i used him and he is gone." "then who are you?" "it is really immaterial who i am, but since the matter seems to interest you, mr. von bork, i may say that this is not my first acquaintance with the members of your family. i have done a good deal of business in germany in the past and my name is probably familiar to you." "i would wish to know it," said the prussian grimly. "it was i who brought about the separation between irene adler and the late king of bohemia when your cousin heinrich was the imperial envoy. it was i also who saved from murder, by the nihilist klopman, count von und zu grafenstein, who was your mother's elder brother. it was i--" von bork sat up in amazement. "there is only one man," he cried. "exactly," said holmes. von bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. "and most of that information came through you," he cried. "what is it worth? what have i done? it is my ruin forever!" "it is certainly a little untrustworthy," said holmes. "it will require some checking and you have little time to check it. your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster." von bork clutched at his own throat in despair. "there are a good many other points of detail which will, no doubt, come to light in good time. but you have one quality which is very rare in a german, mr. von bork: you are a sportsman and you will bear me no ill-will when you realize that you, who have outwitted so many other people, have at last been outwitted yourself. after all, you have done your best for your country, and i have done my best for mine, and what could be more natural? besides," he added, not unkindly, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, "it is better than to fall before some ignoble foe. these papers are now ready, watson. if you will help me with our prisoner, i think that we may get started for london at once." it was no easy task to move von bork, for he was a strong and a desperate man. finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked him very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with such proud confidence when he received the congratulations of the famous diplomatist only a few hours before. after a short, final struggle he was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat of the little car. his precious valise was wedged in beside him. "i trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit," said holmes when the final arrangements were made. "should i be guilty of a liberty if i lit a cigar and placed it between your lips?" but all amenities were wasted upon the angry german. "i suppose you realize, mr. sherlock holmes," said he, "that if your government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war." "what about your government and all this treatment?" said holmes, tapping the valise. "you are a private individual. you have no warrant for my arrest. the whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous." "absolutely," said holmes. "kidnapping a german subject." "and stealing his private papers." "well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here. if i were to shout for help as we pass through the village--" "my dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us 'the dangling prussian' as a signpost. the englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far. no, mr. von bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to scotland yard, whence you can send for your friend, baron von herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place which he has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. as to you, watson, you are joining us with your old service, as i understand, so london won't be out of your way. stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have." the two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. as they turned to the car holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head. "there's an east wind coming, watson." "i think not, holmes. it is very warm." "good old watson! you are the one fixed point in a changing age. there's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on england yet. it will be cold and bitter, watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. but it's god's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. start her up, watson, for it's time that we were on our way. i have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can." ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/cnus.txt ================================================ THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES Arthur Conan Doyle Table of contents A Study In Scarlet The Sign of the Four The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes A Scandal in Bohemia The Red-Headed League A Case of Identity The Boscombe Valley Mystery The Five Orange Pips The Man with the Twisted Lip The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle The Adventure of the Speckled Band The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet The Adventure of the Copper Beeches The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes Silver Blaze The Yellow Face The Stock-Broker's Clerk The "Gloria Scott" The Musgrave Ritual The Reigate Squires The Crooked Man The Resident Patient The Greek Interpreter The Naval Treaty The Final Problem The Return of Sherlock Holmes The Adventure of the Empty House The Adventure of the Norwood Builder The Adventure of the Dancing Men The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist The Adventure of the Priory School The Adventure of Black Peter The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton The Adventure of the Six Napoleons The Adventure of the Three Students The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter The Adventure of the Abbey Grange The Adventure of the Second Stain The Hound of the Baskervilles The Valley Of Fear His Last Bow Preface The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge The Adventure of the Cardboard Box The Adventure of the Red Circle The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans The Adventure of the Dying Detective The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax The Adventure of the Devil's Foot His Last Bow A STUDY IN SCARLET Table of contents Part I Mr. Sherlock Holmes The Science Of Deduction The Lauriston Garden Mystery What John Rance Had To Tell Our Advertisement Brings A Visitor Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do Light In The Darkness Part II On The Great Alkali Plain The Flower Of Utah John Ferrier Talks With The Prophet A Flight For Life The Avenging Angels A Continuation Of The Reminiscences Of John Watson, M.D. The Conclusion PART I (Being a reprint from the reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., late of the Army Medical Department.) CHAPTER I Mr. Sherlock Holmes In the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties. The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines. Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost in sending me back to England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the troopship Orontes, and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it. I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air--or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less pretentious and less expensive domicile. On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Bart's. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm, and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and we started off together in a hansom. "Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?" he asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets. "You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut." I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination. "Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. "What are you up to now?" "Looking for lodgings," I answered. "Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price." "That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me." "And who was the first?" I asked. "A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse." "By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone." Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. "You don't know Sherlock Holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion." "Why, what is there against him?" "Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas--an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough." "A medical student, I suppose?" said I. "No--I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish his professors." "Did you never ask him what he was going in for?" I asked. "No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him." "I should like to meet him," I said. "If I am to lodge with anyone, I should prefer a man of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?" "He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion. "He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to night. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon." "Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels. As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger. "You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," he said; "I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible." "If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," I answered. "It seems to me, Stamford," I added, looking hard at my companion, "that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow's temper so formidable, or what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthed about it." "It is not easy to express the inexpressible," he answered with a laugh. "Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes--it approaches to cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge." "Very right too." "Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape." "Beating the subjects!" "Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes." "And yet you say he is not a medical student?" "No. Heaven knows what the objects of his studies are. But here we are, and you must form your own impressions about him." As he spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was familiar ground to me, and I needed no guiding as we ascended the bleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-coloured doors. Near the further end a low arched passage branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory. This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, which bristled with retorts, test-tubes, and little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering flames. There was only one student in the room, who was bending over a distant table absorbed in his work. At the sound of our steps he glanced round and sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've found it," he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a test-tube in his hand. "I have found a re-agent which is precipitated by hoemoglobin, and by nothing else." Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could not have shone upon his features. "Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, introducing us. "How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive." "How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment. "Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about hoemoglobin. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?" "It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I answered, "but practically--" "Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains. Come over here now!" He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working. "Let us have some fresh blood," he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. "Now, I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction." As he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crystals, and then added some drops of a transparent fluid. In an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany colour, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar. "Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?" "It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked. "Beautiful! beautiful! The old Guiacum test was very clumsy and uncertain. So is the microscopic examination for blood corpuscles. The latter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walking the earth who would long ago have paid the penalty of their crimes." "Indeed!" I murmured. "Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood stains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes' test, and there will no longer be any difficulty." His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination. "You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm. "There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would certainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was Mason of Bradford, and the notorious Muller, and Lefevre of Montpellier, and Samson of new Orleans. I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive." "You seem to be a walking calendar of crime," said Stamford with a laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the 'Police News of the Past.'" "Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. "I have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal." He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled over with similar pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strong acids. "We came here on business," said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together." Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. "I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said, "which would suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?" "I always smoke 'ship's' myself," I answered. "That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?" "By no means." "Let me see--what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together." I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," I said, "and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present." "Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?" he asked, anxiously. "It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin is a treat for the gods--a badly-played one--" "Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may consider the thing as settled--that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you." "When shall we see them?" "Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle everything," he answered. "All right--noon exactly," said I, shaking his hand. We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel. "By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, "how the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?" My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. "That's just his little peculiarity," he said. "A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out." "Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my hands. "This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. 'The proper study of mankind is man,' you know." "You must study him, then," Stamford said, as he bade me good-bye. "You'll find him a knotty problem, though. I'll wager he learns more about you than you about him. Good-bye." "Good-bye," I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably interested in my new acquaintance. CHAPTER II The Science Of Deduction We met next day as he had arranged, and inspected the rooms at No. 221b, Baker Street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad windows. So desirable in every way were the apartments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between us, that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into possession. That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in unpacking and laying out our property to the best advantage. That done, we gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new surroundings. Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of the City. Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion. As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments. The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavoured to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavouring to unravel it. He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question, confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in science or any other recognized portal which would give him an entrance into the learned world. Yet his zeal for certain studies was remarkable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minute that his observations have fairly astounded me. Surely no man would work so hard or attain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remarkable for the exactness of their learning. No man burdens his mind with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so. His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary literature, philosophy and politics he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and what he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican Theory and of the composition of the Solar System. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth century should not be aware that the earth travelled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I could hardly realize it. "You appear to be astonished," he said, smiling at my expression of surprise. "Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it." "To forget it!" "You see," he explained, "I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. Now the skilful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain-attic. He will have nothing but the tools which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, therefore, not to have useless facts elbowing out the useful ones." "But the Solar System!" I protested. "What the deuce is it to me?" he interrupted impatiently; "you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work." I was on the point of asking him what that work might be, but something in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I pondered over our short conversation, however, and endeavoured to draw my deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which did not bear upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was exceptionally well-informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran in this way-- Sherlock Holmes--his limits. 1. Knowledge of Literature.--Nil. 2. Philosophy.--Nil. 3. Astronomy.--Nil. 4. Politics.--Feeble. 5. Botany.--Variable. Well up in belladonna, opium, and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening. 6. Geology.--Practical, but limited. Tells at a glance different soils from each other. After walks has shown me splashes upon his trousers, and told me by their colour and consistence in what part of London he had received them. 7. Chemistry.--Profound. 8. Anatomy.--Accurate, but unsystematic. 9. Sensational Literature.--Immense. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated in the century. 10. Plays the violin well. 11. Is an expert singlestick player, boxer, and swordsman. 12. Has a good practical knowledge of British law. When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in despair. "If I can only find what the fellow is driving at by reconciling all these accomplishments, and discovering a calling which needs them all," I said to myself, "I may as well give up the attempt at once." I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn's Lieder, and other favourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience. During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think that my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I found that he had many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society. There was one little sallow rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lestrade, and who came three or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same afternoon brought a grey-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jew pedlar, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely followed by a slipshod elderly woman. On another occasion an old white-haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another a railway porter in his velveteen uniform. When any of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Sherlock Holmes used to beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room. He always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have to use this room as a place of business," he said, "and these people are my clients." Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to confide in me. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to the subject of his own accord. It was upon the 4th of March, as I have good reason to remember, that I rose somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast. The landlady had become so accustomed to my late habits that my place had not been laid nor my coffee prepared. With the unreasonable petulance of mankind I rang the bell and gave a curt intimation that I was ready. Then I picked up a magazine from the table and attempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched silently at his toast. One of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it. Its somewhat ambitious title was "The Book of Life," and it attempted to show how much an observant man might learn by an accurate and systematic examination of all that came in his way. It struck me as being a remarkable mixture of shrewdness and of absurdity. The reasoning was close and intense, but the deductions appeared to me to be far-fetched and exaggerated. The writer claimed by a momentary expression, a twitch of a muscle or a glance of an eye, to fathom a man's inmost thoughts. Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one trained to observation and analysis. His conclusions were as infallible as so many propositions of Euclid. So startling would his results appear to the uninitiated that until they learned the processes by which he had arrived at them they might well consider him as a necromancer. "From a drop of water," said the writer, "a logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of it. Like all other arts, the Science of Deduction and Analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in it. Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest difficulties, let the enquirer begin by mastering more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. Puerile as such an exercise may seem, it sharpens the faculties of observation, and teaches one where to look and what to look for. By a man's finger nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser knees, by the callosities of his forefinger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt cuffs--by each of these things a man's calling is plainly revealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the competent enquirer in any case is almost inconceivable." "What ineffable twaddle!" I cried, slapping the magazine down on the table, "I never read such rubbish in my life." "What is it?" asked Sherlock Holmes. "Why, this article," I said, pointing at it with my egg spoon as I sat down to my breakfast. "I see that you have read it since you have marked it. I don't deny that it is smartly written. It irritates me though. It is evidently the theory of some arm-chair lounger who evolves all these neat little paradoxes in the seclusion of his own study. It is not practical. I should like to see him clapped down in a third class carriage on the Underground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow-travellers. I would lay a thousand to one against him." "You would lose your money," Sherlock Holmes remarked calmly. "As for the article I wrote it myself." "You!" "Yes, I have a turn both for observation and for deduction. The theories which I have expressed there, and which appear to you to be so chimerical are really extremely practical--so practical that I depend upon them for my bread and cheese." "And how?" I asked involuntarily. "Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the world. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Here in London we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. There is a strong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it is odd if you can't unravel the thousand and first. Lestrade is a well-known detective. He got himself into a fog recently over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here." "And these other people?" "They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. They are all people who are in trouble about something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then I pocket my fee." "But do you mean to say," I said, "that without leaving your room you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?" "Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again a case turns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustle about and see things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledge which I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully. Those rules of deduction laid down in that article which aroused your scorn, are invaluable to me in practical work. Observation with me is second nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you had come from Afghanistan." "You were told, no doubt." "Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind, that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, 'Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan.' The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished." "It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, smiling. "You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe's Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories." Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. "No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin," he observed. "Now, in my opinion, Dupin was a very inferior fellow. That trick of his of breaking in on his friends' thoughts with an apropos remark after a quarter of an hour's silence is really very showy and superficial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine." "Have you read Gaboriau's works?" I asked. "Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?" Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. "Lecoq was a miserable bungler," he said, in an angry voice; "he had only one thing to recommend him, and that was his energy. That book made me positively ill. The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for detectives to teach them what to avoid." I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. "This fellow may be very clever," I said to myself, "but he is certainly very conceited." "There are no crimes and no criminals in these days," he said, querulously. "What is the use of having brains in our profession? I know well that I have it in me to make my name famous. No man lives or has ever lived who has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the detection of crime which I have done. And what is the result? There is no crime to detect, or, at most, some bungling villany with a motive so transparent that even a Scotland Yard official can see through it." I was still annoyed at his bumptious style of conversation. I thought it best to change the topic. "I wonder what that fellow is looking for?" I asked, pointing to a stalwart, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly down the other side of the street, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a message. "You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," said Sherlock Holmes. "Brag and bounce!" thought I to myself. "He knows that I cannot verify his guess." The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps ascending the stair. "For Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, stepping into the room and handing my friend the letter. Here was an opportunity of taking the conceit out of him. He little thought of this when he made that random shot. "May I ask, my lad," I said, in the blandest voice, "what your trade may be?" "Commissionaire, sir," he said, gruffly. "Uniform away for repairs." "And you were?" I asked, with a slightly malicious glance at my companion. "A sergeant, sir, Royal Marine Light Infantry, sir. No answer? Right, sir." He clicked his heels together, raised his hand in a salute, and was gone. CHAPTER III The Lauriston Garden Mystery I confess that I was considerably startled by this fresh proof of the practical nature of my companion's theories. My respect for his powers of analysis increased wondrously. There still remained some lurking suspicion in my mind, however, that the whole thing was a pre-arranged episode, intended to dazzle me, though what earthly object he could have in taking me in was past my comprehension. When I looked at him he had finished reading the note, and his eyes had assumed the vacant, lack-lustre expression which showed mental abstraction. "How in the world did you deduce that?" I asked. "Deduce what?" said he, petulantly. "Why, that he was a retired sergeant of Marines." "I have no time for trifles," he answered, brusquely; then with a smile, "Excuse my rudeness. You broke the thread of my thoughts; but perhaps it is as well. So you actually were not able to see that that man was a sergeant of Marines?" "No, indeed." "It was easier to know it than to explain why I knew it. If you were asked to prove that two and two made four, you might find some difficulty, and yet you are quite sure of the fact. Even across the street I could see a great blue anchor tattooed on the back of the fellow's hand. That smacked of the sea. He had a military carriage, however, and regulation side whiskers. There we have the marine. He was a man with some amount of self-importance and a certain air of command. You must have observed the way in which he held his head and swung his cane. A steady, respectable, middle-aged man, too, on the face of him--all facts which led me to believe that he had been a sergeant." "Wonderful!" I ejaculated. "Commonplace," said Holmes, though I thought from his expression that he was pleased at my evident surprise and admiration. "I said just now that there were no criminals. It appears that I am wrong--look at this!" He threw me over the note which the commissionaire had brought. "Why," I cried, as I cast my eye over it, "this is terrible!" "It does seem to be a little out of the common," he remarked, calmly. "Would you mind reading it to me aloud?" This is the letter which I read to him-- "My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes: "There has been a bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens, off the Brixton Road. Our man on the beat saw a light there about two in the morning, and as the house was an empty one, suspected that something was amiss. He found the door open, and in the front room, which is bare of furniture, discovered the body of a gentleman, well dressed, and having cards in his pocket bearing the name of 'Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.' There had been no robbery, nor is there any evidence as to how the man met his death. There are marks of blood in the room, but there is no wound upon his person. We are at a loss as to how he came into the empty house; indeed, the whole affair is a puzzler. If you can come round to the house any time before twelve, you will find me there. I have left everything in statu quo until I hear from you. If you are unable to come I shall give you fuller details, and would esteem it a great kindness if you would favour me with your opinion. "Yours faithfully, "Tobias Gregson." "Gregson is the smartest of the Scotland Yarders," my friend remarked; "he and Lestrade are the pick of a bad lot. They are both quick and energetic, but conventional--shockingly so. They have their knives into one another, too. They are as jealous as a pair of professional beauties. There will be some fun over this case if they are both put upon the scent." I was amazed at the calm way in which he rippled on. "Surely there is not a moment to be lost," I cried, "shall I go and order you a cab?" "I'm not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather--that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough at times." "Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for." "My dear fellow, what does it matter to me. Supposing I unravel the whole matter, you may be sure that Gregson, Lestrade, and Co. will pocket all the credit. That comes of being an unofficial personage." "But he begs you to help him." "Yes. He knows that I am his superior, and acknowledges it to me; but he would cut his tongue out before he would own it to any third person. However, we may as well go and have a look. I shall work it out on my own hook. I may have a laugh at them if I have nothing else. Come on!" He hustled on his overcoat, and bustled about in a way that showed that an energetic fit had superseded the apathetic one. "Get your hat," he said. "You wish me to come?" "Yes, if you have nothing better to do." A minute later we were both in a hansom, driving furiously for the Brixton Road. It was a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hung over the house-tops, looking like the reflection of the mud-coloured streets beneath. My companion was in the best of spirits, and prattled away about Cremona fiddles, and the difference between a Stradivarius and an Amati. As for myself, I was silent, for the dull weather and the melancholy business upon which we were engaged, depressed my spirits. "You don't seem to give much thought to the matter in hand," I said at last, interrupting Holmes' musical disquisition. "No data yet," he answered. "It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment." "You will have your data soon," I remarked, pointing with my finger; "this is the Brixton Road, and that is the house, if I am not very much mistaken." "So it is. Stop, driver, stop!" We were still a hundred yards or so from it, but he insisted upon our alighting, and we finished our journey upon foot. Number 3, Lauriston Gardens wore an ill-omened and minatory look. It was one of four which stood back some little way from the street, two being occupied and two empty. The latter looked out with three tiers of vacant melancholy windows, which were blank and dreary, save that here and there a "To Let" card had developed like a cataract upon the bleared panes. A small garden sprinkled over with a scattered eruption of sickly plants separated each of these houses from the street, and was traversed by a narrow pathway, yellowish in colour, and consisting apparently of a mixture of clay and of gravel. The whole place was very sloppy from the rain which had fallen through the night. The garden was bounded by a three-foot brick wall with a fringe of wood rails upon the top, and against this wall was leaning a stalwart police constable, surrounded by a small knot of loafers, who craned their necks and strained their eyes in the vain hope of catching some glimpse of the proceedings within. I had imagined that Sherlock Holmes would at once have hurried into the house and plunged into a study of the mystery. Nothing appeared to be further from his intention. With an air of nonchalance which, under the circumstances, seemed to me to border upon affectation, he lounged up and down the pavement, and gazed vacantly at the ground, the sky, the opposite houses and the line of railings. Having finished his scrutiny, he proceeded slowly down the path, or rather down the fringe of grass which flanked the path, keeping his eyes riveted upon the ground. Twice he stopped, and once I saw him smile, and heard him utter an exclamation of satisfaction. There were many marks of footsteps upon the wet clayey soil, but since the police had been coming and going over it, I was unable to see how my companion could hope to learn anything from it. Still I had had such extraordinary evidence of the quickness of his perceptive faculties, that I had no doubt that he could see a great deal which was hidden from me. At the door of the house we were met by a tall, white-faced, flaxen-haired man, with a notebook in his hand, who rushed forward and wrung my companion's hand with effusion. "It is indeed kind of you to come," he said, "I have had everything left untouched." "Except that!" my friend answered, pointing at the pathway. "If a herd of buffaloes had passed along there could not be a greater mess. No doubt, however, you had drawn your own conclusions, Gregson, before you permitted this." "I have had so much to do inside the house," the detective said evasively. "My colleague, Mr. Lestrade, is here. I had relied upon him to look after this." Holmes glanced at me and raised his eyebrows sardonically. "With two such men as yourself and Lestrade upon the ground, there will not be much for a third party to find out," he said. Gregson rubbed his hands in a self-satisfied way. "I think we have done all that can be done," he answered; "it's a queer case though, and I knew your taste for such things." "You did not come here in a cab?" asked Sherlock Holmes. "No, sir." "Nor Lestrade?" "No, sir." "Then let us go and look at the room." With which inconsequent remark he strode on into the house, followed by Gregson, whose features expressed his astonishment. A short passage, bare planked and dusty, led to the kitchen and offices. Two doors opened out of it to the left and to the right. One of these had obviously been closed for many weeks. The other belonged to the dining-room, which was the apartment in which the mysterious affair had occurred. Holmes walked in, and I followed him with that subdued feeling at my heart which the presence of death inspires. It was a large square room, looking all the larger from the absence of all furniture. A vulgar flaring paper adorned the walls, but it was blotched in places with mildew, and here and there great strips had become detached and hung down, exposing the yellow plaster beneath. Opposite the door was a showy fireplace, surmounted by a mantelpiece of imitation white marble. On one corner of this was stuck the stump of a red wax candle. The solitary window was so dirty that the light was hazy and uncertain, giving a dull grey tinge to everything, which was intensified by the thick layer of dust which coated the whole apartment. All these details I observed afterwards. At present my attention was centred upon the single grim motionless figure which lay stretched upon the boards, with vacant sightless eyes staring up at the discoloured ceiling. It was that of a man about forty-three or forty-four years of age, middle-sized, broad shouldered, with crisp curling black hair, and a short stubbly beard. He was dressed in a heavy broadcloth frock coat and waistcoat, with light-coloured trousers, and immaculate collar and cuffs. A top hat, well brushed and trim, was placed upon the floor beside him. His hands were clenched and his arms thrown abroad, while his lower limbs were interlocked as though his death struggle had been a grievous one. On his rigid face there stood an expression of horror, and as it seemed to me, of hatred, such as I have never seen upon human features. This malignant and terrible contortion, combined with the low forehead, blunt nose, and prognathous jaw gave the dead man a singularly simious and ape-like appearance, which was increased by his writhing, unnatural posture. I have seen death in many forms, but never has it appeared to me in a more fearsome aspect than in that dark grimy apartment, which looked out upon one of the main arteries of suburban London. Lestrade, lean and ferret-like as ever, was standing by the doorway, and greeted my companion and myself. "This case will make a stir, sir," he remarked. "It beats anything I have seen, and I am no chicken." "There is no clue?" said Gregson. "None at all," chimed in Lestrade. Sherlock Holmes approached the body, and, kneeling down, examined it intently. "You are sure that there is no wound?" he asked, pointing to numerous gouts and splashes of blood which lay all round. "Positive!" cried both detectives. "Then, of course, this blood belongs to a second individual--presumably the murderer, if murder has been committed. It reminds me of the circumstances attendant on the death of Van Jansen, in Utrecht, in the year '34. Do you remember the case, Gregson?" "No, sir." "Read it up--you really should. There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before." As he spoke, his nimble fingers were flying here, there, and everywhere, feeling, pressing, unbuttoning, examining, while his eyes wore the same far-away expression which I have already remarked upon. So swiftly was the examination made, that one would hardly have guessed the minuteness with which it was conducted. Finally, he sniffed the dead man's lips, and then glanced at the soles of his patent leather boots. "He has not been moved at all?" he asked. "No more than was necessary for the purposes of our examination." "You can take him to the mortuary now," he said. "There is nothing more to be learned." Gregson had a stretcher and four men at hand. At his call they entered the room, and the stranger was lifted and carried out. As they raised him, a ring tinkled down and rolled across the floor. Lestrade grabbed it up and stared at it with mystified eyes. "There's been a woman here," he cried. "It's a woman's wedding-ring." He held it out, as he spoke, upon the palm of his hand. We all gathered round him and gazed at it. There could be no doubt that that circlet of plain gold had once adorned the finger of a bride. "This complicates matters," said Gregson. "Heaven knows, they were complicated enough before." "You're sure it doesn't simplify them?" observed Holmes. "There's nothing to be learned by staring at it. What did you find in his pockets?" "We have it all here," said Gregson, pointing to a litter of objects upon one of the bottom steps of the stairs. "A gold watch, No. 97163, by Barraud, of London. Gold Albert chain, very heavy and solid. Gold ring, with masonic device. Gold pin--bull-dog's head, with rubies as eyes. Russian leather card-case, with cards of Enoch J. Drebber of Cleveland, corresponding with the E. J. D. upon the linen. No purse, but loose money to the extent of seven pounds thirteen. Pocket edition of Boccaccio's 'Decameron,' with name of Joseph Stangerson upon the fly-leaf. Two letters--one addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson." "At what address?" "American Exchange, Strand--to be left till called for. They are both from the Guion Steamship Company, and refer to the sailing of their boats from Liverpool. It is clear that this unfortunate man was about to return to New York." "Have you made any inquiries as to this man, Stangerson?" "I did it at once, sir," said Gregson. "I have had advertisements sent to all the newspapers, and one of my men has gone to the American Exchange, but he has not returned yet." "Have you sent to Cleveland?" "We telegraphed this morning." "How did you word your inquiries?" "We simply detailed the circumstances, and said that we should be glad of any information which could help us." "You did not ask for particulars on any point which appeared to you to be crucial?" "I asked about Stangerson." "Nothing else? Is there no circumstance on which this whole case appears to hinge? Will you not telegraph again?" "I have said all I have to say," said Gregson, in an offended voice. Sherlock Holmes chuckled to himself, and appeared to be about to make some remark, when Lestrade, who had been in the front room while we were holding this conversation in the hall, reappeared upon the scene, rubbing his hands in a pompous and self-satisfied manner. "Mr. Gregson," he said, "I have just made a discovery of the highest importance, and one which would have been overlooked had I not made a careful examination of the walls." The little man's eyes sparkled as he spoke, and he was evidently in a state of suppressed exultation at having scored a point against his colleague. "Come here," he said, bustling back into the room, the atmosphere of which felt clearer since the removal of its ghastly inmate. "Now, stand there!" He struck a match on his boot and held it up against the wall. "Look at that!" he said, triumphantly. I have remarked that the paper had fallen away in parts. In this particular corner of the room a large piece had peeled off, leaving a yellow square of coarse plastering. Across this bare space there was scrawled in blood-red letters a single word-- RACHE. "What do you think of that?" cried the detective, with the air of a showman exhibiting his show. "This was overlooked because it was in the darkest corner of the room, and no one thought of looking there. The murderer has written it with his or her own blood. See this smear where it has trickled down the wall! That disposes of the idea of suicide anyhow. Why was that corner chosen to write it on? I will tell you. See that candle on the mantelpiece. It was lit at the time, and if it was lit this corner would be the brightest instead of the darkest portion of the wall." "And what does it mean now that you have found it?" asked Gregson in a depreciatory voice. "Mean? Why, it means that the writer was going to put the female name Rachel, but was disturbed before he or she had time to finish. You mark my words, when this case comes to be cleared up you will find that a woman named Rachel has something to do with it. It's all very well for you to laugh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You may be very smart and clever, but the old hound is the best, when all is said and done." "I really beg your pardon!" said my companion, who had ruffled the little man's temper by bursting into an explosion of laughter. "You certainly have the credit of being the first of us to find this out, and, as you say, it bears every mark of having been written by the other participant in last night's mystery. I have not had time to examine this room yet, but with your permission I shall do so now." As he spoke, he whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselessly about the room, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face. So engrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encouragement and of hope. As I watched him I was irresistibly reminded of a pure-blooded well-trained foxhound as it dashes backwards and forwards through the covert, whining in its eagerness, until it comes across the lost scent. For twenty minutes or more he continued his researches, measuring with the most exact care the distance between marks which were entirely invisible to me, and occasionally applying his tape to the walls in an equally incomprehensible manner. In one place he gathered up very carefully a little pile of grey dust from the floor, and packed it away in an envelope. Finally, he examined with his glass the word upon the wall, going over every letter of it with the most minute exactness. This done, he appeared to be satisfied, for he replaced his tape and his glass in his pocket. "They say that genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains," he remarked with a smile. "It's a very bad definition, but it does apply to detective work." Gregson and Lestrade had watched the manoeuvres of their amateur companion with considerable curiosity and some contempt. They evidently failed to appreciate the fact, which I had begun to realize, that Sherlock Holmes' smallest actions were all directed towards some definite and practical end. "What do you think of it, sir?" they both asked. "It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was to presume to help you," remarked my friend. "You are doing so well now that it would be a pity for anyone to interfere." There was a world of sarcasm in his voice as he spoke. "If you will let me know how your investigations go," he continued, "I shall be happy to give you any help I can. In the meantime I should like to speak to the constable who found the body. Can you give me his name and address?" Lestrade glanced at his note-book. "John Rance," he said. "He is off duty now. You will find him at 46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate." Holmes took a note of the address. "Come along, Doctor," he said; "we shall go and look him up. I'll tell you one thing which may help you in the case," he continued, turning to the two detectives. "There has been murder done, and the murderer was a man. He was more than six feet high, was in the prime of life, had small feet for his height, wore coarse, square-toed boots and smoked a Trichinopoly cigar. He came here with his victim in a four-wheeled cab, which was drawn by a horse with three old shoes and one new one on his off fore leg. In all probability the murderer had a florid face, and the finger-nails of his right hand were remarkably long. These are only a few indications, but they may assist you." Lestrade and Gregson glanced at each other with an incredulous smile. "If this man was murdered, how was it done?" asked the former. "Poison," said Sherlock Holmes curtly, and strode off. "One other thing, Lestrade," he added, turning round at the door: "'Rache,' is the German for 'revenge;' so don't lose your time looking for Miss Rachel." With which Parthian shot he walked away, leaving the two rivals open-mouthed behind him. CHAPTER IV What John Rance Had To Tell It was one o'clock when we left No. 3, Lauriston Gardens. Sherlock Holmes led me to the nearest telegraph office, whence he dispatched a long telegram. He then hailed a cab, and ordered the driver to take us to the address given us by Lestrade. "There is nothing like first hand evidence," he remarked; "as a matter of fact, my mind is entirely made up upon the case, but still we may as well learn all that is to be learned." "You amaze me, Holmes," said I. "Surely you are not as sure as you pretend to be of all those particulars which you gave." "There's no room for a mistake," he answered. "The very first thing which I observed on arriving there was that a cab had made two ruts with its wheels close to the curb. Now, up to last night, we have had no rain for a week, so that those wheels which left such a deep impression must have been there during the night. There were the marks of the horse's hoofs, too, the outline of one of which was far more clearly cut than that of the other three, showing that that was a new shoe. Since the cab was there after the rain began, and was not there at any time during the morning--I have Gregson's word for that--it follows that it must have been there during the night, and, therefore, that it brought those two individuals to the house." "That seems simple enough," said I; "but how about the other man's height?" "Why, the height of a man, in nine cases out of ten, can be told from the length of his stride. It is a simple calculation enough, though there is no use my boring you with figures. I had this fellow's stride both on the clay outside and on the dust within. Then I had a way of checking my calculation. When a man writes on a wall, his instinct leads him to write about the level of his own eyes. Now that writing was just over six feet from the ground. It was child's play." "And his age?" I asked. "Well, if a man can stride four and a-half feet without the smallest effort, he can't be quite in the sere and yellow. That was the breadth of a puddle on the garden walk which he had evidently walked across. Patent-leather boots had gone round, and Square-toes had hopped over. There is no mystery about it at all. I am simply applying to ordinary life a few of those precepts of observation and deduction which I advocated in that article. Is there anything else that puzzles you?" "The finger nails and the Trichinopoly," I suggested. "The writing on the wall was done with a man's forefinger dipped in blood. My glass allowed me to observe that the plaster was slightly scratched in doing it, which would not have been the case if the man's nail had been trimmed. I gathered up some scattered ash from the floor. It was dark in colour and flakey--such an ash as is only made by a Trichinopoly. I have made a special study of cigar ashes--in fact, I have written a monograph upon the subject. I flatter myself that I can distinguish at a glance the ash of any known brand, either of cigar or of tobacco. It is just in such details that the skilled detective differs from the Gregson and Lestrade type." "And the florid face?" I asked. "Ah, that was a more daring shot, though I have no doubt that I was right. You must not ask me that at the present state of the affair." I passed my hand over my brow. "My head is in a whirl," I remarked; "the more one thinks of it the more mysterious it grows. How came these two men--if there were two men--into an empty house? What has become of the cabman who drove them? How could one man compel another to take poison? Where did the blood come from? What was the object of the murderer, since robbery had no part in it? How came the woman's ring there? Above all, why should the second man write up the German word RACHE before decamping? I confess that I cannot see any possible way of reconciling all these facts." My companion smiled approvingly. "You sum up the difficulties of the situation succinctly and well," he said. "There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. As to poor Lestrade's discovery it was simply a blind intended to put the police upon a wrong track, by suggesting Socialism and secret societies. It was not done by a German. The A, if you noticed, was printed somewhat after the German fashion. Now, a real German invariably prints in the Latin character, so that we may safely say that this was not written by one, but by a clumsy imitator who overdid his part. It was simply a ruse to divert inquiry into a wrong channel. I'm not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick, and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all." "I shall never do that," I answered; "you have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world." My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty. "I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent-leathers and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down the pathway together as friendly as possible--arm-in-arm, in all probability. When they got inside they walked up and down the room--or rather, Patent-leathers stood still while Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the dust; and I could read that as he walked he grew more and more excited. That is shown by the increased length of his strides. He was talking all the while, and working himself up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred. I've told you all I know myself now, for the rest is mere surmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however, on which to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to Halle's concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon." This conversation had occurred while our cab had been threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them our driver suddenly came to a stand. "That's Audley Court in there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of dead-coloured brick. "You'll find me here when you come back." Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among groups of dirty children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we came to Number 46, the door of which was decorated with a small slip of brass on which the name Rance was engraved. On enquiry we found that the constable was in bed, and we were shown into a little front parlour to await his coming. He appeared presently, looking a little irritable at being disturbed in his slumbers. "I made my report at the office," he said. Holmes took a half-sovereign from his pocket and played with it pensively. "We thought that we should like to hear it all from your own lips," he said. "I shall be most happy to tell you anything I can," the constable answered with his eyes upon the little golden disk. "Just let us hear it all in your own way as it occurred." Rance sat down on the horsehair sofa, and knitted his brows as though determined not to omit anything in his narrative. "I'll tell it ye from the beginning," he said. "My time is from ten at night to six in the morning. At eleven there was a fight at the 'White Hart'; but bar that all was quiet enough on the beat. At one o'clock it began to rain, and I met Harry Murcher--him who has the Holland Grove beat--and we stood together at the corner of Henrietta Street a-talkin'. Presently--maybe about two or a little after--I thought I would take a look round and see that all was right down the Brixton Road. It was precious dirty and lonely. Not a soul did I meet all the way down, though a cab or two went past me. I was a strollin' down, thinkin' between ourselves how uncommon handy a four of gin hot would be, when suddenly the glint of a light caught my eye in the window of that same house. Now, I knew that them two houses in Lauriston Gardens was empty on account of him that owns them who won't have the drains seed to, though the very last tenant what lived in one of them died o' typhoid fever. I was knocked all in a heap therefore at seeing a light in the window, and I suspected as something was wrong. When I got to the door--" "You stopped, and then walked back to the garden gate," my companion interrupted. "What did you do that for?" Rance gave a violent jump, and stared at Sherlock Holmes with the utmost amazement upon his features. "Why, that's true, sir," he said; "though how you come to know it, Heaven only knows. Ye see, when I got up to the door it was so still and so lonesome, that I thought I'd be none the worse for some one with me. I ain't afeared of anything on this side o' the grave; but I thought that maybe it was him that died o' the typhoid inspecting the drains what killed him. The thought gave me a kind o' turn, and I walked back to the gate to see if I could see Murcher's lantern, but there wasn't no sign of him nor of anyone else." "There was no one in the street?" "Not a livin' soul, sir, nor as much as a dog. Then I pulled myself together and went back and pushed the door open. All was quiet inside, so I went into the room where the light was a-burnin'. There was a candle flickerin' on the mantelpiece--a red wax one--and by its light I saw--" "Yes, I know all that you saw. You walked round the room several times, and you knelt down by the body, and then you walked through and tried the kitchen door, and then--" John Rance sprang to his feet with a frightened face and suspicion in his eyes. "Where was you hid to see all that?" he cried. "It seems to me that you knows a deal more than you should." Holmes laughed and threw his card across the table to the constable. "Don't get arresting me for the murder," he said. "I am one of the hounds and not the wolf; Mr. Gregson or Mr. Lestrade will answer for that. Go on, though. What did you do next?" Rance resumed his seat, without however losing his mystified expression. "I went back to the gate and sounded my whistle. That brought Murcher and two more to the spot." "Was the street empty then?" "Well, it was, as far as anybody that could be of any good goes." "What do you mean?" The constable's features broadened into a grin. "I've seen many a drunk chap in my time," he said, "but never anyone so cryin' drunk as that cove. He was at the gate when I came out, a-leanin' up ag'in the railings, and a-singin' at the pitch o' his lungs about Columbine's New-fangled Banner, or some such stuff. He couldn't stand, far less help." "What sort of a man was he?" asked Sherlock Holmes. John Rance appeared to be somewhat irritated at this digression. "He was an uncommon drunk sort o' man," he said. "He'd ha' found hisself in the station if we hadn't been so took up." "His face--his dress--didn't you notice them?" Holmes broke in impatiently. "I should think I did notice them, seeing that I had to prop him up--me and Murcher between us. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffled round--" "That will do," cried Holmes. "What became of him?" "We'd enough to do without lookin' after him," the policeman said, in an aggrieved voice. "I'll wager he found his way home all right." "How was he dressed?" "A brown overcoat." "Had he a whip in his hand?" "A whip--no." "He must have left it behind," muttered my companion. "You didn't happen to see or hear a cab after that?" "No." "There's a half-sovereign for you," my companion said, standing up and taking his hat. "I am afraid, Rance, that you will never rise in the force. That head of yours should be for use as well as ornament. You might have gained your sergeant's stripes last night. The man whom you held in your hands is the man who holds the clue of this mystery, and whom we are seeking. There is no use of arguing about it now; I tell you that it is so. Come along, Doctor." We started off for the cab together, leaving our informant incredulous, but obviously uncomfortable. "The blundering fool," Holmes said, bitterly, as we drove back to our lodgings. "Just to think of his having such an incomparable bit of good luck, and not taking advantage of it." "I am rather in the dark still. It is true that the description of this man tallies with your idea of the second party in this mystery. But why should he come back to the house after leaving it? That is not the way of criminals." "The ring, man, the ring: that was what he came back for. If we have no other way of catching him, we can always bait our line with the ring. I shall have him, Doctor--I'll lay you two to one that I have him. I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon. There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now for lunch, and then for Norman Neruda. Her attack and her bowing are splendid. What's that little thing of Chopin's she plays so magnificently: Tra-la-la-lira-lira-lay." Leaning back in the cab, this amateur bloodhound carolled away like a lark while I meditated upon the many-sidedness of the human mind. CHAPTER V Our Advertisement Brings A Visitor Our morning's exertions had been too much for my weak health, and I was tired out in the afternoon. After Holmes' departure for the concert, I lay down upon the sofa and endeavoured to get a couple of hours' sleep. It was a useless attempt. My mind had been too much excited by all that had occurred, and the strangest fancies and surmises crowded into it. Every time that I closed my eyes I saw before me the distorted baboon-like countenance of the murdered man. So sinister was the impression which that face had produced upon me that I found it difficult to feel anything but gratitude for him who had removed its owner from the world. If ever human features bespoke vice of the most malignant type, they were certainly those of Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland. Still I recognized that justice must be done, and that the depravity of the victim was no condonement in the eyes of the law. The more I thought of it the more extraordinary did my companion's hypothesis, that the man had been poisoned, appear. I remembered how he had sniffed his lips, and had no doubt that he had detected something which had given rise to the idea. Then, again, if not poison, what had caused the man's death, since there was neither wound nor marks of strangulation? But, on the other hand, whose blood was that which lay so thickly upon the floor? There were no signs of a struggle, nor had the victim any weapon with which he might have wounded an antagonist. As long as all these questions were unsolved, I felt that sleep would be no easy matter, either for Holmes or myself. His quiet self-confident manner convinced me that he had already formed a theory which explained all the facts, though what it was I could not for an instant conjecture. He was very late in returning--so late, that I knew that the concert could not have detained him all the time. Dinner was on the table before he appeared. "It was magnificent," he said, as he took his seat. "Do you remember what Darwin says about music? He claims that the power of producing and appreciating it existed among the human race long before the power of speech was arrived at. Perhaps that is why we are so subtly influenced by it. There are vague memories in our souls of those misty centuries when the world was in its childhood." "That's rather a broad idea," I remarked. "One's ideas must be as broad as Nature if they are to interpret Nature," he answered. "What's the matter? You're not looking quite yourself. This Brixton Road affair has upset you." "To tell the truth, it has," I said. "I ought to be more case-hardened after my Afghan experiences. I saw my own comrades hacked to pieces at Maiwand without losing my nerve." "I can understand. There is a mystery about this which stimulates the imagination; where there is no imagination there is no horror. Have you seen the evening paper?" "No." "It gives a fairly good account of the affair. It does not mention the fact that when the man was raised up, a woman's wedding ring fell upon the floor. It is just as well it does not." "Why?" "Look at this advertisement," he answered. "I had one sent to every paper this morning immediately after the affair." He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. It was the first announcement in the "Found" column. "In Brixton Road, this morning," it ran, "a plain gold wedding ring, found in the roadway between the 'White Hart' Tavern and Holland Grove. Apply Dr. Watson, 221b, Baker Street, between eight and nine this evening." "Excuse my using your name," he said. "If I used my own some of these dunderheads would recognize it, and want to meddle in the affair." "That is all right," I answered. "But supposing anyone applies, I have no ring." "Oh yes, you have," said he, handing me one. "This will do very well. It is almost a facsimile." "And who do you expect will answer this advertisement." "Why, the man in the brown coat--our florid friend with the square toes. If he does not come himself he will send an accomplice." "Would he not consider it as too dangerous?" "Not at all. If my view of the case is correct, and I have every reason to believe that it is, this man would rather risk anything than lose the ring. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber's body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in possession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning. He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that man's place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. What would he do, then? He would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would light upon this. He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. He would come. He will come. You shall see him within an hour." "And then?" I asked. "Oh, you can leave me to deal with him then. Have you any arms?" "I have my old service revolver and a few cartridges." "You had better clean it and load it. He will be a desperate man, and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything." I went to my bedroom and followed his advice. When I returned with the pistol the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin. "The plot thickens," he said, as I entered; "I have just had an answer to my American telegram. My view of the case is the correct one." "And that is?" I asked eagerly. "My fiddle would be the better for new strings," he remarked. "Put your pistol in your pocket. When the fellow comes speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten him by looking at him too hard." "It is eight o'clock now," I said, glancing at my watch. "Yes. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly. That will do. Now put the key on the inside. Thank you! This is a queer old book I picked up at a stall yesterday--De Jure inter Gentes--published in Latin at Liege in the Lowlands, in 1642. Charles' head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was struck off." "Who is the printer?" "Philippe de Croy, whoever he may have been. On the fly-leaf, in very faded ink, is written 'Ex libris Guliolmi Whyte.' I wonder who William Whyte was. Some pragmatical seventeenth century lawyer, I suppose. His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think." As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it. "Does Dr. Watson live here?" asked a clear but rather harsh voice. We could not hear the servant's reply, but the door closed, and some one began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door. "Come in," I cried. At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment. She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous, shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance. The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement. "It's this as has brought me, good gentlemen," she said, dropping another curtsey; "a gold wedding ring in the Brixton Road. It belongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelvemonth, which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he'd say if he comes 'ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he being short enough at the best o' times, but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along with--" "Is that her ring?" I asked. "The Lord be thanked!" cried the old woman; "Sally will be a glad woman this night. That's the ring." "And what may your address be?" I inquired, taking up a pencil. "13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A weary way from here." "The Brixton Road does not lie between any circus and Houndsditch," said Sherlock Holmes sharply. The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes. "The gentleman asked me for my address," she said. "Sally lives in lodgings at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham." "And your name is--?" "My name is Sawyer--her's is Dennis, which Tom Dennis married her--and a smart, clean lad, too, as long as he's at sea, and no steward in the company more thought of; but when on shore, what with the women and what with liquor shops--" "Here is your ring, Mrs. Sawyer," I interrupted, in obedience to a sign from my companion; "it clearly belongs to your daughter, and I am glad to be able to restore it to the rightful owner." With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs. Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. "I'll follow her," he said, hurriedly; "she must be an accomplice, and will lead me to him. Wait up for me." The hall door had hardly slammed behind our visitor before Holmes had descended the stair. Looking through the window I could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind. "Either his whole theory is incorrect," I thought to myself, "or else he will be led now to the heart of the mystery." There was no need for him to ask me to wait up for him, for I felt that sleep was impossible until I heard the result of his adventure. It was close upon nine when he set out. I had no idea how long he might be, but I sat stolidly puffing at my pipe and skipping over the pages of Henri Murger's Vie de Bohème. Ten o'clock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same destination. It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his latch-key. The instant he entered I saw by his face that he had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh. "I wouldn't have the Scotland Yarders know it for the world," he cried, dropping into his chair; "I have chaffed them so much that they would never have let me hear the end of it. I can afford to laugh, because I know that I will be even with them in the long run." "What is it then?" I asked. "Oh, I don't mind telling a story against myself. That creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being foot-sore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street, 'Drive to 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch,' she cried. This begins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind. That's an art which every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped off before we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy, lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out though. When I reached him he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at Number 13 we found that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, named Keswick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there." "You don't mean to say," I cried, in amazement, "that that tottering, feeble old woman was able to get out of the cab while it was in motion, without either you or the driver seeing her?" "Old woman be damned!" said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. "We were the old women to be so taken in. It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my advice and turn in." I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction. I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel. CHAPTER VI Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do The papers next day were full of the "Brixton Mystery," as they termed it. Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. There was some information in them which was new to me. I still retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bearing upon the case. Here is a condensation of a few of them:-- The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the history of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The German name of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in America, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and been tracked down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the article concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating a closer watch over foreigners in England. The Standard commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sort usually occurred under a Liberal Administration. They arose from the unsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening of all authority. The deceased was an American gentleman who had been residing for some weeks in the Metropolis. He had stayed at the boarding-house of Madame Charpentier, in Torquay Terrace, Camberwell. He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst., and departed to Euston Station with the avowed intention of catching the Liverpool express. They were afterwards seen together upon the platform. Nothing more is known of them until Mr. Drebber's body was, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road, many miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, are questions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr. Lestrade and Mr. Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it is confidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily throw light upon the matter. The Daily News observed that there was no doubt as to the crime being a political one. The despotism and hatred of Liberalism which animated the Continental Governments had had the effect of driving to our shores a number of men who might have made excellent citizens were they not soured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. Among these men there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which was punished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of the deceased. A great step had been gained by the discovery of the address of the house at which he had boarded--a result which was entirely due to the acuteness and energy of Mr. Gregson of Scotland Yard. Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable amusement. "I told you that, whatever happened, Lestrade and Gregson would be sure to score." "That depends on how it turns out." "Oh, bless you, it doesn't matter in the least. If the man is caught, it will be on account of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite of their exertions. It's heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, they will have followers. 'Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire.'" "What on earth is this?" I cried, for at this moment there came the pattering of many steps in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied by audible expressions of disgust upon the part of our landlady. "It's the Baker Street division of the detective police force," said my companion, gravely; and as he spoke there rushed into the room half a dozen of the dirtiest and most ragged street Arabs that ever I clapped eyes on. "'Tention!" cried Holmes, in a sharp tone, and the six dirty little scoundrels stood in a line like so many disreputable statuettes. "In future you shall send up Wiggins alone to report, and the rest of you must wait in the street. Have you found it, Wiggins?" "No, sir, we hain't," said one of the youths. "I hardly expected you would. You must keep on until you do. Here are your wages." He handed each of them a shilling. "Now, off you go, and come back with a better report next time." He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street. "There's more work to be got out of one of those little beggars than out of a dozen of the force," Holmes remarked. "The mere sight of an official-looking person seals men's lips. These youngsters, however, go everywhere and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; all they want is organisation." "Is it on this Brixton case that you are employing them?" I asked. "Yes; there is a point which I wish to ascertain. It is merely a matter of time. Hullo! we are going to hear some news now with a vengeance! Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every feature of his face. Bound for us, I know. Yes, he is stopping. There he is!" There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our sitting-room. "My dear fellow," he cried, wringing Holmes' unresponsive hand, "congratulate me! I have made the whole thing as clear as day." A shade of anxiety seemed to me to cross my companion's expressive face. "Do you mean that you are on the right track?" he asked. "The right track! Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key." "And his name is?" "Arthur Charpentier, sub-lieutenant in Her Majesty's navy," cried Gregson, pompously, rubbing his fat hands and inflating his chest. Sherlock Holmes gave a sigh of relief, and relaxed into a smile. "Take a seat, and try one of these cigars," he said. "We are anxious to know how you managed it. Will you have some whiskey and water?" "I don't mind if I do," the detective answered. "The tremendous exertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have worn me out. Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for we are both brain-workers." "You do me too much honour," said Holmes, gravely. "Let us hear how you arrived at this most gratifying result." The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. "The fun of it is," he cried, "that that fool Lestrade, who thinks himself so smart, has gone off upon the wrong track altogether. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babe unborn. I have no doubt that he has caught him by this time." The idea tickled Gregson so much that he laughed until he choked. "And how did you get your clue?" "Ah, I'll tell you all about it. Of course, Doctor Watson, this is strictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contend with was the finding of this American's antecedents. Some people would have waited until their advertisements were answered, or until parties came forward and volunteered information. That is not Tobias Gregson's way of going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man?" "Yes," said Holmes; "by John Underwood and Sons, 129, Camberwell Road." Gregson looked quite crest-fallen. "I had no idea that you noticed that," he said. "Have you been there?" "No." "Ha!" cried Gregson, in a relieved voice; "you should never neglect a chance, however small it may seem." "To a great mind, nothing is little," remarked Holmes, sententiously. "Well, I went to Underwood, and asked him if he had sold a hat of that size and description. He looked over his books, and came on it at once. He had sent the hat to a Mr. Drebber, residing at Charpentier's Boarding Establishment, Torquay Terrace. Thus I got at his address." "Smart--very smart!" murmured Sherlock Holmes. "I next called upon Madame Charpentier," continued the detective. "I found her very pale and distressed. Her daughter was in the room, too--an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips trembled as I spoke to her. That didn't escape my notice. I began to smell a rat. You know the feeling, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right scent--a kind of thrill in your nerves. 'Have you heard of the mysterious death of your late boarder Mr. Enoch J. Drebber, of Cleveland?' I asked. "The mother nodded. She didn't seem able to get out a word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew something of the matter. "'At what o'clock did Mr. Drebber leave your house for the train?' I asked. "'At eight o'clock,' she said, gulping in her throat to keep down her agitation. 'His secretary, Mr. Stangerson, said that there were two trains--one at 9.15 and one at 11. He was to catch the first.' "'And was that the last which you saw of him?' "A terrible change came over the woman's face as I asked the question. Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she could get out the single word 'Yes'--and when it did come it was in a husky unnatural tone. "There was silence for a moment, and then the daughter spoke in a calm clear voice. "'No good can ever come of falsehood, mother,' she said. 'Let us be frank with this gentleman. We did see Mr. Drebber again.' "'God forgive you!' cried Madame Charpentier, throwing up her hands and sinking back in her chair. 'You have murdered your brother.' "'Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth,' the girl answered firmly. "'You had best tell me all about it now,' I said. 'Half-confidences are worse than none. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it.' "'On your head be it, Alice!' cried her mother; and then, turning to me, 'I will tell you all, sir. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be compromised. That however is surely impossible. His high character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it.' "'Your best way is to make a clean breast of the facts,' I answered. 'Depend upon it, if your son is innocent he will be none the worse.' "'Perhaps, Alice, you had better leave us together,' she said, and her daughter withdrew. 'Now, sir,' she continued, 'I had no intention of telling you all this, but since my poor daughter has disclosed it I have no alternative. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting any particular.' "'It is your wisest course,' said I. "'Mr. Drebber has been with us nearly three weeks. He and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I noticed a "Copenhagen" label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had been their last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways. The very night of his arrival he became very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards the maid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter, Alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent to understand. On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms and embraced her--an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct.' "'But why did you stand all this,' I asked. 'I suppose that you can get rid of your boarders when you wish.' "Mrs. Charpentier blushed at my pertinent question. 'Would to God that I had given him notice on the very day that he came,' she said. 'But it was a sore temptation. They were paying a pound a day each--fourteen pounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me much. I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the best. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going.' "'Well?' "'My heart grew light when I saw him drive away. My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind. Alas, in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr. Drebber had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed his train. He then turned to Alice, and before my very face, proposed to her that she should fly with him. "You are of age," he said, "and there is no law to stop you. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live like a princess." Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards the door. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room. What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand. "I don't think that fine fellow will trouble us again," he said. "I will just go after him and see what he does with himself." With those words he took his hat and started off down the street. The next morning we heard of Mr. Drebber's mysterious death.' "This statement came from Mrs. Charpentier's lips with many gasps and pauses. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words. I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should be no possibility of a mistake." "It's quite exciting," said Sherlock Holmes, with a yawn. "What happened next?" "When Mrs. Charpentier paused," the detective continued, "I saw that the whole case hung upon one point. Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her son returned. "'I do not know,' she answered. "'Not know?' "'No; he has a latch-key, and he let himself in.' "'After you went to bed?' "'Yes.' "'When did you go to bed?' "'About eleven.' "'So your son was gone at least two hours?' "'Yes.' "'Possibly four or five?' "'Yes.' "'What was he doing during that time?' "'I do not know,' she answered, turning white to her very lips. "Of course after that there was nothing more to be done. I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass, 'I suppose you are arresting me for being concerned in the death of that scoundrel Drebber,' he said. We had said nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect." "Very," said Holmes. "He still carried the heavy stick which the mother described him as having with him when he followed Drebber. It was a stout oak cudgel." "What is your theory, then?" "Well, my theory is that he followed Drebber as far as the Brixton Road. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach, perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house. As to the candle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent." "Well done!" said Holmes in an encouraging voice. "Really, Gregson, you are getting along. We shall make something of you yet." "I flatter myself that I have managed it rather neatly," the detective answered proudly. "The young man volunteered a statement, in which he said that after following Drebber some time, the latter perceived him, and took a cab in order to get away from him. On his way home he met an old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply. I think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of--Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself!" It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and untidy. He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. "This is a most extraordinary case," he said at last--"a most incomprehensible affair." "Ah, you find it so, Mr. Lestrade!" cried Gregson, triumphantly. "I thought you would come to that conclusion. Have you managed to find the Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson?" "The Secretary, Mr. Joseph Stangerson," said Lestrade gravely, "was murdered at Halliday's Private Hotel about six o'clock this morning." CHAPTER VII Light In The Darkness The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so unexpected, that we were all three fairly dumbfounded. Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water. I stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes. "Stangerson too!" he muttered. "The plot thickens." "It was quite thick enough before," grumbled Lestrade, taking a chair. "I seem to have dropped into a sort of council of war." "Are you--are you sure of this piece of intelligence?" stammered Gregson. "I have just come from his room," said Lestrade. "I was the first to discover what had occurred." "We have been hearing Gregson's view of the matter," Holmes observed. "Would you mind letting us know what you have seen and done?" "I have no objection," Lestrade answered, seating himself. "I freely confess that I was of the opinion that Stangerson was concerned in the death of Drebber. This fresh development has shown me that I was completely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out what had become of the Secretary. They had been seen together at Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the third. At two in the morning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The question which confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employed between 8.30 and the time of the crime, and what had become of him afterwards. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man, and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had become separated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again next morning." "They would be likely to agree on some meeting-place beforehand," remarked Holmes. "So it proved. I spent the whole of yesterday evening in making enquiries entirely without avail. This morning I began very early, and at eight o'clock I reached Halliday's Private Hotel, in Little George Street. On my enquiry as to whether a Mr. Stangerson was living there, they at once answered me in the affirmative. "'No doubt you are the gentleman whom he was expecting,' they said. 'He has been waiting for a gentleman for two days.' "'Where is he now?' I asked. "'He is upstairs in bed. He wished to be called at nine.' "'I will go up and see him at once,' I said. "It seemed to me that my sudden appearance might shake his nerves and lead him to say something unguarded. The Boots volunteered to show me the room: it was on the second floor, and there was a small corridor leading up to it. The Boots pointed out the door to me, and was about to go downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, in spite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door there curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage and formed a little pool along the skirting at the other side. I gave a cry, which brought the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door was locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked it in. The window of the room was open, and beside the window, all huddled up, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and had been for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned him over, the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman who had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause of death was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated the heart. And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do you suppose was above the murdered man?" I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror, even before Sherlock Holmes answered. "The word RACHE, written in letters of blood," he said. "That was it," said Lestrade, in an awe-struck voice; and we were all silent for a while. There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to his crimes. My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle tingled as I thought of it. "The man was seen," continued Lestrade. "A milk boy, passing on his way to the dairy, happened to walk down the lane which leads from the mews at the back of the hotel. He noticed that a ladder, which usually lay there, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, which was wide open. After passing, he looked back and saw a man descend the ladder. He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife." I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer, which tallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon his face. "Did you find nothing in the room which could furnish a clue to the murderer?" he asked. "Nothing. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seems that this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty odd pounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There were no papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a single telegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing the words, 'J. H. is in Europe.' There was no name appended to this message." "And there was nothing else?" Holmes asked. "Nothing of any importance. The man's novel, with which he had read himself to sleep was lying upon the bed, and his pipe was on a chair beside him. There was a glass of water on the table, and on the window-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills." Sherlock Holmes sprang from his chair with an exclamation of delight. "The last link," he cried, exultantly. "My case is complete." The two detectives stared at him in amazement. "I have now in my hands," my companion said, confidently, "all the threads which have formed such a tangle. There are, of course, details to be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from the time that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills?" "I have them," said Lestrade, producing a small white box; "I took them and the purse and the telegram, intending to have them put in a place of safety at the Police Station. It was the merest chance my taking these pills, for I am bound to say that I do not attach any importance to them." "Give them here," said Holmes. "Now, Doctor," turning to me, "are those ordinary pills?" They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour, small, round, and almost transparent against the light. "From their lightness and transparency, I should imagine that they are soluble in water," I remarked. "Precisely so," answered Holmes. "Now would you mind going down and fetching that poor little devil of a terrier which has been bad so long, and which the landlady wanted you to put out of its pain yesterday." I went downstairs and carried the dog upstair in my arms. It's laboured breathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end. Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded the usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on the rug. "I will now cut one of these pills in two," said Holmes, and drawing his penknife he suited the action to the word. "One half we return into the box for future purposes. The other half I will place in this wine glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water. You perceive that our friend, the Doctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves." "This may be very interesting," said Lestrade, in the injured tone of one who suspects that he is being laughed at, "I cannot see, however, what it has to do with the death of Mr. Joseph Stangerson." "Patience, my friend, patience! You will find in time that it has everything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he laps it up readily enough." As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine glass into a saucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. Sherlock Holmes' earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat in silence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling effect. None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretched upon the cushion, breathing in a laboured way, but apparently neither the better nor the worse for its draught. Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute without result, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared upon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So great was his emotion, that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the two detectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check which he had met. "It can't be a coincidence," he cried, at last springing from his chair and pacing wildly up and down the room; "it is impossible that it should be a mere coincidence. The very pills which I suspected in the case of Drebber are actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet they are inert. What can it mean? Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot have been false. It is impossible! And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. Ah, I have it! I have it!" With a perfect shriek of delight he rushed to the box, cut the other pill in two, dissolved it, added milk, and presented it to the terrier. The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning. Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "I should have more faith," he said; "I ought to know by this time that when a fact appears to be opposed to a long train of deductions, it invariably proves to be capable of bearing some other interpretation. Of the two pills in that box one was of the most deadly poison, and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have known that before ever I saw the box at all." This last statement appeared to me to be so startling, that I could hardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog, however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me that the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I began to have a dim, vague perception of the truth. "All this seems strange to you," continued Holmes, "because you failed at the beginning of the inquiry to grasp the importance of the single real clue which was presented to you. I had the good fortune to seize upon that, and everything which has occurred since then has served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence of it. Hence things which have perplexed you and made the case more obscure, have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The most commonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it presents no new or special features from which deductions may be drawn. This murder would have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body of the victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of those outré and sensational accompaniments which have rendered it remarkable. These strange details, far from making the case more difficult, have really had the effect of making it less so." Mr. Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerable impatience, could contain himself no longer. "Look here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he said, "we are all ready to acknowledge that you are a smart man, and that you have your own methods of working. We want something more than mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a case of taking the man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong. Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrong too. You have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know more than we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right to ask you straight how much you do know of the business. Can you name the man who did it?" "I cannot help feeling that Gregson is right, sir," remarked Lestrade. "We have both tried, and we have both failed. You have remarked more than once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidence which you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer." "Any delay in arresting the assassin," I observed, "might give him time to perpetrate some fresh atrocity." Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. He continued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought. "There will be no more murders," he said at last, stopping abruptly and facing us. "You can put that consideration out of the question. You have asked me if I know the name of the assassin. I do. The mere knowing of his name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of laying our hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopes of managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing which needs delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to deal with, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another who is as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone can have a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had the slightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great city. Without meaning to hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these men to be more than a match for the official force, and that is why I have not asked your assistance. If I fail I shall, of course, incur all the blame due to this omission; but that I am prepared for. At present I am ready to promise that the instant that I can communicate with you without endangering my own combinations, I shall do so." Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. The former had flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time to speak, however, before there was a tap at the door, and the spokesman of the street Arabs, young Wiggins, introduced his insignificant and unsavoury person. "Please, sir," he said, touching his forelock, "I have the cab downstairs." "Good boy," said Holmes, blandly. "Why don't you introduce this pattern at Scotland Yard?" he continued, taking a pair of steel handcuffs from a drawer. "See how beautifully the spring works. They fasten in an instant." "The old pattern is good enough," remarked Lestrade, "if we can only find the man to put them on." "Very good, very good," said Holmes, smiling. "The cabman may as well help me with my boxes. Just ask him to step up, Wiggins." I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and began to strap. He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the room. "Just give me a help with this buckle, cabman," he said, kneeling over his task, and never turning his head. The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air, and put down his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again. "Gentlemen," he cried, with flashing eyes, "let me introduce you to Mr. Jefferson Hope, the murderer of Enoch Drebber and of Joseph Stangerson." The whole thing occurred in a moment--so quickly that I had no time to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes' triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman's dazed, savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had appeared as if by magic upon his wrists. For a second or two we might have been a group of statues. Then, with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes's grasp, and hurled himself through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; but before he got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like so many staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and then commenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he, that the four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have the convulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit. His face and hands were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and half-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were of no avail; and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless and panting. "We have his cab," said Sherlock Holmes. "It will serve to take him to Scotland Yard. And now, gentlemen," he continued, with a pleasant smile, "we have reached the end of our little mystery. You are very welcome to put any questions that you like to me now, and there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them." PART II The Country of the Saints. CHAPTER I On The Great Alkali Plain In the central portion of the great North American Continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilisation. From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellowstone River in the north to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is Nature always in one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snow-capped and lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys. There are swift-flowing rivers which dash through jagged cañons; and there are enormous plains, which in winter are white with snow, and in summer are grey with the saline alkali dust. They all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery. There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies. The coyote skulks among the scrub, the buzzard flaps heavily through the air, and the clumsy grizzly bear lumbers through the dark ravines, and picks up such sustenance as it can amongst the rocks. These are the sole dwellers in the wilderness. In the whole world there can be no more dreary view than that from the northern slope of the Sierra Blanco. As far as the eye can reach stretches the great flat plain-land, all dusted over with patches of alkali, and intersected by clumps of the dwarfish chaparral bushes. On the extreme verge of the horizon lie a long chain of mountain peaks, with their rugged summits flecked with snow. In this great stretch of country there is no sign of life, nor of anything appertaining to life. There is no bird in the steel-blue heaven, no movement upon the dull, grey earth--above all, there is absolute silence. Listen as one may, there is no shadow of a sound in all that mighty wilderness; nothing but silence--complete and heart-subduing silence. It has been said there is nothing appertaining to life upon the broad plain. That is hardly true. Looking down from the Sierra Blanco, one sees a pathway traced out across the desert, which winds away and is lost in the extreme distance. It is rutted with wheels and trodden down by the feet of many adventurers. Here and there there are scattered white objects which glisten in the sun, and stand out against the dull deposit of alkali. Approach, and examine them! They are bones: some large and coarse, others smaller and more delicate. The former have belonged to oxen, and the latter to men. For fifteen hundred miles one may trace this ghastly caravan route by these scattered remains of those who had fallen by the wayside. Looking down on this very scene, there stood upon the fourth of May, eighteen hundred and forty-seven, a solitary traveller. His appearance was such that he might have been the very genius or demon of the region. An observer would have found it difficult to say whether he was nearer to forty or to sixty. His face was lean and haggard, and the brown parchment-like skin was drawn tightly over the projecting bones; his long, brown hair and beard were all flecked and dashed with white; his eyes were sunken in his head, and burned with an unnatural lustre; while the hand which grasped his rifle was hardly more fleshy than that of a skeleton. As he stood, he leaned upon his weapon for support, and yet his tall figure and the massive framework of his bones suggested a wiry and vigorous constitution. His gaunt face, however, and his clothes, which hung so baggily over his shrivelled limbs, proclaimed what it was that gave him that senile and decrepit appearance. The man was dying--dying from hunger and from thirst. He had toiled painfully down the ravine, and on to this little elevation, in the vain hope of seeing some signs of water. Now the great salt plain stretched before his eyes, and the distant belt of savage mountains, without a sign anywhere of plant or tree, which might indicate the presence of moisture. In all that broad landscape there was no gleam of hope. North, and east, and west he looked with wild questioning eyes, and then he realised that his wanderings had come to an end, and that there, on that barren crag, he was about to die. "Why not here, as well as in a feather bed, twenty years hence," he muttered, as he seated himself in the shelter of a boulder. Before sitting down, he had deposited upon the ground his useless rifle, and also a large bundle tied up in a grey shawl, which he had carried slung over his right shoulder. It appeared to be somewhat too heavy for his strength, for in lowering it, it came down on the ground with some little violence. Instantly there broke from the grey parcel a little moaning cry, and from it there protruded a small, scared face, with very bright brown eyes, and two little speckled, dimpled fists. "You've hurt me!" said a childish voice reproachfully. "Have I though," the man answered penitently, "I didn't go for to do it." As he spoke he unwrapped the grey shawl and extricated a pretty little girl of about five years of age, whose dainty shoes and smart pink frock with its little linen apron all bespoke a mother's care. The child was pale and wan, but her healthy arms and legs showed that she had suffered less than her companion. "How is it now?" he answered anxiously, for she was still rubbing the towsy golden curls which covered the back of her head. "Kiss it and make it well," she said, with perfect gravity, shoving the injured part up to him. "That's what mother used to do. Where's mother?" "Mother's gone. I guess you'll see her before long." "Gone, eh!" said the little girl. "Funny, she didn't say good-bye; she 'most always did if she was just goin' over to Auntie's for tea, and now she's been away three days. Say, it's awful dry, ain't it? Ain't there no water, nor nothing to eat?" "No, there ain't nothing, dearie. You'll just need to be patient awhile, and then you'll be all right. Put your head up agin me like that, and then you'll feel bullier. It ain't easy to talk when your lips is like leather, but I guess I'd best let you know how the cards lie. What's that you've got?" "Pretty things! fine things!" cried the little girl enthusiastically, holding up two glittering fragments of mica. "When we goes back to home I'll give them to brother Bob." "You'll see prettier things than them soon," said the man confidently. "You just wait a bit. I was going to tell you though--you remember when we left the river?" "Oh, yes." "Well, we reckoned we'd strike another river soon, d'ye see. But there was somethin' wrong; compasses, or map, or somethin', and it didn't turn up. Water ran out. Just except a little drop for the likes of you and--and--" "And you couldn't wash yourself," interrupted his companion gravely, staring up at his grimy visage. "No, nor drink. And Mr. Bender, he was the fust to go, and then Indian Pete, and then Mrs. McGregor, and then Johnny Hones, and then, dearie, your mother." "Then mother's a deader too," cried the little girl dropping her face in her pinafore and sobbing bitterly. "Yes, they all went except you and me. Then I thought there was some chance of water in this direction, so I heaved you over my shoulder and we tramped it together. It don't seem as though we've improved matters. There's an almighty small chance for us now!" "Do you mean that we are going to die too?" asked the child, checking her sobs, and raising her tear-stained face. "I guess that's about the size of it." "Why didn't you say so before?" she said, laughing gleefully. "You gave me such a fright. Why, of course, now as long as we die we'll be with mother again." "Yes, you will, dearie." "And you too. I'll tell her how awful good you've been. I'll bet she meets us at the door of Heaven with a big pitcher of water, and a lot of buckwheat cakes, hot, and toasted on both sides, like Bob and me was fond of. How long will it be first?" "I don't know--not very long." The man's eyes were fixed upon the northern horizon. In the blue vault of the heaven there had appeared three little specks which increased in size every moment, so rapidly did they approach. They speedily resolved themselves into three large brown birds, which circled over the heads of the two wanderers, and then settled upon some rocks which overlooked them. They were buzzards, the vultures of the west, whose coming is the forerunner of death. "Cocks and hens," cried the little girl gleefully, pointing at their ill-omened forms, and clapping her hands to make them rise. "Say, did God make this country?" "Of course He did," said her companion, rather startled by this unexpected question. "He made the country down in Illinois, and He made the Missouri," the little girl continued. "I guess somebody else made the country in these parts. It's not nearly so well done. They forgot the water and the trees." "What would ye think of offering up prayer?" the man asked diffidently. "It ain't night yet," she answered. "It don't matter. It ain't quite regular, but He won't mind that, you bet. You say over them ones that you used to say every night in the waggon when we was on the Plains." "Why don't you say some yourself?" the child asked, with wondering eyes. "I disremember them," he answered. "I hain't said none since I was half the height o' that gun. I guess it's never too late. You say them out, and I'll stand by and come in on the choruses." "Then you'll need to kneel down, and me too," she said, laying the shawl out for that purpose. "You've got to put your hands up like this. It makes you feel kind o' good." It was a strange sight had there been anything but the buzzards to see it. Side by side on the narrow shawl knelt the two wanderers, the little prattling child and the reckless, hardened adventurer. Her chubby face, and his haggard, angular visage were both turned up to the cloudless heaven in heartfelt entreaty to that dread being with whom they were face to face, while the two voices--the one thin and clear, the other deep and harsh--united in the entreaty for mercy and forgiveness. The prayer finished, they resumed their seat in the shadow of the boulder until the child fell asleep, nestling upon the broad breast of her protector. He watched over her slumber for some time, but Nature proved to be too strong for him. For three days and three nights he had allowed himself neither rest nor repose. Slowly the eyelids drooped over the tired eyes, and the head sunk lower and lower upon the breast, until the man's grizzled beard was mixed with the gold tresses of his companion, and both slept the same deep and dreamless slumber. Had the wanderer remained awake for another half hour a strange sight would have met his eyes. Far away on the extreme verge of the alkali plain there rose up a little spray of dust, very slight at first, and hardly to be distinguished from the mists of the distance, but gradually growing higher and broader until it formed a solid, well-defined cloud. This cloud continued to increase in size until it became evident that it could only be raised by a great multitude of moving creatures. In more fertile spots the observer would have come to the conclusion that one of those great herds of bisons which graze upon the prairie land was approaching him. This was obviously impossible in these arid wilds. As the whirl of dust drew nearer to the solitary bluff upon which the two castaways were reposing, the canvas-covered tilts of waggons and the figures of armed horsemen began to show up through the haze, and the apparition revealed itself as being a great caravan upon its journey for the West. But what a caravan! When the head of it had reached the base of the mountains, the rear was not yet visible on the horizon. Right across the enormous plain stretched the straggling array, waggons and carts, men on horseback, and men on foot. Innumerable women who staggered along under burdens, and children who toddled beside the waggons or peeped out from under the white coverings. This was evidently no ordinary party of immigrants, but rather some nomad people who had been compelled from stress of circumstances to seek themselves a new country. There rose through the clear air a confused clattering and rumbling from this great mass of humanity, with the creaking of wheels and the neighing of horses. Loud as it was, it was not sufficient to rouse the two tired wayfarers above them. At the head of the column there rode a score or more of grave ironfaced men, clad in sombre homespun garments and armed with rifles. On reaching the base of the bluff they halted, and held a short council among themselves. "The wells are to the right, my brothers," said one, a hard-lipped, clean-shaven man with grizzly hair. "To the right of the Sierra Blanco--so we shall reach the Rio Grande," said another. "Fear not for water," cried a third. "He who could draw it from the rocks will not now abandon His own chosen people." "Amen! Amen!" responded the whole party. They were about to resume their journey when one of the youngest and keenest-eyed uttered an exclamation and pointed up at the rugged crag above them. From its summit there fluttered a little wisp of pink, showing up hard and bright against the grey rocks behind. At the sight there was a general reining up of horses and unslinging of guns, while fresh horsemen came galloping up to reinforce the vanguard. The word "Redskins" was on every lip. "There can't be any number of Injuns here," said the elderly man who appeared to be in command. "We have passed the Pawnees, and there are no other tribes until we cross the great mountains." "Shall I go forward and see, Brother Stangerson," asked one of the band. "And I," "and I," cried a dozen voices. "Leave your horses below and we will await you here," the Elder answered. In a moment the young fellows had dismounted, fastened their horses, and were ascending the precipitous slope which led up to the object which had excited their curiosity. They advanced rapidly and noiselessly, with the confidence and dexterity of practised scouts. The watchers from the plain below could see them flit from rock to rock until their figures stood out against the skyline. The young man who had first given the alarm was leading them. Suddenly his followers saw him throw up his hands, as though overcome with astonishment, and on joining him they were affected in the same way by the sight which met their eyes. On the little plateau which crowned the barren hill there stood a single giant boulder, and against this boulder there lay a tall man, long-bearded and hard-featured, but of an excessive thinness. His placid face and regular breathing showed that he was fast asleep. Beside him lay a little child, with her round white arms encircling his brown sinewy neck, and her golden haired head resting upon the breast of his velveteen tunic. Her rosy lips were parted, showing the regular line of snow-white teeth within, and a playful smile played over her infantile features. Her plump little white legs terminating in white socks and neat shoes with shining buckles, offered a strange contrast to the long shrivelled members of her companion. On the ledge of rock above this strange couple there stood three solemn buzzards, who, at the sight of the new comers uttered raucous screams of disappointment and flapped sullenly away. The cries of the foul birds awoke the two sleepers who stared about them in bewilderment. The man staggered to his feet and looked down upon the plain which had been so desolate when sleep had overtaken him, and which was now traversed by this enormous body of men and of beasts. His face assumed an expression of incredulity as he gazed, and he passed his boney hand over his eyes. "This is what they call delirium, I guess," he muttered. The child stood beside him, holding on to the skirt of his coat, and said nothing but looked all round her with the wondering questioning gaze of childhood. The rescuing party were speedily able to convince the two castaways that their appearance was no delusion. One of them seized the little girl, and hoisted her upon his shoulder, while two others supported her gaunt companion, and assisted him towards the waggons. "My name is John Ferrier," the wanderer explained; "me and that little un are all that's left o' twenty-one people. The rest is all dead o' thirst and hunger away down in the south." "Is she your child?" asked someone. "I guess she is now," the other cried, defiantly; "she's mine 'cause I saved her. No man will take her from me. She's Lucy Ferrier from this day on. Who are you, though?" he continued, glancing with curiosity at his stalwart, sunburned rescuers; "there seems to be a powerful lot of ye." "Nigh upon ten thousand," said one of the young men; "we are the persecuted children of God--the chosen of the Angel Merona." "I never heard tell on him," said the wanderer. "He appears to have chosen a fair crowd of ye." "Do not jest at that which is sacred," said the other sternly. "We are of those who believe in those sacred writings, drawn in Egyptian letters on plates of beaten gold, which were handed unto the holy Joseph Smith at Palmyra. We have come from Nauvoo, in the State of Illinois, where we had founded our temple. We have come to seek a refuge from the violent man and from the godless, even though it be the heart of the desert." The name of Nauvoo evidently recalled recollections to John Ferrier. "I see," he said, "you are the Mormons." "We are the Mormons," answered his companions with one voice. "And where are you going?" "We do not know. The hand of God is leading us under the person of our Prophet. You must come before him. He shall say what is to be done with you." They had reached the base of the hill by this time, and were surrounded by crowds of the pilgrims--pale-faced meek-looking women, strong laughing children, and anxious earnest-eyed men. Many were the cries of astonishment and of commiseration which arose from them when they perceived the youth of one of the strangers and the destitution of the other. Their escort did not halt, however, but pushed on, followed by a great crowd of Mormons, until they reached a waggon, which was conspicuous for its great size and for the gaudiness and smartness of its appearance. Six horses were yoked to it, whereas the others were furnished with two, or, at most, four a-piece. Beside the driver there sat a man who could not have been more than thirty years of age, but whose massive head and resolute expression marked him as a leader. He was reading a brown-backed volume, but as the crowd approached he laid it aside, and listened attentively to an account of the episode. Then he turned to the two castaways. "If we take you with us," he said, in solemn words, "it can only be as believers in our own creed. We shall have no wolves in our fold. Better far that your bones should bleach in this wilderness than that you should prove to be that little speck of decay which in time corrupts the whole fruit. Will you come with us on these terms?" "Guess I'll come with you on any terms," said Ferrier, with such emphasis that the grave Elders could not restrain a smile. The leader alone retained his stern, impressive expression. "Take him, Brother Stangerson," he said, "give him food and drink, and the child likewise. Let it be your task also to teach him our holy creed. We have delayed long enough. Forward! On, on to Zion!" "On, on to Zion!" cried the crowd of Mormons, and the words rippled down the long caravan, passing from mouth to mouth until they died away in a dull murmur in the far distance. With a cracking of whips and a creaking of wheels the great waggons got into motion, and soon the whole caravan was winding along once more. The Elder to whose care the two waifs had been committed, led them to his waggon, where a meal was already awaiting them. "You shall remain here," he said. "In a few days you will have recovered from your fatigues. In the meantime, remember that now and forever you are of our religion. Brigham Young has said it, and he has spoken with the voice of Joseph Smith, which is the voice of God." CHAPTER II The Flower Of Utah This is not the place to commemorate the trials and privations endured by the immigrant Mormons before they came to their final haven. From the shores of the Mississippi to the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains they had struggled on with a constancy almost unparalleled in history. The savage man, and the savage beast, hunger, thirst, fatigue, and disease--every impediment which Nature could place in the way--had all been overcome with Anglo-Saxon tenacity. Yet the long journey and the accumulated terrors had shaken the hearts of the stoutest among them. There was not one who did not sink upon his knees in heartfelt prayer when they saw the broad valley of Utah bathed in the sunlight beneath them, and learned from the lips of their leader that this was the promised land, and that these virgin acres were to be theirs for evermore. Young speedily proved himself to be a skilful administrator as well as a resolute chief. Maps were drawn and charts prepared, in which the future city was sketched out. All around farms were apportioned and allotted in proportion to the standing of each individual. The tradesman was put to his trade and the artisan to his calling. In the town streets and squares sprang up, as if by magic. In the country there was draining and hedging, planting and clearing, until the next summer saw the whole country golden with the wheat crop. Everything prospered in the strange settlement. Above all, the great temple which they had erected in the centre of the city grew ever taller and larger. From the first blush of dawn until the closing of the twilight, the clatter of the hammer and the rasp of the saw was never absent from the monument which the immigrants erected to Him who had led them safe through many dangers. The two castaways, John Ferrier and the little girl who had shared his fortunes and had been adopted as his daughter, accompanied the Mormons to the end of their great pilgrimage. Little Lucy Ferrier was borne along pleasantly enough in Elder Stangerson's waggon, a retreat which she shared with the Mormon's three wives and with his son, a headstrong forward boy of twelve. Having rallied, with the elasticity of childhood, from the shock caused by her mother's death, she soon became a pet with the women, and reconciled herself to this new life in her moving canvas-covered home. In the meantime Ferrier having recovered from his privations, distinguished himself as a useful guide and an indefatigable hunter. So rapidly did he gain the esteem of his new companions, that when they reached the end of their wanderings, it was unanimously agreed that he should be provided with as large and as fertile a tract of land as any of the settlers, with the exception of Young himself, and of Stangerson, Kemball, Johnston, and Drebber, who were the four principal Elders. On the farm thus acquired John Ferrier built himself a substantial log-house, which received so many additions in succeeding years that it grew into a roomy villa. He was a man of a practical turn of mind, keen in his dealings and skilful with his hands. His iron constitution enabled him to work morning and evening at improving and tilling his lands. Hence it came about that his farm and all that belonged to him prospered exceedingly. In three years he was better off than his neighbours, in six he was well-to-do, in nine he was rich, and in twelve there were not half a dozen men in the whole of Salt Lake City who could compare with him. From the great inland sea to the distant Wahsatch Mountains there was no name better known than that of John Ferrier. There was one way and only one in which he offended the susceptibilities of his co-religionists. No argument or persuasion could ever induce him to set up a female establishment after the manner of his companions. He never gave reasons for this persistent refusal, but contented himself by resolutely and inflexibly adhering to his determination. There were some who accused him of lukewarmness in his adopted religion, and others who put it down to greed of wealth and reluctance to incur expense. Others, again, spoke of some early love affair, and of a fair-haired girl who had pined away on the shores of the Atlantic. Whatever the reason, Ferrier remained strictly celibate. In every other respect he conformed to the religion of the young settlement, and gained the name of being an orthodox and straight-walking man. Lucy Ferrier grew up within the log-house, and assisted her adopted father in all his undertakings. The keen air of the mountains and the balsamic odour of the pine trees took the place of nurse and mother to the young girl. As year succeeded to year she grew taller and stronger, her cheek more rudy, and her step more elastic. Many a wayfarer upon the high road which ran by Ferrier's farm felt long-forgotten thoughts revive in their mind as they watched her lithe girlish figure tripping through the wheatfields, or met her mounted upon her father's mustang, and managing it with all the ease and grace of a true child of the West. So the bud blossomed into a flower, and the year which saw her father the richest of the farmers left her as fair a specimen of American girlhood as could be found in the whole Pacific slope. It was not the father, however, who first discovered that the child had developed into the woman. It seldom is in such cases. That mysterious change is too subtle and too gradual to be measured by dates. Least of all does the maiden herself know it until the tone of a voice or the touch of a hand sets her heart thrilling within her, and she learns, with a mixture of pride and of fear, that a new and a larger nature has awoken within her. There are few who cannot recall that day and remember the one little incident which heralded the dawn of a new life. In the case of Lucy Ferrier the occasion was serious enough in itself, apart from its future influence on her destiny and that of many besides. It was a warm June morning, and the Latter Day Saints were as busy as the bees whose hive they have chosen for their emblem. In the fields and in the streets rose the same hum of human industry. Down the dusty high roads defiled long streams of heavily-laden mules, all heading to the west, for the gold fever had broken out in California, and the Overland Route lay through the City of the Elect. There, too, were droves of sheep and bullocks coming in from the outlying pasture lands, and trains of tired immigrants, men and horses equally weary of their interminable journey. Through all this motley assemblage, threading her way with the skill of an accomplished rider, there galloped Lucy Ferrier, her fair face flushed with the exercise and her long chestnut hair floating out behind her. She had a commission from her father in the City, and was dashing in as she had done many a time before, with all the fearlessness of youth, thinking only of her task and how it was to be performed. The travel-stained adventurers gazed after her in astonishment, and even the unemotional Indians, journeying in with their pelties, relaxed their accustomed stoicism as they marvelled at the beauty of the pale-faced maiden. She had reached the outskirts of the city when she found the road blocked by a great drove of cattle, driven by a half-dozen wild-looking herdsmen from the plains. In her impatience she endeavoured to pass this obstacle by pushing her horse into what appeared to be a gap. Scarcely had she got fairly into it, however, before the beasts closed in behind her, and she found herself completely imbedded in the moving stream of fierce-eyed, long-horned bullocks. Accustomed as she was to deal with cattle, she was not alarmed at her situation, but took advantage of every opportunity to urge her horse on in the hopes of pushing her way through the cavalcade. Unfortunately the horns of one of the creatures, either by accident or design, came in violent contact with the flank of the mustang, and excited it to madness. In an instant it reared up upon its hind legs with a snort of rage, and pranced and tossed in a way that would have unseated any but a most skilful rider. The situation was full of peril. Every plunge of the excited horse brought it against the horns again, and goaded it to fresh madness. It was all that the girl could do to keep herself in the saddle, yet a slip would mean a terrible death under the hoofs of the unwieldy and terrified animals. Unaccustomed to sudden emergencies, her head began to swim, and her grip upon the bridle to relax. Choked by the rising cloud of dust and by the steam from the struggling creatures, she might have abandoned her efforts in despair, but for a kindly voice at her elbow which assured her of assistance. At the same moment a sinewy brown hand caught the frightened horse by the curb, and forcing a way through the drove, soon brought her to the outskirts. "You're not hurt, I hope, miss," said her preserver, respectfully. She looked up at his dark, fierce face, and laughed saucily. "I'm awful frightened," she said, naively; "whoever would have thought that Poncho would have been so scared by a lot of cows?" "Thank God you kept your seat," the other said earnestly. He was a tall, savage-looking young fellow, mounted on a powerful roan horse, and clad in the rough dress of a hunter, with a long rifle slung over his shoulders. "I guess you are the daughter of John Ferrier," he remarked, "I saw you ride down from his house. When you see him, ask him if he remembers the Jefferson Hopes of St. Louis. If he's the same Ferrier, my father and he were pretty thick." "Hadn't you better come and ask yourself?" she asked, demurely. The young fellow seemed pleased at the suggestion, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure. "I'll do so," he said, "we've been in the mountains for two months, and are not over and above in visiting condition. He must take us as he finds us." "He has a good deal to thank you for, and so have I," she answered, "he's awful fond of me. If those cows had jumped on me he'd have never got over it." "Neither would I," said her companion. "You! Well, I don't see that it would make much matter to you, anyhow. You ain't even a friend of ours." The young hunter's dark face grew so gloomy over this remark that Lucy Ferrier laughed aloud. "There, I didn't mean that," she said; "of course, you are a friend now. You must come and see us. Now I must push along, or father won't trust me with his business any more. Good-bye!" "Good-bye," he answered, raising his broad sombrero, and bending over her little hand. She wheeled her mustang round, gave it a cut with her riding-whip, and darted away down the broad road in a rolling cloud of dust. Young Jefferson Hope rode on with his companions, gloomy and taciturn. He and they had been among the Nevada Mountains prospecting for silver, and were returning to Salt Lake City in the hope of raising capital enough to work some lodes which they had discovered. He had been as keen as any of them upon the business until this sudden incident had drawn his thoughts into another channel. The sight of the fair young girl, as frank and wholesome as the Sierra breezes, had stirred his volcanic, untamed heart to its very depths. When she had vanished from his sight, he realized that a crisis had come in his life, and that neither silver speculations nor any other questions could ever be of such importance to him as this new and all-absorbing one. The love which had sprung up in his heart was not the sudden, changeable fancy of a boy, but rather the wild, fierce passion of a man of strong will and imperious temper. He had been accustomed to succeed in all that he undertook. He swore in his heart that he would not fail in this if human effort and human perseverance could render him successful. He called on John Ferrier that night, and many times again, until his face was a familiar one at the farm-house. John, cooped up in the valley, and absorbed in his work, had had little chance of learning the news of the outside world during the last twelve years. All this Jefferson Hope was able to tell him, and in a style which interested Lucy as well as her father. He had been a pioneer in California, and could narrate many a strange tale of fortunes made and fortunes lost in those wild, halcyon days. He had been a scout too, and a trapper, a silver explorer, and a ranchman. Wherever stirring adventures were to be had, Jefferson Hope had been there in search of them. He soon became a favourite with the old farmer, who spoke eloquently of his virtues. On such occasions, Lucy was silent, but her blushing cheek and her bright, happy eyes, showed only too clearly that her young heart was no longer her own. Her honest father may not have observed these symptoms, but they were assuredly not thrown away upon the man who had won her affections. It was a summer evening when he came galloping down the road and pulled up at the gate. She was at the doorway, and came down to meet him. He threw the bridle over the fence and strode up the pathway. "I am off, Lucy," he said, taking her two hands in his, and gazing tenderly down into her face; "I won't ask you to come with me now, but will you be ready to come when I am here again?" "And when will that be?" she asked, blushing and laughing. "A couple of months at the outside. I will come and claim you then, my darling. There's no one who can stand between us." "And how about father?" she asked. "He has given his consent, provided we get these mines working all right. I have no fear on that head." "Oh, well; of course, if you and father have arranged it all, there's no more to be said," she whispered, with her cheek against his broad breast. "Thank God!" he said, hoarsely, stooping and kissing her. "It is settled, then. The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go. They are waiting for me at the cañon. Good-bye, my own darling--good-bye. In two months you shall see me." He tore himself from her as he spoke, and, flinging himself upon his horse, galloped furiously away, never even looking round, as though afraid that his resolution might fail him if he took one glance at what he was leaving. She stood at the gate, gazing after him until he vanished from her sight. Then she walked back into the house, the happiest girl in all Utah. CHAPTER III John Ferrier Talks With The Prophet Three weeks had passed since Jefferson Hope and his comrades had departed from Salt Lake City. John Ferrier's heart was sore within him when he thought of the young man's return, and of the impending loss of his adopted child. Yet her bright and happy face reconciled him to the arrangement more than any argument could have done. He had always determined, deep down in his resolute heart, that nothing would ever induce him to allow his daughter to wed a Mormon. Such a marriage he regarded as no marriage at all, but as a shame and a disgrace. Whatever he might think of the Mormon doctrines, upon that one point he was inflexible. He had to seal his mouth on the subject, however, for to express an unorthodox opinion was a dangerous matter in those days in the Land of the Saints. Yes, a dangerous matter--so dangerous that even the most saintly dared only whisper their religious opinions with bated breath, lest something which fell from their lips might be misconstrued, and bring down a swift retribution upon them. The victims of persecution had now turned persecutors on their own account, and persecutors of the most terrible description. Not the Inquisition of Seville, nor the German Vehmgericht, nor the Secret Societies of Italy, were ever able to put a more formidable machinery in motion than that which cast a cloud over the State of Utah. Its invisibility, and the mystery which was attached to it, made this organization doubly terrible. It appeared to be omniscient and omnipotent, and yet was neither seen nor heard. The man who held out against the Church vanished away, and none knew whither he had gone or what had befallen him. His wife and his children awaited him at home, but no father ever returned to tell them how he had fared at the hands of his secret judges. A rash word or a hasty act was followed by annihilation, and yet none knew what the nature might be of this terrible power which was suspended over them. No wonder that men went about in fear and trembling, and that even in the heart of the wilderness they dared not whisper the doubts which oppressed them. At first this vague and terrible power was exercised only upon the recalcitrants who, having embraced the Mormon faith, wished afterwards to pervert or to abandon it. Soon, however, it took a wider range. The supply of adult women was running short, and polygamy without a female population on which to draw was a barren doctrine indeed. Strange rumours began to be bandied about--rumours of murdered immigrants and rifled camps in regions where Indians had never been seen. Fresh women appeared in the harems of the Elders--women who pined and wept, and bore upon their faces the traces of an unextinguishable horror. Belated wanderers upon the mountains spoke of gangs of armed men, masked, stealthy, and noiseless, who flitted by them in the darkness. These tales and rumours took substance and shape, and were corroborated and re-corroborated, until they resolved themselves into a definite name. To this day, in the lonely ranches of the West, the name of the Danite Band, or the Avenging Angels, is a sinister and an ill-omened one. Fuller knowledge of the organization which produced such terrible results served to increase rather than to lessen the horror which it inspired in the minds of men. None knew who belonged to this ruthless society. The names of the participators in the deeds of blood and violence done under the name of religion were kept profoundly secret. The very friend to whom you communicated your misgivings as to the Prophet and his mission, might be one of those who would come forth at night with fire and sword to exact a terrible reparation. Hence every man feared his neighbour, and none spoke of the things which were nearest his heart. One fine morning, John Ferrier was about to set out to his wheatfields, when he heard the click of the latch, and, looking through the window, saw a stout, sandy-haired, middle-aged man coming up the pathway. His heart leapt to his mouth, for this was none other than the great Brigham Young himself. Full of trepidation--for he knew that such a visit boded him little good--Ferrier ran to the door to greet the Mormon chief. The latter, however, received his salutations coldly, and followed him with a stern face into the sitting-room. "Brother Ferrier," he said, taking a seat, and eyeing the farmer keenly from under his light-coloured eyelashes, "the true believers have been good friends to you. We picked you up when you were starving in the desert, we shared our food with you, led you safe to the Chosen Valley, gave you a goodly share of land, and allowed you to wax rich under our protection. Is not this so?" "It is so," answered John Ferrier. "In return for all this we asked but one condition: that was, that you should embrace the true faith, and conform in every way to its usages. This you promised to do, and this, if common report says truly, you have neglected." "And how have I neglected it?" asked Ferrier, throwing out his hands in expostulation. "Have I not given to the common fund? Have I not attended at the Temple? Have I not--?" "Where are your wives?" asked Young, looking round him. "Call them in, that I may greet them." "It is true that I have not married," Ferrier answered. "But women were few, and there were many who had better claims than I. I was not a lonely man: I had my daughter to attend to my wants." "It is of that daughter that I would speak to you," said the leader of the Mormons. "She has grown to be the flower of Utah, and has found favour in the eyes of many who are high in the land." John Ferrier groaned internally. "There are stories of her which I would fain disbelieve--stories that she is sealed to some Gentile. This must be the gossip of idle tongues. What is the thirteenth rule in the code of the sainted Joseph Smith? 'Let every maiden of the true faith marry one of the elect; for if she wed a Gentile, she commits a grievous sin.' This being so, it is impossible that you, who profess the holy creed, should suffer your daughter to violate it." John Ferrier made no answer, but he played nervously with his riding-whip. "Upon this one point your whole faith shall be tested--so it has been decided in the Sacred Council of Four. The girl is young, and we would not have her wed grey hairs, neither would we deprive her of all choice. We Elders have many heifers*1, but our children must also be provided. Stangerson has a son, and Drebber has a son, and either of them would gladly welcome your daughter to their house. Let her choose between them. They are young and rich, and of the true faith. What say you to that?" Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted. "You will give us time," he said at last. "My daughter is very young--she is scarce of an age to marry." "She shall have a month to choose," said Young, rising from his seat. "At the end of that time she shall give her answer." He was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushed face and flashing eyes. "It were better for you, John Ferrier," he thundered, "that you and she were now lying blanched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco, than that you should put your weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four!" With a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door, and Ferrier heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path. He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, considering how he should broach the matter to his daughter when a soft hand was laid upon his, and looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at her pale, frightened face showed him that she had heard what had passed. "I could not help it," she said, in answer to his look. "His voice rang through the house. Oh, father, father, what shall we do?" "Don't you scare yourself," he answered, drawing her to him, and passing his broad, rough hand caressingly over her chestnut hair. "We'll fix it up somehow or another. You don't find your fancy kind o' lessening for this chap, do you?" A sob and a squeeze of his hand was her only answer. "No; of course not. I shouldn't care to hear you say you did. He's a likely lad, and he's a Christian, which is more than these folk here, in spite o' all their praying and preaching. There's a party starting for Nevada to-morrow, and I'll manage to send him a message letting him know the hole we are in. If I know anything o' that young man, he'll be back here with a speed that would whip electro-telegraphs." Lucy laughed through her tears at her father's description. "When he comes, he will advise us for the best. But it is for you that I am frightened, dear. One hears--one hears such dreadful stories about those who oppose the Prophet: something terrible always happens to them." "But we haven't opposed him yet," her father answered. "It will be time to look out for squalls when we do. We have a clear month before us; at the end of that, I guess we had best shin out of Utah." "Leave Utah!" "That's about the size of it." "But the farm?" "We will raise as much as we can in money, and let the rest go. To tell the truth, Lucy, it isn't the first time I have thought of doing it. I don't care about knuckling under to any man, as these folk do to their darned prophet. I'm a free-born American, and it's all new to me. Guess I'm too old to learn. If he comes browsing about this farm, he might chance to run up against a charge of buckshot travelling in the opposite direction." "But they won't let us leave," his daughter objected. "Wait till Jefferson comes, and we'll soon manage that. In the meantime, don't you fret yourself, my dearie, and don't get your eyes swelled up, else he'll be walking into me when he sees you. There's nothing to be afeared about, and there's no danger at all." John Ferrier uttered these consoling remarks in a very confident tone, but she could not help observing that he paid unusual care to the fastening of the doors that night, and that he carefully cleaned and loaded the rusty old shotgun which hung upon the wall of his bedroom. ----- *1: Heber C Kemball, in one of his sermons, alludes to his hundred wives under this endearing epithet. CHAPTER IV A Flight For Life On the morning which followed his interview with the Mormon Prophet, John Ferrier went in to Salt Lake City, and having found his acquaintance, who was bound for the Nevada Mountains, he entrusted him with his message to Jefferson Hope. In it he told the young man of the imminent danger which threatened them, and how necessary it was that he should return. Having done thus he felt easier in his mind, and returned home with a lighter heart. As he approached his farm, he was surprised to see a horse hitched to each of the posts of the gate. Still more surprised was he on entering to find two young men in possession of his sitting-room. One, with a long pale face, was leaning back in the rocking-chair, with his feet cocked up upon the stove. The other, a bull-necked youth with coarse bloated features, was standing in front of the window with his hands in his pocket, whistling a popular hymn. Both of them nodded to Ferrier as he entered, and the one in the rocking-chair commenced the conversation. "Maybe you don't know us," he said. "This here is the son of Elder Drebber, and I'm Joseph Stangerson, who travelled with you in the desert when the Lord stretched out His hand and gathered you into the true fold." "As He will all the nations in His own good time," said the other in a nasal voice; "He grindeth slowly but exceeding small." John Ferrier bowed coldly. He had guessed who his visitors were. "We have come," continued Stangerson, "at the advice of our fathers to solicit the hand of your daughter for whichever of us may seem good to you and to her. As I have but four wives and Brother Drebber here has seven, it appears to me that my claim is the stronger one." "Nay, nay, Brother Stangerson," cried the other; "the question is not how many wives we have, but how many we can keep. My father has now given over his mills to me, and I am the richer man." "But my prospects are better," said the other, warmly. "When the Lord removes my father, I shall have his tanning yard and his leather factory. Then I am your elder, and am higher in the Church." "It will be for the maiden to decide," rejoined young Drebber, smirking at his own reflection in the glass. "We will leave it all to her decision." During this dialogue, John Ferrier had stood fuming in the doorway, hardly able to keep his riding-whip from the backs of his two visitors. "Look here," he said at last, striding up to them, "when my daughter summons you, you can come, but until then I don't want to see your faces again." The two young Mormons stared at him in amazement. In their eyes this competition between them for the maiden's hand was the highest of honours both to her and her father. "There are two ways out of the room," cried Ferrier; "there is the door, and there is the window. Which do you care to use?" His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening, that his visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The old farmer followed them to the door. "Let me know when you have settled which it is to be," he said, sardonically. "You shall smart for this!" Stangerson cried, white with rage. "You have defied the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to the end of your days." "The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you," cried young Drebber; "He will arise and smite you!" "Then I'll start the smiting," exclaimed Ferrier furiously, and would have rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses' hoofs told him that they were beyond his reach. "The young canting rascals!" he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his forehead; "I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of either of them." "And so should I, father," she answered, with spirit; "but Jefferson will soon be here." "Yes. It will not be long before he comes. The sooner the better, for we do not know what their next move may be." It was, indeed, high time that someone capable of giving advice and help should come to the aid of the sturdy old farmer and his adopted daughter. In the whole history of the settlement there had never been such a case of rank disobedience to the authority of the Elders. If minor errors were punished so sternly, what would be the fate of this arch rebel. Ferrier knew that his wealth and position would be of no avail to him. Others as well known and as rich as himself had been spirited away before now, and their goods given over to the Church. He was a brave man, but he trembled at the vague, shadowy terrors which hung over him. Any known danger he could face with a firm lip, but this suspense was unnerving. He concealed his fears from his daughter, however, and affected to make light of the whole matter, though she, with the keen eye of love, saw plainly that he was ill at ease. He expected that he would receive some message or remonstrance from Young as to his conduct, and he was not mistaken, though it came in an unlooked-for manner. Upon rising next morning he found, to his surprise, a small square of paper pinned on to the coverlet of his bed just over his chest. On it was printed, in bold straggling letters:-- "Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment, and then--" The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could have been. How this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferrier sorely, for his servants slept in an outhouse, and the doors and windows had all been secured. He crumpled the paper up and said nothing to his daughter, but the incident struck a chill into his heart. The twenty-nine days were evidently the balance of the month which Young had promised. What strength or courage could avail against an enemy armed with such mysterious powers? The hand which fastened that pin might have struck him to the heart, and he could never have known who had slain him. Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down to their breakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards. In the centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a burned stick apparently, the number 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible, and he did not enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward. He saw and he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27 had been painted upon the outside of his door. Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found that his unseen enemies had kept their register, and had marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were still left to him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the floors, occasionally they were on small placards stuck upon the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John Ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings proceeded. A horror which was almost superstitious came upon him at the sight of them. He became haggard and restless, and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now, and that was for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada. Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to ten, but there was no news of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled down, and still there came no sign of him. Whenever a horseman clattered down the road, or a driver shouted at his team, the old farmer hurried to the gate thinking that help had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give way to four and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned all hope of escape. Single-handed, and with his limited knowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement, he knew that he was powerless. The more-frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass along them without an order from the Council. Turn which way he would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to part with life itself before he consented to what he regarded as his daughter's dishonour. He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his troubles, and searching vainly for some way out of them. That morning had shown the figure 2 upon the wall of his house, and the next day would be the last of the allotted time. What was to happen then? All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled his imagination. And his daughter--what was to become of her after he was gone? Was there no escape from the invisible network which was drawn all round them. He sank his head upon the table and sobbed at the thought of his own impotence. What was that? In the silence he heard a gentle scratching sound--low, but very distinct in the quiet of the night. It came from the door of the house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listened intently. There was a pause for a few moments, and then the low insidious sound was repeated. Someone was evidently tapping very gently upon one of the panels of the door. Was it some midnight assassin who had come to carry out the murderous orders of the secret tribunal? Or was it some agent who was marking up that the last day of grace had arrived. John Ferrier felt that instant death would be better than the suspense which shook his nerves and chilled his heart. Springing forward he drew the bolt and threw the door open. Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine, and the stars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little front garden lay before the farmer's eyes bounded by the fence and gate, but neither there nor on the road was any human being to be seen. With a sigh of relief, Ferrier looked to right and to left, until happening to glance straight down at his own feet he saw to his astonishment a man lying flat upon his face upon the ground, with arms and legs all asprawl. So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against the wall with his hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to call out. His first thought was that the prostrate figure was that of some wounded or dying man, but as he watched it he saw it writhe along the ground and into the hall with the rapidity and noiselessness of a serpent. Once within the house the man sprang to his feet, closed the door, and revealed to the astonished farmer the fierce face and resolute expression of Jefferson Hope. "Good God!" gasped John Ferrier. "How you scared me! Whatever made you come in like that." "Give me food," the other said, hoarsely. "I have had no time for bite or sup for eight-and-forty hours." He flung himself upon the cold meat and bread which were still lying upon the table from his host's supper, and devoured it voraciously. "Does Lucy bear up well?" he asked, when he had satisfied his hunger. "Yes. She does not know the danger," her father answered. "That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is why I crawled my way up to it. They may be darned sharp, but they're not quite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter." John Ferrier felt a different man now that he realized that he had a devoted ally. He seized the young man's leathery hand and wrung it cordially. "You're a man to be proud of," he said. "There are not many who would come to share our danger and our troubles." "You've hit it there, pard," the young hunter answered. "I have a respect for you, but if you were alone in this business I'd think twice before I put my head into such a hornet's nest. It's Lucy that brings me here, and before harm comes on her I guess there will be one less o' the Hope family in Utah." "What are we to do?" "To-morrow is your last day, and unless you act to-night you are lost. I have a mule and two horses waiting in the Eagle Ravine. How much money have you?" "Two thousand dollars in gold, and five in notes." "That will do. I have as much more to add to it. We must push for Carson City through the mountains. You had best wake Lucy. It is as well that the servants do not sleep in the house." While Ferrier was absent, preparing his daughter for the approaching journey, Jefferson Hope packed all the eatables that he could find into a small parcel, and filled a stoneware jar with water, for he knew by experience that the mountain wells were few and far between. He had hardly completed his arrangements before the farmer returned with his daughter all dressed and ready for a start. The greeting between the lovers was warm, but brief, for minutes were precious, and there was much to be done. "We must make our start at once," said Jefferson Hope, speaking in a low but resolute voice, like one who realizes the greatness of the peril, but has steeled his heart to meet it. "The front and back entrances are watched, but with caution we may get away through the side window and across the fields. Once on the road we are only two miles from the Ravine where the horses are waiting. By daybreak we should be half-way through the mountains." "What if we are stopped," asked Ferrier. Hope slapped the revolver butt which protruded from the front of his tunic. "If they are too many for us we shall take two or three of them with us," he said with a sinister smile. The lights inside the house had all been extinguished, and from the darkened window Ferrier peered over the fields which had been his own, and which he was now about to abandon for ever. He had long nerved himself to the sacrifice, however, and the thought of the honour and happiness of his daughter outweighed any regret at his ruined fortunes. All looked so peaceful and happy, the rustling trees and the broad silent stretch of grain-land, that it was difficult to realize that the spirit of murder lurked through it all. Yet the white face and set expression of the young hunter showed that in his approach to the house he had seen enough to satisfy him upon that head. Ferrier carried the bag of gold and notes, Jefferson Hope had the scanty provisions and water, while Lucy had a small bundle containing a few of her more valued possessions. Opening the window very slowly and carefully, they waited until a dark cloud had somewhat obscured the night, and then one by one passed through into the little garden. With bated breath and crouching figures they stumbled across it, and gained the shelter of the hedge, which they skirted until they came to the gap which opened into the cornfields. They had just reached this point when the young man seized his two companions and dragged them down into the shadow, where they lay silent and trembling. It was as well that his prairie training had given Jefferson Hope the ears of a lynx. He and his friends had hardly crouched down before the melancholy hooting of a mountain owl was heard within a few yards of them, which was immediately answered by another hoot at a small distance. At the same moment a vague shadowy figure emerged from the gap for which they had been making, and uttered the plaintive signal cry again, on which a second man appeared out of the obscurity. "To-morrow at midnight," said the first who appeared to be in authority. "When the Whip-poor-Will calls three times." "It is well," returned the other. "Shall I tell Brother Drebber?" "Pass it on to him, and from him to the others. Nine to seven!" "Seven to five!" repeated the other, and the two figures flitted away in different directions. Their concluding words had evidently been some form of sign and countersign. The instant that their footsteps had died away in the distance, Jefferson Hope sprang to his feet, and helping his companions through the gap, led the way across the fields at the top of his speed, supporting and half-carrying the girl when her strength appeared to fail her. "Hurry on! hurry on!" he gasped from time to time. "We are through the line of sentinels. Everything depends on speed. Hurry on!" Once on the high road they made rapid progress. Only once did they meet anyone, and then they managed to slip into a field, and so avoid recognition. Before reaching the town the hunter branched away into a rugged and narrow footpath which led to the mountains. Two dark jagged peaks loomed above them through the darkness, and the defile which led between them was the Eagle Cañon in which the horses were awaiting them. With unerring instinct Jefferson Hope picked his way among the great boulders and along the bed of a dried-up watercourse, until he came to the retired corner, screened with rocks, where the faithful animals had been picketed. The girl was placed upon the mule, and old Ferrier upon one of the horses, with his money-bag, while Jefferson Hope led the other along the precipitous and dangerous path. It was a bewildering route for anyone who was not accustomed to face Nature in her wildest moods. On the one side a great crag towered up a thousand feet or more, black, stern, and menacing, with long basaltic columns upon its rugged surface like the ribs of some petrified monster. On the other hand a wild chaos of boulders and debris made all advance impossible. Between the two ran the irregular track, so narrow in places that they had to travel in Indian file, and so rough that only practised riders could have traversed it at all. Yet in spite of all dangers and difficulties, the hearts of the fugitives were light within them, for every step increased the distance between them and the terrible despotism from which they were flying. They soon had a proof, however, that they were still within the jurisdiction of the Saints. They had reached the very wildest and most desolate portion of the pass when the girl gave a startled cry, and pointed upwards. On a rock which overlooked the track, showing out dark and plain against the sky, there stood a solitary sentinel. He saw them as soon as they perceived him, and his military challenge of "Who goes there?" rang through the silent ravine. "Travellers for Nevada," said Jefferson Hope, with his hand upon the rifle which hung by his saddle. They could see the lonely watcher fingering his gun, and peering down at them as if dissatisfied at their reply. "By whose permission?" he asked. "The Holy Four," answered Ferrier. His Mormon experiences had taught him that that was the highest authority to which he could refer. "Nine from seven," cried the sentinel. "Seven from five," returned Jefferson Hope promptly, remembering the countersign which he had heard in the garden. "Pass, and the Lord go with you," said the voice from above. Beyond his post the path broadened out, and the horses were able to break into a trot. Looking back, they could see the solitary watcher leaning upon his gun, and knew that they had passed the outlying post of the chosen people, and that freedom lay before them. CHAPTER V The Avenging Angels All night their course lay through intricate defiles and over irregular and rock-strewn paths. More than once they lost their way, but Hope's intimate knowledge of the mountains enabled them to regain the track once more. When morning broke, a scene of marvellous though savage beauty lay before them. In every direction the great snow-capped peaks hemmed them in, peeping over each other's shoulders to the far horizon. So steep were the rocky banks on either side of them, that the larch and the pine seemed to be suspended over their heads, and to need only a gust of wind to come hurtling down upon them. Nor was the fear entirely an illusion, for the barren valley was thickly strewn with trees and boulders which had fallen in a similar manner. Even as they passed, a great rock came thundering down with a hoarse rattle which woke the echoes in the silent gorges, and startled the weary horses into a gallop. As the sun rose slowly above the eastern horizon, the caps of the great mountains lit up one after the other, like lamps at a festival, until they were all ruddy and glowing. The magnificent spectacle cheered the hearts of the three fugitives and gave them fresh energy. At a wild torrent which swept out of a ravine they called a halt and watered their horses, while they partook of a hasty breakfast. Lucy and her father would fain have rested longer, but Jefferson Hope was inexorable. "They will be upon our track by this time," he said. "Everything depends upon our speed. Once safe in Carson we may rest for the remainder of our lives." During the whole of that day they struggled on through the defiles, and by evening they calculated that they were more than thirty miles from their enemies. At night-time they chose the base of a beetling crag, where the rocks offered some protection from the chill wind, and there huddled together for warmth, they enjoyed a few hours' sleep. Before daybreak, however, they were up and on their way once more. They had seen no signs of any pursuers, and Jefferson Hope began to think that they were fairly out of the reach of the terrible organization whose enmity they had incurred. He little knew how far that iron grasp could reach, or how soon it was to close upon them and crush them. About the middle of the second day of their flight their scanty store of provisions began to run out. This gave the hunter little uneasiness, however, for there was game to be had among the mountains, and he had frequently before had to depend upon his rifle for the needs of life. Choosing a sheltered nook, he piled together a few dried branches and made a blazing fire, at which his companions might warm themselves, for they were now nearly five thousand feet above the sea level, and the air was bitter and keen. Having tethered the horses, and bade Lucy adieu, he threw his gun over his shoulder, and set out in search of whatever chance might throw in his way. Looking back he saw the old man and the young girl crouching over the blazing fire, while the three animals stood motionless in the back-ground. Then the intervening rocks hid them from his view. He walked for a couple of miles through one ravine after another without success, though from the marks upon the bark of the trees, and other indications, he judged that there were numerous bears in the vicinity. At last, after two or three hours' fruitless search, he was thinking of turning back in despair, when casting his eyes upwards he saw a sight which sent a thrill of pleasure through his heart. On the edge of a jutting pinnacle, three or four hundred feet above him, there stood a creature somewhat resembling a sheep in appearance, but armed with a pair of gigantic horns. The big-horn--for so it is called--was acting, probably, as a guardian over a flock which were invisible to the hunter; but fortunately it was heading in the opposite direction, and had not perceived him. Lying on his face, he rested his rifle upon a rock, and took a long and steady aim before drawing the trigger. The animal sprang into the air, tottered for a moment upon the edge of the precipice, and then came crashing down into the valley beneath. The creature was too unwieldy to lift, so the hunter contented himself with cutting away one haunch and part of the flank. With this trophy over his shoulder, he hastened to retrace his steps, for the evening was already drawing in. He had hardly started, however, before he realized the difficulty which faced him. In his eagerness he had wandered far past the ravines which were known to him, and it was no easy matter to pick out the path which he had taken. The valley in which he found himself divided and sub-divided into many gorges, which were so like each other that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. He followed one for a mile or more until he came to a mountain torrent which he was sure that he had never seen before. Convinced that he had taken the wrong turn, he tried another, but with the same result. Night was coming on rapidly, and it was almost dark before he at last found himself in a defile which was familiar to him. Even then it was no easy matter to keep to the right track, for the moon had not yet risen, and the high cliffs on either side made the obscurity more profound. Weighed down with his burden, and weary from his exertions, he stumbled along, keeping up his heart by the reflection that every step brought him nearer to Lucy, and that he carried with him enough to ensure them food for the remainder of their journey. He had now come to the mouth of the very defile in which he had left them. Even in the darkness he could recognize the outline of the cliffs which bounded it. They must, he reflected, be awaiting him anxiously, for he had been absent nearly five hours. In the gladness of his heart he put his hands to his mouth and made the glen re-echo to a loud halloo as a signal that he was coming. He paused and listened for an answer. None came save his own cry, which clattered up the dreary silent ravines, and was borne back to his ears in countless repetitions. Again he shouted, even louder than before, and again no whisper came back from the friends whom he had left such a short time ago. A vague, nameless dread came over him, and he hurried onwards frantically, dropping the precious food in his agitation. When he turned the corner, he came full in sight of the spot where the fire had been lit. There was still a glowing pile of wood ashes there, but it had evidently not been tended since his departure. The same dead silence still reigned all round. With his fears all changed to convictions, he hurried on. There was no living creature near the remains of the fire: animals, man, maiden, all were gone. It was only too clear that some sudden and terrible disaster had occurred during his absence--a disaster which had embraced them all, and yet had left no traces behind it. Bewildered and stunned by this blow, Jefferson Hope felt his head spin round, and had to lean upon his rifle to save himself from falling. He was essentially a man of action, however, and speedily recovered from his temporary impotence. Seizing a half-consumed piece of wood from the smouldering fire, he blew it into a flame, and proceeded with its help to examine the little camp. The ground was all stamped down by the feet of horses, showing that a large party of mounted men had overtaken the fugitives, and the direction of their tracks proved that they had afterwards turned back to Salt Lake City. Had they carried back both of his companions with them? Jefferson Hope had almost persuaded himself that they must have done so, when his eye fell upon an object which made every nerve of his body tingle within him. A little way on one side of the camp was a low-lying heap of reddish soil, which had assuredly not been there before. There was no mistaking it for anything but a newly-dug grave. As the young hunter approached it, he perceived that a stick had been planted on it, with a sheet of paper stuck in the cleft fork of it. The inscription upon the paper was brief, but to the point: JOHN FERRIER, Formerly of Salt Lake City, Died August 4th, 1860. The sturdy old man, whom he had left so short a time before, was gone, then, and this was all his epitaph. Jefferson Hope looked wildly round to see if there was a second grave, but there was no sign of one. Lucy had been carried back by their terrible pursuers to fulfil her original destiny, by becoming one of the harem of the Elder's son. As the young fellow realized the certainty of her fate, and his own powerlessness to prevent it, he wished that he, too, was lying with the old farmer in his last silent resting-place. Again, however, his active spirit shook off the lethargy which springs from despair. If there was nothing else left to him, he could at least devote his life to revenge. With indomitable patience and perseverance, Jefferson Hope possessed also a power of sustained vindictiveness, which he may have learned from the Indians amongst whom he had lived. As he stood by the desolate fire, he felt that the only one thing which could assuage his grief would be thorough and complete retribution, brought by his own hand upon his enemies. His strong will and untiring energy should, he determined, be devoted to that one end. With a grim, white face, he retraced his steps to where he had dropped the food, and having stirred up the smouldering fire, he cooked enough to last him for a few days. This he made up into a bundle, and, tired as he was, he set himself to walk back through the mountains upon the track of the avenging angels. For five days he toiled footsore and weary through the defiles which he had already traversed on horseback. At night he flung himself down among the rocks, and snatched a few hours of sleep; but before daybreak he was always well on his way. On the sixth day, he reached the Eagle Cañon, from which they had commenced their ill-fated flight. Thence he could look down upon the home of the saints. Worn and exhausted, he leaned upon his rifle and shook his gaunt hand fiercely at the silent widespread city beneath him. As he looked at it, he observed that there were flags in some of the principal streets, and other signs of festivity. He was still speculating as to what this might mean when he heard the clatter of horse's hoofs, and saw a mounted man riding towards him. As he approached, he recognized him as a Mormon named Cowper, to whom he had rendered services at different times. He therefore accosted him when he got up to him, with the object of finding out what Lucy Ferrier's fate had been. "I am Jefferson Hope," he said. "You remember me." The Mormon looked at him with undisguised astonishment--indeed, it was difficult to recognize in this tattered, unkempt wanderer, with ghastly white face and fierce, wild eyes, the spruce young hunter of former days. Having, however, at last, satisfied himself as to his identity, the man's surprise changed to consternation. "You are mad to come here," he cried. "It is as much as my own life is worth to be seen talking with you. There is a warrant against you from the Holy Four for assisting the Ferriers away." "I don't fear them, or their warrant," Hope said, earnestly. "You must know something of this matter, Cowper. I conjure you by everything you hold dear to answer a few questions. We have always been friends. For God's sake, don't refuse to answer me." "What is it?" the Mormon asked uneasily. "Be quick. The very rocks have ears and the trees eyes." "What has become of Lucy Ferrier?" "She was married yesterday to young Drebber. Hold up, man, hold up, you have no life left in you." "Don't mind me," said Hope faintly. He was white to the very lips, and had sunk down on the stone against which he had been leaning. "Married, you say?" "Married yesterday--that's what those flags are for on the Endowment House. There was some words between young Drebber and young Stangerson as to which was to have her. They'd both been in the party that followed them, and Stangerson had shot her father, which seemed to give him the best claim; but when they argued it out in council, Drebber's party was the stronger, so the Prophet gave her over to him. No one won't have her very long though, for I saw death in her face yesterday. She is more like a ghost than a woman. Are you off, then?" "Yes, I am off," said Jefferson Hope, who had risen from his seat. His face might have been chiselled out of marble, so hard and set was its expression, while its eyes glowed with a baleful light. "Where are you going?" "Never mind," he answered; and, slinging his weapon over his shoulder, strode off down the gorge and so away into the heart of the mountains to the haunts of the wild beasts. Amongst them all there was none so fierce and so dangerous as himself. The prediction of the Mormon was only too well fulfilled. Whether it was the terrible death of her father or the effects of the hateful marriage into which she had been forced, poor Lucy never held up her head again, but pined away and died within a month. Her sottish husband, who had married her principally for the sake of John Ferrier's property, did not affect any great grief at his bereavement; but his other wives mourned over her, and sat up with her the night before the burial, as is the Mormon custom. They were grouped round the bier in the early hours of the morning, when, to their inexpressible fear and astonishment, the door was flung open, and a savage-looking, weather-beaten man in tattered garments strode into the room. Without a glance or a word to the cowering women, he walked up to the white silent figure which had once contained the pure soul of Lucy Ferrier. Stooping over her, he pressed his lips reverently to her cold forehead, and then, snatching up her hand, he took the wedding-ring from her finger. "She shall not be buried in that," he cried with a fierce snarl, and before an alarm could be raised sprang down the stairs and was gone. So strange and so brief was the episode, that the watchers might have found it hard to believe it themselves or persuade other people of it, had it not been for the undeniable fact that the circlet of gold which marked her as having been a bride had disappeared. For some months Jefferson Hope lingered among the mountains, leading a strange wild life, and nursing in his heart the fierce desire for vengeance which possessed him. Tales were told in the City of the weird figure which was seen prowling about the suburbs, and which haunted the lonely mountain gorges. Once a bullet whistled through Stangerson's window and flattened itself upon the wall within a foot of him. On another occasion, as Drebber passed under a cliff a great boulder crashed down on him, and he only escaped a terrible death by throwing himself upon his face. The two young Mormons were not long in discovering the reason of these attempts upon their lives, and led repeated expeditions into the mountains in the hope of capturing or killing their enemy, but always without success. Then they adopted the precaution of never going out alone or after nightfall, and of having their houses guarded. After a time they were able to relax these measures, for nothing was either heard or seen of their opponent, and they hoped that time had cooled his vindictiveness. Far from doing so, it had, if anything, augmented it. The hunter's mind was of a hard, unyielding nature, and the predominant idea of revenge had taken such complete possession of it that there was no room for any other emotion. He was, however, above all things practical. He soon realized that even his iron constitution could not stand the incessant strain which he was putting upon it. Exposure and want of wholesome food were wearing him out. If he died like a dog among the mountains, what was to become of his revenge then? And yet such a death was sure to overtake him if he persisted. He felt that that was to play his enemy's game, so he reluctantly returned to the old Nevada mines, there to recruit his health and to amass money enough to allow him to pursue his object without privation. His intention had been to be absent a year at the most, but a combination of unforeseen circumstances prevented his leaving the mines for nearly five. At the end of that time, however, his memory of his wrongs and his craving for revenge were quite as keen as on that memorable night when he had stood by John Ferrier's grave. Disguised, and under an assumed name, he returned to Salt Lake City, careless what became of his own life, as long as he obtained what he knew to be justice. There he found evil tidings awaiting him. There had been a schism among the Chosen People a few months before, some of the younger members of the Church having rebelled against the authority of the Elders, and the result had been the secession of a certain number of the malcontents, who had left Utah and become Gentiles. Among these had been Drebber and Stangerson; and no one knew whither they had gone. Rumour reported that Drebber had managed to convert a large part of his property into money, and that he had departed a wealthy man, while his companion, Stangerson, was comparatively poor. There was no clue at all, however, as to their whereabouts. Many a man, however vindictive, would have abandoned all thought of revenge in the face of such a difficulty, but Jefferson Hope never faltered for a moment. With the small competence he possessed, eked out by such employment as he could pick up, he travelled from town to town through the United States in quest of his enemies. Year passed into year, his black hair turned grizzled, but still he wandered on, a human bloodhound, with his mind wholly set upon the one object upon which he had devoted his life. At last his perseverance was rewarded. It was but a glance of a face in a window, but that one glance told him that Cleveland in Ohio possessed the men whom he was in pursuit of. He returned to his miserable lodgings with his plan of vengeance all arranged. It chanced, however, that Drebber, looking from his window, had recognized the vagrant in the street, and had read murder in his eyes. He hurried before a justice of the peace, accompanied by Stangerson, who had become his private secretary, and represented to him that they were in danger of their lives from the jealousy and hatred of an old rival. That evening Jefferson Hope was taken into custody, and not being able to find sureties, was detained for some weeks. When at last he was liberated, it was only to find that Drebber's house was deserted, and that he and his secretary had departed for Europe. Again the avenger had been foiled, and again his concentrated hatred urged him to continue the pursuit. Funds were wanting, however, and for some time he had to return to work, saving every dollar for his approaching journey. At last, having collected enough to keep life in him, he departed for Europe, and tracked his enemies from city to city, working his way in any menial capacity, but never overtaking the fugitives. When he reached St. Petersburg they had departed for Paris; and when he followed them there he learned that they had just set off for Copenhagen. At the Danish capital he was again a few days late, for they had journeyed on to London, where he at last succeeded in running them to earth. As to what occurred there, we cannot do better than quote the old hunter's own account, as duly recorded in Dr. Watson's Journal, to which we are already under such obligations. CHAPTER VI A Continuation Of The Reminiscences Of John Watson, M.D. Our prisoner's furious resistance did not apparently indicate any ferocity in his disposition towards ourselves, for on finding himself powerless, he smiled in an affable manner, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. "I guess you're going to take me to the police-station," he remarked to Sherlock Holmes. "My cab's at the door. If you'll loose my legs I'll walk down to it. I'm not so light to lift as I used to be." Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances as if they thought this proposition rather a bold one; but Holmes at once took the prisoner at his word, and loosened the towel which we had bound round his ankles. He rose and stretched his legs, as though to assure himself that they were free once more. I remember that I thought to myself, as I eyed him, that I had seldom seen a more powerfully built man; and his dark sunburned face bore an expression of determination and energy which was as formidable as his personal strength. "If there's a vacant place for a chief of the police, I reckon you are the man for it," he said, gazing with undisguised admiration at my fellow-lodger. "The way you kept on my trail was a caution." "You had better come with me," said Holmes to the two detectives. "I can drive you," said Lestrade. "Good! and Gregson can come inside with me. You too, Doctor, you have taken an interest in the case and may as well stick to us." I assented gladly, and we all descended together. Our prisoner made no attempt at escape, but stepped calmly into the cab which had been his, and we followed him. Lestrade mounted the box, whipped up the horse, and brought us in a very short time to our destination. We were ushered into a small chamber where a police Inspector noted down our prisoner's name and the names of the men with whose murder he had been charged. The official was a white-faced unemotional man, who went through his duties in a dull mechanical way. "The prisoner will be put before the magistrates in the course of the week," he said; "in the mean time, Mr. Jefferson Hope, have you anything that you wish to say? I must warn you that your words will be taken down, and may be used against you." "I've got a good deal to say," our prisoner said slowly. "I want to tell you gentlemen all about it." "Hadn't you better reserve that for your trial?" asked the Inspector. "I may never be tried," he answered. "You needn't look startled. It isn't suicide I am thinking of. Are you a Doctor?" He turned his fierce dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question. "Yes; I am," I answered. "Then put your hand here," he said, with a smile, motioning with his manacled wrists towards his chest. I did so; and became at once conscious of an extraordinary throbbing and commotion which was going on inside. The walls of his chest seemed to thrill and quiver as a frail building would do inside when some powerful engine was at work. In the silence of the room I could hear a dull humming and buzzing noise which proceeded from the same source. "Why," I cried, "you have an aortic aneurism!" "That's what they call it," he said, placidly. "I went to a Doctor last week about it, and he told me that it is bound to burst before many days passed. It has been getting worse for years. I got it from over-exposure and under-feeding among the Salt Lake Mountains. I've done my work now, and I don't care how soon I go, but I should like to leave some account of the business behind me. I don't want to be remembered as a common cut-throat." The Inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his story. "Do you consider, Doctor, that there is immediate danger?" the former asked. "Most certainly there is," I answered. "In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to take his statement," said the Inspector. "You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again warn you will be taken down." "I'll sit down, with your leave," the prisoner said, suiting the action to the word. "This aneurism of mine makes me easily tired, and the tussle we had half an hour ago has not mended matters. I'm on the brink of the grave, and I am not likely to lie to you. Every word I say is the absolute truth, and how you use it is a matter of no consequence to me." With these words, Jefferson Hope leaned back in his chair and began the following remarkable statement. He spoke in a calm and methodical manner, as though the events which he narrated were commonplace enough. I can vouch for the accuracy of the subjoined account, for I have had access to Lestrade's note-book, in which the prisoner's words were taken down exactly as they were uttered. "It don't much matter to you why I hated these men," he said; "it's enough that they were guilty of the death of two human beings--a father and a daughter--and that they had, therefore, forfeited their own lives. After the lapse of time that has passed since their crime, it was impossible for me to secure a conviction against them in any court. I knew of their guilt though, and I determined that I should be judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one. You'd have done the same, if you have any manhood in you, if you had been in my place. "That girl that I spoke of was to have married me twenty years ago. She was forced into marrying that same Drebber, and broke her heart over it. I took the marriage ring from her dead finger, and I vowed that his dying eyes should rest upon that very ring, and that his last thoughts should be of the crime for which he was punished. I have carried it about with me, and have followed him and his accomplice over two continents until I caught them. They thought to tire me out, but they could not do it. If I die to-morrow, as is likely enough, I die knowing that my work in this world is done, and well done. They have perished, and by my hand. There is nothing left for me to hope for, or to desire. "They were rich and I was poor, so that it was no easy matter for me to follow them. When I got to London my pocket was about empty, and I found that I must turn my hand to something for my living. Driving and riding are as natural to me as walking, so I applied at a cabowner's office, and soon got employment. I was to bring a certain sum a week to the owner, and whatever was over that I might keep for myself. There was seldom much over, but I managed to scrape along somehow. The hardest job was to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, I got on pretty well. "It was some time before I found out where my two gentlemen were living; but I inquired and inquired until at last I dropped across them. They were at a boarding-house at Camberwell, over on the other side of the river. When once I found them out I knew that I had them at my mercy. I had grown my beard, and there was no chance of their recognizing me. I would dog them and follow them until I saw my opportunity. I was determined that they should not escape me again. "They were very near doing it for all that. Go where they would about London, I was always at their heels. Sometimes I followed them on my cab, and sometimes on foot, but the former was the best, for then they could not get away from me. It was only early in the morning or late at night that I could earn anything, so that I began to get behind hand with my employer. I did not mind that, however, as long as I could lay my hand upon the men I wanted. "They were very cunning, though. They must have thought that there was some chance of their being followed, for they would never go out alone, and never after nightfall. During two weeks I drove behind them every day, and never once saw them separate. Drebber himself was drunk half the time, but Stangerson was not to be caught napping. I watched them late and early, but never saw the ghost of a chance; but I was not discouraged, for something told me that the hour had almost come. My only fear was that this thing in my chest might burst a little too soon and leave my work undone. "At last, one evening I was driving up and down Torquay Terrace, as the street was called in which they boarded, when I saw a cab drive up to their door. Presently some luggage was brought out, and after a time Drebber and Stangerson followed it, and drove off. I whipped up my horse and kept within sight of them, feeling very ill at ease, for I feared that they were going to shift their quarters. At Euston Station they got out, and I left a boy to hold my horse, and followed them on to the platform. I heard them ask for the Liverpool train, and the guard answer that one had just gone and there would not be another for some hours. Stangerson seemed to be put out at that, but Drebber was rather pleased than otherwise. I got so close to them in the bustle that I could hear every word that passed between them. Drebber said that he had a little business of his own to do, and that if the other would wait for him he would soon rejoin him. His companion remonstrated with him, and reminded him that they had resolved to stick together. Drebber answered that the matter was a delicate one, and that he must go alone. I could not catch what Stangerson said to that, but the other burst out swearing, and reminded him that he was nothing more than his paid servant, and that he must not presume to dictate to him. On that the Secretary gave it up as a bad job, and simply bargained with him that if he missed the last train he should rejoin him at Halliday's Private Hotel; to which Drebber answered that he would be back on the platform before eleven, and made his way out of the station. "The moment for which I had waited so long had at last come. I had my enemies within my power. Together they could protect each other, but singly they were at my mercy. I did not act, however, with undue precipitation. My plans were already formed. There is no satisfaction in vengeance unless the offender has time to realize who it is that strikes him, and why retribution has come upon him. I had my plans arranged by which I should have the opportunity of making the man who had wronged me understand that his old sin had found him out. It chanced that some days before a gentleman who had been engaged in looking over some houses in the Brixton Road had dropped the key of one of them in my carriage. It was claimed that same evening, and returned; but in the interval I had taken a moulding of it, and had a duplicate constructed. By means of this I had access to at least one spot in this great city where I could rely upon being free from interruption. How to get Drebber to that house was the difficult problem which I had now to solve. "He walked down the road and went into one or two liquor shops, staying for nearly half-an-hour in the last of them. When he came out he staggered in his walk, and was evidently pretty well on. There was a hansom just in front of me, and he hailed it. I followed it so close that the nose of my horse was within a yard of his driver the whole way. We rattled across Waterloo Bridge and through miles of streets, until, to my astonishment, we found ourselves back in the Terrace in which he had boarded. I could not imagine what his intention was in returning there; but I went on and pulled up my cab a hundred yards or so from the house. He entered it, and his hansom drove away. Give me a glass of water, if you please. My mouth gets dry with the talking." I handed him the glass, and he drank it down. "That's better," he said. "Well, I waited for a quarter of an hour, or more, when suddenly there came a noise like people struggling inside the house. Next moment the door was flung open and two men appeared, one of whom was Drebber, and the other was a young chap whom I had never seen before. This fellow had Drebber by the collar, and when they came to the head of the steps he gave him a shove and a kick which sent him half across the road. 'You hound,' he cried, shaking his stick at him; 'I'll teach you to insult an honest girl!' He was so hot that I think he would have thrashed Drebber with his cudgel, only that the cur staggered away down the road as fast as his legs would carry him. He ran as far as the corner, and then, seeing my cab, he hailed me and jumped in. 'Drive me to Halliday's Private Hotel,' said he. "When I had him fairly inside my cab, my heart jumped so with joy that I feared lest at this last moment my aneurism might go wrong. I drove along slowly, weighing in my own mind what it was best to do. I might take him right out into the country, and there in some deserted lane have my last interview with him. I had almost decided upon this, when he solved the problem for me. The craze for drink had seized him again, and he ordered me to pull up outside a gin palace. He went in, leaving word that I should wait for him. There he remained until closing time, and when he came out he was so far gone that I knew the game was in my own hands. "Don't imagine that I intended to kill him in cold blood. It would only have been rigid justice if I had done so, but I could not bring myself to do it. I had long determined that he should have a show for his life if he chose to take advantage of it. Among the many billets which I have filled in America during my wandering life, I was once janitor and sweeper out of the laboratory at York College. One day the professor was lecturing on poisons, and he showed his students some alkaloid, as he called it, which he had extracted from some South American arrow poison, and which was so powerful that the least grain meant instant death. I spotted the bottle in which this preparation was kept, and when they were all gone, I helped myself to a little of it. I was a fairly good dispenser, so I worked this alkaloid into small, soluble pills, and each pill I put in a box with a similar pill made without the poison. I determined at the time that when I had my chance, my gentlemen should each have a draw out of one of these boxes, while I ate the pill that remained. It would be quite as deadly, and a good deal less noisy than firing across a handkerchief. From that day I had always my pill boxes about with me, and the time had now come when I was to use them. "It was nearer one than twelve, and a wild, bleak night, blowing hard and raining in torrents. Dismal as it was outside, I was glad within--so glad that I could have shouted out from pure exultation. If any of you gentlemen have ever pined for a thing, and longed for it during twenty long years, and then suddenly found it within your reach, you would understand my feelings. I lit a cigar, and puffed at it to steady my nerves, but my hands were trembling, and my temples throbbing with excitement. As I drove, I could see old John Ferrier and sweet Lucy looking at me out of the darkness and smiling at me, just as plain as I see you all in this room. All the way they were ahead of me, one on each side of the horse until I pulled up at the house in the Brixton Road. "There was not a soul to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, except the dripping of the rain. When I looked in at the window, I found Drebber all huddled together in a drunken sleep. I shook him by the arm, 'It's time to get out,' I said. "'All right, cabby,' said he. "I suppose he thought we had come to the hotel that he had mentioned, for he got out without another word, and followed me down the garden. I had to walk beside him to keep him steady, for he was still a little top-heavy. When we came to the door, I opened it, and led him into the front room. I give you my word that all the way, the father and the daughter were walking in front of us. "'It's infernally dark,' said he, stamping about. "'We'll soon have a light,' I said, striking a match and putting it to a wax candle which I had brought with me. 'Now, Enoch Drebber,' I continued, turning to him, and holding the light to my own face, 'who am I?' "He gazed at me with bleared, drunken eyes for a moment, and then I saw a horror spring up in them, and convulse his whole features, which showed me that he knew me. He staggered back with a livid face, and I saw the perspiration break out upon his brow, while his teeth chattered in his head. At the sight, I leaned my back against the door and laughed loud and long. I had always known that vengeance would be sweet, but I had never hoped for the contentment of soul which now possessed me. "'You dog!' I said; 'I have hunted you from Salt Lake City to St. Petersburg, and you have always escaped me. Now, at last your wanderings have come to an end, for either you or I shall never see to-morrow's sun rise.' He shrunk still further away as I spoke, and I could see on his face that he thought I was mad. So I was for the time. The pulses in my temples beat like sledge-hammers, and I believe I would have had a fit of some sort if the blood had not gushed from my nose and relieved me. "'What do you think of Lucy Ferrier now?' I cried, locking the door, and shaking the key in his face. 'Punishment has been slow in coming, but it has overtaken you at last.' I saw his coward lips tremble as I spoke. He would have begged for his life, but he knew well that it was useless. "'Would you murder me?' he stammered. "'There is no murder,' I answered. 'Who talks of murdering a mad dog? What mercy had you upon my poor darling, when you dragged her from her slaughtered father, and bore her away to your accursed and shameless harem.' "'It was not I who killed her father,' he cried. "'But it was you who broke her innocent heart,' I shrieked, thrusting the box before him. 'Let the high God judge between us. Choose and eat. There is death in one and life in the other. I shall take what you leave. Let us see if there is justice upon the earth, or if we are ruled by chance.' "He cowered away with wild cries and prayers for mercy, but I drew my knife and held it to his throat until he had obeyed me. Then I swallowed the other, and we stood facing one another in silence for a minute or more, waiting to see which was to live and which was to die. Shall I ever forget the look which came over his face when the first warning pangs told him that the poison was in his system? I laughed as I saw it, and held Lucy's marriage ring in front of his eyes. It was but for a moment, for the action of the alkaloid is rapid. A spasm of pain contorted his features; he threw his hands out in front of him, staggered, and then, with a hoarse cry, fell heavily upon the floor. I turned him over with my foot, and placed my hand upon his heart. There was no movement. He was dead! "The blood had been streaming from my nose, but I had taken no notice of it. I don't know what it was that put it into my head to write upon the wall with it. Perhaps it was some mischievous idea of setting the police upon a wrong track, for I felt light-hearted and cheerful. I remembered a German being found in New York with RACHE written up above him, and it was argued at the time in the newspapers that the secret societies must have done it. I guessed that what puzzled the New Yorkers would puzzle the Londoners, so I dipped my finger in my own blood and printed it on a convenient place on the wall. Then I walked down to my cab and found that there was nobody about, and that the night was still very wild. I had driven some distance when I put my hand into the pocket in which I usually kept Lucy's ring, and found that it was not there. I was thunderstruck at this, for it was the only memento that I had of her. Thinking that I might have dropped it when I stooped over Drebber's body, I drove back, and leaving my cab in a side street, I went boldly up to the house--for I was ready to dare anything rather than lose the ring. When I arrived there, I walked right into the arms of a police-officer who was coming out, and only managed to disarm his suspicions by pretending to be hopelessly drunk. "That was how Enoch Drebber came to his end. All I had to do then was to do as much for Stangerson, and so pay off John Ferrier's debt. I knew that he was staying at Halliday's Private Hotel, and I hung about all day, but he never came out. I fancy that he suspected something when Drebber failed to put in an appearance. He was cunning, was Stangerson, and always on his guard. If he thought he could keep me off by staying indoors he was very much mistaken. I soon found out which was the window of his bedroom, and early next morning I took advantage of some ladders which were lying in the lane behind the hotel, and so made my way into his room in the grey of the dawn. I woke him up and told him that the hour had come when he was to answer for the life he had taken so long before. I described Drebber's death to him, and I gave him the same choice of the poisoned pills. Instead of grasping at the chance of safety which that offered him, he sprang from his bed and flew at my throat. In self-defence I stabbed him to the heart. It would have been the same in any case, for Providence would never have allowed his guilty hand to pick out anything but the poison. "I have little more to say, and it's as well, for I am about done up. I went on cabbing it for a day or so, intending to keep at it until I could save enough to take me back to America. I was standing in the yard when a ragged youngster asked if there was a cabby there called Jefferson Hope, and said that his cab was wanted by a gentleman at 221b, Baker Street. I went round, suspecting no harm, and the next thing I knew, this young man here had the bracelets on my wrists, and as neatly snackled as ever I saw in my life. That's the whole of my story, gentlemen. You may consider me to be a murderer; but I hold that I am just as much an officer of justice as you are." So thrilling had the man's narrative been, and his manner was so impressive that we had sat silent and absorbed. Even the professional detectives, blase as they were in every detail of crime, appeared to be keenly interested in the man's story. When he finished we sat for some minutes in a stillness which was only broken by the scratching of Lestrade's pencil as he gave the finishing touches to his shorthand account. "There is only one point on which I should like a little more information," Sherlock Holmes said at last. "Who was your accomplice who came for the ring which I advertised?" The prisoner winked at my friend jocosely. "I can tell my own secrets," he said, "but I don't get other people into trouble. I saw your advertisement, and I thought it might be a plant, or it might be the ring which I wanted. My friend volunteered to go and see. I think you'll own he did it smartly." "Not a doubt of that," said Holmes heartily. "Now, gentlemen," the Inspector remarked gravely, "the forms of the law must be complied with. On Thursday the prisoner will be brought before the magistrates, and your attendance will be required. Until then I will be responsible for him." He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson Hope was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and I made our way out of the Station and took a cab back to Baker Street. CHAPTER VII The Conclusion We had all been warned to appear before the magistrates upon the Thursday; but when the Thursday came there was no occasion for our testimony. A higher Judge had taken the matter in hand, and Jefferson Hope had been summoned before a tribunal where strict justice would be meted out to him. On the very night after his capture the aneurism burst, and he was found in the morning stretched upon the floor of the cell, with a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able in his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well done. "Gregson and Lestrade will be wild about his death," Holmes remarked, as we chatted it over next evening. "Where will their grand advertisement be now?" "I don't see that they had very much to do with his capture," I answered. "What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence," returned my companion, bitterly. "The question is, what can you make people believe that you have done. Never mind," he continued, more brightly, after a pause. "I would not have missed the investigation for anything. There has been no better case within my recollection. Simple as it was, there were several most instructive points about it." "Simple!" I ejaculated. "Well, really, it can hardly be described as otherwise," said Sherlock Holmes, smiling at my surprise. "The proof of its intrinsic simplicity is, that without any help save a few very ordinary deductions I was able to lay my hand upon the criminal within three days." "That is true," said I. "I have already explained to you that what is out of the common is usually a guide rather than a hindrance. In solving a problem of this sort, the grand thing is to be able to reason backwards. That is a very useful accomplishment, and a very easy one, but people do not practise it much. In the every-day affairs of life it is more useful to reason forwards, and so the other comes to be neglected. There are fifty who can reason synthetically for one who can reason analytically." "I confess," said I, "that I do not quite follow you." "I hardly expected that you would. Let me see if I can make it clearer. Most people, if you describe a train of events to them, will tell you what the result would be. They can put those events together in their minds, and argue from them that something will come to pass. There are few people, however, who, if you told them a result, would be able to evolve from their own inner consciousness what the steps were which led up to that result. This power is what I mean when I talk of reasoning backwards, or analytically." "I understand," said I. "Now this was a case in which you were given the result and had to find everything else for yourself. Now let me endeavour to show you the different steps in my reasoning. To begin at the beginning. I approached the house, as you know, on foot, and with my mind entirely free from all impressions. I naturally began by examining the roadway, and there, as I have already explained to you, I saw clearly the marks of a cab, which, I ascertained by inquiry, must have been there during the night. I satisfied myself that it was a cab and not a private carriage by the narrow gauge of the wheels. The ordinary London growler is considerably less wide than a gentleman's brougham. "This was the first point gained. I then walked slowly down the garden path, which happened to be composed of a clay soil, peculiarly suitable for taking impressions. No doubt it appeared to you to be a mere trampled line of slush, but to my trained eyes every mark upon its surface had a meaning. There is no branch of detective science which is so important and so much neglected as the art of tracing footsteps. Happily, I have always laid great stress upon it, and much practice has made it second nature to me. I saw the heavy footmarks of the constables, but I saw also the track of the two men who had first passed through the garden. It was easy to tell that they had been before the others, because in places their marks had been entirely obliterated by the others coming upon the top of them. In this way my second link was formed, which told me that the nocturnal visitors were two in number, one remarkable for his height (as I calculated from the length of his stride), and the other fashionably dressed, to judge from the small and elegant impression left by his boots. "On entering the house this last inference was confirmed. My well-booted man lay before me. The tall one, then, had done the murder, if murder there was. There was no wound upon the dead man's person, but the agitated expression upon his face assured me that he had foreseen his fate before it came upon him. Men who die from heart disease, or any sudden natural cause, never by any chance exhibit agitation upon their features. Having sniffed the dead man's lips I detected a slightly sour smell, and I came to the conclusion that he had had poison forced upon him. Again, I argued that it had been forced upon him from the hatred and fear expressed upon his face. By the method of exclusion, I had arrived at this result, for no other hypothesis would meet the facts. Do not imagine that it was a very unheard of idea. The forcible administration of poison is by no means a new thing in criminal annals. The cases of Dolsky in Odessa, and of Leturier in Montpellier, will occur at once to any toxicologist. "And now came the great question as to the reason why. Robbery had not been the object of the murder, for nothing was taken. Was it politics, then, or was it a woman? That was the question which confronted me. I was inclined from the first to the latter supposition. Political assassins are only too glad to do their work and to fly. This murder had, on the contrary, been done most deliberately, and the perpetrator had left his tracks all over the room, showing that he had been there all the time. It must have been a private wrong, and not a political one, which called for such a methodical revenge. When the inscription was discovered upon the wall I was more inclined than ever to my opinion. The thing was too evidently a blind. When the ring was found, however, it settled the question. Clearly the murderer had used it to remind his victim of some dead or absent woman. It was at this point that I asked Gregson whether he had enquired in his telegram to Cleveland as to any particular point in Mr. Drebber's former career. He answered, you remember, in the negative. "I then proceeded to make a careful examination of the room, which confirmed me in my opinion as to the murderer's height, and furnished me with the additional details as to the Trichinopoly cigar and the length of his nails. I had already come to the conclusion, since there were no signs of a struggle, that the blood which covered the floor had burst from the murderer's nose in his excitement. I could perceive that the track of blood coincided with the track of his feet. It is seldom that any man, unless he is very full-blooded, breaks out in this way through emotion, so I hazarded the opinion that the criminal was probably a robust and ruddy-faced man. Events proved that I had judged correctly. "Having left the house, I proceeded to do what Gregson had neglected. I telegraphed to the head of the police at Cleveland, limiting my enquiry to the circumstances connected with the marriage of Enoch Drebber. The answer was conclusive. It told me that Drebber had already applied for the protection of the law against an old rival in love, named Jefferson Hope, and that this same Hope was at present in Europe. I knew now that I held the clue to the mystery in my hand, and all that remained was to secure the murderer. "I had already determined in my own mind that the man who had walked into the house with Drebber, was none other than the man who had driven the cab. The marks in the road showed me that the horse had wandered on in a way which would have been impossible had there been anyone in charge of it. Where, then, could the driver be, unless he were inside the house? Again, it is absurd to suppose that any sane man would carry out a deliberate crime under the very eyes, as it were, of a third person, who was sure to betray him. Lastly, supposing one man wished to dog another through London, what better means could he adopt than to turn cabdriver. All these considerations led me to the irresistible conclusion that Jefferson Hope was to be found among the jarveys of the Metropolis. "If he had been one there was no reason to believe that he had ceased to be. On the contrary, from his point of view, any sudden chance would be likely to draw attention to himself. He would, probably, for a time at least, continue to perform his duties. There was no reason to suppose that he was going under an assumed name. Why should he change his name in a country where no one knew his original one? I therefore organized my Street Arab detective corps, and sent them systematically to every cab proprietor in London until they ferreted out the man that I wanted. How well they succeeded, and how quickly I took advantage of it, are still fresh in your recollection. The murder of Stangerson was an incident which was entirely unexpected, but which could hardly in any case have been prevented. Through it, as you know, I came into possession of the pills, the existence of which I had already surmised. You see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw." "It is wonderful!" I cried. "Your merits should be publicly recognized. You should publish an account of the case. If you won't, I will for you." "You may do what you like, Doctor," he answered. "See here!" he continued, handing a paper over to me, "look at this!" It was the Echo for the day, and the paragraph to which he pointed was devoted to the case in question. "The public," it said, "have lost a sensational treat through the sudden death of the man Hope, who was suspected of the murder of Mr. Enoch Drebber and of Mr. Joseph Stangerson. The details of the case will probably be never known now, though we are informed upon good authority that the crime was the result of an old standing and romantic feud, in which love and Mormonism bore a part. It seems that both the victims belonged, in their younger days, to the Latter Day Saints, and Hope, the deceased prisoner, hails also from Salt Lake City. If the case has had no other effect, it, at least, brings out in the most striking manner the efficiency of our detective police force, and will serve as a lesson to all foreigners that they will do wisely to settle their feuds at home, and not to carry them on to British soil. It is an open secret that the credit of this smart capture belongs entirely to the well-known Scotland Yard officials, Messrs. Lestrade and Gregson. The man was apprehended, it appears, in the rooms of a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has himself, as an amateur, shown some talent in the detective line, and who, with such instructors, may hope in time to attain to some degree of their skill. It is expected that a testimonial of some sort will be presented to the two officers as a fitting recognition of their services." "Didn't I tell you so when we started?" cried Sherlock Holmes with a laugh. "That's the result of all our Study in Scarlet: to get them a testimonial!" "Never mind," I answered, "I have all the facts in my journal, and the public shall know them. In the meantime you must make yourself contented by the consciousness of success, like the Roman miser-- "'Populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo Ipse domi simul ac nummos contemplar in arca.'" THE SIGN OF THE FOUR Table of contents The Science of Deduction The Statement of the Case In Quest of a Solution The Story of the Bald-Headed Man The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration The Episode of the Barrel The Baker Street Irregulars A Break in the Chain The End of the Islander The Great Agra Treasure The Strange Story of Jonathan Small CHAPTER I The Science of Deduction Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction. Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him. Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer. "Which is it to-day?" I asked,--"morphine or cocaine?" He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-per-cent solution. Would you care to try it?" "No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution has not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it." He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," he said. "I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment." "But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to some extent answerable." He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his fingertips together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who has a relish for conversation. "My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession,--or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world." "The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered. "I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or Lestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by the way, is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case." "Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struck by anything in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat fantastic title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'" He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he. "Honestly, I cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid." "But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I could not tamper with the facts." "Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it." I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years that I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I made no remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me from walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather. "My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said Holmes, after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come rather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has all the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher developments of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and possessed some features of interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the true solution. Here is the letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance." He tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with stray magnifiques, coup-de-maîtres and tours-de-force, all testifying to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman. "He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I. "Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes, lightly. "He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of the three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power of observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge; and that may come in time. He is now translating my small works into French." "Your works?" "Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have been guilty of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with colored plates illustrating the difference in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning up in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue. If you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search. To the trained eye there is as much difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato." "You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," I remarked. "I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers, and diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest to the scientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary you with my hobby." "Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatest interest to me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your practical application of it. But you spoke just now of observation and deduction. Surely the one to some extent implies the other." "Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his armchair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "For example, observation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there you dispatched a telegram." "Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confess that I don't see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and I have mentioned it to no one." "It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my surprise,--"so absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous; and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation and of deduction. Observation tells me that you have a little reddish mould adhering to your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street Office they have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering. The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which is found, as far as I know, nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much is observation. The rest is deduction." "How, then, did you deduce the telegram?" "Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat opposite to you all morning. I see also in your open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of postcards. What could you go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth." "In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a little thought. "The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest. Would you think me impertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe test?" "On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from taking a second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any problem which you might submit to me." "I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any object in daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality upon it in such a way that a trained observer might read it. Now, I have here a watch which has recently come into my possession. Would you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or habits of the late owner?" I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case to and handed it back. "There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been recently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts." "You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before being sent to me." In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could he expect from an uncleaned watch? "Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren," he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes. "Subject to your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, who inherited it from your father." "That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon the back?" "Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually descents to the eldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as the father. Your father has, if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother." "Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?" "He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. He was left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink, he died. That is all I can gather." I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with considerable bitterness in my heart. "This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could not have believed that you would have descended to this. You have made inquires into the history of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that you have read all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it." "My dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch." "Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these facts? They are absolutely correct in every particular." "Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance of probability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate." "But it was not mere guess-work?" "No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,--destructive to the logical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which large inferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that your brother was careless. When you observe the lower part of that watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be a careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty well provided for in other respects." I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning. "It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point upon the inside of the case. It is more handy than a label, as there is no risk of the number being lost or transposed. There are no less than four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case. Inference,--that your brother was often at low water. Secondary inference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner plate, which contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands of scratches all round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. What sober man's key could have scored those grooves? But you will never see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it at night, and he leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?" "It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret the injustice which I did you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous faculty. May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot at present?" "None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and drifts across the duncolored houses. What could be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those which are commonplace have any function upon earth." I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp knock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver. "A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing my companion. "Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection of the name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor. I should prefer that you remain." CHAPTER II The Statement of the Case Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation. "I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill." "Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believe that I was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember it, was a very simple one." "She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I find myself." Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in his chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his clear-cut, hawklike features. "State your case," said he, in brisk, business tones. I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I am sure, excuse me," I said, rising from my chair. To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me. "If your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might be of inestimable service to me." I relapsed into my chair. "Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was an officer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment, obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphed to me from London that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message, as I remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London I drove to the Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan was staying there, but that he had gone out the night before and had not yet returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with the police, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. Our inquiries let to no result; and from that day to this no word has ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with his heart full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--" She put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence. "The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book. "He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878,--nearly ten years ago." "His luggage?" "Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a clue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers in charge of the convict-guard there." "Had he any friends in town?" "Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the 34th Bombay Infantry. The major had retired some little time before, and lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but he did not even know that his brother officer was in England." "A singular case," remarked Holmes. "I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--an advertisement appeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan and stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her advice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same day there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed to me, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same date there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced by an expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You can see for yourselves that they are very handsome." She opened a flat box as she spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen. "Your statement is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes. "Has anything else occurred to you?" "Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you. This morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for yourself." "Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too, please. Postmark, London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on corner,--probably postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really, this is a very pretty little mystery. What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?" "That is exactly what I want to ask you." "Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr. Watson is the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I have worked together before." "But would he come?" she asked, with something appealing in her voice and expression. "I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently, "if I can be of any service." "You are both very kind," she answered. "I have led a retired life, and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it will do, I suppose?" "You must not be later," said Holmes. "There is one other point, however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box addresses?" "I have them here," she answered, producing half a dozen pieces of paper. "You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition. Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon the table, and gave little darting glances from one to the other. "They are disguised hands, except the letter," he said, presently, "but there can be no question as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will break out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of your father?" "Nothing could be more unlike." "I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter before then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then." "Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance from one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and hurried away. Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly down the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but a speck in the sombre crowd. "What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed, turning to my companion. He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping eyelids. "Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did not observe." "You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" I cried. "There is something positively inhuman in you at times." He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said, "not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the London poor." "In this case, however--" "I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you make of this fellow's scribble?" "It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of business habits and some force of character." Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," he said. "They hardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l an e. Men of character always differentiate their long letters, however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k's and self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some few references to make. Let me recommend this book,--one of the most remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's Martyrdom of Man. I shall be back in an hour." I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty now,--a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account, that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a factor,--nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination. CHAPTER III In Quest of a Solution It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager, and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with fits of the blackest depression. "There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking the cup of tea which I had poured out for him. "The facts appear to admit of only one explanation." "What! you have solved it already?" "Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive. The details are still to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882." "I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what this suggests." "No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London. Four years later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death Captain Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heir knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? Have you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?" "But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other injustice in her case that you know of." "There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night will solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a little past the hour." I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious one. Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her. "Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said. "His letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa's desk which no one could understand. I don't suppose that it is of the slightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I brought it with me. It is here." Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his knee. He then very methodically examined it all over with his double lens. "It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked. "It has at some time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a plan of part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and passages. At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it is '3.37 from left,' in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with their arms touching. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarse characters, 'The sign of the four,--Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess that I do not see how this bears upon the matter. Yet it is evidently a document of importance. It has been kept carefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other." "It was in his pocket-book that we found it." "Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I must reconsider my ideas." He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan and I chatted in an undertone about our present expedition and its possible outcome, but our companion maintained his impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey. It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavy evening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss Morstan's manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes alone could rise superior to petty influences. He held his open note-book upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern. At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us. "Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?" he asked. "I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are my friends," said she. He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon us. "You will excuse me, miss," he said with a certain dogged manner, "but I was to ask you to give me your word that neither of your companions is a police-officer." "I give you my word on that," she answered. He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a four-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed us mounted to the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly done so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pace through the foggy streets. The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a complete hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good reason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at our situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories were slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I had some idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon, what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of London, I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never at fault, however, and he muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuous by-streets. "Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square. Now we come out on the Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side, apparently. Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses of the river." We did indeed bet a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames with the lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on, and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side. "Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not appear to take us to very fashionable regions." We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then again interminable lines of new staring brick buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giant city was throwing out into the country. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a new terrace. None of the other houses were inhabited, and that at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking, however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban, white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. There was something strangely incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in the commonplace door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house. "The Sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke there came a high piping voice from some inner room. "Show them in to me, khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight in to me." CHAPTER IV The Story of the Bald-Headed Man We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peak from fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as he stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose. Nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned his thirtieth year. "Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating, in a thin, high voice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking. An oasis of art in the howling desert of South London." We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartment into which he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The richest and glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the corner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor. "Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking and smiling. "That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And these gentlemen--" "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson." "A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you your stethoscope? Might I ask you--would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may rely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral." I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he shivered from head to foot. "It appears to be normal," I said. "You have no cause for uneasiness." "You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan," he remarked, airily. "I am a great sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve. I am delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father, Miss Morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have been alive now." I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this callous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips. "I knew in my heart that he was dead," said she. "I can give you every information," said he, "and, what is more, I can do you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may say. I am so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to you, but also as witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of us can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us have no outsiders,--no police or officials. We can settle everything satisfactorily among ourselves, without any interference. Nothing would annoy Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity." He sat down upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes. "For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may choose to say will go no further." I nodded to show my agreement. "That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer you a glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative." He applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily through the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands, while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in the centre. "When I first determined to make this communication to you," said he, "I might have given you my address, but I feared that you might disregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my man Williams might be able to see you first. I have complete confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter. You will excuse these precautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and I might even say refined, tastes, and there is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinking from all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. I live, as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around me. I may call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape is a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least question about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school." "You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan, "but I am here at your request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is very late, and I should desire the interview to be as short as possible." "At the best it must take some time," he answered; "for we shall certainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall all go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is very angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to me. I had quite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine what a terrible fellow he is when he is angry." "If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well to start at once," I ventured to remark. He laughed until his ears were quite red. "That would hardly do," he cried. "I don't know what he would say if I brought you in that sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to each other. In the first place, I must tell you that there are several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can only lay the facts before you as far as I know them myself. "My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once of the Indian army. He retired some eleven years ago, and came to live at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India, and brought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and I were the only children. "I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers, and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's, we discussed the case freely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations as to what could have happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast,--that of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan. "We did know, however, that some mystery--some positive danger--overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them. He was once light-weight champion of England. Our father would never tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay a large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used to think this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us to change our opinion. "Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in the letter we could never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of April we were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a last communication to us. "When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come upon either side of the bed. Then, grasping our hands, he made a remarkable statement to us, in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in his own very words. "'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind at this supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan. The cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers. And yet I have made no use of it myself,--so blind and foolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another. See that chaplet dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even that I could not bear to part with, although I had got it out with the design of sending it to her. You, my sons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing--not even the chaplet--until I am gone. After all, men have been as bad as this and have recovered. "'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'He had suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I alone knew it. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he came straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the station, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards, cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he was dead. "'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do. My first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could not but recognize that there was every chance that I would be accused of his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could not be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which I was particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any soul ever should know. "'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door behind him. "Do not fear, Sahib," he said. "No one need know that you have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "I did not kill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. "I heard it all, Sahib," said he. "I heard you quarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put him away together." That was enough to decide met. If my own servant could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the London papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the fact that we concealed not only the body, but also the treasure, and that I have clung to Morstan's share as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to make restitution. Put your ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in--At this instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can never forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake keep him out'! We both stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards the window, but the man was gone. When we returned to my father his head had dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat. "We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the intruder, save that just under the window a single footmark was visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might have thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face. We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof that there were secret agencies at work all round us. The window of my father's room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across it. What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none of my father's property had been actually stolen, though everything had been turned out. My brother and I naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted my father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery to us." The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe. "My brother and I," said he, "were, as you may imagine, much excited as to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for months we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without discovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We could judge the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which he had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had some little discussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and he was averse to part with them, for, between friends, my brother was himself a little inclined to my father's fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and finally bring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade him to let me find out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detached pearl at fixed intervals, so that at least she might never feel destitute." "It was a kindly thought," said our companion, earnestly. "It was extremely good of you." The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. "We were your trustees," he said. "That was the view which I took of it, though Brother Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion. 'Le mauvais goût mène au crime.' The French have a very neat way of putting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went so far that I thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me. Yesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme importance has occurred. The treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated with Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood and demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother Bartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors." Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new development which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the first to spring to his feet. "You have done well, sir, from first to last," said he. "It is possible that we may be able to make you some small return by throwing some light upon that which is still dark to you. But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the matter through without delay." Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged topcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up, in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peaky face. "My health is somewhat fragile," he remarked, as he led the way down the passage. "I am compelled to be a valetudinarian." Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above the rattle of the wheels. "Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "How do you think he found out where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house, and made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be unaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of the building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of all the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the total to more than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These could only be at the top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room, and there, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above it, which had been sealed up and was known to no one. In the centre stood the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through the hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at not less than half a million sterling." At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change from a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few halting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring information as to the composition and action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answers which I gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil, while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door. "This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out. CHAPTER V The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage of our night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peeping occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to see for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon our way. Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat. "Who is there?" cried a gruff voice from within. "It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this time." There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. The door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his protruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes. "That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? I had no orders about them from the master." "No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last night that I should bring some friends. "He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I have no orders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. I can let you in, but your friends must just stop where they are." This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him in a perplexed and helpless manner. "This is too bad of you, McMurdo!" he said. "If I guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the young lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this hour." "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably. "Folk may be friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the master's. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'll do. I don't know none o' your friends." "Oh, yes you do, McMurdo," cried Sherlock Holmes, genially. "I don't think you can have forgotten me. Don't you remember the amateur who fought three rounds with you at Alison's rooms on the night of your benefit four years back?" "Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" roared the prize-fighter. "God's truth! how could I have mistook you? If instead o' standin' there so quiet you had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a question. Ah, you're one that has wasted your gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had joined the fancy." "You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of the scientific professions open to me," said Holmes, laughing. "Our friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am sure." "In you come, sir, in you come,--you and your friends," he answered. "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to be certain of your friends before I let them in." Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vast size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand. "I cannot understand it," he said. "There must be some mistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is no light in his window. I do not know what to make of it." "Does he always guard the premises in this way?" asked Holmes. "Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the favorite son, you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have told him more than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's window up there where the moonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from within, I think." "None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint of a light in that little window beside the door." "Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old Mrs. Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go in together and she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed. But hush! what is that?" He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightened woman. "It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She is the only woman in the house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment." He hurried for the door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall old woman admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him. "Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I am so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!" We heard her reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and her voice died away into a muffled monotone. Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us. "What a strange place!" she said, looking round. "It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work." "And from the same cause," said Holmes. "These are the traces of the treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years looking for it. No wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit." At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholto came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his eyes. "There is something amiss with Bartholomew!" he cried. "I am frightened! My nerves cannot stand it." He was, indeed, half blubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping out from the great Astrakhan collar had the helpless appealing expression of a terrified child. "Come into the house," said Holmes, in his crisp, firm way. "Yes, do!" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. "I really do not feel equal to giving directions." We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood upon the left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up and down with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her. "God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with an hysterical sob. "It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this day!" Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the others bloodless cheeks. "Master has locked himself in and will now answer me," she explained. "All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be alone; but an hour ago I feared that something was amiss, so I went up and peeped through the key-hole. You must go up, Mr. Thaddeus,--you must go up and look for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw him with such a face on him as that." Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step, holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper. The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The third door was that which we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and force it open. It was locked on the inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we set our lamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it, and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of the breath. "There is something devilish in this, Watson," said he, more moved than I had ever before seen him. "What do you make of it?" I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the very face of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. The features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So like was the face to that of our little friend that I looked round at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins. "This is terrible!" I said to Holmes. "What is to be done?" "The door must come down," he answered, and, springing against it, he put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned, but did not yield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time it gave way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto's chamber. It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set of steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath and plaster, and above them there was an opening in the ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. At the foot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelessly together. By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me. "You see," he said, with a significant raising of the eyebrows. In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror, "The sign of the four." "In God's name, what does it all mean?" I asked. "It means murder," said he, stooping over the dead man. "Ah, I expected it. Look here!" He pointed to what looked like a long, dark thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear. "It looks like a thorn," said I. "It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it is poisoned." I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skin so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of blood showed where the puncture had been. "This is all an insoluble mystery to me," said I. "It grows darker instead of clearer." "On the contrary," he answered, "it clears every instant. I only require a few missing links to have an entirely connected case." We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we entered the chamber. He was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry. "The treasure is gone!" he said. "They have robbed him of the treasure! There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him to do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him here last night, and I heard him lock the door as I came down-stairs." "What time was that?" "It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will be called in, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh, yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think so, gentlemen? Surely you don't think that it was I? Is it likely that I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!" He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive frenzy. "You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes, kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder. "Take my advice, and drive down to the station to report this matter to the police. Offer to assist them in every way. We shall wait here until your return." The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark. CHAPTER VI Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration "Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be something deeper underlying it." "Simple!" I ejaculated. "Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner there, that your footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not been opened since last night. How of the window?" He carried the lamp across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but addressing them to himself rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration." I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not a footmark," said I. "It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the timber-toe." "It is the wooden-legged man." "Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?" I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brick-work. "It is absolutely impossible," I answered. "Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor point it may be noted," he continued, fingering the rope, "that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than one blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which I gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin off his hand." "This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes more unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he into the room?" "Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There are features of interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggest themselves from India, and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia." "How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked, the window is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?" "The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had already considered that possibility." "How then?" I persisted. "You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is no concealment possible. Whence, then, did he come?" "He came through the hole in the roof," I cried. "Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches to the room above,--the secret room in which the treasure was found." He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached down for the lamp and held it while I followed him. The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor. "Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out on to the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which Number One entered. Let us see if we can find one other traces of his individuality." He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes. The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man. "Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid thing." He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I was staggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite natural. My memory failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down." "What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room once more. "My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be instructive to compare results." "I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I answered. "It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand way. "I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will look." He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As he hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight. "We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very little trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked, You see, and the stuff has leaked out." "What then?" I asked. "Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog that would follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answer should give us the--But halloo! here are the accredited representatives of the law." Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash. "Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?" "The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered. "Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face, this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?" "Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I answered,--"some strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus." "That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for the means by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, I discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force into the scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in his chair. Now examine the thorn." I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been trimmed and rounded off with a knife. "Is that an English thorn?" he asked. "No, it certainly is not." "With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference. But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a retreat." As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto. "Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. "Here's a pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as full as a rabbit-warren!" "I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes, quietly. "Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's true you set us on the right track; but you'll own now that it was more by good luck than good guidance." "It was a piece of very simple reasoning." "Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no room for theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another case! I was at the station when the message arrived. What d'you think the man died of?" "Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said Holmes, dryly. "No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a million missing. How was the window?" "Fastened; but there are steps on the sill." "Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit; but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes come upon me at times.--Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr. Sholto. Your friend can remain.--What do you think of this, Holmes? Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure. How's that?" "On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door on the inside." "Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter. This Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel; so much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much also we know. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him. His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most disturbed state of mind. His appearance is--well, not attractive. You see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close upon him." "You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes. "This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; this card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit into your theory?" "Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective, pompously. "House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made murderous use of it as any other man. The card is some hocus-pocus,--a blind, as like as not. The only question is, how did he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof." With great activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door. "He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "He has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!" "You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again. "Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view of the case is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with the roof, and it is partly open." "It was I who opened it." "Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He seemed a little crestfallen at the discovery. "Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our gentleman got away. Inspector!" "Yes, sir," from the passage. "Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to inform you that anything which you may say will be used against you. I arrest you in the Queen's name as being concerned in the death of your brother." "There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the poor little man, throwing out his hands, and looking from one to the other of us. "Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes. "I think that I can engage to clear you of the charge." "Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don't promise too much!" snapped the detective. "You may find it a harder matter than you think." "Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free present of the name and description of one of the two people who were in this room last night. His name, I have every reason to believe, is Jonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned, and has been a convict. These few indications may be of some assistance to you, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of skin missing from the palm of his hand. The other man--" "Ah! the other man--?" asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering voice, but impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of the other's manner. "Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his heel. "I hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the pair of them. A word with you, Watson." He led me out to the head of the stair. "This unexpected occurrence," he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose of our journey." "I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not right that Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house." "No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester, in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will wait for you here if you will drive out again. Or perhaps you are too tired?" "By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more of this fantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side of life, but I give you my word that this quick succession of strange surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should like, however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got so far." "Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "We shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct. When you have dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane, down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The third house on the right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is the name. You will see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman up, and tell him, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You will bring Toby back in the cab with you." "A dog, I suppose." "Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. I would rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of London." "I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to be back before three, if I can get a fresh horse." "And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can learn from Mrs. Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me, sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the great Jones's methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. 'Wir sind gewohnt, daß die Menschen verhöhnen was sie nicht verstehen.' Goethe is always pithy." CHAPTER VII The Episode of the Barrel The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted Miss Morstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she had borne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weaker than herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the side of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely had she been tried by the adventures of the night. She has told me since that she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. She little guessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of self-restraint which held me back. My sympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of strange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still, she was rich. If Holmes's researches were successful, she would be an heiress. Was it fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon should take such advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind. This Agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us. It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so interested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received that she had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how tenderly her arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was the voice in which she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid dependant, but an honored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs. Forrester earnestly begged me to step in and tell her our adventures. I explained, however, the importance of my errand, and promised faithfully to call and report any progress which we might make with the case. As we drove away I stole a glance back, and I still seem to see that little group on the step, the two graceful, clinging figures, the half-opened door, the hall light shining through stained glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to catch even that passing glimpse of a tranquil English home in the midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed us. And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original problem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,--we had had light upon all those events. They had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those upon Captain Morstan's chart,--here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue. Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3 before I could make my impression. At last, however, there was the glint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the upper window. "Go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face. "If you kick up any more row I'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon you." "If you'll let one out it's just what I have come for," said I. "Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious, I have a wiper in the bag, an' I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook it." "But I want a dog," I cried. "I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now stand clear, for when I say 'three,' down goes the wiper." "Mr. Sherlock Holmes--" I began, but the words had a most magical effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted glasses. "A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome," said he. "Step in, sir. Keep clear of the badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty, would you take a nip at the gentleman?" This to a stoat which thrust its wicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. "Don't mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It hain't got no fangs, so I gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the bettles down. You must not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm guyed at by the children, and there's many a one just comes down this lane to knock me up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?" "He wanted a dog of yours." "Ah! that would be Toby." "Yes, Toby was the name." "Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here." He moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer animal family which he had gathered round him. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny and corner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other as our voices disturbed their slumbers. Toby proved to an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy waddling gait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about accompanying me. It had just struck three on the Palace clock when I found myself back once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been arrested as an accessory, and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off to the station. Two constables guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with the dog on my mentioning the detective's name. Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets, smoking his pipe. "Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Athelney Jones has gone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. He has arrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves, but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog here, and come up." We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The room was as we had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the corner. "Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion. "Now tie this bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank you. Now I must kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you carry them down with you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip my handkerchief into the creasote. That will do. Now come up into the garret with me for a moment." We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once more upon the footsteps in the dust. "I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "Do you observe anything noteworthy about them?" "They belong," I said, "to a child or a small woman." "Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?" "They appear to be much as other footmarks." "Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief difference?" "Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toe distinctly divided." "Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the wood-work? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in my hand." I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry smell. "That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him, I should think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run down-stairs, loose the dog, and look out for Blondin." By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him seated at one of the corner eaves. "That You, Watson?" he cried. "Yes." "This is the place. What is that black thing down there?" "A water-barrel." "Top on it?" "Yes." "No sign of a ladder?" "No." "Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place. I ought to be able to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow." There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadily down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to the barrel, and from there to the earth. "It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings and boots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he had dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express it." The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it. In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the other, like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto. "They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don't prick yourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they are all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in our skin before long. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself. Are you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?" "Certainly," I answered. "Your leg will stand it?" "Oh, yes." "Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!" He pushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance, fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and let him to the foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a succession of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at a pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed. The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and forlorn, behind us. Our course let right across the grounds, in and out among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred and intersected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung over it. On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly, underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a young beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had been loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder. Holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over upon the other side. "There's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked, as I mounted up beside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon the white plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain since yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of their eight-and-twenty hours' start." I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the great traffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My fears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved, but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent smell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents. "Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success in this case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot in the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to trace them in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest and, since fortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I neglected it. It has, however, prevented the case from becoming the pretty little intellectual problem which it at one time promised to be. There might have been some credit to be gained out of it, but for this too palpable clue." "There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes, that I marvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case, even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thing seems to me to be deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you describe with such confidence the wooden-legged man?" "Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish to be theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are in command of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried treasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named Jonathan Small. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself and his associates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called it. Aided by this chart, the officers--or one of them--gets the treasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some condition under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did not Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious. The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into close association with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the treasure because he and his associates were themselves convicts and could not get away." "But that is mere speculation," said I. "It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto remains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of his treasure. Then he receives a letter from India which gives him a great fright. What was that?" "A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free." "Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have known what their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a surprise to him. What does he do then? He guards himself against a wooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white tradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one white man's name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or Mohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with Jonathan Small. Does the reasoning strike yo as being faulty?" "No: it is clear and concise." "Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let us look at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the double idea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out where Sholto lived, and very possibly he established communications with some one inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character. Small could not find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no one ever knew, save the major and one faithful servant who had died. Suddenly Small learns that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy lest the secret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of the guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is only deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons. Mad with hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the room that night, searches his private papers in the hope of discovering some memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a memento of his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He had doubtless planned beforehand that should he slay the major he would leave some such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a common murder, but, from the point of view of the four associates, something in the nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this kind are common enough in the annals of crime, and usually afford valuable indications as to the criminal. Do you follow all this?" "Very clearly." "Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep a secret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he leaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again trace the presence of some confederate in the household. Jonathan, with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty room of Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather curious associate, who gets over this difficulty, but dips his naked foot into creasote, whence come Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay officer with a damaged tendo Achillis." "But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who committed the crime." "Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way the stamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge against Bartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred if he could have been simply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter. There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his companion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so Jonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the ground, and followed it himself. That was the train of events as far as I can decipher them. Of course as to his personal appearance he must be middle-aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the Andamans. His height is readily calculated from the length of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His hairiness was the one point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know that there is anything else." "The associate?" "Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know all about it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo. Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces of nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?" "Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle." "That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes one curious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, you see, a power of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a proof of nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You have not a pistol, have you?" "I have my stick." "It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns nasty I shall shoot him dead." He took out his revolver as he spoke, and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into the right-hand pocket of his jacket. We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down the half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now, however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where laborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were taking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped corner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after their morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as we passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the ground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent. We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the side-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of escaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if a parallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of Kennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place, Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture of canine indecision. Then he waddled round in circles, looking up to us from time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his embarrassment. "What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes. "They surely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon." "Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested. "Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion, in a tone of relief. He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up his mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before, for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his leash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam in Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey. Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick and Nelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp, sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on which it had been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes, Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creasote. Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. CHAPTER VIII The Baker Street Irregulars "What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character for infallibility." "He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting him down from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to blame." "We must get on the main scent again, I suppose." "Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently what puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were two different trails running in opposite directions. We took the wrong one. It only remains to follow the other." There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and finally dashed off in a fresh direction. "We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where the creasote-barrel came from," I observed. "I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement, whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true scent now." It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the dark current beyond. "We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boat here." Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but, though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign. Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a wooden placard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith" was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above the door informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement which was confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression. "This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than I expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear, been preconcerted management here." He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand. "You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back, you young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that, he'll let us hear of it." "Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What a rosy-cheeked young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?" The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," said he. "Nothing you would like better?" "I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after some thought. "Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!" "Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a time." "Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry for that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith." "He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well." "I wanted to hire his steam launch." "Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone. That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her than would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been away in the barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as far as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha' stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?" "He might have bought some at a wharf down the river." "He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard him call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish talk. What did he want always knockin' about here for?" "A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise. "Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it." "But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "You are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't quite understand how you can be so sure." "His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy. He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show a leg, matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man woke up Jim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones." "And was this wooden-legged man alone?" "Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else." "I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have heard good reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?" "The Aurora, sir." "Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad in the beam?" "No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river. She's been fresh painted, black with two red streaks." "Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?" "No, sir. Black with a white band." "Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs. Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take it and cross the river. "The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as we sat in the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that their information can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do, they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want." "Our course now seems pretty clear," said I. "What would you do, then?" "I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the Aurora." "My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at any wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich. Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for miles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set about it alone." "Employ the police, then." "No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out myself, now that we have gone so far." "Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?" "Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong scent." "What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we landed near Millbank Penitentiary. "Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again. Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be of use to us yet." We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes despatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked, as we resumed our journey. "I am sure I don't know." "You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?" "Well," said I, laughing. "This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail, I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast." It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of a strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him, and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure, however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure. A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid and Holmes pouring out the coffee. "Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper. "The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up between them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your ham and eggs first." I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed "Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood." "About twelve o'clock last night," said the Standard, "Mr. Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. As far as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr. Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother of the deceased. By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney Jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened to be at the Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground within half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their way across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into a room which communicated with that in which the body was found. This fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to investigate." "Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. "What do you think of it?" "I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested for the crime." "So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should happen to have another of his attacks of energy." At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of expostulation and dismay. "By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they are really after us." "No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,--the Baker Street irregulars." As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number, taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of lounging superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable little carecrow. "Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp. Three bob and a tanner for tickets." "Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In future they can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all hear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the river somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it out among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the moment you have news. Is that all clear?" "Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins. "The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat. Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!" He handed them a shilling each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a moment later streaming down the street. "If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes, as he rose from the table and lit his pipe. "They can go everywhere, see everything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening that they have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but await results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith." "Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed, Holmes?" "No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair client has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man must, I should think, be absolutely unique." "That other man again!" "I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. But you must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data. Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet, stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What do you make of all this?" "A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians who were the associates of Jonathan Small." "Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strange weapons I was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the others, because the thong is commonly passed between. These little darts, too, could only be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe. Now, then, where are we to find our savage?" "South American," I hazarded. He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the shelf. "This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being published. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What have we here? 'Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum! What's all this? Moist climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland Island, cottonwoods--Ah, here we are. 'The aborigines of the Andaman Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race upon this earth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians. The average height is rather below four feet, although many full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this. They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of forming most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been gained.' Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen to this. 'They are naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes, and distorted features. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the British official have failed to win them over in any degree. They have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by a cannibal feast.' Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had been left to his own unaided devices this affair might have taken an even more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small would give a good deal not to have employed him." "But how came he to have so singular a companion?" "Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had already determined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so very wonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shall know all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep." He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt, for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me. CHAPTER IX A Break in the Chain It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked across at me, as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and troubled. "You have slept soundly," he said. "I feared that our talk would wake you." "I heard nothing," I answered. "Have you had fresh news, then?" "Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. I expected something definite by this time. Wiggins has just been up to report. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a provoking check, for every hour is of importance." "Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for another night's outing." "No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves, the message might come in our absence, and delay be caused. You can do what you will, but I must remain on guard." "Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. Cecil Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday." "On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?" asked Holmes, with the twinkle of a smile in his eyes. "Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious to hear what happened." "I would not tell them too much," said Holmes. "Women are never to be entirely trusted,--not the best of them." I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. "I shall be back in an hour or two," I remarked. "All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the river you may as well return Toby, for I don't think it is at all likely that we shall have any use for him now." I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a half-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. At Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night's adventures, but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing, however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I spoke of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of the exact manner and method of it. With all my omissions, however, there was enough to startle and amaze them. "It is a romance!" cried Mrs. Forrester. "An injured lady, half a million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian. They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl." "And two knight-errants to the rescue," added Miss Morstan, with a bright glance at me. "Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I don't think that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it must be to be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!" It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss of her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took small interest. "It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious," she said. "Nothing else is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most kindly and honorably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this dreadful and unfounded charge." It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his chair, but he had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but there was none. "I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out," I said to Mrs. Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds. "No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir," sinking her voice into an impressive whisper, "I am afraid for his health?" "Why so, Mrs. Hudson?" "Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound of his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering, and every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with 'What is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has slammed off to his room, but I can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he's not going to be ill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cooling medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don't know how ever I got out of the room." "I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson," I answered. "I have seen him like this before. He has some small matter upon his mind which makes him restless." I tried to speak lightly to our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this involuntary inaction. At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of feverish color upon either cheek. "You are knocking yourself up, old man," I remarked. "I heard you marching about in the night." "No, I could not sleep," he answered. "This infernal problem is consuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle, when all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch, everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at work, and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has been searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith heard of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that they have scuttled the craft. But there are objections to that." "Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent." "No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there is a launch of that description." "Could it have gone up the river?" "I have considered that possibility too, and there is a search-party who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day, I shall start off myself to-morrow, and go for the men rather than the boat. But surely, surely, we shall hear something." We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or from the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found, however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report our ill success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions, and busied himself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which involved much heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the small hours of the morning I could hear the clinking of his test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous experiment. In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his neck. "I am off down the river, Watson," said he. "I have been turning it over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth trying, at all events." "Surely I can come with you, then?" said I. "No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon you?" "Most certainly." "I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other before I get back." I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening the Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the business. "With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy," it remarked, "we have reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs. Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed, however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard, with all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be expected at any moment." "That is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought I. "Friend Sholto is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be; though it seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a blunder." I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way: "Lost.--Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, left Smith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in the steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 221b Baker Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the launch Aurora." This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street address was enough to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband. It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, or a sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning. Might he be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong; and yet the keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his logic,--his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that even if Holmes's explanation were incorrect the true theory must be equally outré and startling. At three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell, an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic. "Good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I understand." "Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars." "Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he, mopping his face with a red bandanna handkerchief. "And a whiskey-and-soda?" "Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this Norwood case?" "I remember that you expressed one." "Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be shaken. From the time that he left his brother's room he was never out of sight of some one or other. So it could not be he who climbed over roofs and through trap-doors. It's a very dark case, and my professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little assistance." "We all need help sometimes," said I. "Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir," said he, in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man who is not to be beat. I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is irregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most promising officer, and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wire from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some clue to this Sholto business. Here is the message." He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock. "Go to Baker Street at once," it said. "If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be in at the finish." "This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again," said I. "Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed Jones, with evident satisfaction. "Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of course this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one at the door. Perhaps this is he." A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man, clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had a colored scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty. "What is it, my man?" I asked. He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age. "Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" said he. "No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have for him." "It was to him himself I was to tell it," said he. "But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai Smith's boat?" "Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where the men he is after are. An' I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it." "Then tell me, and I shall let him know." "It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated, with the petulant obstinacy of a very old man. "Well, you must wait for him." "No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr. Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself. I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won't tell a word." He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him. "Wait a bit, my friend," said he. "You have important information, and you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or not, until our friend returns." The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness of resistance. "Pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried, stamping his stick. "I come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!" "You will be none the worse," I said. "We shall recompense you for the loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not have long to wait." He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk. Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us. "I think that you might offer me a cigar too," he said. We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us with an air of quiet amusement. "Holmes!" I exclaimed. "You here! But where is the old man?" "Here is the old man," said he, holding out a heap of white hair. "Here he is,--wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that test." "Ah, you rogue!" cried Jones, highly delighted. "You would have made an actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew the glint of your eye, though. You didn't get away from us so easily, you see." "I have been working in that get-up all day," said he, lighting his cigar. "You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know me,--especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise like this. You got my wire?" "Yes; that was what brought me here." "How has your case prospered?" "It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two." "Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But you must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the official credit, but you must act on the line that I point out. Is that agreed?" "Entirely, if you will help me to the men." "Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat--a steam launch--to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o'clock." "That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but I can step across the road and telephone to make sure." "Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance." "There will be two or three in the boat. What else?" "When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the first to open it.--Eh, Watson?" "It would be a great pleasure to me." "Rather an irregular proceeding," said Jones, shaking his head. "However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities until after the official investigation." "Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much like to have a few details about this matter from the lips of Jonathan Small himself. You know I like to work the detail of my cases out. There is no objection to my having an unofficial interview with him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is efficiently guarded?" "Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of the existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him I don't see how I can refuse you an interview with him." "That is understood, then?" "Perfectly. Is there anything else?" "Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a little choice in white wines.--Watson, you have never yet recognized my merits as a housekeeper." CHAPTER X The End of the Islander Our meal was a merry one. Holmes coud talk exceedingly well when he chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, on medieval pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the war-ships of the future,--handling each as though he had made a special study of it. His bright humor marked the reaction from his black depression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his hours of relaxation, and face his dinner with the air of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of Holmes's gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause which had brought us together. When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at this watch, and filled up three glasses with port. "One bumper," said he, "to the success of our little expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you a pistol, Watson?" "I have my old service-revolver in my desk." "You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six." It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf, and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically. "Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?" "Yes,--that green lamp at the side." "Then take it off." The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors forward. "Where to?" asked Jones. "To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson's Yard." Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines of loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us. "We ought to be able to catch anything on the river," he said. "Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us." "We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for being a clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how annoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?" "Yes." "Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up the river and down the river without result. The launch was not at any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly have been scuttled to hide their traces,--though that always remained as a possible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small had a certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a product of higher education. I then reflected that since he had certainly been in London some time--as we had evidence that he maintained a continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge--he could hardly leave at a moment's notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate." "It seems to me to be a little weak," said I. "It is more probable that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his expedition." "No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he could do without it. But a second consideration struck me. Jonathan Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion, however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from their head-quarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad light. Now, it was past three o'clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and people would be about in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they had time to see what view the papers took, and whether there was any suspicion, they would make their way under cover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they had already arranged for passages to America or the Colonies." "But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings." "Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small, and looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably consider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would make pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How, then, could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted? I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I could only think of one way of doing it. I might land the launch over to some boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling change in her. She would then be removed to his shed or hard, and so be effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at a few hours' notice." "That seems simple enough." "It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at once in this harmless seaman's rig and inquired at all the yards down the river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth--Jacobson's--I learned that the Aurora had been handed over to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to her rudder. 'There ain't naught amiss with her rudder,' said the foreman. 'There she lies, with the red streaks.' At that moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner? He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of his launch. 'I want her to-night at eight o'clock,' said he,--'eight o'clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who won't be kept waiting.' They had evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of money, chucking shillings about to the men. I followed him some distance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so I went back to the yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the way, I stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand at water's edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not take men, treasure, and all." "You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men or not," said Jones; "but if the affair were in my hands I should have had a body of police in Jacobson's Yard, and arrested them when they came down." "Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewd fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him suspicious lie snug for another week." "But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to their hiding-place," said I. "In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a hundred to one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he has liquor and good pay, why should he ask questions? They send him messages what to do. No, I thought over every possible course, and this is the best." While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the long series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City the last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of St. Paul's. It was twilight before we reached the Tower. "That is Jacobson's Yard," said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of masts and rigging on the Surrey side. "Cruise gently up and down here under cover of this string of lighters." He took a pair of night-glasses from his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. "I see my sentry at his post," he remarked, "but no sign of a handkerchief." "Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them," said Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going forward. "We have no right to take anything for granted," Holmes answered. "It is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be certain. From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they can hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We must stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the gaslight." "They are coming from work in the yard." "Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some little immortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look at them. There is no a priori probability about it. A strange enigma is man!" "Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal," I suggested. "Winwood Reade is good upon the subject," said Holmes. "He remarks that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with precision what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages remain constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter over yonder." "Yes, it is your boy," I cried. "I can see him plainly." "And there is the Aurora," exclaimed Holmes, "and going like the devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the yellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves to have the heels of us!" She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before we saw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore, going at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his head. "She is very fast," he said. "I doubt if we shall catch her." "We must catch her!" cried Holmes, between his teeth. "Heap it on, stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have them!" We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp, steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to right and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where the Aurora lay, and the swirl of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. We flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed close upon her track. "Pile it on, men, pile it on!" cried Holmes, looking down into the engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager, aquiline face. "Get every pound of steam you can." "I think we gain a little," said Jones, with his eyes on the Aurora. "I am sure of it," said I. "We shall be up with her in a very few minutes." At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two hundred yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky uncertain twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with the fierce energy which was driving us along. We had shot through the Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty Aurora. Jones turned our search-light upon her, so that we could plainly see the figures upon her deck. One man sat by the stern, with something black between his knees over which he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as we followed every winding and turning which they took there could no longer be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have been more than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in many countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we could hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boat's lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a clear reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized, powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I could see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump upon the right side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there was movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself into a little black man--the smallest I have ever seen--with a great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the sight of this savage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that face was enough to give a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen features so deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a half animal fury. "Fire if he raises his hand," said Holmes, quietly. We were within a boat's-length by this time, and almost within touch of our quarry. I can see the two of them now as they stood, the white man with his legs far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light of our lantern. It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as we looked he plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our pistols rang out together. He whirled round, threw up his arms, and with a kind of choking cough fell sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of his venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At the same moment the wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put it hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the southern bank, while we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. We were round after her in an instant, but she was already nearly at the bank. It was a wild and desolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide expanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant water and beds of decaying vegetation. The launch with a dull thud ran up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush with the water. The fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank its whole length into the sodden soil. In vain he struggled and writhed. Not one step could he possibly take either forwards or backwards. He yelled in impotent rage, and kicked frantically into the mud with his other foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeper into the sticky bank. When we brought our launch alongside he was so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing the end of a rope over his shoulders that we were able to haul him out, and to drag him, like some evil fish, over our side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenly in their launch, but came aboard meekly enough when commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast to our stern. A solid iron chest of Indian workmanship stood upon the deck. This, there could be no question, was the same that had contained the ill-omened treasure of the Sholtos. There was no key, but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred it carefully to our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly up-stream again, we flashed our search-light in every direction, but there was no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom of the Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our shores. "See here," said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. "We were hardly quick enough with our pistols." There, sure enough, just behind where we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts which we knew so well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant that we fired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy fashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the horrible death which had passed so close to us that night. CHAPTER XI The Great Agra Treasure Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned, reckless-eyed fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles all over his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life. There was a singular prominence about his bearded chin which marked a man who was not to be easily turned from his purpose. His age may have been fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with gray. His face in repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible expression when moved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with his keen, twinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his ill-doings. It seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in his rigid and contained countenance. Once he looked up at me with a gleam of something like humour in his eyes. "Well, Jonathan Small," said Holmes, lighting a cigar, "I am sorry that it has come to this." "And so am I, sir," he answered, frankly. "I don't believe that I can swing over the job. I give you my word on the book that I never raised hand against Mr. Sholto. It was that little hell-hound Tonga who shot one of his cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir. I was as grieved as if it had been my blood-relation. I welted the little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done, and I could not undo it again." "Have a cigar," said Holmes; "and you had best take a pull out of my flask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so small and weak a man as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto and hold him while you were climbing the rope?" "You seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir. The truth is that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew the habits of the house pretty well, and it was the time when Mr. Sholto usually went down to his supper. I shall make no secret of the business. The best defence that I can make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had been the old major I would have swung for him with a light heart. I would have thought no more of knifing him than of smoking this cigar. But it's cursed hard that I should be lagged over this young Sholto, with whom I had no quarrel whatever." "You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard. He is going to bring you up to my rooms, and I shall ask you for a true account of the matter. You must make a clean breast of it, for if you do I hope that I may be of use to you. I think I can prove that the poison acts so quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached the room." "That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as when I saw him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder as I climbed through the window. It fairly shook me, sir. I'd have half killed Tonga for it if he had not scrambled off. That was how he came to leave his club, and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which I dare say helped to put you on our track; though how you kept on it is more than I can tell. I don't feel no malice against you for it. But it does seem a queer thing," he added, with a bitter smile, "that I who have a fair claim to nigh upon half a million of money should spend the first half of my life building a breakwater in the Andamans, and am like to spend the other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an evil day for me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant Achmet and had to do with the Agra treasure, which never brought anything but a curse yet upon the man who owned it. To him it brought murder, to Major Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery for life." At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavy shoulders into the tiny cabin. "Quite a family party," he remarked. "I think I shall have a pull at that flask, Holmes. Well, I think we may all congratulate each other. Pity we didn't take the other alive; but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must confess that you cut it rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaul her." "All is well that ends well," said Holmes. "But I certainly did not know that the Aurora was such a clipper." "Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, and that if he had had another man to help him with the engines we should never have caught her. He swears he knew nothing of this Norwood business." "Neither he did," cried our prisoner,--"not a word. I chose his launch because I heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing, but we paid him well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached our vessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for the Brazils." "Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comes to him. If we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not so quick in condemning them." It was amusing to notice how the consequential Jones was already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of the capture. From the slight smile which played over Sherlock Holmes's face, I could see that the speech had not been lost upon him. "We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently," said Jones, "and shall land you, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I need hardly tell you that I am taking a very grave responsibility upon myself in doing this. It is most irregular; but of course an agreement is an agreement. I must, however, as a matter of duty, send an inspector with you, since you have so valuable a charge. You will drive, no doubt?" "Yes, I shall drive." "It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventory first. You will have to break it open. Where is the key, my man?" "At the bottom of the river," said Small, shortly. "Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary trouble. We have had work enough already through you. However, doctor, I need not warn you to be careful. Bring the box back with you to the Baker Street rooms. You will find us there, on our way to the station." They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff, genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hour's drive brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servant seemed surprised at so late a visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she explained, and likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in the drawing-room: so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving the obliging inspector in the cab. She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of white diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned back in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, and tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant hair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the sound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however, and a bright flush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale cheeks. "I heard a cab drive up," she said. "I thought that Mrs. Forrester had come back very early, but I never dreamed that it might be you. What news have you brought me?" "I have brought something better than news," said I, putting down the box upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously, though my heart was heavy within me. "I have brought you something which is worth all the news in the world. I have brought you a fortune." She glanced at iron box. "Is that the treasure, then?" she asked, coolly enough. "Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours and half is Thaddeus Sholto's. You will have a couple of hundred thousand each. Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds. There will be few richer young ladies in England. Is it not glorious?" I think that I must have been rather overacting my delight, and that she detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously. "If I have it," said she, "I owe it to you." "No, no," I answered, "not to me, but to my friend Sherlock Holmes. With all the will in the world, I could never have followed up a clue which has taxed even his analytical genius. As it was, we very nearly lost it at the last moment." "Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson," said she. I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her last,--Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora, the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and the wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips and shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I feared that she was about to faint. "It is nothing," she said, as I hastened to pour her out some water. "I am all right again. It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed my friends in such horrible peril." "That is all over," I answered. "It was nothing. I will tell you no more gloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There is the treasure. What could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it with me, thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see it." "It would be of the greatest interest to me," she said. There was no eagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her, doubtless, that it might seem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize which had cost so much to win. "What a pretty box!" she said, stooping over it. "This is Indian work, I suppose?" "Yes; it is Benares metal-work." "And so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. "The box alone must be of some value. Where is the key?" "Small threw it into the Thames," I answered. "I must borrow Mrs. Forrester's poker." There was in the front a thick and broad hasp, wrought in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We both stood gazing in astonishment. The box was empty! No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of an inch thick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or crumb of metal or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely and completely empty. "The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly. As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra treasure had weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed. It was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize nothing save that the golden barrier was gone from between us. "Thank God!" I ejaculated from my very heart. She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "Because you are within my reach again," I said, taking her hand. She did not withdraw it. "Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is why I said, 'Thank God.'" "Then I say, 'Thank God,' too," she whispered, as I drew her to my side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had gained one. CHAPTER XII The Strange Story of Jonathan Small A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I showed him the empty box. "There goes the reward!" said he, gloomily. "Where there is no money there is no pay. This night's work would have been worth a tenner each to Sam Brown and me if the treasure had been there." "Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man," I said. "He will see that you are rewarded, treasure or no." The inspector shook his head despondently, however. "It's a bad job," he repeated; "and so Mr. Athelney Jones will think." His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box. They had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had changed their plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon the way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair with his usual listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibited the empty box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. "This is your doing, Small," said Athelney Jones, angrily. "Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand upon it," he cried, exultantly. "It is my treasure; and if I can't have the loot I'll take darned good care that no one else does. I tell you that no living man has any right to it, unless it is three men who are in the Andaman convict-barracks and myself. I know now that I cannot have the use of it, and I know that they cannot. I have acted all through for them as much as for myself. It's been the sign of four with us always. Well I know that they would have had me do just what I have done, and throw the treasure into the Thames rather than let it go to kith or kin of Sholto or of Morstan. It was not to make them rich that we did for Achmet. You'll find the treasure where the key is, and where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launch must catch us, I put the loot away in a safe place. There are no rupees for you this journey." "You are deceiving us, Small," said Athelney Jones, sternly. "If you had wished to throw the treasure into the Thames it would have been easier for you to have thrown box and all." "Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover," he answered, with a shrewd, sidelong look. "The man that was clever enough to hunt me down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of a river. Now that they are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a harder job. It went to my heart to do it, though. I was half mad when you came up with us. However, there's no good grieving over it. I've had ups in my life, and I've had downs, but I've learned not to cry over spilled milk." "This is a very serious matter, Small," said the detective. "If you had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, you would have had a better chance at your trial." "Justice!" snarled the ex-convict. "A pretty justice! Whose loot is this, if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should give it up to those who have never earned it? Look how I have earned it! Twenty long years in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under the mangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts, bitten by mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed black-faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white man. That was how I earned the Agra treasure; and you talk to me of justice because I cannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only that another may enjoy it! I would rather swing a score of times, or have one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a convict's cell and feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the money that should be mine." Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned movement of his hands. I could understand, as I saw the fury and the passion of the man, that it was no groundless or unnatural terror which had possessed Major Sholto when he first learned that the injured convict was upon his track. "You forget that we know nothing of all this," said Holmes quietly. "We have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how far justice may originally have been on your side." "Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I can see that I have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon my wrists. Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is all fair and above-board. If you want to hear my story I have no wish to hold it back. What I say to you is God's truth, every word of it. Thank you; you can put the glass beside me here, and I'll put my lips to it if I am dry. "I am a Worcestershire man myself,--born near Pershore. I dare say you would find a heap of Smalls living there now if you were to look. I have often thought of taking a look round there, but the truth is that I was never much of a credit to the family, and I doubt if they would be so very glad to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going folk, small farmers, well known and respected over the country-side, while I was always a bit of a rover. At last, however, when I was about eighteen, I gave them no more trouble, for I got into a mess over a girl, and could only get out of it again by taking the queen's shilling and joining the 3d Buffs, which was just starting for India. "I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I had just got past the goose-step, and learned to handle my musket, when I was fool enough to go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily for me, my company sergeant, John Holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was one of the finest swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me, just as I was half-way across, and nipped off my right leg as clean as a surgeon could have done it, just above the knee. What with the shock and the loss of blood, I fainted, and should have drowned if Holder had not caught hold of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months in hospital over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of it with this timber toe strapped to my stump I found myself invalided out of the army and unfitted for any active occupation. "I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time, for I was a useless cripple though not yet in my twentieth year. However, my misfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. A man named Abelwhite, who had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an overseer to look after his coolies and keep them up to their work. He happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken an interest in me since the accident. To make a long story short, the colonel recommended me strongly for the post and, as the work was mostly to be done on horseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough knee left to keep good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to ride over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked, and to report the idlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable quarters, and altogether I was content to spend the remainder of my life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite was a kind man, and he would often drop into my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white folk out there feel their hearts warm to each other as they never do here at home. "Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly, without a note of warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India lay as still and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or Kent; the next there were two hundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country was a perfect hell. Of course you know all about it, gentlemen,--a deal more than I do, very like, since reading is not in my line. I only know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation was at a place called Muttra, near the border of the Northwest Provinces. Night after night the whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows, and day after day we had small companies of Europeans passing through our estate with their wives and children, on their way to Agra, where were the nearest troops. Mr. Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He had it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated, and that it would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up. There he sat on his veranda, drinking whiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots, while the country was in a blaze about him. Of course we stuck by him, I and Dawson, who, with his wife, used to do the book-work and the managing. Well, one fine day the crash came. I had been away on a distant plantation, and was riding slowly home in the evening, when my eye fell upon something all huddled together at the bottom of a steep nullah. I rode down to see what it was, and the cold struck through my heart when I found it was Dawson's wife, all cut into ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and native dogs. A little further up the road Dawson himself was lying on his face, quite dead, with an empty revolver in his hand and four Sepoys lying across each other in front of him. I reined up my horse, wondering which way I should turn, but at that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from Abelwhite's bungalow and the flames beginning to burst through the roof. I knew then that I could do my employer no good, but would only throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter. From where I stood I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats still on their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house. Some of them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my head; so I broke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night safe within the walls at Agra. "As it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either. The whole country was up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the English could collect in little bands they held just the ground that their guns commanded. Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. It was a fight of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of it was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught and trained, handling our own weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls. At Agra there were the 3d Bengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse, and a battery of artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants had been formed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out to meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we beat them back for a time, but our powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the city. Nothing but the worst news came to us from every side,--which is not to be wondered at, for if you look at the map you will see that we were right in the heart of it. Lucknow is rather better than a hundred miles to the east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south. From every point on the compass there was nothing but torture and murder and outrage. "The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics and fierce devil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men were lost among the narrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across the river, therefore, and took up his position in the old fort at Agra. I don't know if any of you gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that old fort. It is a very queer place,--the queerest that ever I was in, and I have been in some rum corners, too. First of all, it is enormous in size. I should think that the enclosure must be acres and acres. There is a modern part, which took all our garrison, women, children, stores, and everything else, with plenty of room over. But the modern part is nothing like the size of the old quarter, where nobody goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and the centipedes. It is all full of great deserted halls, and winding passages, and long corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy enough for folk to get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom that any one went into it, though now and again a party with torches might go exploring. "The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so protects it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors, and these had to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in that which was actually held by our troops. We were short-handed, with hardly men enough to man the angles of the building and to serve the guns. It was impossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at every one of the innumerable gates. What we did was to organize a central guard-house in the middle of the fort, and to leave each gate under the charge of one white man and two or three natives. I was selected to take charge during certain hours of the night of a small isolated door upon the southwest side of the building. Two Sikh troopers were placed under my command, and I was instructed if anything went wrong to fire my musket, when I might rely upon help coming at once from the central guard. As the guard was a good two hundred paces away, however, and as the space between was cut up into a labyrinth of passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to whether they could arrive in time to be of any use in case of an actual attack. "Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command given me, since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that. For two nights I kept the watch with my Punjaubees. They were tall, fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both old fighting-men who had borne arms against us at Chilian-wallah. They could talk English pretty well, but I could get little out of them. They preferred to stand together and jabber all night in their queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used to stand outside the gate-way, looking down on the broad, winding river and on the twinkling lights of the great city. The beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and the yells and howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang, were enough to remind us all night of our dangerous neighbors across the stream. Every two hours the officer of the night used to come round to all the posts, to make sure that all was well. "The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small, driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the gate-way hour after hour in such weather. I tried again and again to make my Sikhs talk, but without much success. At two in the morning the rounds passed, and broke for a moment the weariness of the night. Finding that my companions would not be led into conversation, I took out my pipe, and laid down my musket to strike the match. In an instant the two Sikhs were upon me. One of them snatched my firelock up and levelled it at my head, while the other held a great knife to my throat and swore between his teeth that he would plunge it into me if I moved a step. "My first thought was that these fellows were in league with the rebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault. If our door were in the hands of the Sepoys the place must fall, and the women and children be treated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen think that I am just making out a case for myself, but I give you my word that when I thought of that, though I felt the point of the knife at my throat, I opened my mouth with the intention of giving a scream, if it was my last one, which might alarm the main guard. The man who held me seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as I braced myself to it, he whispered, 'Don't make a noise. The fort is safe enough. There are no rebel dogs on this side of the river.' There was the ring of truth in what he said, and I knew that if I raised my voice I was a dead man. I could read it in the fellow's brown eyes. I waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was that they wanted from me. "'Listen to me, Sahib,' said the taller and fiercer of the pair, the one whom they called Abdullah Khan. 'You must either be with us now or you must be silenced forever. The thing is too great a one for us to hesitate. Either you are heart and soul with us on your oath on the cross of the Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown into the ditch and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel army. There is no middle way. Which is it to be, death or life? We can only give you three minutes to decide, for the time is passing, and all must be done before the rounds come again.' "'How can I decide?' said I. 'You have not told me what you want of me. But I tell you now that if it is anything against the safety of the fort I will have no truck with it, so you can drive home your knife and welcome.' "'It is nothing against the fort,' said he. 'We only ask you to do that which your countrymen come to this land for. We ask you to be rich. If you will be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon the naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever known to break, that you shall have your fair share of the loot. A quarter of the treasure shall be yours. We can say no fairer.' "'But what is the treasure, then?' I asked. 'I am as ready to be rich as you can be, if you will but show me how it can be done.' "'You will swear, then,' said he, 'by the bones of your father, by the honor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise no hand and speak no word against us, either now or afterwards?' "'I will swear it,' I answered, 'provided that the fort is not endangered.' "'Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have a quarter of the treasure which shall be equally divided among the four of us.' "'There are but three,' said I. "'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale to you while we await them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and give notice of their coming. The thing stands thus, Sahib, and I tell it to you because I know that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee, and that we may trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you had sworn by all the gods in their false temples, your blood would have been upon the knife, and your body in the water. But the Sikh knows the Englishman, and the Englishman knows the Sikh. Hearken, then, to what I have to say. "'There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much wealth, though his lands are small. Much has come to him from his father, and more still he has set by himself, for he is of a low nature and hoards his gold rather than spend it. When the troubles broke out he would be friends both with the lion and the tiger,--with the Sepoy and with the Company's raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that the white men's day was come, for through all the land he could hear of nothing but of their death and their overthrow. Yet, being a careful man, he made such plans that, come what might, half at least of his treasure should be left to him. That which was in gold and silver he kept by him in the vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones and the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron box, and sent it by a trusty servant who, under the guise of a merchant, should take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until the land is at peace. Thus, if the rebels won he would have his money, but if the Company conquered his jewels would be saved to him. Having thus divided his hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the Sepoys, since they were strong upon his borders. By doing this, mark you, Sahib, his property becomes the due of those who have been true to their salt. "'This pretended merchant, who travels under the name of Achmet, is now in the city of Agra, and desires to gain his way into the fort. He has with him as travelling-companion my foster-brother Dost Akbar, who knows his secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him to a side-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one for his purpose. Here he will come presently, and here he will find Mahomet Singh and myself awaiting him. The place is lonely, and none shall know of his coming. The world shall know of the merchant Achmet no more, but the great treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us. What say you to it, Sahib?' "In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacred thing; but it is very different when there is fire and blood all round you and you have been used to meeting death at every turn. Whether Achmet the merchant lived or died was a thing as light as air to me, but at the talk about the treasure my heart turned to it, and I thought of what I might do in the old country with it, and how my folk would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-well coming back with his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, therefore, already made up my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking that I hesitated, pressed the matter more closely. "'Consider, Sahib,' said he, 'that if this man is taken by the commandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels taken by the government, so that no man will be a rupee the better for them. Now, since we do the taking of him, why should we not do the rest as well? The jewels will be as well with us as in the Company's coffers. There will be enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs. No one can know about the matter, for here we are cut off from all men. What could be better for the purpose? Say again, then, Sahib, whether you are with us, or if we must look upon you as an enemy.' "'I am with you heart and soul,' said I. "'It is well,' he answered, handing me back my firelock. 'You see that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to be broken. We have now only to wait for my brother and the merchant.' "'Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?' I asked. "'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the gate and share the watch with Mahomet Singh.' "The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the beginning of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky, and it was hard to see more than a stone-cast. A deep moat lay in front of our door, but the water was in places nearly dried up, and it could easily be crossed. It was strange to me to be standing there with those two wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was coming to his death. "Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at the other side of the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps, and then appeared again coming slowly in our direction. "'Here they are!' I exclaimed. "'You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,' whispered Abdullah. 'Give him no cause for fear. Send us in with him, and we shall do the rest while you stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready to uncover, that we may be sure that it is indeed the man.' "The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now advancing, until I could see two dark figures upon the other side of the moat. I let them scramble down the sloping bank, splash through the mire, and climb half-way up to the gate, before I challenged them. "'Who goes there?' said I, in a subdued voice. "'Friends,' came the answer. I uncovered my lantern and threw a flood of light upon them. The first was an enormous Sikh, with a black beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I have never seen so tall a man. The other was a little, fat, round fellow, with a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done up in a shawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turning to left and right with two bright little twinkling eyes, like a mouse when he ventures out from his hole. It gave me the chills to think of killing him, but I thought of the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a flint within me. When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup of joy and came running up towards me. "'Your protection, Sahib,' he panted,--'your protection for the unhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled across Rajpootana that I might seek the shelter of the fort at Agra. I have been robbed and beaten and abused because I have been the friend of the Company. It is a blessed night this when I am once more in safety,--I and my poor possessions.' "'What have you in the bundle?' I asked. "'An iron box,' he answered, 'which contains one or two little family matters which are of no value to others, but which I should be sorry to lose. Yet I am not a beggar; and I shall reward you, young Sahib, and your governor also, if he will give me the shelter I ask.' "I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. The more I looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem that we should slay him in cold blood. It was best to get it over. "'Take him to the main guard,' said I. The two Sikhs closed in upon him on each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched in through the dark gate-way. Never was a man so compassed round with death. I remained at the gate-way with the lantern. "I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps sounding through the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and I heard voices, and a scuffle, with the sound of blows. A moment later there came, to my horror, a rush of footsteps coming in my direction, with the loud breathing of a running man. I turned my lantern down the long, straight passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind, with a smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels, bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded Sikh, with a knife flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man run so fast as that little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh, and I could see that if he once passed me and got to the open air he would save himself yet. My heart softened to him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hard and bitter. I cast my firelock between his legs as he raced past, and he rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he could stagger to his feet the Sikh was upon him, and buried his knife twice in his side. The man never uttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay were he had fallen. I think myself that he may have broken his neck with the fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my promise. I am telling you every work of the business just exactly as it happened, whether it is in my favor or not." He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the whiskey-and-water which Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess that I had now conceived the utmost horror of the man, not only for this cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned, but even more for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated it. Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that he might expect no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and Jones sat with their hands upon their knees, deeply interested in the story, but with the same disgust written upon their faces. He may have observed it, for there was a touch of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded. "It was all very bad, no doubt," said he. "I should like to know how many fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of this loot when they knew that they would have their throats cut for their pains. Besides, it was my life or his when once he was in the fort. If he had got out, the whole business would come to light, and I should have been court-martialled and shot as likely as not; for people were not very lenient at a time like that." "Go on with your story," said Holmes, shortly. "Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine weight he was, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was left to guard the door. We took him to a place which the Sikhs had already prepared. It was some distance off, where a winding passage leads to a great empty hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to pieces. The earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural grave, so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first covered him over with loose bricks. This done, we all went back to the treasure. "It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. The box was the same which now lies open upon your table. A key was hung by a silken cord to that carved handle upon the top. We opened it, and the light of the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have read of and thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore. It was blinding to look upon them. When we had feasted our eyes we took them all out and made a list of them. There were one hundred and forty-three diamonds of the first water, including one which has been called, I believe, 'the Great Mogul' and is said to be the second largest stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven very fine emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which, however, were small. There were forty carbuncles, two hundred and ten sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls, onyxes, cats'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names of which I did not know at the time, though I have become more familiar with them since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very fine pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet. By the way, these last had been taken out of the chest and were not there when I recovered it. "After we had counted our treasures we put them back into the chest and carried them to the gate-way to show them to Mahomet Singh. Then we solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other and be true to our secret. We agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the country should be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among ourselves. There was no use dividing it at present, for if gems of such value were found upon us it would cause suspicion, and there was no privacy in the fort nor any place where we could keep them. We carried the box, therefore, into the same hall where we had buried the body, and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall, we made a hollow and put our treasure. We made careful note of the place, and next day I drew four plans, one for each of us, and put the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn that we should each always act for all, so that none might take advantage. That is an oath that I can put my hand to my heart and swear that I have never broken. "Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what came of the Indian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin relieved Lucknow the back of the business was broken. Fresh troops came pouring in, and Nana Sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying column under Colonel Greathed came round to Agra and cleared the Pandies away from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and we four were beginning to hope that the time was at hand when we might safely go off with our shares of the plunder. In a moment, however, our hopes were shattered by our being arrested as the murderers of Achmet. "It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels into the hands of Achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trusty man. They are suspicious folk in the East, however: so what does this rajah do but take a second even more trusty servant and set him to play the spy upon the first? This second man was ordered never to let Achmet out of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went after him that night and saw him pass through the doorway. Of course he thought he had taken refuge in the fort, and applied for admission there himself next day, but could find no trace of Achmet. This seemed to him so strange that he spoke about it to a sergeant of guides, who brought it to the ears of the commandant. A thorough search was quickly made, and the body was discovered. Thus at the very moment that we thought that all was safe we were all four seized and brought to trial on a charge of murder,--three of us because we had held the gate that night, and the fourth because he was known to have been in the company of the murdered man. Not a word about the jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and driven out of India: so no one had any particular interest in them. The murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain that we must all have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal servitude for life, and I was condemned to death, though my sentence was afterwards commuted into the same as the others. "It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then. There we were all four tied by the leg and with precious little chance of ever getting out again, while we each held a secret which might have put each of us in a palace if we could only have made use of it. It was enough to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand the kick and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready for him outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might have driven me mad; but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so I just held on and bided my time. "At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed from Agra to Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans. There are very few white convicts at this settlement, and, as I had behaved well from the first, I soon found myself a sort of privileged person. I was given a hut in Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes of Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is a dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little clearings was infested with wild cannibal natives, who were ready enough to blow a poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance. There was digging, and ditching, and yam-planting, and a dozen other things to be done, so we were busy enough all day; though in the evening we had a little time to ourselves. Among other things, I learned to dispense drugs for the surgeon, and picked up a smattering of his knowledge. All the time I was on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds of miles from any other land, and there is little or no wind in those seas: so it was a terribly difficult job to get away. "The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, and the other young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening and play cards. The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs, was next to his sitting-room, with a small window between us. Often, if I felt lonesome, I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then, standing there, I could hear their talk and watch their play. I am fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good as having one to watch the others. There was Major Sholto, Captain Morstan, and Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who were in command of the native troops, and there was the surgeon himself, and two or three prison-officials, crafty old hands who played a nice sly safe game. A very snug little party they used to make. "Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and that was that the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win. Mind, I don't say that there was anything unfair, but so it was. These prison-chaps had done little else than play cards ever since they had been at the Andamans, and they knew each other's game to a point, while the others just played to pass the time and threw their cards down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up poorer men, and the poorer they got the more keen they were to play. Major Sholto was the hardest hit. He used to pay in notes and gold at first, but soon it came to notes of hand and for big sums. He sometimes would win for a few deals, just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in against him worse than ever. All day he would wander about as black as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal more than was good for him. "One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was sitting in my hut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling along on the way to their quarters. They were bosom friends, those two, and never far apart. The major was raving about his losses. "'It's all up, Morstan,' he was saying, as they passed my hut. 'I shall have to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.' "'Nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping him upon the shoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer myself, but--' That was all I could hear, but it was enough to set me thinking. A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the beach: so I took the chance of speaking to him. "'I wish to have your advice, major,' said I. "'Well, Small, what is it?' he asked, taking his cheroot from his lips. "'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said I, 'who is the proper person to whom hidden treasure should be handed over. I know where half a million worth lies, and, as I cannot use it myself, I thought perhaps the best thing that I could do would be to hand it over to the proper authorities, and then perhaps they would get my sentence shortened for me.' "'Half a million, Small?' he gasped, looking hard at me to see if I was in earnest. "'Quite that, sir,--in jewels and pearls. It lies there ready for anyone. And the queer thing about it is that the real owner is outlawed and cannot hold property, so that it belongs to the first comer.' "'To government, Small,' he stammered,--'to government.' But he said it in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart that I had got him. "'You think, then, sir, that I should give the information to the Governor-General?' said I, quietly. "'Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you might repent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me the facts.' "I told him the whole story, with small changes so that he could not identify the places. When I had finished he stood stock still and full of thought. I could see by the twitch of his lip that there was a struggle going on within him. "'This is a very important matter, Small,' he said, at last. 'You must not say a word to any one about it, and I shall see you again soon.' "Two nights later he and his friend Captain Morstan came to my hut in the dead of the night with a lantern. "'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story from your own lips, Small,' said he. "I repeated it as I had told it before. "'It rings true, eh?' said he. 'It's good enough to act upon?' "Captain Morstan nodded. "'Look here, Small,' said the major. 'We have been talking it over, my friend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion that this secret of yours is hardly a government matter, after all, but is a private concern of your own, which of course you have the power of disposing of as you think best. Now, the question is, what price would you ask for it? We might be inclined to take it up, and at least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.' He tried to speak in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were shining with excitement and greed. "'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I answered, trying also to be cool, but feeling as excited as he did, 'there is only one bargain which a man in my position can make. I shall want you to help me to my freedom, and to help my three companions to theirs. We shall then take yo into partnership, and give you a fifth share to divide between you.' "'Hum!' said he. 'A fifth share! That is not very tempting.' "'It would come to fifty thousand apiece,' said I. "'But how can we gain your freedom? You know very well that you ask an impossibility.' "'Nothing of the sort,' I answered. 'I have thought it all out to the last detail. The only bar to our escape is that we can get no boat fit for the voyage, and no provisions to last us for so long a time. There are plenty of little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or Madras which would serve our turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall engage to get aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any part of the Indian coast you will have done your part of the bargain.' "'If there were only one,' he said. "'None or all,' I answered. 'We have sworn it. The four of us must always act together.' "'You see, Morstan,' said he, 'Small is a man of his word. He does not flinch from his friend. I think we may very well trust him.' "'It's a dirty business,' the other answered. 'Yet, as you say, the money would save our commissions handsomely.' "'Well, Small,' said the major, 'we must, I suppose, try and meet you. We must first, of course, test the truth of your story. Tell me where the box is hid, and I shall get leave of absence and go back to India in the monthly relief-boat to inquire into the affair.' "'Not so fast,' said I, growing colder as he got hot. 'I must have the consent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is four or none with us.' "'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three black fellows to do with our agreement?' "'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with me, and we all go together.' "Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which Mahomet Singh, Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present. We talked the matter over again, and at last we came to an arrangement. We were to provide both the officers with charts of the part of the Agra fort and mark the place in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to go to India to test our story. If he found the box he was to leave it there, to send out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was to lie off Rutland Island, and to which we were to make our way, and finally to return to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply for leave of absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a final division of the treasure, he taking the major's share as well as his own. All this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind could think or the lips utter. I sat up all night with paper and ink, and by the morning I had the two charts all ready, signed with the sign of four,--that is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mahomet, and myself. "Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I know that my friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey. I'll make it as short as I can. The villain Sholto went off to India, but he never came back again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among a list of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards. His uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the army, yet he could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan went over to Agra shortly afterwards, and found, as we expected, that the treasure was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all, without carrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold him the secret. From that day I lived only for vengeance. I thought of it by day and I nursed it by night. It became an overpowering, absorbing passion with me. I cared nothing for the law,--nothing for the gallows. To escape, to track down Sholto, to have my hand upon his throat,--that was my one thought. Even the Agra treasure had come to be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of Sholto. "Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and never one which I did not carry out. But it was weary years before my time came. I have told you that I had picked up something of medicine. One day when Dr. Somerton was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was sick to death, and had gone to a lonely place to die. I took him in hand, though he was as venomous as a young snake, and after a couple of months I got him all right and able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then, and would hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about my hut. I learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him all the fonder of me. "Tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and owned a big, roomy canoe of his own. When I found that he was devoted to me and would do anything to serve me, I saw my chance of escape. I talked it over with him. He was to bring his boat round on a certain night to an old wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up. I gave him directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes. "He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever had a more faithful mate. At the night named he had his boat at the wharf. As it chanced, however, there was one of the convict-guard down there,--a vile Pathan who had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring me. I had always vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as if fate had placed him in my way that I might pay my debt before I left the island. He stood on the bank with his back to me, and his carbine on his shoulder. I looked about for a stone to beat out his brains with, but none could I see. "Then a queer thought came into my head and showed me where I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down in the darkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. With three long hops I was on him. He put his carbine to his shoulder, but I struck him full, and knocked the whole front of his skull in. You can see the split in the wood now where I hit him. We both went down together, for I could not keep my balance, but when I got up I found him still lying quiet enough. I made for the boat, and in an hour we were well out at sea. Tonga had brought all his earthly possessions with him, his arms and his gods. Among other things, he had a long bamboo spear, and some Andaman cocoa-nut matting, with which I made a sort of sail. For ten days we were beating about, trusting to luck, and on the eleventh we were picked up by a trader which was going from Singapore to Jiddah with a cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum crowd, and Tonga and I soon managed to settle down among them. They had one very good quality: they let you alone and asked no questions. "Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my little chum and I went through, you would not thank me, for I would have you here until the sun was shining. Here and there we drifted about the world, something always turning up to keep us from London. All the time, however, I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto at night. A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last, however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in England. I had no great difficulty in finding where Sholto lived, and I set to work to discover whether he had realized the treasure, or if he still had it. I made friends with someone who could help me,--I name no names, for I don't want to get any one else in a hole,--and I soon found that he still had the jewels. Then I tried to get at him in many ways; but he was pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters, besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on guard over him. "One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I hurried at once to the garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches like that, and, looking through the window, I saw him lying in his bed, with his sons on each side of him. I'd have come through and taken my chance with the three of them, only even as I looked at him his jaw dropped, and I knew that he was gone. I got into his room that same night, though, and I searched his papers to see if there was any record of where he had hidden our jewels. There was not a line, however: so I came away, bitter and savage as a man could be. Before I left I bethought me that if I ever met my Sikh friends again it would be a satisfaction to know that I had left some mark of our hatred: so I scrawled down the sign of the four of us, as it had been on the chart, and I pinned it on his bosom. It was too much that he should be taken to the grave without some token from the men whom he had robbed and befooled. "We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga at fairs and other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat raw meat and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of pennies after a day's work. I still heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and for some years there was no news to hear, except that they were hunting for the treasure. At last, however, came what we had waited for so long. The treasure had been found. It was up at the top of the house, in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's chemical laboratory. I came at once and had a look at the place, but I could not see how with my wooden leg I was to make my way up to it. I learned, however, about a trap-door in the roof, and also about Mr. Sholto's supper-hour. It seemed to me that I could manage the thing easily through Tonga. I brought him out with me with a long rope wound round his waist. He could climb like a cat, and he soon made his way through the roof, but, as ill luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in the room, to his cost. Tonga thought he had done something very clever in killing him, for when I came up by the rope I found him strutting about as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised was he when I made at him with the rope's end and cursed him for a little blood-thirsty imp. I took the treasure-box and let it down, and then slid down myself, having first left the sign of the four upon the table, to show that the jewels had come back at last to those who had most right to them. Tonga then pulled up the rope, closed the window, and made off the way that he had come. "I don't know that I have anything else to tell you. I had heard a waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch, the Aurora, so I thought she would be a handy craft for our escape. I engaged with old Smith, and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to our ship. He knew, no doubt, that there was some screw loose, but he was not in our secrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you, gentlemen, it is not to amuse you,--for you have not done me a very good turn,--but it is because I believe the best defence I can make is just to hold back nothing, but let all the world know how badly I have myself been served by Major Sholto, and how innocent I am of the death of his son." "A very remarkable account," said Sherlock Holmes. "A fitting wind-up to an extremely interesting case. There is nothing at all new to me in the latter part of your narrative, except that you brought your own rope. That I did not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had lost all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat." "He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his blow-pipe at the time." "Ah, of course," said Holmes. "I had not thought of that." "Is there any other point which you would like to ask about?" asked the convict, affably. "I think not, thank you," my companion answered. "Well, Holmes," said Athelney Jones, "You are a man to be humored, and we all know that you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is duty, and I have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend asked me. I shall feel more at ease when we have our story-teller here safe under lock and key. The cab still waits, and there are two inspectors down-stairs. I am much obliged to you both for your assistance. Of course you will be wanted at the trial. Good-night to you." "Good-night, gentlemen both," said Jonathan Small. "You first, Small," remarked the wary Jones as they left the room. "I'll take particular care that you don't club me with your wooden leg, whatever you may have done to the gentleman at the Andaman Isles." "Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked, after we had set some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband in prospective." He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "I really cannot congratulate you." I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my choice?" I asked. "Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment." "I trust," said I, laughing, "that my judgment may survive the ordeal. But you look weary." "Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag for a week." "Strange," said I, "how terms of what in another man I should call laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor." "Yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings of a very fine loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of those lines of old Goethe,-- Schade, daß die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf, Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff. "By the way, a propos of this Norwood business, you see that they had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided honor of having caught one fish in his great haul." "The division seems rather unfair," I remarked. "You have done all the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the credit, pray what remains for you?" "For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still remains the cocaine-bottle." And he stretched his long white hand up for it. THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA Table of contents Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 CHAPTER I To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory. I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion. One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own. His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion. "Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you." "Seven!" I answered. "Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me that you intended to go into harness." "Then, how do you know?" "I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?" "My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it out." He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together. "It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession." I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," I remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good as yours." "Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hall to this room." "Frequently." "How often?" "Well, some hundreds of times." "Then how many are there?" "How many? I don't know." "Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are interested in these little problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this." He threw over a sheet of thick, pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table. "It came by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud." The note was undated, and without either signature or address. "There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask." "This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imagine that it means?" "I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from it?" I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was written. "The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and stiff." "Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an English paper at all. Hold it up to the light." I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and a large "G" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper. "What do you make of that?" asked Holmes. "The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather." "Not at all. The 'G' with the small 't' stands for 'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is a customary contraction like our 'Co.' 'P,' of course, stands for 'Papier.' Now for the 'Eg.' Let us glance at our Continental Gazetteer." He took down a heavy brown volume from his shelves. "Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in a German-speaking country--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous glass-factories and paper-mills.' Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of that?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud from his cigarette. "The paper was made in Bohemia," I said. "Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of you we have from all quarters received.' A Frenchman or Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writes upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts." As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and grating wheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes whistled. "A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued, glancing out of the window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else." "I think that I had better go, Holmes." "Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it." "But your client--" "Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention." A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and authoritative tap. "Come in!" said Holmes. A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length of obstinacy. "You had my note?" he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly marked German accent. "I told you that I would call." He looked from one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address. "Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?" "You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone." I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into my chair. "It is both, or none," said he. "You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me." The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin," said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history." "I promise," said Holmes. "And I." "You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor. "The august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not exactly my own." "I was aware of it," said Holmes dryly. "The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings of Bohemia." "I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes. Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client. "If your Majesty would condescend to state your case," he remarked, "I should be better able to advise you." The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. "You are right," he cried; "I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?" "Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your Majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia." "But you can understand," said our strange visitor, sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, "you can understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you." "Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more. "The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you." "Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor," murmured Holmes without opening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing all paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to name a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish information. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon the deep-sea fishes. "Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quite so! Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back." "Precisely so. But how--" "Was there a secret marriage?" "None." "No legal papers or certificates?" "None." "Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?" "There is the writing." "Pooh, pooh! Forgery." "My private note-paper." "Stolen." "My own seal." "Imitated." "My photograph." "Bought." "We were both in the photograph." "Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion." "I was mad--insane." "You have compromised yourself seriously." "I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now." "It must be recovered." "We have tried and failed." "Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought." "She will not sell." "Stolen, then." "Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result." "No sign of it?" "Absolutely none." Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem," said he. "But a very serious one to me," returned the King reproachfully. "Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?" "To ruin me." "But how?" "I am about to be married." "So I have heard." "To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of Scandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is herself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end." "And Irene Adler?" "Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that she will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go--none." "You are sure that she has not sent it yet?" "I am sure." "And why?" "Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday." "Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes with a yawn. "That is very fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into just at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for the present?" "Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the Count Von Kramm." "Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress." "Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety." "Then, as to money?" "You have carte blanche." "Absolutely?" "I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph." "And for present expenses?" The King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid it on the table. "There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes," he said. Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it to him. "And Mademoiselle's address?" he asked. "Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood." Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he. "Was the photograph a cabinet?" "It was." "Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have some good news for you. And good-night, Watson," he added, as the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If you will be good enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock I should like to chat this little matter over with you." CHAPTER II At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortly after eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were associated with the two crimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success that the very possibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head. It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed heartily for some minutes. "Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair. "What is it?" "It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed my morning, or what I ended by doing." "I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, and perhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler." "Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning in the character of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to the road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and those preposterous English window fasteners which a child could open. Behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and examined it closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else of interest. "I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent the ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in exchange twopence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say nothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was not in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to listen to." "And what of Irene Adler?" I asked. "Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the Serpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing, never calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton, of the Inner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine-mews, and knew all about him. When I had listened to all they had to tell, I began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan of campaign. "This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client, his friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should continue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are to understand the situation." "I am following you closely," I answered. "I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably handsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently the man of whom I had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home. "He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking excitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly, 'Drive like the devil,' he shouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!' "Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn't pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with a face that a man might die for. "'The Church of St. Monica, John,' she cried, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.' "This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when a cab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. 'The Church of St. Monica,' said I, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind. "My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but the others were there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horses were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried into the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me. "'Thank God,' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!' "'What then?' I asked. "'Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won't be legal.' "I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position in which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some informality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion." "This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "and what then?" "Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, they separated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house. 'I shall drive out in the park at five as usual,' she said as she left him. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I went off to make my own arrangements." "Which are?" "Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringing the bell. "I have been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still this evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your co-operation." "I shall be delighted." "You don't mind breaking the law?" "Not in the least." "Nor running a chance of arrest?" "Not in a good cause." "Oh, the cause is excellent!" "Then I am your man." "I was sure that I might rely on you." "But what is it you wish?" "When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you. Now," he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our landlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene of action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at seven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her." "And what then?" "You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere, come what may. You understand?" "I am to be neutral?" "To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window will open. You are to station yourself close to that open window." "Yes." "You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you." "Yes." "And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what I give you to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me?" "Entirely." "It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made myself clear?" "I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at the signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street." "Precisely." "Then you may entirely rely on me." "That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare for the new role I have to play." He disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the character of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His broad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such as Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime. It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from Sherlock Holmes' succinct description, but the locality appeared to be less private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigars in their mouths. "You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse to its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming to the eyes of his princess. Now the question is--Where are we to find the photograph?" "Where, indeed?" "It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. She knows that the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that she does not carry it about with her." "Where, then?" "Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am inclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else? She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what indirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a business man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in her own house." "But it has twice been burgled." "Pshaw! They did not know how to look." "But how will you look?" "I will not look." "What then?" "I will get her to show me." "But she will refuse." "She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter." As he spoke the gleam of the side-lights of a carriage came round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at the corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who struck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but just as he reached her he gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers in the other, while a number of better-dressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it, crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she stood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street. "Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked. "He is dead," cried several voices. "No, no, there's life in him!" shouted another. "But he'll be gone before you can get him to hospital." "He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would have had the lady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and a rough one, too. Ah, he's breathing now." "He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?" "Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please!" Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out in the principal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my post by the window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he was playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are but preventing her from injuring another. Holmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At the same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the signal I tossed my rocket into the room with a cry of "Fire!" The word was no sooner out of my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and ill--gentlemen, ostlers, and servant-maids--joined in a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the open window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later the voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in silence for some few minutes until we had turned down one of the quiet streets which lead towards the Edgeware Road. "You did it very nicely, Doctor," he remarked. "Nothing could have been better. It is all right." "You have the photograph?" "I know where it is." "And how did you find out?" "She showed me, as I told you she would." "I am still in the dark." "I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing. "The matter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was an accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening." "I guessed as much." "Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick." "That also I could fathom." "Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else could she do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room which I suspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to see which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelled to open the window, and you had your chance." "How did that help you?" "It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. It is a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it. In the case of the Darlington substitution scandal it was of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married woman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house more precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as she half-drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachman had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly it seemed safer to wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all." "And now?" I asked. "Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that when she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his own hands." "And when will you call?" "At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall have a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a complete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King without delay." We had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was searching his pockets for the key when someone passing said: "Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes." There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by. "I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring down the dimly lit street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been." CHAPTER III I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the room. "You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face. "Not yet." "But you have hopes?" "I have hopes." "Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone." "We must have a cab." "No, my brougham is waiting." "Then that will simplify matters." We descended and started off once more for Briony Lodge. "Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes. "Married! When?" "Yesterday." "But to whom?" "To an English lawyer named Norton." "But she could not love him." "I am in hopes that she does." "And why in hopes?" "Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with your Majesty's plan." "It is true. And yet--Well! I wish she had been of my own station! What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a moody silence, which was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue. The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the steps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the brougham. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she. "I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, looking at her with a questioning and rather startled gaze. "Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left this morning with her husband by the 5.15 train from Charing Cross for the Continent." "What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?" "Never to return." "And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely. "All is lost." "We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for." My friend tore it open and we all three read it together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way: "My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes: "You really did it very well. You took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had been told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed. "Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband. "We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, "Very truly yours, "Irene Norton, née Adler." "What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?" "From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly. "I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business to a more successful conclusion." "On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothing could be more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire." "I am glad to hear your Majesty say so." "I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand. "Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly," said Holmes. "You have but to name it." "This photograph!" The King stared at him in amazement. "Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it." "I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning." He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers. And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me. "You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," he said cordially. "I was afraid that you were engaged." "So I am. Very much so." "Then I can wait in the next room." "Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also." The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes. "Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. "I know, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have shown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so many of my own little adventures." "Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me," I observed. "You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went into the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination." "A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting." "You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr. Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular which I have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that the strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed. As far as I have heard it is impossible for me to say whether the present case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events is certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence your narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has not heard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course of events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar cases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique." The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the man and endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications which might be presented by his dress or appearance. I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features. Sherlock Holmes' quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. "Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else." Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion. "How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "How did you know, for example, that I did manual labour. It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship's carpenter." "Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed." "Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?" "I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arc-and-compass breastpin." "Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?" "What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk?" "Well, but China?" "The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple." Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. "Well, I never!" said he. "I thought at first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was nothing in it, after all." "I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make a mistake in explaining. 'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know, and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?" "Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick red finger planted halfway down the column. "Here it is. This is what began it all. You just read it for yourself, sir." I took the paper from him and read as follows: "To the Red-headed League: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of £4 a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street." "What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I had twice read over the extraordinary announcement. Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in high spirits. "It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?" said he. "And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about yourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had upon your fortunes. You will first make a note, Doctor, of the paper and the date." "It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago." "Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?" "Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; "I have a small pawnbroker's business at Coburg Square, near the City. It's not a very large affair, and of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I used to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I would have a job to pay him but that he is willing to come for half wages so as to learn the business." "What is the name of this obliging youth?" asked Sherlock Holmes. "His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he's not such a youth, either. It's hard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes; and I know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what I am able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I put ideas in his head?" "Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an employee who comes under the full market price. It is not a common experience among employers in this age. I don't know that your assistant is not as remarkable as your advertisement." "Oh, he has his faults, too," said Mr. Wilson. "Never was such a fellow for photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be improving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit into its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on the whole he's a good worker. There's no vice in him." "He is still with you, I presume?" "Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking and keeps the place clean--that's all I have in the house, for I am a widower and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three of us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do nothing more. "The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he came down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very paper in his hand, and he says: "'I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.' "'Why that?' I asks. "'Why,' says he, 'here's another vacancy on the League of the Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets it, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men, so that the trustees are at their wits' end what to do with the money. If my hair would only change colour, here's a nice little crib all ready for me to step into.' "'Why, what is it, then?' I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to go to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the door-mat. In that way I didn't know much of what was going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news. "'Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?' he asked with his eyes open. "'Never.' "'Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the vacancies.' "'And what are they worth?' I asked. "'Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it need not interfere very much with one's other occupations.' "Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the business has not been over-good for some years, and an extra couple of hundred would have been very handy. "'Tell me all about it,' said I. "'Well,' said he, showing me the advertisement, 'you can see for yourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where you should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League was founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great sympathy for all red-headed men; so when he died it was found that he had left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with instructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to men whose hair is of that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay and very little to do.' "'But,' said I, 'there would be millions of red-headed men who would apply.' "'Not so many as you might think,' he answered. 'You see it is really confined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from London when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn. Then, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is light red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery red. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in; but perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of the way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.' "Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my hair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if there was to be any competition in the matter I stood as good a chance as any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so much about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered him to put up the shutters for the day and to come right away with me. He was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and started off for the address that was given us in the advertisement. "I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From north, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his hair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet Street was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope's Court looked like a coster's orange barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in the whole country as were brought together by that single advertisement. Every shade of colour they were--straw, lemon, orange, brick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were not many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how many were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding would not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed and pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up to the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon the stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we wedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in the office." "Your experience has been a most entertaining one," remarked Holmes as his client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff. "Pray continue your very interesting statement." "There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a deal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even redder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up, and then he always managed to find some fault in them which would disqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy matter, after all. However, when our turn came the little man was much more favourable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door as we entered, so that he might have a private word with us. "'This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,' said my assistant, 'and he is willing to fill a vacancy in the League.' "'And he is admirably suited for it,' the other answered. 'He has every requirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.' He took a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair until I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly on my success. "'It would be injustice to hesitate,' said he. 'You will, however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.' With that he seized my hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. 'There is water in your eyes,' said he as he released me. 'I perceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales of cobbler's wax which would disgust you with human nature.' He stepped over to the window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that the vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below, and the folk all trooped away in different directions until there was not a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager. "'My name,' said he, 'is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the pensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?' "I answered that I had not. "His face fell immediately. "'Dear me!' he said gravely, 'that is very serious indeed! I am sorry to hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and spread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.' "My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not to have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few minutes he said that it would be all right. "'In the case of another,' said he, 'the objection might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as yours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?' "'Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,' said I. "'Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!' said Vincent Spaulding. 'I should be able to look after that for you.' "'What would be the hours?' I asked. "'Ten to two.' "Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Besides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see to anything that turned up. "'That would suit me very well,' said I. 'And the pay?' "'Is £4 a week.' "'And the work?' "'Is purely nominal.' "'What do you call purely nominal?' "'Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The will is very clear upon that point. You don't comply with the conditions if you budge from the office during that time.' "'It's only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,' said I. "'No excuse will avail,' said Mr. Duncan Ross; 'neither sickness nor business nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your billet.' "'And the work?' "'Is to copy out the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." There is the first volume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready to-morrow?' "'Certainly,' I answered. "'Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once more on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to gain.' He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my assistant, hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good fortune. "Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low spirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair must be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I could not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could make such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica.' Vincent Spaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of ink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I started off for Pope's Court. "Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible. The table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to see that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and then he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all was right with me. At two o'clock he bade me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office after me. "This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager came in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week's work. It was the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would not risk the loss of it. "Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with diligence that I might get on to the B's before very long. It cost me something in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my writings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end." "To an end?" "Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual at ten o'clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square of cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, and you can read for yourself." He held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of note-paper. It read in this fashion: The Red-headed League is Dissolved October 9, 1890. Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely overtopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar of laughter. "I cannot see that there is anything very funny," cried our client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head. "If you can do nothing better than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere." "No, no," cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he had half risen. "I really wouldn't miss your case for the world. It is most refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying so, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you take when you found the card upon the door?" "I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the offices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it. Finally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the ground-floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of the Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such body. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the name was new to him. "'Well,' said I, 'the gentleman at No. 4.' "'What, the red-headed man?' "'Yes.' "'Oh,' said he, 'his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and was using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises were ready. He moved out yesterday.' "'Where could I find him?' "'Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King Edward Street, near St. Paul's.' "I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a manufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of either Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross." "And what did you do then?" asked Holmes. "I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my assistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that if I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough, Mr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so, as I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk who were in need of it, I came right away to you." "And you did very wisely," said Holmes. "Your case is an exceedingly remarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you have told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from it than might at first sight appear." "Grave enough!" said Mr. Jabez Wilson. "Why, I have lost four pound a week." "As far as you are personally concerned," remarked Holmes, "I do not see that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On the contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £30, to say nothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject which comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them." "No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what their object was in playing this prank--if it was a prank--upon me. It was a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty pounds." "We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one or two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called your attention to the advertisement--how long had he been with you?" "About a month then." "How did he come?" "In answer to an advertisement." "Was he the only applicant?" "No, I had a dozen." "Why did you pick him?" "Because he was handy and would come cheap." "At half-wages, in fact." "Yes." "What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?" "Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face, though he's not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his forehead." Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. "I thought as much," said he. "Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for earrings?" "Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a lad." "Hum!" said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. "He is still with you?" "Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him." "And has your business been attended to in your absence?" "Nothing to complain of, sir. There's never very much to do of a morning." "That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion." "Well, Watson," said Holmes when our visitor had left us, "what do you make of it all?" "I make nothing of it," I answered frankly. "It is a most mysterious business." "As a rule," said Holmes, "the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter." "What are you going to do, then?" I asked. "To smoke," he answered. "It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty minutes." He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece. "Sarasate plays at the St. James's Hall this afternoon," he remarked. "What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few hours?" "I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing." "Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first, and we can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal of German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Come along!" We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which we had listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel place, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few clumps of faded laurel-bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with "Jabez Wilson" in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the place where our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it all over, with his eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker's, and, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or three times, he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to step in. "Thank you," said Holmes, "I only wished to ask you how you would go from here to the Strand." "Third right, fourth left," answered the assistant promptly, closing the door. "Smart fellow, that," observed Holmes as we walked away. "He is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not sure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him before." "Evidently," said I, "Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for a good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that you might see him." "Not him." "What then?" "The knees of his trousers." "And what did you see?" "What I expected to see." "Why did you beat the pavement?" "My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are spies in an enemy's country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore the parts which lie behind it." The road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west. The roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in a double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with the hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we looked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that they really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant square which we had just quitted. "Let me see," said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along the line, "I should like just to remember the order of the houses here. It is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is Mortimer's, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg branch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and McFarlane's carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the other block. And now, Doctor, we've done our work, so it's time we had some play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land, where all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no red-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums." My friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the afternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his gently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted, ready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his singular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his extreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought, the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other mortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St. James's Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down. "You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor," he remarked as we emerged. "Yes, it would be as well." "And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This business at Coburg Square is serious." "Why serious?" "A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday rather complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night." "At what time?" "Ten will be early enough." "I shall be at Baker Street at ten." "Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your pocket." He waved his hand, turned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd. I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always oppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not only what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the whole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story of the red-headed copier of the "Encyclopaedia" down to the visit to Saxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from me. What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed? Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker's assistant was a formidable man--a man who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an explanation. It was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way across the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heard the sound of voices from above. On entering his room I found Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognised as Peter Jones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat. "Ha! Our party is complete," said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket and taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. "Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adventure." "We're hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see," said Jones in his consequential way. "Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a chase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down." "I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase," observed Mr. Merryweather gloomily. "You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir," said the police agent loftily. "He has his own little methods, which are, if he won't mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say that once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official force." "Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right," said the stranger with deference. "Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my rubber." "I think you will find," said Sherlock Holmes, "that you will play for a higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play will be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some £30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you wish to lay your hands." "John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger. He's a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the head of his profession, and I would rather have my bracelets on him than on any criminal in London. He's a remarkable man, is young John Clay. His grandfather was a royal duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Oxford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where to find the man himself. He'll crack a crib in Scotland one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in Cornwall the next. I've been on his track for years and have never set eyes on him yet." "I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to-night. I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that he is at the head of his profession. It is past ten, however, and quite time that we started. If you two will take the first hansom, Watson and I will follow in the second." Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during the long drive and lay back in the cab humming the tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We rattled through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we emerged into Farrington Street. "We are close there now," my friend remarked. "This fellow Merryweather is a bank director, and personally interested in the matter. I thought it as well to have Jones with us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute imbecile in his profession. He has one positive virtue. He is as brave as a bulldog and as tenacious as a lobster if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they are waiting for us." We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in which we had found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs were dismissed, and, following the guidance of Mr. Merryweather, we passed down a narrow passage and through a side door, which he opened for us. Within there was a small corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate. This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate. Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then conducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage, and so, after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar, which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes. "You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes remarked as he held up the lantern and gazed about him. "Nor from below," said Mr. Merryweather, striking his stick upon the flags which lined the floor. "Why, dear me, it sounds quite hollow!" he remarked, looking up in surprise. "I must really ask you to be a little more quiet!" said Holmes severely. "You have already imperilled the whole success of our expedition. Might I beg that you would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those boxes, and not to interfere?" The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a crate, with a very injured expression upon his face, while Holmes fell upon his knees upon the floor and, with the lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minutely the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sufficed to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again and put his glass in his pocket. "We have at least an hour before us," he remarked, "for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawnbroker is safely in bed. Then they will not lose a minute, for the sooner they do their work the longer time they will have for their escape. We are at present, Doctor--as no doubt you have divined--in the cellar of the City branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will explain to you that there are reasons why the more daring criminals of London should take a considerable interest in this cellar at present." "It is our French gold," whispered the director. "We have had several warnings that an attempt might be made upon it." "Your French gold?" "Yes. We had occasion some months ago to strengthen our resources and borrowed for that purpose 30,000 napoleons from the Bank of France. It has become known that we have never had occasion to unpack the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The crate upon which I sit contains 2,000 napoleons packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single branch office, and the directors have had misgivings upon the subject." "Which were very well justified," observed Holmes. "And now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I expect that within an hour matters will come to a head. In the meantime Mr. Merryweather, we must put the screen over that dark lantern." "And sit in the dark?" "I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my pocket, and I thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you might have your rubber after all. But I see that the enemy's preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose our positions. These are daring men, and though we shall take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some harm unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then, when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If they fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them down." I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wooden case behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide across the front of his lantern and left us in pitch darkness--such an absolute darkness as I have never before experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold dank air of the vault. "They have but one retreat," whispered Holmes. "That is back through the house into Saxe-Coburg Square. I hope that you have done what I asked you, Jones?" "I have an inspector and two officers waiting at the front door." "Then we have stopped all the holes. And now we must be silent and wait." What a time it seemed! From comparing notes afterwards it was but an hour and a quarter, yet it appeared to me that the night must have almost gone and the dawn be breaking above us. My limbs were weary and stiff, for I feared to change my position; yet my nerves were worked up to the highest pitch of tension, and my hearing was so acute that I could not only hear the gentle breathing of my companions, but I could distinguish the deeper, heavier in-breath of the bulky Jones from the thin, sighing note of the bank director. From my position I could look over the case in the direction of the floor. Suddenly my eyes caught the glint of a light. At first it was but a lurid spark upon the stone pavement. Then it lengthened out until it became a yellow line, and then, without any warning or sound, a gash seemed to open and a hand appeared, a white, almost womanly hand, which felt about in the centre of the little area of light. For a minute or more the hand, with its writhing fingers, protruded out of the floor. Then it was withdrawn as suddenly as it appeared, and all was dark again save the single lurid spark which marked a chink between the stones. Its disappearance, however, was but momentary. With a rending, tearing sound, one of the broad, white stones turned over upon its side and left a square, gaping hole, through which streamed the light of a lantern. Over the edge there peeped a clean-cut, boyish face, which looked keenly about it, and then, with a hand on either side of the aperture, drew itself shoulder-high and waist-high, until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant he stood at the side of the hole and was hauling after him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale face and a shock of very red hair. "It's all clear," he whispered. "Have you the chisel and the bags? Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and I'll swing for it!" Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intruder by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I heard the sound of rending cloth as Jones clutched at his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolver, but Holmes' hunting crop came down on the man's wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor. "It's no use, John Clay," said Holmes blandly. "You have no chance at all." "So I see," the other answered with the utmost coolness. "I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you have got his coat-tails." "There are three men waiting for him at the door," said Holmes. "Oh, indeed! You seem to have done the thing very completely. I must compliment you." "And I you," Holmes answered. "Your red-headed idea was very new and effective." "You'll see your pal again presently," said Jones. "He's quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just hold out while I fix the derbies." "I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy hands," remarked our prisoner as the handcuffs clattered upon his wrists. "You may not be aware that I have royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness, also, when you address me always to say 'sir' and 'please.'" "All right," said Jones with a stare and a snigger. "Well, would you please, sir, march upstairs, where we can get a cab to carry your Highness to the police-station?" "That is better," said John Clay serenely. He made a sweeping bow to the three of us and walked quietly off in the custody of the detective. "Really, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Merryweather as we followed them from the cellar, "I do not know how the bank can thank you or repay you. There is no doubt that you have detected and defeated in the most complete manner one of the most determined attempts at bank robbery that have ever come within my experience." "I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle with Mr. John Clay," said Holmes. "I have been at some small expense over this matter, which I shall expect the bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid by having had an experience which is in many ways unique, and by hearing the very remarkable narrative of the Red-headed League." "You see, Watson," he explained in the early hours of the morning as we sat over a glass of whisky and soda in Baker Street, "it was perfectly obvious from the first that the only possible object of this rather fantastic business of the advertisement of the League, and the copying of the 'Encyclopaedia,' must be to get this not over-bright pawnbroker out of the way for a number of hours every day. It was a curious way of managing it, but, really, it would be difficult to suggest a better. The method was no doubt suggested to Clay's ingenious mind by the colour of his accomplice's hair. The £4 a week was a lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who were playing for thousands? They put in the advertisement, one rogue has the temporary office, the other rogue incites the man to apply for it, and together they manage to secure his absence every morning in the week. From the time that I heard of the assistant having come for half wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong motive for securing the situation." "But how could you guess what the motive was?" "Had there been women in the house, I should have suspected a mere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was out of the question. The man's business was a small one, and there was nothing in his house which could account for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure as they were at. It must, then, be something out of the house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant's fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tangled clue. Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious assistant and found that I had to deal with one of the coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was doing something in the cellar--something which took many hours a day for months on end. What could it be, once more? I could think of nothing save that he was running a tunnel to some other building. "So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of action. I surprised you by beating upon the pavement with my stick. I was ascertaining whether the cellar stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front. Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant answered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had never set eyes upon each other before. I hardly looked at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and stained they were. They spoke of those hours of burrowing. The only remaining point was what they were burrowing for. I walked round the corner, saw the City and Suburban Bank abutted on our friend's premises, and felt that I had solved my problem. When you drove home after the concert I called upon Scotland Yard and upon the chairman of the bank directors, with the result that you have seen." "And how could you tell that they would make their attempt to-night?" I asked. "Well, when they closed their League offices that was a sign that they cared no longer about Mr. Jabez Wilson's presence--in other words, that they had completed their tunnel. But it was essential that they should use it soon, as it might be discovered, or the bullion might be removed. Saturday would suit them better than any other day, as it would give them two days for their escape. For all these reasons I expected them to come to-night." "You reasoned it out beautifully," I exclaimed in unfeigned admiration. "It is so long a chain, and yet every link rings true." "It saved me from ennui," he answered, yawning. "Alas! I already feel it closing in upon me. My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplaces of existence. These little problems help me to do so." "And you are a benefactor of the race," said I. He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, perhaps, after all, it is of some little use," he remarked. "'L'homme c'est rien--l'oeuvre c'est tout,' as Gustave Flaubert wrote to George Sand." A CASE OF IDENTITY "My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outré results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable." "And yet I am not convinced of it," I answered. "The cases which come to light in the papers are, as a rule, bald enough, and vulgar enough. We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic." "A certain selection and discretion must be used in producing a realistic effect," remarked Holmes. "This is wanting in the police report, where more stress is laid, perhaps, upon the platitudes of the magistrate than upon the details, which to an observer contain the vital essence of the whole matter. Depend upon it, there is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace." I smiled and shook my head. "I can quite understand your thinking so." I said. "Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre. But here"--I picked up the morning paper from the ground--"let us put it to a practical test. Here is the first heading upon which I come. 'A husband's cruelty to his wife.' There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude." "Indeed, your example is an unfortunate one for your argument," said Holmes, taking the paper and glancing his eye down it. "This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it. The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller. Take a pinch of snuff, Doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your example." He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it. "Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks. It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers." "And the ring?" I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger. "It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems." "And have you any on hand just now?" I asked with interest. "Some ten or twelve, but none which present any feature of interest. They are important, you understand, without being interesting. Indeed, I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest. It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken." He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. From under this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and we heard the sharp clang of the bell. "I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his cigarette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always means an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure that the matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet even here we may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell wire. Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she comes in person to resolve our doubts." As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him. "Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a little trying to do so much typewriting?" "I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters are without looking." Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "You've heard about me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?" "Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If not, why should you come to consult me?" "I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I'm not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides the little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel." "Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked Sherlock Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling. Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said, "for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank--that is, my father--took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on with my things and came right away to you." "Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the name is different." "Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too, for he is only five years and two months older than myself." "And your mother is alive?" "Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr. Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got £4700 for the goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as father could have got if he had been alive." I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened with the greatest concentration of attention. "Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the business?" "Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4½ per cent. Two thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the interest." "You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you draw so large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain, you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about £60." "I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them, and so they have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr. Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother, and I find that I can do pretty well with what I earn at typewriting. It brings me twopence a sheet, and I can often do from fifteen to twenty sheets in a day." "You have made your position very clear to me," said Holmes. "This is my friend, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Kindly tell us now all about your connection with Mr. Hosmer Angel." A flush stole over Miss Sutherland's face, and she picked nervously at the fringe of her jacket. "I met him first at the gasfitters' ball," she said. "They used to send father tickets when he was alive, and then afterwards they remembered us, and sent them to mother. Mr. Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent? He said the folk were not fit for us to know, when all father's friends were to be there. And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer. At last, when nothing else would do, he went off to France upon the business of the firm, but we went, mother and I, with Mr. Hardy, who used to be our foreman, and it was there I met Mr. Hosmer Angel." "I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr. Windibank came back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball." "Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way." "I see. Then at the gasfitters' ball you met, as I understand, a gentleman called Mr. Hosmer Angel." "Yes, sir. I met him that night, and he called next day to ask if we had got home all safe, and after that we met him--that is to say, Mr. Holmes, I met him twice for walks, but after that father came back again, and Mr. Hosmer Angel could not come to the house any more." "No?" "Well, you know father didn't like anything of the sort. He wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle. But then, as I used to say to mother, a woman wants her own circle to begin with, and I had not got mine yet." "But how about Mr. Hosmer Angel? Did he make no attempt to see you?" "Well, father was going off to France again in a week, and Hosmer wrote and said that it would be safer and better not to see each other until he had gone. We could write in the meantime, and he used to write every day. I took the letters in in the morning, so there was no need for father to know." "Were you engaged to the gentleman at this time?" "Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. We were engaged after the first walk that we took. Hosmer--Mr. Angel--was a cashier in an office in Leadenhall Street--and--" "What office?" "That's the worst of it, Mr. Holmes, I don't know." "Where did he live, then?" "He slept on the premises." "And you don't know his address?" "No--except that it was Leadenhall Street." "Where did you address your letters, then?" "To the Leadenhall Street Post Office, to be left till called for. He said that if they were sent to the office he would be chaffed by all the other clerks about having letters from a lady, so I offered to typewrite them, like he did his, but he wouldn't have that, for he said that when I wrote them they seemed to come from me, but when they were typewritten he always felt that the machine had come between us. That will just show you how fond he was of me, Mr. Holmes, and the little things that he would think of." "It was most suggestive," said Holmes. "It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important. Can you remember any other little things about Mr. Hosmer Angel?" "He was a very shy man, Mr. Holmes. He would rather walk with me in the evening than in the daylight, for he said that he hated to be conspicuous. Very retiring and gentlemanly he was. Even his voice was gentle. He'd had the quinsy and swollen glands when he was young, he told me, and it had left him with a weak throat, and a hesitating, whispering fashion of speech. He was always well dressed, very neat and plain, but his eyes were weak, just as mine are, and he wore tinted glasses against the glare." "Well, and what happened when Mr. Windibank, your stepfather, returned to France?" "Mr. Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to him. Mother said he was quite right to make me swear, and that it was a sign of his passion. Mother was all in his favour from the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him. I didn't quite like that, Mr. Holmes. It seemed funny that I should ask his leave, as he was only a few years older than me; but I didn't want to do anything on the sly, so I wrote to father at Bordeaux, where the company has its French offices, but the letter came back to me on the very morning of the wedding." "It missed him, then?" "Yes, sir; for he had started to England just before it arrived." "Ha! that was unfortunate. Your wedding was arranged, then, for the Friday. Was it to be in church?" "Yes, sir, but very quietly. It was to be at St. Saviour's, near King's Cross, and we were to have breakfast afterwards at the St. Pancras Hotel. Hosmer came for us in a hansom, but as there were two of us he put us both into it and stepped himself into a four-wheeler, which happened to be the only other cab in the street. We got to the church first, and when the four-wheeler drove up we waited for him to step out, but he never did, and when the cabman got down from the box and looked there was no one there! The cabman said that he could not imagine what had become of him, for he had seen him get in with his own eyes. That was last Friday, Mr. Holmes, and I have never seen or heard anything since then to throw any light upon what became of him." "It seems to me that you have been very shamefully treated," said Holmes. "Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it." "Most certainly it does. Your own opinion is, then, that some unforeseen catastrophe has occurred to him?" "Yes, sir. I believe that he foresaw some danger, or else he would not have talked so. And then I think that what he foresaw happened." "But you have no notion as to what it could have been?" "None." "One more question. How did your mother take the matter?" "She was angry, and said that I was never to speak of the matter again." "And your father? Did you tell him?" "Yes; and he seemed to think, with me, that something had happened, and that I should hear of Hosmer again. As he said, what interest could anyone have in bringing me to the doors of the church, and then leaving me? Now, if he had borrowed my money, or if he had married me and got my money settled on him, there might be some reason, but Hosmer was very independent about money and never would look at a shilling of mine. And yet, what could have happened? And why could he not write? Oh, it drives me half-mad to think of it, and I can't sleep a wink at night." She pulled a little handkerchief out of her muff and began to sob heavily into it. "I shall glance into the case for you," said Holmes, rising, "and I have no doubt that we shall reach some definite result. Let the weight of the matter rest upon me now, and do not let your mind dwell upon it further. Above all, try to let Mr. Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life." "Then you don't think I'll see him again?" "I fear not." "Then what has happened to him?" "You will leave that question in my hands. I should like an accurate description of him and any letters of his which you can spare." "I advertised for him in last Saturday's Chronicle," said she. "Here is the slip and here are four letters from him." "Thank you. And your address?" "No. 31 Lyon Place, Camberwell." "Mr. Angel's address you never had, I understand. Where is your father's place of business?" "He travels for Westhouse & Marbank, the great claret importers of Fenchurch Street." "Thank you. You have made your statement very clearly. You will leave the papers here, and remember the advice which I have given you. Let the whole incident be a sealed book, and do not allow it to affect your life." "You are very kind, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back." For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever she might be summoned. Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of infinite languor in his face. "Quite an interesting study, that maiden," he observed. "I found her more interesting than her little problem, which, by the way, is rather a trite one. You will find parallel cases, if you consult my index, in Andover in '77, and there was something of the sort at The Hague last year. Old as is the idea, however, there were one or two details which were new to me. But the maiden herself was most instructive." "You appeared to read a good deal upon her which was quite invisible to me," I remarked. "Not invisible but unnoticed, Watson. You did not know where to look, and so you missed all that was important. I can never bring you to realise the importance of sleeves, the suggestiveness of thumb-nails, or the great issues that may hang from a boot-lace. Now, what did you gather from that woman's appearance? Describe it." "Well, she had a slate-coloured, broad-brimmed straw hat, with a feather of a brickish red. Her jacket was black, with black beads sewn upon it, and a fringe of little black jet ornaments. Her dress was brown, rather darker than coffee colour, with a little purple plush at the neck and sleeves. Her gloves were greyish and were worn through at the right forefinger. Her boots I didn't observe. She had small round, hanging gold earrings, and a general air of being fairly well-to-do in a vulgar, comfortable, easy-going way." Sherlock Holmes clapped his hands softly together and chuckled. "'Pon my word, Watson, you are coming along wonderfully. You have really done very well indeed. It is true that you have missed everything of importance, but you have hit upon the method, and you have a quick eye for colour. Never trust to general impressions, my boy, but concentrate yourself upon details. My first glance is always at a woman's sleeve. In a man it is perhaps better first to take the knee of the trouser. As you observe, this woman had plush upon her sleeves, which is a most useful material for showing traces. The double line a little above the wrist, where the typewritist presses against the table, was beautifully defined. The sewing-machine, of the hand type, leaves a similar mark, but only on the left arm, and on the side of it farthest from the thumb, instead of being right across the broadest part, as this was. I then glanced at her face, and, observing the dint of a pince-nez at either side of her nose, I ventured a remark upon short sight and typewriting, which seemed to surprise her." "It surprised me." "But, surely, it was obvious. I was then much surprised and interested on glancing down to observe that, though the boots which she was wearing were not unlike each other, they were really odd ones; the one having a slightly decorated toe-cap, and the other a plain one. One was buttoned only in the two lower buttons out of five, and the other at the first, third, and fifth. Now, when you see that a young lady, otherwise neatly dressed, has come away from home with odd boots, half-buttoned, it is no great deduction to say that she came away in a hurry." "And what else?" I asked, keenly interested, as I always was, by my friend's incisive reasoning. "I noted, in passing, that she had written a note before leaving home but after being fully dressed. You observed that her right glove was torn at the forefinger, but you did not apparently see that both glove and finger were stained with violet ink. She had written in a hurry and dipped her pen too deep. It must have been this morning, or the mark would not remain clear upon the finger. All this is amusing, though rather elementary, but I must go back to business, Watson. Would you mind reading me the advertised description of Mr. Hosmer Angel?" I held the little printed slip to the light. "Missing," it said, "on the morning of the fourteenth, a gentleman named Hosmer Angel. About five ft. seven in. in height; strongly built, sallow complexion, black hair, a little bald in the centre, bushy, black side-whiskers and moustache; tinted glasses, slight infirmity of speech. Was dressed, when last seen, in black frock-coat faced with silk, black waistcoat, gold Albert chain, and grey Harris tweed trousers, with brown gaiters over elastic-sided boots. Known to have been employed in an office in Leadenhall Street. Anybody bringing--" "That will do," said Holmes. "As to the letters," he continued, glancing over them, "they are very commonplace. Absolutely no clue in them to Mr. Angel, save that he quotes Balzac once. There is one remarkable point, however, which will no doubt strike you." "They are typewritten," I remarked. "Not only that, but the signature is typewritten. Look at the neat little 'Hosmer Angel' at the bottom. There is a date, you see, but no superscription except Leadenhall Street, which is rather vague. The point about the signature is very suggestive--in fact, we may call it conclusive." "Of what?" "My dear fellow, is it possible you do not see how strongly it bears upon the case?" "I cannot say that I do unless it were that he wished to be able to deny his signature if an action for breach of promise were instituted." "No, that was not the point. However, I shall write two letters, which should settle the matter. One is to a firm in the City, the other is to the young lady's stepfather, Mr. Windibank, asking him whether he could meet us here at six o'clock tomorrow evening. It is just as well that we should do business with the male relatives. And now, Doctor, we can do nothing until the answers to those letters come, so we may put our little problem upon the shelf for the interim." I had had so many reasons to believe in my friend's subtle powers of reasoning and extraordinary energy in action that I felt that he must have some solid grounds for the assured and easy demeanour with which he treated the singular mystery which he had been called upon to fathom. Once only had I known him to fail, in the case of the King of Bohemia and of the Irene Adler photograph; but when I looked back to the weird business of the Sign of Four, and the extraordinary circumstances connected with the Study in Scarlet, I felt that it would be a strange tangle indeed which he could not unravel. I left him then, still puffing at his black clay pipe, with the conviction that when I came again on the next evening I would find that he held in his hands all the clues which would lead up to the identity of the disappearing bridegroom of Miss Mary Sutherland. A professional case of great gravity was engaging my own attention at the time, and the whole of next day I was busy at the bedside of the sufferer. It was not until close upon six o'clock that I found myself free and was able to spring into a hansom and drive to Baker Street, half afraid that I might be too late to assist at the dénouement of the little mystery. I found Sherlock Holmes alone, however, half asleep, with his long, thin form curled up in the recesses of his armchair. A formidable array of bottles and test-tubes, with the pungent cleanly smell of hydrochloric acid, told me that he had spent his day in the chemical work which was so dear to him. "Well, have you solved it?" I asked as I entered. "Yes. It was the bisulphate of baryta." "No, no, the mystery!" I cried. "Oh, that! I thought of the salt that I have been working upon. There was never any mystery in the matter, though, as I said yesterday, some of the details are of interest. The only drawback is that there is no law, I fear, that can touch the scoundrel." "Who was he, then, and what was his object in deserting Miss Sutherland?" The question was hardly out of my mouth, and Holmes had not yet opened his lips to reply, when we heard a heavy footfall in the passage and a tap at the door. "This is the girl's stepfather, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "He has written to me to say that he would be here at six. Come in!" The man who entered was a sturdy, middle-sized fellow, some thirty years of age, clean-shaven, and sallow-skinned, with a bland, insinuating manner, and a pair of wonderfully sharp and penetrating grey eyes. He shot a questioning glance at each of us, placed his shiny top-hat upon the sideboard, and with a slight bow sidled down into the nearest chair. "Good-evening, Mr. James Windibank," said Holmes. "I think that this typewritten letter is from you, in which you made an appointment with me for six o'clock?" "Yes, sir. I am afraid that I am a little late, but I am not quite my own master, you know. I am sorry that Miss Sutherland has troubled you about this little matter, for I think it is far better not to wash linen of the sort in public. It was quite against my wishes that she came, but she is a very excitable, impulsive girl, as you may have noticed, and she is not easily controlled when she has made up her mind on a point. Of course, I did not mind you so much, as you are not connected with the official police, but it is not pleasant to have a family misfortune like this noised abroad. Besides, it is a useless expense, for how could you possibly find this Hosmer Angel?" "On the contrary," said Holmes quietly; "I have every reason to believe that I will succeed in discovering Mr. Hosmer Angel." Mr. Windibank gave a violent start and dropped his gloves. "I am delighted to hear it," he said. "It is a curious thing," remarked Holmes, "that a typewriter has really quite as much individuality as a man's handwriting. Unless they are quite new, no two of them write exactly alike. Some letters get more worn than others, and some wear only on one side. Now, you remark in this note of yours, Mr. Windibank, that in every case there is some little slurring over of the 'e,' and a slight defect in the tail of the 'r.' There are fourteen other characteristics, but those are the more obvious." "We do all our correspondence with this machine at the office, and no doubt it is a little worn," our visitor answered, glancing keenly at Holmes with his bright little eyes. "And now I will show you what is really a very interesting study, Mr. Windibank," Holmes continued. "I think of writing another little monograph some of these days on the typewriter and its relation to crime. It is a subject to which I have devoted some little attention. I have here four letters which purport to come from the missing man. They are all typewritten. In each case, not only are the 'e's' slurred and the 'r's' tailless, but you will observe, if you care to use my magnifying lens, that the fourteen other characteristics to which I have alluded are there as well." Mr. Windibank sprang out of his chair and picked up his hat. "I cannot waste time over this sort of fantastic talk, Mr. Holmes," he said. "If you can catch the man, catch him, and let me know when you have done it." "Certainly," said Holmes, stepping over and turning the key in the door. "I let you know, then, that I have caught him!" "What! where?" shouted Mr. Windibank, turning white to his lips and glancing about him like a rat in a trap. "Oh, it won't do--really it won't," said Holmes suavely. "There is no possible getting out of it, Mr. Windibank. It is quite too transparent, and it was a very bad compliment when you said that it was impossible for me to solve so simple a question. That's right! Sit down and let us talk it over." Our visitor collapsed into a chair, with a ghastly face and a glitter of moisture on his brow. "It--it's not actionable," he stammered. "I am very much afraid that it is not. But between ourselves, Windibank, it was as cruel and selfish and heartless a trick in a petty way as ever came before me. Now, let me just run over the course of events, and you will contradict me if I go wrong." The man sat huddled up in his chair, with his head sunk upon his breast, like one who is utterly crushed. Holmes stuck his feet up on the corner of the mantelpiece and, leaning back with his hands in his pockets, began talking, rather to himself, as it seemed, than to us. "The man married a woman very much older than himself for her money," said he, "and he enjoyed the use of the money of the daughter as long as she lived with them. It was a considerable sum, for people in their position, and the loss of it would have made a serious difference. It was worth an effort to preserve it. The daughter was of a good, amiable disposition, but affectionate and warm-hearted in her ways, so that it was evident that with her fair personal advantages, and her little income, she would not be allowed to remain single long. Now her marriage would mean, of course, the loss of a hundred a year, so what does her stepfather do to prevent it? He takes the obvious course of keeping her at home and forbidding her to seek the company of people of her own age. But soon he found that that would not answer forever. She became restive, insisted upon her rights, and finally announced her positive intention of going to a certain ball. What does her clever stepfather do then? He conceives an idea more creditable to his head than to his heart. With the connivance and assistance of his wife he disguised himself, covered those keen eyes with tinted glasses, masked the face with a moustache and a pair of bushy whiskers, sunk that clear voice into an insinuating whisper, and doubly secure on account of the girl's short sight, he appears as Mr. Hosmer Angel, and keeps off other lovers by making love himself." "It was only a joke at first," groaned our visitor. "We never thought that she would have been so carried away." "Very likely not. However that may be, the young lady was very decidedly carried away, and, having quite made up her mind that her stepfather was in France, the suspicion of treachery never for an instant entered her mind. She was flattered by the gentleman's attentions, and the effect was increased by the loudly expressed admiration of her mother. Then Mr. Angel began to call, for it was obvious that the matter should be pushed as far as it would go if a real effect were to be produced. There were meetings, and an engagement, which would finally secure the girl's affections from turning towards anyone else. But the deception could not be kept up forever. These pretended journeys to France were rather cumbrous. The thing to do was clearly to bring the business to an end in such a dramatic manner that it would leave a permanent impression upon the young lady's mind and prevent her from looking upon any other suitor for some time to come. Hence those vows of fidelity exacted upon a Testament, and hence also the allusions to a possibility of something happening on the very morning of the wedding. James Windibank wished Miss Sutherland to be so bound to Hosmer Angel, and so uncertain as to his fate, that for ten years to come, at any rate, she would not listen to another man. As far as the church door he brought her, and then, as he could go no farther, he conveniently vanished away by the old trick of stepping in at one door of a four-wheeler and out at the other. I think that was the chain of events, Mr. Windibank!" Our visitor had recovered something of his assurance while Holmes had been talking, and he rose from his chair now with a cold sneer upon his pale face. "It may be so, or it may not, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but if you are so very sharp you ought to be sharp enough to know that it is you who are breaking the law now, and not me. I have done nothing actionable from the first, but as long as you keep that door locked you lay yourself open to an action for assault and illegal constraint." "The law cannot, as you say, touch you," said Holmes, unlocking and throwing open the door, "yet there never was a man who deserved punishment more. If the young lady has a brother or a friend, he ought to lay a whip across your shoulders. By Jove!" he continued, flushing up at the sight of the bitter sneer upon the man's face, "it is not part of my duties to my client, but here's a hunting crop handy, and I think I shall just treat myself to--" He took two swift steps to the whip, but before he could grasp it there was a wild clatter of steps upon the stairs, the heavy hall door banged, and from the window we could see Mr. James Windibank running at the top of his speed down the road. "There's a cold-blooded scoundrel!" said Holmes, laughing, as he threw himself down into his chair once more. "That fellow will rise from crime to crime until he does something very bad, and ends on a gallows. The case has, in some respects, been not entirely devoid of interest." "I cannot now entirely see all the steps of your reasoning," I remarked. "Well, of course it was obvious from the first that this Mr. Hosmer Angel must have some strong object for his curious conduct, and it was equally clear that the only man who really profited by the incident, as far as we could see, was the stepfather. Then the fact that the two men were never together, but that the one always appeared when the other was away, was suggestive. So were the tinted spectacles and the curious voice, which both hinted at a disguise, as did the bushy whiskers. My suspicions were all confirmed by his peculiar action in typewriting his signature, which, of course, inferred that his handwriting was so familiar to her that she would recognise even the smallest sample of it. You see all these isolated facts, together with many minor ones, all pointed in the same direction." "And how did you verify them?" "Having once spotted my man, it was easy to get corroboration. I knew the firm for which this man worked. Having taken the printed description, I eliminated everything from it which could be the result of a disguise--the whiskers, the glasses, the voice, and I sent it to the firm, with a request that they would inform me whether it answered to the description of any of their travellers. I had already noticed the peculiarities of the typewriter, and I wrote to the man himself at his business address asking him if he would come here. As I expected, his reply was typewritten and revealed the same trivial but characteristic defects. The same post brought me a letter from Westhouse & Marbank, of Fenchurch Street, to say that the description tallied in every respect with that of their employee, James Windibank. Voilà tout!" "And Miss Sutherland?" "If I tell her she will not believe me. You may remember the old Persian saying, 'There is danger for him who taketh the tiger cub, and danger also for whoso snatches a delusion from a woman.' There is as much sense in Hafiz as in Horace, and as much knowledge of the world." THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way: "Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11.15." "What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "Will you go?" "I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present." "Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases." "I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have only half an hour." My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap. "It is really very good of you to come, Watson," said he. "It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets." We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack. "Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked. "Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days." "The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult." "That sounds a little paradoxical." "But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man." "It is a murder, then?" "Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very few words. "Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants--a man and a girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts. "On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came back alive. "From Hatherley Farm-house to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred. "The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of 'wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court." "I could hardly imagine a more damning case," I remarked. "If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here." "Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing," answered Holmes thoughtfully. "It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home." "I am afraid," said I, "that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case." "There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," he answered, laughing. "Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that." "How on earth--" "My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. Therein lies my métier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering." "What are they?" "It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury." "It was a confession," I ejaculated. "No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence." "Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark." "On the contrary," said Holmes, "it is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one." I shook my head. "Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence," I remarked. "So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged." "What is the young man's own account of the matter?" "It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for yourself." He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way: "Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows: 'I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of "Cooee!" which was a usual signal between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.' "The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died? "Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat. "The Coroner: What did you understand by that? "Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious. "The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel? "Witness: I should prefer not to answer. "The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it. "Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed. "The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise. "Witness: I must still refuse. "The Coroner: I understand that the cry of 'Cooee' was a common signal between you and your father? "Witness: It was. "The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol? "Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know. "A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured? "Witness: Nothing definite. "The Coroner: What do you mean? "Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was gone. "'Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?' "'Yes, it was gone.' "'You cannot say what it was?' "'No, I had a feeling something was there.' "'How far from the body?' "'A dozen yards or so.' "'And how far from the edge of the wood?' "'About the same.' "'Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?' "'Yes, but with my back towards it.' "This concluded the examination of the witness." "I see," said I as I glanced down the column, "that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father's dying words. They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son." Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat. "Both you and the coroner have been at some pains," said he, "to single out the very strongest points in the young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outré as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in twenty minutes." It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us. "I have ordered a carriage," said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. "I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime." "It was very nice and complimentary of you," Holmes answered. "It is entirely a question of barometric pressure." Lestrade looked startled. "I do not quite follow," he said. "How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night." Lestrade laughed indulgently. "You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers," he said. "The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door." He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern. "Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, "I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him." "I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner," said Sherlock Holmes. "You may rely upon my doing all that I can." "But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?" "I think that it is very probable." "There, now!" she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. "You hear! He gives me hopes." Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions," he said. "But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it." "In what way?" asked Holmes. "It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and--and--well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them." "And your father?" asked Holmes. "Was he in favour of such a union?" "No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it." A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her. "Thank you for this information," said he. "May I see your father if I call to-morrow?" "I am afraid the doctor won't allow it." "The doctor?" "Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria." "Ha! In Victoria! That is important." "Yes, at the mines." "Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money." "Yes, certainly." "Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me." "You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent." "I will, Miss Turner." "I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking." She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street. "I am ashamed of you, Holmes," said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. "Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel." "I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy," said Holmes. "Have you an order to see him in prison?" "Yes, but only for you and me." "Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?" "Ample." "Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours." I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young McCarthy's innocence. It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town. "The glass still keeps very high," he remarked as he sat down. "It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy." "And what did you learn from him?" "Nothing." "Could he throw no light?" "None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart." "I cannot admire his taste," I remarked, "if it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner." "Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered." "But if he is innocent, who has done it?" "Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry 'Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow." There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool. "There is serious news this morning," Lestrade observed. "It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of." "An elderly man, I presume?" said Holmes. "About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free." "Indeed! That is interesting," said Holmes. "Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him." "Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?" "We have got to the deductions and the inferences," said Lestrade, winking at me. "I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies." "You are right," said Holmes demurely; "you do find it very hard to tackle the facts." "Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of," replied Lestrade with some warmth. "And that is--" "That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine." "Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog," said Holmes, laughing. "But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left." "Yes, that is it." It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool. Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end. The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion. "What did you go into the pool for?" he asked. "I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other trace. But how on earth--" "Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet." He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. "These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again--of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?" He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost. "It has been a case of considerable interest," he remarked, returning to his natural manner. "I fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently." It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood. "This may interest you, Lestrade," he remarked, holding it out. "The murder was done with it." "I see no marks." "There are none." "How do you know, then?" "The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon." "And the murderer?" "Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search." Lestrade laughed. "I am afraid that I am still a sceptic," he said. "Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury." "Nous verrons," answered Holmes calmly. "You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train." "And leave your case unfinished?" "No, finished." "But the mystery?" "It is solved." "Who was the criminal, then?" "The gentleman I describe." "But who is he?" "Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous neighbourhood." Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "I am a practical man," he said, "and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard." "All right," said Holmes quietly. "I have given you the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave." Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position. "Look here, Watson," he said when the cloth was cleared "just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound." "Pray do so." "Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry 'Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true." "What of this 'Cooee!' then?" "Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The 'Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But 'Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia." "What of the rat, then?" Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. "This is a map of the Colony of Victoria," he said. "I wired to Bristol for it last night." He put his hand over part of the map. "What do you read?" "ARAT," I read. "And now?" He raised his hand. "BALLARAT." "Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat." "It is wonderful!" I exclaimed. "It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak." "Certainly." "And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander." "Quite so." "Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal." "But how did you gain them?" "You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles." "His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces." "Yes, they were peculiar boots." "But his lameness?" "The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped--he was lame." "But his left-handedness." "You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam." "And the cigar-holder?" "I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife." "Holmes," I said, "you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is--" "Mr. John Turner," cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor. The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease. "Pray sit down on the sofa," said Holmes gently. "You had my note?" "Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal." "I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall." "And why did you wish to see me?" He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered. "Yes," said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. "It is so. I know all about McCarthy." The old man sank his face in his hands. "God help me!" he cried. "But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes." "I am glad to hear you say so," said Holmes gravely. "I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart--it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested." "It may not come to that," said Holmes. "What?" "I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however." "I am a dying man," said old Turner. "I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a jail." Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. "Just tell us the truth," he said. "I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed." "It's as well," said the old man; "it's a question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell. "You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power. "It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang. "One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me. "I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot. "'Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; 'we'll be as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don't--it's a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman within hail.' "Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice. "His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over. "When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred." "Well, it is not for me to judge you," said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. "I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation." "I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?" "In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us." "Farewell, then," said the old man solemnly. "Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine." Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room. "God help us!" said Holmes after a long silence. "Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, 'There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.'" James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past. THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS When I glance over my notes and records of the Sherlock Holmes cases between the years '82 and '90, I am faced by so many which present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some, however, have already gained publicity through the papers, and others have not offered a field for those peculiar qualities which my friend possessed in so high a degree, and which it is the object of these papers to illustrate. Some, too, have baffled his analytical skill, and would be, as narratives, beginnings without an ending, while others have been but partially cleared up, and have their explanations founded rather upon conjecture and surmise than on that absolute logical proof which was so dear to him. There is, however, one of these last which was so remarkable in its details and so startling in its results that I am tempted to give some account of it in spite of the fact that there are points in connection with it which never have been, and probably never will be, entirely cleared up. The year '87 furnished us with a long series of cases of greater or less interest, of which I retain the records. Among my headings under this one twelve months I find an account of the adventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the British barque "Sophy Anderson", of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwell poisoning case. In the latter, as may be remembered, Sherlock Holmes was able, by winding up the dead man's watch, to prove that it had been wound up two hours before, and that therefore the deceased had gone to bed within that time--a deduction which was of the greatest importance in clearing up the case. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the strange train of circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe. It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like untamed beasts in a cage. As evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. Sherlock Holmes sat moodily at one side of the fireplace cross-indexing his records of crime, while I at the other was deep in one of Clark Russell's fine sea-stories until the howl of the gale from without seemed to blend with the text, and the splash of the rain to lengthen out into the long swash of the sea waves. My wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street. "Why," said I, glancing up at my companion, "that was surely the bell. Who could come to-night? Some friend of yours, perhaps?" "Except yourself I have none," he answered. "I do not encourage visitors." "A client, then?" "If so, it is a serious case. Nothing less would bring a man out on such a day and at such an hour. But I take it that it is more likely to be some crony of the landlady's." Sherlock Holmes was wrong in his conjecture, however, for there came a step in the passage and a tapping at the door. He stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit. "Come in!" said he. The man who entered was young, some two-and-twenty at the outside, well-groomed and trimly clad, with something of refinement and delicacy in his bearing. The streaming umbrella which he held in his hand, and his long shining waterproof told of the fierce weather through which he had come. He looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, and I could see that his face was pale and his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great anxiety. "I owe you an apology," he said, raising his golden pince-nez to his eyes. "I trust that I am not intruding. I fear that I have brought some traces of the storm and rain into your snug chamber." "Give me your coat and umbrella," said Holmes. "They may rest here on the hook and will be dry presently. You have come up from the south-west, I see." "Yes, from Horsham." "That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is quite distinctive." "I have come for advice." "That is easily got." "And help." "That is not always so easy." "I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I heard from Major Prendergast how you saved him in the Tankerville Club scandal." "Ah, of course. He was wrongfully accused of cheating at cards." "He said that you could solve anything." "He said too much." "That you are never beaten." "I have been beaten four times--three times by men, and once by a woman." "But what is that compared with the number of your successes?" "It is true that I have been generally successful." "Then you may be so with me." "I beg that you will draw your chair up to the fire and favour me with some details as to your case." "It is no ordinary one." "None of those which come to me are. I am the last court of appeal." "And yet I question, sir, whether, in all your experience, you have ever listened to a more mysterious and inexplicable chain of events than those which have happened in my own family." "You fill me with interest," said Holmes. "Pray give us the essential facts from the commencement, and I can afterwards question you as to those details which seem to me to be most important." The young man pulled his chair up and pushed his wet feet out towards the blaze. "My name," said he, "is John Openshaw, but my own affairs have, as far as I can understand, little to do with this awful business. It is a hereditary matter; so in order to give you an idea of the facts, I must go back to the commencement of the affair. "You must know that my grandfather had two sons--my uncle Elias and my father Joseph. My father had a small factory at Coventry, which he enlarged at the time of the invention of bicycling. He was a patentee of the Openshaw unbreakable tire, and his business met with such success that he was able to sell it and to retire upon a handsome competence. "My uncle Elias emigrated to America when he was a young man and became a planter in Florida, where he was reported to have done very well. At the time of the war he fought in Jackson's army, and afterwards under Hood, where he rose to be a colonel. When Lee laid down his arms my uncle returned to his plantation, where he remained for three or four years. About 1869 or 1870 he came back to Europe and took a small estate in Sussex, near Horsham. He had made a very considerable fortune in the States, and his reason for leaving them was his aversion to the negroes, and his dislike of the Republican policy in extending the franchise to them. He was a singular man, fierce and quick-tempered, very foul-mouthed when he was angry, and of a most retiring disposition. During all the years that he lived at Horsham, I doubt if ever he set foot in the town. He had a garden and two or three fields round his house, and there he would take his exercise, though very often for weeks on end he would never leave his room. He drank a great deal of brandy and smoked very heavily, but he would see no society and did not want any friends, not even his own brother. "He didn't mind me; in fact, he took a fancy to me, for at the time when he saw me first I was a youngster of twelve or so. This would be in the year 1878, after he had been eight or nine years in England. He begged my father to let me live with him and he was very kind to me in his way. When he was sober he used to be fond of playing backgammon and draughts with me, and he would make me his representative both with the servants and with the tradespeople, so that by the time that I was sixteen I was quite master of the house. I kept all the keys and could go where I liked and do what I liked, so long as I did not disturb him in his privacy. There was one singular exception, however, for he had a single room, a lumber-room up among the attics, which was invariably locked, and which he would never permit either me or anyone else to enter. With a boy's curiosity I have peeped through the keyhole, but I was never able to see more than such a collection of old trunks and bundles as would be expected in such a room. "One day--it was in March, 1883--a letter with a foreign stamp lay upon the table in front of the colonel's plate. It was not a common thing for him to receive letters, for his bills were all paid in ready money, and he had no friends of any sort. 'From India!' said he as he took it up, 'Pondicherry postmark! What can this be?' Opening it hurriedly, out there jumped five little dried orange pips, which pattered down upon his plate. I began to laugh at this, but the laugh was struck from my lips at the sight of his face. His lip had fallen, his eyes were protruding, his skin the colour of putty, and he glared at the envelope which he still held in his trembling hand, 'K. K. K.!' he shrieked, and then, 'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!' "'What is it, uncle?' I cried. "'Death,' said he, and rising from the table he retired to his room, leaving me palpitating with horror. I took up the envelope and saw scrawled in red ink upon the inner flap, just above the gum, the letter K three times repeated. There was nothing else save the five dried pips. What could be the reason of his overpowering terror? I left the breakfast-table, and as I ascended the stair I met him coming down with an old rusty key, which must have belonged to the attic, in one hand, and a small brass box, like a cashbox, in the other. "'They may do what they like, but I'll checkmate them still,' said he with an oath. 'Tell Mary that I shall want a fire in my room to-day, and send down to Fordham, the Horsham lawyer.' "I did as he ordered, and when the lawyer arrived I was asked to step up to the room. The fire was burning brightly, and in the grate there was a mass of black, fluffy ashes, as of burned paper, while the brass box stood open and empty beside it. As I glanced at the box I noticed, with a start, that upon the lid was printed the treble K which I had read in the morning upon the envelope. "'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. I leave my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy. I am sorry to give you such a two-edged thing, but I can't say what turn things are going to take. Kindly sign the paper where Mr. Fordham shows you.' "I signed the paper as directed, and the lawyer took it away with him. The singular incident made, as you may think, the deepest impression upon me, and I pondered over it and turned it every way in my mind without being able to make anything of it. Yet I could not shake off the vague feeling of dread which it left behind, though the sensation grew less keen as the weeks passed and nothing happened to disturb the usual routine of our lives. I could see a change in my uncle, however. He drank more than ever, and he was less inclined for any sort of society. Most of his time he would spend in his room, with the door locked upon the inside, but sometimes he would emerge in a sort of drunken frenzy and would burst out of the house and tear about the garden with a revolver in his hand, screaming out that he was afraid of no man, and that he was not to be cooped up, like a sheep in a pen, by man or devil. When these hot fits were over, however, he would rush tumultuously in at the door and lock and bar it behind him, like a man who can brazen it out no longer against the terror which lies at the roots of his soul. At such times I have seen his face, even on a cold day, glisten with moisture, as though it were new raised from a basin. "Well, to come to an end of the matter, Mr. Holmes, and not to abuse your patience, there came a night when he made one of those drunken sallies from which he never came back. We found him, when we went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of any violence, and the water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of 'suicide.' But I, who knew how he winced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed, however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of some £14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank." "One moment," Holmes interposed, "your statement is, I foresee, one of the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have the date of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his supposed suicide." "The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks later, upon the night of May 2nd." "Thank you. Pray proceed." "When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made a careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. We found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of K. K. K. repeated upon it, and 'Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register' written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many scattered papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle's life in America. Some of them were of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and had borne the repute of a brave soldier. Others were of a date during the reconstruction of the Southern states, and were mostly concerned with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North. "Well, it was the beginning of '84 when my father came to live at Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of '85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my father give a sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one. He had always laughed at what he called my cock-and-bull story about the colonel, but he looked very scared and puzzled now that the same thing had come upon himself. "'Why, what on earth does this mean, John?' he stammered. "My heart had turned to lead. 'It is K. K. K.,' said I. "He looked inside the envelope. 'So it is,' he cried. 'Here are the very letters. But what is this written above them?' "'Put the papers on the sundial,' I read, peeping over his shoulder. "'What papers? What sundial?' he asked. "'The sundial in the garden. There is no other,' said I; 'but the papers must be those that are destroyed.' "'Pooh!' said he, gripping hard at his courage. 'We are in a civilised land here, and we can't have tomfoolery of this kind. Where does the thing come from?' "'From Dundee,' I answered, glancing at the postmark. "'Some preposterous practical joke,' said he. 'What have I to do with sundials and papers? I shall take no notice of such nonsense.' "'I should certainly speak to the police,' I said. "'And be laughed at for my pains. Nothing of the sort.' "'Then let me do so?' "'No, I forbid you. I won't have a fuss made about such nonsense.' "It was in vain to argue with him, for he was a very obstinate man. I went about, however, with a heart which was full of forebodings. "On the third day after the coming of the letter my father went from home to visit an old friend of his, Major Freebody, who is in command of one of the forts upon Portsdown Hill. I was glad that he should go, for it seemed to me that he was farther from danger when he was away from home. In that, however, I was in error. Upon the second day of his absence I received a telegram from the major, imploring me to come at once. My father had fallen over one of the deep chalk-pits which abound in the neighbourhood, and was lying senseless, with a shattered skull. I hurried to him, but he passed away without having ever recovered his consciousness. He had, as it appears, been returning from Fareham in the twilight, and as the country was unknown to him, and the chalk-pit unfenced, the jury had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict of 'death from accidental causes.' Carefully as I examined every fact connected with his death, I was unable to find anything which could suggest the idea of murder. There were no signs of violence, no footmarks, no robbery, no record of strangers having been seen upon the roads. And yet I need not tell you that my mind was far from at ease, and that I was well-nigh certain that some foul plot had been woven round him. "In this sinister way I came into my inheritance. You will ask me why I did not dispose of it? I answer, because I was well convinced that our troubles were in some way dependent upon an incident in my uncle's life, and that the danger would be as pressing in one house as in another. "It was in January, '85, that my poor father met his end, and two years and eight months have elapsed since then. During that time I have lived happily at Horsham, and I had begun to hope that this curse had passed away from the family, and that it had ended with the last generation. I had begun to take comfort too soon, however; yesterday morning the blow fell in the very shape in which it had come upon my father." The young man took from his waistcoat a crumpled envelope, and turning to the table he shook out upon it five little dried orange pips. "This is the envelope," he continued. "The postmark is London--eastern division. Within are the very words which were upon my father's last message: 'K. K. K.'; and then 'Put the papers on the sundial.'" "What have you done?" asked Holmes. "Nothing." "Nothing?" "To tell the truth"--he sank his face into his thin, white hands--"I have felt helpless. I have felt like one of those poor rabbits when the snake is writhing towards it. I seem to be in the grasp of some resistless, inexorable evil, which no foresight and no precautions can guard against." "Tut! tut!" cried Sherlock Holmes. "You must act, man, or you are lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for despair." "I have seen the police." "Ah!" "But they listened to my story with a smile. I am convinced that the inspector has formed the opinion that the letters are all practical jokes, and that the deaths of my relations were really accidents, as the jury stated, and were not to be connected with the warnings." Holmes shook his clenched hands in the air. "Incredible imbecility!" he cried. "They have, however, allowed me a policeman, who may remain in the house with me." "Has he come with you to-night?" "No. His orders were to stay in the house." Again Holmes raved in the air. "Why did you come to me," he cried, "and, above all, why did you not come at once?" "I did not know. It was only to-day that I spoke to Major Prendergast about my troubles and was advised by him to come to you." "It is really two days since you had the letter. We should have acted before this. You have no further evidence, I suppose, than that which you have placed before us--no suggestive detail which might help us?" "There is one thing," said John Openshaw. He rummaged in his coat pocket, and, drawing out a piece of discoloured, blue-tinted paper, he laid it out upon the table. "I have some remembrance," said he, "that on the day when my uncle burned the papers I observed that the small, unburned margins which lay amid the ashes were of this particular colour. I found this single sheet upon the floor of his room, and I am inclined to think that it may be one of the papers which has, perhaps, fluttered out from among the others, and in that way has escaped destruction. Beyond the mention of pips, I do not see that it helps us much. I think myself that it is a page from some private diary. The writing is undoubtedly my uncle's." Holmes moved the lamp, and we both bent over the sheet of paper, which showed by its ragged edge that it had indeed been torn from a book. It was headed, "March, 1869," and beneath were the following enigmatical notices: 4th. Hudson came. Same old platform. 7th. Set the pips on McCauley, Paramore, and John Swain, of St. Augustine. 9th. McCauley cleared. 10th. John Swain cleared. 12th. Visited Paramore. All well. "Thank you!" said Holmes, folding up the paper and returning it to our visitor. "And now you must on no account lose another instant. We cannot spare time even to discuss what you have told me. You must get home instantly and act." "What shall I do?" "There is but one thing to do. It must be done at once. You must put this piece of paper which you have shown us into the brass box which you have described. You must also put in a note to say that all the other papers were burned by your uncle, and that this is the only one which remains. You must assert that in such words as will carry conviction with them. Having done this, you must at once put the box out upon the sundial, as directed. Do you understand?" "Entirely." "Do not think of revenge, or anything of the sort, at present. I think that we may gain that by means of the law; but we have our web to weave, while theirs is already woven. The first consideration is to remove the pressing danger which threatens you. The second is to clear up the mystery and to punish the guilty parties." "I thank you," said the young man, rising and pulling on his overcoat. "You have given me fresh life and hope. I shall certainly do as you advise." "Do not lose an instant. And, above all, take care of yourself in the meanwhile, for I do not think that there can be a doubt that you are threatened by a very real and imminent danger. How do you go back?" "By train from Waterloo." "It is not yet nine. The streets will be crowded, so I trust that you may be in safety. And yet you cannot guard yourself too closely." "I am armed." "That is well. To-morrow I shall set to work upon your case." "I shall see you at Horsham, then?" "No, your secret lies in London. It is there that I shall seek it." "Then I shall call upon you in a day, or in two days, with news as to the box and the papers. I shall take your advice in every particular." He shook hands with us and took his leave. Outside the wind still screamed and the rain splashed and pattered against the windows. This strange, wild story seemed to have come to us from amid the mad elements--blown in upon us like a sheet of sea-weed in a gale--and now to have been reabsorbed by them once more. Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence, with his head sunk forward and his eyes bent upon the red glow of the fire. Then he lit his pipe, and leaning back in his chair he watched the blue smoke-rings as they chased each other up to the ceiling. "I think, Watson," he remarked at last, "that of all our cases we have had none more fantastic than this." "Save, perhaps, the Sign of Four." "Well, yes. Save, perhaps, that. And yet this John Openshaw seems to me to be walking amid even greater perils than did the Sholtos." "But have you," I asked, "formed any definite conception as to what these perils are?" "There can be no question as to their nature," he answered. "Then what are they? Who is this K. K. K., and why does he pursue this unhappy family?" Sherlock Holmes closed his eyes and placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, with his finger-tips together. "The ideal reasoner," he remarked, "would, when he had once been shown a single fact in all its bearings, deduce from it not only all the chain of events which led up to it but also all the results which would follow from it. As Cuvier could correctly describe a whole animal by the contemplation of a single bone, so the observer who has thoroughly understood one link in a series of incidents should be able to accurately state all the other ones, both before and after. We have not yet grasped the results which the reason alone can attain to. Problems may be solved in the study which have baffled all those who have sought a solution by the aid of their senses. To carry the art, however, to its highest pitch, it is necessary that the reasoner should be able to utilise all the facts which have come to his knowledge; and this in itself implies, as you will readily see, a possession of all knowledge, which, even in these days of free education and encyclopaedias, is a somewhat rare accomplishment. It is not so impossible, however, that a man should possess all knowledge which is likely to be useful to him in his work, and this I have endeavoured in my case to do. If I remember rightly, you on one occasion, in the early days of our friendship, defined my limits in a very precise fashion." "Yes," I answered, laughing. "It was a singular document. Philosophy, astronomy, and politics were marked at zero, I remember. Botany variable, geology profound as regards the mud-stains from any region within fifty miles of town, chemistry eccentric, anatomy unsystematic, sensational literature and crime records unique, violin-player, boxer, swordsman, lawyer, and self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco. Those, I think, were the main points of my analysis." Holmes grinned at the last item. "Well," he said, "I say now, as I said then, that a man should keep his little brain-attic stocked with all the furniture that he is likely to use, and the rest he can put away in the lumber-room of his library, where he can get it if he wants it. Now, for such a case as the one which has been submitted to us to-night, we need certainly to muster all our resources. Kindly hand me down the letter K of the 'American Encyclopaedia' which stands upon the shelf beside you. Thank you. Now let us consider the situation and see what may be deduced from it. In the first place, we may start with a strong presumption that Colonel Openshaw had some very strong reason for leaving America. Men at his time of life do not change all their habits and exchange willingly the charming climate of Florida for the lonely life of an English provincial town. His extreme love of solitude in England suggests the idea that he was in fear of someone or something, so we may assume as a working hypothesis that it was fear of someone or something which drove him from America. As to what it was he feared, we can only deduce that by considering the formidable letters which were received by himself and his successors. Did you remark the postmarks of those letters?" "The first was from Pondicherry, the second from Dundee, and the third from London." "From East London. What do you deduce from that?" "They are all seaports. That the writer was on board of a ship." "Excellent. We have already a clue. There can be no doubt that the probability--the strong probability--is that the writer was on board of a ship. And now let us consider another point. In the case of Pondicherry, seven weeks elapsed between the threat and its fulfilment, in Dundee it was only some three or four days. Does that suggest anything?" "A greater distance to travel." "But the letter had also a greater distance to come." "Then I do not see the point." "There is at least a presumption that the vessel in which the man or men are is a sailing-ship. It looks as if they always send their singular warning or token before them when starting upon their mission. You see how quickly the deed followed the sign when it came from Dundee. If they had come from Pondicherry in a steamer they would have arrived almost as soon as their letter. But, as a matter of fact, seven weeks elapsed. I think that those seven weeks represented the difference between the mail-boat which brought the letter and the sailing vessel which brought the writer." "It is possible." "More than that. It is probable. And now you see the deadly urgency of this new case, and why I urged young Openshaw to caution. The blow has always fallen at the end of the time which it would take the senders to travel the distance. But this one comes from London, and therefore we cannot count upon delay." "Good God!" I cried. "What can it mean, this relentless persecution?" "The papers which Openshaw carried are obviously of vital importance to the person or persons in the sailing-ship. I think that it is quite clear that there must be more than one of them. A single man could not have carried out two deaths in such a way as to deceive a coroner's jury. There must have been several in it, and they must have been men of resource and determination. Their papers they mean to have, be the holder of them who it may. In this way you see K. K. K. ceases to be the initials of an individual and becomes the badge of a society." "But of what society?" "Have you never--" said Sherlock Holmes, bending forward and sinking his voice--"have you never heard of the Ku Klux Klan?" "I never have." Holmes turned over the leaves of the book upon his knee. "Here it is," said he presently: "'Ku Klux Klan. A name derived from the fanciful resemblance to the sound produced by cocking a rifle. This terrible secret society was formed by some ex-Confederate soldiers in the Southern states after the Civil War, and it rapidly formed local branches in different parts of the country, notably in Tennessee, Louisiana, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida. Its power was used for political purposes, principally for the terrorising of the negro voters and the murdering and driving from the country of those who were opposed to its views. Its outrages were usually preceded by a warning sent to the marked man in some fantastic but generally recognised shape--a sprig of oak-leaves in some parts, melon seeds or orange pips in others. On receiving this the victim might either openly abjure his former ways, or might fly from the country. If he braved the matter out, death would unfailingly come upon him, and usually in some strange and unforeseen manner. So perfect was the organisation of the society, and so systematic its methods, that there is hardly a case upon record where any man succeeded in braving it with impunity, or in which any of its outrages were traced home to the perpetrators. For some years the organisation flourished in spite of the efforts of the United States government and of the better classes of the community in the South. Eventually, in the year 1869, the movement rather suddenly collapsed, although there have been sporadic outbreaks of the same sort since that date.' "You will observe," said Holmes, laying down the volume, "that the sudden breaking up of the society was coincident with the disappearance of Openshaw from America with their papers. It may well have been cause and effect. It is no wonder that he and his family have some of the more implacable spirits upon their track. You can understand that this register and diary may implicate some of the first men in the South, and that there may be many who will not sleep easy at night until it is recovered." "Then the page we have seen--" "Is such as we might expect. It ran, if I remember right, 'sent the pips to A, B, and C'--that is, sent the society's warning to them. Then there are successive entries that A and B cleared, or left the country, and finally that C was visited, with, I fear, a sinister result for C. Well, I think, Doctor, that we may let some light into this dark place, and I believe that the only chance young Openshaw has in the meantime is to do what I have told him. There is nothing more to be said or to be done to-night, so hand me over my violin and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable weather and the still more miserable ways of our fellow-men." It had cleared in the morning, and the sun was shining with a subdued brightness through the dim veil which hangs over the great city. Sherlock Holmes was already at breakfast when I came down. "You will excuse me for not waiting for you," said he; "I have, I foresee, a very busy day before me in looking into this case of young Openshaw's." "What steps will you take?" I asked. "It will very much depend upon the results of my first inquiries. I may have to go down to Horsham, after all." "You will not go there first?" "No, I shall commence with the City. Just ring the bell and the maid will bring up your coffee." As I waited, I lifted the unopened newspaper from the table and glanced my eye over it. It rested upon a heading which sent a chill to my heart. "Holmes," I cried, "you are too late." "Ah!" said he, laying down his cup, "I feared as much. How was it done?" He spoke calmly, but I could see that he was deeply moved. "My eye caught the name of Openshaw, and the heading 'Tragedy Near Waterloo Bridge.' Here is the account: "Between nine and ten last night Police-Constable Cook, of the H Division, on duty near Waterloo Bridge, heard a cry for help and a splash in the water. The night, however, was extremely dark and stormy, so that, in spite of the help of several passers-by, it was quite impossible to effect a rescue. The alarm, however, was given, and, by the aid of the water-police, the body was eventually recovered. It proved to be that of a young gentleman whose name, as it appears from an envelope which was found in his pocket, was John Openshaw, and whose residence is near Horsham. It is conjectured that he may have been hurrying down to catch the last train from Waterloo Station, and that in his haste and the extreme darkness he missed his path and walked over the edge of one of the small landing-places for river steamboats. The body exhibited no traces of violence, and there can be no doubt that the deceased had been the victim of an unfortunate accident, which should have the effect of calling the attention of the authorities to the condition of the riverside landing-stages." We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and shaken than I had ever seen him. "That hurts my pride, Watson," he said at last. "It is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his death--!" He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands. "They must be cunning devils," he exclaimed at last. "How could they have decoyed him down there? The Embankment is not on the direct line to the station. The bridge, no doubt, was too crowded, even on such a night, for their purpose. Well, Watson, we shall see who will win in the long run. I am going out now!" "To the police?" "No; I shall be my own police. When I have spun the web they may take the flies, but not before." All day I was engaged in my professional work, and it was late in the evening before I returned to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes had not come back yet. It was nearly ten o'clock before he entered, looking pale and worn. He walked up to the sideboard, and tearing a piece from the loaf he devoured it voraciously, washing it down with a long draught of water. "You are hungry," I remarked. "Starving. It had escaped my memory. I have had nothing since breakfast." "Nothing?" "Not a bite. I had no time to think of it." "And how have you succeeded?" "Well." "You have a clue?" "I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall not long remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilish trade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!" "What do you mean?" He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces he squeezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five and thrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote "S. H. for J. O." Then he sealed it and addressed it to "Captain James Calhoun, Barque Lone Star, Savannah, Georgia." "That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling. "It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure a precursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him." "And who is this Captain Calhoun?" "The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first." "How did you trace it, then?" He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered with dates and names. "I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registers and files of the old papers, following the future career of every vessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in '83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which were reported there during those months. Of these, one, the Lone Star, instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reported as having cleared from London, the name is that which is given to one of the states of the Union." "Texas, I think." "I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship must have an American origin." "What then?" "I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque Lone Star was there in January, '85, my suspicion became a certainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at present in the port of London." "Yes?" "The Lone Star had arrived here last week. I went down to the Albert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river by the early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wired to Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, and as the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past the Goodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight." "What will you do, then?" "Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as I learn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others are Finns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three away from the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who has been loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-ship reaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, and the cable will have informed the police of Savannah that these three gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder." There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans, and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive the orange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and as resolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and very severe were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long for news of the Lone Star of Savannah, but none ever reached us. We did at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic a shattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the trough of a wave, with the letters "L. S." carved upon it, and that is all which we shall ever know of the fate of the Lone Star. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principal of the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted to opium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college; for having read De Quincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce the same effects. He found, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for many years he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can see him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man. One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell, about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made a little face of disappointment. "A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out." I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day. We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room. "You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm in such trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help." "Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney. How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in." "I didn't know what to do, so I came straight to you." That was always the way. Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to a light-house. "It was very sweet of you to come. Now, you must have some wine and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all about it. Or should you rather that I sent James off to bed?" "Oh, no, no! I want the doctor's advice and help, too. It's about Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about him!" It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband's trouble, to me as a doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school companion. We soothed and comforted her by such words as we could find. Did she know where her husband was? Was it possible that we could bring him back to her? It seems that it was. She had the surest information that of late he had, when the fit was on him, made use of an opium den in the farthest east of the City. Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered, in the evening. But now the spell had been upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the dregs of the docks, breathing in the poison or sleeping off the effects. There he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the Bar of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane. But what was she to do? How could she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place and pluck her husband out from among the ruffians who surrounded him? There was the case, and of course there was but one way out of it. Might I not escort her to this place? And then, as a second thought, why should she come at all? I was Isa Whitney's medical adviser, and as such I had influence over him. I could manage it better if I were alone. I promised her on my word that I would send him home in a cab within two hours if he were indeed at the address which she had given me. And so in ten minutes I had left my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding eastward in a hansom on a strange errand, as it seemed to me at the time, though the future only could show how strange it was to be. But there was no great difficulty in the first stage of my adventure. Upper Swandam Lane is a vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which line the north side of the river to the east of London Bridge. Between a slop-shop and a gin-shop, approached by a steep flight of steps leading down to a black gap like the mouth of a cave, I found the den of which I was in search. Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow in the centre by the ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and by the light of a flickering oil-lamp above the door I found the latch and made my way into a long, low room, thick and heavy with the brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship. Through the gloom one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there a dark, lack-lustre eye turned upon the newcomer. Out of the black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison waxed or waned in the bowls of the metal pipes. The most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in a strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed to the words of his neighbour. At the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on a three-legged wooden stool there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists, and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire. As I entered, a sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with a pipe for me and a supply of the drug, beckoning me to an empty berth. "Thank you. I have not come to stay," said I. "There is a friend of mine here, Mr. Isa Whitney, and I wish to speak with him." There was a movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering through the gloom, I saw Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me. "My God! It's Watson," said he. He was in a pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in a twitter. "I say, Watson, what o'clock is it?" "Nearly eleven." "Of what day?" "Of Friday, June 19th." "Good heavens! I thought it was Wednesday. It is Wednesday. What d'you want to frighten a chap for?" He sank his face onto his arms and began to sob in a high treble key. "I tell you that it is Friday, man. Your wife has been waiting this two days for you. You should be ashamed of yourself!" "So I am. But you've got mixed, Watson, for I have only been here a few hours, three pipes, four pipes--I forget how many. But I'll go home with you. I wouldn't frighten Kate--poor little Kate. Give me your hand! Have you a cab?" "Yes, I have one waiting." "Then I shall go in it. But I must owe something. Find what I owe, Watson. I am all off colour. I can do nothing for myself." I walked down the narrow passage between the double row of sleepers, holding my breath to keep out the vile, stupefying fumes of the drug, and looking about for the manager. As I passed the tall man who sat by the brazier I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered, "Walk past me, and then look back at me." The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear. I glanced down. They could only have come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer lassitude from his fingers. I took two steps forward and looked back. It took all my self-control to prevent me from breaking out into a cry of astonishment. He had turned his back so that none could see him but I. His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting by the fire and grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock Holmes. He made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round to the company once more, subsided into a doddering, loose-lipped senility. "Holmes!" I whispered, "what on earth are you doing in this den?" "As low as you can," he answered; "I have excellent ears. If you would have the great kindness to get rid of that sottish friend of yours I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you." "I have a cab outside." "Then pray send him home in it. You may safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp to get into any mischief. I should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman to your wife to say that you have thrown in your lot with me. If you will wait outside, I shall be with you in five minutes." It was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes' requests, for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery. I felt, however, that when Whitney was once confined in the cab my mission was practically accomplished; and for the rest, I could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence. In a few minutes I had written my note, paid Whitney's bill, led him out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness. In a very short time a decrepit figure had emerged from the opium den, and I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes. For two streets he shuffled along with a bent back and an uncertain foot. Then, glancing quickly round, he straightened himself out and burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "I suppose, Watson," said he, "that you imagine that I have added opium-smoking to cocaine injections, and all the other little weaknesses on which you have favoured me with your medical views." "I was certainly surprised to find you there." "But not more so than I to find you." "I came to find a friend." "And I to find an enemy." "An enemy?" "Yes; one of my natural enemies, or, shall I say, my natural prey. Briefly, Watson, I am in the midst of a very remarkable inquiry, and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent ramblings of these sots, as I have done before now. Had I been recognised in that den my life would not have been worth an hour's purchase; for I have used it before now for my own purposes, and the rascally Lascar who runs it has sworn to have vengeance upon me. There is a trap-door at the back of that building, near the corner of Paul's Wharf, which could tell some strange tales of what has passed through it upon the moonless nights." "What! You do not mean bodies?" "Ay, bodies, Watson. We should be rich men if we had £1000 for every poor devil who has been done to death in that den. It is the vilest murder-trap on the whole riverside, and I fear that Neville St. Clair has entered it never to leave it more. But our trap should be here." He put his two forefingers between his teeth and whistled shrilly--a signal which was answered by a similar whistle from the distance, followed shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses' hoofs. "Now, Watson," said Holmes, as a tall dog-cart dashed up through the gloom, throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side lanterns. "You'll come with me, won't you?" "If I can be of use." "Oh, a trusty comrade is always of use; and a chronicler still more so. My room at The Cedars is a double-bedded one." "The Cedars?" "Yes; that is Mr. St. Clair's house. I am staying there while I conduct the inquiry." "Where is it, then?" "Near Lee, in Kent. We have a seven-mile drive before us." "But I am all in the dark." "Of course you are. You'll know all about it presently. Jump up here. All right, John; we shall not need you. Here's half a crown. Look out for me to-morrow, about eleven. Give her her head. So long, then!" He flicked the horse with his whip, and we dashed away through the endless succession of sombre and deserted streets, which widened gradually, until we were flying across a broad balustraded bridge, with the murky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. Beyond lay another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar, its silence broken only by the heavy, regular footfall of the policeman, or the songs and shouts of some belated party of revellers. A dull wrack was drifting slowly across the sky, and a star or two twinkled dimly here and there through the rifts of the clouds. Holmes drove in silence, with his head sunk upon his breast, and the air of a man who is lost in thought, while I sat beside him, curious to learn what this new quest might be which seemed to tax his powers so sorely, and yet afraid to break in upon the current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles, and were beginning to get to the fringe of the belt of suburban villas, when he shook himself, shrugged his shoulders, and lit up his pipe with the air of a man who has satisfied himself that he is acting for the best. "You have a grand gift of silence, Watson," said he. "It makes you quite invaluable as a companion. 'Pon my word, it is a great thing for me to have someone to talk to, for my own thoughts are not over-pleasant. I was wondering what I should say to this dear little woman to-night when she meets me at the door." "You forget that I know nothing about it." "I shall just have time to tell you the facts of the case before we get to Lee. It seems absurdly simple, and yet, somehow I can get nothing to go upon. There's plenty of thread, no doubt, but I can't get the end of it into my hand. Now, I'll state the case clearly and concisely to you, Watson, and maybe you can see a spark where all is dark to me." "Proceed, then." "Some years ago--to be definite, in May, 1884--there came to Lee a gentleman, Neville St. Clair by name, who appeared to have plenty of money. He took a large villa, laid out the grounds very nicely, and lived generally in good style. By degrees he made friends in the neighbourhood, and in 1887 he married the daughter of a local brewer, by whom he now has two children. He had no occupation, but was interested in several companies and went into town as a rule in the morning, returning by the 5.14 from Cannon Street every night. Mr. St. Clair is now thirty-seven years of age, is a man of temperate habits, a good husband, a very affectionate father, and a man who is popular with all who know him. I may add that his whole debts at the present moment, as far as we have been able to ascertain, amount to £88 10s., while he has £220 standing to his credit in the Capital and Counties Bank. There is no reason, therefore, to think that money troubles have been weighing upon his mind. "Last Monday Mr. Neville St. Clair went into town rather earlier than usual, remarking before he started that he had two important commissions to perform, and that he would bring his little boy home a box of bricks. Now, by the merest chance, his wife received a telegram upon this same Monday, very shortly after his departure, to the effect that a small parcel of considerable value which she had been expecting was waiting for her at the offices of the Aberdeen Shipping Company. Now, if you are well up in your London, you will know that the office of the company is in Fresno Street, which branches out of Upper Swandam Lane, where you found me to-night. Mrs. St. Clair had her lunch, started for the City, did some shopping, proceeded to the company's office, got her packet, and found herself at exactly 4.35 walking through Swandam Lane on her way back to the station. Have you followed me so far?" "It is very clear." "If you remember, Monday was an exceedingly hot day, and Mrs. St. Clair walked slowly, glancing about in the hope of seeing a cab, as she did not like the neighbourhood in which she found herself. While she was walking in this way down Swandam Lane, she suddenly heard an ejaculation or cry, and was struck cold to see her husband looking down at her and, as it seemed to her, beckoning to her from a second-floor window. The window was open, and she distinctly saw his face, which she describes as being terribly agitated. He waved his hands frantically to her, and then vanished from the window so suddenly that it seemed to her that he had been plucked back by some irresistible force from behind. One singular point which struck her quick feminine eye was that although he wore some dark coat, such as he had started to town in, he had on neither collar nor necktie. "Convinced that something was amiss with him, she rushed down the steps--for the house was none other than the opium den in which you found me to-night--and running through the front room she attempted to ascend the stairs which led to the first floor. At the foot of the stairs, however, she met this Lascar scoundrel of whom I have spoken, who thrust her back and, aided by a Dane, who acts as assistant there, pushed her out into the street. Filled with the most maddening doubts and fears, she rushed down the lane and, by rare good-fortune, met in Fresno Street a number of constables with an inspector, all on their way to their beat. The inspector and two men accompanied her back, and in spite of the continued resistance of the proprietor, they made their way to the room in which Mr. St. Clair had last been seen. There was no sign of him there. In fact, in the whole of that floor there was no one to be found save a crippled wretch of hideous aspect, who, it seems, made his home there. Both he and the Lascar stoutly swore that no one else had been in the front room during the afternoon. So determined was their denial that the inspector was staggered, and had almost come to believe that Mrs. St. Clair had been deluded when, with a cry, she sprang at a small deal box which lay upon the table and tore the lid from it. Out there fell a cascade of children's bricks. It was the toy which he had promised to bring home. "This discovery, and the evident confusion which the cripple showed, made the inspector realise that the matter was serious. The rooms were carefully examined, and results all pointed to an abominable crime. The front room was plainly furnished as a sitting-room and led into a small bedroom, which looked out upon the back of one of the wharves. Between the wharf and the bedroom window is a narrow strip, which is dry at low tide but is covered at high tide with at least four and a half feet of water. The bedroom window was a broad one and opened from below. On examination traces of blood were to be seen upon the windowsill, and several scattered drops were visible upon the wooden floor of the bedroom. Thrust away behind a curtain in the front room were all the clothes of Mr. Neville St. Clair, with the exception of his coat. His boots, his socks, his hat, and his watch--all were there. There were no signs of violence upon any of these garments, and there were no other traces of Mr. Neville St. Clair. Out of the window he must apparently have gone for no other exit could be discovered, and the ominous bloodstains upon the sill gave little promise that he could save himself by swimming, for the tide was at its very highest at the moment of the tragedy. "And now as to the villains who seemed to be immediately implicated in the matter. The Lascar was known to be a man of the vilest antecedents, but as, by Mrs. St. Clair's story, he was known to have been at the foot of the stair within a very few seconds of her husband's appearance at the window, he could hardly have been more than an accessory to the crime. His defence was one of absolute ignorance, and he protested that he had no knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and that he could not account in any way for the presence of the missing gentleman's clothes. "So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man who goes much to the City. He is a professional beggar, though in order to avoid the police regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat, cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time. His appearance, you see, is so remarkable that no one can pass him without observing him. A shock of orange hair, a pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular contrast to the colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common crowd of mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a reply to any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by. This is the man whom we now learn to have been the lodger at the opium den, and to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are in quest." "But a cripple!" said I. "What could he have done single-handed against a man in the prime of life?" "He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely your medical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one limb is often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others." "Pray continue your narrative." "Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of the blood upon the window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presence could be of no help to them in their investigations. Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not arresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he might have communicated with his friend the Lascar, but this fault was soon remedied, and he was seized and searched, without anything being found which could incriminate him. There were, it is true, some blood-stains upon his right shirt-sleeve, but he pointed to his ring-finger, which had been cut near the nail, and explained that the bleeding came from there, adding that he had been to the window not long before, and that the stains which had been observed there came doubtless from the same source. He denied strenuously having ever seen Mr. Neville St. Clair and swore that the presence of the clothes in his room was as much a mystery to him as to the police. As to Mrs. St. Clair's assertion that she had actually seen her husband at the window, he declared that she must have been either mad or dreaming. He was removed, loudly protesting, to the police-station, while the inspector remained upon the premises in the hope that the ebbing tide might afford some fresh clue. "And it did, though they hardly found upon the mud-bank what they had feared to find. It was Neville St. Clair's coat, and not Neville St. Clair, which lay uncovered as the tide receded. And what do you think they found in the pockets?" "I cannot imagine." "No, I don't think you would guess. Every pocket stuffed with pennies and half-pennies--421 pennies and 270 half-pennies. It was no wonder that it had not been swept away by the tide. But a human body is a different matter. There is a fierce eddy between the wharf and the house. It seemed likely enough that the weighted coat had remained when the stripped body had been sucked away into the river." "But I understand that all the other clothes were found in the room. Would the body be dressed in a coat alone?" "No, sir, but the facts might be met speciously enough. Suppose that this man Boone had thrust Neville St. Clair through the window, there is no human eye which could have seen the deed. What would he do then? It would of course instantly strike him that he must get rid of the tell-tale garments. He would seize the coat, then, and be in the act of throwing it out, when it would occur to him that it would swim and not sink. He has little time, for he has heard the scuffle downstairs when the wife tried to force her way up, and perhaps he has already heard from his Lascar confederate that the police are hurrying up the street. There is not an instant to be lost. He rushes to some secret hoard, where he has accumulated the fruits of his beggary, and he stuffs all the coins upon which he can lay his hands into the pockets to make sure of the coat's sinking. He throws it out, and would have done the same with the other garments had not he heard the rush of steps below, and only just had time to close the window when the police appeared." "It certainly sounds feasible." "Well, we will take it as a working hypothesis for want of a better. Boone, as I have told you, was arrested and taken to the station, but it could not be shown that there had ever before been anything against him. He had for years been known as a professional beggar, but his life appeared to have been a very quiet and innocent one. There the matter stands at present, and the questions which have to be solved--what Neville St. Clair was doing in the opium den, what happened to him when there, where is he now, and what Hugh Boone had to do with his disappearance--are all as far from a solution as ever. I confess that I cannot recall any case within my experience which looked at the first glance so simple and yet which presented such difficulties." While Sherlock Holmes had been detailing this singular series of events, we had been whirling through the outskirts of the great town until the last straggling houses had been left behind, and we rattled along with a country hedge upon either side of us. Just as he finished, however, we drove through two scattered villages, where a few lights still glimmered in the windows. "We are on the outskirts of Lee," said my companion. "We have touched on three English counties in our short drive, starting in Middlesex, passing over an angle of Surrey, and ending in Kent. See that light among the trees? That is The Cedars, and beside that lamp sits a woman whose anxious ears have already, I have little doubt, caught the clink of our horse's feet." "But why are you not conducting the case from Baker Street?" I asked. "Because there are many inquiries which must be made out here. Mrs. St. Clair has most kindly put two rooms at my disposal, and you may rest assured that she will have nothing but a welcome for my friend and colleague. I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband. Here we are. Whoa, there, whoa!" We had pulled up in front of a large villa which stood within its own grounds. A stable-boy had run out to the horse's head, and springing down, I followed Holmes up the small, winding gravel-drive which led to the house. As we approached, the door flew open, and a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in her eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question. "Well?" she cried, "well?" And then, seeing that there were two of us, she gave a cry of hope which sank into a groan as she saw that my companion shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "No good news?" "None." "No bad?" "No." "Thank God for that. But come in. You must be weary, for you have had a long day." "This is my friend, Dr. Watson. He has been of most vital use to me in several of my cases, and a lucky chance has made it possible for me to bring him out and associate him with this investigation." "I am delighted to see you," said she, pressing my hand warmly. "You will, I am sure, forgive anything that may be wanting in our arrangements, when you consider the blow which has come so suddenly upon us." "My dear madam," said I, "I am an old campaigner, and if I were not I can very well see that no apology is needed. If I can be of any assistance, either to you or to my friend here, I shall be indeed happy." "Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said the lady as we entered a well-lit dining-room, upon the table of which a cold supper had been laid out, "I should very much like to ask you one or two plain questions, to which I beg that you will give a plain answer." "Certainly, madam." "Do not trouble about my feelings. I am not hysterical, nor given to fainting. I simply wish to hear your real, real opinion." "Upon what point?" "In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?" Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question. "Frankly, now!" she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair. "Frankly, then, madam, I do not." "You think that he is dead?" "I do." "Murdered?" "I don't say that. Perhaps." "And on what day did he meet his death?" "On Monday." "Then perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you will be good enough to explain how it is that I have received a letter from him to-day." Sherlock Holmes sprang out of his chair as if he had been galvanised. "What!" he roared. "Yes, to-day." She stood smiling, holding up a little slip of paper in the air. "May I see it?" "Certainly." He snatched it from her in his eagerness, and smoothing it out upon the table he drew over the lamp and examined it intently. I had left my chair and was gazing at it over his shoulder. The envelope was a very coarse one and was stamped with the Gravesend postmark and with the date of that very day, or rather of the day before, for it was considerably after midnight. "Coarse writing," murmured Holmes. "Surely this is not your husband's writing, madam." "No, but the enclosure is." "I perceive also that whoever addressed the envelope had to go and inquire as to the address." "How can you tell that?" "The name, you see, is in perfectly black ink, which has dried itself. The rest is of the greyish colour, which shows that blotting-paper has been used. If it had been written straight off, and then blotted, none would be of a deep black shade. This man has written the name, and there has then been a pause before he wrote the address, which can only mean that he was not familiar with it. It is, of course, a trifle, but there is nothing so important as trifles. Let us now see the letter. Ha! there has been an enclosure here!" "Yes, there was a ring. His signet-ring." "And you are sure that this is your husband's hand?" "One of his hands." "One?" "His hand when he wrote hurriedly. It is very unlike his usual writing, and yet I know it well." "Dearest do not be frightened. All will come well. There is a huge error which it may take some little time to rectify. Wait in patience. "Neville. Written in pencil upon the fly-leaf of a book, octavo size, no water-mark. Hum! Posted to-day in Gravesend by a man with a dirty thumb. Ha! And the flap has been gummed, if I am not very much in error, by a person who had been chewing tobacco. And you have no doubt that it is your husband's hand, madam?" "None. Neville wrote those words." "And they were posted to-day at Gravesend. Well, Mrs. St. Clair, the clouds lighten, though I should not venture to say that the danger is over." "But he must be alive, Mr. Holmes." "Unless this is a clever forgery to put us on the wrong scent. The ring, after all, proves nothing. It may have been taken from him." "No, no; it is, it is his very own writing!" "Very well. It may, however, have been written on Monday and only posted to-day." "That is possible." "If so, much may have happened between." "Oh, you must not discourage me, Mr. Holmes. I know that all is well with him. There is so keen a sympathy between us that I should know if evil came upon him. On the very day that I saw him last he cut himself in the bedroom, and yet I in the dining-room rushed upstairs instantly with the utmost certainty that something had happened. Do you think that I would respond to such a trifle and yet be ignorant of his death?" "I have seen too much not to know that the impression of a woman may be more valuable than the conclusion of an analytical reasoner. And in this letter you certainly have a very strong piece of evidence to corroborate your view. But if your husband is alive and able to write letters, why should he remain away from you?" "I cannot imagine. It is unthinkable." "And on Monday he made no remarks before leaving you?" "No." "And you were surprised to see him in Swandam Lane?" "Very much so." "Was the window open?" "Yes." "Then he might have called to you?" "He might." "He only, as I understand, gave an inarticulate cry?" "Yes." "A call for help, you thought?" "Yes. He waved his hands." "But it might have been a cry of surprise. Astonishment at the unexpected sight of you might cause him to throw up his hands?" "It is possible." "And you thought he was pulled back?" "He disappeared so suddenly." "He might have leaped back. You did not see anyone else in the room?" "No, but this horrible man confessed to having been there, and the Lascar was at the foot of the stairs." "Quite so. Your husband, as far as you could see, had his ordinary clothes on?" "But without his collar or tie. I distinctly saw his bare throat." "Had he ever spoken of Swandam Lane?" "Never." "Had he ever showed any signs of having taken opium?" "Never." "Thank you, Mrs. St. Clair. Those are the principal points about which I wished to be absolutely clear. We shall now have a little supper and then retire, for we may have a very busy day to-morrow." A large and comfortable double-bedded room had been placed at our disposal, and I was quickly between the sheets, for I was weary after my night of adventure. Sherlock Holmes was a man, however, who, when he had an unsolved problem upon his mind, would go for days, and even for a week, without rest, turning it over, rearranging his facts, looking at it from every point of view until he had either fathomed it or convinced himself that his data were insufficient. It was soon evident to me that he was now preparing for an all-night sitting. He took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed and cushions from the sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him. In the dim light of the lamp I saw him sitting there, an old briar pipe between his lips, his eyes fixed vacantly upon the corner of the ceiling, the blue smoke curling up from him, silent, motionless, with the light shining upon his strong-set aquiline features. So he sat as I dropped off to sleep, and so he sat when a sudden ejaculation caused me to wake up, and I found the summer sun shining into the apartment. The pipe was still between his lips, the smoke still curled upward, and the room was full of a dense tobacco haze, but nothing remained of the heap of shag which I had seen upon the previous night. "Awake, Watson?" he asked. "Yes." "Game for a morning drive?" "Certainly." "Then dress. No one is stirring yet, but I know where the stable-boy sleeps, and we shall soon have the trap out." He chuckled to himself as he spoke, his eyes twinkled, and he seemed a different man to the sombre thinker of the previous night. As I dressed I glanced at my watch. It was no wonder that no one was stirring. It was twenty-five minutes past four. I had hardly finished when Holmes returned with the news that the boy was putting in the horse. "I want to test a little theory of mine," said he, pulling on his boots. "I think, Watson, that you are now standing in the presence of one of the most absolute fools in Europe. I deserve to be kicked from here to Charing Cross. But I think I have the key of the affair now." "And where is it?" I asked, smiling. "In the bathroom," he answered. "Oh, yes, I am not joking," he continued, seeing my look of incredulity. "I have just been there, and I have taken it out, and I have got it in this Gladstone bag. Come on, my boy, and we shall see whether it will not fit the lock." We made our way downstairs as quietly as possible, and out into the bright morning sunshine. In the road stood our horse and trap, with the half-clad stable-boy waiting at the head. We both sprang in, and away we dashed down the London Road. A few country carts were stirring, bearing in vegetables to the metropolis, but the lines of villas on either side were as silent and lifeless as some city in a dream. "It has been in some points a singular case," said Holmes, flicking the horse on into a gallop. "I confess that I have been as blind as a mole, but it is better to learn wisdom late than never to learn it at all." In town the earliest risers were just beginning to look sleepily from their windows as we drove through the streets of the Surrey side. Passing down the Waterloo Bridge Road we crossed over the river, and dashing up Wellington Street wheeled sharply to the right and found ourselves in Bow Street. Sherlock Holmes was well known to the force, and the two constables at the door saluted him. One of them held the horse's head while the other led us in. "Who is on duty?" asked Holmes. "Inspector Bradstreet, sir." "Ah, Bradstreet, how are you?" A tall, stout official had come down the stone-flagged passage, in a peaked cap and frogged jacket. "I wish to have a quiet word with you, Bradstreet." "Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Step into my room here." It was a small, office-like room, with a huge ledger upon the table, and a telephone projecting from the wall. The inspector sat down at his desk. "What can I do for you, Mr. Holmes?" "I called about that beggarman, Boone--the one who was charged with being concerned in the disappearance of Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee." "Yes. He was brought up and remanded for further inquiries." "So I heard. You have him here?" "In the cells." "Is he quiet?" "Oh, he gives no trouble. But he is a dirty scoundrel." "Dirty?" "Yes, it is all we can do to make him wash his hands, and his face is as black as a tinker's. Well, when once his case has been settled, he will have a regular prison bath; and I think, if you saw him, you would agree with me that he needed it." "I should like to see him very much." "Would you? That is easily done. Come this way. You can leave your bag." "No, I think that I'll take it." "Very good. Come this way, if you please." He led us down a passage, opened a barred door, passed down a winding stair, and brought us to a whitewashed corridor with a line of doors on each side. "The third on the right is his," said the inspector. "Here it is!" He quietly shot back a panel in the upper part of the door and glanced through. "He is asleep," said he. "You can see him very well." We both put our eyes to the grating. The prisoner lay with his face towards us, in a very deep sleep, breathing slowly and heavily. He was a middle-sized man, coarsely clad as became his calling, with a coloured shirt protruding through the rent in his tattered coat. He was, as the inspector had said, extremely dirty, but the grime which covered his face could not conceal its repulsive ugliness. A broad wheal from an old scar ran right across it from eye to chin, and by its contraction had turned up one side of the upper lip, so that three teeth were exposed in a perpetual snarl. A shock of very bright red hair grew low over his eyes and forehead. "He's a beauty, isn't he?" said the inspector. "He certainly needs a wash," remarked Holmes. "I had an idea that he might, and I took the liberty of bringing the tools with me." He opened the Gladstone bag as he spoke, and took out, to my astonishment, a very large bath-sponge. "He! he! You are a funny one," chuckled the inspector. "Now, if you will have the great goodness to open that door very quietly, we will soon make him cut a much more respectable figure." "Well, I don't know why not," said the inspector. "He doesn't look a credit to the Bow Street cells, does he?" He slipped his key into the lock, and we all very quietly entered the cell. The sleeper half turned, and then settled down once more into a deep slumber. Holmes stooped to the water-jug, moistened his sponge, and then rubbed it twice vigorously across and down the prisoner's face. "Let me introduce you," he shouted, "to Mr. Neville St. Clair, of Lee, in the county of Kent." Never in my life have I seen such a sight. The man's face peeled off under the sponge like the bark from a tree. Gone was the coarse brown tint! Gone, too, was the horrid scar which had seamed it across, and the twisted lip which had given the repulsive sneer to the face! A twitch brought away the tangled red hair, and there, sitting up in his bed, was a pale, sad-faced, refined-looking man, black-haired and smooth-skinned, rubbing his eyes and staring about him with sleepy bewilderment. Then suddenly realising the exposure, he broke into a scream and threw himself down with his face to the pillow. "Great heavens!" cried the inspector, "it is, indeed, the missing man. I know him from the photograph." The prisoner turned with the reckless air of a man who abandons himself to his destiny. "Be it so," said he. "And pray what am I charged with?" "With making away with Mr. Neville St.--Oh, come, you can't be charged with that unless they make a case of attempted suicide of it," said the inspector with a grin. "Well, I have been twenty-seven years in the force, but this really takes the cake." "If I am Mr. Neville St. Clair, then it is obvious that no crime has been committed, and that, therefore, I am illegally detained." "No crime, but a very great error has been committed," said Holmes. "You would have done better to have trusted your wife." "It was not the wife; it was the children," groaned the prisoner. "God help me, I would not have them ashamed of their father. My God! What an exposure! What can I do?" Sherlock Holmes sat down beside him on the couch and patted him kindly on the shoulder. "If you leave it to a court of law to clear the matter up," said he, "of course you can hardly avoid publicity. On the other hand, if you convince the police authorities that there is no possible case against you, I do not know that there is any reason that the details should find their way into the papers. Inspector Bradstreet would, I am sure, make notes upon anything which you might tell us and submit it to the proper authorities. The case would then never go into court at all." "God bless you!" cried the prisoner passionately. "I would have endured imprisonment, ay, even execution, rather than have left my miserable secret as a family blot to my children. "You are the first who have ever heard my story. My father was a schoolmaster in Chesterfield, where I received an excellent education. I travelled in my youth, took to the stage, and finally became a reporter on an evening paper in London. One day my editor wished to have a series of articles upon begging in the metropolis, and I volunteered to supply them. There was the point from which all my adventures started. It was only by trying begging as an amateur that I could get the facts upon which to base my articles. When an actor I had, of course, learned all the secrets of making up, and had been famous in the green-room for my skill. I took advantage now of my attainments. I painted my face, and to make myself as pitiable as possible I made a good scar and fixed one side of my lip in a twist by the aid of a small slip of flesh-coloured plaster. Then with a red head of hair, and an appropriate dress, I took my station in the business part of the city, ostensibly as a match-seller but really as a beggar. For seven hours I plied my trade, and when I returned home in the evening I found to my surprise that I had received no less than 26s. 4d. "I wrote my articles and thought little more of the matter until, some time later, I backed a bill for a friend and had a writ served upon me for £25. I was at my wit's end where to get the money, but a sudden idea came to me. I begged a fortnight's grace from the creditor, asked for a holiday from my employers, and spent the time in begging in the City under my disguise. In ten days I had the money and had paid the debt. "Well, you can imagine how hard it was to settle down to arduous work at £2 a week when I knew that I could earn as much in a day by smearing my face with a little paint, laying my cap on the ground, and sitting still. It was a long fight between my pride and the money, but the dollars won at last, and I threw up reporting and sat day after day in the corner which I had first chosen, inspiring pity by my ghastly face and filling my pockets with coppers. Only one man knew my secret. He was the keeper of a low den in which I used to lodge in Swandam Lane, where I could every morning emerge as a squalid beggar and in the evenings transform myself into a well-dressed man about town. This fellow, a Lascar, was well paid by me for his rooms, so that I knew that my secret was safe in his possession. "Well, very soon I found that I was saving considerable sums of money. I do not mean that any beggar in the streets of London could earn £700 a year--which is less than my average takings--but I had exceptional advantages in my power of making up, and also in a facility of repartee, which improved by practice and made me quite a recognised character in the City. All day a stream of pennies, varied by silver, poured in upon me, and it was a very bad day in which I failed to take £2. "As I grew richer I grew more ambitious, took a house in the country, and eventually married, without anyone having a suspicion as to my real occupation. My dear wife knew that I had business in the City. She little knew what. "Last Monday I had finished for the day and was dressing in my room above the opium den when I looked out of my window and saw, to my horror and astonishment, that my wife was standing in the street, with her eyes fixed full upon me. I gave a cry of surprise, threw up my arms to cover my face, and, rushing to my confidant, the Lascar, entreated him to prevent anyone from coming up to me. I heard her voice downstairs, but I knew that she could not ascend. Swiftly I threw off my clothes, pulled on those of a beggar, and put on my pigments and wig. Even a wife's eyes could not pierce so complete a disguise. But then it occurred to me that there might be a search in the room, and that the clothes might betray me. I threw open the window, reopening by my violence a small cut which I had inflicted upon myself in the bedroom that morning. Then I seized my coat, which was weighted by the coppers which I had just transferred to it from the leather bag in which I carried my takings. I hurled it out of the window, and it disappeared into the Thames. The other clothes would have followed, but at that moment there was a rush of constables up the stair, and a few minutes after I found, rather, I confess, to my relief, that instead of being identified as Mr. Neville St. Clair, I was arrested as his murderer. "I do not know that there is anything else for me to explain. I was determined to preserve my disguise as long as possible, and hence my preference for a dirty face. Knowing that my wife would be terribly anxious, I slipped off my ring and confided it to the Lascar at a moment when no constable was watching me, together with a hurried scrawl, telling her that she had no cause to fear." "That note only reached her yesterday," said Holmes. "Good God! What a week she must have spent!" "The police have watched this Lascar," said Inspector Bradstreet, "and I can quite understand that he might find it difficult to post a letter unobserved. Probably he handed it to some sailor customer of his, who forgot all about it for some days." "That was it," said Holmes, nodding approvingly; "I have no doubt of it. But have you never been prosecuted for begging?" "Many times; but what was a fine to me?" "It must stop here, however," said Bradstreet. "If the police are to hush this thing up, there must be no more of Hugh Boone." "I have sworn it by the most solemn oaths which a man can take." "In that case I think that it is probable that no further steps may be taken. But if you are found again, then all must come out. I am sure, Mr. Holmes, that we are very much indebted to you for having cleared the matter up. I wish I knew how you reach your results." "I reached this one," said my friend, "by sitting upon five pillows and consuming an ounce of shag. I think, Watson, that if we drive to Baker Street we shall just be in time for breakfast." THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination. "You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you." "Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction." I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that, homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to it--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some crime." "No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. We have already had experience of such." "So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which I have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime." "Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?" "Yes." "It is to him that this trophy belongs." "It is his hat." "No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's fire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose." "Which surely he restored to their owner?" "My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that 'For Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H. B.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them." "What, then, did Peterson do?" "He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner." "Did he not advertise?" "No." "Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?" "Only as much as we can deduce." "From his hat?" "Precisely." "But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt?" "Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this article?" I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker's name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials "H. B." were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink. "I can see nothing," said I, handing it back to my friend. "On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences." "Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?" He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. "It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been," he remarked, "and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him." "My dear Holmes!" "He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect," he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. "He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house." "You are certainly joking, Holmes." "Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?" "I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?" For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. "It is a question of cubic capacity," said he; "a man with so large a brain must have something in it." "The decline of his fortunes, then?" "This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world." "Well, that is clear enough, certainly. But how about the foresight and the moral retrogression?" Sherlock Holmes laughed. "Here is the foresight," said he putting his finger upon the little disc and loop of the hat-securer. "They are never sold upon hats. If this man ordered one, it is a sign of a certain amount of foresight, since he went out of his way to take this precaution against the wind. But since we see that he has broken the elastic and has not troubled to replace it, it is obvious that he has less foresight now than formerly, which is a distinct proof of a weakening nature. On the other hand, he has endeavoured to conceal some of these stains upon the felt by daubing them with ink, which is a sign that he has not entirely lost his self-respect." "Your reasoning is certainly plausible." "The further points, that he is middle-aged, that his hair is grizzled, that it has been recently cut, and that he uses lime-cream, are all to be gathered from a close examination of the lower part of the lining. The lens discloses a large number of hair-ends, clean cut by the scissors of the barber. They all appear to be adhesive, and there is a distinct odour of lime-cream. This dust, you will observe, is not the gritty, grey dust of the street but the fluffy brown dust of the house, showing that it has been hung up indoors most of the time, while the marks of moisture upon the inside are proof positive that the wearer perspired very freely, and could therefore, hardly be in the best of training." "But his wife--you said that she had ceased to love him." "This hat has not been brushed for weeks. When I see you, my dear Watson, with a week's accumulation of dust upon your hat, and when your wife allows you to go out in such a state, I shall fear that you also have been unfortunate enough to lose your wife's affection." "But he might be a bachelor." "Nay, he was bringing home the goose as a peace-offering to his wife. Remember the card upon the bird's leg." "You have an answer to everything. But how on earth do you deduce that the gas is not laid on in his house?" "One tallow stain, or even two, might come by chance; but when I see no less than five, I think that there can be little doubt that the individual must be brought into frequent contact with burning tallow--walks upstairs at night probably with his hat in one hand and a guttering candle in the other. Anyhow, he never got tallow-stains from a gas-jet. Are you satisfied?" "Well, it is very ingenious," said I, laughing; "but since, as you said just now, there has been no crime committed, and no harm done save the loss of a goose, all this seems to be rather a waste of energy." Sherlock Holmes had opened his mouth to reply, when the door flew open, and Peterson, the commissionaire, rushed into the apartment with flushed cheeks and the face of a man who is dazed with astonishment. "The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!" he gasped. "Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?" Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man's excited face. "See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!" He held out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of his hand. Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" said he, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?" "A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty." "It's more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone." "Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated. "Precisely so. I ought to know its size and shape, seeing that I have read the advertisement about it in The Times every day lately. It is absolutely unique, and its value can only be conjectured, but the reward offered of £1000 is certainly not within a twentieth part of the market price." "A thousand pounds! Great Lord of mercy!" The commissionaire plumped down into a chair and stared from one to the other of us. "That is the reward, and I have reason to know that there are sentimental considerations in the background which would induce the Countess to part with half her fortune if she could but recover the gem." "It was lost, if I remember aright, at the Hotel Cosmopolitan," I remarked. "Precisely so, on December 22nd, just five days ago. John Horner, a plumber, was accused of having abstracted it from the lady's jewel-case. The evidence against him was so strong that the case has been referred to the Assizes. I have some account of the matter here, I believe." He rummaged amid his newspapers, glancing over the dates, until at last he smoothed one out, doubled it over, and read the following paragraph: "Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst. abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time, but had finally been called away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder's cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters as described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court." "Hum! So much for the police-court," said Holmes thoughtfully, tossing aside the paper. "The question for us now to solve is the sequence of events leading from a rifled jewel-case at one end to the crop of a goose in Tottenham Court Road at the other. You see, Watson, our little deductions have suddenly assumed a much more important and less innocent aspect. Here is the stone; the stone came from the goose, and the goose came from Mr. Henry Baker, the gentleman with the bad hat and all the other characteristics with which I have bored you. So now we must set ourselves very seriously to finding this gentleman and ascertaining what part he has played in this little mystery. To do this, we must try the simplest means first, and these lie undoubtedly in an advertisement in all the evening papers. If this fail, I shall have recourse to other methods." "What will you say?" "Give me a pencil and that slip of paper. Now, then: 'Found at the corner of Goodge Street, a goose and a black felt hat. Mr. Henry Baker can have the same by applying at 6.30 this evening at 221b, Baker Street.' That is clear and concise." "Very. But will he see it?" "Well, he is sure to keep an eye on the papers, since, to a poor man, the loss was a heavy one. He was clearly so scared by his mischance in breaking the window and by the approach of Peterson that he thought of nothing but flight, but since then he must have bitterly regretted the impulse which caused him to drop his bird. Then, again, the introduction of his name will cause him to see it, for everyone who knows him will direct his attention to it. Here you are, Peterson, run down to the advertising agency and have this put in the evening papers." "In which, sir?" "Oh, in the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening News, Standard, Echo, and any others that occur to you." "Very well, sir. And this stone?" "Ah, yes, I shall keep the stone. Thank you. And, I say, Peterson, just buy a goose on your way back and leave it here with me, for we must have one to give to this gentleman in place of the one which your family is now devouring." When the commissionaire had gone, Holmes took up the stone and held it against the light. "It's a bonny thing," said he. "Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil's pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I'll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to say that we have it." "Do you think that this man Horner is innocent?" "I cannot tell." "Well, then, do you imagine that this other one, Henry Baker, had anything to do with the matter?" "It is, I think, much more likely that Henry Baker is an absolutely innocent man, who had no idea that the bird which he was carrying was of considerably more value than if it were made of solid gold. That, however, I shall determine by a very simple test if we have an answer to our advertisement." "And you can do nothing until then?" "Nothing." "In that case I shall continue my professional round. But I shall come back in the evening at the hour you have mentioned, for I should like to see the solution of so tangled a business." "Very glad to see you. I dine at seven. There is a woodcock, I believe. By the way, in view of recent occurrences, perhaps I ought to ask Mrs. Hudson to examine its crop." I had been delayed at a case, and it was a little after half-past six when I found myself in Baker Street once more. As I approached the house I saw a tall man in a Scotch bonnet with a coat which was buttoned up to his chin waiting outside in the bright semicircle which was thrown from the fanlight. Just as I arrived the door was opened, and we were shown up together to Holmes' room. "Mr. Henry Baker, I believe," said he, rising from his armchair and greeting his visitor with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume. "Pray take this chair by the fire, Mr. Baker. It is a cold night, and I observe that your circulation is more adapted for summer than for winter. Ah, Watson, you have just come at the right time. Is that your hat, Mr. Baker?" "Yes, sir, that is undoubtedly my hat." He was a large man with rounded shoulders, a massive head, and a broad, intelligent face, sloping down to a pointed beard of grizzled brown. A touch of red in nose and cheeks, with a slight tremor of his extended hand, recalled Holmes' surmise as to his habits. His rusty black frock-coat was buttoned right up in front, with the collar turned up, and his lank wrists protruded from his sleeves without a sign of cuff or shirt. He spoke in a slow staccato fashion, choosing his words with care, and gave the impression generally of a man of learning and letters who had had ill-usage at the hands of fortune. "We have retained these things for some days," said Holmes, "because we expected to see an advertisement from you giving your address. I am at a loss to know now why you did not advertise." Our visitor gave a rather shamefaced laugh. "Shillings have not been so plentiful with me as they once were," he remarked. "I had no doubt that the gang of roughs who assaulted me had carried off both my hat and the bird. I did not care to spend more money in a hopeless attempt at recovering them." "Very naturally. By the way, about the bird, we were compelled to eat it." "To eat it!" Our visitor half rose from his chair in his excitement. "Yes, it would have been of no use to anyone had we not done so. But I presume that this other goose upon the sideboard, which is about the same weight and perfectly fresh, will answer your purpose equally well?" "Oh, certainly, certainly," answered Mr. Baker with a sigh of relief. "Of course, we still have the feathers, legs, crop, and so on of your own bird, so if you wish--" The man burst into a hearty laugh. "They might be useful to me as relics of my adventure," said he, "but beyond that I can hardly see what use the disjecta membra of my late acquaintance are going to be to me. No, sir, I think that, with your permission, I will confine my attentions to the excellent bird which I perceive upon the sideboard." Sherlock Holmes glanced sharply across at me with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "There is your hat, then, and there your bird," said he. "By the way, would it bore you to tell me where you got the other one from? I am somewhat of a fowl fancier, and I have seldom seen a better grown goose." "Certainly, sir," said Baker, who had risen and tucked his newly gained property under his arm. "There are a few of us who frequent the Alpha Inn, near the Museum--we are to be found in the Museum itself during the day, you understand. This year our good host, Windigate by name, instituted a goose club, by which, on consideration of some few pence every week, we were each to receive a bird at Christmas. My pence were duly paid, and the rest is familiar to you. I am much indebted to you, sir, for a Scotch bonnet is fitted neither to my years nor my gravity." With a comical pomposity of manner he bowed solemnly to both of us and strode off upon his way. "So much for Mr. Henry Baker," said Holmes when he had closed the door behind him. "It is quite certain that he knows nothing whatever about the matter. Are you hungry, Watson?" "Not particularly." "Then I suggest that we turn our dinner into a supper and follow up this clue while it is still hot." "By all means." It was a bitter night, so we drew on our ulsters and wrapped cravats about our throats. Outside, the stars were shining coldly in a cloudless sky, and the breath of the passers-by blew out into smoke like so many pistol shots. Our footfalls rang out crisply and loudly as we swung through the doctors' quarter, Wimpole Street, Harley Street, and so through Wigmore Street into Oxford Street. In a quarter of an hour we were in Bloomsbury at the Alpha Inn, which is a small public-house at the corner of one of the streets which runs down into Holborn. Holmes pushed open the door of the private bar and ordered two glasses of beer from the ruddy-faced, white-aproned landlord. "Your beer should be excellent if it is as good as your geese," said he. "My geese!" The man seemed surprised. "Yes. I was speaking only half an hour ago to Mr. Henry Baker, who was a member of your goose club." "Ah! yes, I see. But you see, sir, them's not our geese." "Indeed! Whose, then?" "Well, I got the two dozen from a salesman in Covent Garden." "Indeed? I know some of them. Which was it?" "Breckinridge is his name." "Ah! I don't know him. Well, here's your good health landlord, and prosperity to your house. Good-night." "Now for Mr. Breckinridge," he continued, buttoning up his coat as we came out into the frosty air. "Remember, Watson that though we have so homely a thing as a goose at one end of this chain, we have at the other a man who will certainly get seven years' penal servitude unless we can establish his innocence. It is possible that our inquiry may but confirm his guilt; but, in any case, we have a line of investigation which has been missed by the police, and which a singular chance has placed in our hands. Let us follow it out to the bitter end. Faces to the south, then, and quick march!" We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor a horsey-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to put up the shutters. "Good-evening. It's a cold night," said Holmes. The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion. "Sold out of geese, I see," continued Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble. "Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning." "That's no good." "Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare." "Ah, but I was recommended to you." "Who by?" "The landlord of the Alpha." "Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen." "Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?" To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman. "Now, then, mister," said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, "what are you driving at? Let's have it straight, now." "It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the Alpha." "Well then, I shan't tell you. So now!" "Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don't know why you should be so warm over such a trifle." "Warm! You'd be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am. When I pay good money for a good article there should be an end of the business; but it's 'Where are the geese?' and 'Who did you sell the geese to?' and 'What will you take for the geese?' One would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss that is made over them." "Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries," said Holmes carelessly. "If you won't tell us the bet is off, that is all. But I'm always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country bred." "Well, then, you've lost your fiver, for it's town bred," snapped the salesman. "It's nothing of the kind." "I say it is." "I don't believe it." "D'you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to the Alpha were town bred." "You'll never persuade me to believe that." "Will you bet, then?" "It's merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But I'll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be obstinate." The salesman chuckled grimly. "Bring me the books, Bill," said he. The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp. "Now then, Mr. Cocksure," said the salesman, "I thought that I was out of geese, but before I finish you'll find that there is still one left in my shop. You see this little book?" "Well?" "That's the list of the folk from whom I buy. D'you see? Well, then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just read it out to me." "Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road--249," read Holmes. "Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger." Holmes turned to the page indicated. "Here you are, 'Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.'" "Now, then, what's the last entry?" "'December 22nd. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.'" "Quite so. There you are. And underneath?" "'Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.'" "What have you to say now?" Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off he stopped under a lamp-post and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him. "When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the 'Pink 'un' protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet," said he. "I daresay that if I had put £100 down in front of him, that man would not have given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a wager. Well, Watson, we are, I fancy, nearing the end of our quest, and the only point which remains to be determined is whether we should go on to this Mrs. Oakshott to-night, or whether we should reserve it for to-morrow. It is clear from what that surly fellow said that there are others besides ourselves who are anxious about the matter, and I should--" His remarks were suddenly cut short by a loud hubbub which broke out from the stall which we had just left. Turning round we saw a little rat-faced fellow standing in the centre of the circle of yellow light which was thrown by the swinging lamp, while Breckinridge, the salesman, framed in the door of his stall, was shaking his fists fiercely at the cringing figure. "I've had enough of you and your geese," he shouted. "I wish you were all at the devil together. If you come pestering me any more with your silly talk I'll set the dog at you. You bring Mrs. Oakshott here and I'll answer her, but what have you to do with it? Did I buy the geese off you?" "No; but one of them was mine all the same," whined the little man. "Well, then, ask Mrs. Oakshott for it." "She told me to ask you." "Well, you can ask the King of Proosia, for all I care. I've had enough of it. Get out of this!" He rushed fiercely forward, and the inquirer flitted away into the darkness. "Ha! this may save us a visit to Brixton Road," whispered Holmes. "Come with me, and we will see what is to be made of this fellow." Striding through the scattered knots of people who lounged round the flaring stalls, my companion speedily overtook the little man and touched him upon the shoulder. He sprang round, and I could see in the gas-light that every vestige of colour had been driven from his face. "Who are you, then? What do you want?" he asked in a quavering voice. "You will excuse me," said Holmes blandly, "but I could not help overhearing the questions which you put to the salesman just now. I think that I could be of assistance to you." "You? Who are you? How could you know anything of the matter?" "My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people don't know." "But you can know nothing of this?" "Excuse me, I know everything of it. You are endeavouring to trace some geese which were sold by Mrs. Oakshott, of Brixton Road, to a salesman named Breckinridge, by him in turn to Mr. Windigate, of the Alpha, and by him to his club, of which Mr. Henry Baker is a member." "Oh, sir, you are the very man whom I have longed to meet," cried the little fellow with outstretched hands and quivering fingers. "I can hardly explain to you how interested I am in this matter." Sherlock Holmes hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. "In that case we had better discuss it in a cosy room rather than in this wind-swept market-place," said he. "But pray tell me, before we go farther, who it is that I have the pleasure of assisting." The man hesitated for an instant. "My name is John Robinson," he answered with a sidelong glance. "No, no; the real name," said Holmes sweetly. "It is always awkward doing business with an alias." A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well then," said he, "my real name is James Ryder." "Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray step into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you everything which you would wish to know." The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe. Then he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in the sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during our drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous tension within him. "Here we are!" said Holmes cheerily as we filed into the room. "The fire looks very seasonable in this weather. You look cold, Mr. Ryder. Pray take the basket-chair. I will just put on my slippers before we settle this little matter of yours. Now, then! You want to know what became of those geese?" "Yes, sir." "Or rather, I fancy, of that goose. It was one bird, I imagine in which you were interested--white, with a black bar across the tail." Ryder quivered with emotion. "Oh, sir," he cried, "can you tell me where it went to?" "It came here." "Here?" "Yes, and a most remarkable bird it proved. I don't wonder that you should take an interest in it. It laid an egg after it was dead--the bonniest, brightest little blue egg that ever was seen. I have it here in my museum." Our visitor staggered to his feet and clutched the mantelpiece with his right hand. Holmes unlocked his strong-box and held up the blue carbuncle, which shone out like a star, with a cold, brilliant, many-pointed radiance. Ryder stood glaring with a drawn face, uncertain whether to claim or to disown it. "The game's up, Ryder," said Holmes quietly. "Hold up, man, or you'll be into the fire! Give him an arm back into his chair, Watson. He's not got blood enough to go in for felony with impunity. Give him a dash of brandy. So! Now he looks a little more human. What a shrimp it is, to be sure!" For a moment he had staggered and nearly fallen, but the brandy brought a tinge of colour into his cheeks, and he sat staring with frightened eyes at his accuser. "I have almost every link in my hands, and all the proofs which I could possibly need, so there is little which you need tell me. Still, that little may as well be cleared up to make the case complete. You had heard, Ryder, of this blue stone of the Countess of Morcar's?" "It was Catherine Cusack who told me of it," said he in a crackling voice. "I see--her ladyship's waiting-maid. Well, the temptation of sudden wealth so easily acquired was too much for you, as it has been for better men before you; but you were not very scrupulous in the means you used. It seems to me, Ryder, that there is the making of a very pretty villain in you. You knew that this man Horner, the plumber, had been concerned in some such matter before, and that suspicion would rest the more readily upon him. What did you do, then? You made some small job in my lady's room--you and your confederate Cusack--and you managed that he should be the man sent for. Then, when he had left, you rifled the jewel-case, raised the alarm, and had this unfortunate man arrested. You then--" Ryder threw himself down suddenly upon the rug and clutched at my companion's knees. "For God's sake, have mercy!" he shrieked. "Think of my father! Of my mother! It would break their hearts. I never went wrong before! I never will again. I swear it. I'll swear it on a Bible. Oh, don't bring it into court! For Christ's sake, don't!" "Get back into your chair!" said Holmes sternly. "It is very well to cringe and crawl now, but you thought little enough of this poor Horner in the dock for a crime of which he knew nothing." "I will fly, Mr. Holmes. I will leave the country, sir. Then the charge against him will break down." "Hum! We will talk about that. And now let us hear a true account of the next act. How came the stone into the goose, and how came the goose into the open market? Tell us the truth, for there lies your only hope of safety." Ryder passed his tongue over his parched lips. "I will tell you it just as it happened, sir," said he. "When Horner had been arrested, it seemed to me that it would be best for me to get away with the stone at once, for I did not know at what moment the police might not take it into their heads to search me and my room. There was no place about the hotel where it would be safe. I went out, as if on some commission, and I made for my sister's house. She had married a man named Oakshott, and lived in Brixton Road, where she fattened fowls for the market. All the way there every man I met seemed to me to be a policeman or a detective; and, for all that it was a cold night, the sweat was pouring down my face before I came to the Brixton Road. My sister asked me what was the matter, and why I was so pale; but I told her that I had been upset by the jewel robbery at the hotel. Then I went into the back yard and smoked a pipe and wondered what it would be best to do. "I had a friend once called Maudsley, who went to the bad, and has just been serving his time in Pentonville. One day he had met me, and fell into talk about the ways of thieves, and how they could get rid of what they stole. I knew that he would be true to me, for I knew one or two things about him; so I made up my mind to go right on to Kilburn, where he lived, and take him into my confidence. He would show me how to turn the stone into money. But how to get to him in safety? I thought of the agonies I had gone through in coming from the hotel. I might at any moment be seized and searched, and there would be the stone in my waistcoat pocket. I was leaning against the wall at the time and looking at the geese which were waddling about round my feet, and suddenly an idea came into my head which showed me how I could beat the best detective that ever lived. "My sister had told me some weeks before that I might have the pick of her geese for a Christmas present, and I knew that she was always as good as her word. I would take my goose now, and in it I would carry my stone to Kilburn. There was a little shed in the yard, and behind this I drove one of the birds--a fine big one, white, with a barred tail. I caught it, and prying its bill open, I thrust the stone down its throat as far as my finger could reach. The bird gave a gulp, and I felt the stone pass along its gullet and down into its crop. But the creature flapped and struggled, and out came my sister to know what was the matter. As I turned to speak to her the brute broke loose and fluttered off among the others. "'Whatever were you doing with that bird, Jem?' says she. "'Well,' said I, 'you said you'd give me one for Christmas, and I was feeling which was the fattest.' "'Oh,' says she, 'we've set yours aside for you--Jem's bird, we call it. It's the big white one over yonder. There's twenty-six of them, which makes one for you, and one for us, and two dozen for the market.' "'Thank you, Maggie,' says I; 'but if it is all the same to you, I'd rather have that one I was handling just now.' "'The other is a good three pound heavier,' said she, 'and we fattened it expressly for you.' "'Never mind. I'll have the other, and I'll take it now,' said I. "'Oh, just as you like,' said she, a little huffed. 'Which is it you want, then?' "'That white one with the barred tail, right in the middle of the flock.' "'Oh, very well. Kill it and take it with you.' "Well, I did what she said, Mr. Holmes, and I carried the bird all the way to Kilburn. I told my pal what I had done, for he was a man that it was easy to tell a thing like that to. He laughed until he choked, and we got a knife and opened the goose. My heart turned to water, for there was no sign of the stone, and I knew that some terrible mistake had occurred. I left the bird, rushed back to my sister's, and hurried into the back yard. There was not a bird to be seen there. "'Where are they all, Maggie?' I cried. "'Gone to the dealer's, Jem.' "'Which dealer's?' "'Breckinridge, of Covent Garden.' "'But was there another with a barred tail?' I asked, 'the same as the one I chose?' "'Yes, Jem; there were two barred-tailed ones, and I could never tell them apart.' "Well, then, of course I saw it all, and I ran off as hard as my feet would carry me to this man Breckinridge; but he had sold the lot at once, and not one word would he tell me as to where they had gone. You heard him yourselves to-night. Well, he has always answered me like that. My sister thinks that I am going mad. Sometimes I think that I am myself. And now--and now I am myself a branded thief, without ever having touched the wealth for which I sold my character. God help me! God help me!" He burst into convulsive sobbing, with his face buried in his hands. There was a long silence, broken only by his heavy breathing and by the measured tapping of Sherlock Holmes' finger-tips upon the edge of the table. Then my friend rose and threw open the door. "Get out!" said he. "What, sir! Oh, Heaven bless you!" "No more words. Get out!" And no more words were needed. There was a rush, a clatter upon the stairs, the bang of a door, and the crisp rattle of running footfalls from the street. "After all, Watson," said Holmes, reaching up his hand for his clay pipe, "I am not retained by the police to supply their deficiencies. If Horner were in danger it would be another thing; but this fellow will not appear against him, and the case must collapse. I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to jail now, and you make him a jail-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward. If you will have the goodness to touch the bell, Doctor, we will begin another investigation, in which, also a bird will be the chief feature." THE ADVENTURE OF THE SPECKLED BAND On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth. It was early in April in the year '83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits. "Very sorry to knock you up, Watson," said he, "but it's the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you." "What is it, then--a fire?" "No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance." "My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything." I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered. "Good-morning, madam," said Holmes cheerily. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering." "It is not cold which makes me shiver," said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested. "What, then?" "It is fear, Mr. Holmes. It is terror." She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances. "You must not fear," said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. "We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see." "You know me, then?" "No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station." The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion. "There is no mystery, my dear madam," said he, smiling. "The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver." "Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct," said she. "I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn to--none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr. Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs. Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful." Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he consulted. "Farintosh," said he. "Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now I beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter." "Alas!" replied our visitor, "the very horror of my situation lies in the fact that my fears are so vague, and my suspicions depend so entirely upon small points, which might seem trivial to another, that even he to whom of all others I have a right to look for help and advice looks upon all that I tell him about it as the fancies of a nervous woman. He does not say so, but I can read it from his soothing answers and averted eyes. But I have heard, Mr. Holmes, that you can see deeply into the manifold wickedness of the human heart. You may advise me how to walk amid the dangers which encompass me." "I am all attention, madam." "My name is Helen Stoner, and I am living with my stepfather, who is the last survivor of one of the oldest Saxon families in England, the Roylotts of Stoke Moran, on the western border of Surrey." Holmes nodded his head. "The name is familiar to me," said he. "The family was at one time among the richest in England, and the estates extended over the borders into Berkshire in the north, and Hampshire in the west. In the last century, however, four successive heirs were of a dissolute and wasteful disposition, and the family ruin was eventually completed by a gambler in the days of the Regency. Nothing was left save a few acres of ground, and the two-hundred-year-old house, which is itself crushed under a heavy mortgage. The last squire dragged out his existence there, living the horrible life of an aristocratic pauper; but his only son, my stepfather, seeing that he must adapt himself to the new conditions, obtained an advance from a relative, which enabled him to take a medical degree and went out to Calcutta, where, by his professional skill and his force of character, he established a large practice. In a fit of anger, however, caused by some robberies which had been perpetrated in the house, he beat his native butler to death and narrowly escaped a capital sentence. As it was, he suffered a long term of imprisonment and afterwards returned to England a morose and disappointed man. "When Dr. Roylott was in India he married my mother, Mrs. Stoner, the young widow of Major-General Stoner, of the Bengal Artillery. My sister Julia and I were twins, and we were only two years old at the time of my mother's re-marriage. She had a considerable sum of money--not less than £1000 a year--and this she bequeathed to Dr. Roylott entirely while we resided with him, with a provision that a certain annual sum should be allowed to each of us in the event of our marriage. Shortly after our return to England my mother died--she was killed eight years ago in a railway accident near Crewe. Dr. Roylott then abandoned his attempts to establish himself in practice in London and took us to live with him in the old ancestral house at Stoke Moran. The money which my mother had left was enough for all our wants, and there seemed to be no obstacle to our happiness. "But a terrible change came over our stepfather about this time. Instead of making friends and exchanging visits with our neighbours, who had at first been overjoyed to see a Roylott of Stoke Moran back in the old family seat, he shut himself up in his house and seldom came out save to indulge in ferocious quarrels with whoever might cross his path. Violence of temper approaching to mania has been hereditary in the men of the family, and in my stepfather's case it had, I believe, been intensified by his long residence in the tropics. A series of disgraceful brawls took place, two of which ended in the police-court, until at last he became the terror of the village, and the folks would fly at his approach, for he is a man of immense strength, and absolutely uncontrollable in his anger. "Last week he hurled the local blacksmith over a parapet into a stream, and it was only by paying over all the money which I could gather together that I was able to avert another public exposure. He had no friends at all save the wandering gypsies, and he would give these vagabonds leave to encamp upon the few acres of bramble-covered land which represent the family estate, and would accept in return the hospitality of their tents, wandering away with them sometimes for weeks on end. He has a passion also for Indian animals, which are sent over to him by a correspondent, and he has at this moment a cheetah and a baboon, which wander freely over his grounds and are feared by the villagers almost as much as their master. "You can imagine from what I say that my poor sister Julia and I had no great pleasure in our lives. No servant would stay with us, and for a long time we did all the work of the house. She was but thirty at the time of her death, and yet her hair had already begun to whiten, even as mine has." "Your sister is dead, then?" "She died just two years ago, and it is of her death that I wish to speak to you. You can understand that, living the life which I have described, we were little likely to see anyone of our own age and position. We had, however, an aunt, my mother's maiden sister, Miss Honoria Westphail, who lives near Harrow, and we were occasionally allowed to pay short visits at this lady's house. Julia went there at Christmas two years ago, and met there a half-pay major of marines, to whom she became engaged. My stepfather learned of the engagement when my sister returned and offered no objection to the marriage; but within a fortnight of the day which had been fixed for the wedding, the terrible event occurred which has deprived me of my only companion." Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at his visitor. "Pray be precise as to details," said he. "It is easy for me to be so, for every event of that dreadful time is seared into my memory. The manor-house is, as I have already said, very old, and only one wing is now inhabited. The bedrooms in this wing are on the ground floor, the sitting-rooms being in the central block of the buildings. Of these bedrooms the first is Dr. Roylott's, the second my sister's, and the third my own. There is no communication between them, but they all open out into the same corridor. Do I make myself plain?" "Perfectly so." "The windows of the three rooms open out upon the lawn. That fatal night Dr. Roylott had gone to his room early, though we knew that he had not retired to rest, for my sister was troubled by the smell of the strong Indian cigars which it was his custom to smoke. She left her room, therefore, and came into mine, where she sat for some time, chatting about her approaching wedding. At eleven o'clock she rose to leave me, but she paused at the door and looked back. "'Tell me, Helen,' said she, 'have you ever heard anyone whistle in the dead of the night?' "'Never,' said I. "'I suppose that you could not possibly whistle, yourself, in your sleep?' "'Certainly not. But why?' "'Because during the last few nights I have always, about three in the morning, heard a low, clear whistle. I am a light sleeper, and it has awakened me. I cannot tell where it came from--perhaps from the next room, perhaps from the lawn. I thought that I would just ask you whether you had heard it.' "'No, I have not. It must be those wretched gipsies in the plantation.' "'Very likely. And yet if it were on the lawn, I wonder that you did not hear it also.' "'Ah, but I sleep more heavily than you.' "'Well, it is of no great consequence, at any rate.' She smiled back at me, closed my door, and a few moments later I heard her key turn in the lock." "Indeed," said Holmes. "Was it your custom always to lock yourselves in at night?" "Always." "And why?" "I think that I mentioned to you that the doctor kept a cheetah and a baboon. We had no feeling of security unless our doors were locked." "Quite so. Pray proceed with your statement." "I could not sleep that night. A vague feeling of impending misfortune impressed me. My sister and I, you will recollect, were twins, and you know how subtle are the links which bind two souls which are so closely allied. It was a wild night. The wind was howling outside, and the rain was beating and splashing against the windows. Suddenly, amid all the hubbub of the gale, there burst forth the wild scream of a terrified woman. I knew that it was my sister's voice. I sprang from my bed, wrapped a shawl round me, and rushed into the corridor. As I opened my door I seemed to hear a low whistle, such as my sister described, and a few moments later a clanging sound, as if a mass of metal had fallen. As I ran down the passage, my sister's door was unlocked, and revolved slowly upon its hinges. I stared at it horror-stricken, not knowing what was about to issue from it. By the light of the corridor-lamp I saw my sister appear at the opening, her face blanched with terror, her hands groping for help, her whole figure swaying to and fro like that of a drunkard. I ran to her and threw my arms round her, but at that moment her knees seemed to give way and she fell to the ground. She writhed as one who is in terrible pain, and her limbs were dreadfully convulsed. At first I thought that she had not recognised me, but as I bent over her she suddenly shrieked out in a voice which I shall never forget, 'Oh, my God! Helen! It was the band! The speckled band!' There was something else which she would fain have said, and she stabbed with her finger into the air in the direction of the doctor's room, but a fresh convulsion seized her and choked her words. I rushed out, calling loudly for my stepfather, and I met him hastening from his room in his dressing-gown. When he reached my sister's side she was unconscious, and though he poured brandy down her throat and sent for medical aid from the village, all efforts were in vain, for she slowly sank and died without having recovered her consciousness. Such was the dreadful end of my beloved sister." "One moment," said Holmes, "are you sure about this whistle and metallic sound? Could you swear to it?" "That was what the county coroner asked me at the inquiry. It is my strong impression that I heard it, and yet, among the crash of the gale and the creaking of an old house, I may possibly have been deceived." "Was your sister dressed?" "No, she was in her night-dress. In her right hand was found the charred stump of a match, and in her left a match-box." "Showing that she had struck a light and looked about her when the alarm took place. That is important. And what conclusions did the coroner come to?" "He investigated the case with great care, for Dr. Roylott's conduct had long been notorious in the county, but he was unable to find any satisfactory cause of death. My evidence showed that the door had been fastened upon the inner side, and the windows were blocked by old-fashioned shutters with broad iron bars, which were secured every night. The walls were carefully sounded, and were shown to be quite solid all round, and the flooring was also thoroughly examined, with the same result. The chimney is wide, but is barred up by four large staples. It is certain, therefore, that my sister was quite alone when she met her end. Besides, there were no marks of any violence upon her." "How about poison?" "The doctors examined her for it, but without success." "What do you think that this unfortunate lady died of, then?" "It is my belief that she died of pure fear and nervous shock, though what it was that frightened her I cannot imagine." "Were there gipsies in the plantation at the time?" "Yes, there are nearly always some there." "Ah, and what did you gather from this allusion to a band--a speckled band?" "Sometimes I have thought that it was merely the wild talk of delirium, sometimes that it may have referred to some band of people, perhaps to these very gipsies in the plantation. I do not know whether the spotted handkerchiefs which so many of them wear over their heads might have suggested the strange adjective which she used." Holmes shook his head like a man who is far from being satisfied. "These are very deep waters," said he; "pray go on with your narrative." "Two years have passed since then, and my life has been until lately lonelier than ever. A month ago, however, a dear friend, whom I have known for many years, has done me the honour to ask my hand in marriage. His name is Armitage--Percy Armitage--the second son of Mr. Armitage, of Crane Water, near Reading. My stepfather has offered no opposition to the match, and we are to be married in the course of the spring. Two days ago some repairs were started in the west wing of the building, and my bedroom wall has been pierced, so that I have had to move into the chamber in which my sister died, and to sleep in the very bed in which she slept. Imagine, then, my thrill of terror when last night, as I lay awake, thinking over her terrible fate, I suddenly heard in the silence of the night the low whistle which had been the herald of her own death. I sprang up and lit the lamp, but nothing was to be seen in the room. I was too shaken to go to bed again, however, so I dressed, and as soon as it was daylight I slipped down, got a dog-cart at the Crown Inn, which is opposite, and drove to Leatherhead, from whence I have come on this morning with the one object of seeing you and asking your advice." "You have done wisely," said my friend. "But have you told me all?" "Yes, all." "Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather." "Why, what do you mean?" For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor's knee. Five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist. "You have been cruelly used," said Holmes. The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. "He is a hard man," she said, "and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength." There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire. "This is a very deep business," he said at last. "There are a thousand details which I should desire to know before I decide upon our course of action. Yet we have not a moment to lose. If we were to come to Stoke Moran to-day, would it be possible for us to see over these rooms without the knowledge of your stepfather?" "As it happens, he spoke of coming into town to-day upon some most important business. It is probable that he will be away all day, and that there would be nothing to disturb you. We have a housekeeper now, but she is old and foolish, and I could easily get her out of the way." "Excellent. You are not averse to this trip, Watson?" "By no means." "Then we shall both come. What are you going to do yourself?" "I have one or two things which I would wish to do now that I am in town. But I shall return by the twelve o'clock train, so as to be there in time for your coming." "And you may expect us early in the afternoon. I have myself some small business matters to attend to. Will you not wait and breakfast?" "No, I must go. My heart is lightened already since I have confided my trouble to you. I shall look forward to seeing you again this afternoon." She dropped her thick black veil over her face and glided from the room. "And what do you think of it all, Watson?" asked Sherlock Holmes, leaning back in his chair. "It seems to me to be a most dark and sinister business." "Dark enough and sinister enough." "Yet if the lady is correct in saying that the flooring and walls are sound, and that the door, window, and chimney are impassable, then her sister must have been undoubtedly alone when she met her mysterious end." "What becomes, then, of these nocturnal whistles, and what of the very peculiar words of the dying woman?" "I cannot think." "When you combine the ideas of whistles at night, the presence of a band of gipsies who are on intimate terms with this old doctor, the fact that we have every reason to believe that the doctor has an interest in preventing his stepdaughter's marriage, the dying allusion to a band, and, finally, the fact that Miss Helen Stoner heard a metallic clang, which might have been caused by one of those metal bars that secured the shutters falling back into its place, I think that there is good ground to think that the mystery may be cleared along those lines." "But what, then, did the gipsies do?" "I cannot imagine." "I see many objections to any such theory." "And so do I. It is precisely for that reason that we are going to Stoke Moran this day. I want to see whether the objections are fatal, or if they may be explained away. But what in the name of the devil!" The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a huge man had framed himself in the aperture. His costume was a peculiar mixture of the professional and of the agricultural, having a black top-hat, a long frock-coat, and a pair of high gaiters, with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. So tall was he that his hat actually brushed the cross bar of the doorway, and his breadth seemed to span it across from side to side. A large face, seared with a thousand wrinkles, burned yellow with the sun, and marked with every evil passion, was turned from one to the other of us, while his deep-set, bile-shot eyes, and his high, thin, fleshless nose, gave him somewhat the resemblance to a fierce old bird of prey. "Which of you is Holmes?" asked this apparition. "My name, sir; but you have the advantage of me," said my companion quietly. "I am Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran." "Indeed, Doctor," said Holmes blandly. "Pray take a seat." "I will do nothing of the kind. My stepdaughter has been here. I have traced her. What has she been saying to you?" "It is a little cold for the time of the year," said Holmes. "What has she been saying to you?" screamed the old man furiously. "But I have heard that the crocuses promise well," continued my companion imperturbably. "Ha! You put me off, do you?" said our new visitor, taking a step forward and shaking his hunting-crop. "I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the meddler." My friend smiled. "Holmes, the busybody!" His smile broadened. "Holmes, the Scotland Yard Jack-in-office!" Holmes chuckled heartily. "Your conversation is most entertaining," said he. "When you go out close the door, for there is a decided draught." "I will go when I have said my say. Don't you dare to meddle with my affairs. I know that Miss Stoner has been here. I traced her! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of! See here." He stepped swiftly forward, seized the poker, and bent it into a curve with his huge brown hands. "See that you keep yourself out of my grip," he snarled, and hurling the twisted poker into the fireplace he strode out of the room. "He seems a very amiable person," said Holmes, laughing. "I am not quite so bulky, but if he had remained I might have shown him that my grip was not much more feeble than his own." As he spoke he picked up the steel poker and, with a sudden effort, straightened it out again. "Fancy his having the insolence to confound me with the official detective force! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only trust that our little friend will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this brute to trace her. And now, Watson, we shall order breakfast, and afterwards I shall walk down to Doctors' Commons, where I hope to get some data which may help us in this matter." It was nearly one o'clock when Sherlock Holmes returned from his excursion. He held in his hand a sheet of blue paper, scrawled over with notes and figures. "I have seen the will of the deceased wife," said he. "To determine its exact meaning I have been obliged to work out the present prices of the investments with which it is concerned. The total income, which at the time of the wife's death was little short of £1100, is now, through the fall in agricultural prices, not more than £750. Each daughter can claim an income of £250, in case of marriage. It is evident, therefore, that if both girls had married, this beauty would have had a mere pittance, while even one of them would cripple him to a very serious extent. My morning's work has not been wasted, since it has proved that he has the very strongest motives for standing in the way of anything of the sort. And now, Watson, this is too serious for dawdling, especially as the old man is aware that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs; so if you are ready, we shall call a cab and drive to Waterloo. I should be very much obliged if you would slip your revolver into your pocket. An Eley's No. 2 is an excellent argument with gentlemen who can twist steel pokers into knots. That and a tooth-brush are, I think, all that we need." At Waterloo we were fortunate in catching a train for Leatherhead, where we hired a trap at the station inn and drove for four or five miles through the lovely Surrey lanes. It was a perfect day, with a bright sun and a few fleecy clouds in the heavens. The trees and wayside hedges were just throwing out their first green shoots, and the air was full of the pleasant smell of the moist earth. To me at least there was a strange contrast between the sweet promise of the spring and this sinister quest upon which we were engaged. My companion sat in the front of the trap, his arms folded, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and his chin sunk upon his breast, buried in the deepest thought. Suddenly, however, he started, tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed over the meadows. "Look there!" said he. A heavily timbered park stretched up in a gentle slope, thickening into a grove at the highest point. From amid the branches there jutted out the grey gables and high roof-tree of a very old mansion. "Stoke Moran?" said he. "Yes, sir, that be the house of Dr. Grimesby Roylott," remarked the driver. "There is some building going on there," said Holmes; "that is where we are going." "There's the village," said the driver, pointing to a cluster of roofs some distance to the left; "but if you want to get to the house, you'll find it shorter to get over this stile, and so by the foot-path over the fields. There it is, where the lady is walking." "And the lady, I fancy, is Miss Stoner," observed Holmes, shading his eyes. "Yes, I think we had better do as you suggest." We got off, paid our fare, and the trap rattled back on its way to Leatherhead. "I thought it as well," said Holmes as we climbed the stile, "that this fellow should think we had come here as architects, or on some definite business. It may stop his gossip. Good-afternoon, Miss Stoner. You see that we have been as good as our word." Our client of the morning had hurried forward to meet us with a face which spoke her joy. "I have been waiting so eagerly for you," she cried, shaking hands with us warmly. "All has turned out splendidly. Dr. Roylott has gone to town, and it is unlikely that he will be back before evening." "We have had the pleasure of making the doctor's acquaintance," said Holmes, and in a few words he sketched out what had occurred. Miss Stoner turned white to the lips as she listened. "Good heavens!" she cried, "he has followed me, then." "So it appears." "He is so cunning that I never know when I am safe from him. What will he say when he returns?" "He must guard himself, for he may find that there is someone more cunning than himself upon his track. You must lock yourself up from him to-night. If he is violent, we shall take you away to your aunt's at Harrow. Now, we must make the best use of our time, so kindly take us at once to the rooms which we are to examine." The building was of grey, lichen-blotched stone, with a high central portion and two curving wings, like the claws of a crab, thrown out on each side. In one of these wings the windows were broken and blocked with wooden boards, while the roof was partly caved in, a picture of ruin. The central portion was in little better repair, but the right-hand block was comparatively modern, and the blinds in the windows, with the blue smoke curling up from the chimneys, showed that this was where the family resided. Some scaffolding had been erected against the end wall, and the stone-work had been broken into, but there were no signs of any workmen at the moment of our visit. Holmes walked slowly up and down the ill-trimmed lawn and examined with deep attention the outsides of the windows. "This, I take it, belongs to the room in which you used to sleep, the centre one to your sister's, and the one next to the main building to Dr. Roylott's chamber?" "Exactly so. But I am now sleeping in the middle one." "Pending the alterations, as I understand. By the way, there does not seem to be any very pressing need for repairs at that end wall." "There were none. I believe that it was an excuse to move me from my room." "Ah! that is suggestive. Now, on the other side of this narrow wing runs the corridor from which these three rooms open. There are windows in it, of course?" "Yes, but very small ones. Too narrow for anyone to pass through." "As you both locked your doors at night, your rooms were unapproachable from that side. Now, would you have the kindness to go into your room and bar your shutters?" Miss Stoner did so, and Holmes, after a careful examination through the open window, endeavoured in every way to force the shutter open, but without success. There was no slit through which a knife could be passed to raise the bar. Then with his lens he tested the hinges, but they were of solid iron, built firmly into the massive masonry. "Hum!" said he, scratching his chin in some perplexity, "my theory certainly presents some difficulties. No one could pass these shutters if they were bolted. Well, we shall see if the inside throws any light upon the matter." A small side door led into the whitewashed corridor from which the three bedrooms opened. Holmes refused to examine the third chamber, so we passed at once to the second, that in which Miss Stoner was now sleeping, and in which her sister had met with her fate. It was a homely little room, with a low ceiling and a gaping fireplace, after the fashion of old country-houses. A brown chest of drawers stood in one corner, a narrow white-counterpaned bed in another, and a dressing-table on the left-hand side of the window. These articles, with two small wicker-work chairs, made up all the furniture in the room save for a square of Wilton carpet in the centre. The boards round and the panelling of the walls were of brown, worm-eaten oak, so old and discoloured that it may have dated from the original building of the house. Holmes drew one of the chairs into a corner and sat silent, while his eyes travelled round and round and up and down, taking in every detail of the apartment. "Where does that bell communicate with?" he asked at last pointing to a thick bell-rope which hung down beside the bed, the tassel actually lying upon the pillow. "It goes to the housekeeper's room." "It looks newer than the other things?" "Yes, it was only put there a couple of years ago." "Your sister asked for it, I suppose?" "No, I never heard of her using it. We used always to get what we wanted for ourselves." "Indeed, it seemed unnecessary to put so nice a bell-pull there. You will excuse me for a few minutes while I satisfy myself as to this floor." He threw himself down upon his face with his lens in his hand and crawled swiftly backward and forward, examining minutely the cracks between the boards. Then he did the same with the wood-work with which the chamber was panelled. Finally he walked over to the bed and spent some time in staring at it and in running his eye up and down the wall. Finally he took the bell-rope in his hand and gave it a brisk tug. "Why, it's a dummy," said he. "Won't it ring?" "No, it is not even attached to a wire. This is very interesting. You can see now that it is fastened to a hook just above where the little opening for the ventilator is." "How very absurd! I never noticed that before." "Very strange!" muttered Holmes, pulling at the rope. "There are one or two very singular points about this room. For example, what a fool a builder must be to open a ventilator into another room, when, with the same trouble, he might have communicated with the outside air!" "That is also quite modern," said the lady. "Done about the same time as the bell-rope?" remarked Holmes. "Yes, there were several little changes carried out about that time." "They seem to have been of a most interesting character--dummy bell-ropes, and ventilators which do not ventilate. With your permission, Miss Stoner, we shall now carry our researches into the inner apartment." Dr. Grimesby Roylott's chamber was larger than that of his step-daughter, but was as plainly furnished. A camp-bed, a small wooden shelf full of books, mostly of a technical character, an armchair beside the bed, a plain wooden chair against the wall, a round table, and a large iron safe were the principal things which met the eye. Holmes walked slowly round and examined each and all of them with the keenest interest. "What's in here?" he asked, tapping the safe. "My stepfather's business papers." "Oh! you have seen inside, then?" "Only once, some years ago. I remember that it was full of papers." "There isn't a cat in it, for example?" "No. What a strange idea!" "Well, look at this!" He took up a small saucer of milk which stood on the top of it. "No; we don't keep a cat. But there is a cheetah and a baboon." "Ah, yes, of course! Well, a cheetah is just a big cat, and yet a saucer of milk does not go very far in satisfying its wants, I daresay. There is one point which I should wish to determine." He squatted down in front of the wooden chair and examined the seat of it with the greatest attention. "Thank you. That is quite settled," said he, rising and putting his lens in his pocket. "Hullo! Here is something interesting!" The object which had caught his eye was a small dog lash hung on one corner of the bed. The lash, however, was curled upon itself and tied so as to make a loop of whipcord. "What do you make of that, Watson?" "It's a common enough lash. But I don't know why it should be tied." "That is not quite so common, is it? Ah, me! it's a wicked world, and when a clever man turns his brains to crime it is the worst of all. I think that I have seen enough now, Miss Stoner, and with your permission we shall walk out upon the lawn." I had never seen my friend's face so grim or his brow so dark as it was when we turned from the scene of this investigation. We had walked several times up and down the lawn, neither Miss Stoner nor myself liking to break in upon his thoughts before he roused himself from his reverie. "It is very essential, Miss Stoner," said he, "that you should absolutely follow my advice in every respect." "I shall most certainly do so." "The matter is too serious for any hesitation. Your life may depend upon your compliance." "I assure you that I am in your hands." "In the first place, both my friend and I must spend the night in your room." Both Miss Stoner and I gazed at him in astonishment. "Yes, it must be so. Let me explain. I believe that that is the village inn over there?" "Yes, that is the Crown." "Very good. Your windows would be visible from there?" "Certainly." "You must confine yourself to your room, on pretence of a headache, when your stepfather comes back. Then when you hear him retire for the night, you must open the shutters of your window, undo the hasp, put your lamp there as a signal to us, and then withdraw quietly with everything which you are likely to want into the room which you used to occupy. I have no doubt that, in spite of the repairs, you could manage there for one night." "Oh, yes, easily." "The rest you will leave in our hands." "But what will you do?" "We shall spend the night in your room, and we shall investigate the cause of this noise which has disturbed you." "I believe, Mr. Holmes, that you have already made up your mind," said Miss Stoner, laying her hand upon my companion's sleeve. "Perhaps I have." "Then, for pity's sake, tell me what was the cause of my sister's death." "I should prefer to have clearer proofs before I speak." "You can at least tell me whether my own thought is correct, and if she died from some sudden fright." "No, I do not think so. I think that there was probably some more tangible cause. And now, Miss Stoner, we must leave you for if Dr. Roylott returned and saw us our journey would be in vain. Good-bye, and be brave, for if you will do what I have told you, you may rest assured that we shall soon drive away the dangers that threaten you." Sherlock Holmes and I had no difficulty in engaging a bedroom and sitting-room at the Crown Inn. They were on the upper floor, and from our window we could command a view of the avenue gate, and of the inhabited wing of Stoke Moran Manor House. At dusk we saw Dr. Grimesby Roylott drive past, his huge form looming up beside the little figure of the lad who drove him. The boy had some slight difficulty in undoing the heavy iron gates, and we heard the hoarse roar of the doctor's voice and saw the fury with which he shook his clinched fists at him. The trap drove on, and a few minutes later we saw a sudden light spring up among the trees as the lamp was lit in one of the sitting-rooms. "Do you know, Watson," said Holmes as we sat together in the gathering darkness, "I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger." "Can I be of assistance?" "Your presence might be invaluable." "Then I shall certainly come." "It is very kind of you." "You speak of danger. You have evidently seen more in these rooms than was visible to me." "No, but I fancy that I may have deduced a little more. I imagine that you saw all that I did." "I saw nothing remarkable save the bell-rope, and what purpose that could answer I confess is more than I can imagine." "You saw the ventilator, too?" "Yes, but I do not think that it is such a very unusual thing to have a small opening between two rooms. It was so small that a rat could hardly pass through." "I knew that we should find a ventilator before ever we came to Stoke Moran." "My dear Holmes!" "Oh, yes, I did. You remember in her statement she said that her sister could smell Dr. Roylott's cigar. Now, of course that suggested at once that there must be a communication between the two rooms. It could only be a small one, or it would have been remarked upon at the coroner's inquiry. I deduced a ventilator." "But what harm can there be in that?" "Well, there is at least a curious coincidence of dates. A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies. Does not that strike you?" "I cannot as yet see any connection." "Did you observe anything very peculiar about that bed?" "No." "It was clamped to the floor. Did you ever see a bed fastened like that before?" "I cannot say that I have." "The lady could not move her bed. It must always be in the same relative position to the ventilator and to the rope--or so we may call it, since it was clearly never meant for a bell-pull." "Holmes," I cried, "I seem to see dimly what you are hinting at. We are only just in time to prevent some subtle and horrible crime." "Subtle enough and horrible enough. When a doctor does go wrong he is the first of criminals. He has nerve and he has knowledge. Palmer and Pritchard were among the heads of their profession. This man strikes even deeper, but I think, Watson, that we shall be able to strike deeper still. But we shall have horrors enough before the night is over; for goodness' sake let us have a quiet pipe and turn our minds for a few hours to something more cheerful." About nine o'clock the light among the trees was extinguished, and all was dark in the direction of the Manor House. Two hours passed slowly away, and then, suddenly, just at the stroke of eleven, a single bright light shone out right in front of us. "That is our signal," said Holmes, springing to his feet; "it comes from the middle window." As we passed out he exchanged a few words with the landlord, explaining that we were going on a late visit to an acquaintance, and that it was possible that we might spend the night there. A moment later we were out on the dark road, a chill wind blowing in our faces, and one yellow light twinkling in front of us through the gloom to guide us on our sombre errand. There was little difficulty in entering the grounds, for unrepaired breaches gaped in the old park wall. Making our way among the trees, we reached the lawn, crossed it, and were about to enter through the window when out from a clump of laurel bushes there darted what seemed to be a hideous and distorted child, who threw itself upon the grass with writhing limbs and then ran swiftly across the lawn into the darkness. "My God!" I whispered; "did you see it?" Holmes was for the moment as startled as I. His hand closed like a vice upon my wrist in his agitation. Then he broke into a low laugh and put his lips to my ear. "It is a nice household," he murmured. "That is the baboon." I had forgotten the strange pets which the doctor affected. There was a cheetah, too; perhaps we might find it upon our shoulders at any moment. I confess that I felt easier in my mind when, after following Holmes' example and slipping off my shoes, I found myself inside the bedroom. My companion noiselessly closed the shutters, moved the lamp onto the table, and cast his eyes round the room. All was as we had seen it in the daytime. Then creeping up to me and making a trumpet of his hand, he whispered into my ear again so gently that it was all that I could do to distinguish the words: "The least sound would be fatal to our plans." I nodded to show that I had heard. "We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator." I nodded again. "Do not go asleep; your very life may depend upon it. Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair." I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table. Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him. By it he laid the box of matches and the stump of a candle. Then he turned down the lamp, and we were left in darkness. How shall I ever forget that dreadful vigil? I could not hear a sound, not even the drawing of a breath, and yet I knew that my companion sat open-eyed, within a few feet of me, in the same state of nervous tension in which I was myself. The shutters cut off the least ray of light, and we waited in absolute darkness. From outside came the occasional cry of a night-bird, and once at our very window a long drawn catlike whine, which told us that the cheetah was indeed at liberty. Far away we could hear the deep tones of the parish clock, which boomed out every quarter of an hour. How long they seemed, those quarters! Twelve struck, and one and two and three, and still we sat waiting silently for whatever might befall. Suddenly there was the momentary gleam of a light up in the direction of the ventilator, which vanished immediately, but was succeeded by a strong smell of burning oil and heated metal. Someone in the next room had lit a dark-lantern. I heard a gentle sound of movement, and then all was silent once more, though the smell grew stronger. For half an hour I sat with straining ears. Then suddenly another sound became audible--a very gentle, soothing sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continually from a kettle. The instant that we heard it, Holmes sprang from the bed, struck a match, and lashed furiously with his cane at the bell-pull. "You see it, Watson?" he yelled. "You see it?" But I saw nothing. At the moment when Holmes struck the light I heard a low, clear whistle, but the sudden glare flashing into my weary eyes made it impossible for me to tell what it was at which my friend lashed so savagely. I could, however, see that his face was deadly pale and filled with horror and loathing. He had ceased to strike and was gazing up at the ventilator when suddenly there broke from the silence of the night the most horrible cry to which I have ever listened. It swelled up louder and louder, a hoarse yell of pain and fear and anger all mingled in the one dreadful shriek. They say that away down in the village, and even in the distant parsonage, that cry raised the sleepers from their beds. It struck cold to our hearts, and I stood gazing at Holmes, and he at me, until the last echoes of it had died away into the silence from which it rose. "What can it mean?" I gasped. "It means that it is all over," Holmes answered. "And perhaps, after all, it is for the best. Take your pistol, and we will enter Dr. Roylott's room." With a grave face he lit the lamp and led the way down the corridor. Twice he struck at the chamber door without any reply from within. Then he turned the handle and entered, I at his heels, with the cocked pistol in my hand. It was a singular sight which met our eyes. On the table stood a dark-lantern with the shutter half open, throwing a brilliant beam of light upon the iron safe, the door of which was ajar. Beside this table, on the wooden chair, sat Dr. Grimesby Roylott clad in a long grey dressing-gown, his bare ankles protruding beneath, and his feet thrust into red heelless Turkish slippers. Across his lap lay the short stock with the long lash which we had noticed during the day. His chin was cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head. As we entered he made neither sound nor motion. "The band! the speckled band!" whispered Holmes. I took a step forward. In an instant his strange headgear began to move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent. "It is a swamp adder!" cried Holmes; "the deadliest snake in India. He has died within ten seconds of being bitten. Violence does, in truth, recoil upon the violent, and the schemer falls into the pit which he digs for another. Let us thrust this creature back into its den, and we can then remove Miss Stoner to some place of shelter and let the county police know what has happened." As he spoke he drew the dog-whip swiftly from the dead man's lap, and throwing the noose round the reptile's neck he drew it from its horrid perch and, carrying it at arm's length, threw it into the iron safe, which he closed upon it. Such are the true facts of the death of Dr. Grimesby Roylott, of Stoke Moran. It is not necessary that I should prolong a narrative which has already run to too great a length by telling how we broke the sad news to the terrified girl, how we conveyed her by the morning train to the care of her good aunt at Harrow, of how the slow process of official inquiry came to the conclusion that the doctor met his fate while indiscreetly playing with a dangerous pet. The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day. "I had," said he, "come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data. The presence of the gipsies, and the use of the word 'band,' which was used by the poor girl, no doubt, to explain the appearance which she had caught a hurried glimpse of by the light of her match, were sufficient to put me upon an entirely wrong scent. I can only claim the merit that I instantly reconsidered my position when, however, it became clear to me that whatever danger threatened an occupant of the room could not come either from the window or the door. My attention was speedily drawn, as I have already remarked to you, to this ventilator, and to the bell-rope which hung down to the bed. The discovery that this was a dummy, and that the bed was clamped to the floor, instantly gave rise to the suspicion that the rope was there as a bridge for something passing through the hole and coming to the bed. The idea of a snake instantly occurred to me, and when I coupled it with my knowledge that the doctor was furnished with a supply of creatures from India, I felt that I was probably on the right track. The idea of using a form of poison which could not possibly be discovered by any chemical test was just such a one as would occur to a clever and ruthless man who had had an Eastern training. The rapidity with which such a poison would take effect would also, from his point of view, be an advantage. It would be a sharp-eyed coroner, indeed, who could distinguish the two little dark punctures which would show where the poison fangs had done their work. Then I thought of the whistle. Of course he must recall the snake before the morning light revealed it to the victim. He had trained it, probably by the use of the milk which we saw, to return to him when summoned. He would put it through this ventilator at the hour that he thought best, with the certainty that it would crawl down the rope and land on the bed. It might or might not bite the occupant, perhaps she might escape every night for a week, but sooner or later she must fall a victim. "I had come to these conclusions before ever I had entered his room. An inspection of his chair showed me that he had been in the habit of standing on it, which of course would be necessary in order that he should reach the ventilator. The sight of the safe, the saucer of milk, and the loop of whipcord were enough to finally dispel any doubts which may have remained. The metallic clang heard by Miss Stoner was obviously caused by her stepfather hastily closing the door of his safe upon its terrible occupant. Having once made up my mind, you know the steps which I took in order to put the matter to the proof. I heard the creature hiss as I have no doubt that you did also, and I instantly lit the light and attacked it." "With the result of driving it through the ventilator." "And also with the result of causing it to turn upon its master at the other side. Some of the blows of my cane came home and roused its snakish temper, so that it flew upon the first person it saw. In this way I am no doubt indirectly responsible for Dr. Grimesby Roylott's death, and I cannot say that it is likely to weigh very heavily upon my conscience." THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGINEER'S THUMB Of all the problems which have been submitted to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, for solution during the years of our intimacy, there were only two which I was the means of introducing to his notice--that of Mr. Hatherley's thumb, and that of Colonel Warburton's madness. Of these the latter may have afforded a finer field for an acute and original observer, but the other was so strange in its inception and so dramatic in its details that it may be the more worthy of being placed upon record, even if it gave my friend fewer openings for those deductive methods of reasoning by which he achieved such remarkable results. The story has, I believe, been told more than once in the newspapers, but, like all such narratives, its effect is much less striking when set forth en bloc in a single half-column of print than when the facts slowly evolve before your own eyes, and the mystery clears gradually away as each new discovery furnishes a step which leads on to the complete truth. At the time the circumstances made a deep impression upon me, and the lapse of two years has hardly served to weaken the effect. It was in the summer of '89, not long after my marriage, that the events occurred which I am now about to summarise. I had returned to civil practice and had finally abandoned Holmes in his Baker Street rooms, although I continually visited him and occasionally even persuaded him to forgo his Bohemian habits so far as to come and visit us. My practice had steadily increased, and as I happened to live at no very great distance from Paddington Station, I got a few patients from among the officials. One of these, whom I had cured of a painful and lingering disease, was never weary of advertising my virtues and of endeavouring to send me on every sufferer over whom he might have any influence. One morning, at a little before seven o'clock, I was awakened by the maid tapping at the door to announce that two men had come from Paddington and were waiting in the consulting-room. I dressed hurriedly, for I knew by experience that railway cases were seldom trivial, and hastened downstairs. As I descended, my old ally, the guard, came out of the room and closed the door tightly behind him. "I've got him here," he whispered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder; "he's all right." "What is it, then?" I asked, for his manner suggested that it was some strange creature which he had caged up in my room. "It's a new patient," he whispered. "I thought I'd bring him round myself; then he couldn't slip away. There he is, all safe and sound. I must go now, Doctor; I have my dooties, just the same as you." And off he went, this trusty tout, without even giving me time to thank him. I entered my consulting-room and found a gentleman seated by the table. He was quietly dressed in a suit of heather tweed with a soft cloth cap which he had laid down upon my books. Round one of his hands he had a handkerchief wrapped, which was mottled all over with bloodstains. He was young, not more than five-and-twenty, I should say, with a strong, masculine face; but he was exceedingly pale and gave me the impression of a man who was suffering from some strong agitation, which it took all his strength of mind to control. "I am sorry to knock you up so early, Doctor," said he, "but I have had a very serious accident during the night. I came in by train this morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I might find a doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a card, but I see that she has left it upon the side-table." I took it up and glanced at it. "Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor)." That was the name, style, and abode of my morning visitor. "I regret that I have kept you waiting," said I, sitting down in my library-chair. "You are fresh from a night journey, I understand, which is in itself a monotonous occupation." "Oh, my night could not be called monotonous," said he, and laughed. He laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in his chair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against that laugh. "Stop it!" I cried; "pull yourself together!" and I poured out some water from a caraffe. It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and pale-looking. "I have been making a fool of myself," he gasped. "Not at all. Drink this." I dashed some brandy into the water, and the colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks. "That's better!" said he. "And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindly attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be." He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protruding fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have been. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots. "Good heavens!" I cried, "this is a terrible injury. It must have bled considerably." "Yes, it did. I fainted when it was done, and I think that I must have been senseless for a long time. When I came to I found that it was still bleeding, so I tied one end of my handkerchief very tightly round the wrist and braced it up with a twig." "Excellent! You should have been a surgeon." "It is a question of hydraulics, you see, and came within my own province." "This has been done," said I, examining the wound, "by a very heavy and sharp instrument." "A thing like a cleaver," said he. "An accident, I presume?" "By no means." "What! a murderous attack?" "Very murderous indeed." "You horrify me." I sponged the wound, cleaned it, dressed it, and finally covered it over with cotton wadding and carbolised bandages. He lay back without wincing, though he bit his lip from time to time. "How is that?" I asked when I had finished. "Capital! Between your brandy and your bandage, I feel a new man. I was very weak, but I have had a good deal to go through." "Perhaps you had better not speak of the matter. It is evidently trying to your nerves." "Oh, no, not now. I shall have to tell my tale to the police; but, between ourselves, if it were not for the convincing evidence of this wound of mine, I should be surprised if they believed my statement, for it is a very extraordinary one, and I have not much in the way of proof with which to back it up; and, even if they believe me, the clues which I can give them are so vague that it is a question whether justice will be done." "Ha!" cried I, "if it is anything in the nature of a problem which you desire to see solved, I should strongly recommend you to come to my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, before you go to the official police." "Oh, I have heard of that fellow," answered my visitor, "and I should be very glad if he would take the matter up, though of course I must use the official police as well. Would you give me an introduction to him?" "I'll do better. I'll take you round to him myself." "I should be immensely obliged to you." "We'll call a cab and go together. We shall just be in time to have a little breakfast with him. Do you feel equal to it?" "Yes; I shall not feel easy until I have told my story." "Then my servant will call a cab, and I shall be with you in an instant." I rushed upstairs, explained the matter shortly to my wife, and in five minutes was inside a hansom, driving with my new acquaintance to Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes was, as I expected, lounging about his sitting-room in his dressing-gown, reading the agony column of The Times and smoking his before-breakfast pipe, which was composed of all the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, all carefully dried and collected on the corner of the mantelpiece. He received us in his quietly genial fashion, ordered fresh rashers and eggs, and joined us in a hearty meal. When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy and water within his reach. "It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, Mr. Hatherley," said he. "Pray, lie down there and make yourself absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant." "Thank you," said my patient. "but I have felt another man since the doctor bandaged me, and I think that your breakfast has completed the cure. I shall take up as little of your valuable time as possible, so I shall start at once upon my peculiar experiences." Holmes sat in his big armchair with the weary, heavy-lidded expression which veiled his keen and eager nature, while I sat opposite to him, and we listened in silence to the strange story which our visitor detailed to us. "You must know," said he, "that I am an orphan and a bachelor, residing alone in lodgings in London. By profession I am a hydraulic engineer, and I have had considerable experience of my work during the seven years that I was apprenticed to Venner & Matheson, the well-known firm, of Greenwich. Two years ago, having served my time, and having also come into a fair sum of money through my poor father's death, I determined to start in business for myself and took professional chambers in Victoria Street. "I suppose that everyone finds his first independent start in business a dreary experience. To me it has been exceptionally so. During two years I have had three consultations and one small job, and that is absolutely all that my profession has brought me. My gross takings amount to £27 10s. Every day, from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon, I waited in my little den, until at last my heart began to sink, and I came to believe that I should never have any practice at all. "Yesterday, however, just as I was thinking of leaving the office, my clerk entered to say there was a gentleman waiting who wished to see me upon business. He brought up a card, too, with the name of 'Colonel Lysander Stark' engraved upon it. Close at his heels came the colonel himself, a man rather over the middle size, but of an exceeding thinness. I do not think that I have ever seen so thin a man. His whole face sharpened away into nose and chin, and the skin of his cheeks was drawn quite tense over his outstanding bones. Yet this emaciation seemed to be his natural habit, and due to no disease, for his eye was bright, his step brisk, and his bearing assured. He was plainly but neatly dressed, and his age, I should judge, would be nearer forty than thirty. "'Mr. Hatherley?' said he, with something of a German accent. 'You have been recommended to me, Mr. Hatherley, as being a man who is not only proficient in his profession but is also discreet and capable of preserving a secret.' "I bowed, feeling as flattered as any young man would at such an address. 'May I ask who it was who gave me so good a character?' "'Well, perhaps it is better that I should not tell you that just at this moment. I have it from the same source that you are both an orphan and a bachelor and are residing alone in London.' "'That is quite correct,' I answered; 'but you will excuse me if I say that I cannot see how all this bears upon my professional qualifications. I understand that it was on a professional matter that you wished to speak to me?' "'Undoubtedly so. But you will find that all I say is really to the point. I have a professional commission for you, but absolute secrecy is quite essential--absolute secrecy, you understand, and of course we may expect that more from a man who is alone than from one who lives in the bosom of his family.' "'If I promise to keep a secret,' said I, 'you may absolutely depend upon my doing so.' "He looked very hard at me as I spoke, and it seemed to me that I had never seen so suspicious and questioning an eye. "'Do you promise, then?' said he at last. "'Yes, I promise.' "'Absolute and complete silence before, during, and after? No reference to the matter at all, either in word or writing?' "'I have already given you my word.' "'Very good.' He suddenly sprang up, and darting like lightning across the room he flung open the door. The passage outside was empty. "'That's all right,' said he, coming back. 'I know that clerks are sometimes curious as to their master's affairs. Now we can talk in safety.' He drew up his chair very close to mine and began to stare at me again with the same questioning and thoughtful look. "A feeling of repulsion, and of something akin to fear had begun to rise within me at the strange antics of this fleshless man. Even my dread of losing a client could not restrain me from showing my impatience. "'I beg that you will state your business, sir,' said I; 'my time is of value.' Heaven forgive me for that last sentence, but the words came to my lips. "'How would fifty guineas for a night's work suit you?' he asked. "'Most admirably.' "'I say a night's work, but an hour's would be nearer the mark. I simply want your opinion about a hydraulic stamping machine which has got out of gear. If you show us what is wrong we shall soon set it right ourselves. What do you think of such a commission as that?' "'The work appears to be light and the pay munificent.' "'Precisely so. We shall want you to come to-night by the last train.' "'Where to?' "'To Eyford, in Berkshire. It is a little place near the borders of Oxfordshire, and within seven miles of Reading. There is a train from Paddington which would bring you there at about 11.15.' "'Very good.' "'I shall come down in a carriage to meet you.' "'There is a drive, then?' "'Yes, our little place is quite out in the country. It is a good seven miles from Eyford Station.' "'Then we can hardly get there before midnight. I suppose there would be no chance of a train back. I should be compelled to stop the night.' "'Yes, we could easily give you a shake-down.' "'That is very awkward. Could I not come at some more convenient hour?' "'We have judged it best that you should come late. It is to recompense you for any inconvenience that we are paying to you, a young and unknown man, a fee which would buy an opinion from the very heads of your profession. Still, of course, if you would like to draw out of the business, there is plenty of time to do so.' "I thought of the fifty guineas, and of how very useful they would be to me. 'Not at all,' said I, 'I shall be very happy to accommodate myself to your wishes. I should like, however, to understand a little more clearly what it is that you wish me to do.' "'Quite so. It is very natural that the pledge of secrecy which we have exacted from you should have aroused your curiosity. I have no wish to commit you to anything without your having it all laid before you. I suppose that we are absolutely safe from eavesdroppers?' "'Entirely.' "'Then the matter stands thus. You are probably aware that fuller's-earth is a valuable product, and that it is only found in one or two places in England?' "'I have heard so.' "'Some little time ago I bought a small place--a very small place--within ten miles of Reading. I was fortunate enough to discover that there was a deposit of fuller's-earth in one of my fields. On examining it, however, I found that this deposit was a comparatively small one, and that it formed a link between two very much larger ones upon the right and left--both of them, however, in the grounds of my neighbours. These good people were absolutely ignorant that their land contained that which was quite as valuable as a gold-mine. Naturally, it was to my interest to buy their land before they discovered its true value, but unfortunately I had no capital by which I could do this. I took a few of my friends into the secret, however, and they suggested that we should quietly and secretly work our own little deposit and that in this way we should earn the money which would enable us to buy the neighbouring fields. This we have now been doing for some time, and in order to help us in our operations we erected a hydraulic press. This press, as I have already explained, has got out of order, and we wish your advice upon the subject. We guard our secret very jealously, however, and if it once became known that we had hydraulic engineers coming to our little house, it would soon rouse inquiry, and then, if the facts came out, it would be good-bye to any chance of getting these fields and carrying out our plans. That is why I have made you promise me that you will not tell a human being that you are going to Eyford to-night. I hope that I make it all plain?' "'I quite follow you,' said I. 'The only point which I could not quite understand was what use you could make of a hydraulic press in excavating fuller's-earth, which, as I understand, is dug out like gravel from a pit.' "'Ah!' said he carelessly, 'we have our own process. We compress the earth into bricks, so as to remove them without revealing what they are. But that is a mere detail. I have taken you fully into my confidence now, Mr. Hatherley, and I have shown you how I trust you.' He rose as he spoke. 'I shall expect you, then, at Eyford at 11.15.' "'I shall certainly be there.' "'And not a word to a soul.' He looked at me with a last long, questioning gaze, and then, pressing my hand in a cold, dank grasp, he hurried from the room. "Well, when I came to think it all over in cool blood I was very much astonished, as you may both think, at this sudden commission which had been intrusted to me. On the one hand, of course, I was glad, for the fee was at least tenfold what I should have asked had I set a price upon my own services, and it was possible that this order might lead to other ones. On the other hand, the face and manner of my patron had made an unpleasant impression upon me, and I could not think that his explanation of the fuller's-earth was sufficient to explain the necessity for my coming at midnight, and his extreme anxiety lest I should tell anyone of my errand. However, I threw all fears to the winds, ate a hearty supper, drove to Paddington, and started off, having obeyed to the letter the injunction as to holding my tongue. "At Reading I had to change not only my carriage but my station. However, I was in time for the last train to Eyford, and I reached the little dim-lit station after eleven o'clock. I was the only passenger who got out there, and there was no one upon the platform save a single sleepy porter with a lantern. As I passed out through the wicket gate, however, I found my acquaintance of the morning waiting in the shadow upon the other side. Without a word he grasped my arm and hurried me into a carriage, the door of which was standing open. He drew up the windows on either side, tapped on the wood-work, and away we went as fast as the horse could go." "One horse?" interjected Holmes. "Yes, only one." "Did you observe the colour?" "Yes, I saw it by the side-lights when I was stepping into the carriage. It was a chestnut." "Tired-looking or fresh?" "Oh, fresh and glossy." "Thank you. I am sorry to have interrupted you. Pray continue your most interesting statement." "Away we went then, and we drove for at least an hour. Colonel Lysander Stark had said that it was only seven miles, but I should think, from the rate that we seemed to go, and from the time that we took, that it must have been nearer twelve. He sat at my side in silence all the time, and I was aware, more than once when I glanced in his direction, that he was looking at me with great intensity. The country roads seem to be not very good in that part of the world, for we lurched and jolted terribly. I tried to look out of the windows to see something of where we were, but they were made of frosted glass, and I could make out nothing save the occasional bright blur of a passing light. Now and then I hazarded some remark to break the monotony of the journey, but the colonel answered only in monosyllables, and the conversation soon flagged. At last, however, the bumping of the road was exchanged for the crisp smoothness of a gravel-drive, and the carriage came to a stand. Colonel Lysander Stark sprang out, and, as I followed after him, pulled me swiftly into a porch which gaped in front of us. We stepped, as it were, right out of the carriage and into the hall, so that I failed to catch the most fleeting glance of the front of the house. The instant that I had crossed the threshold the door slammed heavily behind us, and I heard faintly the rattle of the wheels as the carriage drove away. "It was pitch dark inside the house, and the colonel fumbled about looking for matches and muttering under his breath. Suddenly a door opened at the other end of the passage, and a long, golden bar of light shot out in our direction. It grew broader, and a woman appeared with a lamp in her hand, which she held above her head, pushing her face forward and peering at us. I could see that she was pretty, and from the gloss with which the light shone upon her dark dress I knew that it was a rich material. She spoke a few words in a foreign tongue in a tone as though asking a question, and when my companion answered in a gruff monosyllable she gave such a start that the lamp nearly fell from her hand. Colonel Stark went up to her, whispered something in her ear, and then, pushing her back into the room from whence she had come, he walked towards me again with the lamp in his hand. "'Perhaps you will have the kindness to wait in this room for a few minutes,' said he, throwing open another door. It was a quiet, little, plainly furnished room, with a round table in the centre, on which several German books were scattered. Colonel Stark laid down the lamp on the top of a harmonium beside the door. 'I shall not keep you waiting an instant,' said he, and vanished into the darkness. "I glanced at the books upon the table, and in spite of my ignorance of German I could see that two of them were treatises on science, the others being volumes of poetry. Then I walked across to the window, hoping that I might catch some glimpse of the country-side, but an oak shutter, heavily barred, was folded across it. It was a wonderfully silent house. There was an old clock ticking loudly somewhere in the passage, but otherwise everything was deadly still. A vague feeling of uneasiness began to steal over me. Who were these German people, and what were they doing living in this strange, out-of-the-way place? And where was the place? I was ten miles or so from Eyford, that was all I knew, but whether north, south, east, or west I had no idea. For that matter, Reading, and possibly other large towns, were within that radius, so the place might not be so secluded, after all. Yet it was quite certain, from the absolute stillness, that we were in the country. I paced up and down the room, humming a tune under my breath to keep up my spirits and feeling that I was thoroughly earning my fifty-guinea fee. "Suddenly, without any preliminary sound in the midst of the utter stillness, the door of my room swung slowly open. The woman was standing in the aperture, the darkness of the hall behind her, the yellow light from my lamp beating upon her eager and beautiful face. I could see at a glance that she was sick with fear, and the sight sent a chill to my own heart. She held up one shaking finger to warn me to be silent, and she shot a few whispered words of broken English at me, her eyes glancing back, like those of a frightened horse, into the gloom behind her. "'I would go,' said she, trying hard, as it seemed to me, to speak calmly; 'I would go. I should not stay here. There is no good for you to do.' "'But, madam,' said I, 'I have not yet done what I came for. I cannot possibly leave until I have seen the machine.' "'It is not worth your while to wait,' she went on. 'You can pass through the door; no one hinders.' And then, seeing that I smiled and shook my head, she suddenly threw aside her constraint and made a step forward, with her hands wrung together. 'For the love of Heaven!' she whispered, 'get away from here before it is too late!' "But I am somewhat headstrong by nature, and the more ready to engage in an affair when there is some obstacle in the way. I thought of my fifty-guinea fee, of my wearisome journey, and of the unpleasant night which seemed to be before me. Was it all to go for nothing? Why should I slink away without having carried out my commission, and without the payment which was my due? This woman might, for all I knew, be a monomaniac. With a stout bearing, therefore, though her manner had shaken me more than I cared to confess, I still shook my head and declared my intention of remaining where I was. She was about to renew her entreaties when a door slammed overhead, and the sound of several footsteps was heard upon the stairs. She listened for an instant, threw up her hands with a despairing gesture, and vanished as suddenly and as noiselessly as she had come. "The newcomers were Colonel Lysander Stark and a short thick man with a chinchilla beard growing out of the creases of his double chin, who was introduced to me as Mr. Ferguson. "'This is my secretary and manager,' said the colonel. 'By the way, I was under the impression that I left this door shut just now. I fear that you have felt the draught.' "'On the contrary,' said I, 'I opened the door myself because I felt the room to be a little close.' "He shot one of his suspicious looks at me. 'Perhaps we had better proceed to business, then,' said he. 'Mr. Ferguson and I will take you up to see the machine.' "'I had better put my hat on, I suppose.' "'Oh, no, it is in the house.' "'What, you dig fuller's-earth in the house?' "'No, no. This is only where we compress it. But never mind that. All we wish you to do is to examine the machine and to let us know what is wrong with it.' "We went upstairs together, the colonel first with the lamp, the fat manager and I behind him. It was a labyrinth of an old house, with corridors, passages, narrow winding staircases, and little low doors, the thresholds of which were hollowed out by the generations who had crossed them. There were no carpets and no signs of any furniture above the ground floor, while the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the damp was breaking through in green, unhealthy blotches. I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible, but I had not forgotten the warnings of the lady, even though I disregarded them, and I kept a keen eye upon my two companions. Ferguson appeared to be a morose and silent man, but I could see from the little that he said that he was at least a fellow-countryman. "Colonel Lysander Stark stopped at last before a low door, which he unlocked. Within was a small, square room, in which the three of us could hardly get at one time. Ferguson remained outside, and the colonel ushered me in. "'We are now,' said he, 'actually within the hydraulic press, and it would be a particularly unpleasant thing for us if anyone were to turn it on. The ceiling of this small chamber is really the end of the descending piston, and it comes down with the force of many tons upon this metal floor. There are small lateral columns of water outside which receive the force, and which transmit and multiply it in the manner which is familiar to you. The machine goes readily enough, but there is some stiffness in the working of it, and it has lost a little of its force. Perhaps you will have the goodness to look it over and to show us how we can set it right.' "I took the lamp from him, and I examined the machine very thoroughly. It was indeed a gigantic one, and capable of exercising enormous pressure. When I passed outside, however, and pressed down the levers which controlled it, I knew at once by the whishing sound that there was a slight leakage, which allowed a regurgitation of water through one of the side cylinders. An examination showed that one of the india-rubber bands which was round the head of a driving-rod had shrunk so as not quite to fill the socket along which it worked. This was clearly the cause of the loss of power, and I pointed it out to my companions, who followed my remarks very carefully and asked several practical questions as to how they should proceed to set it right. When I had made it clear to them, I returned to the main chamber of the machine and took a good look at it to satisfy my own curiosity. It was obvious at a glance that the story of the fuller's-earth was the merest fabrication, for it would be absurd to suppose that so powerful an engine could be designed for so inadequate a purpose. The walls were of wood, but the floor consisted of a large iron trough, and when I came to examine it I could see a crust of metallic deposit all over it. I had stooped and was scraping at this to see exactly what it was when I heard a muttered exclamation in German and saw the cadaverous face of the colonel looking down at me. "'What are you doing there?' he asked. "I felt angry at having been tricked by so elaborate a story as that which he had told me. 'I was admiring your fuller's-earth,' said I; 'I think that I should be better able to advise you as to your machine if I knew what the exact purpose was for which it was used.' "The instant that I uttered the words I regretted the rashness of my speech. His face set hard, and a baleful light sprang up in his grey eyes. "'Very well,' said he, 'you shall know all about the machine.' He took a step backward, slammed the little door, and turned the key in the lock. I rushed towards it and pulled at the handle, but it was quite secure, and did not give in the least to my kicks and shoves. 'Hullo!' I yelled. 'Hullo! Colonel! Let me out!' "And then suddenly in the silence I heard a sound which sent my heart into my mouth. It was the clank of the levers and the swish of the leaking cylinder. He had set the engine at work. The lamp still stood upon the floor where I had placed it when examining the trough. By its light I saw that the black ceiling was coming down upon me, slowly, jerkily, but, as none knew better than myself, with a force which must within a minute grind me to a shapeless pulp. I threw myself, screaming, against the door, and dragged with my nails at the lock. I implored the colonel to let me out, but the remorseless clanking of the levers drowned my cries. The ceiling was only a foot or two above my head, and with my hand upraised I could feel its hard, rough surface. Then it flashed through my mind that the pain of my death would depend very much upon the position in which I met it. If I lay on my face the weight would come upon my spine, and I shuddered to think of that dreadful snap. Easier the other way, perhaps; and yet, had I the nerve to lie and look up at that deadly black shadow wavering down upon me? Already I was unable to stand erect, when my eye caught something which brought a gush of hope back to my heart. "I have said that though the floor and ceiling were of iron, the walls were of wood. As I gave a last hurried glance around, I saw a thin line of yellow light between two of the boards, which broadened and broadened as a small panel was pushed backward. For an instant I could hardly believe that here was indeed a door which led away from death. The next instant I threw myself through, and lay half-fainting upon the other side. The panel had closed again behind me, but the crash of the lamp, and a few moments afterwards the clang of the two slabs of metal, told me how narrow had been my escape. "I was recalled to myself by a frantic plucking at my wrist, and I found myself lying upon the stone floor of a narrow corridor, while a woman bent over me and tugged at me with her left hand, while she held a candle in her right. It was the same good friend whose warning I had so foolishly rejected. "'Come! come!' she cried breathlessly. 'They will be here in a moment. They will see that you are not there. Oh, do not waste the so-precious time, but come!' "This time, at least, I did not scorn her advice. I staggered to my feet and ran with her along the corridor and down a winding stair. The latter led to another broad passage, and just as we reached it we heard the sound of running feet and the shouting of two voices, one answering the other from the floor on which we were and from the one beneath. My guide stopped and looked about her like one who is at her wit's end. Then she threw open a door which led into a bedroom, through the window of which the moon was shining brightly. "'It is your only chance,' said she. 'It is high, but it may be that you can jump it.' "As she spoke a light sprang into view at the further end of the passage, and I saw the lean figure of Colonel Lysander Stark rushing forward with a lantern in one hand and a weapon like a butcher's cleaver in the other. I rushed across the bedroom, flung open the window, and looked out. How quiet and sweet and wholesome the garden looked in the moonlight, and it could not be more than thirty feet down. I clambered out upon the sill, but I hesitated to jump until I should have heard what passed between my saviour and the ruffian who pursued me. If she were ill-used, then at any risks I was determined to go back to her assistance. The thought had hardly flashed through my mind before he was at the door, pushing his way past her; but she threw her arms round him and tried to hold him back. "'Fritz! Fritz!' she cried in English, 'remember your promise after the last time. You said it should not be again. He will be silent! Oh, he will be silent!' "'You are mad, Elise!' he shouted, struggling to break away from her. 'You will be the ruin of us. He has seen too much. Let me pass, I say!' He dashed her to one side, and, rushing to the window, cut at me with his heavy weapon. I had let myself go, and was hanging by the hands to the sill, when his blow fell. I was conscious of a dull pain, my grip loosened, and I fell into the garden below. "I was shaken but not hurt by the fall; so I picked myself up and rushed off among the bushes as hard as I could run, for I understood that I was far from being out of danger yet. Suddenly, however, as I ran, a deadly dizziness and sickness came over me. I glanced down at my hand, which was throbbing painfully, and then, for the first time, saw that my thumb had been cut off and that the blood was pouring from my wound. I endeavoured to tie my handkerchief round it, but there came a sudden buzzing in my ears, and next moment I fell in a dead faint among the rose-bushes. "How long I remained unconscious I cannot tell. It must have been a very long time, for the moon had sunk, and a bright morning was breaking when I came to myself. My clothes were all sodden with dew, and my coat-sleeve was drenched with blood from my wounded thumb. The smarting of it recalled in an instant all the particulars of my night's adventure, and I sprang to my feet with the feeling that I might hardly yet be safe from my pursuers. But to my astonishment, when I came to look round me, neither house nor garden were to be seen. I had been lying in an angle of the hedge close by the highroad, and just a little lower down was a long building, which proved, upon my approaching it, to be the very station at which I had arrived upon the previous night. Were it not for the ugly wound upon my hand, all that had passed during those dreadful hours might have been an evil dream. "Half dazed, I went into the station and asked about the morning train. There would be one to Reading in less than an hour. The same porter was on duty, I found, as had been there when I arrived. I inquired of him whether he had ever heard of Colonel Lysander Stark. The name was strange to him. Had he observed a carriage the night before waiting for me? No, he had not. Was there a police-station anywhere near? There was one about three miles off. "It was too far for me to go, weak and ill as I was. I determined to wait until I got back to town before telling my story to the police. It was a little past six when I arrived, so I went first to have my wound dressed, and then the doctor was kind enough to bring me along here. I put the case into your hands and shall do exactly what you advise." We both sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock Holmes pulled down from the shelf one of the ponderous commonplace books in which he placed his cuttings. "Here is an advertisement which will interest you," said he. "It appeared in all the papers about a year ago. Listen to this: "'Lost, on the 9th inst., Mr. Jeremiah Hayling, aged twenty-six, a hydraulic engineer. Left his lodgings at ten o'clock at night, and has not been heard of since. Was dressed in--' etc., etc. Ha! That represents the last time that the colonel needed to have his machine overhauled, I fancy." "Good heavens!" cried my patient. "Then that explains what the girl said." "Undoubtedly. It is quite clear that the colonel was a cool and desperate man, who was absolutely determined that nothing should stand in the way of his little game, like those out-and-out pirates who will leave no survivor from a captured ship. Well, every moment now is precious, so if you feel equal to it we shall go down to Scotland Yard at once as a preliminary to starting for Eyford." Some three hours or so afterwards we were all in the train together, bound from Reading to the little Berkshire village. There were Sherlock Holmes, the hydraulic engineer, Inspector Bradstreet, of Scotland Yard, a plain-clothes man, and myself. Bradstreet had spread an ordnance map of the county out upon the seat and was busy with his compasses drawing a circle with Eyford for its centre. "There you are," said he. "That circle is drawn at a radius of ten miles from the village. The place we want must be somewhere near that line. You said ten miles, I think, sir." "It was an hour's good drive." "And you think that they brought you back all that way when you were unconscious?" "They must have done so. I have a confused memory, too, of having been lifted and conveyed somewhere." "What I cannot understand," said I, "is why they should have spared you when they found you lying fainting in the garden. Perhaps the villain was softened by the woman's entreaties." "I hardly think that likely. I never saw a more inexorable face in my life." "Oh, we shall soon clear up all that," said Bradstreet. "Well, I have drawn my circle, and I only wish I knew at what point upon it the folk that we are in search of are to be found." "I think I could lay my finger on it," said Holmes quietly. "Really, now!" cried the inspector, "you have formed your opinion! Come, now, we shall see who agrees with you. I say it is south, for the country is more deserted there." "And I say east," said my patient. "I am for west," remarked the plain-clothes man. "There are several quiet little villages up there." "And I am for north," said I, "because there are no hills there, and our friend says that he did not notice the carriage go up any." "Come," cried the inspector, laughing; "it's a very pretty diversity of opinion. We have boxed the compass among us. Who do you give your casting vote to?" "You are all wrong." "But we can't all be." "Oh, yes, you can. This is my point." He placed his finger in the centre of the circle. "This is where we shall find them." "But the twelve-mile drive?" gasped Hatherley. "Six out and six back. Nothing simpler. You say yourself that the horse was fresh and glossy when you got in. How could it be that if it had gone twelve miles over heavy roads?" "Indeed, it is a likely ruse enough," observed Bradstreet thoughtfully. "Of course there can be no doubt as to the nature of this gang." "None at all," said Holmes. "They are coiners on a large scale, and have used the machine to form the amalgam which has taken the place of silver." "We have known for some time that a clever gang was at work," said the inspector. "They have been turning out half-crowns by the thousand. We even traced them as far as Reading, but could get no farther, for they had covered their traces in a way that showed that they were very old hands. But now, thanks to this lucky chance, I think that we have got them right enough." But the inspector was mistaken, for those criminals were not destined to fall into the hands of justice. As we rolled into Eyford Station we saw a gigantic column of smoke which streamed up from behind a small clump of trees in the neighbourhood and hung like an immense ostrich feather over the landscape. "A house on fire?" asked Bradstreet as the train steamed off again on its way. "Yes, sir!" said the station-master. "When did it break out?" "I hear that it was during the night, sir, but it has got worse, and the whole place is in a blaze." "Whose house is it?" "Dr. Becher's." "Tell me," broke in the engineer, "is Dr. Becher a German, very thin, with a long, sharp nose?" The station-master laughed heartily. "No, sir, Dr. Becher is an Englishman, and there isn't a man in the parish who has a better-lined waistcoat. But he has a gentleman staying with him, a patient, as I understand, who is a foreigner, and he looks as if a little good Berkshire beef would do him no harm." The station-master had not finished his speech before we were all hastening in the direction of the fire. The road topped a low hill, and there was a great widespread whitewashed building in front of us, spouting fire at every chink and window, while in the garden in front three fire-engines were vainly striving to keep the flames under. "That's it!" cried Hatherley, in intense excitement. "There is the gravel-drive, and there are the rose-bushes where I lay. That second window is the one that I jumped from." "Well, at least," said Holmes, "you have had your revenge upon them. There can be no question that it was your oil-lamp which, when it was crushed in the press, set fire to the wooden walls, though no doubt they were too excited in the chase after you to observe it at the time. Now keep your eyes open in this crowd for your friends of last night, though I very much fear that they are a good hundred miles off by now." And Holmes' fears came to be realised, for from that day to this no word has ever been heard either of the beautiful woman, the sinister German, or the morose Englishman. Early that morning a peasant had met a cart containing several people and some very bulky boxes driving rapidly in the direction of Reading, but there all traces of the fugitives disappeared, and even Holmes' ingenuity failed ever to discover the least clue as to their whereabouts. The firemen had been much perturbed at the strange arrangements which they had found within, and still more so by discovering a newly severed human thumb upon a window-sill of the second floor. About sunset, however, their efforts were at last successful, and they subdued the flames, but not before the roof had fallen in, and the whole place been reduced to such absolute ruin that, save some twisted cylinders and iron piping, not a trace remained of the machinery which had cost our unfortunate acquaintance so dearly. Large masses of nickel and of tin were discovered stored in an out-house, but no coins were to be found, which may have explained the presence of those bulky boxes which have been already referred to. How our hydraulic engineer had been conveyed from the garden to the spot where he recovered his senses might have remained forever a mystery were it not for the soft mould, which told us a very plain tale. He had evidently been carried down by two persons, one of whom had remarkably small feet and the other unusually large ones. On the whole, it was most probable that the silent Englishman, being less bold or less murderous than his companion, had assisted the woman to bear the unconscious man out of the way of danger. "Well," said our engineer ruefully as we took our seats to return once more to London, "it has been a pretty business for me! I have lost my thumb and I have lost a fifty-guinea fee, and what have I gained?" "Experience," said Holmes, laughing. "Indirectly it may be of value, you know; you have only to put it into words to gain the reputation of being excellent company for the remainder of your existence." THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR The Lord St. Simon marriage, and its curious termination, have long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their more piquant details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reason to believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode. It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be. "Here is a very fashionable epistle," I remarked as he entered. "Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tide-waiter." "Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety," he answered, smiling, "and the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie." He broke the seal and glanced over the contents. "Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest, after all." "Not social, then?" "No, distinctly professional." "And from a noble client?" "One of the highest in England." "My dear fellow, I congratulate you." "I assure you, Watson, without affectation, that the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not?" "It looks like it," said I ruefully, pointing to a huge bundle in the corner. "I have had nothing else to do." "It is fortunate, for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is always instructive. But if you have followed recent events so closely you must have read about Lord St. Simon and his wedding?" "Oh, yes, with the deepest interest." "That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord St. Simon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what he says: "'My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes: "'Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined, therefore, to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no objection to your co-operation, and that he even thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in the afternoon, and, should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that you will postpone it, as this matter is of paramount importance. "'Yours faithfully, "'St. Simon.' "It is dated from Grosvenor Mansions, written with a quill pen, and the noble lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of his right little finger," remarked Holmes as he folded up the epistle. "He says four o'clock. It is three now. He will be here in an hour." "Then I have just time, with your assistance, to get clear upon the subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of time, while I take a glance as to who our client is." He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece. "Here he is," said he, sitting down and flattening it out upon his knee. "'Lord Robert Walsingham de Vere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral.' Hum! 'Arms: Azure, three caltrops in chief over a fess sable. Born in 1846.' He's forty-one years of age, which is mature for marriage. Was Under-Secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The Duke, his father, was at one time Secretary for Foreign Affairs. They inherit Plantagenet blood by direct descent, and Tudor on the distaff side. Ha! Well, there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson, for something more solid." "I have very little difficulty in finding what I want," said I, "for the facts are quite recent, and the matter struck me as remarkable. I feared to refer them to you, however, as I knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters." "Oh, you mean the little problem of the Grosvenor Square furniture van. That is quite cleared up now--though, indeed, it was obvious from the first. Pray give me the results of your newspaper selections." "Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal column of the Morning Post, and dates, as you see, some weeks back: "'A marriage has been arranged [it says] and will, if rumour is correct, very shortly take place, between Lord Robert St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral, and Miss Hatty Doran, the only daughter of Aloysius Doran. Esq., of San Francisco, Cal., U.S.A.' That is all." "Terse and to the point," remarked Holmes, stretching his long, thin legs towards the fire. "There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the same week. Ah, here it is: "'There will soon be a call for protection in the marriage market, for the present free-trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes which have been borne away by these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself for over twenty years proof against the little god's arrows, has now definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hatty Doran, the fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Miss Doran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child, and it is currently reported that her dowry will run to considerably over the six figures, with expectancies for the future. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own save the small estate of Birchmoor, it is obvious that the Californian heiress is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to make the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a British peeress.'" "Anything else?" asked Holmes, yawning. "Oh, yes; plenty. Then there is another note in the Morning Post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one, that it would be at St. George's, Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate which has been taken by Mr. Aloysius Doran. Two days later--that is, on Wednesday last--there is a curt announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater's place, near Petersfield. Those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride." "Before the what?" asked Holmes with a start. "The vanishing of the lady." "When did she vanish, then?" "At the wedding breakfast." "Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be; quite dramatic, in fact." "Yes; it struck me as being a little out of the common." "They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon; but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this. Pray let me have the details." "I warn you that they are very incomplete." "Perhaps we may make them less so." "Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed, 'Singular Occurrence at a Fashionable Wedding': "'The family of Lord Robert St. Simon has been thrown into the greatest consternation by the strange and painful episodes which have taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning; but it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumours which have been so persistently floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation. "'The ceremony, which was performed at St. George's, Hanover Square, was a very quiet one, no one being present save the father of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Doran, the Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady Clara St. Simon (the younger brother and sister of the bridegroom), and Lady Alicia Whittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. Aloysius Doran, at Lancaster Gate, where breakfast had been prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman, whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavoured to force her way into the house after the bridal party, alleging that she had some claim upon Lord St. Simon. It was only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler and the footman. The bride, who had fortunately entered the house before this unpleasant interruption, had sat down to breakfast with the rest, when she complained of a sudden indisposition and retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some comment, her father followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to her chamber for an instant, caught up an ulster and bonnet, and hurried down to the passage. One of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus apparelled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress, believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Doran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made, which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that, from jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the bride.'" "And is that all?" "Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a suggestive one." "And it is--" "That Miss Flora Millar, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has actually been arrested. It appears that she was formerly a danseuse at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now--so far as it has been set forth in the public press." "And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory." "Lord Robert St. Simon," announced our page-boy, throwing open the door. A gentleman entered, with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulance about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off his very curly-brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of foppishness, with high collar, black frock-coat, white waistcoat, yellow gloves, patent-leather shoes, and light-coloured gaiters. He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eyeglasses. "Good-day, Lord St. Simon," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Pray take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over." "A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society." "No, I am descending." "I beg pardon." "My last client of the sort was a king." "Oh, really! I had no idea. And which king?" "The King of Scandinavia." "What! Had he lost his wife?" "You can understand," said Holmes suavely, "that I extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to you in yours." "Of course! Very right! very right! I'm sure I beg pardon. As to my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion." "Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public prints, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct--this article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride." Lord St. Simon glanced over it. "Yes, it is correct, as far as it goes." "But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you." "Pray do so." "When did you first meet Miss Hatty Doran?" "In San Francisco, a year ago." "You were travelling in the States?" "Yes." "Did you become engaged then?" "No." "But you were on a friendly footing?" "I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused." "Her father is very rich?" "He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope." "And how did he make his money?" "In mining. He had nothing a few years ago. Then he struck gold, invested it, and came up by leaps and bounds." "Now, what is your own impression as to the young lady's--your wife's character?" The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the fire. "You see, Mr. Holmes," said he, "my wife was twenty before her father became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains, so that her education has come from Nature rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we call in England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions. She is impetuous--volcanic, I was about to say. She is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the name which I have the honour to bear"--he gave a little stately cough--"had not I thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonourable would be repugnant to her." "Have you her photograph?" "I brought this with me." He opened a locket and showed us the full face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes, and the exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon. "The young lady came to London, then, and you renewed your acquaintance?" "Yes, her father brought her over for this last London season. I met her several times, became engaged to her, and have now married her." "She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry?" "A fair dowry. Not more than is usual in my family." "And this, of course, remains to you, since the marriage is a fait accompli?" "I really have made no inquiries on the subject." "Very naturally not. Did you see Miss Doran on the day before the wedding?" "Yes." "Was she in good spirits?" "Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our future lives." "Indeed! That is very interesting. And on the morning of the wedding?" "She was as bright as possible--at least until after the ceremony." "And did you observe any change in her then?" "Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident however, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case." "Pray let us have it, for all that." "Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards the vestry. She was passing the front pew at the time, and it fell over into the pew. There was a moment's delay, but the gentleman in the pew handed it up to her again, and it did not appear to be the worse for the fall. Yet when I spoke to her of the matter, she answered me abruptly; and in the carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause." "Indeed! You say that there was a gentleman in the pew. Some of the general public were present, then?" "Oh, yes. It is impossible to exclude them when the church is open." "This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends?" "No, no; I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance. But really I think that we are wandering rather far from the point." "Lady St. Simon, then, returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do on re-entering her father's house?" "I saw her in conversation with her maid." "And who is her maid?" "Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California with her." "A confidential servant?" "A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they look upon these things in a different way." "How long did she speak to this Alice?" "Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of." "You did not overhear what they said?" "Lady St. Simon said something about 'jumping a claim.' She was accustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant." "American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wife do when she finished speaking to her maid?" "She walked into the breakfast-room." "On your arm?" "No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that. Then, after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly, muttered some words of apology, and left the room. She never came back." "But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to her room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went out." "Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in company with Flora Millar, a woman who is now in custody, and who had already made a disturbance at Mr. Doran's house that morning." "Ah, yes. I should like a few particulars as to this young lady, and your relations to her." Lord St. Simon shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. "We have been on a friendly footing for some years--I may say on a very friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but you know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and, to tell the truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I feared lest there might be a scandal in the church. She came to Mr. Doran's door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her, but I had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and I had two police fellows there in private clothes, who soon pushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a row." "Did your wife hear all this?" "No, thank goodness, she did not." "And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards?" "Yes. That is what Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, looks upon as so serious. It is thought that Flora decoyed my wife out and laid some terrible trap for her." "Well, it is a possible supposition." "You think so, too?" "I did not say a probable one. But you do not yourself look upon this as likely?" "I do not think Flora would hurt a fly." "Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray what is your own theory as to what took place?" "Well, really, I came to seek a theory, not to propound one. I have given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife." "In short, that she had become suddenly deranged?" "Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back--I will not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without success--I can hardly explain it in any other fashion." "Well, certainly that is also a conceivable hypothesis," said Holmes, smiling. "And now, Lord St. Simon, I think that I have nearly all my data. May I ask whether you were seated at the breakfast-table so that you could see out of the window?" "We could see the other side of the road and the Park." "Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer. I shall communicate with you." "Should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem," said our client, rising. "I have solved it." "Eh? What was that?" "I say that I have solved it." "Where, then, is my wife?" "That is a detail which I shall speedily supply." Lord St. Simon shook his head. "I am afraid that it will take wiser heads than yours or mine," he remarked, and bowing in a stately, old-fashioned manner he departed. "It is very good of Lord St. Simon to honour my head by putting it on a level with his own," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "I think that I shall have a whisky and soda and a cigar after all this cross-questioning. I had formed my conclusions as to the case before our client came into the room." "My dear Holmes!" "I have notes of several similar cases, though none, as I remarked before, which were quite as prompt. My whole examination served to turn my conjecture into a certainty. Circumstantial evidence is occasionally very convincing, as when you find a trout in the milk, to quote Thoreau's example." "But I have heard all that you have heard." "Without, however, the knowledge of pre-existing cases which serves me so well. There was a parallel instance in Aberdeen some years back, and something on very much the same lines at Munich the year after the Franco-Prussian War. It is one of these cases--but, hullo, here is Lestrade! Good-afternoon, Lestrade! You will find an extra tumbler upon the sideboard, and there are cigars in the box." The official detective was attired in a pea-jacket and cravat, which gave him a decidedly nautical appearance, and he carried a black canvas bag in his hand. With a short greeting he seated himself and lit the cigar which had been offered to him. "What's up, then?" asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye. "You look dissatisfied." "And I feel dissatisfied. It is this infernal St. Simon marriage case. I can make neither head nor tail of the business." "Really! You surprise me." "Who ever heard of such a mixed affair? Every clue seems to slip through my fingers. I have been at work upon it all day." "And very wet it seems to have made you," said Holmes laying his hand upon the arm of the pea-jacket. "Yes, I have been dragging the Serpentine." "In heaven's name, what for?" "In search of the body of Lady St. Simon." Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. "Have you dragged the basin of Trafalgar Square fountain?" he asked. "Why? What do you mean?" "Because you have just as good a chance of finding this lady in the one as in the other." Lestrade shot an angry glance at my companion. "I suppose you know all about it," he snarled. "Well, I have only just heard the facts, but my mind is made up." "Oh, indeed! Then you think that the Serpentine plays no part in the matter?" "I think it very unlikely." "Then perhaps you will kindly explain how it is that we found this in it?" He opened his bag as he spoke, and tumbled onto the floor a wedding-dress of watered silk, a pair of white satin shoes and a bride's wreath and veil, all discoloured and soaked in water. "There," said he, putting a new wedding-ring upon the top of the pile. "There is a little nut for you to crack, Master Holmes." "Oh, indeed!" said my friend, blowing blue rings into the air. "You dragged them from the Serpentine?" "No. They were found floating near the margin by a park-keeper. They have been identified as her clothes, and it seemed to me that if the clothes were there the body would not be far off." "By the same brilliant reasoning, every man's body is to be found in the neighbourhood of his wardrobe. And pray what did you hope to arrive at through this?" "At some evidence implicating Flora Millar in the disappearance." "I am afraid that you will find it difficult." "Are you, indeed, now?" cried Lestrade with some bitterness. "I am afraid, Holmes, that you are not very practical with your deductions and your inferences. You have made two blunders in as many minutes. This dress does implicate Miss Flora Millar." "And how?" "In the dress is a pocket. In the pocket is a card-case. In the card-case is a note. And here is the very note." He slapped it down upon the table in front of him. "Listen to this: "'You will see me when all is ready. Come at once. "'F.H.M.' Now my theory all along has been that Lady St. Simon was decoyed away by Flora Millar, and that she, with confederates, no doubt, was responsible for her disappearance. Here, signed with her initials, is the very note which was no doubt quietly slipped into her hand at the door and which lured her within their reach." "Very good, Lestrade," said Holmes, laughing. "You really are very fine indeed. Let me see it." He took up the paper in a listless way, but his attention instantly became riveted, and he gave a little cry of satisfaction. "This is indeed important," said he. "Ha! you find it so?" "Extremely so. I congratulate you warmly." Lestrade rose in his triumph and bent his head to look. "Why," he shrieked, "you're looking at the wrong side!" "On the contrary, this is the right side." "The right side? You're mad! Here is the note written in pencil over here." "And over here is what appears to be the fragment of a hotel bill, which interests me deeply." "There's nothing in it. I looked at it before," said Lestrade. "'Oct. 4th, rooms 8s., breakfast 2s. 6d., cocktail 1s., lunch 2s. 6d., glass sherry, 8d.' I see nothing in that." "Very likely not. It is most important, all the same. As to the note, it is important also, or at least the initials are, so I congratulate you again." "I've wasted time enough," said Lestrade, rising. "I believe in hard work and not in sitting by the fire spinning fine theories. Good-day, Mr. Holmes, and we shall see which gets to the bottom of the matter first." He gathered up the garments, thrust them into the bag, and made for the door. "Just one hint to you, Lestrade," drawled Holmes before his rival vanished; "I will tell you the true solution of the matter. Lady St. Simon is a myth. There is not, and there never has been, any such person." Lestrade looked sadly at my companion. Then he turned to me, tapped his forehead three times, shook his head solemnly, and hurried away. He had hardly shut the door behind him when Holmes rose to put on his overcoat. "There is something in what the fellow says about outdoor work," he remarked, "so I think, Watson, that I must leave you to your papers for a little." It was after five o'clock when Sherlock Holmes left me, but I had no time to be lonely, for within an hour there arrived a confectioner's man with a very large flat box. This he unpacked with the help of a youth whom he had brought with him, and presently, to my very great astonishment, a quite epicurean little cold supper began to be laid out upon our humble lodging-house mahogany. There were a couple of brace of cold woodcock, a pheasant, a pâté de foie gras pie with a group of ancient and cobwebby bottles. Having laid out all these luxuries, my two visitors vanished away, like the genii of the Arabian Nights, with no explanation save that the things had been paid for and were ordered to this address. Just before nine o'clock Sherlock Holmes stepped briskly into the room. His features were gravely set, but there was a light in his eye which made me think that he had not been disappointed in his conclusions. "They have laid the supper, then," he said, rubbing his hands. "You seem to expect company. They have laid for five." "Yes, I fancy we may have some company dropping in," said he. "I am surprised that Lord St. Simon has not already arrived. Ha! I fancy that I hear his step now upon the stairs." It was indeed our visitor of the afternoon who came bustling in, dangling his glasses more vigorously than ever, and with a very perturbed expression upon his aristocratic features. "My messenger reached you, then?" asked Holmes. "Yes, and I confess that the contents startled me beyond measure. Have you good authority for what you say?" "The best possible." Lord St. Simon sank into a chair and passed his hand over his forehead. "What will the Duke say," he murmured, "when he hears that one of the family has been subjected to such humiliation?" "It is the purest accident. I cannot allow that there is any humiliation." "Ah, you look on these things from another standpoint." "I fail to see that anyone is to blame. I can hardly see how the lady could have acted otherwise, though her abrupt method of doing it was undoubtedly to be regretted. Having no mother, she had no one to advise her at such a crisis." "It was a slight, sir, a public slight," said Lord St. Simon, tapping his fingers upon the table. "You must make allowance for this poor girl, placed in so unprecedented a position." "I will make no allowance. I am very angry indeed, and I have been shamefully used." "I think that I heard a ring," said Holmes. "Yes, there are steps on the landing. If I cannot persuade you to take a lenient view of the matter, Lord St. Simon, I have brought an advocate here who may be more successful." He opened the door and ushered in a lady and gentleman. "Lord St. Simon," said he "allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Francis Hay Moulton. The lady, I think, you have already met." At the sight of these newcomers our client had sprung from his seat and stood very erect, with his eyes cast down and his hand thrust into the breast of his frock-coat, a picture of offended dignity. The lady had taken a quick step forward and had held out her hand to him, but he still refused to raise his eyes. It was as well for his resolution, perhaps, for her pleading face was one which it was hard to resist. "You're angry, Robert," said she. "Well, I guess you have every cause to be." "Pray make no apology to me," said Lord St. Simon bitterly. "Oh, yes, I know that I have treated you real bad and that I should have spoken to you before I went; but I was kind of rattled, and from the time when I saw Frank here again I just didn't know what I was doing or saying. I only wonder I didn't fall down and do a faint right there before the altar." "Perhaps, Mrs. Moulton, you would like my friend and me to leave the room while you explain this matter?" "If I may give an opinion," remarked the strange gentleman, "we've had just a little too much secrecy over this business already. For my part, I should like all Europe and America to hear the rights of it." He was a small, wiry, sunburnt man, clean-shaven, with a sharp face and alert manner. "Then I'll tell our story right away," said the lady. "Frank here and I met in '84, in McQuire's camp, near the Rockies, where pa was working a claim. We were engaged to each other, Frank and I; but then one day father struck a rich pocket and made a pile, while poor Frank here had a claim that petered out and came to nothing. The richer pa grew the poorer was Frank; so at last pa wouldn't hear of our engagement lasting any longer, and he took me away to 'Frisco. Frank wouldn't throw up his hand, though; so he followed me there, and he saw me without pa knowing anything about it. It would only have made him mad to know, so we just fixed it all up for ourselves. Frank said that he would go and make his pile, too, and never come back to claim me until he had as much as pa. So then I promised to wait for him to the end of time and pledged myself not to marry anyone else while he lived. 'Why shouldn't we be married right away, then,' said he, 'and then I will feel sure of you; and I won't claim to be your husband until I come back?' Well, we talked it over, and he had fixed it all up so nicely, with a clergyman all ready in waiting, that we just did it right there; and then Frank went off to seek his fortune, and I went back to pa. "The next I heard of Frank was that he was in Montana, and then he went prospecting in Arizona, and then I heard of him from New Mexico. After that came a long newspaper story about how a miners' camp had been attacked by Apache Indians, and there was my Frank's name among the killed. I fainted dead away, and I was very sick for months after. Pa thought I had a decline and took me to half the doctors in 'Frisco. Not a word of news came for a year and more, so that I never doubted that Frank was really dead. Then Lord St. Simon came to 'Frisco, and we came to London, and a marriage was arranged, and pa was very pleased, but I felt all the time that no man on this earth would ever take the place in my heart that had been given to my poor Frank. "Still, if I had married Lord St. Simon, of course I'd have done my duty by him. We can't command our love, but we can our actions. I went to the altar with him with the intention to make him just as good a wife as it was in me to be. But you may imagine what I felt when, just as I came to the altar rails, I glanced back and saw Frank standing and looking at me out of the first pew. I thought it was his ghost at first; but when I looked again there he was still, with a kind of question in his eyes, as if to ask me whether I were glad or sorry to see him. I wonder I didn't drop. I know that everything was turning round, and the words of the clergyman were just like the buzz of a bee in my ear. I didn't know what to do. Should I stop the service and make a scene in the church? I glanced at him again, and he seemed to know what I was thinking, for he raised his finger to his lips to tell me to be still. Then I saw him scribble on a piece of paper, and I knew that he was writing me a note. As I passed his pew on the way out I dropped my bouquet over to him, and he slipped the note into my hand when he returned me the flowers. It was only a line asking me to join him when he made the sign to me to do so. Of course I never doubted for a moment that my first duty was now to him, and I determined to do just whatever he might direct. "When I got back I told my maid, who had known him in California, and had always been his friend. I ordered her to say nothing, but to get a few things packed and my ulster ready. I know I ought to have spoken to Lord St. Simon, but it was dreadful hard before his mother and all those great people. I just made up my mind to run away and explain afterwards. I hadn't been at the table ten minutes before I saw Frank out of the window at the other side of the road. He beckoned to me and then began walking into the Park. I slipped out, put on my things, and followed him. Some woman came talking something or other about Lord St. Simon to me--seemed to me from the little I heard as if he had a little secret of his own before marriage also--but I managed to get away from her and soon overtook Frank. We got into a cab together, and away we drove to some lodgings he had taken in Gordon Square, and that was my true wedding after all those years of waiting. Frank had been a prisoner among the Apaches, had escaped, came on to 'Frisco, found that I had given him up for dead and had gone to England, followed me there, and had come upon me at last on the very morning of my second wedding." "I saw it in a paper," explained the American. "It gave the name and the church but not where the lady lived." "Then we had a talk as to what we should do, and Frank was all for openness, but I was so ashamed of it all that I felt as if I should like to vanish away and never see any of them again--just sending a line to pa, perhaps, to show him that I was alive. It was awful to me to think of all those lords and ladies sitting round that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So Frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away somewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we should have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how he found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves in the wrong if we were so secret. Then he offered to give us a chance of talking to Lord St. Simon alone, and so we came right away round to his rooms at once. Now, Robert, you have heard it all, and I am very sorry if I have given you pain, and I hope that you do not think very meanly of me." Lord St. Simon had by no means relaxed his rigid attitude, but had listened with a frowning brow and a compressed lip to this long narrative. "Excuse me," he said, "but it is not my custom to discuss my most intimate personal affairs in this public manner." "Then you won't forgive me? You won't shake hands before I go?" "Oh, certainly, if it would give you any pleasure." He put out his hand and coldly grasped that which she extended to him. "I had hoped," suggested Holmes, "that you would have joined us in a friendly supper." "I think that there you ask a little too much," responded his Lordship. "I may be forced to acquiesce in these recent developments, but I can hardly be expected to make merry over them. I think that with your permission I will now wish you all a very good-night." He included us all in a sweeping bow and stalked out of the room. "Then I trust that you at least will honour me with your company," said Sherlock Holmes. "It is always a joy to meet an American, Mr. Moulton, for I am one of those who believe that the folly of a monarch and the blundering of a minister in far-gone years will not prevent our children from being some day citizens of the same world-wide country under a flag which shall be a quartering of the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes." "The case has been an interesting one," remarked Holmes when our visitors had left us, "because it serves to show very clearly how simple the explanation may be of an affair which at first sight seems to be almost inexplicable. Nothing could be more natural than the sequence of events as narrated by this lady, and nothing stranger than the result when viewed, for instance, by Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard." "You were not yourself at fault at all, then?" "From the first, two facts were very obvious to me, the one that the lady had been quite willing to undergo the wedding ceremony, the other that she had repented of it within a few minutes of returning home. Obviously something had occurred during the morning, then, to cause her to change her mind. What could that something be? She could not have spoken to anyone when she was out, for she had been in the company of the bridegroom. Had she seen someone, then? If she had, it must be someone from America because she had spent so short a time in this country that she could hardly have allowed anyone to acquire so deep an influence over her that the mere sight of him would induce her to change her plans so completely. You see we have already arrived, by a process of exclusion, at the idea that she might have seen an American. Then who could this American be, and why should he possess so much influence over her? It might be a lover; it might be a husband. Her young womanhood had, I knew, been spent in rough scenes and under strange conditions. So far I had got before I ever heard Lord St. Simon's narrative. When he told us of a man in a pew, of the change in the bride's manner, of so transparent a device for obtaining a note as the dropping of a bouquet, of her resort to her confidential maid, and of her very significant allusion to claim-jumping--which in miners' parlance means taking possession of that which another person has a prior claim to--the whole situation became absolutely clear. She had gone off with a man, and the man was either a lover or was a previous husband--the chances being in favour of the latter." "And how in the world did you find them?" "It might have been difficult, but friend Lestrade held information in his hands the value of which he did not himself know. The initials were, of course, of the highest importance, but more valuable still was it to know that within a week he had settled his bill at one of the most select London hotels." "How did you deduce the select?" "By the select prices. Eight shillings for a bed and eightpence for a glass of sherry pointed to one of the most expensive hotels. There are not many in London which charge at that rate. In the second one which I visited in Northumberland Avenue, I learned by an inspection of the book that Francis H. Moulton, an American gentleman, had left only the day before, and on looking over the entries against him, I came upon the very items which I had seen in the duplicate bill. His letters were to be forwarded to 226 Gordon Square; so thither I travelled, and being fortunate enough to find the loving couple at home, I ventured to give them some paternal advice and to point out to them that it would be better in every way that they should make their position a little clearer both to the general public and to Lord St. Simon in particular. I invited them to meet him here, and, as you see, I made him keep the appointment." "But with no very good result," I remarked. "His conduct was certainly not very gracious." "Ah, Watson," said Holmes, smiling, "perhaps you would not be very gracious either, if, after all the trouble of wooing and wedding, you found yourself deprived in an instant of wife and of fortune. I think that we may judge Lord St. Simon very mercifully and thank our stars that we are never likely to find ourselves in the same position. Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings." THE ADVENTURE OF THE BERYL CORONET "Holmes," said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the street, "here is a madman coming along. It seems rather sad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone." My friend rose lazily from his armchair and stood with his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a bright, crisp February morning, and the snow of the day before still lay deep upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the wintry sun. Down the centre of Baker Street it had been ploughed into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention. He was a man of about fifty, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed in a sombre yet rich style, in black frock-coat, shining hat, neat brown gaiters, and well-cut pearl-grey trousers. Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most extraordinary contortions. "What on earth can be the matter with him?" I asked. "He is looking up at the numbers of the houses." "I believe that he is coming here," said Holmes, rubbing his hands. "Here?" "Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think that I recognise the symptoms. Ha! did I not tell you?" As he spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the clanging. A few moments later he was in our room, still puffing, still gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the centre of the room. Sherlock Holmes pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones which he knew so well how to employ. "You have come to me to tell your story, have you not?" said he. "You are fatigued with your haste. Pray wait until you have recovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into any little problem which you may submit to me." The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his brow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us. "No doubt you think me mad?" said he. "I see that you have had some great trouble," responded Holmes. "God knows I have!--a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair." "Pray compose yourself, sir," said Holmes, "and let me have a clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you." "My name," answered our visitor, "is probably familiar to your ears. I am Alexander Holder, of the banking firm of Holder & Stevenson, of Threadneedle Street." The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in the second largest private banking concern in the City of London. What could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of London to this most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced himself to tell his story. "I feel that time is of value," said he; "that is why I hastened here when the police inspector suggested that I should secure your co-operation. I came to Baker Street by the Underground and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this snow. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who takes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can. "It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful banking business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and there are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate. "Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the name, for it was that of none other than--well, perhaps even to you I had better say no more than that it was a name which is a household word all over the earth--one of the highest, noblest, most exalted names in England. I was overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task. "'Mr. Holder,' said he, 'I have been informed that you are in the habit of advancing money.' "'The firm does so when the security is good.' I answered. "'It is absolutely essential to me,' said he, 'that I should have £50,000 at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place one's self under obligations.' "'For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?' I asked. "'Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should be paid at once.' "'I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own private purse,' said I, 'were it not that the strain would be rather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution should be taken.' "'I should much prefer to have it so,' said he, raising up a square, black morocco case which he had laid beside his chair. 'You have doubtless heard of the Beryl Coronet?' "'One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,' said I. "'Precisely.' He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft, flesh-coloured velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he had named. 'There are thirty-nine enormous beryls,' said he, 'and the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The lowest estimate would put the worth of the coronet at double the sum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as my security.' "I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity from it to my illustrious client. "'You doubt its value?' he asked. "'Not at all. I only doubt--' "'The propriety of my leaving it. You may set your mind at rest about that. I should not dream of doing so were it not absolutely certain that I should be able in four days to reclaim it. It is a pure matter of form. Is the security sufficient?' "'Ample.' "'You understand, Mr. Holder, that I am giving you a strong proof of the confidence which I have in you, founded upon all that I have heard of you. I rely upon you not only to be discreet and to refrain from all gossip upon the matter but, above all, to preserve this coronet with every possible precaution because I need not say that a great public scandal would be caused if any harm were to befall it. Any injury to it would be almost as serious as its complete loss, for there are no beryls in the world to match these, and it would be impossible to replace them. I leave it with you, however, with every confidence, and I shall call for it in person on Monday morning.' "Seeing that my client was anxious to leave, I said no more but, calling for my cashier, I ordered him to pay over fifty £1000 notes. When I was alone once more, however, with the precious case lying upon the table in front of me, I could not but think with some misgivings of the immense responsibility which it entailed upon me. There could be no doubt that, as it was a national possession, a horrible scandal would ensue if any misfortune should occur to it. I already regretted having ever consented to take charge of it. However, it was too late to alter the matter now, so I locked it up in my private safe and turned once more to my work. "When evening came I felt that it would be an imprudence to leave so precious a thing in the office behind me. Bankers' safes had been forced before now, and why should not mine be? If so, how terrible would be the position in which I should find myself! I determined, therefore, that for the next few days I would always carry the case backward and forward with me, so that it might never be really out of my reach. With this intention, I called a cab and drove out to my house at Streatham, carrying the jewel with me. I did not breathe freely until I had taken it upstairs and locked it in the bureau of my dressing-room. "And now a word as to my household, Mr. Holmes, for I wish you to thoroughly understand the situation. My groom and my page sleep out of the house, and may be set aside altogether. I have three maid-servants who have been with me a number of years and whose absolute reliability is quite above suspicion. Another, Lucy Parr, the second waiting-maid, has only been in my service a few months. She came with an excellent character, however, and has always given me satisfaction. She is a very pretty girl and has attracted admirers who have occasionally hung about the place. That is the only drawback which we have found to her, but we believe her to be a thoroughly good girl in every way. "So much for the servants. My family itself is so small that it will not take me long to describe it. I am a widower and have an only son, Arthur. He has been a disappointment to me, Mr. Holmes--a grievous disappointment. I have no doubt that I am myself to blame. People tell me that I have spoiled him. Very likely I have. When my dear wife died I felt that he was all I had to love. I could not bear to see the smile fade even for a moment from his face. I have never denied him a wish. Perhaps it would have been better for both of us had I been sterner, but I meant it for the best. "It was naturally my intention that he should succeed me in my business, but he was not of a business turn. He was wild, wayward, and, to speak the truth, I could not trust him in the handling of large sums of money. When he was young he became a member of an aristocratic club, and there, having charming manners, he was soon the intimate of a number of men with long purses and expensive habits. He learned to play heavily at cards and to squander money on the turf, until he had again and again to come to me and implore me to give him an advance upon his allowance, that he might settle his debts of honour. He tried more than once to break away from the dangerous company which he was keeping, but each time the influence of his friend, Sir George Burnwell, was enough to draw him back again. "And, indeed, I could not wonder that such a man as Sir George Burnwell should gain an influence over him, for he has frequently brought him to my house, and I have found myself that I could hardly resist the fascination of his manner. He is older than Arthur, a man of the world to his finger-tips, one who had been everywhere, seen everything, a brilliant talker, and a man of great personal beauty. Yet when I think of him in cold blood, far away from the glamour of his presence, I am convinced from his cynical speech and the look which I have caught in his eyes that he is one who should be deeply distrusted. So I think, and so, too, thinks my little Mary, who has a woman's quick insight into character. "And now there is only she to be described. She is my niece; but when my brother died five years ago and left her alone in the world I adopted her, and have looked upon her ever since as my daughter. She is a sunbeam in my house--sweet, loving, beautiful, a wonderful manager and housekeeper, yet as tender and quiet and gentle as a woman could be. She is my right hand. I do not know what I could do without her. In only one matter has she ever gone against my wishes. Twice my boy has asked her to marry him, for he loves her devotedly, but each time she has refused him. I think that if anyone could have drawn him into the right path it would have been she, and that his marriage might have changed his whole life; but now, alas! it is too late--forever too late! "Now, Mr. Holmes, you know the people who live under my roof, and I shall continue with my miserable story. "When we were taking coffee in the drawing-room that night after dinner, I told Arthur and Mary my experience, and of the precious treasure which we had under our roof, suppressing only the name of my client. Lucy Parr, who had brought in the coffee, had, I am sure, left the room; but I cannot swear that the door was closed. Mary and Arthur were much interested and wished to see the famous coronet, but I thought it better not to disturb it. "'Where have you put it?' asked Arthur. "'In my own bureau.' "'Well, I hope to goodness the house won't be burgled during the night.' said he. "'It is locked up,' I answered. "'Oh, any old key will fit that bureau. When I was a youngster I have opened it myself with the key of the box-room cupboard.' "He often had a wild way of talking, so that I thought little of what he said. He followed me to my room, however, that night with a very grave face. "'Look here, dad,' said he with his eyes cast down, 'can you let me have £200?' "'No, I cannot!' I answered sharply. 'I have been far too generous with you in money matters.' "'You have been very kind,' said he, 'but I must have this money, or else I can never show my face inside the club again.' "'And a very good thing, too!' I cried. "'Yes, but you would not have me leave it a dishonoured man,' said he. 'I could not bear the disgrace. I must raise the money in some way, and if you will not let me have it, then I must try other means.' "I was very angry, for this was the third demand during the month. 'You shall not have a farthing from me,' I cried, on which he bowed and left the room without another word. "When he was gone I unlocked my bureau, made sure that my treasure was safe, and locked it again. Then I started to go round the house to see that all was secure--a duty which I usually leave to Mary but which I thought it well to perform myself that night. As I came down the stairs I saw Mary herself at the side window of the hall, which she closed and fastened as I approached. "'Tell me, dad,' said she, looking, I thought, a little disturbed, 'did you give Lucy, the maid, leave to go out to-night?' "'Certainly not.' "'She came in just now by the back door. I have no doubt that she has only been to the side gate to see someone, but I think that it is hardly safe and should be stopped.' "'You must speak to her in the morning, or I will if you prefer it. Are you sure that everything is fastened?' "'Quite sure, dad.' "'Then, good-night.' I kissed her and went up to my bedroom again, where I was soon asleep. "I am endeavouring to tell you everything, Mr. Holmes, which may have any bearing upon the case, but I beg that you will question me upon any point which I do not make clear." "On the contrary, your statement is singularly lucid." "I come to a part of my story now in which I should wish to be particularly so. I am not a very heavy sleeper, and the anxiety in my mind tended, no doubt, to make me even less so than usual. About two in the morning, then, I was awakened by some sound in the house. It had ceased ere I was wide awake, but it had left an impression behind it as though a window had gently closed somewhere. I lay listening with all my ears. Suddenly, to my horror, there was a distinct sound of footsteps moving softly in the next room. I slipped out of bed, all palpitating with fear, and peeped round the corner of my dressing-room door. "'Arthur!' I screamed, 'you villain! you thief! How dare you touch that coronet?' "The gas was half up, as I had left it, and my unhappy boy, dressed only in his shirt and trousers, was standing beside the light, holding the coronet in his hands. He appeared to be wrenching at it, or bending it with all his strength. At my cry he dropped it from his grasp and turned as pale as death. I snatched it up and examined it. One of the gold corners, with three of the beryls in it, was missing. "'You blackguard!' I shouted, beside myself with rage. 'You have destroyed it! You have dishonoured me forever! Where are the jewels which you have stolen?' "'Stolen!' he cried. "'Yes, thief!' I roared, shaking him by the shoulder. "'There are none missing. There cannot be any missing,' said he. "'There are three missing. And you know where they are. Must I call you a liar as well as a thief? Did I not see you trying to tear off another piece?' "'You have called me names enough,' said he, 'I will not stand it any longer. I shall not say another word about this business, since you have chosen to insult me. I will leave your house in the morning and make my own way in the world.' "'You shall leave it in the hands of the police!' I cried half-mad with grief and rage. 'I shall have this matter probed to the bottom.' "'You shall learn nothing from me,' said he with a passion such as I should not have thought was in his nature. 'If you choose to call the police, let the police find what they can.' "By this time the whole house was astir, for I had raised my voice in my anger. Mary was the first to rush into my room, and, at the sight of the coronet and of Arthur's face, she read the whole story and, with a scream, fell down senseless on the ground. I sent the house-maid for the police and put the investigation into their hands at once. When the inspector and a constable entered the house, Arthur, who had stood sullenly with his arms folded, asked me whether it was my intention to charge him with theft. I answered that it had ceased to be a private matter, but had become a public one, since the ruined coronet was national property. I was determined that the law should have its way in everything. "'At least,' said he, 'you will not have me arrested at once. It would be to your advantage as well as mine if I might leave the house for five minutes.' "'That you may get away, or perhaps that you may conceal what you have stolen,' said I. And then, realising the dreadful position in which I was placed, I implored him to remember that not only my honour but that of one who was far greater than I was at stake; and that he threatened to raise a scandal which would convulse the nation. He might avert it all if he would but tell me what he had done with the three missing stones. "'You may as well face the matter,' said I; 'you have been caught in the act, and no confession could make your guilt more heinous. If you but make such reparation as is in your power, by telling us where the beryls are, all shall be forgiven and forgotten.' "'Keep your forgiveness for those who ask for it,' he answered, turning away from me with a sneer. I saw that he was too hardened for any words of mine to influence him. There was but one way for it. I called in the inspector and gave him into custody. A search was made at once not only of his person but of his room and of every portion of the house where he could possibly have concealed the gems; but no trace of them could be found, nor would the wretched boy open his mouth for all our persuasions and our threats. This morning he was removed to a cell, and I, after going through all the police formalities, have hurried round to you to implore you to use your skill in unravelling the matter. The police have openly confessed that they can at present make nothing of it. You may go to any expense which you think necessary. I have already offered a reward of £1000. My God, what shall I do! I have lost my honour, my gems, and my son in one night. Oh, what shall I do!" He put a hand on either side of his head and rocked himself to and fro, droning to himself like a child whose grief has got beyond words. Sherlock Holmes sat silent for some few minutes, with his brows knitted and his eyes fixed upon the fire. "Do you receive much company?" he asked. "None save my partner with his family and an occasional friend of Arthur's. Sir George Burnwell has been several times lately. No one else, I think." "Do you go out much in society?" "Arthur does. Mary and I stay at home. We neither of us care for it." "That is unusual in a young girl." "She is of a quiet nature. Besides, she is not so very young. She is four-and-twenty." "This matter, from what you say, seems to have been a shock to her also." "Terrible! She is even more affected than I." "You have neither of you any doubt as to your son's guilt?" "How can we have when I saw him with my own eyes with the coronet in his hands." "I hardly consider that a conclusive proof. Was the remainder of the coronet at all injured?" "Yes, it was twisted." "Do you not think, then, that he might have been trying to straighten it?" "God bless you! You are doing what you can for him and for me. But it is too heavy a task. What was he doing there at all? If his purpose were innocent, why did he not say so?" "Precisely. And if it were guilty, why did he not invent a lie? His silence appears to me to cut both ways. There are several singular points about the case. What did the police think of the noise which awoke you from your sleep?" "They considered that it might be caused by Arthur's closing his bedroom door." "A likely story! As if a man bent on felony would slam his door so as to wake a household. What did they say, then, of the disappearance of these gems?" "They are still sounding the planking and probing the furniture in the hope of finding them." "Have they thought of looking outside the house?" "Yes, they have shown extraordinary energy. The whole garden has already been minutely examined." "Now, my dear sir," said Holmes. "is it not obvious to you now that this matter really strikes very much deeper than either you or the police were at first inclined to think? It appeared to you to be a simple case; to me it seems exceedingly complex. Consider what is involved by your theory. You suppose that your son came down from his bed, went, at great risk, to your dressing-room, opened your bureau, took out your coronet, broke off by main force a small portion of it, went off to some other place, concealed three gems out of the thirty-nine, with such skill that nobody can find them, and then returned with the other thirty-six into the room in which he exposed himself to the greatest danger of being discovered. I ask you now, is such a theory tenable?" "But what other is there?" cried the banker with a gesture of despair. "If his motives were innocent, why does he not explain them?" "It is our task to find that out," replied Holmes; "so now, if you please, Mr. Holder, we will set off for Streatham together, and devote an hour to glancing a little more closely into details." My friend insisted upon my accompanying them in their expedition, which I was eager enough to do, for my curiosity and sympathy were deeply stirred by the story to which we had listened. I confess that the guilt of the banker's son appeared to me to be as obvious as it did to his unhappy father, but still I had such faith in Holmes' judgment that I felt that there must be some grounds for hope as long as he was dissatisfied with the accepted explanation. He hardly spoke a word the whole way out to the southern suburb, but sat with his chin upon his breast and his hat drawn over his eyes, sunk in the deepest thought. Our client appeared to have taken fresh heart at the little glimpse of hope which had been presented to him, and he even broke into a desultory chat with me over his business affairs. A short railway journey and a shorter walk brought us to Fairbank, the modest residence of the great financier. Fairbank was a good-sized square house of white stone, standing back a little from the road. A double carriage-sweep, with a snow-clad lawn, stretched down in front to two large iron gates which closed the entrance. On the right side was a small wooden thicket, which led into a narrow path between two neat hedges stretching from the road to the kitchen door, and forming the tradesmen's entrance. On the left ran a lane which led to the stables, and was not itself within the grounds at all, being a public, though little used, thoroughfare. Holmes left us standing at the door and walked slowly all round the house, across the front, down the tradesmen's path, and so round by the garden behind into the stable lane. So long was he that Mr. Holder and I went into the dining-room and waited by the fire until he should return. We were sitting there in silence when the door opened and a young lady came in. She was rather above the middle height, slim, with dark hair and eyes, which seemed the darker against the absolute pallor of her skin. I do not think that I have ever seen such deadly paleness in a woman's face. Her lips, too, were bloodless, but her eyes were flushed with crying. As she swept silently into the room she impressed me with a greater sense of grief than the banker had done in the morning, and it was the more striking in her as she was evidently a woman of strong character, with immense capacity for self-restraint. Disregarding my presence, she went straight to her uncle and passed her hand over his head with a sweet womanly caress. "You have given orders that Arthur should be liberated, have you not, dad?" she asked. "No, no, my girl, the matter must be probed to the bottom." "But I am so sure that he is innocent. You know what woman's instincts are. I know that he has done no harm and that you will be sorry for having acted so harshly." "Why is he silent, then, if he is innocent?" "Who knows? Perhaps because he was so angry that you should suspect him." "How could I help suspecting him, when I actually saw him with the coronet in his hand?" "Oh, but he had only picked it up to look at it. Oh, do, do take my word for it that he is innocent. Let the matter drop and say no more. It is so dreadful to think of our dear Arthur in a prison!" "I shall never let it drop until the gems are found--never, Mary! Your affection for Arthur blinds you as to the awful consequences to me. Far from hushing the thing up, I have brought a gentleman down from London to inquire more deeply into it." "This gentleman?" she asked, facing round to me. "No, his friend. He wished us to leave him alone. He is round in the stable lane now." "The stable lane?" She raised her dark eyebrows. "What can he hope to find there? Ah! this, I suppose, is he. I trust, sir, that you will succeed in proving, what I feel sure is the truth, that my cousin Arthur is innocent of this crime." "I fully share your opinion, and I trust, with you, that we may prove it," returned Holmes, going back to the mat to knock the snow from his shoes. "I believe I have the honour of addressing Miss Mary Holder. Might I ask you a question or two?" "Pray do, sir, if it may help to clear this horrible affair up." "You heard nothing yourself last night?" "Nothing, until my uncle here began to speak loudly. I heard that, and I came down." "You shut up the windows and doors the night before. Did you fasten all the windows?" "Yes." "Were they all fastened this morning?" "Yes." "You have a maid who has a sweetheart? I think that you remarked to your uncle last night that she had been out to see him?" "Yes, and she was the girl who waited in the drawing-room, and who may have heard uncle's remarks about the coronet." "I see. You infer that she may have gone out to tell her sweetheart, and that the two may have planned the robbery." "But what is the good of all these vague theories," cried the banker impatiently, "when I have told you that I saw Arthur with the coronet in his hands?" "Wait a little, Mr. Holder. We must come back to that. About this girl, Miss Holder. You saw her return by the kitchen door, I presume?" "Yes; when I went to see if the door was fastened for the night I met her slipping in. I saw the man, too, in the gloom." "Do you know him?" "Oh, yes! he is the green-grocer who brings our vegetables round. His name is Francis Prosper." "He stood," said Holmes, "to the left of the door--that is to say, farther up the path than is necessary to reach the door?" "Yes, he did." "And he is a man with a wooden leg?" Something like fear sprang up in the young lady's expressive black eyes. "Why, you are like a magician," said she. "How do you know that?" She smiled, but there was no answering smile in Holmes' thin, eager face. "I should be very glad now to go upstairs," said he. "I shall probably wish to go over the outside of the house again. Perhaps I had better take a look at the lower windows before I go up." He walked swiftly round from one to the other, pausing only at the large one which looked from the hall onto the stable lane. This he opened and made a very careful examination of the sill with his powerful magnifying lens. "Now we shall go upstairs," said he at last. The banker's dressing-room was a plainly furnished little chamber, with a grey carpet, a large bureau, and a long mirror. Holmes went to the bureau first and looked hard at the lock. "Which key was used to open it?" he asked. "That which my son himself indicated--that of the cupboard of the lumber-room." "Have you it here?" "That is it on the dressing-table." Sherlock Holmes took it up and opened the bureau. "It is a noiseless lock," said he. "It is no wonder that it did not wake you. This case, I presume, contains the coronet. We must have a look at it." He opened the case, and taking out the diadem he laid it upon the table. It was a magnificent specimen of the jeweller's art, and the thirty-six stones were the finest that I have ever seen. At one side of the coronet was a cracked edge, where a corner holding three gems had been torn away. "Now, Mr. Holder," said Holmes, "here is the corner which corresponds to that which has been so unfortunately lost. Might I beg that you will break it off." The banker recoiled in horror. "I should not dream of trying," said he. "Then I will." Holmes suddenly bent his strength upon it, but without result. "I feel it give a little," said he; "but, though I am exceptionally strong in the fingers, it would take me all my time to break it. An ordinary man could not do it. Now, what do you think would happen if I did break it, Mr. Holder? There would be a noise like a pistol shot. Do you tell me that all this happened within a few yards of your bed and that you heard nothing of it?" "I do not know what to think. It is all dark to me." "But perhaps it may grow lighter as we go. What do you think, Miss Holder?" "I confess that I still share my uncle's perplexity." "Your son had no shoes or slippers on when you saw him?" "He had nothing on save only his trousers and shirt." "Thank you. We have certainly been favoured with extraordinary luck during this inquiry, and it will be entirely our own fault if we do not succeed in clearing the matter up. With your permission, Mr. Holder, I shall now continue my investigations outside." He went alone, at his own request, for he explained that any unnecessary footmarks might make his task more difficult. For an hour or more he was at work, returning at last with his feet heavy with snow and his features as inscrutable as ever. "I think that I have seen now all that there is to see, Mr. Holder," said he; "I can serve you best by returning to my rooms." "But the gems, Mr. Holmes. Where are they?" "I cannot tell." The banker wrung his hands. "I shall never see them again!" he cried. "And my son? You give me hopes?" "My opinion is in no way altered." "Then, for God's sake, what was this dark business which was acted in my house last night?" "If you can call upon me at my Baker Street rooms to-morrow morning between nine and ten I shall be happy to do what I can to make it clearer. I understand that you give me carte blanche to act for you, provided only that I get back the gems, and that you place no limit on the sum I may draw." "I would give my fortune to have them back." "Very good. I shall look into the matter between this and then. Good-bye; it is just possible that I may have to come over here again before evening." It was obvious to me that my companion's mind was now made up about the case, although what his conclusions were was more than I could even dimly imagine. Several times during our homeward journey I endeavoured to sound him upon the point, but he always glided away to some other topic, until at last I gave it over in despair. It was not yet three when we found ourselves in our rooms once more. He hurried to his chamber and was down again in a few minutes dressed as a common loafer. With his collar turned up, his shiny, seedy coat, his red cravat, and his worn boots, he was a perfect sample of the class. "I think that this should do," said he, glancing into the glass above the fireplace. "I only wish that you could come with me, Watson, but I fear that it won't do. I may be on the trail in this matter, or I may be following a will-o'-the-wisp, but I shall soon know which it is. I hope that I may be back in a few hours." He cut a slice of beef from the joint upon the sideboard, sandwiched it between two rounds of bread, and thrusting this rude meal into his pocket he started off upon his expedition. I had just finished my tea when he returned, evidently in excellent spirits, swinging an old elastic-sided boot in his hand. He chucked it down into a corner and helped himself to a cup of tea. "I only looked in as I passed," said he. "I am going right on." "Where to?" "Oh, to the other side of the West End. It may be some time before I get back. Don't wait up for me in case I should be late." "How are you getting on?" "Oh, so so. Nothing to complain of. I have been out to Streatham since I saw you last, but I did not call at the house. It is a very sweet little problem, and I would not have missed it for a good deal. However, I must not sit gossiping here, but must get these disreputable clothes off and return to my highly respectable self." I could see by his manner that he had stronger reasons for satisfaction than his words alone would imply. His eyes twinkled, and there was even a touch of colour upon his sallow cheeks. He hastened upstairs, and a few minutes later I heard the slam of the hall door, which told me that he was off once more upon his congenial hunt. I waited until midnight, but there was no sign of his return, so I retired to my room. It was no uncommon thing for him to be away for days and nights on end when he was hot upon a scent, so that his lateness caused me no surprise. I do not know at what hour he came in, but when I came down to breakfast in the morning there he was with a cup of coffee in one hand and the paper in the other, as fresh and trim as possible. "You will excuse my beginning without you, Watson," said he, "but you remember that our client has rather an early appointment this morning." "Why, it is after nine now," I answered. "I should not be surprised if that were he. I thought I heard a ring." It was, indeed, our friend the financier. I was shocked by the change which had come over him, for his face which was naturally of a broad and massive mould, was now pinched and fallen in, while his hair seemed to me at least a shade whiter. He entered with a weariness and lethargy which was even more painful than his violence of the morning before, and he dropped heavily into the armchair which I pushed forward for him. "I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried," said he. "Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrow comes close upon the heels of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted me." "Deserted you?" "Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty, and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to her last night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all might have been well with him. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say so. It is to that remark that she refers in this note: "'My dearest Uncle: "'I feel that I have brought trouble upon you, and that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again be happy under your roof, and I feel that I must leave you forever. Do not worry about my future, for that is provided for; and, above all, do not search for me, for it will be fruitless labour and an ill-service to me. In life or in death, I am ever "'Your loving "'Mary.' "What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it points to suicide?" "No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible solution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of your troubles." "Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have learned something! Where are the gems?" "You would not think £1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for them?" "I would pay ten." "That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter. And there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book? Here is a pen. Better make it out for £4000." With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes walked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table. With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up. "You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am saved!" The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he hugged his recovered gems to his bosom. "There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder," said Sherlock Holmes rather sternly. "Owe!" He caught up a pen. "Name the sum, and I will pay it." "No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I should be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to have one." "Then it was not Arthur who took them?" "I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not." "You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him know that the truth is known." "He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an interview with him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, I told it to him, on which he had to confess that I was right and to add the very few details which were not yet quite clear to me. Your news of this morning, however, may open his lips." "For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary mystery!" "I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached it. And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say and for you to hear: there has been an understanding between Sir George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now fled together." "My Mary? Impossible!" "It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither you nor your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him into your family circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in England--a ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man without heart or conscience. Your niece knew nothing of such men. When he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her, she flattered herself that she alone had touched his heart. The devil knows best what he said, but at least she became his tool and was in the habit of seeing him nearly every evening." "I cannot, and I will not, believe it!" cried the banker with an ashen face. "I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. Your niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down and talked to her lover through the window which leads into the stable lane. His footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he stood there. She told him of the coronet. His wicked lust for gold kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. I have no doubt that she loved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover extinguishes all other loves, and I think that she must have been one. She had hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming downstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you about one of the servants' escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was all perfectly true. "Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. In the middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin walking very stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into your dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped on some clothes and waited there in the dark to see what would come of this strange affair. Presently she emerged from the room again, and in the light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried the precious coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain near your door, whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. He saw her stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing quite close to where he stood hid behind the curtain. "As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the instant that she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for you, and how all-important it was to set it right. He rushed down, just as he was, in his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into the snow, and ran down the lane, where he could see a dark figure in the moonlight. Sir George Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur caught him, and there was a struggle between them, your lad tugging at one side of the coronet, and his opponent at the other. In the scuffle, your son struck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then something suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your room, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in the struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you appeared upon the scene." "Is it possible?" gasped the banker. "You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not explain the true state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved little enough consideration at his hands. He took the more chivalrous view, however, and preserved her secret." "And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet," cried Mr. Holder. "Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have been! And his asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! The dear fellow wanted to see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle. How cruelly I have misjudged him!" "When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once went very carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since the evening before, and also that there had been a strong frost to preserve impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but found it all trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it, however, at the far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a man, whose round impressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. I could even tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run back swiftly to the door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel marks, while Wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. I thought at the time that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of whom you had already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I passed round the garden without seeing anything more than random tracks, which I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in front of me. "There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second double line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked feet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the latter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the other had run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over the depression of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed after the other. I followed them up and found they led to the hall window, where Boots had worn all the snow away while waiting. Then I walked to the other end, which was a hundred yards or more down the lane. I saw where Boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up as though there had been a struggle, and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen, to show me that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane, and another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that the pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue. "On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the sill and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could at once see that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the outline of an instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was then beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what had occurred. A man had waited outside the window; someone had brought the gems; the deed had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. He had returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his opponent. So far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man and who was it brought him the coronet? "It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there only remained your niece and the maids. But if it were the maids, why should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? There could be no possible reason. As he loved his cousin, however, there was an excellent explanation why he should retain her secret--the more so as the secret was a disgraceful one. When I remembered that you had seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet again, my conjecture became a certainty. "And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to you? I knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends was a very limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems. Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word without compromising his own family. "Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, managed to pick up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings, made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With these I journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the tracks." "I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," said Mr. Holder. "Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then, for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied everything. But when I gave him every particular that had occurred, he tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man, however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike. Then he became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give him a price for the stones he held--£1000 apiece. That brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why, dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what I may call a really hard day's work." "A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said the banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill can inform me where she is now." "I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient punishment." THE ADVENTURE OF THE COPPER BEECHES "To the man who loves art for its own sake," remarked Sherlock Holmes, tossing aside the advertisement sheet of the Daily Telegraph, "it is frequently in its least important and lowliest manifestations that the keenest pleasure is to be derived. It is pleasant to me to observe, Watson, that you have so far grasped this truth that in these little records of our cases which you have been good enough to draw up, and, I am bound to say, occasionally to embellish, you have given prominence not so much to the many causes célèbres and sensational trials in which I have figured but rather to those incidents which may have been trivial in themselves, but which have given room for those faculties of deduction and of logical synthesis which I have made my special province." "And yet," said I, smiling, "I cannot quite hold myself absolved from the charge of sensationalism which has been urged against my records." "You have erred, perhaps," he observed, taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative mood--"you have erred perhaps in attempting to put colour and life into each of your statements instead of confining yourself to the task of placing upon record that severe reasoning from cause to effect which is really the only notable feature about the thing." "It seems to me that I have done you full justice in the matter," I remarked with some coldness, for I was repelled by the egotism which I had more than once observed to be a strong factor in my friend's singular character. "No, it is not selfishness or conceit," said he, answering, as was his wont, my thoughts rather than my words. "If I claim full justice for my art, it is because it is an impersonal thing--a thing beyond myself. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic rather than upon the crime that you should dwell. You have degraded what should have been a course of lectures into a series of tales." It was a cold morning of the early spring, and we sat after breakfast on either side of a cheery fire in the old room at Baker Street. A thick fog rolled down between the lines of dun-coloured houses, and the opposing windows loomed like dark, shapeless blurs through the heavy yellow wreaths. Our gas was lit and shone on the white cloth and glimmer of china and metal, for the table had not been cleared yet. Sherlock Holmes had been silent all the morning, dipping continuously into the advertisement columns of a succession of papers until at last, having apparently given up his search, he had emerged in no very sweet temper to lecture me upon my literary shortcomings. "At the same time," he remarked after a pause, during which he had sat puffing at his long pipe and gazing down into the fire, "you can hardly be open to a charge of sensationalism, for out of these cases which you have been so kind as to interest yourself in, a fair proportion do not treat of crime, in its legal sense, at all. The small matter in which I endeavoured to help the King of Bohemia, the singular experience of Miss Mary Sutherland, the problem connected with the man with the twisted lip, and the incident of the noble bachelor, were all matters which are outside the pale of the law. But in avoiding the sensational, I fear that you may have bordered on the trivial." "The end may have been so," I answered, "but the methods I hold to have been novel and of interest." "Pshaw, my dear fellow, what do the public, the great unobservant public, who could hardly tell a weaver by his tooth or a compositor by his left thumb, care about the finer shades of analysis and deduction! But, indeed, if you are trivial, I cannot blame you, for the days of the great cases are past. Man, or at least criminal man, has lost all enterprise and originality. As to my own little practice, it seems to be degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools. I think that I have touched bottom at last, however. This note I had this morning marks my zero-point, I fancy. Read it!" He tossed a crumpled letter across to me. It was dated from Montague Place upon the preceding evening, and ran thus: Dear Mr. Holmes: I am very anxious to consult you as to whether I should or should not accept a situation which has been offered to me as governess. I shall call at half-past ten to-morrow if I do not inconvenience you. Yours faithfully, Violet Hunter. "Do you know the young lady?" I asked. "Not I." "It is half-past ten now." "Yes, and I have no doubt that is her ring." "It may turn out to be of more interest than you think. You remember that the affair of the blue carbuncle, which appeared to be a mere whim at first, developed into a serious investigation. It may be so in this case, also." "Well, let us hope so. But our doubts will very soon be solved, for here, unless I am much mistaken, is the person in question." As he spoke the door opened and a young lady entered the room. She was plainly but neatly dressed, with a bright, quick face, freckled like a plover's egg, and with the brisk manner of a woman who has had her own way to make in the world. "You will excuse my troubling you, I am sure," said she, as my companion rose to greet her, "but I have had a very strange experience, and as I have no parents or relations of any sort from whom I could ask advice, I thought that perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what I should do." "Pray take a seat, Miss Hunter. I shall be happy to do anything that I can to serve you." I could see that Holmes was favourably impressed by the manner and speech of his new client. He looked her over in his searching fashion, and then composed himself, with his lids drooping and his finger-tips together, to listen to her story. "I have been a governess for five years," said she, "in the family of Colonel Spence Munro, but two months ago the colonel received an appointment at Halifax, in Nova Scotia, and took his children over to America with him, so that I found myself without a situation. I advertised, and I answered advertisements, but without success. At last the little money which I had saved began to run short, and I was at my wit's end as to what I should do. "There is a well-known agency for governesses in the West End called Westaway's, and there I used to call about once a week in order to see whether anything had turned up which might suit me. Westaway was the name of the founder of the business, but it is really managed by Miss Stoper. She sits in her own little office, and the ladies who are seeking employment wait in an anteroom, and are then shown in one by one, when she consults her ledgers and sees whether she has anything which would suit them. "Well, when I called last week I was shown into the little office as usual, but I found that Miss Stoper was not alone. A prodigiously stout man with a very smiling face and a great heavy chin which rolled down in fold upon fold over his throat sat at her elbow with a pair of glasses on his nose, looking very earnestly at the ladies who entered. As I came in he gave quite a jump in his chair and turned quickly to Miss Stoper. "'That will do,' said he; 'I could not ask for anything better. Capital! capital!' He seemed quite enthusiastic and rubbed his hands together in the most genial fashion. He was such a comfortable-looking man that it was quite a pleasure to look at him. "'You are looking for a situation, miss?' he asked. "'Yes, sir.' "'As governess?' "'Yes, sir.' "'And what salary do you ask?' "'I had £4 a month in my last place with Colonel Spence Munro.' "'Oh, tut, tut! sweating--rank sweating!' he cried, throwing his fat hands out into the air like a man who is in a boiling passion. 'How could anyone offer so pitiful a sum to a lady with such attractions and accomplishments?' "'My accomplishments, sir, may be less than you imagine,' said I. 'A little French, a little German, music, and drawing--' "'Tut, tut!' he cried. 'This is all quite beside the question. The point is, have you or have you not the bearing and deportment of a lady? There it is in a nutshell. If you have not, you are not fitted for the rearing of a child who may some day play a considerable part in the history of the country. But if you have why, then, how could any gentleman ask you to condescend to accept anything under the three figures? Your salary with me, madam, would commence at £100 a year.' "You may imagine, Mr. Holmes, that to me, destitute as I was, such an offer seemed almost too good to be true. The gentleman, however, seeing perhaps the look of incredulity upon my face, opened a pocket-book and took out a note. "'It is also my custom,' said he, smiling in the most pleasant fashion until his eyes were just two little shining slits amid the white creases of his face, 'to advance to my young ladies half their salary beforehand, so that they may meet any little expenses of their journey and their wardrobe.' "It seemed to me that I had never met so fascinating and so thoughtful a man. As I was already in debt to my tradesmen, the advance was a great convenience, and yet there was something unnatural about the whole transaction which made me wish to know a little more before I quite committed myself. "'May I ask where you live, sir?' said I. "'Hampshire. Charming rural place. The Copper Beeches, five miles on the far side of Winchester. It is the most lovely country, my dear young lady, and the dearest old country-house.' "'And my duties, sir? I should be glad to know what they would be.' "'One child--one dear little romper just six years old. Oh, if you could see him killing cockroaches with a slipper! Smack! smack! smack! Three gone before you could wink!' He leaned back in his chair and laughed his eyes into his head again. "I was a little startled at the nature of the child's amusement, but the father's laughter made me think that perhaps he was joking. "'My sole duties, then,' I asked, 'are to take charge of a single child?' "'No, no, not the sole, not the sole, my dear young lady,' he cried. 'Your duty would be, as I am sure your good sense would suggest, to obey any little commands my wife might give, provided always that they were such commands as a lady might with propriety obey. You see no difficulty, heh?' "'I should be happy to make myself useful.' "'Quite so. In dress now, for example. We are faddy people, you know--faddy but kind-hearted. If you were asked to wear any dress which we might give you, you would not object to our little whim. Heh?' "'No,' said I, considerably astonished at his words. "'Or to sit here, or sit there, that would not be offensive to you?' "'Oh, no.' "'Or to cut your hair quite short before you come to us?' "I could hardly believe my ears. As you may observe, Mr. Holmes, my hair is somewhat luxuriant, and of a rather peculiar tint of chestnut. It has been considered artistic. I could not dream of sacrificing it in this offhand fashion. "'I am afraid that that is quite impossible,' said I. He had been watching me eagerly out of his small eyes, and I could see a shadow pass over his face as I spoke. "'I am afraid that it is quite essential,' said he. 'It is a little fancy of my wife's, and ladies' fancies, you know, madam, ladies' fancies must be consulted. And so you won't cut your hair?' "'No, sir, I really could not,' I answered firmly. "'Ah, very well; then that quite settles the matter. It is a pity, because in other respects you would really have done very nicely. In that case, Miss Stoper, I had best inspect a few more of your young ladies.' "The manageress had sat all this while busy with her papers without a word to either of us, but she glanced at me now with so much annoyance upon her face that I could not help suspecting that she had lost a handsome commission through my refusal. "'Do you desire your name to be kept upon the books?' she asked. "'If you please, Miss Stoper.' "'Well, really, it seems rather useless, since you refuse the most excellent offers in this fashion,' said she sharply. 'You can hardly expect us to exert ourselves to find another such opening for you. Good-day to you, Miss Hunter.' She struck a gong upon the table, and I was shown out by the page. "Well, Mr. Holmes, when I got back to my lodgings and found little enough in the cupboard, and two or three bills upon the table. I began to ask myself whether I had not done a very foolish thing. After all, if these people had strange fads and expected obedience on the most extraordinary matters, they were at least ready to pay for their eccentricity. Very few governesses in England are getting £100 a year. Besides, what use was my hair to me? Many people are improved by wearing it short and perhaps I should be among the number. Next day I was inclined to think that I had made a mistake, and by the day after I was sure of it. I had almost overcome my pride so far as to go back to the agency and inquire whether the place was still open when I received this letter from the gentleman himself. I have it here and I will read it to you: "'The Copper Beeches, near Winchester. "'Dear Miss Hunter: "'Miss Stoper has very kindly given me your address, and I write from here to ask you whether you have reconsidered your decision. My wife is very anxious that you should come, for she has been much attracted by my description of you. We are willing to give £30 a quarter, or £120 a year, so as to recompense you for any little inconvenience which our fads may cause you. They are not very exacting, after all. My wife is fond of a particular shade of electric blue and would like you to wear such a dress indoors in the morning. You need not, however, go to the expense of purchasing one, as we have one belonging to my dear daughter Alice (now in Philadelphia), which would, I should think, fit you very well. Then, as to sitting here or there, or amusing yourself in any manner indicated, that need cause you no inconvenience. As regards your hair, it is no doubt a pity, especially as I could not help remarking its beauty during our short interview, but I am afraid that I must remain firm upon this point, and I only hope that the increased salary may recompense you for the loss. Your duties, as far as the child is concerned, are very light. Now do try to come, and I shall meet you with the dog-cart at Winchester. Let me know your train. "'Yours faithfully, "'Jephro Rucastle.' "That is the letter which I have just received, Mr. Holmes, and my mind is made up that I will accept it. I thought, however, that before taking the final step I should like to submit the whole matter to your consideration." "Well, Miss Hunter, if your mind is made up, that settles the question," said Holmes, smiling. "But you would not advise me to refuse?" "I confess that it is not the situation which I should like to see a sister of mine apply for." "What is the meaning of it all, Mr. Holmes?" "Ah, I have no data. I cannot tell. Perhaps you have yourself formed some opinion?" "Well, there seems to me to be only one possible solution. Mr. Rucastle seemed to be a very kind, good-natured man. Is it not possible that his wife is a lunatic, that he desires to keep the matter quiet for fear she should be taken to an asylum, and that he humours her fancies in every way in order to prevent an outbreak?" "That is a possible solution--in fact, as matters stand, it is the most probable one. But in any case it does not seem to be a nice household for a young lady." "But the money, Mr. Holmes, the money!" "Well, yes, of course the pay is good--too good. That is what makes me uneasy. Why should they give you £120 a year, when they could have their pick for £40? There must be some strong reason behind." "I thought that if I told you the circumstances you would understand afterwards if I wanted your help. I should feel so much stronger if I felt that you were at the back of me." "Oh, you may carry that feeling away with you. I assure you that your little problem promises to be the most interesting which has come my way for some months. There is something distinctly novel about some of the features. If you should find yourself in doubt or in danger--" "Danger! What danger do you foresee?" Holmes shook his head gravely. "It would cease to be a danger if we could define it," said he. "But at any time, day or night, a telegram would bring me down to your help." "That is enough." She rose briskly from her chair with the anxiety all swept from her face. "I shall go down to Hampshire quite easy in my mind now. I shall write to Mr. Rucastle at once, sacrifice my poor hair to-night, and start for Winchester to-morrow." With a few grateful words to Holmes she bade us both good-night and bustled off upon her way. "At least," said I as we heard her quick, firm steps descending the stairs, "she seems to be a young lady who is very well able to take care of herself." "And she would need to be," said Holmes gravely. "I am much mistaken if we do not hear from her before many days are past." It was not very long before my friend's prediction was fulfilled. A fortnight went by, during which I frequently found my thoughts turning in her direction and wondering what strange side-alley of human experience this lonely woman had strayed into. The unusual salary, the curious conditions, the light duties, all pointed to something abnormal, though whether a fad or a plot, or whether the man were a philanthropist or a villain, it was quite beyond my powers to determine. As to Holmes, I observed that he sat frequently for half an hour on end, with knitted brows and an abstracted air, but he swept the matter away with a wave of his hand when I mentioned it. "Data! data! data!" he cried impatiently. "I can't make bricks without clay." And yet he would always wind up by muttering that no sister of his should ever have accepted such a situation. The telegram which we eventually received came late one night just as I was thinking of turning in and Holmes was settling down to one of those all-night chemical researches which he frequently indulged in, when I would leave him stooping over a retort and a test-tube at night and find him in the same position when I came down to breakfast in the morning. He opened the yellow envelope, and then, glancing at the message, threw it across to me. "Just look up the trains in Bradshaw," said he, and turned back to his chemical studies. The summons was a brief and urgent one. Please be at the Black Swan Hotel at Winchester at midday to-morrow [it said]. Do come! I am at my wit's end. Hunter. "Will you come with me?" asked Holmes, glancing up. "I should wish to." "Just look it up, then." "There is a train at half-past nine," said I, glancing over my Bradshaw. "It is due at Winchester at 11.30." "That will do very nicely. Then perhaps I had better postpone my analysis of the acetones, as we may need to be at our best in the morning." By eleven o'clock the next day we were well upon our way to the old English capital. Holmes had been buried in the morning papers all the way down, but after we had passed the Hampshire border he threw them down and began to admire the scenery. It was an ideal spring day, a light blue sky, flecked with little fleecy white clouds drifting across from west to east. The sun was shining very brightly, and yet there was an exhilarating nip in the air, which set an edge to a man's energy. All over the countryside, away to the rolling hills around Aldershot, the little red and grey roofs of the farm-steadings peeped out from amid the light green of the new foliage. "Are they not fresh and beautiful?" I cried with all the enthusiasm of a man fresh from the fogs of Baker Street. But Holmes shook his head gravely. "Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is one of the curses of a mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with reference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there." "Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate crime with these dear old homesteads?" "They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside." "You horrify me!" "But the reason is very obvious. The pressure of public opinion can do in the town what the law cannot accomplish. There is no lane so vile that the scream of a tortured child, or the thud of a drunkard's blow, does not beget sympathy and indignation among the neighbours, and then the whole machinery of justice is ever so close that a word of complaint can set it going, and there is but a step between the crime and the dock. But look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser. Had this lady who appeals to us for help gone to live in Winchester, I should never have had a fear for her. It is the five miles of country which makes the danger. Still, it is clear that she is not personally threatened." "No. If she can come to Winchester to meet us she can get away." "Quite so. She has her freedom." "What can be the matter, then? Can you suggest no explanation?" "I have devised seven separate explanations, each of which would cover the facts as far as we know them. But which of these is correct can only be determined by the fresh information which we shall no doubt find waiting for us. Well, there is the tower of the cathedral, and we shall soon learn all that Miss Hunter has to tell." The Black Swan is an inn of repute in the High Street, at no distance from the station, and there we found the young lady waiting for us. She had engaged a sitting-room, and our lunch awaited us upon the table. "I am so delighted that you have come," she said earnestly. "It is so very kind of you both; but indeed I do not know what I should do. Your advice will be altogether invaluable to me." "Pray tell us what has happened to you." "I will do so, and I must be quick, for I have promised Mr. Rucastle to be back before three. I got his leave to come into town this morning, though he little knew for what purpose." "Let us have everything in its due order." Holmes thrust his long thin legs out towards the fire and composed himself to listen. "In the first place, I may say that I have met, on the whole, with no actual ill-treatment from Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle. It is only fair to them to say that. But I cannot understand them, and I am not easy in my mind about them." "What can you not understand?" "Their reasons for their conduct. But you shall have it all just as it occurred. When I came down, Mr. Rucastle met me here and drove me in his dog-cart to the Copper Beeches. It is, as he said, beautifully situated, but it is not beautiful in itself, for it is a large square block of a house, whitewashed, but all stained and streaked with damp and bad weather. There are grounds round it, woods on three sides, and on the fourth a field which slopes down to the Southampton highroad, which curves past about a hundred yards from the front door. This ground in front belongs to the house, but the woods all round are part of Lord Southerton's preserves. A clump of copper beeches immediately in front of the hall door has given its name to the place. "I was driven over by my employer, who was as amiable as ever, and was introduced by him that evening to his wife and the child. There was no truth, Mr. Holmes, in the conjecture which seemed to us to be probable in your rooms at Baker Street. Mrs. Rucastle is not mad. I found her to be a silent, pale-faced woman, much younger than her husband, not more than thirty, I should think, while he can hardly be less than forty-five. From their conversation I have gathered that they have been married about seven years, that he was a widower, and that his only child by the first wife was the daughter who has gone to Philadelphia. Mr. Rucastle told me in private that the reason why she had left them was that she had an unreasoning aversion to her stepmother. As the daughter could not have been less than twenty, I can quite imagine that her position must have been uncomfortable with her father's young wife. "Mrs. Rucastle seemed to me to be colourless in mind as well as in feature. She impressed me neither favourably nor the reverse. She was a nonentity. It was easy to see that she was passionately devoted both to her husband and to her little son. Her light grey eyes wandered continually from one to the other, noting every little want and forestalling it if possible. He was kind to her also in his bluff, boisterous fashion, and on the whole they seemed to be a happy couple. And yet she had some secret sorrow, this woman. She would often be lost in deep thought, with the saddest look upon her face. More than once I have surprised her in tears. I have thought sometimes that it was the disposition of her child which weighed upon her mind, for I have never met so utterly spoiled and so ill-natured a little creature. He is small for his age, with a head which is quite disproportionately large. His whole life appears to be spent in an alternation between savage fits of passion and gloomy intervals of sulking. Giving pain to any creature weaker than himself seems to be his one idea of amusement, and he shows quite remarkable talent in planning the capture of mice, little birds, and insects. But I would rather not talk about the creature, Mr. Holmes, and, indeed, he has little to do with my story." "I am glad of all details," remarked my friend, "whether they seem to you to be relevant or not." "I shall try not to miss anything of importance. The one unpleasant thing about the house, which struck me at once, was the appearance and conduct of the servants. There are only two, a man and his wife. Toller, for that is his name, is a rough, uncouth man, with grizzled hair and whiskers, and a perpetual smell of drink. Twice since I have been with them he has been quite drunk, and yet Mr. Rucastle seemed to take no notice of it. His wife is a very tall and strong woman with a sour face, as silent as Mrs. Rucastle and much less amiable. They are a most unpleasant couple, but fortunately I spend most of my time in the nursery and my own room, which are next to each other in one corner of the building. "For two days after my arrival at the Copper Beeches my life was very quiet; on the third, Mrs. Rucastle came down just after breakfast and whispered something to her husband. "'Oh, yes,' said he, turning to me, 'we are very much obliged to you, Miss Hunter, for falling in with our whims so far as to cut your hair. I assure you that it has not detracted in the tiniest iota from your appearance. We shall now see how the electric-blue dress will become you. You will find it laid out upon the bed in your room, and if you would be so good as to put it on we should both be extremely obliged.' "The dress which I found waiting for me was of a peculiar shade of blue. It was of excellent material, a sort of beige, but it bore unmistakable signs of having been worn before. It could not have been a better fit if I had been measured for it. Both Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle expressed a delight at the look of it, which seemed quite exaggerated in its vehemence. They were waiting for me in the drawing-room, which is a very large room, stretching along the entire front of the house, with three long windows reaching down to the floor. A chair had been placed close to the central window, with its back turned towards it. In this I was asked to sit, and then Mr. Rucastle, walking up and down on the other side of the room, began to tell me a series of the funniest stories that I have ever listened to. You cannot imagine how comical he was, and I laughed until I was quite weary. Mrs. Rucastle, however, who has evidently no sense of humour, never so much as smiled, but sat with her hands in her lap, and a sad, anxious look upon her face. After an hour or so, Mr. Rucastle suddenly remarked that it was time to commence the duties of the day, and that I might change my dress and go to little Edward in the nursery. "Two days later this same performance was gone through under exactly similar circumstances. Again I changed my dress, again I sat in the window, and again I laughed very heartily at the funny stories of which my employer had an immense répertoire, and which he told inimitably. Then he handed me a yellow-backed novel, and moving my chair a little sideways, that my own shadow might not fall upon the page, he begged me to read aloud to him. I read for about ten minutes, beginning in the heart of a chapter, and then suddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he ordered me to cease and to change my dress. "You can easily imagine, Mr. Holmes, how curious I became as to what the meaning of this extraordinary performance could possibly be. They were always very careful, I observed, to turn my face away from the window, so that I became consumed with the desire to see what was going on behind my back. At first it seemed to be impossible, but I soon devised a means. My hand-mirror had been broken, so a happy thought seized me, and I concealed a piece of the glass in my handkerchief. On the next occasion, in the midst of my laughter, I put my handkerchief up to my eyes, and was able with a little management to see all that there was behind me. I confess that I was disappointed. There was nothing. At least that was my first impression. At the second glance, however, I perceived that there was a man standing in the Southampton Road, a small bearded man in a grey suit, who seemed to be looking in my direction. The road is an important highway, and there are usually people there. This man, however, was leaning against the railings which bordered our field and was looking earnestly up. I lowered my handkerchief and glanced at Mrs. Rucastle to find her eyes fixed upon me with a most searching gaze. She said nothing, but I am convinced that she had divined that I had a mirror in my hand and had seen what was behind me. She rose at once. "'Jephro,' said she, 'there is an impertinent fellow upon the road there who stares up at Miss Hunter.' "'No friend of yours, Miss Hunter?' he asked. "'No, I know no one in these parts.' "'Dear me! How very impertinent! Kindly turn round and motion to him to go away.' "'Surely it would be better to take no notice.' "'No, no, we should have him loitering here always. Kindly turn round and wave him away like that.' "I did as I was told, and at the same instant Mrs. Rucastle drew down the blind. That was a week ago, and from that time I have not sat again in the window, nor have I worn the blue dress, nor seen the man in the road." "Pray continue," said Holmes. "Your narrative promises to be a most interesting one." "You will find it rather disconnected, I fear, and there may prove to be little relation between the different incidents of which I speak. On the very first day that I was at the Copper Beeches, Mr. Rucastle took me to a small outhouse which stands near the kitchen door. As we approached it I heard the sharp rattling of a chain, and the sound as of a large animal moving about. "'Look in here!' said Mr. Rucastle, showing me a slit between two planks. 'Is he not a beauty?' "I looked through and was conscious of two glowing eyes, and of a vague figure huddled up in the darkness. "'Don't be frightened,' said my employer, laughing at the start which I had given. 'It's only Carlo, my mastiff. I call him mine, but really old Toller, my groom, is the only man who can do anything with him. We feed him once a day, and not too much then, so that he is always as keen as mustard. Toller lets him loose every night, and God help the trespasser whom he lays his fangs upon. For goodness' sake don't you ever on any pretext set your foot over the threshold at night, for it's as much as your life is worth.' "The warning was no idle one, for two nights later I happened to look out of my bedroom window about two o'clock in the morning. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the lawn in front of the house was silvered over and almost as bright as day. I was standing, rapt in the peaceful beauty of the scene, when I was aware that something was moving under the shadow of the copper beeches. As it emerged into the moonshine I saw what it was. It was a giant dog, as large as a calf, tawny tinted, with hanging jowl, black muzzle, and huge projecting bones. It walked slowly across the lawn and vanished into the shadow upon the other side. That dreadful sentinel sent a chill to my heart which I do not think that any burglar could have done. "And now I have a very strange experience to tell you. I had, as you know, cut off my hair in London, and I had placed it in a great coil at the bottom of my trunk. One evening, after the child was in bed, I began to amuse myself by examining the furniture of my room and by rearranging my own little things. There was an old chest of drawers in the room, the two upper ones empty and open, the lower one locked. I had filled the first two with my linen, and as I had still much to pack away I was naturally annoyed at not having the use of the third drawer. It struck me that it might have been fastened by a mere oversight, so I took out my bunch of keys and tried to open it. The very first key fitted to perfection, and I drew the drawer open. There was only one thing in it, but I am sure that you would never guess what it was. It was my coil of hair. "I took it up and examined it. It was of the same peculiar tint, and the same thickness. But then the impossibility of the thing obtruded itself upon me. How could my hair have been locked in the drawer? With trembling hands I undid my trunk, turned out the contents, and drew from the bottom my own hair. I laid the two tresses together, and I assure you that they were identical. Was it not extraordinary? Puzzle as I would, I could make nothing at all of what it meant. I returned the strange hair to the drawer, and I said nothing of the matter to the Rucastles as I felt that I had put myself in the wrong by opening a drawer which they had locked. "I am naturally observant, as you may have remarked, Mr. Holmes, and I soon had a pretty good plan of the whole house in my head. There was one wing, however, which appeared not to be inhabited at all. A door which faced that which led into the quarters of the Tollers opened into this suite, but it was invariably locked. One day, however, as I ascended the stair, I met Mr. Rucastle coming out through this door, his keys in his hand, and a look on his face which made him a very different person to the round, jovial man to whom I was accustomed. His cheeks were red, his brow was all crinkled with anger, and the veins stood out at his temples with passion. He locked the door and hurried past me without a word or a look. "This aroused my curiosity, so when I went out for a walk in the grounds with my charge, I strolled round to the side from which I could see the windows of this part of the house. There were four of them in a row, three of which were simply dirty, while the fourth was shuttered up. They were evidently all deserted. As I strolled up and down, glancing at them occasionally, Mr. Rucastle came out to me, looking as merry and jovial as ever. "'Ah!' said he, 'you must not think me rude if I passed you without a word, my dear young lady. I was preoccupied with business matters.' "I assured him that I was not offended. 'By the way,' said I, 'you seem to have quite a suite of spare rooms up there, and one of them has the shutters up.' "He looked surprised and, as it seemed to me, a little startled at my remark. "'Photography is one of my hobbies,' said he. 'I have made my dark room up there. But, dear me! what an observant young lady we have come upon. Who would have believed it? Who would have ever believed it?' He spoke in a jesting tone, but there was no jest in his eyes as he looked at me. I read suspicion there and annoyance, but no jest. "Well, Mr. Holmes, from the moment that I understood that there was something about that suite of rooms which I was not to know, I was all on fire to go over them. It was not mere curiosity, though I have my share of that. It was more a feeling of duty--a feeling that some good might come from my penetrating to this place. They talk of woman's instinct; perhaps it was woman's instinct which gave me that feeling. At any rate, it was there, and I was keenly on the lookout for any chance to pass the forbidden door. "It was only yesterday that the chance came. I may tell you that, besides Mr. Rucastle, both Toller and his wife find something to do in these deserted rooms, and I once saw him carrying a large black linen bag with him through the door. Recently he has been drinking hard, and yesterday evening he was very drunk; and when I came upstairs there was the key in the door. I have no doubt at all that he had left it there. Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle were both downstairs, and the child was with them, so that I had an admirable opportunity. I turned the key gently in the lock, opened the door, and slipped through. "There was a little passage in front of me, unpapered and uncarpeted, which turned at a right angle at the farther end. Round this corner were three doors in a line, the first and third of which were open. They each led into an empty room, dusty and cheerless, with two windows in the one and one in the other, so thick with dirt that the evening light glimmered dimly through them. The centre door was closed, and across the outside of it had been fastened one of the broad bars of an iron bed, padlocked at one end to a ring in the wall, and fastened at the other with stout cord. The door itself was locked as well, and the key was not there. This barricaded door corresponded clearly with the shuttered window outside, and yet I could see by the glimmer from beneath it that the room was not in darkness. Evidently there was a skylight which let in light from above. As I stood in the passage gazing at the sinister door and wondering what secret it might veil, I suddenly heard the sound of steps within the room and saw a shadow pass backward and forward against the little slit of dim light which shone out from under the door. A mad, unreasoning terror rose up in me at the sight, Mr. Holmes. My overstrung nerves failed me suddenly, and I turned and ran--ran as though some dreadful hand were behind me clutching at the skirt of my dress. I rushed down the passage, through the door, and straight into the arms of Mr. Rucastle, who was waiting outside. "'So,' said he, smiling, 'it was you, then. I thought that it must be when I saw the door open.' "'Oh, I am so frightened!' I panted. "'My dear young lady! my dear young lady!'--you cannot think how caressing and soothing his manner was--'and what has frightened you, my dear young lady?' "But his voice was just a little too coaxing. He overdid it. I was keenly on my guard against him. "'I was foolish enough to go into the empty wing,' I answered. 'But it is so lonely and eerie in this dim light that I was frightened and ran out again. Oh, it is so dreadfully still in there!' "'Only that?' said he, looking at me keenly. "'Why, what did you think?' I asked. "'Why do you think that I lock this door?' "'I am sure that I do not know.' "'It is to keep people out who have no business there. Do you see?' He was still smiling in the most amiable manner. "'I am sure if I had known--' "'Well, then, you know now. And if you ever put your foot over that threshold again'--here in an instant the smile hardened into a grin of rage, and he glared down at me with the face of a demon--'I'll throw you to the mastiff.' "I was so terrified that I do not know what I did. I suppose that I must have rushed past him into my room. I remember nothing until I found myself lying on my bed trembling all over. Then I thought of you, Mr. Holmes. I could not live there longer without some advice. I was frightened of the house, of the man, of the woman, of the servants, even of the child. They were all horrible to me. If I could only bring you down all would be well. Of course I might have fled from the house, but my curiosity was almost as strong as my fears. My mind was soon made up. I would send you a wire. I put on my hat and cloak, went down to the office, which is about half a mile from the house, and then returned, feeling very much easier. A horrible doubt came into my mind as I approached the door lest the dog might be loose, but I remembered that Toller had drunk himself into a state of insensibility that evening, and I knew that he was the only one in the household who had any influence with the savage creature, or who would venture to set him free. I slipped in in safety and lay awake half the night in my joy at the thought of seeing you. I had no difficulty in getting leave to come into Winchester this morning, but I must be back before three o'clock, for Mr. and Mrs. Rucastle are going on a visit, and will be away all the evening, so that I must look after the child. Now I have told you all my adventures, Mr. Holmes, and I should be very glad if you could tell me what it all means, and, above all, what I should do." Holmes and I had listened spellbound to this extraordinary story. My friend rose now and paced up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and an expression of the most profound gravity upon his face. "Is Toller still drunk?" he asked. "Yes. I heard his wife tell Mrs. Rucastle that she could do nothing with him." "That is well. And the Rucastles go out to-night?" "Yes." "Is there a cellar with a good strong lock?" "Yes, the wine-cellar." "You seem to me to have acted all through this matter like a very brave and sensible girl, Miss Hunter. Do you think that you could perform one more feat? I should not ask it of you if I did not think you a quite exceptional woman." "I will try. What is it?" "We shall be at the Copper Beeches by seven o'clock, my friend and I. The Rucastles will be gone by that time, and Toller will, we hope, be incapable. There only remains Mrs. Toller, who might give the alarm. If you could send her into the cellar on some errand, and then turn the key upon her, you would facilitate matters immensely." "I will do it." "Excellent! We shall then look thoroughly into the affair. Of course there is only one feasible explanation. You have been brought there to personate someone, and the real person is imprisoned in this chamber. That is obvious. As to who this prisoner is, I have no doubt that it is the daughter, Miss Alice Rucastle, if I remember right, who was said to have gone to America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height, figure, and the colour of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you came upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of hers--possibly her fiancé--and no doubt, as you wore the girl's dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent him from endeavouring to communicate with her. So much is fairly clear. The most serious point in the case is the disposition of the child." "What on earth has that to do with it?" I ejaculated. "My dear Watson, you as a medical man are continually gaining light as to the tendencies of a child by the study of the parents. Don't you see that the converse is equally valid. I have frequently gained my first real insight into the character of parents by studying their children. This child's disposition is abnormally cruel, merely for cruelty's sake, and whether he derives this from his smiling father, as I should suspect, or from his mother, it bodes evil for the poor girl who is in their power." "I am sure that you are right, Mr. Holmes," cried our client. "A thousand things come back to me which make me certain that you have hit it. Oh, let us lose not an instant in bringing help to this poor creature." "We must be circumspect, for we are dealing with a very cunning man. We can do nothing until seven o'clock. At that hour we shall be with you, and it will not be long before we solve the mystery." We were as good as our word, for it was just seven when we reached the Copper Beeches, having put up our trap at a wayside public-house. The group of trees, with their dark leaves shining like burnished metal in the light of the setting sun, were sufficient to mark the house even had Miss Hunter not been standing smiling on the door-step. "Have you managed it?" asked Holmes. A loud thudding noise came from somewhere downstairs. "That is Mrs. Toller in the cellar," said she. "Her husband lies snoring on the kitchen rug. Here are his keys, which are the duplicates of Mr. Rucastle's." "You have done well indeed!" cried Holmes with enthusiasm. "Now lead the way, and we shall soon see the end of this black business." We passed up the stair, unlocked the door, followed on down a passage, and found ourselves in front of the barricade which Miss Hunter had described. Holmes cut the cord and removed the transverse bar. Then he tried the various keys in the lock, but without success. No sound came from within, and at the silence Holmes' face clouded over. "I trust that we are not too late," said he. "I think, Miss Hunter, that we had better go in without you. Now, Watson, put your shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our way in." It was an old rickety door and gave at once before our united strength. Together we rushed into the room. It was empty. There was no furniture save a little pallet bed, a small table, and a basketful of linen. The skylight above was open, and the prisoner gone. "There has been some villainy here," said Holmes; "this beauty has guessed Miss Hunter's intentions and has carried his victim off." "But how?" "Through the skylight. We shall soon see how he managed it." He swung himself up onto the roof. "Ah, yes," he cried, "here's the end of a long light ladder against the eaves. That is how he did it." "But it is impossible," said Miss Hunter; "the ladder was not there when the Rucastles went away." "He has come back and done it. I tell you that he is a clever and dangerous man. I should not be very much surprised if this were he whose step I hear now upon the stair. I think, Watson, that it would be as well for you to have your pistol ready." The words were hardly out of his mouth before a man appeared at the door of the room, a very fat and burly man, with a heavy stick in his hand. Miss Hunter screamed and shrunk against the wall at the sight of him, but Sherlock Holmes sprang forward and confronted him. "You villain!" said he, "where's your daughter?" The fat man cast his eyes round, and then up at the open skylight. "It is for me to ask you that," he shrieked, "you thieves! Spies and thieves! I have caught you, have I? You are in my power. I'll serve you!" He turned and clattered down the stairs as hard as he could go. "He's gone for the dog!" cried Miss Hunter. "I have my revolver," said I. "Better close the front door," cried Holmes, and we all rushed down the stairs together. We had hardly reached the hall when we heard the baying of a hound, and then a scream of agony, with a horrible worrying sound which it was dreadful to listen to. An elderly man with a red face and shaking limbs came staggering out at a side door. "My God!" he cried. "Someone has loosed the dog. It's not been fed for two days. Quick, quick, or it'll be too late!" Holmes and I rushed out and round the angle of the house, with Toller hurrying behind us. There was the huge famished brute, its black muzzle buried in Rucastle's throat, while he writhed and screamed upon the ground. Running up, I blew its brains out, and it fell over with its keen white teeth still meeting in the great creases of his neck. With much labour we separated them and carried him, living but horribly mangled, into the house. We laid him upon the drawing-room sofa, and having dispatched the sobered Toller to bear the news to his wife, I did what I could to relieve his pain. We were all assembled round him when the door opened, and a tall, gaunt woman entered the room. "Mrs. Toller!" cried Miss Hunter. "Yes, miss. Mr. Rucastle let me out when he came back before he went up to you. Ah, miss, it is a pity you didn't let me know what you were planning, for I would have told you that your pains were wasted." "Ha!" said Holmes, looking keenly at her. "It is clear that Mrs. Toller knows more about this matter than anyone else." "Yes, sir, I do, and I am ready enough to tell what I know." "Then, pray, sit down, and let us hear it for there are several points on which I must confess that I am still in the dark." "I will soon make it clear to you," said she; "and I'd have done so before now if I could ha' got out from the cellar. If there's police-court business over this, you'll remember that I was the one that stood your friend, and that I was Miss Alice's friend too. "She was never happy at home, Miss Alice wasn't, from the time that her father married again. She was slighted like and had no say in anything, but it never really became bad for her until after she met Mr. Fowler at a friend's house. As well as I could learn, Miss Alice had rights of her own by will, but she was so quiet and patient, she was, that she never said a word about them but just left everything in Mr. Rucastle's hands. He knew he was safe with her; but when there was a chance of a husband coming forward, who would ask for all that the law would give him, then her father thought it time to put a stop on it. He wanted her to sign a paper, so that whether she married or not, he could use her money. When she wouldn't do it, he kept on worrying her until she got brain-fever, and for six weeks was at death's door. Then she got better at last, all worn to a shadow, and with her beautiful hair cut off; but that didn't make no change in her young man, and he stuck to her as true as man could be." "Ah," said Holmes, "I think that what you have been good enough to tell us makes the matter fairly clear, and that I can deduce all that remains. Mr. Rucastle then, I presume, took to this system of imprisonment?" "Yes, sir." "And brought Miss Hunter down from London in order to get rid of the disagreeable persistence of Mr. Fowler." "That was it, sir." "But Mr. Fowler being a persevering man, as a good seaman should be, blockaded the house, and having met you succeeded by certain arguments, metallic or otherwise, in convincing you that your interests were the same as his." "Mr. Fowler was a very kind-spoken, free-handed gentleman," said Mrs. Toller serenely. "And in this way he managed that your good man should have no want of drink, and that a ladder should be ready at the moment when your master had gone out." "You have it, sir, just as it happened." "I am sure we owe you an apology, Mrs. Toller," said Holmes, "for you have certainly cleared up everything which puzzled us. And here comes the country surgeon and Mrs. Rucastle, so I think, Watson, that we had best escort Miss Hunter back to Winchester, as it seems to me that our locus standi now is rather a questionable one." And thus was solved the mystery of the sinister house with the copper beeches in front of the door. Mr. Rucastle survived, but was always a broken man, kept alive solely through the care of his devoted wife. They still live with their old servants, who probably know so much of Rucastle's past life that he finds it difficult to part from them. Mr. Fowler and Miss Rucastle were married, by special license, in Southampton the day after their flight, and he is now the holder of a government appointment in the island of Mauritius. As to Miss Violet Hunter, my friend Holmes, rather to my disappointment, manifested no further interest in her when once she had ceased to be the centre of one of his problems, and she is now the head of a private school at Walsall, where I believe that she has met with considerable success. THE MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES SILVER BLAZE "I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning. "Go! Where to?" "To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland." I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for. "I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the way," said I. "My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your very excellent field-glass." And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his cigar-case. "We are going well," said he, looking out the window and glancing at his watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour." "I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I. "Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?" "I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say." "It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and of such personal importance to so many people, that we are suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact--of absolute undeniable fact--from the embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my cooperation. "Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Why didn't you go down yesterday?" "Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson--which is, I am afraid, a more common occurrence than any one would think who only knew me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the most remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning had come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted." "You have formed a theory, then?" "At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your co-operation if I do not show you the position from which we start." I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes, leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had led to our journey. "Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock, and holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first favorite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He has always, however, been a prime favorite with the racing public, and has never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there were many people who had the strongest interest in preventing Silver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday. "The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where the Colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to guard the favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in Colonel Ross's colors before he became too heavy for the weighing-chair. He has served the Colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant. Under him were three lads; for the establishment was a small one, containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up each night in the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellent characters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villa about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps one maid-servant, and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but about half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which have been built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two miles distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to Lord Backwater, and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction the moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming gypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when the catastrophe occurred. "On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual, and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of the lads walked up to the trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine the maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which consisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was a water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very dark and the path ran across the open moor. "Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables, when a man appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As he stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. She was most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by the nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over thirty than under it. "'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of your lantern.' "'You are close to the King's Pyland training-stables,' said she. "'Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!' he cried. 'I understand that a stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?' He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. 'See that the boy has this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.' "She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again. "'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'I wanted to have a word with you.' The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand. "'What business have you here?' asked the lad. "'It's business that may put something into your pocket,' said the other. 'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup--Silver Blaze and Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won't be a loser. Is it a fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?' "'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'I'll show you how we serve them in King's Pyland.' He sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the window. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any trace of him." "One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?" "Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. "The importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy locked the door before he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a man to get through. "Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a message to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker was excited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite realized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables to see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she could hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the house. "Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find that her husband had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and set off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favorite's stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer. "The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search of the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, but they perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy. "About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker's overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument. It was clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorously against his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which was clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he had been there at the time of the struggle. But from that morning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad contain an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect. "Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police have done in the matter. "Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination he might rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptly found and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. There was little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas which I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortune upon the turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel book-making in the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his betting-book shows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had been registered by him against the favorite. On being arrested he volunteered the statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of getting some information about the King's Pyland horses, and also about Desborough, the second favorite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at the Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinister designs, and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. When confronted with his cravat, he turned very pale, and was utterly unable to account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wet clothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a Penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound upon his person, while the state of Straker's knife would show that one at least of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. There you have it all in a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any light I shall be infinitely obliged to you." I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to each other. "Is in not possible," I suggested, "that the incised wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?" "It is more than possible; it is probable," said Holmes. "In that case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears." "And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what the theory of the police can be." "I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to it," returned my companion. "The police imagine, I take it, that this Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way obtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse, with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is missing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the door open behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor, when he was either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued. Simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy stick without receiving any injury from the small knife which Straker used in self-defence, and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret hiding-place, or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be now wandering out on the moors. That is the case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it is, all other explanations are more improbable still. However, I shall very quickly test the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until then I cannot really see how we can get much further than our present position." It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, which lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station--the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eye-glass. The latter was Colonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory, a man who was rapidly making his name in the English detective service. "I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes," said the Colonel. "The Inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse." "Have there been any fresh developments?" asked Holmes. "I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress," said the Inspector. "We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as we drive." A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau, and were rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory was full of his case, and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train. "The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson," he remarked, "and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may upset it." "How about Straker's knife?" "We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall." "My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson." "Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. I really think we have enough to go before a jury." Holmes shook his head. "A clever counsel would tear it all to rags," said he. "Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found in his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium? Above all, where could he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as this? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished the maid to give to the stable-boy?" "He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse. But your other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor." "What does he say about the cravat?" "He acknowledges that it is his, and declares that he had lost it. But a new element has been introduced into the case which may account for his leading the horse from the stable." Holmes pricked up his ears. "We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some understanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have been leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?" "It is certainly possible." "The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every stable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles." "There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?" "Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest in the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets upon the event, and he was no friend to poor Straker. We have, however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to connect him with the affair." "And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the Mapleton stables?" "Nothing at all." Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled out-building. In every other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage. "Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him in some surprise. "I was day-dreaming." There was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where he had found it. "Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime, Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory. "I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I presume?" "Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow." "He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?" "I have always found him an excellent servant." "I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in this pockets at the time of his death, Inspector?" "I have the things themselves in the sitting-room, if you would care to see them." "I should be very glad." We all filed into the front room and sat round the central table while the Inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid a small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches of tallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co., London. "This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up and examining it minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson, this knife is surely in your line?" "It is what we call a cataract knife," said I. "I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition, especially as it would not shut in his pocket." "The tip was guarded by a disk of cork which we found beside his body," said the Inspector. "His wife tells us that the knife had lain upon the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at the moment." "Very possible. How about these papers?" "Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. One of them is a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner's account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire was a friend of her husband's and that occasionally his letters were addressed here." "Madam Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," remarked Holmes, glancing down the account. "Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a single costume. However there appears to be nothing more to learn, and we may now go down to the scene of the crime." As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the Inspector's sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print of a recent horror. "Have you got them? Have you found them?" she panted. "No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help us, and we shall do all that is possible." "Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago, Mrs. Straker?" said Holmes. "No, sir; you are mistaken." "Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of dove-colored silk with ostrich-feather trimming." "I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady. "Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes. And with an apology he followed the Inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us to the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was the furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung. "There was no wind that night, I understand," said Holmes. "None; but very heavy rain." "In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furze-bush, but placed there." "Yes, it was laid across the bush." "You fill me with interest, I perceive that the ground has been trampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here since Monday night." "A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all stood upon that." "Excellent." "In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze." "My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!" Holmes took the bag, and, descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central position. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin upon his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him. "Hullo!" said he, suddenly. "What's this?" It was a wax vesta half burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood. "I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the Inspector, with an expression of annoyance. "It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was looking for it." "What! You expected to find it?" "I thought it not unlikely." He took the boots from the bag, and compared the impressions of each of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim of the hollow, and crawled about among the ferns and bushes. "I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the Inspector. "I have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction." "Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not have the impertinence to do it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk over the moor before it grows dark, that I may know my ground to-morrow, and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for luck." Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. "I wish you would come back with me, Inspector," said he. "There are several points on which I should like your advice, and especially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to remove our horse's name from the entries for the Cup." "Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision. "I should let the name stand." The Colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir," said he. "You will find us at poor Straker's house when you have finished your walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock." He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables of Mapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought. "It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may leave the question of who killed John Straker for the instant, and confine ourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would have been either to return to King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out when they hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear." "Where is he, then?" "I have already said that he must have gone to King's Pyland or to Mapleton. He is not at King's Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night. If our supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the point where we should look for his tracks." We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes' request I walked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not taken fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression. "See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is the one quality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed." We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man's track was visible beside the horse's. "The horse was alone before," I cried. "Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?" The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King's Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side, and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. "One for you, Watson," said Holmes, when I pointed it out. "You have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track." We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them. "We don't want any loiterers about here," said he. "I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with his finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. "Should I be too early to see your master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o'clock to-morrow morning?" "Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is always the first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like." As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand. "What's this, Dawson!" he cried. "No gossiping! Go about your business! And you, what the devil do you want here?" "Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in the sweetest of voices. "I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no stranger here. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels." Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear. He started violently and flushed to the temples. "It's a lie!" he shouted, "an infernal lie!" "Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in your parlor?" "Oh, come in if you wish to." Holmes smiled. "I shall not keep you more than a few minutes, Watson," said he. "Now, Mr. Brown, I am quite at your disposal." It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at my companion's side like a dog with its master. "Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done," said he. "There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at him. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes. "Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change it first or not?" Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No, don't," said he; "I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or--" "Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!" "Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow." He turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland. "A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked Holmes as we trudged along together. "He has the horse, then?" "He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which has given the favorite its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King's Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of saving his own skin." "But his stables had been searched?" "Oh, and old horse-faker like him has many a dodge." "But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has every interest in injuring it?" "My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe." "Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much mercy in any case." "The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods, and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of being unofficial. I don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but the Colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse." "Certainly not without your permission." "And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed John Straker." "And you will devote yourself to that?" "On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train." I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer's house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in the parlor. "My friend and I return to town by the night-express," said Holmes. "We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air." The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip curled in a sneer. "So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker," said he. Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are certainly grave difficulties in the way," said he. "I have every hope, however, that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker?" The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him. "My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to the maid." "I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant," said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my friend left the room. "I do not see that we are any further than when he came." "At least you have his assurance that your horse will run," said I. "Yes, I have his assurance," said the Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I should prefer to have the horse." I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he entered the room again. "Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for Tavistock." As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve. "You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who attends to them?" "I do, sir." "Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?" "Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame, sir." I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together. "A long shot, Watson; a very long shot," said he, pinching my arm. "Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!" Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw by the Inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused. "You consider that to be important?" he asked. "Exceedingly so." "Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?" "To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time." "The dog did nothing in the night-time." "That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes. Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the extreme. "I have seen nothing of my horse," said he. "I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?" asked Holmes. The Colonel was very angry. "I have been on the turf for twenty years, and never was asked such a question as that before," said he. "A child would know Silver Blaze, with his white forehead and his mottled off-foreleg." "How is the betting?" "Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can hardly get three to one now." "Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows something, that is clear." As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grand stand I glanced at the card to see the entries. Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs. added, for four and five year olds. Second, £300. Third, £200. New course (one mile and five furlongs). 1. Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket. 2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket. 3. Lord Backwater's Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves. 4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket. 5. Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes. 6. Lord Singleford's Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves. "We scratched our other one, and put all hopes on your word," said the Colonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favorite?" "Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. "Five to four against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four on the field!" "There are the numbers up," I cried. "They are all six there." "All six there? Then my horse is running," cried the Colonel in great agitation. "But I don't see him. My colors have not passed." "Only five have passed. This must be he." As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighting enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the Colonel. "That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not a white hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?" "Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend, imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass. "Capital! An excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are, coming round the curve!" From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them, but half way up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front. Before they reached us, however, Desborough's bolt was shot, and the Colonel's horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris making a bad third. "It's my race, anyhow," gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his eyes. "I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?" "Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round and have a look at the horse together. Here he is," he continued, as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their friends find admittance. "You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever." "You take my breath away!" "I found him in the hands of a faker, and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over." "My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker." "I have done so," said Holmes quietly. The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You have got him! Where is he, then?" "He is here." "Here! Where?" "In my company at the present moment." The Colonel flushed angrily. "I quite recognize that I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult." Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have not associated you with the crime, Colonel," said he. "The real murderer is standing immediately behind you." He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred. "The horse!" cried both the Colonel and myself. "Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time." We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which he had unravelled them. "I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed from the newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distrait, and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue." "I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot see how it helps us." "It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer's family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them? "Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well. "I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses, through agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion. "And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play." "Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the Colonel. "We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air." "I have been blind!" cried the Colonel. "Of course that was why he needed the candle, and struck the match." "Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people's bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life, and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner's address, and felt that by calling there with Straker's photograph I could easily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire. "From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up--with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?" "Wonderful!" cried the Colonel. "Wonderful! You might have been there!" "My final shot was, I confess a very long one. It struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct. "When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot." "You have explained all but one thing," cried the Colonel. "Where was the horse?" "Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. We must have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you." THE YELLOW FACE [In publishing these short sketches based upon the numerous cases in which my companion's singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. And this not so much for the sake of his reputations--for, indeed, it was when he was at his wits' end that his energy and his versatility were most admirable--but because where he failed it happened too often that no one else succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred, the truth was still discovered. I have noted of some half-dozen cases of the kind of which "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual" and that which I am about to recount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.] Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise's sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly one of the finest boxers of his weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save when there was some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable. That he should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine, he had no vices, and he only turned to the drug as a protest against the monotony of existence when cases were scanty and the papers uninteresting. One day in early spring he had so far relaxed as to go for a walk with me in the Park, where the first faint shoots of green were breaking out upon the elms, and the sticky spear-heads of the chestnuts were just beginning to burst into their five-fold leaves. For two hours we rambled about together, in silence for the most part, as befits two men who know each other intimately. It was nearly five before we were back in Baker Street once more. "Beg pardon, sir," said our page-boy, as he opened the door. "There's been a gentleman here asking for you, sir." Holmes glanced reproachfully at me. "So much for afternoon walks!" said he. "Has this gentleman gone, then?" "Yes, sir." "Didn't you ask him in?" "Yes, sir; he came in." "How long did he wait?" "Half an hour, sir. He was a very restless gentleman, sir, a-walkin' and a-stampin' all the time he was here. I was waitin' outside the door, sir, and I could hear him. At last he outs into the passage, and he cries, 'Is that man never goin' to come?' Those were his very words, sir. 'You'll only need to wait a little longer,' says I. 'Then I'll wait in the open air, for I feel half choked,' says he. 'I'll be back before long.' And with that he ups and he outs, and all I could say wouldn't hold him back." "Well, well, you did your best," said Holmes, as we walked into our room. "It's very annoying, though, Watson. I was badly in need of a case, and this looks, from the man's impatience, as if it were of importance. Hullo! That's not your pipe on the table. He must have left his behind him. A nice old brier with a good long stem of what the tobacconists call amber. I wonder how many real amber mouthpieces there are in London? Some people think that a fly in it is a sign. Well, he must have been disturbed in his mind to leave a pipe behind him which he evidently values highly." "How do you know that he values it highly?" I asked. "Well, I should put the original cost of the pipe at seven and sixpence. Now it has, you see, been twice mended, once in the wooden stem and once in the amber. Each of these mends, done, as you observe, with silver bands, must have cost more than the pipe did originally. The man must value the pipe highly when he prefers to patch it up rather than buy a new one with the same money." "Anything else?" I asked, for Holmes was turning the pipe about in his hand, and staring at it in his peculiar pensive way. He held it up and tapped on it with his long, thin fore-finger, as a professor might who was lecturing on a bone. "Pipes are occasionally of extraordinary interest," said he. "Nothing has more individuality, save perhaps watches and bootlaces. The indications here, however, are neither very marked nor very important. The owner is obviously a muscular man, left-handed, with an excellent set of teeth, careless in his habits, and with no need to practise economy." My friend threw out the information in a very offhand way, but I saw that he cocked his eye at me to see if I had followed his reasoning. "You think a man must be well-to-do if he smokes a seven-shilling pipe," said I. "This is Grosvenor mixture at eightpence an ounce," Holmes answered, knocking a little out on his palm. "As he might get an excellent smoke for half the price, he has no need to practise economy." "And the other points?" "He has been in the habit of lighting his pipe at lamps and gas-jets. You can see that it is quite charred all down one side. Of course a match could not have done that. Why should a man hold a match to the side of his pipe? But you cannot light it at a lamp without getting the bowl charred. And it is all on the right side of the pipe. From that I gather that he is a left-handed man. You hold your own pipe to the lamp, and see how naturally you, being right-handed, hold the left side to the flame. You might do it once the other way, but not as a constancy. This has always been held so. Then he has bitten through his amber. It takes a muscular, energetic fellow, and one with a good set of teeth, to do that. But if I am not mistaken I hear him upon the stair, so we shall have something more interesting than his pipe to study." An instant later our door opened, and a tall young man entered the room. He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-gray suit, and carried a brown wide-awake in his hand. I should have put him at about thirty, though he was really some years older. "I beg your pardon," said he, with some embarrassment; "I suppose I should have knocked. Yes, of course I should have knocked. The fact is that I am a little upset, and you must put it all down to that." He passed his hand over his forehead like a man who is half dazed, and then fell rather than sat down upon a chair. "I can see that you have not slept for a night or two," said Holmes, in his easy, genial way. "That tries a man's nerves more than work, and more even than pleasure. May I ask how I can help you?" "I wanted your advice, sir. I don't know what to do and my whole life seems to have gone to pieces." "You wish to employ me as a consulting detective?" "Not that only. I want your opinion as a judicious man--as a man of the world. I want to know what I ought to do next. I hope to God you'll be able to tell me." He spoke in little, sharp, jerky outbursts, and it seemed to me that to speak at all was very painful to him, and that his will all through was overriding his inclinations. "It's a very delicate thing," said he. "One does not like to speak of one's domestic affairs to strangers. It seems dreadful to discuss the conduct of one's wife with two men whom I have never seen before. It's horrible to have to do it. But I've got to the end of my tether, and I must have advice." "My dear Mr. Grant Munro--" began Holmes. Our visitor sprang from his chair. "What!" he cried, "you know my name?" "If you wish to preserve your incognito," said Holmes, smiling, "I would suggest that you cease to write your name upon the lining of your hat, or else that you turn the crown towards the person whom you are addressing. I was about to say that my friend and I have listened to a good many strange secrets in this room, and that we have had the good fortune to bring peace to many troubled souls. I trust that we may do as much for you. Might I beg you, as time may prove to be of importance, to furnish me with the facts of your case without further delay?" Our visitor again passed his hand over his forehead, as if he found it bitterly hard. From every gesture and expression I could see that he was a reserved, self-contained man, with a dash of pride in his nature, more likely to hide his wounds than to expose them. Then suddenly, with a fierce gesture of his closed hand, like one who throws reserve to the winds, he began. "The facts are these, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am a married man, and have been so for three years. During that time my wife and I have loved each other as fondly and lived as happily as any two that ever were joined. We have not had a difference, not one, in thought or word or deed. And now, since last Monday, there has suddenly sprung up a barrier between us, and I find that there is something in her life and in her thought of which I know as little as if she were the woman who brushes by me in the street. We are estranged, and I want to know why. "Now there is one thing that I want to impress upon you before I go any further, Mr. Holmes. Effie loves me. Don't let there be any mistake about that. She loves me with her whole heart and soul, and never more than now. I know it. I feel it. I don't want to argue about that. A man can tell easily enough when a woman loves him. But there's this secret between us, and we can never be the same until it is cleared." "Kindly let me have the facts, Mr. Munro," said Holmes, with some impatience. "I'll tell you what I know about Effie's history. She was a widow when I met her first, though quite young--only twenty-five. Her name then was Mrs. Hebron. She went out to America when she was young, and lived in the town of Atlanta, where she married this Hebron, who was a lawyer with a good practice. They had one child, but the yellow fever broke out badly in the place, and both husband and child died of it. I have seen his death certificate. This sickened her of America, and she came back to live with a maiden aunt at Pinner, in Middlesex. I may mention that her husband had left her comfortably off, and that she had a capital of about four thousand five hundred pounds, which had been so well invested by him that it returned an average of seven per cent. She had only been six months at Pinner when I met her; we fell in love with each other, and we married a few weeks afterwards. "I am a hop merchant myself, and as I have an income of seven or eight hundred, we found ourselves comfortably off, and took a nice eighty-pound-a-year villa at Norbury. Our little place was very countrified, considering that it is so close to town. We had an inn and two houses a little above us, and a single cottage at the other side of the field which faces us, and except those there were no houses until you got half way to the station. My business took me into town at certain seasons, but in summer I had less to do, and then in our country home my wife and I were just as happy as could be wished. I tell you that there never was a shadow between us until this accursed affair began. "There's one thing I ought to tell you before I go further. When we married, my wife made over all her property to me--rather against my will, for I saw how awkward it would be if my business affairs went wrong. However, she would have it so, and it was done. Well, about six weeks ago she came to me. "'Jack,' said she, 'when you took my money you said that if ever I wanted any I was to ask you for it.' "'Certainly,' said I. 'It's all your own.' "'Well,' said she, 'I want a hundred pounds.' "I was a bit staggered at this, for I had imagined it was simply a new dress or something of the kind that she was after. "'What on earth for?' I asked. "'Oh,' said she, in her playful way, 'you said that you were only my banker, and bankers never ask questions, you know.' "'If you really mean it, of course you shall have the money,' said I. "'Oh, yes, I really mean it.' "'And you won't tell me what you want it for?' "'Some day, perhaps, but not just at present, Jack.' "So I had to be content with that, though it was the first time that there had ever been any secret between us. I gave her a check, and I never thought any more of the matter. It may have nothing to do with what came afterwards, but I thought it only right to mention it. "Well, I told you just now that there is a cottage not far from our house. There is just a field between us, but to reach it you have to go along the road and then turn down a lane. Just beyond it is a nice little grove of Scotch firs, and I used to be very fond of strolling down there, for trees are always a neighborly kind of things. The cottage had been standing empty this eight months, and it was a pity, for it was a pretty two storied place, with an old-fashioned porch and honeysuckle about it. I have stood many a time and thought what a neat little homestead it would make. "Well, last Monday evening I was taking a stroll down that way, when I met an empty van coming up the lane, and saw a pile of carpets and things lying about on the grass-plot beside the porch. It was clear that the cottage had at last been let. I walked past it, and wondered what sort of folk they were who had come to live so near us. And as I looked I suddenly became aware that a face was watching me out of one of the upper windows. "I don't know what there was about that face, Mr. Holmes, but it seemed to send a chill right down my back. I was some little way off, so that I could not make out the features, but there was something unnatural and inhuman about the face. That was the impression that I had, and I moved quickly forwards to get a nearer view of the person who was watching me. But as I did so the face suddenly disappeared, so suddenly that it seemed to have been plucked away into the darkness of the room. I stood for five minutes thinking the business over, and trying to analyze my impressions. I could not tell if the face were that of a man or a woman. It had been too far from me for that. But its color was what had impressed me most. It was of a livid chalky white, and with something set and rigid about it which was shockingly unnatural. So disturbed was I that I determined to see a little more of the new inmates of the cottage. I approached and knocked at the door, which was instantly opened by a tall, gaunt woman with a harsh, forbidding face. "'What may you be wantin'?' she asked, in a Northern accent. "'I am your neighbor over yonder,' said I, nodding towards my house. 'I see that you have only just moved in, so I thought that if I could be of any help to you in any--' "'Ay, we'll just ask ye when we want ye,' said she, and shut the door in my face. Annoyed at the churlish rebuff, I turned my back and walked home. All evening, though I tried to think of other things, my mind would still turn to the apparition at the window and the rudeness of the woman. I determined to say nothing about the former to my wife, for she is a nervous, highly strung woman, and I had no wish that she would share the unpleasant impression which had been produced upon myself. I remarked to her, however, before I fell asleep, that the cottage was now occupied, to which she returned no reply. "I am usually an extremely sound sleeper. It has been a standing jest in the family that nothing could ever wake me during the night. And yet somehow on that particular night, whether it may have been the slight excitement produced by my little adventure or not I know not, but I slept much more lightly than usual. Half in my dreams I was dimly conscious that something was going on in the room, and gradually became aware that my wife had dressed herself and was slipping on her mantle and her bonnet. My lips were parted to murmur out some sleepy words of surprise or remonstrance at this untimely preparation, when suddenly my half-opened eyes fell upon her face, illuminated by the candle-light, and astonishment held me dumb. She wore an expression such as I had never seen before--such as I should have thought her incapable of assuming. She was deadly pale and breathing fast, glancing furtively towards the bed as she fastened her mantle, to see if she had disturbed me. Then, thinking that I was still asleep, she slipped noiselessly from the room, and an instant later I heard a sharp creaking which could only come from the hinges of the front door. I sat up in bed and rapped my knuckles against the rail to make certain that I was truly awake. Then I took my watch from under the pillow. It was three in the morning. What on this earth could my wife be doing out on the country road at three in the morning? "I had sat for about twenty minutes turning the thing over in my mind and trying to find some possible explanation. The more I thought, the more extraordinary and inexplicable did it appear. I was still puzzling over it when I heard the door gently close again, and her footsteps coming up the stairs. "'Where in the world have you been, Effie?' I asked as she entered. "She gave a violent start and a kind of gasping cry when I spoke, and that cry and start troubled me more than all the rest, for there was something indescribably guilty about them. My wife had always been a woman of a frank, open nature, and it gave me a chill to see her slinking into her own room, and crying out and wincing when her own husband spoke to her. "'You awake, Jack!' she cried, with a nervous laugh. 'Why, I thought that nothing could awake you.' "'Where have you been?' I asked, more sternly. "'I don't wonder that you are surprised,' said she, and I could see that her fingers were trembling as she undid the fastenings of her mantle. 'Why, I never remember having done such a thing in my life before. The fact is that I felt as though I were choking, and had a perfect longing for a breath of fresh air. I really think that I should have fainted if I had not gone out. I stood at the door for a few minutes, and now I am quite myself again.' "All the time that she was telling me this story she never once looked in my direction, and her voice was quite unlike her usual tones. It was evident to me that she was saying what was false. I said nothing in reply, but turned my face to the wall, sick at heart, with my mind filled with a thousand venomous doubts and suspicions. What was it that my wife was concealing from me? Where had she been during that strange expedition? I felt that I should have no peace until I knew, and yet I shrank from asking her again after once she had told me what was false. All the rest of the night I tossed and tumbled, framing theory after theory, each more unlikely than the last. "I should have gone to the City that day, but I was too disturbed in my mind to be able to pay attention to business matters. My wife seemed to be as upset as myself, and I could see from the little questioning glances which she kept shooting at me that she understood that I disbelieved her statement, and that she was at her wits' end what to do. We hardly exchanged a word during breakfast, and immediately afterwards I went out for a walk, that I might think the matter out in the fresh morning air. "I went as far as the Crystal Palace, spent an hour in the grounds, and was back in Norbury by one o'clock. It happened that my way took me past the cottage, and I stopped for an instant to look at the windows, and to see if I could catch a glimpse of the strange face which had looked out at me on the day before. As I stood there, imagine my surprise, Mr. Holmes, when the door suddenly opened and my wife walked out. "I was struck dumb with astonishment at the sight of her; but my emotions were nothing to those which showed themselves upon her face when our eyes met. She seemed for an instant to wish to shrink back inside the house again; and then, seeing how useless all concealment must be, she came forward, with a very white face and frightened eyes which belied the smile upon her lips. "'Ah, Jack,' she said, 'I have just been in to see if I can be of any assistance to our new neighbors. Why do you look at me like that, Jack? You are not angry with me?' "'So,' said I, 'this is where you went during the night.' "'What do you mean?' she cried. "'You came here. I am sure of it. Who are these people, that you should visit them at such an hour?' "'I have not been here before.' "'How can you tell me what you know is false?' I cried. 'Your very voice changes as you speak. When have I ever had a secret from you? I shall enter that cottage, and I shall probe the matter to the bottom.' "'No, no, Jack, for God's sake!' she gasped, in uncontrollable emotion. Then, as I approached the door, she seized my sleeve and pulled me back with convulsive strength. "'I implore you not to do this, Jack,' she cried. 'I swear that I will tell you everything some day, but nothing but misery can come of it if you enter that cottage.' Then, as I tried to shake her off, she clung to me in a frenzy of entreaty. "'Trust me, Jack!' she cried. 'Trust me only this once. You will never have cause to regret it. You know that I would not have a secret from you if it were not for your own sake. Our whole lives are at stake in this. If you come home with me, all will be well. If you force your way into that cottage, all is over between us.' "There was such earnestness, such despair, in her manner that her words arrested me, and I stood irresolute before the door. "'I will trust you on one condition, and on one condition only,' said I at last. 'It is that this mystery comes to an end from now. You are at liberty to preserve your secret, but you must promise me that there shall be no more nightly visits, no more doings which are kept from my knowledge. I am willing to forget those which are passed if you will promise that there shall be no more in the future.' "'I was sure that you would trust me,' she cried, with a great sigh of relief. 'It shall be just as you wish. Come away--oh, come away up to the house.' "Still pulling at my sleeve, she led me away from the cottage. As we went I glanced back, and there was that yellow livid face watching us out of the upper window. What link could there be between that creature and my wife? Or how could the coarse, rough woman whom I had seen the day before be connected with her? It was a strange puzzle, and yet I knew that my mind could never know ease again until I had solved it. "For two days after this I stayed at home, and my wife appeared to abide loyally by our engagement, for, as far as I know, she never stirred out of the house. On the third day, however, I had ample evidence that her solemn promise was not enough to hold her back from this secret influence which drew her away from her husband and her duty. "I had gone into town on that day, but I returned by the 2.40 instead of the 3.36, which is my usual train. As I entered the house the maid ran into the hall with a startled face. "'Where is your mistress?' I asked. "'I think that she has gone out for a walk,' she answered. "My mind was instantly filled with suspicion. I rushed upstairs to make sure that she was not in the house. As I did so I happened to glance out of one of the upper windows, and saw the maid with whom I had just been speaking running across the field in the direction of the cottage. Then of course I saw exactly what it all meant. My wife had gone over there, and had asked the servant to call her if I should return. Tingling with anger, I rushed down and hurried across, determined to end the matter once and forever. I saw my wife and the maid hurrying back along the lane, but I did not stop to speak with them. In the cottage lay the secret which was casting a shadow over my life. I vowed that, come what might, it should be a secret no longer. I did not even knock when I reached it, but turned the handle and rushed into the passage. "It was all still and quiet upon the ground floor. In the kitchen a kettle was singing on the fire, and a large black cat lay coiled up in the basket; but there was no sign of the woman whom I had seen before. I ran into the other room, but it was equally deserted. Then I rushed up the stairs, only to find two other rooms empty and deserted at the top. There was no one at all in the whole house. The furniture and pictures were of the most common and vulgar description, save in the one chamber at the window of which I had seen the strange face. That was comfortable and elegant, and all my suspicions rose into a fierce bitter flame when I saw that on the mantelpiece stood a copy of a full-length photograph of my wife, which had been taken at my request only three months ago. "I stayed long enough to make certain that the house was absolutely empty. Then I left it, feeling a weight at my heart such as I had never had before. My wife came out into the hall as I entered my house; but I was too hurt and angry to speak with her, and pushing past her, I made my way into my study. She followed me, however, before I could close the door. "'I am sorry that I broke my promise, Jack,' said she; 'but if you knew all the circumstances I am sure that you would forgive me.' "'Tell me everything, then,' said I. "'I cannot, Jack, I cannot,' she cried. "'Until you tell me who it is that has been living in that cottage, and who it is to whom you have given that photograph, there can never be any confidence between us,' said I, and breaking away from her, I left the house. That was yesterday, Mr. Holmes, and I have not seen her since, nor do I know anything more about this strange business. It is the first shadow that has come between us, and it has so shaken me that I do not know what I should do for the best. Suddenly this morning it occurred to me that you were the man to advise me, so I have hurried to you now, and I place myself unreservedly in your hands. If there is any point which I have not made clear, pray question me about it. But, above all, tell me quickly what I am to do, for this misery is more than I can bear." Holmes and I had listened with the utmost interest to this extraordinary statement, which had been delivered in the jerky, broken fashion of a man who is under the influence of extreme emotions. My companion sat silent for some time, with his chin upon his hand, lost in thought. "Tell me," said he at last, "could you swear that this was a man's face which you saw at the window?" "Each time that I saw it I was some distance away from it, so that it is impossible for me to say." "You appear, however, to have been disagreeably impressed by it." "It seemed to be of an unnatural color, and to have a strange rigidity about the features. When I approached, it vanished with a jerk." "How long is it since your wife asked you for a hundred pounds?" "Nearly two months." "Have you ever seen a photograph of her first husband?" "No; there was a great fire at Atlanta very shortly after his death, and all her papers were destroyed." "And yet she had a certificate of death. You say that you saw it." "Yes; she got a duplicate after the fire." "Did you ever meet any one who knew her in America?" "No." "Did she ever talk of revisiting the place?" "No." "Or get letters from it?" "No." "Thank you. I should like to think over the matter a little now. If the cottage is now permanently deserted we may have some difficulty. If, on the other hand, as I fancy is more likely, the inmates were warned of your coming, and left before you entered yesterday, then they may be back now, and we should clear it all up easily. Let me advise you, then, to return to Norbury, and to examine the windows of the cottage again. If you have reason to believe that is inhabited, do not force your way in, but send a wire to my friend and me. We shall be with you within an hour of receiving it, and we shall then very soon get to the bottom of the business." "And if it is still empty?" "In that case I shall come out to-morrow and talk it over with you. Good-bye, and, above all, do not fret until you know that you really have a cause for it." "I am afraid that this is a bad business, Watson," said my companion, as he returned after accompanying Mr. Grant Munro to the door. "What do you make of it?" "It had an ugly sound," I answered. "Yes. There's blackmail in it, or I am much mistaken." "And who is the blackmailer?" "Well, it must be the creature who lives in the only comfortable room in the place, and has her photograph above his fireplace. Upon my word, Watson, there is something very attractive about that livid face at the window, and I would not have missed the case for worlds." "You have a theory?" "Yes, a provisional one. But I shall be surprised if it does not turn out to be correct. This woman's first husband is in that cottage." "Why do you think so?" "How else can we explain her frenzied anxiety that her second one should not enter it? The facts, as I read them, are something like this: This woman was married in America. Her husband developed some hateful qualities; or shall we say that he contracted some loathsome disease, and became a leper or an imbecile? She flies from him at last, returns to England, changes her name, and starts her life, as she thinks, afresh. She has been married three years, and believes that her position is quite secure, having shown her husband the death certificate of some man whose name she has assumed, when suddenly her whereabouts is discovered by her first husband; or, we may suppose, by some unscrupulous woman who has attached herself to the invalid. They write to the wife, and threaten to come and expose her. She asks for a hundred pounds, and endeavors to buy them off. They come in spite of it, and when the husband mentions casually to the wife that there are new-comers in the cottage, she knows in some way that they are her pursuers. She waits until her husband is asleep, and then she rushes down to endeavor to persuade them to leave her in peace. Having no success, she goes again next morning, and her husband meets her, as he has told us, as she comes out. She promises him then not to go there again, but two days afterwards the hope of getting rid of those dreadful neighbors was too strong for her, and she made another attempt, taking down with her the photograph which had probably been demanded from her. In the midst of this interview the maid rushed in to say that the master had come home, on which the wife, knowing that he would come straight down to the cottage, hurried the inmates out at the back door, into the grove of fir-trees, probably, which was mentioned as standing near. In this way he found the place deserted. I shall be very much surprised, however, if it still so when he reconnoitres it this evening. What do you think of my theory?" "It is all surmise." "But at least it covers all the facts. When new facts come to our knowledge which cannot be covered by it, it will be time enough to reconsider it. We can do nothing more until we have a message from our friend at Norbury." But we had not a very long time to wait for that. It came just as we had finished our tea. "The cottage is still tenanted," it said. "Have seen the face again at the window. Will meet the seven o'clock train, and will take no steps until you arrive." He was waiting on the platform when we stepped out, and we could see in the light of the station lamps that he was very pale, and quivering with agitation. "They are still there, Mr. Holmes," said he, laying his hand hard upon my friend's sleeve. "I saw lights in the cottage as I came down. We shall settle it now once and for all." "What is your plan, then?" asked Holmes, as he walked down the dark tree-lined road. "I am going to force my way in and see for myself who is in the house. I wish you both to be there as witnesses." "You are quite determined to do this, in spite of your wife's warning that it is better that you should not solve the mystery?" "Yes, I am determined." "Well, I think that you are in the right. Any truth is better than indefinite doubt. We had better go up at once. Of course, legally, we are putting ourselves hopelessly in the wrong; but I think that it is worth it." It was a very dark night, and a thin rain began to fall as we turned from the high road into a narrow lane, deeply rutted, with hedges on either side. Mr. Grant Munro pushed impatiently forward, however, and we stumbled after him as best we could. "There are the lights of my house," he murmured, pointing to a glimmer among the trees. "And here is the cottage which I am going to enter." We turned a corner in the lane as he spoke, and there was the building close beside us. A yellow bar falling across the black foreground showed that the door was not quite closed, and one window in the upper story was brightly illuminated. As we looked, we saw a dark blur moving across the blind. "There is that creature!" cried Grant Munro. "You can see for yourselves that some one is there. Now follow me, and we shall soon know all." We approached the door; but suddenly a woman appeared out of the shadow and stood in the golden track of the lamp-light. I could not see her face in the darkness, but her arms were thrown out in an attitude of entreaty. "For God's sake, don't Jack!" she cried. "I had a presentiment that you would come this evening. Think better of it, dear! Trust me again, and you will never have cause to regret it." "I have trusted you too long, Effie," he cried, sternly. "Leave go of me! I must pass you. My friends and I are going to settle this matter once and forever!" He pushed her to one side, and we followed closely after him. As he threw the door open an old woman ran out in front of him and tried to bar his passage, but he thrust her back, and an instant afterwards we were all upon the stairs. Grant Munro rushed into the lighted room at the top, and we entered at his heels. It was a cosy, well-furnished apartment, with two candles burning upon the table and two upon the mantelpiece. In the corner, stooping over a desk, there sat what appeared to be a little girl. Her face was turned away as we entered, but we could see that she was dressed in a red frock, and that she had long white gloves on. As she whisked round to us, I gave a cry of surprise and horror. The face which she turned towards us was of the strangest livid tint, and the features were absolutely devoid of any expression. An instant later the mystery was explained. Holmes, with a laugh, passed his hand behind the child's ear, a mask peeled off from her countenance, an there was a little coal black negress, with all her white teeth flashing in amusement at our amazed faces. I burst out laughing, out of sympathy with her merriment; but Grant Munro stood staring, with his hand clutching his throat. "My God!" he cried. "What can be the meaning of this?" "I will tell you the meaning of it," cried the lady, sweeping into the room with a proud, set face. "You have forced me, against my own judgment, to tell you, and now we must both make the best of it. My husband died at Atlanta. My child survived." "Your child?" She drew a large silver locket from her bosom. "You have never seen this open." "I understood that it did not open." She touched a spring, and the front hinged back. There was a portrait within of a man strikingly handsome and intelligent-looking, but bearing unmistakable signs upon his features of his African descent. "That is John Hebron, of Atlanta," said the lady, "and a nobler man never walked the earth. I cut myself off from my race in order to wed him, but never once while he lived did I for an instant regret it. It was our misfortune that our only child took after his people rather than mine. It is often so in such matches, and little Lucy is darker far than ever her father was. But dark or fair, she is my own dear little girlie, and her mother's pet." The little creature ran across at the words and nestled up against the lady's dress. "When I left her in America," she continued, "it was only because her health was weak, and the change might have done her harm. She was given to the care of a faithful Scotch woman who had once been our servant. Never for an instant did I dream of disowning her as my child. But when chance threw you in my way, Jack, and I learned to love you, I feared to tell you about my child. God forgive me, I feared that I should lose you, and I had not the courage to tell you. I had to choose between you, and in my weakness I turned away from my own little girl. For three years I have kept her existence a secret from you, but I heard from the nurse, and I knew that all was well with her. At last, however, there came an overwhelming desire to see the child once more. I struggled against it, but in vain. Though I knew the danger, I determined to have the child over, if it were but for a few weeks. I sent a hundred pounds to the nurse, and I gave her instructions about this cottage, so that she might come as a neighbor, without my appearing to be in any way connected with her. I pushed my precautions so far as to order her to keep the child in the house during the daytime, and to cover up her little face and hands so that even those who might see her at the window should not gossip about there being a black child in the neighborhood. If I had been less cautious I might have been more wise, but I was half crazy with fear that you should learn the truth. "It was you who told me first that the cottage was occupied. I should have waited for the morning, but I could not sleep for excitement, and so at last I slipped out, knowing how difficult it is to awake you. But you saw me go, and that was the beginning of my troubles. Next day you had my secret at your mercy, but you nobly refrained from pursuing your advantage. Three days later, however, the nurse and child only just escaped from the back door as you rushed in at the front one. And now to-night you at last know all, and I ask you what is to become of us, my child and me?" She clasped her hands and waited for an answer. It was a long ten minutes before Grant Munro broke the silence, and when his answer came it was one of which I love to think. He lifted the little child, kissed her, and then, still carrying her, he held his other hand out to his wife and turned towards the door. "We can talk it over more comfortably at home," said he. "I am not a very good man, Effie, but I think that I am a better one than you have given me credit for being." Holmes and I followed them down the lane, and my friend plucked at my sleeve as we came out. "I think," said he, "that we shall be of more use in London than in Norbury." Not another word did he say of the case until late that night, when he was turning away, with his lighted candle, for his bedroom. "Watson," said he, "if it should ever strike you that I am getting a little over-confident in my powers, or giving less pains to a case than it deserves, kindly whisper 'Norbury' in my ear, and I shall be infinitely obliged to you." THE STOCK-BROKER'S CLERK Shortly after my marriage I had bought a connection in the Paddington district. Old Mr. Farquhar, from whom I purchased it, had at one time an excellent general practice; but his age, and an affliction of the nature of St. Vitus's dance from which he suffered, had very much thinned it. The public not unnaturally goes on the principle that he who would heal others must himself be whole, and looks askance at the curative powers of the man whose own case is beyond the reach of his drugs. Thus as my predecessor weakened his practice declined, until when I purchased it from him it had sunk from twelve hundred to little more than three hundred a year. I had confidence, however, in my own youth and energy, and was convinced that in a very few years the concern would be as flourishing as ever. For three months after taking over the practice I was kept very closely at work, and saw little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, for I was too busy to visit Baker Street, and he seldom went anywhere himself save upon professional business. I was surprised, therefore, when, one morning in June, as I sat reading the British Medical Journal after breakfast, I heard a ring at the bell, followed by the high, somewhat strident tones of my old companion's voice. "Ah, my dear Watson," said he, striding into the room, "I am very delighted to see you! I trust that Mrs. Watson has entirely recovered from all the little excitements connected with our adventure of the Sign of Four." "Thank you, we are both very well," said I, shaking him warmly by the hand. "And I hope, also," he continued, sitting down in the rocking-chair, "that the cares of medical practice have not entirely obliterated the interest which you used to take in our little deductive problems." "On the contrary," I answered, "it was only last night that I was looking over my old notes, and classifying some of our past results." "I trust that you don't consider your collection closed." "Not at all. I should wish nothing better than to have some more of such experiences." "To-day, for example?" "Yes, to-day, if you like." "And as far off as Birmingham?" "Certainly, if you wish it." "And the practice?" "I do my neighbor's when he goes. He is always ready to work off the debt." "Ha! Nothing could be better," said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and looking keenly at me from under his half closed lids. "I perceive that you have been unwell lately. Summer colds are always a little trying." "I was confined to the house by a severe chill for three days last week. I thought, however, that I had cast off every trace of it." "So you have. You look remarkably robust." "How, then, did you know of it?" "My dear fellow, you know my methods." "You deduced it, then?" "Certainly." "And from what?" "From your slippers." I glanced down at the new patent leathers which I was wearing. "How on earth--" I began, but Holmes answered my question before it was asked. "Your slippers are new," he said. "You could not have had them more than a few weeks. The soles which you are at this moment presenting to me are slightly scorched. For a moment I thought they might have got wet and been burned in the drying. But near the instep there is a small circular wafer of paper with the shopman's hieroglyphics upon it. Damp would of course have removed this. You had, then, been sitting with our feet outstretched to the fire, which a man would hardly do even in so wet a June as this if he were in his full health." Like all Holmes's reasoning the thing seemed simplicity itself when it was once explained. He read the thought upon my features, and his smile had a tinge of bitterness. "I am afraid that I rather give myself away when I explain," said he. "Results without causes are much more impressive. You are ready to come to Birmingham, then?" "Certainly. What is the case?" "You shall hear it all in the train. My client is outside in a four-wheeler. Can you come at once?" "In an instant." I scribbled a note to my neighbor, rushed upstairs to explain the matter to my wife, and joined Holmes upon the door-step. "Your neighbor is a doctor," said he, nodding at the brass plate. "Yes; he bought a practice as I did." "An old-established one?" "Just the same as mine. Both have been ever since the houses were built." "Ah! Then you got hold of the best of the two." "I think I did. But how do you know?" "By the steps, my boy. Yours are worn three inches deeper than his. But this gentleman in the cab is my client, Mr. Hall Pycroft. Allow me to introduce you to him. Whip your horse up, cabby, for we have only just time to catch our train." The man whom I found myself facing was a well built, fresh-complexioned young fellow, with a frank, honest face and a slight, crisp, yellow mustache. He wore a very shiny top hat and a neat suit of sober black, which made him look what he was--a smart young City man, of the class who have been labeled cockneys, but who give us our crack volunteer regiments, and who turn out more fine athletes and sportsmen than any body of men in these islands. His round, ruddy face was naturally full of cheeriness, but the corners of his mouth seemed to me to be pulled down in a half-comical distress. It was not, however, until we were all in a first-class carriage and well started upon our journey to Birmingham that I was able to learn what the trouble was which had driven him to Sherlock Holmes. "We have a clear run here of seventy minutes," Holmes remarked. "I want you, Mr. Hall Pycroft, to tell my friend your very interesting experience exactly as you have told it to me, or with more detail if possible. It will be of use to me to hear the succession of events again. It is a case, Watson, which may prove to have something in it, or may prove to have nothing, but which, at least, presents those unusual and outré features which are as dear to you as they are to me. Now, Mr. Pycroft, I shall not interrupt you again." Our young companion looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. "The worst of the story is," said he, "that I show myself up as such a confounded fool. Of course it may work out all right, and I don't see that I could have done otherwise; but if I have lost my crib and get nothing in exchange I shall feel what a soft Johnnie I have been. I'm not very good at telling a story, Dr. Watson, but it is like this with me: "I used to have a billet at Coxon & Woodhouse's, of Draper's Gardens, but they were let in early in the spring through the Venezuelan loan, as no doubt you remember, and came a nasty cropper. I had been with them five years, and old Coxon gave me a ripping good testimonial when the smash came, but of course we clerks were all turned adrift, the twenty-seven of us. I tried here and tried there, but there were lots of other chaps on the same lay as myself, and it was a perfect frost for a long time. I had been taking three pounds a week at Coxon's, and I had saved about seventy of them, but I soon worked my way through that and out at the other end. I was fairly at the end of my tether at last, and could hardly find the stamps to answer the advertisements or the envelopes to stick them to. I had worn out my boots paddling up office stairs, and I seemed just as far from getting a billet as ever. "At last I saw a vacancy at Mawson & Williams's, the great stock-broking firm in Lombard Street. I dare say E. C. is not much in your line, but I can tell you that this is about the richest house in London. The advertisement was to be answered by letter only. I sent in my testimonial and application, but without the least hope of getting it. Back came an answer by return, saying that if I would appear next Monday I might take over my new duties at once, provided that my appearance was satisfactory. No one knows how these things are worked. Some people say that the manager just plunges his hand into the heap and takes the first that comes. Anyhow it was my innings that time, and I don't ever wish to feel better pleased. The screw was a pound a week rise, and the duties just about the same as at Coxon's. "And now I come to the queer part of the business. I was in diggings out Hampstead way, 17 Potter's Terrace. Well, I was sitting doing a smoke that very evening after I had been promised the appointment, when up came my landlady with a card which had "Arthur Pinner, Financial Agent," printed upon it. I had never heard the name before and could not imagine what he wanted with me; but, of course, I asked her to show him up. In he walked, a middle-sized, dark-haired, dark-eyed, black-bearded man, with a touch of the sheeny about his nose. He had a brisk kind of way with him and spoke sharply, like a man who knew the value of time. "'Mr. Hall Pycroft, I believe?' said he. "'Yes, sir,' I answered, pushing a chair towards him. "'Lately engaged at Coxon & Woodhouse's?' "'Yes, sir.' "'And now on the staff of Mawson's.' "'Quite so.' "'Well,' said he, 'the fact is that I have heard some really extraordinary stories about your financial ability. You remember Parker, who used to be Coxon's manager? He can never say enough about it.' "Of course I was pleased to hear this. I had always been pretty sharp in the office, but I had never dreamed that I was talked about in the City in this fashion. "'You have a good memory?' said he. "'Pretty fair,' I answered, modestly. "'Have you kept in touch with the market while you have been out of work?' he asked. "'Yes. I read the stock exchange list every morning.' "'Now that shows real application!' he cried. 'That is the way to prosper! You won't mind my testing you, will you? Let me see. How are Ayrshires?' "'A hundred and six and a quarter to a hundred and five and seven-eighths.' "'And New Zealand consolidated?' "'A hundred and four.' "'And British Broken Hills?' "'Seven to seven-and-six.' "'Wonderful!' he cried, with his hands up. 'This quite fits in with all that I had heard. My boy, my boy, you are very much too good to be a clerk at Mawson's!' "This outburst rather astonished me, as you can think. 'Well,' said I, 'other people don't think quite so much of me as you seem to do, Mr. Pinner. I had a hard enough fight to get this berth, and I am very glad to have it.' "'Pooh, man; you should soar above it. You are not in your true sphere. Now, I'll tell you how it stands with me. What I have to offer is little enough when measured by your ability, but when compared with Mawson's, it's light to dark. Let me see. When do you go to Mawson's?' "'On Monday.' "'Ha, ha! I think I would risk a little sporting flutter that you don't go there at all.' "'Not go to Mawson's?' "'No, sir. By that day you will be the business manager of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, with a hundred and thirty-four branches in the towns and villages of France, not counting one in Brussels and one in San Remo.' "This took my breath away. 'I never heard of it,' said I. "'Very likely not. It has been kept very quiet, for the capital was all privately subscribed, and it's too good a thing to let the public into. My brother, Harry Pinner, is promoter, and joins the board after allotment as managing director. He knew I was in the swim down here, and asked me to pick up a good man cheap. A young, pushing man with plenty of snap about him. Parker spoke of you, and that brought me here tonight. We can only offer you a beggarly five hundred to start with.' "'Five hundred a year!' I shouted. "'Only that at the beginning; but you are to have an overriding commission of one per cent on all business done by your agents, and you may take my word for it that this will come to more than your salary.' "'But I know nothing about hardware.' "'Tut, my boy; you know about figures.' "My head buzzed, and I could hardly sit still in my chair. But suddenly a little chill of doubt came upon me. "'I must be frank with you,' said I. 'Mawson only gives me two hundred, but Mawson is safe. Now, really, I know so little about your company that--' "'Ah, smart, smart!' he cried, in a kind of ecstasy of delight. 'You are the very man for us. You are not to be talked over, and quite right, too. Now, here's a note for a hundred pounds, and if you think that we can do business you may just slip it into your pocket as an advance upon your salary.' "'That is very handsome,' said I. 'When should I take over my new duties?' "'Be in Birmingham to-morrow at one,' said he. 'I have a note in my pocket here which you will take to my brother. You will find him at 126b Corporation Street, where the temporary offices of the company are situated. Of course he must confirm your engagement, but between ourselves it will be all right.' "'Really, I hardly know how to express my gratitude, Mr. Pinner,' said I. "'Not at all, my boy. You have only got your desserts. There are one or two small things--mere formalities--which I must arrange with you. You have a bit of paper beside you there. Kindly write upon it "I am perfectly willing to act as business manager to the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, at a minimum salary of £500."' "I did as he asked, and he put the paper in his pocket. "'There is one other detail,' said he. 'What do you intend to do about Mawson's?' "I had forgotten all about Mawson's in my joy. 'I'll write and resign,' said I. "'Precisely what I don't want you to do. I had a row over you with Mawson's manager. I had gone up to ask him about you, and he was very offensive; accused me of coaxing you away from the service of the firm, and that sort of thing. At last I fairly lost my temper. "If you want good men you should pay them a good price," said I. "'"He would rather have our small price than your big one," said he. "'"I'll lay you a fiver," said I, "that when he has my offer you'll never so much as hear from him again." "'"Done!" said he. "We picked him out of the gutter, and he won't leave us so easily." Those were his very words.' "'The impudent scoundrel!' I cried. 'I've never so much as seen him in my life. Why should I consider him in any way? I shall certainly not write if you would rather I didn't.' "'Good! That's a promise,' said he, rising from his chair. 'Well, I'm delighted to have got so good a man for my brother. Here's your advance of a hundred pounds, and here is the letter. Make a note of the address, 126b Corporation Street, and remember that one o'clock to-morrow is your appointment. Good-night; and may you have all the fortune that you deserve!' "That's just about all that passed between us, as near as I can remember. You can imagine, Dr. Watson, how pleased I was at such an extraordinary bit of good fortune. I sat up half the night hugging myself over it, and next day I was off to Birmingham in a train that would take me in plenty time for my appointment. I took my things to a hotel in New Street, and then I made my way to the address which had been given me. "It was a quarter of an hour before my time, but I thought that would make no difference. 126b was a passage between two large shops, which led to a winding stone stair, from which there were many flats, let as offices to companies or professional men. The names of the occupants were painted at the bottom on the wall, but there was no such name as the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited. I stood for a few minutes with my heart in my boots, wondering whether the whole thing was an elaborate hoax or not, when up came a man and addressed me. He was very like the chap I had seen the night before, the same figure and voice, but he was clean shaven and his hair was lighter. "'Are you Mr. Hall Pycroft?' he asked. "'Yes,' said I. "'Oh! I was expecting you, but you are a trifle before your time. I had a note from my brother this morning in which he sang your praises very loudly.' "'I was just looking for the offices when you came.' "'We have not got our name up yet, for we only secured these temporary premises last week. Come up with me, and we will talk the matter over.' "I followed him to the top of a very lofty stair, and there, right under the slates, were a couple of empty, dusty little rooms, uncarpeted and uncurtained, into which he led me. I had thought of a great office with shining tables and rows of clerks, such as I was used to, and I dare say I stared rather straight at the two deal chairs and one little table, which, with a ledger and a waste paper basket, made up the whole furniture. "'Don't be disheartened, Mr. Pycroft,' said my new acquaintance, seeing the length of my face. 'Rome was not built in a day, and we have lots of money at our backs, though we don't cut much dash yet in offices. Pray sit down, and let me have your letter.' "I gave it to him, and her read it over very carefully. "'You seem to have made a vast impression upon my brother Arthur,' said he; 'and I know that he is a pretty shrewd judge. He swears by London, you know; and I by Birmingham; but this time I shall follow his advice. Pray consider yourself definitely engaged.' "'What are my duties?' I asked. "'You will eventually manage the great depot in Paris, which will pour a flood of English crockery into the shops of a hundred and thirty-four agents in France. The purchase will be completed in a week, and meanwhile you will remain in Birmingham and make yourself useful.' "'How?' "For answer, he took a big red book out of a drawer. "'This is a directory of Paris,' said he, 'with the trades after the names of the people. I want you to take it home with you, and to mark off all the hardware sellers, with their addresses. It would be of the greatest use to me to have them.' "'Surely there are classified lists?' I suggested. "'Not reliable ones. Their system is different from ours. Stick at it, and let me have the lists by Monday, at twelve. Good-day, Mr. Pycroft. If you continue to show zeal and intelligence you will find the company a good master.' "I went back to the hotel with the big book under my arm, and with very conflicting feelings in my breast. On the one hand, I was definitely engaged and had a hundred pounds in my pocket; on the other, the look of the offices, the absence of name on the wall, and other of the points which would strike a business man had left a bad impression as to the position of my employers. However, come what might, I had my money, so I settled down to my task. All Sunday I was kept hard at work, and yet by Monday I had only got as far as H. I went round to my employer, found him in the same dismantled kind of room, and was told to keep at it until Wednesday, and then come again. On Wednesday it was still unfinished, so I hammered away until Friday--that is, yesterday. Then I brought it round to Mr. Harry Pinner. "'Thank you very much,' said he; 'I fear that I underrated the difficulty of the task. This list will be of very material assistance to me.' "'It took some time,' said I. "'And now,' said he, 'I want you to make a list of the furniture shops, for they all sell crockery.' "'Very good.' "'And you can come up to-morrow evening, at seven, and let me know how you are getting on. Don't overwork yourself. A couple of hours at Day's Music Hall in the evening would do you no harm after your labors.' He laughed as he spoke, and I saw with a thrill that his second tooth upon the left-hand side had been very badly stuffed with gold." Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands with delight, and I stared with astonishment at our client. "You may well look surprised, Dr. Watson; but it is this way," said he: "When I was speaking to the other chap in London, at the time that he laughed at my not going to Mawson's, I happened to notice that his tooth was stuffed in this very identical fashion. The glint of the gold in each case caught my eye, you see. When I put that with the voice and figure being the same, and only those things altered which might be changed by a razor or a wig, I could not doubt that it was the same man. Of course you expect two brothers to be alike, but not that they should have the same tooth stuffed in the same way. He bowed me out, and I found myself in the street, hardly knowing whether I was on my head or my heels. Back I went to my hotel, put my head in a basin of cold water, and tried to think it out. Why had he sent me from London to Birmingham? Why had he got there before me? And why had he written a letter from himself to himself? It was altogether too much for me, and I could make no sense of it. And then suddenly it struck me that what was dark to me might be very light to Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had just time to get up to town by the night train to see him this morning, and to bring you both back with me to Birmingham." There was a pause after the stock-broker's clerk had concluded his surprising experience. Then Sherlock Holmes cocked his eye at me, leaning back on the cushions with a pleased and yet critical face, like a connoisseur who has just taken his first sip of a comet vintage. "Rather fine, Watson, is it not?" said he. "There are points in it which please me. I think that you will agree with me that an interview with Mr. Arthur Harry Pinner in the temporary offices of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company, Limited, would be a rather interesting experience for both of us." "But how can we do it?" I asked. "Oh, easily enough," said Hall Pycroft, cheerily. "You are two friends of mine who are in want of a billet, and what could be more natural than that I should bring you both round to the managing director?" "Quite so, of course," said Holmes. "I should like to have a look at the gentleman, and see if I can make anything of his little game. What qualities have you, my friend, which would make your services so valuable? Or is it possible that--" He began biting his nails and staring blankly out of the window, and we hardly drew another word from him until we were in New Street. At seven o'clock that evening we were walking, the three of us, down Corporation Street to the company's offices. "It is no use our being at all before our time," said our client. "He only comes there to see me, apparently, for the place is deserted up to the very hour he names." "That is suggestive," remarked Holmes. "By Jove, I told you so!" cried the clerk. "That's he walking ahead of us there." He pointed to a smallish, dark, well-dressed man who was bustling along the other side of the road. As we watched him he looked across at a boy who was bawling out the latest edition of the evening paper, and running over among the cabs and busses, he bought one from him. Then, clutching it in his hand, he vanished through a door-way. "There he goes!" cried Hall Pycroft. "These are the company's offices into which he has gone. Come with me, and I'll fix it up as easily as possible." Following his lead, we ascended five stories, until we found ourselves outside a half-opened door, at which our client tapped. A voice within bade us enter, and we entered a bare, unfurnished room such as Hall Pycroft had described. At the single table sat the man whom we had seen in the street, with his evening paper spread out in front of him, and as he looked up at us it seemed to me that I had never looked upon a face which bore such marks of grief, and of something beyond grief--of a horror such as comes to few men in a lifetime. His brow glistened with perspiration, his cheeks were of the dull, dead white of a fish's belly, and his eyes were wild and staring. He looked at his clerk as though he failed to recognize him, and I could see by the astonishment depicted upon our conductor's face that this was by no means the usual appearance of his employer. "You look ill, Mr. Pinner!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I am not very well," answered the other, making obvious efforts to pull himself together, and licking his dry lips before he spoke. "Who are these gentlemen whom you have brought with you?" "One is Mr. Harris, of Bermondsey, and the other is Mr. Price, of this town," said our clerk, glibly. "They are friends of mine and gentlemen of experience, but they have been out of a place for some little time, and they hoped that perhaps you might find an opening for them in the company's employment." "Very possibly! Very possibly!" cried Mr. Pinner with a ghastly smile. "Yes, I have no doubt that we shall be able to do something for you. What is your particular line, Mr. Harris?" "I am an accountant," said Holmes. "Ah yes, we shall want something of the sort. And you, Mr. Price?" "A clerk," said I. "I have every hope that the company may accommodate you. I will let you know about it as soon as we come to any conclusion. And now I beg that you will go. For God's sake leave me to myself!" These last words were shot out of him, as though the constraint which he was evidently setting upon himself had suddenly and utterly burst asunder. Holmes and I glanced at each other, and Hall Pycroft took a step towards the table. "You forget, Mr. Pinner, that I am here by appointment to receive some directions from you," said he. "Certainly, Mr. Pycroft, certainly," the other resumed in a calmer tone. "You may wait here a moment; and there is no reason why your friends should not wait with you. I will be entirely at your service in three minutes, if I might trespass upon your patience so far." He rose with a very courteous air, and, bowing to us, he passed out through a door at the farther end of the room, which he closed behind him. "What now?" whispered Holmes. "Is he giving us the slip?" "Impossible," answered Pycroft. "Why so?" "That door leads into an inner room." "There is no exit?" "None." "Is it furnished?" "It was empty yesterday." "Then what on earth can he be doing? There is something which I don't understand in his manner. If ever a man was three parts mad with terror, that man's name is Pinner. What can have put the shivers on him?" "He suspects that we are detectives," I suggested. "That's it," cried Pycroft. Holmes shook his head. "He did not turn pale. He was pale when we entered the room," said he. "It is just possible that--" His words were interrupted by a sharp rat-tat from the direction of the inner door. "What the deuce is he knocking at his own door for?" cried the clerk. Again and much louder cam the rat-tat-tat. We all gazed expectantly at the closed door. Glancing at Holmes, I saw his face turn rigid, and he leaned forward in intense excitement. Then suddenly came a low guggling, gargling sound, and a brisk drumming upon woodwork. Holmes sprang frantically across the room and pushed at the door. It was fastened on the inner side. Following his example, we threw ourselves upon it with all our weight. One hinge snapped, then the other, and down came the door with a crash. Rushing over it, we found ourselves in the inner room. It was empty. But it was only for a moment that we were at fault. At one corner, the corner nearest the room which we had left, there was a second door. Holmes sprang to it and pulled it open. A coat and waistcoat were lying on the floor, and from a hook behind the door, with his own braces round his neck, was hanging the managing director of the Franco-Midland Hardware Company. His knees were drawn up, his head hung at a dreadful angle to his body, and the clatter of his heels against the door made the noise which had broken in upon our conversation. In an instant I had caught him round the waist, and held him up while Holmes and Pycroft untied the elastic bands which had disappeared between the livid creases of skin. Then we carried him into the other room, where he lay with a clay-colored face, puffing his purple lips in and out with every breath--a dreadful wreck of all that he had been but five minutes before. "What do you think of him, Watson?" asked Holmes. I stooped over him and examined him. His pulse was feeble and intermittent, but his breathing grew longer, and there was a little shivering of his eyelids, which showed a thin white slit of ball beneath. "It has been touch and go with him," said I, "but he'll live now. Just open that window, and hand me the water carafe." I undid his collar, poured the cold water over his face, and raised and sank his arms until he drew a long, natural breath. "It's only a question of time now," said I, as I turned away from him. Holmes stood by the table, with his hands deep in his trouser's pockets and his chin upon his breast. "I suppose we ought to call the police in now," said he. "And yet I confess that I'd like to give them a complete case when they come." "It's a blessed mystery to me," cried Pycroft, scratching his head. "Whatever they wanted to bring me all the way up here for, and then--" "Pooh! All that is clear enough," said Holmes impatiently. "It is this last sudden move." "You understand the rest, then?" "I think that it is fairly obvious. What do you say, Watson?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I must confess that I am out of my depths," said I. "Oh surely if you consider the events at first they can only point to one conclusion." "What do you make of them?" "Well, the whole thing hinges upon two points. The first is the making of Pycroft write a declaration by which he entered the service of this preposterous company. Do you not see how very suggestive that is?" "I am afraid I miss the point." "Well, why did they want him to do it? Not as a business matter, for these arrangements are usually verbal, and there was no earthly business reason why this should be an exception. Don't you see, my young friend, that they were very anxious to obtain a specimen of your handwriting, and had no other way of doing it?" "And why?" "Quite so. Why? When we answer that we have made some progress with our little problem. Why? There can be only one adequate reason. Someone wanted to learn to imitate your writing, and had to procure a specimen of it first. And now if we pass on to the second point we find that each throws light upon the other. That point is the request made by Pinner that you should not resign your place, but should leave the manager of this important business in the full expectation that a Mr. Hall Pycroft, whom he had never seen, was about to enter the office upon the Monday morning." "My God!" cried our client, "what a blind beetle I have been!" "Now you see the point about the handwriting. Suppose that some one turned up in your place who wrote a completely different hand from that in which you had applied for the vacancy, of course the game would have been up. But in the interval the rogue had learned to imitate you, and his position was therefore secure, as I presume that nobody in the office had ever set eyes upon you." "Not a soul," groaned Hall Pycroft. "Very good. Of course it was of the utmost importance to prevent you from thinking better of it, and also to keep you from coming into contact with any one who might tell you that your double was at work in Mawson's office. Therefore they gave you a handsome advance on your salary, and ran you off to the Midlands, where they gave you enough work to do to prevent your going to London, where you might have burst their little game up. That is all plain enough." "But why should this man pretend to be his own brother?" "Well, that is pretty clear also. There are evidently only two of them in it. The other is impersonating you at the office. This one acted as your engager, and then found that he could not find you an employer without admitting a third person into his plot. That he was most unwilling to do. He changed his appearance as far as he could, and trusted that the likeness, which you could not fail to observe, would be put down to a family resemblance. But for the happy chance of the gold stuffing, your suspicions would probably never have been aroused." Hall Pycroft shook his clinched hands in the air. "Good Lord!" he cried, "while I have been fooled in this way, what has this other Hall Pycroft been doing at Mawson's? What should we do, Mr. Holmes? Tell me what to do." "We must wire to Mawson's." "They shut at twelve on Saturdays." "Never mind. There may be some door-keeper or attendant--" "Ah yes, they keep a permanent guard there on account of the value of the securities that they hold. I remember hearing it talked of in the City." "Very good; we shall wire to him, and see if all is well, and if a clerk of your name is working there. That is clear enough; but what is not so clear is why at sight of us one of the rogues should instantly walk out of the room and hang himself." "The paper!" croaked a voice behind us. The man was sitting up, blanched and ghastly, with returning reason in his eyes, and hands which rubbed nervously at the broad red band which still encircled his throat. "The paper! Of course!" yelled Holmes, in a paroxysm of excitement. "Idiot that I was! I thought so must of our visit that the paper never entered my head for an instant. To be sure, the secret must be there." He flattened it out upon the table, and a cry of triumph burst from his lips. "Look at this, Watson," he cried. "It is a London paper, an early edition of the Evening Standard. Here is what we want. Look at the headlines: 'Crime in the City. Murder at Mawson & Williams's. Gigantic attempted Robbery. Capture of the Criminal.' Here, Watson, we are all equally anxious to hear it, so kindly read it aloud to us." It appeared from its position in the paper to have been the one event of importance in town, and the account of it ran in this way: "A desperate attempt at robbery, culminating in the death of one man and the capture of the criminal, occurred this afternoon in the City. For some time back Mawson & Williams, the famous financial house, have been the guardians of securities which amount in the aggregate to a sum of considerably over a million sterling. So conscious was the manager of the responsibility which devolved upon him in consequence of the great interests at stake that safes of the very latest construction have been employed, and an armed watchman has been left day and night in the building. It appears that last week a new clerk named Hall Pycroft was engaged by the firm. This person appears to have been none other that Beddington, the famous forger and cracksman, who, with his brother, had only recently emerged from a five years' spell of penal servitude. By some means, which are not yet clear, he succeeded in winning, under a false name, this official position in the office, which he utilized in order to obtain moulding of various locks, and a thorough knowledge of the position of the strong room and the safes. "It is customary at Mawson's for the clerks to leave at midday on Saturday. Sergeant Tuson, of the City Police, was somewhat surprised, therefore to see a gentleman with a carpet bag come down the steps at twenty minutes past one. His suspicions being aroused, the sergeant followed the man, and with the aid of Constable Pollack succeeded, after a most desperate resistance, in arresting him. It was at once clear that a daring and gigantic robbery had been committed. Nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of American railway bonds, with a large amount of scrip in mines and other companies, was discovered in the bag. On examining the premises the body of the unfortunate watchman was found doubled up and thrust into the largest of the safes, where it would not have been discovered until Monday morning had it not been for the prompt action of Sergeant Tuson. The man's skull had been shattered by a blow from a poker delivered from behind. There could be no doubt that Beddington had obtained entrance by pretending that he had left something behind him, and having murdered the watchman, rapidly rifled the large safe, and then made off with his booty. His brother, who usually works with him, has not appeared in this job as far as can at present be ascertained, although the police are making energetic inquiries as to his whereabouts." "Well, we may save the police some little trouble in that direction," said Holmes, glancing at the haggard figure huddled up by the window. "Human nature is a strange mixture, Watson. You see that even a villain and murderer can inspire such affection that his brother turns to suicide when he learns that his neck is forfeited. However, we have no choice as to our action. The doctor and I will remain on guard, Mr. Pycroft, if you will have the kindness to step out for the police." THE "GLORIA SCOTT" "I have some papers here," said my friend Sherlock Holmes, as we sat one winter's night on either side of the fire, "which I really think, Watson, that it would be worth your while to glance over. These are the documents in the extraordinary case of the Gloria Scott, and this is the message which struck Justice of the Peace Trevor dead with horror when he read it." He had picked from a drawer a little tarnished cylinder, and, undoing the tape, he handed me a short note scrawled upon a half-sheet of slate gray-paper. "The supply of game for London is going steadily up," it ran. "Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life." As I glanced up from reading this enigmatical message, I saw Holmes chuckling at the expression upon my face. "You look a little bewildered," said he. "I cannot see how such a message as this could inspire horror. It seems to me to be rather grotesque than otherwise." "Very likely. Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol." "You arouse my curiosity," said I. "But why did you say just now that there were very particular reasons why I should study this case?" "Because it was the first in which I was ever engaged." I had often endeavored to elicit from my companion what had first turned his mind in the direction of criminal research, but had never caught him before in a communicative humor. Now he sat forward in his arm-chair and spread out the documents upon his knees. Then he lit his pipe and sat for some time smoking and turning them over. "You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor?" he asked. "He was the only friend I made during the two years I was at college. I was never a very sociable fellow, Watson, always rather fond of moping in my rooms and working out my own little methods of thought, so that I never mixed much with the men of my year. Bar fencing and boxing I had few athletic tastes, and then my line of study was quite distinct from that of the other fellows, so that we had no points of contact at all. Trevor was the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel. "It was a prosaic way of forming a friendship, but it was effective. I was laid by the heels for ten days, but Trevor used to come in to inquire after me. At first it was only a minute's chat, but soon his visits lengthened, and before the end of the term we were close friends. He was a hearty, full-blooded fellow, full of spirits and energy, the very opposite to me in most respects, but we had some subjects in common, and it was a bond of union when I found that he was as friendless as I. Finally, he invited me down to his father's place at Donnithorpe, in Norfolk, and I accepted his hospitality for a month of the long vacation. "Old Trevor was evidently a man of some wealth and consideration, a J.P., and a landed proprietor. Donnithorpe is a little hamlet just to the north of Langmere, in the country of the Broads. The house was an old-fashioned, wide-spread, oak-beamed brick building, with a fine lime-lined avenue leading up to it. There was excellent wild-duck shooting in the fens, remarkably good fishing, a small but select library, taken over, as I understood, from a former occupant, and a tolerable cook, so that he would be a fastidious man who could not put in a pleasant month there. "Trevor senior was a widower, and my friend his only son. "There had been a daughter, I heard, but she had died of diphtheria while on a visit to Birmingham. The father interested me extremely. He was a man of little culture, but with a considerable amount of rude strength, both physically and mentally. He knew hardly any books, but he had traveled far, had seen much of the world. And had remembered all that he had learned. In person he was a thick-set, burly man with a shock of grizzled hair, a brown, weather-beaten face, and blue eyes which were keen to the verge of fierceness. Yet he had a reputation for kindness and charity on the country-side, and was noted for the leniency of his sentences from the bench. "One evening, shortly after my arrival, we were sitting over a glass of port after dinner, when young Trevor began to talk about those habits of observation and inference which I had already formed into a system, although I had not yet appreciated the part which they were to play in my life. The old man evidently thought that his son was exaggerating in his description of one or two trivial feats which I had performed. "'Come, now, Mr. Holmes,' said he, laughing good-humoredly. 'I'm an excellent subject, if you can deduce anything from me.' "'I fear there is not very much,' I answered; 'I might suggest that you have gone about in fear of some personal attack within the last twelve months.' "The laugh faded from his lips, and he stared at me in great surprise. "'Well, that's true enough,' said he. 'You know, Victor,' turning to his son, 'when we broke up that poaching gang they swore to knife us, and Sir Edward Holly has actually been attacked. I've always been on my guard since then, though I have no idea how you know it.' "'You have a very handsome stick,' I answered. 'By the inscription I observed that you had not had it more than a year. But you have taken some pains to bore the head of it and pour melted lead into the hole so as to make it a formidable weapon. I argued that you would not take such precautions unless you had some danger to fear.' "'Anything else?' he asked, smiling. "'You have boxed a good deal in your youth.' "'Right again. How did you know it? Is my nose knocked a little out of the straight?' "'No,' said I. 'It is your ears. They have the peculiar flattening and thickening which marks the boxing man.' "'Anything else?' "'You have done a good deal of digging by your callosities.' "'Made all my money at the gold fields.' "'You have been in New Zealand.' "'Right again.' "'You have visited Japan.' "'Quite true.' "'And you have been most intimately associated with some one whose initials were J. A., and whom you afterwards were eager to entirely forget.' "Mr. Trevor stood slowly up, fixed his large blue eyes upon me with a strange wild stare, and then pitched forward, with his face among the nutshells which strewed the cloth, in a dead faint. "You can imagine, Watson, how shocked both his son and I were. His attack did not last long, however, for when we undid his collar, and sprinkled the water from one of the finger-glasses over his face, he gave a gasp or two and sat up. "'Ah, boys,' said he, forcing a smile, 'I hope I haven't frightened you. Strong as I look, there is a weak place in my heart, and it does not take much to knock me over. I don't know how you manage this, Mr. Holmes, but it seems to me that all the detectives of fact and of fancy would be children in your hands. That's your line of life, sir, and you may take the word of a man who has seen something of the world.' "And that recommendation, with the exaggerated estimate of my ability with which he prefaced it, was, if you will believe me, Watson, the very first thing which ever made me feel that a profession might be made out of what had up to that time been the merest hobby. At the moment, however, I was too much concerned at the sudden illness of my host to think of anything else. "'I hope that I have said nothing to pain you?' said I. "'Well, you certainly touched upon rather a tender point. Might I ask how you know, and how much you know?' He spoke now in a half-jesting fashion, but a look of terror still lurked at the back of his eyes. "'It is simplicity itself,' said I. 'When you bared your arm to draw that fish into the boat I saw that J. A. had been tattooed in the bend of the elbow. The letters were still legible, but it was perfectly clear from their blurred appearance, and from the staining of the skin round them, that efforts had been made to obliterate them. It was obvious, then, that those initials had once been very familiar to you, and that you had afterwards wished to forget them.' "'What an eye you have!' he cried, with a sigh of relief. 'It is just as you say. But we won't talk of it. Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old lovers are the worst. Come into the billiard-room and have a quiet cigar.' "From that day, amid all his cordiality, there was always a touch of suspicion in Mr. Trevor's manner towards me. Even his son remarked it. 'You've given the governor such a turn,' said he, 'that he'll never be sure again of what you know and what you don't know.' He did not mean to show it, I am sure, but it was so strongly in his mind that it peeped out at every action. At last I became so convinced that I was causing him uneasiness that I drew my visit to a close. On the very day, however, before I left, an incident occurred which proved in the sequel to be of importance. "We were sitting out upon the lawn on garden chairs, the three of us, basking in the sun and admiring the view across the Broads, when a maid came out to say that there was a man at the door who wanted to see Mr. Trevor. "'What is his name?' asked my host. "'He would not give any.' "'What does he want, then?' "'He says that you know him, and that he only wants a moment's conversation.' "'Show him round here.' An instant afterwards there appeared a little wizened fellow with a cringing manner and a shambling style of walking. He wore an open jacket, with a splotch of tar on the sleeve, a red-and-black check shirt, dungaree trousers, and heavy boots badly worn. His face was thin and brown and crafty, with a perpetual smile upon it, which showed an irregular line of yellow teeth, and his crinkled hands were half closed in a way that is distinctive of sailors. As he came slouching across the lawn I heard Mr. Trevor make a sort of hiccoughing noise in his throat, and jumping out of his chair, he ran into the house. He was back in a moment, and I smelt a strong reek of brandy as he passed me. "'Well, my man,' said he. 'What can I do for you?' "The sailor stood looking at him with puckered eyes, and with the same loose-lipped smile upon his face. "'You don't know me?' he asked. "'Why, dear me, it is surely Hudson,' said Mr. Trevor in a tone of surprise. "'Hudson it is, sir,' said the seaman. 'Why, it's thirty year and more since I saw you last. Here you are in your house, and me still picking my salt meat out of the harness cask.' "'Tut, you will find that I have not forgotten old times,' cried Mr. Trevor, and, walking towards the sailor, he said something in a low voice. 'Go into the kitchen,' he continued out loud, 'and you will get food and drink. I have no doubt that I shall find you a situation.' "'Thank you, sir,' said the seaman, touching his fore-lock. 'I'm just off a two-yearer in an eight-knot tramp, short-handed at that, and I wants a rest. I thought I'd get it either with Mr. Beddoes or with you.' "'Ah!' cried Trevor. 'You know where Mr. Beddoes is?' "'Bless you, sir, I know where all my old friends are,' said the fellow with a sinister smile, and he slouched off after the maid to the kitchen. Mr. Trevor mumbled something to us about having been shipmate with the man when he was going back to the diggings, and then, leaving us on the lawn, he went indoors. An hour later, when we entered the house, we found him stretched dead drunk upon the dining-room sofa. The whole incident left a most ugly impression upon my mind, and I was not sorry next day to leave Donnithorpe behind me, for I felt that my presence must be a source of embarrassment to my friend. "All this occurred during the first month of the long vacation. I went up to my London rooms, where I spent seven weeks working out a few experiments in organic chemistry. One day, however, when the autumn was far advanced and the vacation drawing to a close, I received a telegram from my friend imploring me to return to Donnithorpe, and saying that he was in great need of my advice and assistance. Of course I dropped everything and set out for the North once more. "He met me with the dog-cart at the station, and I saw at a glance that the last two months had been very trying ones for him. He had grown thin and careworn, and had lost the loud, cheery manner for which he had been remarkable. "'The governor is dying,' were the first words he said. "'Impossible!' I cried. 'What is the matter?' "'Apoplexy. Nervous shock, He's been on the verge all day. I doubt if we shall find him alive.' "I was, as you may think, Watson, horrified at this unexpected news. "'What has caused it?' I asked. "'Ah, that is the point. Jump in and we can talk it over while we drive. You remember that fellow who came upon the evening before you left us?' "'Perfectly.' "'Do you know who it was that we let into the house that day?' "'I have no idea.' "'It was the devil, Holmes,' he cried. "I stared at him in astonishment. "'Yes, it was the devil himself. We have not had a peaceful hour since--not one. The governor has never held up his head from that evening, and now the life has been crushed out of him and his heart broken, all through this accursed Hudson.' "'What power had he, then?' "'Ah, that is what I would give so much to know. The kindly, charitable, good old governor--how could he have fallen into the clutches of such a ruffian! But I am so glad that you have come, Holmes. I trust very much to your judgment and discretion, and I know that you will advise me for the best.' "We were dashing along the smooth white country road, with the long stretch of the Broads in front of us glimmering in the red light of the setting sun. From a grove upon our left I could already see the high chimneys and the flag-staff which marked the squire's dwelling. "'My father made the fellow gardener,' said my companion, 'and then, as that did not satisfy him, he was promoted to be butler. The house seemed to be at his mercy, and he wandered about and did what he chose in it. The maids complained of his drunken habits and his vile language. The dad raised their wages all round to recompense them for the annoyance. The fellow would take the boat and my father's best gun and treat himself to little shooting trips. And all this with such a sneering, leering, insolent face that I would have knocked him down twenty times over if he had been a man of my own age. I tell you, Holmes, I have had to keep a tight hold upon myself all this time; and now I am asking myself whether, if I had let myself go a little more, I might not have been a wiser man. "'Well, matters went from bad to worse with us, and this animal Hudson became more and more intrusive, until at last, on making some insolent reply to my father in my presence one day, I took him by the shoulders and turned him out of the room. He slunk away with a livid face and two venomous eyes which uttered more threats than his tongue could do. I don't know what passed between the poor dad and him after that, but the dad came to me next day and asked me whether I would mind apologizing to Hudson. I refused, as you can imagine, and asked my father how he could allow such a wretch to take such liberties with himself and his household. "'"Ah, my boy," said he, "it is all very well to talk, but you don't know how I am placed. But you shall know, Victor. I'll see that you shall know, come what may. You wouldn't believe harm of your poor old father, would you, lad?" He was very much moved, and shut himself up in the study all day, where I could see through the window that he was writing busily. "'That evening there came what seemed to me to be a grand release, for Hudson told us that he was going to leave us. He walked into the dining-room as we sat after dinner, and announced his intention in the thick voice of a half-drunken man. "'"I've had enough of Norfolk," said he. "I'll run down to Mr. Beddoes in Hampshire. He'll be as glad to see me as you were, I dare say." "'"You're not going away in any kind of spirit, Hudson, I hope," said my father, with a tameness which mad my blood boil. "'"I've not had my 'pology," said he sulkily, glancing in my direction. "'"Victor, you will acknowledge that you have used this worthy fellow rather roughly," said the dad, turning to me. "'"On the contrary, I think that we have both shown extraordinary patience towards him," I answered. "'"Oh, you do, do you?" he snarls. "Very good, mate. We'll see about that!" "'He slouched out of the room, and half an hour afterwards left the house, leaving my father in a state of pitiable nervousness. Night after night I heard him pacing his room, and it was just as he was recovering his confidence that the blow did at last fall.' "'And how?' I asked eagerly. "'In a most extraordinary fashion. A letter arrived for my father yesterday evening, bearing the Fordingbridge post-mark. My father read it, clapped both his hands to his head, and began running round the room in little circles like a man who has been driven out of his senses. When I at last drew him down on to the sofa, his mouth and eyelids were all puckered on one side, and I saw that he had a stroke. Dr. Fordham came over at once. We put him to bed; but the paralysis has spread, he has shown no sign of returning consciousness, and I think that we shall hardly find him alive.' "'You horrify me, Trevor!' I cried. 'What then could have been in this letter to cause so dreadful a result?' "'Nothing. There lies the inexplicable part of it. The message was absurd and trivial. Ah, my God, it is as I feared!' "As he spoke we came round the curve of the avenue, and saw in the fading light that every blind in the house had been drawn down. As we dashed up to the door, my friend's face convulsed with grief, a gentleman in black emerged from it. "'When did it happen, doctor?' asked Trevor. "'Almost immediately after you left.' "'Did he recover consciousness?' "'For an instant before the end.' "'Any message for me?' "'Only that the papers were in the back drawer of the Japanese cabinet.' "My friend ascended with the doctor to the chamber of death, while I remained in the study, turning the whole matter over and over in my head, and feeling as sombre as ever I had done in my life. What was the past of this Trevor, pugilist, traveler, and gold-digger, and how had he placed himself in the power of this acid-faced seaman? Why, too, should he faint at an allusion to the half-effaced initials upon his arm, and die of fright when he had a letter from Fordingham? Then I remembered that Fordingham was in Hampshire, and that this Mr. Beddoes, whom the seaman had gone to visit and presumably to blackmail, had also been mentioned as living in Hampshire. The letter, then, might either come from Hudson, the seaman, saying that he had betrayed the guilty secret which appeared to exist, or it might come from Beddoes, warning an old confederate that such a betrayal was imminent. So far it seemed clear enough. But then how could this letter be trivial and grotesque, as described by the son? He must have misread it. If so, it must have been one of those ingenious secret codes which mean one thing while they seem to mean another. I must see this letter. If there were a hidden meaning in it, I was confident that I could pluck it forth. For an hour I sat pondering over it in the gloom, until at last a weeping maid brought in a lamp, and close at her heels came my friend Trevor, pale but composed, with these very papers which lie upon my knee held in his grasp. He sat down opposite to me, drew the lamp to the edge of the table, and handed me a short note scribbled, as you see, upon a single sheet of gray paper. 'The supply of game for London is going steadily up,' it ran. 'Head-keeper Hudson, we believe, has been now told to receive all orders for fly-paper and for preservation of your hen-pheasant's life.' "I dare say my face looked as bewildered as yours did just now when first I read this message. Then I reread it very carefully. It was evidently as I had thought, and some secret meaning must lie buried in this strange combination of words. Or could it be that there was a prearranged significance to such phrases as 'fly-paper' and 'hen-pheasant'? Such a meaning would be arbitrary and could not be deduced in any way. And yet I was loath to believe that this was the case, and the presence of the word Hudson seemed to show that the subject of the message was as I had guessed, and that it was from Beddoes rather than the sailor. I tried it backwards, but the combination 'life pheasant's hen' was not encouraging. Then I tried alternate words, but neither 'the of for' nor 'supply game London' promised to throw any light upon it. "And then in an instant the key of the riddle was in my hands, and I saw that every third word, beginning with the first, would give a message which might well drive old Trevor to despair. "It was short and terse, the warning, as I now read it to my companion: "'The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life.' "Victor Trevor sank his face into his shaking hands, 'It must be that, I suppose,' said he. "This is worse than death, for it means disgrace as well. But what is the meaning of these "head-keepers" and "hen-pheasants"? "'It means nothing to the message, but it might mean a good deal to us if we had no other means of discovering the sender. You see that he has begun by writing "The ... game ... is," and so on. Afterwards he had, to fulfill the prearranged cipher, to fill in any two words in each space. He would naturally use the first words which came to his mind, and if there were so many which referred to sport among them, you may be tolerably sure that he is either an ardent shot or interested in breeding. Do you know anything of this Beddoes?' "'Why, now that you mention it,' said he, 'I remember that my poor father used to have an invitation from him to shoot over his preserves every autumn.' "'Then it is undoubtedly from him that the note comes,' said I. 'It only remains for us to find out what this secret was which the sailor Hudson seems to have held over the heads of these two wealthy and respected men.' "'Alas, Holmes, I fear that it is one of sin and shame!' cried my friend. 'But from you I shall have no secrets. Here is the statement which was drawn up by my father when he knew that the danger from Hudson had become imminent. I found it in the Japanese cabinet, as he told the doctor. Take it and read it to me, for I have neither the strength nor the courage to do it myself.' "These are the very papers, Watson, which he handed to me, and I will read them to you, as I read them in the old study that night to him. They are endorsed outside, as you see, 'Some particulars of the voyage of the bark Gloria Scott, from her leaving Falmouth on the 8th October, 1855, to her destruction in N. Lat. 15° 20', W. Long. 25° 14' on Nov. 6th.' It is in the form of a letter, and runs in this way: "'My dear, dear son, now that approaching disgrace begins to darken the closing years of my life, I can write with all truth and honesty that it is not the terror of the law, it is not the loss of my position in the county, nor is it my fall in the eyes of all who have known me, which cuts me to the heart; but it is the thought that you should come to blush for me--you who love me and who have seldom, I hope, had reason to do other than respect me. But if the blow falls which is forever hanging over me, then I should wish you to read this, that you may know straight from me how far I have been to blame. On the other hand, if all should go well (which may kind God Almighty grant!), then if by any chance this paper should be still undestroyed and should fall into your hands, I conjure you, by all you hold sacred, by the memory of your dear mother, and by the love which had been between us, to hurl it into the fire and to never give one thought to it again. "'If then your eye goes onto read this line, I know that I shall already have been exposed and dragged from my home, or as is more likely, for you know that my heart is weak, by lying with my tongue sealed forever in death. In either case the time for suppression is past, and every word which I tell you is the naked truth, and this I swear as I hope for mercy. "'My name, dear lad, is not Trevor. I was James Armitage in my younger days, and you can understand now the shock that it was to me a few weeks ago when your college friend addressed me in words which seemed to imply that he had surprised my secret. As Armitage it was that I entered a London banking-house, and as Armitage I was convicted of breaking my country's laws, and was sentenced to transportation. Do not think very harshly of me, laddie. It was a debt of honor, so called, which I had to pay, and I used money which was not my own to do it, in the certainty that I could replace it before there could be any possibility of its being missed. But the most dreadful ill-luck pursued me. The money which I had reckoned upon never came to hand, and a premature examination of accounts exposed my deficit. The case might have been dealt leniently with, but the laws were more harshly administered thirty years ago than now, and on my twenty-third birthday I found myself chained as a felon with thirty-seven other convicts in 'tween-decks of the bark Gloria Scott, bound for Australia. "'It was the year '55 when the Crimean war was at its height, and the old convict ships had been largely used as transports in the Black Sea. The government was compelled, therefore, to use smaller and less suitable vessels for sending out their prisoners. The Gloria Scott had been in the Chinese tea-trade, but she was an old-fashioned, heavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft, and the new clippers had cut her out. She was a five-hundred-ton boat; and besides her thirty-eight jail-birds, she carried twenty-six of a crew, eighteen soldiers, a captain, three mates, a doctor, a chaplain, and four warders. Nearly a hundred souls were in her, all told, when we set sail from Falmouth. "'The partitions between the cells of the convicts, instead of being of thick oak, as is usual in convict-ships, were quite thin and frail. The man next to me, upon the aft side, was one whom I had particularly noticed when we were led down the quay. He was a young man with a clear, hairless face, a long, thin nose, and rather nut-cracker jaws. He carried his head very jauntily in the air, had a swaggering style of walking, and was, above all else, remarkable for his extraordinary height. I don't think any of our heads would have come up to his shoulder, and I am sure that he could not have measured less than six and a half feet. It was strange among so many sad and weary faces to see one which was full of energy and resolution. The sight of it was to me like a fire in a snow-storm. I was glad, then, to find that he was my neighbor, and gladder still when, in the dead of the night, I heard a whisper close to my ear, and found that he had managed to cut an opening in the board which separated us. "'"Hullo, chummy!" said he, "what's your name, and what are you here for?" "'I answered him, and asked in turn who I was talking with. "'"I'm Jack Prendergast," said he, "and by God! You'll learn to bless my name before you've done with me." "'I remembered hearing of his case, for it was one which had made an immense sensation throughout the country some time before my own arrest. He was a man of good family and of great ability, but of incurably vicious habits, who had, by an ingenious system of fraud, obtained huge sums of money from the leading London merchants. "'"Ha, ha! You remember my case!" said he proudly. "'"Very well, indeed." "'"Then maybe you remember something queer about it?" "'"What was that, then?" "'"I'd had nearly a quarter of a million, hadn't I?" "'"So it was said." "'"But none was recovered, eh?" "'"No." "'"Well, where d'ye suppose the balance is?" he asked. "'"I have no idea," said I. "'"Right between my finger and thumb," he cried. "By God! I've got more pounds to my name than you've hairs on your head. And if you've money, my son, and know how to handle it and spread it, you can do anything. Now, you don't think it likely that a man who could do anything is going to wear his breeches out sitting in the stinking hold of a rat-gutted, beetle-ridden, mouldy old coffin of a Chin China coaster. No, sir, such a man will look after himself and will look after his chums. You may lay to that! You hold on to him, and you may kiss the book that he'll haul you through." "'That was his style of talk, and at first I thought it meant nothing; but after a while, when he had tested me and sworn me in with all possible solemnity, he let me understand that there really was a plot to gain command of the vessel. A dozen of the prisoners had hatched it before they came aboard, Prendergast was the leader, and his money was the motive power. "'"I'd a partner," said he, "a rare good man, as true as a stock to a barrel. He's got the dibbs, he has, and where do you think he is at this moment? Why, he's the chaplain of this ship--the chaplain, no less! He came aboard with a black coat, and his papers right, and money enough in his box to buy the thing right up from keel to main-truck. The crew are his, body and soul. He could buy 'em at so much a gross with a cash discount, and he did it before ever they signed on. He's got two of the warders and Mercer, the second mate, and he'd get the captain himself, if he thought him worth it." "'"What are we to do, then?" I asked. "'"What do you think?" said he. "We'll make the coats of some of these soldiers redder than ever the tailor did." "'"But they are armed," said I. "'"And so shall we be, my boy. There's a brace of pistols for every mother's son of us, and if we can't carry this ship, with the crew at our back, it's time we were all sent to a young misses' boarding-school. You speak to your mate upon the left to-night, and see if he is to be trusted." "'I did so, and found my other neighbor to be a young fellow in much the same position as myself, whose crime had been forgery. His name was Evans, but he afterwards changed it, like myself, and he is now a rich and prosperous man in the south of England. He was ready enough to join the conspiracy, as the only means of saving ourselves, and before we had crossed the Bay there were only two of the prisoners who were not in the secret. One of these was of weak mind, and we did not dare to trust him, and the other was suffering from jaundice, and could not be of any use to us. "'From the beginning there was really nothing to prevent us from taking possession of the ship. The crew were a set of ruffians, specially picked for the job. The sham chaplain came into our cells to exhort us, carrying a black bag, supposed to be full of tracts, and so often did he come that by the third day we had each stowed away at the foot of our beds a file, a brace of pistols, a pound of powder, and twenty slugs. Two of the warders were agents of Prendergast, and the second mate was his right-hand man. The captain, the two mates, two warders Lieutenant Martin, his eighteen soldiers, and the doctor were all that we had against us. Yet, safe as it was, we determined to neglect no precaution, and to make our attack suddenly by night. It came, however, more quickly than we expected, and in this way. "'One evening, about the third week after our start, the doctor had come down to see one of the prisoners who was ill, and putting his hand down on the bottom of his bunk he felt the outline of the pistols. If he had been silent he might have blown the whole thing, but he was a nervous little chap, so he gave a cry of surprise and turned so pale that the man knew what was up in an instant and seized him. He was gagged before he could give the alarm, and tied down upon the bed. He had unlocked the door that led to the deck, and we were through it in a rush. The two sentries were shot down, and so was a corporal who came running to see what was the matter. There were two more soldiers at the door of the state-room, and their muskets seemed not to be loaded, for they never fired upon us, and they were shot while trying to fix their bayonets. Then we rushed on into the captain's cabin, but as we pushed open the door there was an explosion from within, and there he lay with his brains smeared over the chart of the Atlantic which was pinned upon the table, while the chaplain stood with a smoking pistol in his hand at his elbow. The two mates had both been seized by the crew, and the whole business seemed to be settled. "'The state-room was next the cabin, and we flocked in there and flopped down on the settees, all speaking together, for we were just mad with the feeling that we were free once more. There were lockers all round, and Wilson, the sham chaplain, knocked one of them in, and pulled out a dozen of brown sherry. We cracked off the necks of the bottles, poured the stuff out into tumblers, and were just tossing them off, when in an instant without warning there came the roar of muskets in our ears, and the saloon was so full of smoke that we could not see across the table. When it cleared again the place was a shambles. Wilson and eight others were wriggling on the top of each other on the floor, and the blood and the brown sherry on that table turn me sick now when I think of it. We were so cowed by the sight that I think we should have given the job up if had not been for Prendergast. He bellowed like a bull and rushed for the door with all that were left alive at his heels. Out we ran, and there on the poop were the lieutenent and ten of his men. The swing skylights above the saloon table had been a bit open, and they had fired on us through the slit. We got on them before they could load, and they stood to it like men; but we had the upper hand of them, and in five minutes it was all over. My God! Was there ever a slaughter-house like that ship! Predergast was like a raging devil, and he picked the soldiers up as if they had been children and threw them overboard alive or dead. There was one sergeant that was horribly wounded and yet kept on swimming for a surprising time, until some one in mercy blew out his brains. When the fighting was over there was no one left of our enemies except just the warders, the mates, and the doctor. "'It was over them that the great quarrel arose. There were many of us who were glad enough to win back our freedom, and yet who had no wish to have murder on our souls. It was one thing to knock the soldiers over with their muskets in their hands, and it was another to stand by while men were being killed in cold blood. Eight of us, five convicts and three sailors, said that we would not see it done. But there was no moving Predergast and those who were with him. Our only chance of safety lay in making a clean job of it, said he, and he would not leave a tongue with power to wag in a witness-box. It nearly came to our sharing the fate of the prisoners, but at last he said that if we wished we might take a boat and go. We jumped at the offer, for we were already sick of these blookthirsty doings, and we saw that there would be worse before it was done. We were given a suit of sailor togs each, a barrel of water, two casks, one of junk and one of biscuits, and a compass. Prendergast threw us over a chart, told us that we were shipwrecked mariners whose ship had foundered in Lat. 15° and Long. 25° west, and then cut the painter and let us go. "'And now I come to the most surprising part of my story, my dear son. The seamen had hauled the fore-yard aback during the rising, but now as we left them they brought it square again, and as there was a light wind from the north and east the bark began to draw slowly away from us. Our boat lay, rising and falling, upon the long, smooth rollers, and Evans and I, who were the most educated of the party, were sitting in the sheets working out our position and planning what coast we should make for. It was a nice question, for the Cape de Verds were about five hundred miles to the north of us, and the African coast about seven hundred to the east. On the whole, as the wind was coming round to the north, we thought that Sierra Leone might be best, and turned our head in that direction, the bark being at that time nearly hull down on our starboard quarter. Suddenly as we looked at her we saw a dense black cloud of smoke shoot up from her, which hung like a monstrous tree upon the sky line. A few seconds later a roar like thunder burst upon our ears, and as the smoke thinned away there was no sign left of the Gloria Scott. In an instant we swept the boat's head round again and pulled with all our strength for the place where the haze still trailing over the water marked the scene of this catastrophe. "'It was a long hour before we reached it, and at first we feared that we had come too late to save any one. A splintered boat and a number of crates and fragments of spars rising and falling on the waves showed us where the vessel had foundered; but there was no sign of life, and we had turned away in despair when we heard a cry for help, and saw at some distance a piece of wreckage with a man lying stretched across it. When we pulled him aboard the boat he proved to be a young seaman of the name of Hudson, who was so burned and exhausted that he could give us no account of what had happened until the following morning. "'It seemed that after we had left, Prendergast and his gang had proceeded to put to death the five remaining prisoners. The two warders had been shot and thrown overboard, and so also had the third mate. Prendergast then descended into the 'tween-decks and with his own hands cut the throat of the unfortunate surgeon. There only remained the first mate, who was a bold and active man. When he saw the convict approaching him with the bloody knife in his hand he kicked off his bonds, which he had somehow contrived to loosen, and rushing down the deck he plunged into the after-hold. A dozen convicts, who descended with their pistols in search of him, found him with a match-box in his hand seated beside an open powder-barrel, which was one of a hundred carried on board, and swearing that he would blow all hands up if he were in any way molested. An instant later the explosion occurred, though Hudson thought it was caused by the misdirected bullet of one of the convicts rather than the mate's match. Be the cause what I may, it was the end of the Gloria Scott and of the rabble who held command of her. "'Such, in a few words, my dear boy, is the history of this terrible business in which I was involved. Next day we were picked up by the brig Hotspur, bound for Australia, whose captain found no difficulty in believing that we were the survivors of a passenger ship which had foundered. The transport ship Gloria Scott was set down by the Admiralty as being lost at sea, and no word has ever leaked out as to her true fate. After an excellent voyage the Hotspur landed us at Sydney, where Evans and I changed our names and made our way to the diggings, where, among the crowds who were gathered from all nations, we had no difficulty in losing our former identities. The rest I need not relate. We prospered, we traveled, we came back as rich colonials to England, and we bought country estates. For more than twenty years we have led peaceful and useful lives, and we hoped that our past was forever buried. Imagine, then, my feelings when in the seaman who came to us I recognized instantly the man who had been picked off the wreck. He had tracked us down somehow, and had set himself to live upon our fears. You will understand now how it was that I strove to keep the peace with him, and you will in some measure sympathize with me in the fears which fill me, now that he has gone from me to his other victim with threats upon his tongue.' "Underneath is written in a hand so shaky as to be hardly legible, 'Beddoes writes in cipher to say H. has told all. Sweet Lord, have mercy on our souls!' "That was the narrative which I read that night to young Trevor, and I think, Watson, that under the circumstances it was a dramatic one. The good fellow was heart-broken at it, and went out to the Terai tea planting, where I hear that he is doing well. As to the sailor and Beddoes, neither of them was ever heard of again after that day on which the letter of warning was written. They both disappeared utterly and completely. No complaint had been lodged with the police, so that Beddoes had mistaken a threat for a deed. Hudson had been seen lurking about, and it was believed by the police that he had done away with Beddoes and had fled. For myself I believe that the truth was exactly the opposite. I think that it is most probable that Beddoes, pushed to desperation and believing himself to have been already betrayed, had revenged himself upon Hudson, and had fled from the country with as much money as he could lay his hands on. Those are the facts of the case, Doctor, and if they are of any use to your collection, I am sure that they are very heartily at your service." THE MUSGRAVE RITUAL An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it. Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter's night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages. "There are cases enough here, Watson," said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. "I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in." "These are the records of your early work, then?" I asked. "I have often wished that I had notes of those cases." "Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me." He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. "They are not all successes, Watson," said he. "But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here's the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here--ah, now, this really is something a little recherché." He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children's toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal. "Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?" he asked, smiling at my expression. "It is a curious collection." "Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still." "These relics have a history then?" "So much so that they are history." "What do you mean by that?" Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "These," said he, "are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual." I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. "I should be so glad," said I, "if you would give me an account of it." "And leave the litter as it is?" he cried, mischievously. "Your tidiness won't bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business. "You may remember how the affair of the Gloria Scott, and my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first turned my attention in the direction of the profession which has become my life's work. You see me now when my name has become known far and wide, and when I am generally recognized both by the public and by the official force as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you have commemorated in 'A Study in Scarlet,' I had already established a considerable, though not a very lucrative, connection. You can hardly realize, then, how difficult I found it at first, and how long I had to wait before I succeeded in making any headway. "When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street, just round the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited, filling in my too abundant leisure time by studying all those branches of science which might make me more efficient. Now and again cases came in my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow-students, for during my last years at the University there was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods. The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of events, and the large issues which proved to be at stake, that I trace my first stride towards the position which I now hold. "Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what was set down as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In appearance he was a man of exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet courtly manners. He was indeed a scion of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern Musgraves some time in the sixteenth century, and had established itself in western Sussex, where the Manor House of Hurlstone is perhaps the oldest inhabited building in the county. Something of his birth place seemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that more than once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observation and inference. "For four years I had seen nothing of him until one morning he walked into my room in Montague Street. He had changed little, was dressed like a young man of fashion--he was always a bit of a dandy--and preserved the same quiet, suave manner which had formerly distinguished him. "'How has all gone with you Musgrave?' I asked, after we had cordially shaken hands. "'You probably heard of my poor father's death,' said he; 'he was carried off about two years ago. Since then I have of course had the Hurlstone estates to manage, and as I am member for my district as well, my life has been a busy one. But I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us?' "'Yes,' said I, 'I have taken to living by my wits.' "'I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We have had some very strange doings at Hurlstone, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the matter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business.' "You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him, Watson, for the very chance for which I had been panting during all those months of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart I believed that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had the opportunity to test myself. "'Pray, let me have the details,' I cried. "Reginald Musgrave sat down opposite to me, and lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards him. "'You must know,' said he, 'that though I am a bachelor, I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants at Hurlstone, for it is a rambling old place, and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve, too, and in the pheasant months I usually have a house-party, so that it would not do to be short-handed. Altogether there are eight maids, the cook, the butler, two footmen, and a boy. The garden and the stables of course have a separate staff. "'Of these servants the one who had been longest in our service was Brunton the butler. He was a young school-master out of place when he was first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. He was a well-grown, handsome man, with a splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for twenty years he cannot be more than forty now. With his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts--for he can speak several languages and play nearly every musical instrument--it is wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position, but I suppose that he was comfortable, and lacked energy to make any change. The butler of Hurlstone is always a thing that is remembered by all who visit us. "'But this paragon has one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in a quiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but since he has been a widower we have had no end of trouble with him. A few months ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again for he became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second house-maid; but he has thrown her over since then and taken up with Janet Tregellis, the daughter of the head game-keeper. Rachel--who is a very good girl, but of an excitable Welsh temperament--had a sharp touch of brain-fever, and goes about the house now--or did until yesterday--like a black-eyed shadow of her former self. That was our first drama at Hurlstone; but a second one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of butler Brunton. "'This was how it came about. I have said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seems to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least concern him. I had no idea of the lengths to which this would carry him, until the merest accident opened my eyes to it. "'I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last week--on Thursday night, to be more exact--I found that I could not sleep, having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner. After struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite hopeless, so I rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a novel which I was reading. The book, however, had been left in the billiard-room, so I pulled on my dressing-gown and started off to get it. "'In order to reach the billiard-room I had to descend a flight of stairs and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise when, as I looked down this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before coming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridors at Hurlstone have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old weapons. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then, leaving my candle behind me, I crept on tiptoe down the passage and peeped in at the open door. "'Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting, fully dressed, in an easy-chair, with a slip of paper which looked like a map upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment, watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his chair, and walking over to a bureau at the side, he unlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. From this he took a paper, and returning to his seat he flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table, and began to study it with minute attention. My indignation at this calm examination of our family documents overcame me so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying. "'"So!" said I. "This is how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you. You will leave my service to-morrow." "'He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed, and slunk past me without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light I glanced to see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from the bureau. To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions and answers in the singular old observance called the Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family, which each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of age--a thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazonings and charges, but of no practical use whatever.' "'We had better come back to the paper afterwards,' said I. "'If you think it really necessary,' he answered, with some hesitation. 'To continue my statement, however: I relocked the bureau, using the key which Brunton had left, and I had turned to go when I was surprised to find that the butler had returned, and was standing before me. "'"Mr. Musgrave, sir," he cried, in a voice which was hoarse with emotion, "I can't bear disgrace, sir. I've always been proud above my station in life, and disgrace would kill me. My blood will be on your head, sir--it will, indeed--if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep me after what has passed, then for God's sake let me give you notice and leave in a month, as if of my own free will. I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk that I know so well." "'"You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton," I answered. "Your conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been a long time in the family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month, however is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason you like for going." "'"Only a week, sir?" he cried, in a despairing voice. "A fortnight--say at least a fortnight!" "'"A week," I repeated, "and you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with." "'He crept away, his face sunk upon his breast, like a broken man, while I put out the light and returned to my room. "'For two days after this Brunton was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, and waited with some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning, however he did not appear, as was his custom, after breakfast to receive my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room I happened to meet Rachel Howells, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently recovered from an illness, and was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated with her for being at work. "'"You should be in bed," I said. "Come back to your duties when you are stronger." "'She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect that her brain was affected. "'"I am strong enough, Mr. Musgrave," said she. "'"We will see what the doctor says," I answered. "You must stop work now, and when you go downstairs just say that I wish to see Brunton." "'"The butler is gone," said she. "'"Gone! Gone where?" "'"He is gone. No one has seen him. He is not in his room. Oh, yes, he is gone, he is gone!" She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in, he had been seen by no one since he had retired to his room the night before, and yet it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then could butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now? "'Of course we searched the house from cellar to garret, but there was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited; but we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before and we examined the lawn and the paths all round the house, but in vain. Matters were in this state, when a new development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery. "'For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. On the third night after Brunton's disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the arm-chair, when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly aroused, and, with the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken, for, starting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn to the edge of the mere, where they vanished close to the gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it. "'Of course, we had the drags at once, and set to work to recover the remains, but no trace of the body could we find. On the other hand, we brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was a linen bag which contained within it a mass of old rusted and discolored metal and several dull-colored pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was all that we could get from the mere, and, although we made every possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The county police are at their wits' end, and I have come up to you as a last resource.' "You can imagine, Watson, with what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and endeavored to piece them together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. The butler was gone. The maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but had afterwards had cause to hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his disappearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. What was the starting-point of this chain of events? There lay the end of this tangled line. "'I must see that paper, Musgrave,' said I, 'which this butler of your thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place.' "'It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours,' he answered. 'But it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the questions and answers here if you care to run your eye over them.' "He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to man's estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand. "'Whose was it?' "'His who is gone.' "'Who shall have it?' "'He who will come.' "'What was the month?' "'The sixth from the first.' "'Where was the sun?' "'Over the oak.' "'Where was the shadow?' "'Under the elm.' "'How was it stepped?' "'North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under.' "'What shall we give for it?' "'All that is ours.' "'Why should we give it?' "'For the sake of the trust.' "'The original has no date, but is in the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century,' remarked Musgrave. 'I am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to you in solving this mystery.' "'At least,' said I, 'it gives us another mystery, and one which is even more interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. You will excuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insight that ten generations of his masters.' "'I hardly follow you,' said Musgrave. 'The paper seems to me to be of no practical importance.' "'But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you caught him.' "'It is very possible. We took no pains to hide it.' "'He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared.' "'That is true. But what could he have to do with this old family custom of ours, and what does this rigmarole mean?' "'I don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that,' said I; 'with your permission we will take the first train down to Sussex, and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot.' "The same afternoon saw us both at Hurlstone. Possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I will confine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an L, the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus, from which the other had developed. Over the low, heavily-lintelled door, in the centre of this old part, is chiseled the date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stone-work are really much older than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had in the last century driven the family into building the new wing, and the old one was used now as a store-house and a cellar, when it was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timber surrounds the house, and the lake, to which my client had referred, lay close to the avenue, about two hundred yards from the building. "I was already firmly convinced, Watson, that there were not three separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read the Musgrave Ritual aright I should hold in my hand the clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid Howells. To that then I turned all my energies. Why should this servant be so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he saw something in it which had escaped all those generations of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. What was it then, and how had it affected his fate? "It was perfectly obvious to me, on reading the ritual, that the measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document alluded, and that if we could find that spot, we should be in a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guides given us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be no question at all. Right in front of the house, upon the left-hand side of the drive, there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent trees that I have ever seen. "'That was there when your ritual was drawn up,' said I, as we drove past it. "'It was there at the Norman Conquest in all probability,' he answered. 'It has a girth of twenty-three feet.' "Here was one of my fixed points secured. "'Have you any old elms?' I asked. "'There used to be a very old one over yonder but it was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump,' "'You can see where it used to be?' "'Oh, yes.' "'There are no other elms?' "'No old ones, but plenty of beeches.' "'I should like to see where it grew.' "We had driven up in a dogcart, and my client led me away at once, without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. My investigation seemed to be progressing. "'I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was?' I asked. "'I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet.' "'How do you come to know it?' I asked, in surprise. "'When my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry, it always took the shape of measuring heights. When I was a lad I worked out every tree and building in the estate.' "This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming more quickly than I could have reasonably hoped. "'Tell me,' I asked, 'did your butler ever ask you such a question?' "Reginald Musgrave looked at me in astonishment. 'Now that you call it to my mind,' he answered, 'Brunton did ask me about the height of the tree some months ago, in connection with some little argument with the groom.' "This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the right road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the Ritual would then be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I had, then, to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak." "That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer there." "Well, at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Musgrave to his study and whittled myself this peg, to which I tied this long string with a knot at each yard. Then I took two lengths of a fishing-rod, which came to just six feet, and I went back with my client to where the elm had been. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It was nine feet in length. "Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the other. I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my exultation, Watson, when within two inches of my peg I saw a conical depression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail. "From this starting-point I proceeded to step, having first taken the cardinal points by my pocket-compass. Ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot with a peg. Then I carefully paced off five to the east and two to the south. It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west meant now that I was to go two paces down the stone-flagged passage, and this was the place indicated by the Ritual. "Never have I felt such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and I could see that the old, foot-worn gray stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many a long year. Brunton had not been at work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But fortunately, Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and who was now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to check my calculation. "'And under,' he cried. 'You have omitted the "and under."' "I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, of course, I saw at once that I was wrong. 'There is a cellar under this then?' I cried. "'Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through this door.' "We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking a match, lit a large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and that we had not been the only people to visit the spot recently. "It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled at the sides, so as to leave a clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre to which a thick shepherd's-check muffler was attached. "'By Jove!' cried my client. 'That's Brunton's muffler. I have seen it on him, and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here?' "At my suggestion a couple of the county police were summoned to be present, and I then endeavored to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned beneath into which we all peered, while Musgrave, kneeling at the side, pushed down the lantern. "A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to us. At one side of this was a squat, brass-bound wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upwards, with this curious old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten through the wood, so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. Several discs of metal, old coins apparently, such as I hold here, were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it contained nothing else. "At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hams with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colored countenance; but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my client, when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. When his body had been carried from the cellar we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that with which we had started. "I confess that so far, Watson, I had been disappointed in my investigation. I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had found the place referred to in the Ritual; but now I was there, and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family had concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him, and what part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole matter carefully over. "You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man's place and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first-rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal equation, as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place. He found that the stone which covered it was just too heavy for a man to move unaided. What would he do next? He could not get help from outside, even if he had some one whom he could trust, without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detection. It was better, if he could, to have his helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realize that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl Howells, and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar, and their united force would suffice to raise the stone. So far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen them. "But for two of them, and one a woman, it must have been heavy work the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I should have done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood which were scattered round the floor. Almost at once I came upon what I expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very marked indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if they had been compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as they had dragged the stone up they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, until at last, when the opening was large enough to crawl through, they would hold it open by a billet placed lengthwise, which might very well become indented at the lower end, since the whole weight of the stone would press it down on to the edge of this other slab. So far I was still on safe ground. "And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly, only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must have waited above. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed up the contents presumably--since they were not to be found--and then--and then what happened? "What smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her--wronged her, perhaps, far more than we suspected--in her power? Was it a chance that the wood had slipped, and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre? Had she only been guilty of silence as to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, I seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure trove and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life out. "Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peals of hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the box? What had she done with that? Of course, it must have been the old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mere. She had thrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime. "For twenty minutes I had sat motionless, thinking the matter out. Musgrave still stood with a very pale face, swinging his lantern and peering down into the hole. "'These are coins of Charles the First,' said he, holding out the few which had been in the box; 'you see we were right in fixing our date for the Ritual.' "'We may find something else of Charles the First,' I cried, as the probable meaning of the first two question of the Ritual broke suddenly upon me. 'Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished from the mere.' "We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. I could understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it, for the metal was almost black and the stones lustreless and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metal work was in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape. "'You must bear in mind,' said I, 'that the royal party made head in England even after the death of the King, and that when they at last fled they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them, with the intention of returning for them in more peaceful times.' "'My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent Cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles the Second in his wanderings,' said my friend. "'Ah, indeed!' I answered. 'Well now, I think that really should give us the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which is of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as an historical curiosity.' "'What is it, then?' he gasped in astonishment. "'It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England.' "'The crown!' "'Precisely. Consider what the Ritual says: How does it run? "Whose was it?" "His who is gone." That was after the execution of Charles. Then, "Who shall have it?" "He who will come." That was Charles the Second, whose advent was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal Stuarts.' "'And how came it in the pond?' "'Ah, that is a question that will take some time to answer.' And with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of surmise and of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed in and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished. "'And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when he returned?' asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. "'Ah, there you lay your finger upon the one point which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left this guide to his descendant without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it has been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it and lost his life in the venture.' "And that's the story of the Musgrave Ritual, Watson. They have the crown down at Hurlstone--though they had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land beyond the seas." THE REIGATE SQUIRES It was some time before the health of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes recovered from the strain caused by his immense exertions in the spring of '87. The whole question of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and of the colossal schemes of Baron Maupertuis are too recent in the minds of the public, and are too intimately concerned with politics and finance to be fitting subjects for this series of sketches. They led, however, in an indirect fashion to a singular and complex problem which gave my friend an opportunity of demonstrating the value of a fresh weapon among the many with which he waged his life-long battle against crime. On referring to my notes I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch. Even the triumphant issue of his labors could not save him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed, and that he had outmanoeuvred at every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration. Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a week of spring time in the country was full of attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but when Holmes understood that the establishment was a bachelor one, and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, he fell in with my plans and a week after our return from Lyons we were under the Colonel's roof. Hayter was a fine old soldier who had seen much of the world, and he soon found, as I had expected, that Holmes and he had much in common. On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel's gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons. "By the way," said he suddenly, "I think I'll take one of these pistols upstairs with me in case we have an alarm." "An alarm!" said I. "Yes, we've had a scare in this part lately. Old Acton, who is one of our county magnates, had his house broken into last Monday. No great damage done, but the fellows are still at large." "No clue?" asked Holmes, cocking his eye at the Colonel. "None as yet. But the affair is a pretty one, one of our little country crimes, which must seem too small for your attention, Mr. Holmes, after this great international affair." Holmes waved away the compliment, though his smile showed that it had pleased him. "Was there any feature of interest?" "I fancy not. The thieves ransacked the library and got very little for their pains. The whole place was turned upside down, drawers burst open, and presses ransacked, with the result that an odd volume of Pope's Homer, two plated candlesticks, an ivory letter-weight, a small oak barometer, and a ball of twine are all that have vanished." "What an extraordinary assortment!" I exclaimed. "Oh, the fellows evidently grabbed hold of everything they could get." Holmes grunted from the sofa. "The county police ought to make something of that," said he; "why, it is surely obvious that--" But I held up a warning finger. "You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven's sake don't get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds." Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. It was destined, however, that all my professional caution should be wasted, for next morning the problem obtruded itself upon us in such a way that it was impossible to ignore it, and our country visit took a turn which neither of us could have anticipated. We were at breakfast when the Colonel's butler rushed in with all his propriety shaken out of him. "Have you heard the news, sir?" he gasped. "At the Cunningham's sir!" "Burglary!" cried the Colonel, with his coffee-cup in mid-air. "Murder!" The Colonel whistled. "By Jove!" said he. "Who's killed, then? The J.P. or his son?" "Neither, sir. It was William the coachman. Shot through the heart, sir, and never spoke again." "Who shot him, then?" "The burglar, sir. He was off like a shot and got clean away. He'd just broke in at the pantry window when William came on him and met his end in saving his master's property." "What time?" "It was last night, sir, somewhere about twelve." "Ah, then, we'll step over afterwards," said the Colonel, coolly settling down to his breakfast again. "It's a baddish business," he added when the butler had gone; "he's our leading man about here, is old Cunningham, and a very decent fellow too. He'll be cut up over this, for the man has been in his service for years and was a good servant. It's evidently the same villains who broke into Acton's." "And stole that very singular collection," said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Precisely." "Hum! It may prove the simplest matter in the world, but all the same at first glance this is just a little curious, is it not? A gang of burglars acting in the country might be expected to vary the scene of their operations, and not to crack two cribs in the same district within a few days. When you spoke last night of taking precautions I remember that it passed through my mind that this was probably the last parish in England to which the thief or thieves would be likely to turn their attention--which shows that I have still much to learn." "I fancy it's some local practitioner," said the Colonel. "In that case, of course, Acton's and Cunningham's are just the places he would go for, since they are far the largest about here." "And richest?" "Well, they ought to be, but they've had a lawsuit for some years which has sucked the blood out of both of them, I fancy. Old Acton has some claim on half Cunningham's estate, and the lawyers have been at it with both hands." "If it's a local villain there should not be much difficulty in running him down," said Holmes with a yawn. "All right, Watson, I don't intend to meddle." "Inspector Forrester, sir," said the butler, throwing open the door. The official, a smart, keen-faced young fellow, stepped into the room. "Good-morning, Colonel," said he; "I hope I don't intrude, but we hear that Mr. Holmes of Baker Street is here." The Colonel waved his hand towards my friend, and the Inspector bowed. "We thought that perhaps you would care to step across, Mr. Holmes." "The fates are against you, Watson," said he, laughing. "We were chatting about the matter when you came in, Inspector. Perhaps you can let us have a few details." As he leaned back in his chair in the familiar attitude I knew that the case was hopeless. "We had no clue in the Acton affair. But here we have plenty to go on, and there's no doubt it is the same party in each case. The man was seen." "Ah!" "Yes, sir. But he was off like a deer after the shot that killed poor William Kirwan was fired. Mr. Cunningham saw him from the bedroom window, and Mr. Alec Cunningham saw him from the back passage. It was quarter to twelve when the alarm broke out. Mr. Cunningham had just got into bed, and Mr. Alec was smoking a pipe in his dressing-gown. They both heard William the coachman calling for help, and Mr. Alec ran down to see what was the matter. The back door was open, and as he came to the foot of the stairs he saw two men wrestling together outside. One of them fired a shot, the other dropped, and the murderer rushed across the garden and over the hedge. Mr. Cunningham, looking out of his bedroom, saw the fellow as he gained the road, but lost sight of him at once. Mr. Alec stopped to see if he could help the dying man, and so the villain got clean away. Beyond the fact that he was a middle-sized man and dressed in some dark stuff, we have no personal clue; but we are making energetic inquiries, and if he is a stranger we shall soon find him out." "What was this William doing there? Did he say anything before he died?" "Not a word. He lives at the lodge with his mother, and as he was a very faithful fellow we imagine that he walked up to the house with the intention of seeing that all was right there. Of course this Acton business has put every one on their guard. The robber must have just burst open the door--the lock has been forced--when William came upon him." "Did William say anything to his mother before going out?" "She is very old and deaf, and we can get no information from her. The shock has made her half-witted, but I understand that she was never very bright. There is one very important circumstance, however. Look at this!" He took a small piece of torn paper from a note-book and spread it out upon his knee. "This was found between the finger and thumb of the dead man. It appears to be a fragment torn from a larger sheet. You will observe that the hour mentioned upon it is the very time at which the poor fellow met his fate. You see that his murderer might have torn the rest of the sheet from him or he might have taken this fragment from the murderer. It reads almost as though it were an appointment." Holmes took up the scrap of paper, a facsimile of which is here reproduced. [ Picture: Scrap showing the words: At quarter to twelve, learn what, may be ] "Presuming that it is an appointment," continued the Inspector, "it is of course a conceivable theory that this William Kirwan--though he had the reputation of being an honest man, may have been in league with the thief. He may have met him there, may even have helped him to break in the door, and then they may have fallen out between themselves." "This writing is of extraordinary interest," said Holmes, who had been examining it with intense concentration. "These are much deeper waters than I had thought." He sank his head upon his hands, while the Inspector smiled at the effect which his case had had upon the famous London specialist. "Your last remark," said Holmes, presently, "as to the possibility of there being an understanding between the burglar and the servant, and this being a note of appointment from one to the other, is an ingenious and not entirely impossible supposition. But this writing opens up--" He sank his head into his hands again and remained for some minutes in the deepest thought. When he raised his face again, I was surprised to see that his cheek was tinged with color, and his eyes as bright as before his illness. He sprang to his feet with all his old energy. "I'll tell you what," said he, "I should like to have a quiet little glance into the details of this case. There is something in it which fascinates me extremely. If you will permit me, Colonel, I will leave my friend Watson and you, and I will step round with the Inspector to test the truth of one or two little fancies of mine. I will be with you again in half an hour." An hour and half had elapsed before the Inspector returned alone. "Mr. Holmes is walking up and down in the field outside," said he. "He wants us all four to go up to the house together." "To Mr. Cunningham's?" "Yes, sir." "What for?" The Inspector shrugged his shoulders. "I don't quite know, sir. Between ourselves, I think Mr. Holmes had not quite got over his illness yet. He's been behaving very queerly, and he is very much excited." "I don't think you need alarm yourself," said I. "I have usually found that there was method in his madness." "Some folks might say there was madness in his method," muttered the Inspector. "But he's all on fire to start, Colonel, so we had best go out if you are ready." We found Holmes pacing up and down in the field, his chin sunk upon his breast, and his hands thrust into his trousers pockets. "The matter grows in interest," said he. "Watson, your country-trip has been a distinct success. I have had a charming morning." "You have been up to the scene of the crime, I understand," said the Colonel. "Yes; the Inspector and I have made quite a little reconnaissance together." "Any success?" "Well, we have seen some very interesting things. I'll tell you what we did as we walk. First of all, we saw the body of this unfortunate man. He certainly died from a revolver wound as reported." "Had you doubted it, then?" "Oh, it is as well to test everything. Our inspection was not wasted. We then had an interview with Mr. Cunningham and his son, who were able to point out the exact spot where the murderer had broken through the garden-hedge in his flight. That was of great interest." "Naturally." "Then we had a look at this poor fellow's mother. We could get no information from her, however, as she is very old and feeble." "And what is the result of your investigations?" "The conviction that the crime is a very peculiar one. Perhaps our visit now may do something to make it less obscure. I think that we are both agreed, Inspector, that the fragment of paper in the dead man's hand, bearing, as it does, the very hour of his death written upon it, is of extreme importance." "It should give a clue, Mr. Holmes." "It does give a clue. Whoever wrote that note was the man who brought William Kirwan out of his bed at that hour. But where is the rest of that sheet of paper?" "I examined the ground carefully in the hope of finding it," said the Inspector. "It was torn out of the dead man's hand. Why was some one so anxious to get possession of it? Because it incriminated him. And what would he do with it? Thrust it into his pocket, most likely, never noticing that a corner of it had been left in the grip of the corpse. If we could get the rest of that sheet it is obvious that we should have gone a long way towards solving the mystery." "Yes, but how can we get at the criminal's pocket before we catch the criminal?" "Well, well, it was worth thinking over. Then there is another obvious point. The note was sent to William. The man who wrote it could not have taken it; otherwise, of course, he might have delivered his own message by word of mouth. Who brought the note, then? Or did it come through the post?" "I have made inquiries," said the Inspector. "William received a letter by the afternoon post yesterday. The envelope was destroyed by him." "Excellent!" cried Holmes, clapping the Inspector on the back. "You've seen the postman. It is a pleasure to work with you. Well, here is the lodge, and if you will come up, Colonel, I will show you the scene of the crime." We passed the pretty cottage where the murdered man had lived, and walked up an oak-lined avenue to the fine old Queen Anne house, which bears the date of Malplaquet upon the lintel of the door. Holmes and the Inspector led us round it until we came to the side gate, which is separated by a stretch of garden from the hedge which lines the road. A constable was standing at the kitchen door. "Throw the door open, officer," said Holmes. "Now, it was on those stairs that young Mr. Cunningham stood and saw the two men struggling just where we are. Old Mr. Cunningham was at that window--the second on the left--and he saw the fellow get away just to the left of that bush. So did the son. They are both sure of it on account of the bush. Then Mr. Alec ran out and knelt beside the wounded man. The ground is very hard, you see, and there are no marks to guide us." As he spoke two men came down the garden path, from round the angle of the house. The one was an elderly man, with a strong, deep-lined, heavy-eyed face; the other a dashing young fellow, whose bright, smiling expression and showy dress were in strange contrast with the business which had brought us there. "Still at it, then?" said he to Holmes. "I thought you Londoners were never at fault. You don't seem to be so very quick, after all." "Ah, you must give us a little time," said Holmes good-humoredly. "You'll want it," said young Alec Cunningham. "Why, I don't see that we have any clue at all." "There's only one," answered the Inspector. "We thought that if we could only find--Good heavens, Mr. Holmes! What is the matter?" My poor friend's face had suddenly assumed the most dreadful expression. His eyes rolled upwards, his features writhed in agony, and with a suppressed groan he dropped on his face upon the ground. Horrified at the suddenness and severity of the attack, we carried him into the kitchen, where he lay back in a large chair, and breathed heavily for some minutes. Finally, with a shamefaced apology for his weakness, he rose once more. "Watson would tell you that I have only just recovered from a severe illness," he explained. "I am liable to these sudden nervous attacks." "Shall I send you home in my trap?" asked old Cunningham. "Well, since I am here, there is one point on which I should like to feel sure. We can very easily verify it." "What was it?" "Well, it seems to me that it is just possible that the arrival of this poor fellow William was not before, but after, the entrance of the burglary into the house. You appear to take it for granted that, although the door was forced, the robber never got in." "I fancy that is quite obvious," said Mr. Cunningham, gravely. "Why, my son Alec had not yet gone to bed, and he would certainly have heard any one moving about." "Where was he sitting?" "I was smoking in my dressing-room." "Which window is that?" "The last on the left next my father's." "Both of your lamps were lit, of course?" "Undoubtedly." "There are some very singular points here," said Holmes, smiling. "Is it not extraordinary that a burglary--and a burglar who had had some previous experience--should deliberately break into a house at a time when he could see from the lights that two of the family were still afoot?" "He must have been a cool hand." "Well, of course, if the case were not an odd one we should not have been driven to ask you for an explanation," said young Mr. Alec. "But as to your ideas that the man had robbed the house before William tackled him, I think it a most absurd notion. Wouldn't we have found the place disarranged, and missed the things which he had taken?" "It depends on what the things were," said Holmes. "You must remember that we are dealing with a burglar who is a very peculiar fellow, and who appears to work on lines of his own. Look, for example, at the queer lot of things which he took from Acton's--what was it?--a ball of string, a letter-weight, and I don't know what other odds and ends." "Well, we are quite in your hands, Mr. Holmes," said old Cunningham. "Anything which you or the Inspector may suggest will most certainly be done." "In the first place," said Holmes, "I should like you to offer a reward--coming from yourself, for the officials may take a little time before they would agree upon the sum, and these things cannot be done too promptly. I have jotted down the form here, if you would not mind signing it. Fifty pound was quite enough, I thought." "I would willingly give five hundred," said the J.P., taking the slip of paper and the pencil which Holmes handed to him. "This is not quite correct, however," he added, glancing over the document. "I wrote it rather hurriedly." "You see you begin, 'Whereas, at about a quarter to one on Tuesday morning an attempt was made,' and so on. It was at a quarter to twelve, as a matter of fact." I was pained at the mistake, for I knew how keenly Holmes would feel any slip of the kind. It was his specialty to be accurate as to fact, but his recent illness had shaken him, and this one little incident was enough to show me that he was still far from being himself. He was obviously embarrassed for an instant, while the Inspector raised his eyebrows, and Alec Cunningham burst into a laugh. The old gentleman corrected the mistake, however, and handed the paper back to Holmes. "Get it printed as soon as possible," he said; "I think your idea is an excellent one." Holmes put the slip of paper carefully away into his pocket-book. "And now," said he, "it really would be a good thing that we should all go over the house together and make certain that this rather erratic burglar did not, after all, carry anything away with him." Before entering, Holmes made an examination of the door which had been forced. It was evident that a chisel or strong knife had been thrust in, and the lock forced back with it. We could see the marks in the wood where it had been pushed in. "You don't use bars, then?" he asked. "We have never found it necessary." "You don't keep a dog?" "Yes, but he is chained on the other side of the house." "When do the servants go to bed?" "About ten." "I understand that William was usually in bed also at that hour." "Yes." "It is singular that on this particular night he should have been up. Now, I should be very glad if you would have the kindness to show us over the house, Mr. Cunningham." A stone-flagged passage, with the kitchens branching away from it, led by a wooden staircase directly to the first floor of the house. It came out upon the landing opposite to a second more ornamental stair which came up from the front hall. Out of this landing opened the drawing-room and several bedrooms, including those of Mr. Cunningham and his son. Holmes walked slowly, taking keen note of the architecture of the house. I could tell from his expression that he was on a hot scent, and yet I could not in the least imagine in what direction his inferences were leading him. "My good sir," said Mr. Cunningham with some impatience, "this is surely very unnecessary. That is my room at the end of the stairs, and my son's is the one beyond it. I leave it to your judgment whether it was possible for the thief to have come up here without disturbing us." "You must try round and get on a fresh scent, I fancy," said the son with a rather malicious smile. "Still, I must ask you to humor me a little further. I should like, for example, to see how far the windows of the bedrooms command the front. This, I understand is your son's room"--he pushed open the door--"and that, I presume, is the dressing-room in which he sat smoking when the alarm was given. Where does the window of that look out to?" He stepped across the bedroom, pushed open the door, and glanced round the other chamber. "I hope that you are satisfied now?" said Mr. Cunningham, tartly. "Thank you, I think I have seen all that I wished." "Then if it is really necessary we can go into my room." "If it is not too much trouble." The J.P. shrugged his shoulders, and led the way into his own chamber, which was a plainly furnished and commonplace room. As we moved across it in the direction of the window, Holmes fell back until he and I were the last of the group. Near the foot of the bed stood a dish of oranges and a carafe of water. As we passed it Holmes, to my unutterable astonishment, leaned over in front of me and deliberately knocked the whole thing over. The glass smashed into a thousand pieces and the fruit rolled about into every corner of the room. "You've done it now, Watson," said he, coolly. "A pretty mess you've made of the carpet." I stooped in some confusion and began to pick up the fruit, understanding for some reason my companion desired me to take the blame upon myself. The others did the same, and set the table on its legs again. "Hullo!" cried the Inspector, "where's he got to?" Holmes had disappeared. "Wait here an instant," said young Alec Cunningham. "The fellow is off his head, in my opinion. Come with me, father, and see where he has got to!" They rushed out of the room, leaving the Inspector, the Colonel, and me staring at each other. "'Pon my word, I am inclined to agree with Master Alec," said the official. "It may be the effect of this illness, but it seems to me that--" His words were cut short by a sudden scream of "Help! Help! Murder!" With a thrill I recognised the voice as that of my friend. I rushed madly from the room on to the landing. The cries, which had sunk down into a hoarse, inarticulate shouting, came from the room which we had first visited. I dashed in, and on into the dressing-room beyond. The two Cunninghams were bending over the prostrate figure of Sherlock Holmes, the younger clutching his throat with both hands, while the elder seemed to be twisting one of his wrists. In an instant the three of us had torn them away from him, and Holmes staggered to his feet, very pale and evidently greatly exhausted. "Arrest these men, Inspector," he gasped. "On what charge?" "That of murdering their coachman, William Kirwan." The Inspector stared about him in bewilderment. "Oh, come now, Mr. Holmes," said he at last, "I'm sure you don't really mean to--" "Tut, man, look at their faces!" cried Holmes, curtly. Never, certainly, have I seen a plainer confession of guilt upon human countenances. The older man seemed numbed and dazed with a heavy, sullen expression upon his strongly-marked face. The son, on the other hand, had dropped all that jaunty, dashing style which had characterized him, and the ferocity of a dangerous wild beast gleamed in his dark eyes and distorted his handsome features. The Inspector said nothing, but, stepping to the door, he blew his whistle. Two of his constables came at the call. "I have no alternative, Mr. Cunningham," said he. "I trust that this may all prove to be an absurd mistake, but you can see that--Ah, would you? Drop it!" He struck out with his hand, and a revolver which the younger man was in the act of cocking clattered down upon the floor. "Keep that," said Holmes, quietly putting his foot upon it; "you will find it useful at the trial. But this is what we really wanted." He held up a little crumpled piece of paper. "The remainder of the sheet!" cried the Inspector. "Precisely." "And where was it?" "Where I was sure it must be. I'll make the whole matter clear to you presently. I think, Colonel, that you and Watson might return now, and I will be with you again in an hour at the furthest. The Inspector and I must have a word with the prisoners, but you will certainly see me back at luncheon time." Sherlock Holmes was as good as his word, for about one o'clock he rejoined us in the Colonel's smoking-room. He was accompanied by a little elderly gentleman, who was introduced to me as the Mr. Acton whose house had been the scene of the original burglary. "I wished Mr. Acton to be present while I demonstrated this small matter to you," said Holmes, "for it is natural that he should take a keen interest in the details. I am afraid, my dear Colonel, that you must regret the hour that you took in such a stormy petrel as I am." "On the contrary," answered the Colonel, warmly, "I consider it the greatest privilege to have been permitted to study your methods of working. I confess that they quite surpass my expectations, and that I am utterly unable to account for your result. I have not yet seen the vestige of a clue." "I am afraid that my explanation may disillusion you but it has always been my habit to hide none of my methods, either from my friend Watson or from any one who might take an intelligent interest in them. But, first, as I am rather shaken by the knocking about which I had in the dressing-room, I think that I shall help myself to a dash of your brandy, Colonel. My strength had been rather tried of late." "I trust that you had no more of those nervous attacks." Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily. "We will come to that in its turn," said he. "I will lay an account of the case before you in its due order, showing you the various points which guided me in my decision. Pray interrupt me if there is any inference which is not perfectly clear to you. "It is of the highest importance in the art of detection to be able to recognize, out of a number of facts, which are incidental and which vital. Otherwise your energy and attention must be dissipated instead of being concentrated. Now, in this case there was not the slightest doubt in my mind from the first that the key of the whole matter must be looked for in the scrap of paper in the dead man's hand. "Before going into this, I would draw your attention to the fact that, if Alec Cunningham's narrative was correct, and if the assailant, after shooting William Kirwan, had instantly fled, then it obviously could not be he who tore the paper from the dead man's hand. But if it was not he, it must have been Alec Cunningham himself, for by the time that the old man had descended several servants were upon the scene. The point is a simple one, but the Inspector had overlooked it because he had started with the supposition that these county magnates had had nothing to do with the matter. Now, I make a point of never having any prejudices, and of following docilely wherever fact may lead me, and so, in the very first stage of the investigation, I found myself looking a little askance at the part which had been played by Mr. Alec Cunningham. "And now I made a very careful examination of the corner of paper which the Inspector had submitted to us. It was at once clear to me that it formed part of a very remarkable document. Here it is. Do you not now observed something very suggestive about it?" "It has a very irregular look," said the Colonel. "My dear sir," cried Holmes, "there cannot be the least doubt in the world that it has been written by two persons doing alternate words. When I draw your attention to the strong t's of 'at' and 'to', and ask you to compare them with the weak ones of 'quarter' and 'twelve,' you will instantly recognize the fact. A very brief analysis of these four words would enable you to say with the utmost confidence that the 'learn' and the 'maybe' are written in the stronger hand, and the 'what' in the weaker." "By Jove, it's as clear as day!" cried the Colonel. "Why on earth should two men write a letter in such a fashion?" "Obviously the business was a bad one, and one of the men who distrusted the other was determined that, whatever was done, each should have an equal hand in it. Now, of the two men, it is clear that the one who wrote the 'at' and 'to' was the ringleader." "How do you get at that?" "We might deduce it from the mere character of the one hand as compared with the other. But we have more assured reasons than that for supposing it. If you examine this scrap with attention you will come to the conclusion that the man with the stronger hand wrote all his words first, leaving blanks for the other to fill up. These blanks were not always sufficient, and you can see that the second man had a squeeze to fit his 'quarter' in between the 'at' and the 'to,' showing that the latter were already written. The man who wrote all his words first is undoubtedly the man who planned the affair." "Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton. "But very superficial," said Holmes. "We come now, however, to a point which is of importance. You may not be aware that the deduction of a man's age from his writing is one which has been brought to considerable accuracy by experts. In normal cases one can place a man in his true decade with tolerable confidence. I say normal cases, because ill-health and physical weakness reproduce the signs of old age, even when the invalid is a youth. In this case, looking at the bold, strong hand of the one, and the rather broken-backed appearance of the other, which still retains its legibility although the t's have begun to lose their crossing, we can say that the one was a young man and the other was advanced in years without being positively decrepit." "Excellent!" cried Mr. Acton again. "There is a further point, however, which is subtler and of greater interest. There is something in common between these hands. They belong to men who are blood-relatives. It may be most obvious to you in the Greek e's, but to me there are many small points which indicate the same thing. I have no doubt at all that a family mannerism can be traced in these two specimens of writing. I am only, of course, giving you the leading results now of my examination of the paper. There were twenty-three other deductions which would be of more interest to experts than to you. They all tended to deepen the impression upon my mind that the Cunninghams, father and son, had written this letter. "Having got so far, my next step was, of course, to examine into the details of the crime, and to see how far they would help us. I went up to the house with the Inspector, and saw all that was to be seen. The wound upon the dead man was, as I was able to determine with absolute confidence, fired from a revolver at the distance of something over four yards. There was no powder-blackening on the clothes. Evidently, therefore, Alec Cunningham had lied when he said that the two men were struggling when the shot was fired. Again, both father and son agreed as to the place where the man escaped into the road. At that point, however, as it happens, there is a broadish ditch, moist at the bottom. As there were no indications of bootmarks about this ditch, I was absolutely sure not only that the Cunninghams had again lied, but that there had never been any unknown man upon the scene at all. "And now I have to consider the motive of this singular crime. To get at this, I endeavored first of all to solve the reason of the original burglary at Mr. Acton's. I understood, from something which the Colonel told us, that a lawsuit had been going on between you, Mr. Acton, and the Cunninghams. Of course, it instantly occurred to me that they had broken into your library with the intention of getting at some document which might be of importance in the case." "Precisely so," said Mr. Acton. "There can be no possible doubt as to their intentions. I have the clearest claim upon half of their present estate, and if they could have found a single paper--which, fortunately, was in the strong-box of my solicitors--they would undoubtedly have crippled our case." "There you are," said Holmes, smiling. "It was a dangerous, reckless attempt, in which I seem to trace the influence of young Alec. Having found nothing they tried to divert suspicion by making it appear to be an ordinary burglary, to which end they carried off whatever they could lay their hands upon. That is all clear enough, but there was much that was still obscure. What I wanted above all was to get the missing part of that note. I was certain that Alec had torn it out of the dead man's hand, and almost certain that he must have thrust it into the pocket of his dressing-gown. Where else could he have put it? The only question was whether it was still there. It was worth an effort to find out, and for that object we all went up to the house. "The Cunninghams joined us, as you doubtless remember, outside the kitchen door. It was, of course, of the very first importance that they should not be reminded of the existence of this paper, otherwise they would naturally destroy it without delay. The Inspector was about to tell them the importance which we attached to it when, by the luckiest chance in the world, I tumbled down in a sort of fit and so changed the conversation." "Good heavens!" cried the Colonel, laughing, "do you mean to say all our sympathy was wasted and your fit an imposture?" "Speaking professionally, it was admirably done," cried I, looking in amazement at this man who was forever confounding me with some new phase of his astuteness. "It is an art which is often useful," said he. "When I recovered I managed, by a device which had perhaps some little merit of ingenuity, to get old Cunningham to write the word 'twelve,' so that I might compare it with the 'twelve' upon the paper." "Oh, what an ass I have been!" I exclaimed. "I could see that you were commiserating with me over my weakness," said Holmes, laughing. "I was sorry to cause you the sympathetic pain which I know that you felt. We then went upstairs together, and having entered the room and seen the dressing-gown hanging up behind the door, I contrived, by upsetting a table, to engage their attention for the moment, and slipped back to examine the pockets. I had hardly got the paper, however--which was, as I had expected, in one of them--when the two Cunninghams were on me, and would, I verily believe, have murdered me then and there but for your prompt and friendly aid. As it is, I feel that young man's grip on my throat now, and the father has twisted my wrist round in the effort to get the paper out of my hand. They saw that I must know all about it, you see, and the sudden change from absolute security to complete despair made them perfectly desperate. "I had a little talk with old Cunningham afterwards as to the motive of the crime. He was tractable enough, though his son was a perfect demon, ready to blow out his own or anybody else's brains if he could have got to his revolver. When Cunningham saw that the case against him was so strong he lost all heart and made a clean breast of everything. It seems that William had secretly followed his two masters on the night when they made their raid upon Mr. Acton's, and having thus got them into his power, proceeded, under threats of exposure, to levy black-mail upon them. Mr. Alec, however, was a dangerous man to play games of that sort with. It was a stroke of positive genius on his part to see in the burglary scare which was convulsing the country side an opportunity of plausibly getting rid of the man whom he feared. William was decoyed up and shot, and had they only got the whole of the note and paid a little more attention to detail in the accessories, it is very possible that suspicion might never have been aroused." "And the note?" I asked. Sherlock Holmes placed the subjoined paper before us. [ Picture: Paper which reads: If you will only come around at quarter to twelve to the east gate you will learn what will very much surprise you and may be of the greatest service to you and also to Annie Morrison. But say nothing to anyone upon the matter ] "It is very much the sort of thing that I expected," said he. "Of course, we do not yet know what the relations may have been between Alec Cunningham, William Kirwan, and Annie Morrison. The results shows that the trap was skillfully baited. I am sure that you cannot fail to be delighted with the traces of heredity shown in the p's and in the tails of the g's. The absence of the i-dots in the old man's writing is also most characteristic. Watson, I think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success, and I shall certainly return much invigorated to Baker Street to-morrow." THE CROOKED MAN One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day's work had been an exhausting one. My wife had already gone upstairs, and the sound of the locking of the hall door some time before told me that the servants had also retired. I had risen from my seat and was knocking out the ashes of my pipe when I suddenly heard the clang of the bell. I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be a visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting. With a wry face I went out into the hall and opened the door. To my astonishment it was Sherlock Holmes who stood upon my step. "Ah, Watson," said he, "I hoped that I might not be too late to catch you." "My dear fellow, pray come in." "You look surprised, and no wonder! Relieved, too, I fancy! Hum! You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then! There's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat. It's easy to tell that you have been accustomed to wear a uniform, Watson. You'll never pass as a pure-bred civilian as long as you keep that habit of carrying your handkerchief in your sleeve. Could you put me up tonight?" "With pleasure." "You told me that you had bachelor quarters for one, and I see that you have no gentleman visitor at present. Your hat-stand proclaims as much." "I shall be delighted if you will stay." "Thank you. I'll fill the vacant peg then. Sorry to see that you've had the British workman in the house. He's a token of evil. Not the drains, I hope?" "No, the gas." "Ah! He has left two nail-marks from his boot upon your linoleum just where the light strikes it. No, thank you, I had some supper at Waterloo, but I'll smoke a pipe with you with pleasure." I handed him my pouch, and he seated himself opposite to me and smoked for some time in silence. I was well aware that nothing but business of importance would have brought him to me at such an hour, so I waited patiently until he should come round to it. "I see that you are professionally rather busy just now," said he, glancing very keenly across at me. "Yes, I've had a busy day," I answered. "It may seem very foolish in your eyes," I added, "but really I don't know how you deduced it." Holmes chuckled to himself. "I have the advantage of knowing your habits, my dear Watson," said he. "When your round is a short one you walk, and when it is a long one you use a hansom. As I perceive that your boots, although used, are by no means dirty, I cannot doubt that you are at present busy enough to justify the hansom." "Excellent!" I cried. "Elementary," said he. "It is one of those instances where the reasoner can produce an effect which seems remarkable to his neighbor, because the latter has missed the one little point which is the basis of the deduction. The same may be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of some of these little sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious, depending as it does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in the problem which are never imparted to the reader. Now, at present I am in the position of these same readers, for I hold in this hand several threads of one of the strangest cases which ever perplexed a man's brain, and yet I lack the one or two which are needful to complete my theory. But I'll have them, Watson, I'll have them!" His eyes kindled and a slight flush sprang into his thin cheeks. For an instant the veil had lifted upon his keen, intense nature, but for an instant only. When I glanced again his face had resumed that red-Indian composure which had made so many regard him as a machine rather than a man. "The problem presents features of interest," said he. "I may even say exceptional features of interest. I have already looked into the matter, and have come, as I think, within sight of my solution. If you could accompany me in that last step you might be of considerable service to me." "I should be delighted." "Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?" "I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice." "Very good. I want to start by the 11.10 from Waterloo." "That would give me time." "Then, if you are not too sleepy, I will give you a sketch of what has happened, and of what remains to be done." "I was sleepy before you came. I am quite wakeful now." "I will compress the story as far as may be done without omitting anything vital to the case. It is conceivable that you may even have read some account of the matter. It is the supposed murder of Colonel Barclay, of the Royal Munsters, at Aldershot, which I am investigating." "I have heard nothing of it." "It has not excited much attention yet, except locally. The facts are only two days old. Briefly they are these: "The Royal Munsters is, as you know, one of the most famous Irish regiments in the British army. It did wonders both in the Crimea and the Mutiny, and has since that time distinguished itself upon every possible occasion. It was commanded up to Monday night by James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who started as a full private, was raised to commissioned rank for his bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command the regiment in which he had once carried a musket. "Colonel Barclay had married at the time when he was a sergeant, and his wife, whose maiden name was Miss Nancy Devoy, was the daughter of a former color-sergeant in the same corps. There was, therefore, as can be imagined, some little social friction when the young couple (for they were still young) found themselves in their new surroundings. They appear, however, to have quickly adapted themselves, and Mrs. Barclay has always, I understand, been as popular with the ladies of the regiment as her husband was with his brother officers. I may add that she was a woman of great beauty, and that even now, when she has been married for upwards of thirty years, she is still of a striking and queenly appearance. "Colonel Barclay's family life appears to have been a uniformly happy one. Major Murphy, to whom I owe most of my facts, assures me that he has never heard of any misunderstanding between the pair. On the whole, he thinks that Barclay's devotion to his wife was greater than his wife's to Barclay. He was acutely uneasy if he were absent from her for a day. She, on the other hand, though devoted and faithful, was less obtrusively affectionate. But they were regarded in the regiment as the very model of a middle-aged couple. There was absolutely nothing in their mutual relations to prepare people for the tragedy which was to follow. "Colonel Barclay himself seems to have had some singular traits in his character. He was a dashing, jovial old solder in his usual mood, but there were occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable of considerable violence and vindictiveness. This side of his nature, however, appears never to have been turned towards his wife. Another fact, which had struck Major Murphy and three out of five of the other officers with whom I conversed, was the singular sort of depression which came upon him at times. As the major expressed it, the smile had often been struck from his mouth, as if by some invisible hand, when he has been joining the gaieties and chaff of the mess-table. For days on end, when the mood was on him, he has been sunk in the deepest gloom. This and a certain tinge of superstition were the only unusual traits in his character which his brother officers had observed. The latter peculiarity took the form of a dislike to being left alone, especially after dark. This puerile feature in a nature which was conspicuously manly had often given rise to comment and conjecture. "The first battalion of the Royal Munsters (which is the old 117th) has been stationed at Aldershot for some years. The married officers live out of barracks, and the Colonel has during all this time occupied a villa called Lachine, about half a mile from the north camp. The house stands in its own grounds, but the west side of it is not more than thirty yards from the high-road. A coachman and two maids form the staff of servants. These with their master and mistress were the sole occupants of Lachine, for the Barclays had no children, nor was it usual for them to have resident visitors. "Now for the events at Lachine between nine and ten on the evening of last Monday. "Mrs. Barclay was, it appears, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, and had interested herself very much in the establishment of the Guild of St. George, which was formed in connection with the Watt Street Chapel for the purpose of supplying the poor with cast-off clothing. A meeting of the Guild had been held that evening at eight, and Mrs. Barclay had hurried over her dinner in order to be present at it. When leaving the house she was heard by the coachman to make some commonplace remark to her husband, and to assure him that she would be back before very long. She then called for Miss Morrison, a young lady who lives in the next villa, and the two went off together to their meeting. It lasted forty minutes, and at a quarter-past nine Mrs. Barclay returned home, having left Miss Morrison at her door as she passed. "There is a room which is used as a morning-room at Lachine. This faces the road and opens by a large glass folding-door on to the lawn. The lawn is thirty yards across, and is only divided from the highway by a low wall with an iron rail above it. It was into this room that Mrs. Barclay went upon her return. The blinds were not down, for the room was seldom used in the evening, but Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was quite contrary to her usual habits. The Colonel had been sitting in the dining-room, but hearing that his wife had returned he joined her in the morning-room. The coachman saw him cross the hall and enter it. He was never seen again alive. "The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was surprised to hear the voices of her master and mistress in furious altercation. She knocked without receiving any answer, and even turned the handle, but only to find that the door was locked upon the inside. Naturally enough she ran down to tell the cook, and the two women with the coachman came up into the hall and listened to the dispute which was still raging. They all agreed that only two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of his wife. Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt, so that none of them were audible to the listeners. The lady's, on the other hand, were most bitter, and when she raised her voice could be plainly heard. 'You coward!' she repeated over and over again. 'What can be done now? What can be done now? Give me back my life. I will never so much as breathe the same air with you again! You coward! You Coward!' Those were scraps of her conversation, ending in a sudden dreadful cry in the man's voice, with a crash, and a piercing scream from the woman. Convinced that some tragedy had occurred, the coachman rushed to the door and strove to force it, while scream after scream issued from within. He was unable, however, to make his way in, and the maids were too distracted with fear to be of any assistance to him. A sudden thought struck him, however, and he ran through the hall door and round to the lawn upon which the long French windows open. One side of the window was open, which I understand was quite usual in the summer-time, and he passed without difficulty into the room. His mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted over the side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender, was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own blood. "Naturally, the coachman's first thought, on finding that he could do nothing for his master, was to open the door. But here an unexpected and singular difficulty presented itself. The key was not in the inner side of the door, nor could he find it anywhere in the room. He went out again, therefore, through the window, and having obtained the help of a policeman and of a medical man, he returned. The lady, against whom naturally the strongest suspicion rested, was removed to her room, still in a state of insensibility. The Colonel's body was then placed upon the sofa, and a careful examination made of the scene of the tragedy. "The injury from which the unfortunate veteran was suffering was found to be a jagged cut some two inches long at the back part of his head, which had evidently been caused by a violent blow from a blunt weapon. Nor was it difficult to guess what that weapon may have been. Upon the floor, close to the body, was lying a singular club of hard carved wood with a bone handle. The Colonel possessed a varied collection of weapons brought from the different countries in which he had fought, and it is conjectured by the police that his club was among his trophies. The servants deny having seen it before, but among the numerous curiosities in the house it is possible that it may have been overlooked. Nothing else of importance was discovered in the room by the police, save the inexplicable fact that neither upon Mrs. Barclay's person nor upon that of the victim nor in any part of the room was the missing key to be found. The door had eventually to be opened by a locksmith from Aldershot. "That was the state of things, Watson, when upon the Tuesday morning I, at the request of Major Murphy, went down to Aldershot to supplement the efforts of the police. I think that you will acknowledge that the problem was already one of interest, but my observations soon made me realize that it was in truth much more extraordinary than would at first sight appear. "Before examining the room I cross-questioned the servants, but only succeeded in eliciting the facts which I have already stated. One other detail of interest was remembered by Jane Stewart, the housemaid. You will remember that on hearing the sound of the quarrel she descended and returned with the other servants. On that first occasion, when she was alone, she says that the voices of her master and mistress were sunk so low that she could hear hardly anything, and judged by their tones rather than their words that they had fallen out. On my pressing her, however, she remembered that she heard the word David uttered twice by the lady. The point is of the utmost importance as guiding us towards the reason of the sudden quarrel. The Colonel's name, you remember, was James. "There was one thing in the case which had made the deepest impression both upon the servants and the police. This was the contortion of the Colonel's face. It had set, according to their account, into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror which a human countenance is capable of assuming. More than one person fainted at the mere sight of him, so terrible was the effect. It was quite certain that he had foreseen his fate, and that it had caused him the utmost horror. This, of course, fitted in well enough with the police theory, if the Colonel could have seen his wife making a murderous attack upon him. Nor was the fact of the wound being on the back of his head a fatal objection to this, as he might have turned to avoid the blow. No information could be got from the lady herself, who was temporarily insane from an acute attack of brain-fever. "From the police I learned that Miss Morrison, who you remember went out that evening with Mrs. Barclay, denied having any knowledge of what it was which had caused the ill-humor in which her companion had returned. "Having gathered these facts, Watson, I smoked several pipes over them, trying to separate those which were crucial from others which were merely incidental. There could be no question that the most distinctive and suggestive point in the case was the singular disappearance of the door-key. A most careful search had failed to discover it in the room. Therefore it must have been taken from it. But neither the Colonel nor the Colonel's wife could have taken it. That was perfectly clear. Therefore a third person must have entered the room. And that third person could only have come in through the window. It seemed to me that a careful examination of the room and the lawn might possibly reveal some traces of this mysterious individual. You know my methods, Watson. There was not one of them which I did not apply to the inquiry. And it ended by my discovering traces, but very different ones from those which I had expected. There had been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawn coming from the road. I was able to obtain five very clear impressions of his foot-marks: one in the roadway itself, at the point where he had climbed the low wall, two on the lawn, and two very faint ones upon the stained boards near the window where he had entered. He had apparently rushed across the lawn, for his toe-marks were much deeper than his heels. But it was not the man who surprised me. It was his companion." "His companion!" Holmes pulled a large sheet of tissue-paper out of his pocket and carefully unfolded it upon his knee. "What do you make of that?" he asked. The paper was covered with the tracings of the foot-marks of some small animal. It had five well-marked foot-pads, an indication of long nails, and the whole print might be nearly as large as a dessert-spoon. "It's a dog," said I. "Did you ever hear of a dog running up a curtain? I found distinct traces that this creature had done so." "A monkey, then?" "But it is not the print of a monkey." "What can it be, then?" "Neither dog nor cat nor monkey nor any creature that we are familiar with. I have tried to reconstruct it from the measurements. Here are four prints where the beast has been standing motionless. You see that it is no less than fifteen inches from fore-foot to hind. Add to that the length of neck and head, and you get a creature not much less than two feet long--probably more if there is any tail. But now observe this other measurement. The animal has been moving, and we have the length of its stride. In each case it is only about three inches. You have an indication, you see, of a long body with very short legs attached to it. It has not been considerate enough to leave any of its hair behind it. But its general shape must be what I have indicated, and it can run up a curtain, and it is carnivorous." "How do you deduce that?" "Because it ran up the curtain. A canary's cage was hanging in the window, and its aim seems to have been to get at the bird." "Then what was the beast?" "Ah, if I could give it a name it might go a long way towards solving the case. On the whole, it was probably some creature of the weasel and stoat tribe--and yet it is larger than any of these that I have seen." "But what had it to do with the crime?" "That, also, is still obscure. But we have learned a good deal, you perceive. We know that a man stood in the road looking at the quarrel between the Barclays--the blinds were up and the room lighted. We know, also, that he ran across the lawn, entered the room, accompanied by a strange animal, and that he either struck the Colonel or, as is equally possible, that the Colonel fell down from sheer fright at the sight of him, and cut his head on the corner of the fender. Finally, we have the curious fact that the intruder carried away the key with him when he left." "Your discoveries seem to have left the business more obscure that it was before," said I. "Quite so. They undoubtedly showed that the affair was much deeper than was at first conjectured. I thought the matter over, and I came to the conclusion that I must approach the case from another aspect. But really, Watson, I am keeping you up, and I might just as well tell you all this on our way to Aldershot to-morrow." "Thank you, you have gone rather too far to stop." "It is quite certain that when Mrs. Barclay left the house at half-past seven she was on good terms with her husband. She was never, as I think I have said, ostentatiously affectionate, but she was heard by the coachman chatting with the Colonel in a friendly fashion. Now, it was equally certain that, immediately on her return, she had gone to the room in which she was least likely to see her husband, had flown to tea as an agitated woman will, and finally, on his coming in to her, had broken into violent recriminations. Therefore something had occurred between seven-thirty and nine o'clock which had completely altered her feelings towards him. But Miss Morrison had been with her during the whole of that hour and a half. It was absolutely certain, therefore, in spite of her denial, that she must know something of the matter. "My first conjecture was, that possibly there had been some passages between this young lady and the old soldier, which the former had now confessed to the wife. That would account for the angry return, and also for the girl's denial that anything had occurred. Nor would it be entirely incompatible with most of the words overhead. But there was the reference to David, and there was the known affection of the Colonel for his wife, to weigh against it, to say nothing of the tragic intrusion of this other man, which might, of course, be entirely disconnected with what had gone before. It was not easy to pick one's steps, but, on the whole, I was inclined to dismiss the idea that there had been anything between the Colonel and Miss Morrison, but more than ever convinced that the young lady held the clue as to what it was which had turned Mrs. Barclay to hatred of her husband. I took the obvious course, therefore, of calling upon Miss M., of explaining to her that I was perfectly certain that she held the facts in her possession, and of assuring her that her friend, Mrs. Barclay, might find herself in the dock upon a capital charge unless the matter were cleared up. "Miss Morrison is a little ethereal slip of a girl, with timid eyes and blond hair, but I found her by no means wanting in shrewdness and common-sense. She sat thinking for some time after I had spoken, and then, turning to me with a brisk air of resolution, she broke into a remarkable statement which I will condense for your benefit. "'I promised my friend that I would say nothing of the matter, and a promise is a promise,' said she; 'but if I can really help her when so serious a charge is laid against her, and when her own mouth, poor darling, is closed by illness, then I think I am absolved from my promise. I will tell you exactly what happened upon Monday evening. "'We were returning from the Watt Street Mission about a quarter to nine o'clock. On our way we had to pass through Hudson Street, which is a very quiet thoroughfare. There is only one lamp in it, upon the left-hand side, and as we approached this lamp I saw a man coming towards us with is back very bent, and something like a box slung over one of his shoulders. He appeared to be deformed, for he carried his head low and walked with his knees bent. We were passing him when he raised his face to look at us in the circle of light thrown by the lamp, and as he did so he stopped and screamed out in a dreadful voice, "My God, it's Nancy!" Mrs. Barclay turned as white as death, and would have fallen down had the dreadful-looking creature not caught hold of her. I was going to call for the police, but she, to my surprise, spoke quite civilly to the fellow. "'"I thought you had been dead this thirty years, Henry," said she, in a shaking voice. "'"So I have," said he, and it was awful to hear the tones that he said it in. He had a very dark, fearsome face, and a gleam in his eyes that comes back to me in my dreams. His hair and whiskers were shot with gray, and his face was all crinkled and puckered like a withered apple. "'"Just walk on a little way, dear," said Mrs. Barclay; "I want to have a word with this man. There is nothing to be afraid of." She tried to speak boldly, but she was still deadly pale and could hardly get her words out for the trembling of her lips. "'I did as she asked me, and they talked together for a few minutes. Then she came down the street with her eyes blazing, and I saw the crippled wretch standing by the lamp-post and shaking his clenched fists in the air as if he were mad with rage. She never said a word until we were at the door here, when she took me by the hand and begged me to tell no one what had happened. "'"It's an old acquaintance of mine who has come down in the world," said she. When I promised her I would say nothing she kissed me, and I have never seen her since. I have told you now the whole truth, and if I withheld it from the police it is because I did not realize then the danger in which my dear friend stood. I know that it can only be to her advantage that everything should be known.' "There was her statement, Watson, and to me, as you can imagine, it was like a light on a dark night. Everything which had been disconnected before began at once to assume its true place, and I had a shadowy presentiment of the whole sequence of events. My next step obviously was to find the man who had produced such a remarkable impression upon Mrs. Barclay. If he were still in Aldershot it should not be a very difficult matter. There are not such a very great number of civilians, and a deformed man was sure to have attracted attention. I spent a day in the search, and by evening--this very evening, Watson--I had run him down. The man's name is Henry Wood, and he lives in lodgings in this same street in which the ladies met him. He has only been five days in the place. In the character of a registration-agent I had a most interesting gossip with his landlady. The man is by trade a conjurer and performer, going round the canteens after nightfall, and giving a little entertainment at each. He carries some creature about with him in that box; about which the landlady seemed to be in considerable trepidation, for she had never seen an animal like it. He uses it in some of his tricks according to her account. So much the woman was able to tell me, and also that it was a wonder the man lived, seeing how twisted he was, and that he spoke in a strange tongue sometimes, and that for the last two nights she had heard him groaning and weeping in his bedroom. He was all right, as far as money went, but in his deposit he had given her what looked like a bad florin. She showed it to me, Watson, and it was an Indian rupee. "So now, my dear fellow, you see exactly how we stand and why it is I want you. It is perfectly plain that after the ladies parted from this man he followed them at a distance, that he saw the quarrel between husband and wife through the window, that he rushed in, and that the creature which he carried in his box got loose. That is all very certain. But he is the only person in this world who can tell us exactly what happened in that room." "And you intend to ask him?" "Most certainly--but in the presence of a witness." "And I am the witness?" "If you will be so good. If he can clear the matter up, well and good. If he refuses, we have no alternative but to apply for a warrant." "But how do you know he'll be there when we return?" "You may be sure that I took some precautions. I have one of my Baker Street boys mounting guard over him who would stick to him like a burr, go where he might. We shall find him in Hudson Street to-morrow, Watson, and meanwhile I should be the criminal myself if I kept you out of bed any longer." It was midday when we found ourselves at the scene of the tragedy, and, under my companion's guidance, we made our way at once to Hudson Street. In spite of his capacity for concealing his emotions, I could easily see that Holmes was in a state of suppressed excitement, while I was myself tingling with that half-sporting, half-intellectual pleasure which I invariably experienced when I associated myself with him in his investigations. "This is the street," said he, as we turned into a short thoroughfare lined with plain two-storied brick houses. "Ah, here is Simpson to report." "He's in all right, Mr. Holmes," cried a small street Arab, running up to us. "Good, Simpson!" said Holmes, patting him on the head. "Come along, Watson. This is the house." He sent in his card with a message that he had come on important business, and a moment later we were face to face with the man whom we had come to see. In spite of the warm weather he was crouching over a fire, and the little room was like an oven. The man sat all twisted and huddled in his chair in a way which gave an indescribably impression of deformity; but the face which he turned towards us, though worn and swarthy, must at some time have been remarkable for its beauty. He looked suspiciously at us now out of yellow-shot, bilious eyes, and, without speaking or rising, he waved towards two chairs. "Mr. Henry Wood, late of India, I believe," said Holmes, affably. "I've come over this little matter of Colonel Barclay's death." "What should I know about that?" "That's what I want to ascertain. You know, I suppose, that unless the matter is cleared up, Mrs. Barclay, who is an old friend of yours, will in all probability be tried for murder." The man gave a violent start. "I don't know who you are," he cried, "nor how you come to know what you do know, but will you swear that this is true that you tell me?" "Why, they are only waiting for her to come to her senses to arrest her." "My God! Are you in the police yourself?" "No." "What business is it of yours, then?" "It's every man's business to see justice done." "You can take my word that she is innocent." "Then you are guilty." "No, I am not." "Who killed Colonel James Barclay, then?" "It was a just providence that killed him. But, mind you this, that if I had knocked his brains out, as it was in my heart to do, he would have had no more than his due from my hands. If his own guilty conscience had not struck him down it is likely enough that I might have had his blood upon my soul. You want me to tell the story. Well, I don't know why I shouldn't, for there's no cause for me to be ashamed of it. "It was in this way, sir. You see me now with my back like a camel and by ribs all awry, but there was a time when Corporal Henry Wood was the smartest man in the 117th foot. We were in India then, in cantonments, at a place we'll call Bhurtee. Barclay, who died the other day, was sergeant in the same company as myself, and the belle of the regiment, ay, and the finest girl that ever had the breath of life between her lips, was Nancy Devoy, the daughter of the color-sergeant. There were two men that loved her, and one that she loved, and you'll smile when you look at this poor thing huddled before the fire, and hear me say that it was for my good looks that she loved me. "Well, though I had her heart, her father was set upon her marrying Barclay. I was a harum-scarum, reckless lad, and he had had an education, and was already marked for the sword-belt. But the girl held true to me, and it seemed that I would have had her when the Mutiny broke out, and all hell was loose in the country. "We were shut up in Bhurtee, the regiment of us with half a battery of artillery, a company of Sikhs, and a lot of civilians and women-folk. There were ten thousand rebels round us, and they were as keen as a set of terriers round a rat-cage. About the second week of it our water gave out, and it was a question whether we could communicate with General Neill's column, which was moving up country. It was our only chance, for we could not hope to fight our way out with all the women and children, so I volunteered to go out and to warn General Neill of our danger. My offer was accepted, and I talked it over with Sergeant Barclay, who was supposed to know the ground better than any other man, and who drew up a route by which I might get through the rebel lines. At ten o'clock the same night I started off upon my journey. There were a thousand lives to save, but it was of only one that I was thinking when I dropped over the wall that night. "My way ran down a dried-up watercourse, which we hoped would screen me from the enemy's sentries; but as I crept round the corner of it I walked right into six of them, who were crouching down in the dark waiting for me. In an instant I was stunned with a blow and bound hand and foot. But the real blow was to my heart and not to my head, for as I came to and listened to as much as I could understand of their talk, I heard enough to tell me that my comrade, the very man who had arranged the way that I was to take, had betrayed me by means of a native servant into the hands of the enemy. "Well, there's no need for me to dwell on that part of it. You know now what James Barclay was capable of. Bhurtee was relieved by Neill next day, but the rebels took me away with them in their retreat, and it was many a long year before ever I saw a white face again. I was tortured and tried to get away, and was captured and tortured again. You can see for yourselves the state in which I was left. Some of them that fled into Nepal took me with them, and then afterwards I was up past Darjeeling. The hill-folk up there murdered the rebels who had me, and I became their slave for a time until I escaped; but instead of going south I had to go north, until I found myself among the Afghans. There I wandered about for many a year, and at last came back to the Punjaub, where I lived mostly among the natives and picked up a living by the conjuring tricks that I had learned. What use was it for me, a wretched cripple, to go back to England or to make myself known to my old comrades? Even my wish for revenge would not make me do that. I had rather that Nancy and my old pals should think of Harry Wood as having died with a straight back, than see him living and crawling with a stick like a chimpanzee. They never doubted that I was dead, and I meant that they never should. I heard that Barclay had married Nancy, and that he was rising rapidly in the regiment, but even that did not make me speak. "But when one gets old one has a longing for home. For years I've been dreaming of the bright green fields and the hedges of England. At last I determined to see them before I died. I saved enough to bring me across, and then I came here where the soldiers are, for I know their ways and how to amuse them and so earn enough to keep me." "Your narrative is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes. "I have already heard of your meeting with Mrs. Barclay, and your mutual recognition. You then, as I understand, followed her home and saw through the window an altercation between her husband and her, in which she doubtless cast his conduct to you in his teeth. Your own feelings overcame you, and you ran across the lawn and broke in upon them." "I did, sir, and at the sight of me he looked as I have never seen a man look before, and over he went with his head on the fender. But he was dead before he fell. I read death on his face as plain as I can read that text over the fire. The bare sight of me was like a bullet through his guilty heart." "And then?" "Then Nancy fainted, and I caught up the key of the door from her hand, intending to unlock it and get help. But as I was doing it it seemed to me better to leave it alone and get away, for the thing might look black against me, and any way my secret would be out if I were taken. In my haste I thrust the key into my pocket, and dropped my stick while I was chasing Teddy, who had run up the curtain. When I got him into his box, from which he had slipped, I was off as fast as I could run." "Who's Teddy?" asked Holmes. The man leaned over and pulled up the front of a kind of hutch in the corner. In an instant out there slipped a beautiful reddish-brown creature, thin and lithe, with the legs of a stoat, a long, thin nose, and a pair of the finest red eyes that ever I saw in an animal's head. "It's a mongoose," I cried. "Well, some call them that, and some call them ichneumon," said the man. "Snake-catcher is what I call them, and Teddy is amazing quick on cobras. I have one here without the fangs, and Teddy catches it every night to please the folk in the canteen. "Any other point, sir?" "Well, we may have to apply to you again if Mrs. Barclay should prove to be in serious trouble." "In that case, of course, I'd come forward." "But if not, there is no object in raking up this scandal against a dead man, foully as he has acted. You have at least the satisfaction of knowing that for thirty years of his life his conscience bitterly reproached him for this wicked deed. Ah, there goes Major Murphy on the other side of the street. Good-bye, Wood. I want to learn if anything has happened since yesterday." We were in time to overtake the major before he reached the corner. "Ah, Holmes," he said: "I suppose you have heard that all this fuss has come to nothing?" "What then?" "The inquest is just over. The medical evidence showed conclusively that death was due to apoplexy. You see it was quite a simple case after all." "Oh, remarkably superficial," said Holmes, smiling. "Come, Watson, I don't think we shall be wanted in Aldershot any more." "There's one thing," said I, as we walked down to the station. "If the husband's name was James, and the other was Henry, what was this talk about David?" "That one word, my dear Watson, should have told me the whole story had I been the ideal reasoner which you are so fond of depicting. It was evidently a term of reproach." "Of reproach?" "Yes; David strayed a little occasionally, you know, and on one occasion in the same direction as Sergeant James Barclay. You remember the small affair of Uriah and Bathsheba? My biblical knowledge is a trifle rusty, I fear, but you will find the story in the first or second of Samuel." THE RESIDENT PATIENT Glancing over the somewhat incoherent series of Memoirs with which I have endeavored to illustrate a few of the mental peculiarities of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have been struck by the difficulty which I have experienced in picking out examples which shall in every way answer my purpose. For in those cases in which Holmes has performed some tour de force of analytical reasoning, and has demonstrated the value of his peculiar methods of investigation, the facts themselves have often been so slight or so commonplace that I could not feel justified in laying them before the public. On the other hand, it has frequently happened that he has been concerned in some research where the facts have been of the most remarkable and dramatic character, but where the share which he has himself taken in determining their causes has been less pronounced than I, as his biographer, could wish. The small matter which I have chronicled under the heading of "A Study in Scarlet," and that other later one connected with the loss of the Gloria Scott, may serve as examples of this Scylla and Charybdis which are forever threatening the historian. It may be that in the business of which I am now about to write the part which my friend played is not sufficiently accentuated; and yet the whole train of circumstances is so remarkable that I cannot bring myself to omit it entirely from this series. It had been a close, rainy day in October. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer of 90 was no hardship. But the paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumor or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of Nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country. I cannot be sure of the exact date, for some of my memoranda upon the matter have been mislaid, but it must have been towards the end of the first year during which Holmes and I shared chambers in Baker Street. It was boisterous October weather, and we had both remained indoors all day, I because I feared with my shaken health to face the keen autumn wind, while he was deep in some of those abstruse chemical investigations which absorbed him utterly as long as he was engaged upon them. Towards evening, however, the breaking of a test-tube brought his research to a premature ending, and he sprang up from his chair with an exclamation of impatience and a clouded brow. "A day's work ruined, Watson," said he, striding across to the window. "Ha! The stars are out and he wind has fallen. What do you say to a ramble through London?" I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For three hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of life as it ebbs and flows through Fleet Street and the Strand. His characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power of inference held me amused and enthralled. It was ten o'clock before we reached Baker Street again. A brougham was waiting at our door. "Hum! A doctor's--general practitioner, I perceive," said Holmes. "Not been long in practice, but has had a good deal to do. Come to consult us, I fancy! Lucky we came back!" I was sufficiently conversant with Holmes's methods to be able to follow his reasoning, and to see that the nature and state of the various medical instruments in the wicker basket which hung in the lamplight inside the brougham had given him the data for his swift deduction. The light in our window above showed that this late visit was indeed intended for us. With some curiosity as to what could have sent a brother medico to us at such an hour, I followed Holmes into our sanctum. A pale, taper-faced man with sandy whiskers rose up from a chair by the fire as we entered. His age may not have been more than three or four and thirty, but his haggard expression and unhealthy hue told of a life which has sapped his strength and robbed him of his youth. His manner was nervous and shy, like that of a sensitive gentleman, and the thin white hand which he laid on the mantelpiece as he rose was that of an artist rather than of a surgeon. His dress was quiet and sombre--a black frock-coat, dark trousers, and a touch of color about his necktie. "Good-evening, doctor," said Holmes, cheerily. "I am glad to see that you have only been waiting a very few minutes." "You spoke to my coachman, then?" "No, it was the candle on the side-table that told me. Pray resume your seat and let me know how I can serve you." "My name is Doctor Percy Trevelyan," said our visitor, "and I live at 403 Brook Street." "Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?" I asked. His pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known to me. "I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead," said he. "My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You are yourself, I presume, a medical man?" "A retired army surgeon." "My own hobby has always been nervous disease. I should wish to make it an absolute specialty, but, of course, a man must take what he can get at first. This, however, is beside the question, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I quite appreciate how valuable your time is. The fact is that a very singular train of events has occurred recently at my house in Brook Street, and to-night they came to such a head that I felt it was quite impossible for me to wait another hour before asking for your advice and assistance." Sherlock Holmes sat down and lit his pipe. "You are very welcome to both," said he. "Pray let me have a detailed account of what the circumstances are which have disturbed you." "One or two of them are so trivial," said Dr. Trevelyan, "that really I am almost ashamed to mention them. But the matter is so inexplicable, and the recent turn which it has taken is so elaborate, that I shall lay it all before you, and you shall judge what is essential and what is not. "I am compelled, to begin with, to say something of my own college career. I am a London University man, you know, and I am sure that you will not think that I am unduly singing my own praises if I say that my student career was considered by my professors to be a very promising one. After I had graduated I continued to devote myself to research, occupying a minor position in King's College Hospital, and I was fortunate enough to excite considerable interest by my research into the pathology of catalepsy, and finally to win the Bruce Pinkerton prize and medal by the monograph on nervous lesions to which your friend has just alluded. I should not go too far if I were to say that there was a general impression at that time that a distinguished career lay before me. "But the one great stumbling-block lay in my want of capital. As you will readily understand, a specialist who aims high is compelled to start in one of a dozen streets in the Cavendish Square quarter, all of which entail enormous rents and furnishing expenses. Besides this preliminary outlay, he must be prepared to keep himself for some years, and to hire a presentable carriage and horse. To do this was quite beyond my power, and I could only hope that by economy I might in ten years' time save enough to enable me to put up my plate. Suddenly, however, an unexpected incident opened up quite a new prospect to me. "This was a visit from a gentleman of the name of Blessington, who was a complete stranger to me. He came up to my room one morning, and plunged into business in an instant. "'You are the same Percy Trevelyan who has had so distinguished a career and won a great prize lately?' said he. "I bowed. "'Answer me frankly,' he continued, 'for you will find it to your interest to do so. You have all the cleverness which makes a successful man. Have you the tact?' "I could not help smiling at the abruptness of the question. "'I trust that I have my share,' I said. "'Any bad habits? Not drawn towards drink, eh?' "'Really, sir!' I cried. "'Quite right! That's all right! But I was bound to ask. With all these qualities, why are you not in practice?' "I shrugged my shoulders. "'Come, come!' said he, in his bustling way. 'It's the old story. More in your brains than in your pocket, eh? What would you say if I were to start you in Brook Street?' "I stared at him in astonishment. "'Oh, it's for my sake, not for yours,' he cried. 'I'll be perfectly frank with you, and if it suits you it will suit me very well. I have a few thousands to invest, d'ye see, and I think I'll sink them in you.' "'But why?' I gasped. "'Well, it's just like any other speculation, and safer than most.' "'What am I to do, then?' "'I'll tell you. I'll take the house, furnish it, pay the maids, and run the whole place. All you have to do is just to wear out your chair in the consulting-room. I'll let you have pocket-money and everything. Then you hand over to me three quarters of what you earn, and you keep the other quarter for yourself.' "This was the strange proposal, Mr. Holmes, with which the man Blessington approached me. I won't weary you with the account of how we bargained and negotiated. It ended in my moving into the house next Lady Day, and starting in practice on very much the same conditions as he had suggested. He came himself to live with me in the character of a resident patient. His heart was weak, it appears, and he needed constant medical supervision. He turned the two best rooms of the first floor into a sitting-room and bedroom for himself. He was a man of singular habits, shunning company and very seldom going out. His life was irregular, but in one respect he was regularity itself. Every evening, at the same hour, he walked into the consulting-room, examined the books, put down five and three-pence for every guinea that I had earned, and carried the rest off to the strong-box in his own room. "I may say with confidence that he never had occasion to regret his speculation. From the first it was a success. A few good cases and the reputation which I had won in the hospital brought me rapidly to the front, and during the last few years I have made him a rich man. "So much, Mr. Holmes, for my past history and my relations with Mr. Blessington. It only remains for me now to tell you what has occurred to bring me here to-night. "Some weeks ago Mr. Blessington came down to me in, as it seemed to me, a state of considerable agitation. He spoke of some burglary which, he said, had been committed in the West End, and he appeared, I remember, to be quite unnecessarily excited about it, declaring that a day should not pass before we should add stronger bolts to our windows and doors. For a week he continued to be in a peculiar state of restlessness, peering continually out of the windows, and ceasing to take the short walk which had usually been the prelude to his dinner. From his manner it struck me that he was in mortal dread of something or somebody, but when I questioned him upon the point he became so offensive that I was compelled to drop the subject. Gradually, as time passed, his fears appeared to die away, and he had renewed his former habits, when a fresh event reduced him to the pitiable state of prostration in which he now lies. "What happened was this. Two days ago I received the letter which I now read to you. Neither address nor date is attached to it. "'A Russian nobleman who is now resident in England,' it runs, 'would be glad to avail himself of the professional assistance of Dr. Percy Trevelyan. He has been for some years a victim to cataleptic attacks, on which, as is well known, Dr. Trevelyan is an authority. He proposes to call at about quarter past six to-morrow evening, if Dr. Trevelyan will make it convenient to be at home.' "This letter interested me deeply, because the chief difficulty in the study of catalepsy is the rareness of the disease. You may believe, than, that I was in my consulting-room when, at the appointed hour, the page showed in the patient. He was an elderly man, thin, demure, and common-place--by no means the conception one forms of a Russian nobleman. I was much more struck by the appearance of his companion. This was a tall young man, surprisingly handsome, with a dark, fierce face, and the limbs and chest of a Hercules. He had his hand under the other's arm as they entered, and helped him to a chair with a tenderness which one would hardly have expected from his appearance. "'You will excuse my coming in, doctor,' said he to me, speaking English with a slight lisp. 'This is my father, and his health is a matter of the most overwhelming importance to me.' "I was touched by this filial anxiety. 'You would, perhaps, care to remain during the consultation?' said I. "'Not for the world,' he cried with a gesture of horror. 'It is more painful to me than I can express. If I were to see my father in one of these dreadful seizures I am convinced that I should never survive it. My own nervous system is an exceptionally sensitive one. With your permission, I will remain in the waiting-room while you go into my father's case.' "To this, of course, I assented, and the young man withdrew. The patient and I then plunged into a discussion of his case, of which I took exhaustive notes. He was not remarkable for intelligence, and his answers were frequently obscure, which I attributed to his limited acquaintance with our language. Suddenly, however, as I sat writing, he ceased to give any answer at all to my inquiries, and on my turning towards him I was shocked to see that he was sitting bolt upright in his chair, staring at me with a perfectly blank and rigid face. He was again in the grip of his mysterious malady. "My first feeling, as I have just said, was one of pity and horror. My second, I fear, was rather one of professional satisfaction. I made notes of my patient's pulse and temperature, tested the rigidity of his muscles, and examined his reflexes. There was nothing markedly abnormal in any of these conditions, which harmonized with my former experiences. I had obtained good results in such cases by the inhalation of nitrite of amyl, and the present seemed an admirable opportunity of testing its virtues. The bottle was downstairs in my laboratory, so leaving my patient seated in his chair, I ran down to get it. There was some little delay in finding it--five minutes, let us say--and then I returned. Imagine my amazement to find the room empty and the patient gone. "Of course, my first act was to run into the waiting-room. The son had gone also. The hall door had been closed, but not shut. My page who admits patients is a new boy and by no means quick. He waits downstairs, and runs up to show patients out when I ring the consulting-room bell. He had heard nothing, and the affair remained a complete mystery. Mr. Blessington came in from his walk shortly afterwards, but I did not say anything to him upon the subject, for, to tell the truth, I have got in the way of late of holding as little communication with him as possible. "Well, I never thought that I should see anything more of the Russian and his son, so you can imagine my amazement when, at the very same hour this evening, they both came marching into my consulting-room, just as they had done before. "'I feel that I owe you a great many apologies for my abrupt departure yesterday, doctor,' said my patient. "'I confess that I was very much surprised at it,' said I. "'Well, the fact is,' he remarked, 'that when I recover from these attacks my mind is always very clouded as to all that has gone before. I woke up in a strange room, as it seemed to me, and made my way out into the street in a sort of dazed way when you were absent.' "'And I,' said the son, 'seeing my father pass the door of the waiting-room, naturally thought that the consultation had come to an end. It was not until we had reached home that I began to realize the true state of affairs.' "'Well,' said I, laughing, 'there is no harm done except that you puzzled me terribly; so if you, sir, would kindly step into the waiting-room I shall be happy to continue our consultation which was brought to so abrupt an ending.' "For half an hour or so I discussed that old gentleman's symptoms with him, and then, having prescribed for him, I saw him go off upon the arm of his son. "I have told you that Mr. Blessington generally chose this hour of the day for his exercise. He came in shortly afterwards and passed upstairs. An instant later I heard him running down, and he burst into my consulting-room like a man who is mad with panic. "'Who has been in my room?' he cried. "'No one,' said I. "'It's a lie!' He yelled. 'Come up and look!' "I passed over the grossness of his language, as he seemed half out of his mind with fear. When I went upstairs with him he pointed to several footprints upon the light carpet. "'D'you mean to say those are mine?' he cried. "They were certainly very much larger than any which he could have made, and were evidently quite fresh. It rained hard this afternoon, as you know, and my patients were the only people who called. It must have been the case, then, that the man in the waiting-room had, for some unknown reason, while I was busy with the other, ascended to the room of my resident patient. Nothing has been touched or taken, but there were the footprints to prove that the intrusion was an undoubted fact. "Mr. Blessington seemed more excited over the matter than I should have thought possible, though of course it was enough to disturb anybody's peace of mind. He actually sat crying in an arm-chair, and I could hardly get him to speak coherently. It was his suggestion that I should come round to you, and of course I at once saw the propriety of it, for certainly the incident is a very singular one, though he appears to completely overrate its importance. If you would only come back with me in my brougham, you would at least be able to soothe him, though I can hardly hope that you will be able to explain this remarkable occurrence." Sherlock Holmes had listened to this long narrative with an intentness which showed me that his interest was keenly aroused. His face was as impassive as ever, but his lids had drooped more heavily over his eyes, and his smoke had curled up more thickly from his pipe to emphasize each curious episode in the doctor's tale. As our visitor concluded, Holmes sprang up without a word, handed me my hat, picked his own from the table, and followed Dr. Trevelyan to the door. Within a quarter of an hour we had been dropped at the door of the physician's residence in Brook Street, one of those sombre, flat-faced houses which one associates with a West-End practice. A small page admitted us, and we began at once to ascend the broad, well-carpeted stair. But a singular interruption brought us to a standstill. The light at the top was suddenly whisked out, and from the darkness came a reedy, quivering voice. "I have a pistol," it cried. "I give you my word that I'll fire if you come any nearer." "This really grows outrageous, Mr. Blessington," cried Dr. Trevelyan. "Oh, then it is you, doctor," said the voice, with a great heave of relief. "But those other gentlemen, are they what they pretend to be?" We were conscious of a long scrutiny out of the darkness. "Yes, yes, it's all right," said the voice at last. "You can come up, and I am sorry if my precautions have annoyed you." He relit the stair gas as he spoke, and we saw before us a singular-looking man, whose appearance, as well as his voice, testified to his jangled nerves. He was very fat, but had apparently at some time been much fatter, so that the skin hung about his face in loose pouches, like the cheeks of a blood-hound. He was of a sickly color, and his thin, sandy hair seemed to bristle up with the intensity of his emotion. In his hand he held a pistol, but he thrust it into his pocket as we advanced. "Good-evening, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I am sure I am very much obliged to you for coming round. No one ever needed your advice more than I do. I suppose that Dr. Trevelyan has told you of this most unwarrantable intrusion into my rooms." "Quite so," said Holmes. "Who are these two men Mr. Blessington, and why do they wish to molest you?" "Well, well," said the resident patient, in a nervous fashion, "of course it is hard to say that. You can hardly expect me to answer that, Mr. Holmes." "Do you mean that you don't know?" "Come in here, if you please. Just have the kindness to step in here." He led the way into his bedroom, which was large and comfortably furnished. "You see that," said he, pointing to a big black box at the end of his bed. "I have never been a very rich man, Mr. Holmes--never made but one investment in my life, as Dr. Trevelyan would tell you. But I don't believe in bankers. I would never trust a banker, Mr. Holmes. Between ourselves, what little I have is in that box, so you can understand what it means to me when unknown people force themselves into my rooms." Holmes looked at Blessington in his questioning way and shook his head. "I cannot possibly advise you if you try to deceive me," said he. "But I have told you everything." Holmes turned on his heel with a gesture of disgust. "Good-night, Dr. Trevelyan," said he. "And no advice for me?" cried Blessington, in a breaking voice. "My advice to your, sir, is to speak the truth." A minute later we were in the street and walking for home. We had crossed Oxford Street and were half way down Harley Street before I could get a word from my companion. "Sorry to bring you out on such a fool's errand, Watson," he said at last. "It is an interesting case, too, at the bottom of it." "I can make little of it," I confessed. "Well, it is quite evident that there are two men--more, perhaps, but at least two--who are determined for some reason to get at this fellow Blessington. I have no doubt in my mind that both on the first and on the second occasion that young man penetrated to Blessington's room, while his confederate, by an ingenious device, kept the doctor from interfering." "And the catalepsy?" "A fraudulent imitation, Watson, though I should hardly dare to hint as much to our specialist. It is a very easy complaint to imitate. I have done it myself." "And then?" "By the purest chance Blessington was out on each occasion. Their reason for choosing so unusual an hour for a consultation was obviously to insure that there should be no other patient in the waiting-room. It just happened, however, that this hour coincided with Blessington's constitutional, which seems to show that they were not very well acquainted with his daily routine. Of course, if they had been merely after plunder they would at least have made some attempt to search for it. Besides, I can read in a man's eye when it is his own skin that he is frightened for. It is inconceivable that this fellow could have made two such vindictive enemies as these appear to be without knowing of it. I hold it, therefore, to be certain that he does know who these men are, and that for reasons of his own he suppresses it. It is just possible that to-morrow may find him in a more communicative mood." "Is there not one alternative," I suggested, "grotesquely improbably, no doubt, but still just conceivable? Might the whole story of the cataleptic Russian and his son be a concoction of Dr. Trevelyan's, who has, for his own purposes, been in Blessington's rooms?" I saw in the gaslight that Holmes wore an amused smile at this brilliant departure of mine. "My dear fellow," said he, "it was one of the first solutions which occurred to me, but I was soon able to corroborate the doctor's tale. This young man has left prints upon the stair-carpet which made it quite superfluous for me to ask to see those which he had made in the room. When I tell you that his shoes were square-toed instead of being pointed like Blessington's, and were quite an inch and a third longer than the doctor's, you will acknowledge that there can be no doubt as to his individuality. But we may sleep on it now, for I shall be surprised if we do not hear something further from Brook Street in the morning." Sherlock Holmes's prophecy was soon fulfilled, and in a dramatic fashion. At half-past seven next morning, in the first glimmer of daylight, I found him standing by my bedside in his dressing-gown. "There's a brougham waiting for us, Watson," said he. "What's the matter, then?" "The Brook Street business." "Any fresh news?" "Tragic, but ambiguous," said he, pulling up the blind. "Look at this--a sheet from a note-book, with 'For God's sake come at once--P. T.,' scrawled upon it in pencil. Our friend, the doctor, was hard put to it when he wrote this. Come along, my dear fellow, for it's an urgent call." In a quarter of an hour or so we were back at the physician's house. He came running out to meet us with a face of horror. "Oh, such a business!" he cried, with his hands to his temples. "What then?" "Blessington has committed suicide!" Holmes whistled. "Yes, he hanged himself during the night." We had entered, and the doctor had preceded us into what was evidently his waiting-room. "I really hardly know what I am doing," he cried. "The police are already upstairs. It has shaken me most dreadfully." "When did you find it out?" "He has a cup of tea taken in to him early every morning. When the maid entered, about seven, there the unfortunate fellow was hanging in the middle of the room. He had tied his cord to the hook on which the heavy lamp used to hang, and he had jumped off from the top of the very box that he showed us yesterday." Holmes stood for a moment in deep thought. "With your permission," said he at last, "I should like to go upstairs and look into the matter." We both ascended, followed by the doctor. It was a dreadful sight which met us as we entered the bedroom door. I have spoken of the impression of flabbiness which this man Blessington conveyed. As he dangled from the hook it was exaggerated and intensified until he was scarce human in his appearance. The neck was drawn out like a plucked chicken's, making the rest of him seem the more obese and unnatural by the contrast. He was clad only in his long night-dress, and his swollen ankles and ungainly feet protruded starkly from beneath it. Beside him stood a smart-looking police-inspector, who was taking notes in a pocket-book. "Ah, Mr. Holmes," said he, heartily, as my friend entered, "I am delighted to see you." "Good-morning, Lanner," answered Holmes; "you won't think me an intruder, I am sure. Have you heard of the events which led up to this affair?" "Yes, I heard something of them." "Have you formed any opinion?" "As far as I can see, the man has been driven out of his senses by fright. The bed has been well slept in, you see. There's his impression deep enough. It's about five in the morning, you know, that suicides are most common. That would be about his time for hanging himself. It seems to have been a very deliberate affair." "I should say that he has been dead about three hours, judging by the rigidity of the muscles," said I. "Noticed anything peculiar about the room?" asked Holmes. "Found a screw-driver and some screws on the wash-hand stand. Seems to have smoked heavily during the night, too. Here are four cigar-ends that I picked out of the fireplace." "Hum!" said Holmes, "have you got his cigar-holder?" "No, I have seen none." "His cigar-case, then?" "Yes, it was in his coat-pocket." Holmes opened it and smelled the single cigar which it contained. "Oh, this is an Havana, and these others are cigars of the peculiar sort which are imported by the Dutch from their East Indian colonies. They are usually wrapped in straw, you know, and are thinner for their length than any other brand." He picked up the four ends and examined them with his pocket-lens. "Two of these have been smoked from a holder and two without," said he. "Two have been cut by a not very sharp knife, and two have had the ends bitten off by a set of excellent teeth. This is no suicide, Mr. Lanner. It is a very deeply planned and cold-blooded murder." "Impossible!" cried the inspector. "And why?" "Why should any one murder a man in so clumsy a fashion as by hanging him?" "That is what we have to find out." "How could they get in?" "Through the front door." "It was barred in the morning." "Then it was barred after them." "How do you know?" "I saw their traces. Excuse me a moment, and I may be able to give you some further information about it." He went over to the door, and turning the lock he examined it in his methodical way. Then he took out the key, which was on the inside, and inspected that also. The bed, the carpet, the chairs the mantelpiece, the dead body, and the rope were each in turn examined, until at last he professed himself satisfied, and with my aid and that of the inspector cut down the wretched object and laid it reverently under a sheet. "How about this rope?" he asked. "It is cut off this," said Dr. Trevelyan, drawing a large coil from under the bed. "He was morbidly nervous of fire, and always kept this beside him, so that he might escape by the window in case the stairs were burning." "That must have saved them trouble," said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Yes, the actual facts are very plain, and I shall be surprised if by the afternoon I cannot give you the reasons for them as well. I will take this photograph of Blessington, which I see upon the mantelpiece, as it may help me in my inquiries." "But you have told us nothing!" cried the doctor. "Oh, there can be no doubt as to the sequence of events," said Holmes. "There were three of them in it: the young man, the old man, and a third, to whose identity I have no clue. The first two, I need hardly remark, are the same who masqueraded as the Russian count and his son, so we can give a very full description of them. They were admitted by a confederate inside the house. If I might offer you a word of advice, Inspector, it would be to arrest the page, who, as I understand, has only recently come into your service, Doctor." "The young imp cannot be found," said Dr. Trevelyan; "the maid and the cook have just been searching for him." Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "He has played a not unimportant part in this drama," said he. "The three men having ascended the stairs, which they did on tiptoe, the elder man first, the younger man second, and the unknown man in the rear--" "My dear Holmes!" I ejaculated. "Oh, there could be no question as to the superimposing of the footmarks. I had the advantage of learning which was which last night. They ascended, then, to Mr. Blessington's room, the door of which they found to be locked. With the help of a wire, however, they forced round the key. Even without the lens you will perceive, by the scratches on this ward, where the pressure was applied. "On entering the room their first proceeding must have been to gag Mr. Blessington. He may have been asleep, or he may have been so paralyzed with terror as to have been unable to cry out. These walls are thick, and it is conceivable that his shriek, if he had time to utter one, was unheard. "Having secured him, it is evident to me that a consultation of some sort was held. Probably it was something in the nature of a judicial proceeding. It must have lasted for some time, for it was then that these cigars were smoked. The older man sat in that wicker chair; it was he who used the cigar-holder. The younger man sat over yonder; he knocked his ash off against the chest of drawers. The third fellow paced up and down. Blessington, I think, sat upright in the bed, but of that I cannot be absolutely certain. "Well, it ended by their taking Blessington and hanging him. The matter was so prearranged that it is my belief that they brought with them some sort of block or pulley which might serve as a gallows. That screw-driver and those screws were, as I conceive, for fixing it up. Seeing the hook, however they naturally saved themselves the trouble. Having finished their work they made off, and the door was barred behind them by their confederate." We had all listened with the deepest interest to this sketch of the night's doings, which Holmes had deduced from signs so subtle and minute that, even when he had pointed them out to us, we could scarcely follow him in his reasoning. The inspector hurried away on the instant to make inquiries about the page, while Holmes and I returned to Baker Street for breakfast. "I'll be back by three," said he, when we had finished our meal. "Both the inspector and the doctor will meet me here at that hour, and I hope by that time to have cleared up any little obscurity which the case may still present." Our visitors arrived at the appointed time, but it was a quarter to four before my friend put in an appearance. From his expression as he entered, however, I could see that all had gone well with him. "Any news, Inspector?" "We have got the boy, sir." "Excellent, and I have got the men." "You have got them!" we cried, all three. "Well, at least I have got their identity. This so-called Blessington is, as I expected, well known at headquarters, and so are his assailants. Their names are Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat." "The Worthingdon bank gang," cried the inspector. "Precisely," said Holmes. "Then Blessington must have been Sutton." "Exactly," said Holmes. "Why, that makes it as clear as crystal," said the inspector. But Trevelyan and I looked at each other in bewilderment. "You must surely remember the great Worthingdon bank business," said Holmes. "Five men were in it--these four and a fifth called Cartwright. Tobin, the care-taker, was murdered, and the thieves got away with seven thousand pounds. This was in 1875. They were all five arrested, but the evidence against them was by no means conclusive. This Blessington or Sutton, who was the worst of the gang, turned informer. On his evidence Cartwright was hanged and the other three got fifteen years apiece. When they got out the other day, which was some years before their full term, they set themselves, as you perceive, to hunt down the traitor and to avenge the death of their comrade upon him. Twice they tried to get at him and failed; a third time, you see, it came off. Is there anything further which I can explain, Dr. Trevelyan?" "I think you have made it all remarkable clear," said the doctor. "No doubt the day on which he was perturbed was the day when he had seen of their release in the newspapers." "Quite so. His talk about a burglary was the merest blind." "But why could he not tell you this?" "Well, my dear sir, knowing the vindictive character of his old associates, he was trying to hide his own identity from everybody as long as he could. His secret was a shameful one, and he could not bring himself to divulge it. However, wretch as he was, he was still living under the shield of British law, and I have no doubt, Inspector, that you will see that, though that shield may fail to guard, the sword of justice is still there to avenge." Such were the singular circumstances in connection with the Resident Patient and the Brook Street Doctor. From that night nothing has been seen of the three murderers by the police, and it is surmised at Scotland Yard that they were among the passengers of the ill-fated steamer Norah Creina, which was lost some years ago with all hands upon the Portuguese coast, some leagues to the north of Oporto. The proceedings against the page broke down for want of evidence, and the Brook Street Mystery, as it was called, has never until now been fully dealt with in any public print. THE GREEK INTERPRETER During my long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes I had never heard him refer to his relations, and hardly ever to his own early life. This reticence upon his part had increased the somewhat inhuman effect which he produced upon me, until sometimes I found myself regarding him as an isolated phenomenon, a brain without a heart, as deficient in human sympathy as he was pre-eminent in intelligence. His aversion to women and his disinclination to form new friendships were both typical of his unemotional character, but not more so than his complete suppression of every reference to his own people. I had come to believe that he was an orphan with no relatives living, but one day, to my very great surprise, he began to talk to me about his brother. It was after tea on a summer evening, and the conversation, which had roamed in a desultory, spasmodic fashion from golf clubs to the causes of the change in the obliquity of the ecliptic, came round at last to the question of atavism and hereditary aptitudes. The point under discussion was, how far any singular gift in an individual was due to his ancestry and how far to his own early training. "In your own case," said I, "from all that you have told me, it seems obvious that your faculty of observation and your peculiar facility for deduction are due to your own systematic training." "To some extent," he answered, thoughtfully. "My ancestors were country squires, who appear to have led much the same life as is natural to their class. But, none the less, my turn that way is in my veins, and may have come with my grandmother, who was the sister of Vernet, the French artist. Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms." "But how do you know that it is hereditary?" "Because my brother Mycroft possesses it in a larger degree than I do." This was news to me indeed. If there were another man with such singular powers in England, how was it that neither police nor public had heard of him? I put the question, with a hint that it was my companion's modesty which made him acknowledge his brother as his superior. Holmes laughed at my suggestion. "My dear Watson," said he, "I cannot agree with those who rank modesty among the virtues. To the logician all things should be seen exactly as they are, and to underestimate one's self is as much a departure from truth as to exaggerate one's own powers. When I say, therefore, that Mycroft has better powers of observation than I, you may take it that I am speaking the exact and literal truth." "Is he your junior?" "Seven years my senior." "How comes it that he is unknown?" "Oh, he is very well known in his own circle." "Where, then?" "Well, in the Diogenes Club, for example." I had never heard of the institution, and my face must have proclaimed as much, for Sherlock Holmes pulled out his watch. "The Diogenes Club is the queerest club in London, and Mycroft one of the queerest men. He's always there from quarter to five to twenty to eight. It's six now, so if you care for a stroll this beautiful evening I shall be very happy to introduce you to two curiosities." Five minutes later we were in the street, walking towards Regent's Circus. "You wonder," said my companion, "why it is that Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it." "But I thought you said--" "I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He will not even go out of his way to verify his own solution, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right. Again and again I have taken a problem to him, and have received an explanation which has afterwards proved to be the correct one. And yet he was absolutely incapable of working out the practical points which must be gone into before a case could be laid before a judge or jury." "It is not his profession, then?" "By no means. What is to me a means of livelihood is to him the merest hobby of a dilettante. He has an extraordinary faculty for figures, and audits the books in some of the government departments. Mycroft lodges in Pall Mall, and he walks round the corner into Whitehall every morning and back every evening. From year's end to year's end he takes no other exercise, and is seen nowhere else, except only in the Diogenes Club, which is just opposite his rooms." "I cannot recall the name." "Very likely not. There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger's Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere." We had reached Pall Mall as we talked, and were walking down it from the St. James's end. Sherlock Holmes stopped at a door some little distance from the Carlton, and, cautioning me not to speak, he led the way into the hall. Through the glass paneling I caught a glimpse of a large and luxurious room, in which a considerable number of men were sitting about and reading papers, each in his own little nook. Holmes showed me into a small chamber which looked out into Pall Mall, and then, leaving me for a minute, he came back with a companion whom I knew could only be his brother. Mycroft Holmes was a much larger and stouter man than Sherlock. His body was absolutely corpulent, but his face, though massive, had preserved something of the sharpness of expression which was so remarkable in that of his brother. His eyes, which were of a peculiarly light, watery gray, seemed to always retain that far-away, introspective look which I had only observed in Sherlock's when he was exerting his full powers. "I am glad to meet you, sir," said he, putting out a broad, fat hand like the flipper of a seal. "I hear of Sherlock everywhere since you became his chronicler. By the way, Sherlock, I expected to see you round last week, to consult me over that Manor House case. I thought you might be a little out of your depth." "No, I solved it," said my friend, smiling. "It was Adams, of course." "Yes, it was Adams." "I was sure of it from the first." The two sat down together in the bow-window of the club. "To any one who wishes to study mankind this is the spot," said Mycroft. "Look at the magnificent types! Look at these two men who are coming towards us, for example." "The billiard-marker and the other?" "Precisely. What do you make of the other?" The two men had stopped opposite the window. Some chalk marks over the waistcoat pocket were the only signs of billiards which I could see in one of them. The other was a very small, dark fellow, with his hat pushed back and several packages under his arm. "An old soldier, I perceive," said Sherlock. "And very recently discharged," remarked the brother. "Served in India, I see." "And a non-commissioned officer." "Royal Artillery, I fancy," said Sherlock. "And a widower." "But with a child." "Children, my dear boy, children." "Come," said I, laughing, "this is a little too much." "Surely," answered Holmes, "it is not hard to say that a man with that bearing, expression of authority, and sunbaked skin, is a soldier, is more than a private, and is not long from India." "That he has not left the service long is shown by his still wearing his 'ammunition boots', as they are called," observed Mycroft. "He had not the cavalry stride, yet he wore his hat on one side, as is shown by the lighter skin of that side of his brow. His weight is against his being a sapper. He is in the artillery." "Then, of course, his complete mourning shows that he has lost some one very dear. The fact that he is doing his own shopping looks as though it were his wife. He has been buying things for children, you perceive. There is a rattle, which shows that one of them is very young. The wife probably died in childbed. The fact that he has a picture-book under his arm shows that there is another child to be thought of." I began to understand what my friend meant when he said that his brother possessed even keener faculties that he did himself. He glanced across at me and smiled. Mycroft took snuff from a tortoise-shell box, and brushed away the wandering grains from his coat front with a large, red silk handkerchief. "By the way, Sherlock," said he, "I have had something quite after your own heart--a most singular problem--submitted to my judgment. I really had not the energy to follow it up save in a very incomplete fashion, but it gave me a basis for some pleasing speculation. If you would care to hear the facts--" "My dear Mycroft, I should be delighted." The brother scribbled a note upon a leaf of his pocket-book, and, ringing the bell, he handed it to the waiter. "I have asked Mr. Melas to step across," said he. "He lodges on the floor above me, and I have some slight acquaintance with him, which led him to come to me in his perplexity. Mr. Melas is a Greek by extraction, as I understand, and he is a remarkable linguist. He earns his living partly as interpreter in the law courts and partly by acting as guide to any wealthy Orientals who may visit the Northumberland Avenue hotels. I think I will leave him to tell his very remarkable experience in his own fashion." A few minutes later we were joined by a short, stout man whose olive face and coal-black hair proclaimed his Southern origin, though his speech was that of an educated Englishman. He shook hands eagerly with Sherlock Holmes, and his dark eyes sparkled with pleasure when he understood that the specialist was anxious to hear his story. "I do not believe that the police credit me--on my word, I do not," said he in a wailing voice. "Just because they have never heard of it before, they think that such a thing cannot be. But I know that I shall never be easy in my mind until I know what has become of my poor man with the sticking-plaster upon his face." "I am all attention," said Sherlock Holmes. "This is Wednesday evening," said Mr. Melas. "Well then, it was Monday night--only two days ago, you understand--that all this happened. I am an interpreter, as perhaps my neighbor there has told you. I interpret all languages--or nearly all--but as I am a Greek by birth and with a Grecian name, it is with that particular tongue that I am principally associated. For many years I have been the chief Greek interpreter in London, and my name is very well known in the hotels. It happens not unfrequently that I am sent for at strange hours by foreigners who get into difficulties, or by travelers who arrive late and wish my services. I was not surprised, therefore, on Monday night when a Mr. Latimer, a very fashionably dressed young man, came up to my rooms and asked me to accompany him in a cab which was waiting at the door. A Greek friend had come to see him upon business, he said, and as he could speak nothing but his own tongue, the services of an interpreter were indispensable. He gave me to understand that his house was some little distance off, in Kensington, and he seemed to be in a great hurry, bustling me rapidly into the cab when we had descended to the street. "I say into the cab, but I soon became doubtful as to whether it was not a carriage in which I found myself. It was certainly more roomy than the ordinary four-wheeled disgrace to London, and the fittings, though frayed, were of rich quality. Mr. Latimer seated himself opposite to me and we started off through Charing Cross and up the Shaftesbury Avenue. We had come out upon Oxford Street and I had ventured some remark as to this being a roundabout way to Kensington, when my words were arrested by the extraordinary conduct of my companion. "He began by drawing a most formidable-looking bludgeon loaded with lead from his pocket, and switching it backward and forward several times, as if to test its weight and strength. Then he placed it without a word upon the seat beside him. Having done this, he drew up the windows on each side, and I found to my astonishment that they were covered with paper so as to prevent my seeing through them. "'I am sorry to cut off your view, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'The fact is that I have no intention that you should see what the place is to which we are driving. It might possibly be inconvenient to me if you could find your way there again.' "As you can imagine, I was utterly taken aback by such an address. My companion was a powerful, broad-shouldered young fellow, and, apart from the weapon, I should not have had the slightest chance in a struggle with him. "'This is very extraordinary conduct, Mr. Latimer,' I stammered. 'You must be aware that what you are doing is quite illegal.' "'It is somewhat of a liberty, no doubt,' said he, 'but we'll make it up to you. I must warn you, however, Mr. Melas, that if at any time to-night you attempt to raise an alarm or do anything which is against my interests, you will find it a very serious thing. I beg you to remember that no one knows where you are, and that, whether you are in this carriage or in my house, you are equally in my power.' "His words were quiet, but he had a rasping way of saying them which was very menacing. I sat in silence wondering what on earth could be his reason for kidnapping me in this extraordinary fashion. Whatever it might be, it was perfectly clear that there was no possible use in my resisting, and that I could only wait to see what might befall. "For nearly two hours we drove without my having the least clue as to where we were going. Sometimes the rattle of the stones told of a paved causeway, and at others our smooth, silent course suggested asphalt; but, save by this variation in sound, there was nothing at all which could in the remotest way help me to form a guess as to where we were. The paper over each window was impenetrable to light, and a blue curtain was drawn across the glass work in front. It was a quarter-past seven when we left Pall Mall, and my watch showed me that it was ten minutes to nine when we at last came to a standstill. My companion let down the window, and I caught a glimpse of a low, arched doorway with a lamp burning above it. As I was hurried from the carriage it swung open, and I found myself inside the house, with a vague impression of a lawn and trees on each side of me as I entered. Whether these were private grounds, however, or bona-fide country was more than I could possibly venture to say. "There was a colored gas-lamp inside which was turned so low that I could see little save that the hall was of some size and hung with pictures. In the dim light I could make out that the person who had opened the door was a small, mean-looking, middle-aged man with rounded shoulders. As he turned towards us the glint of the light showed me that he was wearing glasses. "'Is this Mr. Melas, Harold?' said he. "'Yes.' "'Well done, well done! No ill-will, Mr. Melas, I hope, but we could not get on without you. If you deal fair with us you'll not regret it, but if you try any tricks, God help you!' He spoke in a nervous, jerky fashion, and with little giggling laughs in between, but somehow he impressed me with fear more than the other. "'What do you want with me?' I asked. "'Only to ask a few questions of a Greek gentleman who is visiting us, and to let us have the answers. But say no more than you are told to say, or--' here came the nervous giggle again--'you had better never have been born.' "As he spoke he opened a door and showed the way into a room which appeared to be very richly furnished, but again the only light was afforded by a single lamp half-turned down. The chamber was certainly large, and the way in which my feet sank into the carpet as I stepped across it told me of its richness. I caught glimpses of velvet chairs, a high white marble mantel-piece, and what seemed to be a suit of Japanese armor at one side of it. There was a chair just under the lamp, and the elderly man motioned that I should sit in it. The younger had left us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him a gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly towards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enabled me to see him more clearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He was deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what shocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face was grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large pad of it was fastened over his mouth. "'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as this strange being fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'Are his hands loose? Now, then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and he will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared to sign the papers?' "The man's eyes flashed fire. "'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate. "'On no condition?' I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant. "'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I know.' "The man giggled in his venomous way. "'You know what awaits you, then?' "'I care nothing for myself.' "These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had to ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs I played a more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this: "'You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?' "'I care not. I am a stranger in London.' "'Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here?' "'Let it be so. Three weeks.' "'The property can never be yours. What ails you?' "'It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.' "'You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?' "'I will never sign. I do not know.' "'You are not doing her any service. What is your name?' "'Let me hear her say so. Kratides.' "'You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?' "'Then I shall never see her. Athens.' "Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wormed out the whole story under their very noses. My very next question might have cleared the matter up, but at that instant the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. I could not see her clearly enough to know more than that she was tall and graceful, with black hair, and clad in some sort of loose white gown. "'Harold,' said she, speaking English with a broken accent. 'I could not stay away longer. It is so lonely up there with only--Oh, my God, it is Paul!' "These last words were in Greek, and at the same instant the man with a convulsive effort tore the plaster from his lips, and screaming out 'Sophy! Sophy!' rushed into the woman's arms. Their embrace was but for an instant, however, for the younger man seized the woman and pushed her out of the room, while the elder easily overpowered his emaciated victim, and dragged him away through the other door. For a moment I was left alone in the room, and I sprang to my feet with some vague idea that I might in some way get a clue to what this house was in which I found myself. Fortunately, however, I took no steps, for looking up I saw that the older man was standing in the door-way with his eyes fixed upon me. "'That will do, Mr. Melas,' said he. 'You perceive that we have taken you into our confidence over some very private business. We should not have troubled you, only that our friend who speaks Greek and who began these negotiations has been forced to return to the East. It was quite necessary for us to find some one to take his place, and we were fortunate in hearing of your powers.' "I bowed. "'There are five sovereigns here,' said he, walking up to me, 'which will, I hope, be a sufficient fee. But remember,' he added, tapping me lightly on the chest and giggling, 'if you speak to a human soul about this--one human soul, mind--well, may God have mercy upon your soul!' "I cannot tell you the loathing and horror with which this insignificant-looking man inspired me. I could see him better now as the lamp-light shone upon him. His features were peaky and sallow, and his little pointed beard was thready and ill-nourished. He pushed his face forward as he spoke and his lips and eyelids were continually twitching like a man with St. Vitus's dance. I could not help thinking that his strange, catchy little laugh was also a symptom of some nervous malady. The terror of his face lay in his eyes, however, steel gray, and glistening coldly with a malignant, inexorable cruelty in their depths. "'We shall know if you speak of this,' said he. 'We have our own means of information. Now you will find the carriage waiting, and my friend will see you on your way.' "I was hurried through the hall and into the vehicle, again obtaining that momentary glimpse of trees and a garden. Mr. Latimer followed closely at my heels, and took his place opposite to me without a word. In silence we again drove for an interminable distance with the windows raised, until at last, just after midnight, the carriage pulled up. "'You will get down here, Mr. Melas,' said my companion. 'I am sorry to leave you so far from your house, but there is no alternative. Any attempt upon your part to follow the carriage can only end in injury to yourself.' "He opened the door as he spoke, and I had hardly time to spring out when the coachman lashed the horse and the carriage rattled away. I looked around me in astonishment. I was on some sort of a heathy common mottled over with dark clumps of furze-bushes. Far away stretched a line of houses, with a light here and there in the upper windows. On the other side I saw the red signal-lamps of a railway. "The carriage which had brought me was already out of sight. I stood gazing round and wondering where on earth I might be, when I saw some one coming towards me in the darkness. As he came up to me I made out that he was a railway porter. "'Can you tell me what place this is?' I asked. "'Wandsworth Common,' said he. "'Can I get a train into town?' "'If you walk on a mile or so to Clapham Junction,' said he, 'you'll just be in time for the last to Victoria.' "So that was the end of my adventure, Mr. Holmes. I do not know where I was, nor whom I spoke with, nor anything save what I have told you. But I know that there is foul play going on, and I want to help that unhappy man if I can. I told the whole story to Mr. Mycroft Holmes next morning, and subsequently to the police." We all sat in silence for some little time after listening to this extraordinary narrative. Then Sherlock looked across at his brother. "Any steps?" he asked. Mycroft picked up the Daily News, which was lying on the side-table. "Anybody supplying any information as to the whereabouts of a Greek gentleman named Paul Kratides, from Athens, who is unable to speak English, will be rewarded. A similar reward paid to any one giving information about a Greek lady whose first name is Sophy. X 2473. "That was in all the dailies. No answer." "How about the Greek Legation?" "I have inquired. They know nothing." "A wire to the head of the Athens police, then?" "Sherlock has all the energy of the family," said Mycroft, turning to me. "Well, you take the case up by all means, and let me know if you do any good." "Certainly," answered my friend, rising from his chair. "I'll let you know, and Mr. Melas also. In the meantime, Mr. Melas, I should certainly be on my guard, if I were you, for of course they must know through these advertisements that you have betrayed them." As we walked home together, Holmes stopped at a telegraph office and sent off several wires. "You see, Watson," he remarked, "our evening has been by no means wasted. Some of my most interesting cases have come to me in this way through Mycroft. The problem which we have just listened to, although it can admit of but one explanation, has still some distinguishing features." "You have hopes of solving it?" "Well, knowing as much as we do, it will be singular indeed if we fail to discover the rest. You must yourself have formed some theory which will explain the facts to which we have listened." "In a vague way, yes." "What was your idea, then?" "It seemed to me to be obvious that this Greek girl had been carried off by the young Englishman named Harold Latimer." "Carried off from where?" "Athens, perhaps." Sherlock Holmes shook his head. "This young man could not talk a word of Greek. The lady could talk English fairly well. Inference--that she had been in England some little time, but he had not been in Greece." "Well, then, we will presume that she had come on a visit to England, and that this Harold had persuaded her to fly with him." "That is more probable." "Then the brother--for that, I fancy, must be the relationship--comes over from Greece to interfere. He imprudently puts himself into the power of the young man and his older associate. They seize him and use violence towards him in order to make him sign some papers to make over the girl's fortune--of which he may be trustee--to them. This he refuses to do. In order to negotiate with him they have to get an interpreter, and they pitch upon this Mr. Melas, having used some other one before. The girl is not told of the arrival of her brother, and finds it out by the merest accident." "Excellent, Watson!" cried Holmes. "I really fancy that you are not far from the truth. You see that we hold all the cards, and we have only to fear some sudden act of violence on their part. If they give us time we must have them." "But how can we find where this house lies?" "Well, if our conjecture is correct and the girl's name is or was Sophy Kratides, we should have no difficulty in tracing her. That must be our main hope, for the brother is, of course, a complete stranger. It is clear that some time has elapsed since this Harold established these relations with the girl--some weeks, at any rate--since the brother in Greece has had time to hear of it and come across. If they have been living in the same place during this time, it is probable that we shall have some answer to Mycroft's advertisement." We had reached our house in Baker Street while we had been talking. Holmes ascended the stair first, and as he opened the door of our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair. "Come in, Sherlock! Come in, sir," said he blandly, smiling at our surprised faces. "You don't expect such energy from me, do you, Sherlock? But somehow this case attracts me." "How did you get here?" "I passed you in a hansom." "There has been some new development?" "I had an answer to my advertisement." "Ah!" "Yes, it came within a few minutes of your leaving." "And to what effect?" Mycroft Holmes took out a sheet of paper. "Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution. "Sir [he says]: "In answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you that I know the young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I could give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. "Yours faithfully, "J. Davenport. "He writes from Lower Brixton," said Mycroft Holmes. "Do you not think that we might drive to him now, Sherlock, and learn these particulars?" "My dear Mycroft, the brother's life is more valuable than the sister's story. I think we should call at Scotland Yard for Inspector Gregson, and go straight out to Beckenham. We know that a man is being done to death, and every hour may be vital." "Better pick up Mr. Melas on our way," I suggested. "We may need an interpreter." "Excellent," said Sherlock Holmes. "Send the boy for a four-wheeler, and we shall be off at once." He opened the table-drawer as he spoke, and I noticed that he slipped his revolver into his pocket. "Yes," said he, in answer to my glance; "I should say from what we have heard, that we are dealing with a particularly dangerous gang." It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of Mr. Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone. "Can you tell me where?" asked Mycroft Holmes. "I don't know, sir," answered the woman who had opened the door; "I only know that he drove away with the gentleman in a carriage." "Did the gentleman give a name?" "No, sir." "He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?" "Oh, no, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing all the time that he was talking." "Come along!" cried Sherlock Holmes, abruptly. "This grows serious," he observed, as we drove to Scotland Yard. "These men have got hold of Melas again. He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware from their experience the other night. This villain was able to terrorize him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery." Our hope was that, by taking train, we might get to Beckenham as soon or sooner than the carriage. On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house. It was a quarter to ten before we reached London Bridge, and half past before the four of us alighted on the Beckenham platform. A drive of half a mile brought us to The Myrtles--a large, dark house standing back from the road in its own grounds. Here we dismissed our cab, and made our way up the drive together. "The windows are all dark," remarked the inspector. "The house seems deserted." "Our birds are flown and the nest empty," said Holmes. "Why do you say so?" "A carriage heavily loaded with luggage has passed out during the last hour." The inspector laughed. "I saw the wheel-tracks in the light of the gate-lamp, but where does the luggage come in?" "You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper--so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the carriage." "You get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector, shrugging his shoulder. "It will not be an easy door to force, but we will try if we cannot make some one hear us." He hammered loudly at the knocker and pulled at the bell, but without any success. Holmes had slipped away, but he came back in a few minutes. "I have a window open," said he. "It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, Mr. Holmes," remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. "Well, I think that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation." One after the other we made our way into a large apartment, which was evidently that in which Mr. Melas had found himself. The inspector had lit his lantern, and by its light we could see the two doors, the curtain, the lamp, and the suit of Japanese mail as he had described them. On the table lay two glasses, and empty brandy-bottle, and the remains of a meal. "What is that?" asked Holmes, suddenly. We all stood still and listened. A low moaning sound was coming from somewhere over our heads. Holmes rushed to the door and out into the hall. The dismal noise came from upstairs. He dashed up, the inspector and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit. Three doors faced up upon the second floor, and it was from the central of these that the sinister sounds were issuing, sinking sometimes into a dull mumble and rising again into a shrill whine. It was locked, but the key had been left on the outside. Holmes flung open the door and rushed in, but he was out again in an instant, with his hand to his throat. "It's charcoal," he cried. "Give it time. It will clear." Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. It threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the wall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us gasping and coughing. Holmes rushed to the top of the stairs to draw in the fresh air, and then, dashing into the room, he threw up the window and hurled the brazen tripod out into the garden. "We can enter in a minute," he gasped, darting out again. "Where is a candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the light at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft. Now!" With a rush we got to the poisoned men and dragged them out into the well-lit hall. Both of them were blue-lipped and insensible, with swollen, congested faces and protruding eyes. Indeed, so distorted were their features that, save for his black beard and stout figure, we might have failed to recognize in one of them the Greek interpreter who had parted from us only a few hours before at the Diogenes Club. His hands and feet were securely strapped together, and he bore over one eye the marks of a violent blow. The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr. Melas, however, still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet. It was a simple story which he had to tell, and one which did but confirm our own deductions. His visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek. He had been taken swiftly to Beckenham, and had acted as interpreter in a second interview, even more dramatic than the first, in which the two Englishmen had menaced their prisoner with instant death if he did not comply with their demands. Finally, finding him proof against every threat, they had hurled him back into his prison, and after reproaching Melas with his treachery, which appeared from the newspaper advertisement, they had stunned him with a blow from a stick, and he remembered nothing more until he found us bending over him. And this was the singular case of the Grecian Interpreter, the explanation of which is still involved in some mystery. We were able to find out, by communicating with the gentleman who had answered the advertisement, that the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England. While there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendancy over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves with informing her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands of the matter. The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placed himself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp--a man of the foulest antecedents. These two, finding that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavored by cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister's property. They had kept him in the house without the girl's knowledge, and the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perception, however, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time. The poor girl, however, was herself a prisoner, for there was no one about the house except the man who acted as coachman, and his wife, both of whom were tools of the conspirators. Finding that their secret was out, and that their prisoner was not to be coerced, the two villains with the girl had fled away at a few hours' notice from the furnished house which they had hired, having first, as they thought, taken vengeance both upon the man who had defied and the one who had betrayed them. Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been traveling with a woman had met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarreled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged. THE NAVAL TREATY The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable by three cases of interest, in which I had the privilege of being associated with Sherlock Holmes and of studying his methods. I find them recorded in my notes under the headings of "The Adventure of the Second Stain," "The Adventure of the Naval Treaty," and "The Adventure of the Tired Captain." The first of these, however, deals with interest of such importance and implicates so many of the first families in the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it public. No case, however, in which Holmes was engaged has ever illustrated the value of his analytical methods so clearly or has impressed those who were associated with him so deeply. I still retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in which he demonstrated the true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubugue of the Paris police, and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well-known specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies upon what proved to be side-issues. The new century will have come, however, before the story can be safely told. Meanwhile I pass on to the second on my list, which promised also at one time to be of national importance, and was marked by several incidents which give it a quite unique character. During my school-days I had been intimately associated with a lad named Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though he was two classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy, and carried away every prize which the school had to offer, finishing his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on to continue his triumphant career at Cambridge. He was, I remember, extremely well connected, and even when we were all little boys together we knew that his mother's brother was Lord Holdhurst, the great conservative politician. This gaudy relationship did him little good at school. On the contrary, it seemed rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him over the shins with a wicket. But it was another thing when he came out into the world. I heard vaguely that his abilities and the influences which he commanded had won him a good position at the Foreign Office, and then he passed completely out of my mind until the following letter recalled his existence: Briarbrae, Woking. My dear Watson: I have no doubt that you can remember "Tadpole" Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in the third. It is possible even that you may have heard that through my uncle's influence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, and that I was in a situation of trust and honor until a horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast my career. There is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event. In the event of your acceding to my request it is probable that I shall have to narrate them to you. I have only just recovered from nine weeks of brain-fever, and am still exceedingly weak. Do you think that you could bring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to have his opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me that nothing more can be done. Do try to bring him down, and as soon as possible. Every minute seems an hour while I live in this state of horrible suspense. Assure him that if I have not asked his advice sooner it was not because I did not appreciate his talents, but because I have been off my head ever since the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though I dare not think of it too much for fear of a relapse. I am still so weak that I have to write, as you see, by dictating. Do try to bring him. Your old school-fellow, Percy Phelps. There was something that touched me as I read this letter, something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So moved was I that even had it been a difficult matter I should have tried it, but of course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, so that he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client could be to receive it. My wife agreed with me that not a moment should be lost in laying the matter before him, and so within an hour of breakfast-time I found myself back once more in the old rooms in Baker Street. Holmes was seated at his side-table clad in his dressing-gown, and working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved retort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner, and the distilled drops were condensing into a two-litre measure. My friend hardly glanced up as I entered, and I, seeing that his investigation must be of importance, seated myself in an arm-chair and waited. He dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally brought a test-tube containing a solution over to the table. In his right hand he held a slip of litmus-paper. "You come at a crisis, Watson," said he. "If this paper remains blue, all is well. If it turns red, it means a man's life." He dipped it into the test-tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. "Hum! I thought as much!" he cried. "I will be at your service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper." He turned to his desk and scribbled off several telegrams, which were handed over to the page-boy. Then he threw himself down into the chair opposite, and drew up his knees until his fingers clasped round his long, thin shins. "A very commonplace little murder," said he. "You've got something better, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is it?" I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated attention. "It does not tell us very much, does it?" he remarked, as he handed it back to me. "Hardly anything." "And yet the writing is of interest." "But the writing is not his own." "Precisely. It is a woman's." "A man's surely," I cried. "No, a woman's, and a woman of rare character. You see, at the commencement of an investigation it is something to know that your client is in close contact with some one who, for good or evil, has an exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case. If you are ready we will start at once for Woking, and see this diplomatist who is in such evil case, and the lady to whom he dictates his letters." We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir-woods and the heather of Woking. Briarbrae proved to be a large detached house standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes' walk of the station. On sending in our cards we were shown into an elegantly appointed drawing-room, where we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stout man who received us with much hospitality. His age may have been nearer forty than thirty, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he still conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy. "I am so glad that you have come," said he, shaking our hands with effusion. "Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Ah, poor old chap, he clings to any straw! His father and his mother asked me to see you, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to them." "We have had no details yet," observed Holmes. "I perceive that you are not yourself a member of the family." Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he began to laugh. "Of course you saw the J H monogram on my locket," said he. "For a moment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrison is my name, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie I shall at least be a relation by marriage. You will find my sister in his room, for she has nursed him hand-and-foot this two months back. Perhaps we'd better go in at once, for I know how impatient he is." The chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the drawing-room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. A young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the open window, through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmy summer air. A woman was sitting beside him, who rose as we entered. "Shall I leave, Percy?" she asked. He clutched her hand to detain her. "How are you, Watson?" said he, cordially. "I should never have known you under that moustache, and I dare say you would not be prepared to swear to me. This I presume is your celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" I introduced him in a few words, and we both sat down. The stout young man had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in that of the invalid. She was a striking-looking woman, a little short and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark, Italian eyes, and a wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints made the white face of her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast. "I won't waste your time," said he, raising himself upon the sofa. "I'll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I was a happy and successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married, when a sudden and dreadful misfortune wrecked all my prospects in life. "I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office, and through the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to a responsible position. When my uncle became foreign minister in this administration he gave me several missions of trust, and as I always brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have the utmost confidence in my ability and tact. "Nearly ten weeks ago--to be more accurate, on the twenty-third of May--he called me into his private room, and, after complimenting me on the good work which I had done, he informed me that he had a new commission of trust for me to execute. "'This,' said he, taking a gray roll of paper from his bureau, 'is the original of that secret treaty between England and Italy of which, I regret to say, some rumors have already got into the public press. It is of enormous importance that nothing further should leak out. The French or the Russian embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents of these papers. They should not leave my bureau were it not that it is absolutely necessary to have them copied. You have a desk in your office?' "'Yes, sir.' "'Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions that you may remain behind when the others go, so that you may copy it at your leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have finished, relock both the original and the draft in the desk, and hand them over to me personally to-morrow morning.' "I took the papers and--" "Excuse me an instant," said Holmes. "Were you alone during this conversation?" "Absolutely." "In a large room?" "Thirty feet each way." "In the centre?" "Yes, about it." "And speaking low?" "My uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at all." "Thank you," said Holmes, shutting his eyes; "pray go on." "I did exactly what he indicated, and waited until the other clerks had departed. One of them in my room, Charles Gorot, had some arrears of work to make up, so I left him there and went out to dine. When I returned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work, for I knew that Joseph--the Mr. Harrison whom you saw just now--was in town, and that he would travel down to Woking by the eleven-o'clock train, and I wanted if possible to catch it. "When I came to examine the treaty I saw at once that it was of such importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what he had said. Without going into details, I may say that it defined the position of Great Britain towards the Triple Alliance, and fore-shadowed the policy which this country would pursue in the event of the French fleet gaining a complete ascendancy over that of Italy in the Mediterranean. The questions treated in it were purely naval. At the end were the signatures of the high dignitaries who had signed it. I glanced my eyes over it, and then settled down to my task of copying. "It was a long document, written in the French language, and containing twenty-six separate articles. I copied as quickly as I could, but at nine o'clock I had only done nine articles, and it seemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train. I was feeling drowsy and stupid, partly from my dinner and also from the effects of a long day's work. A cup of coffee would clear my brain. A commissionaire remains all night in a little lodge at the foot of the stairs, and is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit-lamp for any of the officials who may be working over time. I rang the bell, therefore, to summon him. "To my surprise, it was a woman who answered the summons, a large, coarse-faced, elderly woman, in an apron. She explained that she was the commissionaire's wife, who did the charing, and I gave her the order for the coffee. "I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, I rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. My coffee had not yet come, and I wondered what was the cause of the delay could be. Opening the door, I started down the corridor to find out. There was a straight passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room in which I had been working, and was the only exit from it. It ended in a curving staircase, with the commissionaire's lodge in the passage at the bottom. Half way down this staircase is a small landing, with another passage running into it at right angles. This second one leads by means of a second small stair to a side door, used by servants, and also as a short cut by clerks when coming from Charles Street. Here is a rough chart of the place." "Thank you. I think that I quite follow you," said Sherlock Holmes. "It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point. I went down the stairs and into the hall, where I found the commissionaire fast asleep in his box, with the kettle boiling furiously upon the spirit-lamp. I took off the kettle and blew out the lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then I put out my hand and was about to shake the man, who was still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly, and he woke with a start. "'Mr. Phelps, sir!' said he, looking at me in bewilderment. "'I came down to see if my coffee was ready.' "'I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir.' He looked at me and then up at the still quivering bell with an ever-growing astonishment upon his face. "'If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell?' he asked. "'The bell!' I cried. 'What bell is it?' "'It's the bell of the room you were working in.' "A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Some one, then, was in that room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran frantically up the stair and along the passage. There was no one in the corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room. All was exactly as I left it, save only that the papers which had been committed to my care had been taken from the desk on which they lay. The copy was there, and the original was gone." Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see that the problem was entirely to his heart. "Pray, what did you do then?" he murmured. "I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the stairs from the side door. Of course I must have met him if he had come the other way." "You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the room all the time, or in the corridor which you have just described as dimly lighted?" "It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself either in the room or the corridor. There is no cover at all." "Thank you. Pray proceed." "The commissionaire, seeing by my pale face that something was to be feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along the corridor and down the steep steps which led to Charles Street. The door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we did so there came three chimes from a neighboring clock. It was quarter to ten." "That is of enormous importance," said Holmes, making a note upon his shirt-cuff. "The night was very dark, and a thin, warm rain was falling. There was no one in Charles Street, but a great traffic was going on, as usual, in Whitehall, at the extremity. We rushed along the pavement, bare-headed as we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman standing. "'A robbery has been committed,' I gasped. 'A document of immense value has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has any one passed this way?' "'I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir,' said he; 'only one person has passed during that time--a woman, tall and elderly, with a Paisley shawl.' "'Ah, that is only my wife,' cried the commissionaire; 'has no one else passed?' "'No one.' "'Then it must be the other way that the thief took,' cried the fellow, tugging at my sleeve. "But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw me away increased my suspicions. "'Which way did the woman go?' I cried. "'I don't know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special reason for watching her. She seemed to be in a hurry.' "'How long ago was it?' "'Oh, not very many minutes.' "'Within the last five?' "'Well, it could not be more than five.' "'You're only wasting your time, sir, and every minute now is of importance,' cried the commissionaire; 'take my word for it that my old woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the other end of the street. Well, if you won't, I will.' And with that he rushed off in the other direction. "But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve. "'Where do you live?' said I. "'16 Ivy Lane, Brixton,' he answered. 'But don't let yourself be drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps. Come to the other end of the street and let us see if we can hear of anything.' "Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the policeman we both hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic, many people coming and going, but all only too eager to get to a place of safety upon so wet a night. There was no lounger who could tell us who had passed. "Then we returned to the office, and searched the stairs and the passage without result. The corridor which led to the room was laid down with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. We examined it very carefully, but found no outline of any footmark." "Had it been raining all evening?" "Since about seven." "How is it, then, that the woman who came into the room about nine left no traces with her muddy boots?" "I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time. The charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the commissionaire's office, and putting on list slippers." "That is very clear. There were no marks, then, though the night was a wet one? The chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary interest. What did you do next?" "We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret door, and the windows are quite thirty feet from the ground. Both of them were fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a trap-door, and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. I will pledge my life that whoever stole my papers could only have come through the door." "How about the fireplace?" "They use none. There is a stove. The bell-rope hangs from the wire just to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come right up to the desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the bell? It is a most insoluble mystery." "Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps? You examined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left any traces--any cigar-end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle?" "There was nothing of the sort." "No smell?" "Well, we never thought of that." "Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us in such an investigation." "I never smoke myself, so I think I should have observed it if there had been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue of any kind. The only tangible fact was that the commissionaire's wife--Mrs. Tangey was the name--had hurried out of the place. He could give no explanation save that it was about the time when the woman always went home. The policeman and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the woman before she could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them. "The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great deal of energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address which had been given to us. A young woman opened the door, who proved to be Mrs. Tangey's eldest daughter. Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown into the front room to wait. "About ten minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we made the one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of opening the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say, 'Mother, there are two men in the house waiting to see you,' and an instant afterwards we heard the patter of feet rushing down the passage. Forbes flung open the door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the woman had got there before us. She stared at us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly recognizing me, an expression of absolute astonishment came over her face. "'Why, if it isn't Mr. Phelps, of the office!' she cried. "'Come, come, who did you think we were when you ran away from us?' asked my companion. "'I thought you were the brokers,' said she, 'we have had some trouble with a tradesman.' "'That's not quite good enough,' answered Forbes. 'We have reason to believe that you have taken a paper of importance from the Foreign Office, and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You must come back with us to Scotland Yard to be searched.' "It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four-wheeler was brought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made an examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to see whether she might have made away with the papers during the instant that she was alone. There were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps. When we reached Scotland Yard she was handed over at once to the female searcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until she came back with her report. There were no signs of the papers. "Then for the first time the horror of my situation came in its full force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed thought. I had been so confident of regaining the treaty at once that I had not dared to think of what would be the consequence if I failed to do so. But now there was nothing more to be done, and I had leisure to realize my position. It was horrible. Watson there would tell you that I was a nervous, sensitive boy at school. It is my nature. I thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in the Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon him, upon myself, upon every one connected with me. What though I was the victim of an extraordinary accident? No allowance is made for accidents where diplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined, shamefully, hopelessly ruined. I don't know what I did. I fancy I must have made a scene. I have a dim recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me, endeavoring to soothe me. One of them drove down with me to Waterloo, and saw me into the Woking train. I believe that he would have come all the way had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, was going down by that very train. The doctor most kindly took charge of me, and it was well he did so, for I had a fit in the station, and before we reached home I was practically a raving maniac. "You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused from their beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in this condition. Poor Annie here and my mother were broken-hearted. Dr. Ferrier had just heard enough from the detective at the station to be able to give an idea of what had happened, and his story did not mend matters. It was evident to all that I was in for a long illness, so Joseph was bundled out of this cheery bedroom, and it was turned into a sick-room for me. Here I have lain, Mr. Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious, and raving with brain-fever. If it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for the doctor's care I should not be speaking to you now. She has nursed me by day and a hired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my mad fits I was capable of anything. Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only during the last three days that my memory has quite returned. Sometimes I wish that it never had. The first thing that I did was to wire to Mr. Forbes, who had the case in hand. He came out, and assures me that, though everything has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered. The commissionaire and his wife have been examined in every way without any light being thrown upon the matter. The suspicions of the police then rested upon young Gorot, who, as you may remember, stayed over time in the office that night. His remaining behind and his French name were really the only two points which could suggest suspicion; but, as a matter of fact, I did not begin work until he had gone, and his people are of Huguenot extraction, but as English in sympathy and tradition as you and I are. Nothing was found to implicate him in any way, and there the matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutely my last hope. If you fail me, then my honor as well as my position are forever forfeited." The invalid sank back upon his cushions, tired out by this long recital, while his nurse poured him out a glass of some stimulating medicine. Holmes sat silently, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, in an attitude which might seem listless to a stranger, but which I knew betokened the most intense self-absorption. "You statement has been so explicit," said he at last, "that you have really left me very few questions to ask. There is one of the very utmost importance, however. Did you tell any one that you had this special task to perform?" "No one." "Not Miss Harrison here, for example?" "No. I had not been back to Woking between getting the order and executing the commission." "And none of your people had by chance been to see you?" "None." "Did any of them know their way about in the office?" "Oh, yes, all of them had been shown over it." "Still, of course, if you said nothing to any one about the treaty these inquiries are irrelevant." "I said nothing." "Do you know anything of the commissionaire?" "Nothing except that he is an old soldier." "What regiment?" "Oh, I have heard--Coldstream Guards." "Thank you. I have no doubt I can get details from Forbes. The authorities are excellent at amassing facts, though they do not always use them to advantage. What a lovely thing a rose is!" He walked past the couch to the open window, and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. "There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as in religion," said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. "It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its color are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers." Percy Phelps and his nurse looked at Holmes during this demonstration with surprise and a good deal of disappointment written upon their faces. He had fallen into a reverie, with the moss-rose between his fingers. It had lasted some minutes before the young lady broke in upon it. "Do you see any prospect of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?" she asked, with a touch of asperity in her voice. "Oh, the mystery!" he answered, coming back with a start to the realities of life. "Well, it would be absurd to deny that the case is a very abstruse and complicated one, but I can promise you that I will look into the matter and let you know any points which may strike me." "Do you see any clue?" "You have furnished me with seven, but, of course, I must test them before I can pronounce upon their value." "You suspect some one?" "I suspect myself." "What!" "Of coming to conclusions too rapidly." "Then go to London and test your conclusions." "Your advice is very excellent, Miss Harrison," said Holmes, rising. "I think, Watson, we cannot do better. Do not allow yourself to indulge in false hopes, Mr. Phelps. The affair is a very tangled one." "I shall be in a fever until I see you again," cried the diplomatist. "Well, I'll come out by the same train to-morrow, though it's more than likely that my report will be a negative one." "God bless you for promising to come," cried our client. "It gives me fresh life to know that something is being done. By the way, I have had a letter from Lord Holdhurst." "Ha! What did he say?" "He was cold, but not harsh. I dare say my severe illness prevented him from being that. He repeated that the matter was of the utmost importance, and added that no steps would be taken about my future--by which he means, of course, my dismissal--until my health was restored and I had an opportunity of repairing my misfortune." "Well, that was reasonable and considerate," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, for we have a good day's work before us in town." Mr. Joseph Harrison drove us down to the station, and we were soon whirling up in a Portsmouth train. Holmes was sunk in profound thought, and hardly opened his mouth until we had passed Clapham Junction. "It's a very cheery thing to come into London by any of these lines which run high, and allow you to look down upon the houses like this." I thought he was joking, for the view was sordid enough, but he soon explained himself. "Look at those big, isolated clumps of building rising up above the slates, like brick islands in a lead-colored sea." "The board-schools." "Light-houses, my boy! Beacons of the future! Capsules with hundreds of bright little seeds in each, out of which will spring the wise, better England of the future. I suppose that man Phelps does not drink?" "I should not think so." "Nor should I, but we are bound to take every possibility into account. The poor devil has certainly got himself into very deep water, and it's a question whether we shall ever be able to get him ashore. What did you think of Miss Harrison?" "A girl of strong character." "Yes, but she is a good sort, or I am mistaken. She and her brother are the only children of an iron-master somewhere up Northumberland way. He got engaged to her when traveling last winter, and she came down to be introduced to his people, with her brother as escort. Then came the smash, and she stayed on to nurse her lover, while brother Joseph, finding himself pretty snug, stayed on too. I've been making a few independent inquiries, you see. But to-day must be a day of inquiries." "My practice--" I began. "Oh, if you find your own cases more interesting than mine--" said Holmes, with some asperity. "I was going to say that my practice could get along very well for a day or two, since it is the slackest time in the year." "Excellent," said he, recovering his good-humor. "Then we'll look into this matter together. I think that we should begin by seeing Forbes. He can probably tell us all the details we want until we know from what side the case is to be approached." "You said you had a clue?" "Well, we have several, but we can only test their value by further inquiry. The most difficult crime to track is the one which is purposeless. Now this is not purposeless. Who is it who profits by it? There is the French ambassador, there is the Russian, there is who-ever might sell it to either of these, and there is Lord Holdhurst." "Lord Holdhurst!" "Well, it is just conceivable that a statesman might find himself in a position where he was not sorry to have such a document accidentally destroyed." "Not a statesman with the honorable record of Lord Holdhurst?" "It is a possibility and we cannot afford to disregard it. We shall see the noble lord to-day and find out if he can tell us anything. Meanwhile I have already set inquiries on foot." "Already?" "Yes, I sent wires from Woking station to every evening paper in London. This advertisement will appear in each of them." He handed over a sheet torn from a note-book. On it was scribbled in pencil: "£10 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or about the door of the Foreign Office in Charles Street at quarter to ten in the evening of May 23d. Apply 221b, Baker Street." "You are confident that the thief came in a cab?" "If not, there is no harm done. But if Mr. Phelps is correct in stating that there is no hiding-place either in the room or the corridors, then the person must have come from outside. If he came from outside on so wet a night, and yet left no trace of damp upon the linoleum, which was examined within a few minutes of his passing, then it is exceeding probably that he came in a cab. Yes, I think that we may safely deduce a cab." "It sounds plausible." "That is one of the clues of which I spoke. It may lead us to something. And then, of course, there is the bell--which is the most distinctive feature of the case. Why should the bell ring? Was it the thief who did it out of bravado? Or was it some one who was with the thief who did it in order to prevent the crime? Or was it an accident? Or was it--?" He sank back into the state of intense and silent thought from which he had emerged; but it seemed to me, accustomed as I was to his every mood, that some new possibility had dawned suddenly upon him. It was twenty past three when we reached our terminus, and after a hasty luncheon at the buffet we pushed on at once to Scotland Yard. Holmes had already wired to Forbes, and we found him waiting to receive us--a small, foxy man with a sharp but by no means amiable expression. He was decidedly frigid in his manner to us, especially when he heard the errand upon which we had come. "I've heard of your methods before now, Mr. Holmes," said he, tartly. "You are ready enough to use all the information that the police can lay at your disposal, and then you try to finish the case yourself and bring discredit on them." "On the contrary," said Holmes, "out of my last fifty-three cases my name has only appeared in four, and the police have had all the credit in forty-nine. I don't blame you for not knowing this, for you are young and inexperienced, but if you wish to get on in your new duties you will work with me and not against me." "I'd be very glad of a hint or two," said the detective, changing his manner. "I've certainly had no credit from the case so far." "What steps have you taken?" "Tangey, the commissionaire, has been shadowed. He left the Guards with a good character and we can find nothing against him. His wife is a bad lot, though. I fancy she knows more about this than appears." "Have you shadowed her?" "We have set one of our women on to her. Mrs. Tangey drinks, and our woman has been with her twice when she was well on, but she could get nothing out of her." "I understand that they have had brokers in the house?" "Yes, but they were paid off." "Where did the money come from?" "That was all right. His pension was due. They have not shown any sign of being in funds." "What explanation did she give of having answered the bell when Mr. Phelps rang for the coffee?" "She said that he husband was very tired and she wished to relieve him." "Well, certainly that would agree with his being found a little later asleep in his chair. There is nothing against them then but the woman's character. Did you ask her why she hurried away that night? Her haste attracted the attention of the police constable." "She was later than usual and wanted to get home." "Did you point out to her that you and Mr. Phelps, who started at least twenty minutes after he, got home before her?" "She explains that by the difference between a 'bus and a hansom." "Did she make it clear why, on reaching her house, she ran into the back kitchen?" "Because she had the money there with which to pay off the brokers." "She has at least an answer for everything. Did you ask her whether in leaving she met any one or saw any one loitering about Charles Street?" "She saw no one but the constable." "Well, you seem to have cross-examined her pretty thoroughly. What else have you done?" "The clerk Gorot has been shadowed all these nine weeks, but without result. We can show nothing against him." "Anything else?" "Well, we have nothing else to go upon--no evidence of any kind." "Have you formed a theory about how that bell rang?" "Well, I must confess that it beats me. It was a cool hand, whoever it was, to go and give the alarm like that." "Yes, it was a queer thing to do. Many thanks to you for what you have told me. If I can put the man into your hands you shall hear from me. Come along, Watson." "Where are we going to now?" I asked, as we left the office. "We are now going to interview Lord Holdhurst, the cabinet minister and future premier of England." We were fortunate in finding that Lord Holdhurst was still in his chambers in Downing Street, and on Holmes sending in his card we were instantly shown up. The statesman received us with that old-fashioned courtesy for which he is remarkable, and seated us on the two luxuriant lounges on either side of the fireplace. Standing on the rug between us, with his slight, tall figure, his sharp features, thoughtful face, and curling hair prematurely tinged with gray, he seemed to represent that not too common type, a nobleman who is in truth noble. "Your name is very familiar to me, Mr. Holmes," said he, smiling. "And, of course, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the object of your visit. There has only been one occurrence in these offices which could call for your attention. In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?" "In that of Mr. Percy Phelps," answered Holmes. "Ah, my unfortunate nephew! You can understand that our kinship makes it the more impossible for me to screen him in any way. I fear that the incident must have a very prejudicial effect upon his career." "But if the document is found?" "Ah, that, of course, would be different." "I had one or two questions which I wished to ask you, Lord Holdhurst." "I shall be happy to give you any information in my power." "Was it in this room that you gave your instructions as to the copying of the document?" "It was." "Then you could hardly have been overheard?" "It is out of the question." "Did you ever mention to any one that it was your intention to give any one the treaty to be copied?" "Never." "You are certain of that?" "Absolutely." "Well, since you never said so, and Mr. Phelps never said so, and nobody else knew anything of the matter, then the thief's presence in the room was purely accidental. He saw his chance and he took it." The statesman smiled. "You take me out of my province there," said he. Holmes considered for a moment. "There is another very important point which I wish to discuss with you," said he. "You feared, as I understand, that very grave results might follow from the details of this treaty becoming known." A shadow passed over the expressive face of the statesman. "Very grave results indeed." "And have they occurred?" "Not yet." "If the treaty had reached, let us say, the French or Russian Foreign Office, you would expect to hear of it?" "I should," said Lord Holdhurst, with a wry face. "Since nearly ten weeks have elapsed, then, and nothing has been heard, it is not unfair to suppose that for some reason the treaty has not reached them." Lord Holdhurst shrugged his shoulders. "We can hardly suppose, Mr. Holmes, that the thief took the treaty in order to frame it and hang it up." "Perhaps he is waiting for a better price." "If he waits a little longer he will get no price at all. The treaty will cease to be secret in a few months." "That is most important," said Holmes. "Of course, it is a possible supposition that the thief has had a sudden illness--" "An attack of brain-fever, for example?" asked the statesman, flashing a swift glance at him. "I did not say so," said Holmes, imperturbably. "And now, Lord Holdhurst, we have already taken up too much of your valuable time, and we shall wish you good-day." "Every success to your investigation, be the criminal who it may," answered the nobleman, as he bowed us out the door. "He's a fine fellow," said Holmes, as we came out into Whitehall. "But he has a struggle to keep up his position. He is far from rich and has many calls. You noticed, of course, that his boots had been re-soled? Now, Watson, I won't detain you from your legitimate work any longer. I shall do nothing more to-day, unless I have an answer to my cab advertisement. But I should be extremely obliged to you if you would come down with me to Woking to-morrow, by the same train which we took yesterday." I met him accordingly next morning and we traveled down to Woking together. He had had no answer to his advertisement, he said, and no fresh light had been thrown upon the case. He had, when he so willed it, the utter immobility of countenance of a red Indian, and I could not gather from his appearance whether he was satisfied or not with the position of the case. His conversation, I remember, was about the Bertillon system of measurements, and he expressed his enthusiastic admiration of the French savant. We found our client still under the charge of his devoted nurse, but looking considerably better than before. He rose from the sofa and greeted us without difficulty when we entered. "Any news?" he asked, eagerly. "My report, as I expected, is a negative one," said Holmes. "I have seen Forbes, and I have seen your uncle, and I have set one or two trains of inquiry upon foot which may lead to something." "You have not lost heart, then?" "By no means." "God bless you for saying that!" cried Miss Harrison. "If we keep our courage and our patience the truth must come out." "We have more to tell you than you have for us," said Phelps, reseating himself upon the couch. "I hoped you might have something." "Yes, we have had an adventure during the night, and one which might have proved to be a serious one." His expression grew very grave as he spoke, and a look of something akin to fear sprang up in his eyes. "Do you know," said he, "that I begin to believe that I am the unconscious centre of some monstrous conspiracy, and that my life is aimed at as well as my honor?" "Ah!" cried Holmes. "It sounds incredible, for I have not, as far as I know, an enemy in the world. Yet from last night's experience I can come to no other conclusion." "Pray let me hear it." "You must know that last night was the very first night that I have ever slept without a nurse in the room. I was so much better that I thought I could dispense with one. I had a night-light burning, however. Well, about two in the morning I had sunk into a light sleep when I was suddenly aroused by a slight noise. It was like the sound which a mouse makes when it is gnawing a plank, and I lay listening to it for some time under the impression that it must come from that cause. Then it grew louder, and suddenly there came from the window a sharp metallic snick. I sat up in amazement. There could be no doubt what the sounds were now. The first ones had been caused by some one forcing an instrument through the slit between the sashes, and the second by the catch being pressed back. "There was a pause then for about ten minutes, as if the person were waiting to see whether the noise had awakened me. Then I heard a gentle creaking as the window was very slowly opened. I could stand it no longer, for my nerves are not what they used to be. I sprang out of bed and flung open the shutters. A man was crouching at the window. I could see little of him, for he was gone like a flash. He was wrapped in some sort of cloak which came across the lower part of his face. One thing only I am sure of, and that is that he had some weapon in his hand. It looked to me like a long knife. I distinctly saw the gleam of it as he turned to run." "This is most interesting," said Holmes. "Pray what did you do then?" "I should have followed him through the open window if I had been stronger. As it was, I rang the bell and roused the house. It took me some little time, for the bell rings in the kitchen and the servants all sleep upstairs. I shouted, however, and that brought Joseph down, and he roused the others. Joseph and the groom found marks on the bed outside the window, but the weather has been so dry lately that they found it hopeless to follow the trail across the grass. There's a place, however, on the wooden fence which skirts the road which shows signs, they tell me, as if some one had got over, and had snapped the top of the rail in doing so. I have said nothing to the local police yet, for I thought I had best have your opinion first." This tale of our client's appeared to have an extraordinary effect upon Sherlock Holmes. He rose from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable excitement. "Misfortunes never come single," said Phelps, smiling, though it was evident that his adventure had somewhat shaken him. "You have certainly had your share," said Holmes. "Do you think you could walk round the house with me?" "Oh, yes, I should like a little sunshine. Joseph will come, too." "And I also," said Miss Harrison. "I am afraid not," said Holmes, shaking his head. "I think I must ask you to remain sitting exactly where you are." The young lady resumed her seat with an air of displeasure. Her brother, however, had joined us and we set off all four together. We passed round the lawn to the outside of the young diplomatist's window. There were, as he had said, marks upon the bed, but they were hopelessly blurred and vague. Holmes stopped over them for an instant, and then rose shrugging his shoulders. "I don't think any one could make much of this," said he. "Let us go round the house and see why this particular room was chose by the burglar. I should have thought those larger windows of the drawing-room and dining-room would have had more attractions for him." "They are more visible from the road," suggested Mr. Joseph Harrison. "Ah, yes, of course. There is a door here which he might have attempted. What is it for?" "It is the side entrance for trades-people. Of course it is locked at night." "Have you ever had an alarm like this before?" "Never," said our client. "Do you keep plate in the house, or anything to attract burglars?" "Nothing of value." Holmes strolled round the house with his hands in his pockets and a negligent air which was unusual with him. "By the way," said he to Joseph Harrison, "you found some place, I understand, where the fellow scaled the fence. Let us have a look at that!" The plump young man led us to a spot where the top of one of the wooden rails had been cracked. A small fragment of the wood was hanging down. Holmes pulled it off and examined it critically. "Do you think that was done last night? It looks rather old, does it not?" "Well, possibly so." "There are no marks of any one jumping down upon the other side. No, I fancy we shall get no help here. Let us go back to the bedroom and talk the matter over." Percy Phelps was walking very slowly, leaning upon the arm of his future brother-in-law. Holmes walked swiftly across the lawn, and we were at the open window of the bedroom long before the others came up. "Miss Harrison," said Holmes, speaking with the utmost intensity of manner, "you must stay where you are all day. Let nothing prevent you from staying where you are all day. It is of the utmost importance." "Certainly, if you wish it, Mr. Holmes," said the girl in astonishment. "When you go to bed lock the door of this room on the outside and keep the key. Promise to do this." "But Percy?" "He will come to London with us." "And am I to remain here?" "It is for his sake. You can serve him. Quick! Promise!" She gave a quick nod of assent just as the other two came up. "Why do you sit moping there, Annie?" cried her brother. "Come out into the sunshine!" "No, thank you, Joseph. I have a slight headache and this room is deliciously cool and soothing." "What do you propose now, Mr. Holmes?" asked our client. "Well, in investigating this minor affair we must not lose sight of our main inquiry. It would be a very great help to me if you would come up to London with us." "At once?" "Well, as soon as you conveniently can. Say in an hour." "I feel quite strong enough, if I can really be of any help." "The greatest possible." "Perhaps you would like me to stay there to-night?" "I was just going to propose it." "Then, if my friend of the night comes to revisit me, he will find the bird flown. We are all in your hands, Mr. Holmes, and you must tell us exactly what you would like done. Perhaps you would prefer that Joseph came with us so as to look after me?" "Oh, no; my friend Watson is a medical man, you know, and he'll look after you. We'll have our lunch here, if you will permit us, and then we shall all three set off for town together." It was arranged as he suggested, though Miss Harrison excused herself from leaving the bedroom, in accordance with Holmes's suggestion. What the object of my friend's manoeuvres was I could not conceive, unless it were to keep the lady away from Phelps, who, rejoiced by his returning health and by the prospect of action, lunched with us in the dining-room. Holmes had still more startling surprise for us, however, for, after accompanying us down to the station and seeing us into our carriage, he calmly announced that he had no intention of leaving Woking. "There are one or two small points which I should desire to clear up before I go," said he. "Your absence, Mr. Phelps, will in some ways rather assist me. Watson, when you reach London you would oblige me by driving at once to Baker Street with our friend here, and remaining with him until I see you again. It is fortunate that you are old school-fellows, as you must have much to talk over. Mr. Phelps can have the spare bedroom to-night, and I will be with you in time for breakfast, for there is a train which will take me into Waterloo at eight." "But how about our investigation in London?" asked Phelps, ruefully. "We can do that to-morrow. I think that just at present I can be of more immediate use here." "You might tell them at Briarbrae that I hope to be back to-morrow night," cried Phelps, as we began to move from the platform. "I hardly expect to go back to Briarbrae," answered Holmes, and waved his hand to us cheerily as we shot out from the station. Phelps and I talked it over on our journey, but neither of us could devise a satisfactory reason for this new development. "I suppose he wants to find out some clue as to the burglary last night, if a burglar it was. For myself, I don't believe it was an ordinary thief." "What is your own idea, then?" "Upon my word, you may put it down to my weak nerves or not, but I believe there is some deep political intrigue going on around me, and that for some reason that passes my understanding my life is aimed at by the conspirators. It sounds high-flown and absurd, but consider the facts! Why should a thief try to break in at a bedroom window, where there could be no hope of any plunder, and why should he come with a long knife in his hand?" "You are sure it was not a house-breaker's jimmy?" "Oh, no, it was a knife. I saw the flash of the blade quite distinctly." "But why on earth should you be pursued with such animosity?" "Ah, that is the question." "Well, if Holmes takes the same view, that would account for his action, would it not? Presuming that your theory is correct, if he can lay his hands upon the man who threatened you last night he will have gone a long way towards finding who took the naval treaty. It is absurd to suppose that you have two enemies, one of whom robs you, while the other threatens your life." "But Holmes said that he was not going to Briarbrae." "I have known him for some time," said I, "but I never knew him do anything yet without a very good reason," and with that our conversation drifted off on to other topics. But it was a weary day for me. Phelps was still weak after his long illness, and his misfortune made him querulous and nervous. In vain I endeavored to interest him in Afghanistan, in India, in social questions, in anything which might take his mind out of the groove. He would always come back to his lost treaty, wondering, guessing, speculating, as to what Holmes was doing, what steps Lord Holdhurst was taking, what news we should have in the morning. As the evening wore on his excitement became quite painful. "You have implicit faith in Holmes?" he asked. "I have seen him do some remarkable things." "But he never brought light into anything quite so dark as this?" "Oh, yes, I have known him solve questions which presented fewer clues than yours." "But not where such large interests are at stake?" "I don't know that. To my certain knowledge he has acted on behalf of three of the reigning houses of Europe in very vital matters." "But you know him well, Watson. He is such an inscrutable fellow that I never quite know what to make of him. Do you think he is hopeful? Do you think he expects to make a success of it?" "He has said nothing." "That is a bad sign." "On the contrary, I have noticed that when he is off the trail he generally says so. It is when he is on a scent and is not quite absolutely sure yet that it is the right one that he is most taciturn. Now, my dear fellow, we can't help matters by making ourselves nervous about them, so let me implore you to go to bed and so be fresh for whatever may await us to-morrow." I was able at last to persuade my companion to take my advice, though I knew from his excited manner that there was not much hope of sleep for him. Indeed, his mood was infectious, for I lay tossing half the night myself, brooding over this strange problem, and inventing a hundred theories, each of which was more impossible than the last. Why had Holmes remained at Woking? Why had he asked Miss Harrison to remain in the sick-room all day? Why had he been so careful not to inform the people at Briarbrae that he intended to remain near them? I cudgelled my brains until I fell asleep in the endeavor to find some explanation which would cover all these facts. It was seven o'clock when I awoke, and I set off at once for Phelps's room, to find him haggard and spent after a sleepless night. His first question was whether Holmes had arrived yet. "He'll be here when he promised," said I, "and not an instant sooner or later." And my words were true, for shortly after eight a hansom dashed up to the door and our friend got out of it. Standing in the window we saw that his left hand was swathed in a bandage and that his face was very grim and pale. He entered the house, but it was some little time before he came upstairs. "He looks like a beaten man," cried Phelps. I was forced to confess that he was right. "After all," said I, "the clue of the matter lies probably here in town." Phelps gave a groan. "I don't know how it is," said he, "but I had hoped for so much from his return. But surely his hand was not tied up like that yesterday. What can be the matter?" "You are not wounded, Holmes?" I asked, as my friend entered the room. "Tut, it is only a scratch through my own clumsiness," he answered, nodding his good-mornings to us. "This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is certainly one of the darkest which I have ever investigated." "I feared that you would find it beyond you." "It has been a most remarkable experience." "That bandage tells of adventures," said I. "Won't you tell us what has happened?" "After breakfast, my dear Watson. Remember that I have breathed thirty miles of Surrey air this morning. I suppose that there has been no answer from my cabman advertisement? Well, well, we cannot expect to score every time." The table was all laid, and just as I was about to ring Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea and coffee. A few minutes later she brought in three covers, and we all drew up to the table, Holmes ravenous, I curious, and Phelps in the gloomiest state of depression. "Mrs. Hudson has risen to the occasion," said Holmes, uncovering a dish of curried chicken. "Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotch-woman. What have you here, Watson?" "Ham and eggs," I answered. "Good! What are you going to take, Mr. Phelps--curried fowl or eggs, or will you help yourself?" "Thank you. I can eat nothing," said Phelps. "Oh, come! Try the dish before you." "Thank you, I would really rather not." "Well, then," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle, "I suppose that you have no objection to helping me?" Phelps raised the cover, and as he did so he uttered a scream, and sat there staring with a face as white as the plate upon which he looked. Across the centre of it was lying a little cylinder of blue-gray paper. He caught it up, devoured it with his eyes, and then danced madly about the room, passing it to his bosom and shrieking out in his delight. Then he fell back into an arm-chair so limp and exhausted with his own emotions that we had to pour brandy down his throat to keep him from fainting. "There! there!" said Holmes, soothing, patting him upon the shoulder. "It was too bad to spring it on you like this, but Watson here will tell you that I never can resist a touch of the dramatic." Phelps seized his hand and kissed it. "God bless you!" he cried. "You have saved my honor." "Well, my own was at stake, you know," said Holmes. "I assure you it is just as hateful to me to fail in a case as it can be to you to blunder over a commission." Phelps thrust away the precious document into the innermost pocket of his coat. "I have not the heart to interrupt your breakfast any further, and yet I am dying to know how you got it and where it was." Sherlock Holmes swallowed a cup of coffee, and turned his attention to the ham and eggs. Then he rose, lit his pipe, and settled himself down into his chair. "I'll tell you what I did first, and how I came to do it afterwards," said he. "After leaving you at the station I went for a charming walk through some admirable Surrey scenery to a pretty little village called Ripley, where I had my tea at an inn, and took the precaution of filling my flask and of putting a paper of sandwiches in my pocket. There I remained until evening, when I set off for Woking again, and found myself in the high-road outside Briarbrae just after sunset. "Well, I waited until the road was clear--it is never a very frequented one at any time, I fancy--and then I clambered over the fence into the grounds." "Surely the gate was open!" ejaculated Phelps. "Yes, but I have a peculiar taste in these matters. I chose the place where the three fir-trees stand, and behind their screen I got over without the least chance of any one in the house being able to see me. I crouched down among the bushes on the other side, and crawled from one to the other--witness the disreputable state of my trouser knees--until I had reached the clump of rhododendrons just opposite to your bedroom window. There I squatted down and awaited developments. "The blind was not down in your room, and I could see Miss Harrison sitting there reading by the table. It was quarter-past ten when she closed her book, fastened the shutters, and retired. "I heard her shut the door, and felt quite sure that she had turned the key in the lock." "The key!" ejaculated Phelps. "Yes, I had given Miss Harrison instructions to lock the door on the outside and take the key with her when she went to bed. She carried out every one of my injunctions to the letter, and certainly without her cooperation you would not have that paper in you coat-pocket. She departed then and the lights went out, and I was left squatting in the rhododendron-bush. "The night was fine, but still it was a very weary vigil. Of course it has the sort of excitement about it that the sportsman feels when he lies beside the water-course and waits for the big game. It was very long, though--almost as long, Watson, as when you and I waited in that deadly room when we looked into the little problem of the Speckled Band. There was a church-clock down at Woking which struck the quarters, and I thought more than once that it had stopped. At last however about two in the morning, I suddenly heard the gentle sound of a bolt being pushed back and the creaking of a key. A moment later the servant's door was opened, and Mr. Joseph Harrison stepped out into the moonlight." "Joseph!" ejaculated Phelps. "He was bare-headed, but he had a black coat thrown over his shoulder so that he could conceal his face in an instant if there were any alarm. He walked on tiptoe under the shadow of the wall, and when he reached the window he worked a long-bladed knife through the sash and pushed back the catch. Then he flung open the window, and putting his knife through the crack in the shutters, he thrust the bar up and swung them open. "From where I lay I had a perfect view of the inside of the room and of every one of his movements. He lit the two candles which stood upon the mantelpiece, and then he proceeded to turn back the corner of the carpet in the neighborhood of the door. Presently he stopped and picked out a square piece of board, such as is usually left to enable plumbers to get at the joints of the gas-pipes. This one covered, as a matter of fact, the T joint which gives off the pipe which supplies the kitchen underneath. Out of this hiding-place he drew that little cylinder of paper, pushed down the board, rearranged the carpet, blew out the candles, and walked straight into my arms as I stood waiting for him outside the window. "Well, he has rather more viciousness than I gave him credit for, has Master Joseph. He flew at me with his knife, and I had to grasp him twice, and got a cut over the knuckles, before I had the upper hand of him. He looked murder out of the only eye he could see with when we had finished, but he listened to reason and gave up the papers. Having got them I let my man go, but I wired full particulars to Forbes this morning. If he is quick enough to catch his bird, well and good. But if, as I shrewdly suspect, he finds the nest empty before he gets there, why, all the better for the government. I fancy that Lord Holdhurst for one, and Mr. Percy Phelps for another, would very much rather that the affair never got as far as a police-court. "My God!" gasped our client. "Do you tell me that during these long ten weeks of agony the stolen papers were within the very room with me all the time?" "So it was." "And Joseph! Joseph a villain and a thief!" "Hum! I am afraid Joseph's character is a rather deeper and more dangerous one than one might judge from his appearance. From what I have heard from him this morning, I gather that he has lost heavily in dabbling with stocks, and that he is ready to do anything on earth to better his fortunes. Being an absolutely selfish man, when a chance presented itself he did not allow either his sister's happiness or your reputation to hold his hand." Percy Phelps sank back in his chair. "My head whirls," said he. "Your words have dazed me." "The principal difficulty in your case," remarked Holmes, in his didactic fashion, "lay in the fact of there being too much evidence. What was vital was overlaid and hidden by what was irrelevant. Of all the facts which were presented to us we had to pick just those which we deemed to be essential, and then piece them together in their order, so as to reconstruct this very remarkable chain of events. I had already begun to suspect Joseph, from the fact that you had intended to travel home with him that night, and that therefore it was a likely enough thing that he should call for you, knowing the Foreign Office well, upon his way. When I heard that some one had been so anxious to get into the bedroom, in which no one but Joseph could have concealed anything--you told us in your narrative how you had turned Joseph out when you arrived with the doctor--my suspicions all changed to certainties, especially as the attempt was made on the first night upon which the nurse was absent, showing that the intruder was well acquainted with the ways of the house." "How blind I have been!" "The facts of the case, as far as I have worked them out, are these: this Joseph Harrison entered the office through the Charles Street door, and knowing his way he walked straight into your room the instant after you left it. Finding no one there he promptly rang the bell, and at the instant that he did so his eyes caught the paper upon the table. A glance showed him that chance had put in his way a State document of immense value, and in an instant he had thrust it into his pocket and was gone. A few minutes elapsed, as you remember, before the sleepy commissionaire drew your attention to the bell, and those were just enough to give the thief time to make his escape. "He made his way to Woking by the first train, and having examined his booty and assured himself that it really was of immense value, he had concealed it in what he thought was a very safe place, with the intention of taking it out again in a day or two, and carrying it to the French embassy, or wherever he thought that a long price was to be had. Then came your sudden return. He, without a moment's warning, was bundled out of his room, and from that time onward there were always at least two of you there to prevent him from regaining his treasure. The situation to him must have been a maddening one. But at last he thought he saw his chance. He tried to steal in, but was baffled by your wakefulness. You remember that you did not take your usual draught that night." "I remember." "I fancy that he had taken steps to make that draught efficacious, and that he quite relied upon your being unconscious. Of course, I understood that he would repeat the attempt whenever it could be done with safety. Your leaving the room gave him the chance he wanted. I kept Miss Harrison in it all day so that he might not anticipate us. Then, having given him the idea that the coast was clear, I kept guard as I have described. I already knew that the papers were probably in the room, but I had no desire to rip up all the planking and skirting in search of them. I let him take them, therefore, from the hiding-place, and so saved myself an infinity of trouble. Is there any other point which I can make clear?" "Why did he try the window on the first occasion," I asked, "when he might have entered by the door?" "In reaching the door he would have to pass seven bedrooms. On the other hand, he could get out on to the lawn with ease. Anything else?" "You do not think," asked Phelps, "that he had any murderous intention? The knife was only meant as a tool." "It may be so," answered Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "I can only say for certain that Mr. Joseph Harrison is a gentleman to whose mercy I should be extremely unwilling to trust." THE FINAL PROBLEM It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write these the last words in which I shall ever record the singular gifts by which my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was distinguished. In an incoherent and, as I deeply feel, an entirely inadequate fashion, I have endeavored to give some account of my strange experiences in his company from the chance which first brought us together at the period of the "Study in Scarlet," up to the time of his interference in the matter of the "Naval Treaty"--an interference which had the unquestionable effect of preventing a serious international complication. It was my intention to have stopped there, and to have said nothing of that event which has created a void in my life which the lapse of two years has done little to fill. My hand has been forced, however, by the recent letters in which Colonel James Moriarty defends the memory of his brother, and I have no choice but to lay the facts before the public exactly as they occurred. I alone know the absolute truth of the matter, and I am satisfied that the time has come when no good purpose is to be served by its suppression. As far as I know, there have been only three accounts in the public press: that in the Journal de Genève on May 6th, 1891, the Reuter's despatch in the English papers on May 7th, and finally the recent letters to which I have alluded. Of these the first and second were extremely condensed, while the last is, as I shall now show, an absolute perversion of the facts. It lies with me to tell for the first time what really took place between Professor Moriarty and Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified. He still came to me from time to time when he desired a companion in his investigation, but these occasions grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the year 1890 there were only three cases of which I retain any record. During the winter of that year and the early spring of 1891, I saw in the papers that he had been engaged by the French government upon a matter of supreme importance, and I received two notes from Holmes, dated from Narbonne and from Nimes, from which I gathered that his stay in France was likely to be a long one. It was with some surprise, therefore, that I saw him walk into my consulting-room upon the evening of April 24th. It struck me that he was looking even paler and thinner than usual. "Yes, I have been using myself up rather too freely," he remarked, in answer to my look rather than to my words; "I have been a little pressed of late. Have you any objection to my closing your shutters?" The only light in the room came from the lamp upon the table at which I had been reading. Holmes edged his way round the wall and flinging the shutters together, he bolted them securely. "You are afraid of something?" I asked. "Well, I am." "Of what?" "Of air-guns." "My dear Holmes, what do you mean?" "I think that you know me well enough, Watson, to understand that I am by no means a nervous man. At the same time, it is stupidity rather than courage to refuse to recognize danger when it is close upon you. Might I trouble you for a match?" He drew in the smoke of his cigarette as if the soothing influence was grateful to him. "I must apologize for calling so late," said he, "and I must further beg you to be so unconventional as to allow me to leave your house presently by scrambling over your back garden wall." "But what does it all mean?" I asked. He held out his hand, and I saw in the light of the lamp that two of his knuckles were burst and bleeding. "It is not an airy nothing, you see," said he, smiling. "On the contrary, it is solid enough for a man to break his hand over. Is Mrs. Watson in?" "She is away upon a visit." "Indeed! You are alone?" "Quite." "Then it makes it the easier for me to propose that you should come away with me for a week to the Continent." "Where?" "Oh, anywhere. It's all the same to me." There was something very strange in all this. It was not Holmes's nature to take an aimless holiday, and something about his pale, worn face told me that his nerves were at their highest tension. He saw the question in my eyes, and, putting his finger-tips together and his elbows upon his knees, he explained the situation. "You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he. "Never." "Aye, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried. "The man pervades London, and no one has heard of him. That's what puts him on a pinnacle in the records of crime. I tell you, Watson, in all seriousness, that if I could beat that man, if I could free society of him, I should feel that my own career had reached its summit, and I should be prepared to turn to some more placid line in life. Between ourselves, the recent cases in which I have been of assistance to the royal family of Scandinavia, and to the French republic, have left me in such a position that I could continue to live in the quiet fashion which is most congenial to me, and to concentrate my attention upon my chemical researches. But I could not rest, Watson, I could not sit quiet in my chair, if I thought that such a man as Professor Moriarty were walking the streets of London unchallenged." "What has he done, then?" "His career has been an extraordinary one. He is a man of good birth and excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical faculty. At the age of twenty-one he wrote a treatise upon the Binomial Theorem, which has had a European vogue. On the strength of it he won the Mathematical Chair at one of our smaller universities, and had, to all appearance, a most brilliant career before him. But the man had hereditary tendencies of the most diabolical kind. A criminal strain ran in his blood, which, instead of being modified, was increased and rendered infinitely more dangerous by his extraordinary mental powers. Dark rumors gathered round him in the university town, and eventually he was compelled to resign his chair and to come down to London, where he set up as an army coach. So much is known to the world, but what I am telling you now is what I have myself discovered. "As you are aware, Watson, there is no one who knows the higher criminal world of London so well as I do. For years past I have continually been conscious of some power behind the malefactor, some deep organizing power which forever stands in the way of the law, and throws its shield over the wrong-doer. Again and again in cases of the most varying sorts--forgery cases, robberies, murders--I have felt the presence of this force, and I have deduced its action in many of those undiscovered crimes in which I have not been personally consulted. For years I have endeavored to break through the veil which shrouded it, and at last the time came when I seized my thread and followed it, until it led me, after a thousand cunning windings, to ex-Professor Moriarty of mathematical celebrity. "He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson. He is the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city. He is a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order. He sits motionless, like a spider in the center of its web, but that web has a thousand radiations, and he knows well every quiver of each of them. He does little himself. He only plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly organized. Is there a crime to be done, a paper to be abstracted, we will say, a house to be rifled, a man to be removed--the word is passed to the Professor, the matter is organized and carried out. The agent may be caught. In that case money is found for his bail or his defence. But the central power which uses the agent is never caught--never so much as suspected. This was the organization which I deduced, Watson, and which I devoted my whole energy to exposing and breaking up. "But the Professor was fenced round with safeguards so cunningly devised that, do what I would, it seemed impossible to get evidence which would convict in a court of law. You know my powers, my dear Watson, and yet at the end of three months I was forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration at his skill. But at last he made a trip--only a little, little trip--but it was more than he could afford when I was so close upon him. I had my chance, and, starting from that point, I have woven my net round him until now it is all ready to close. In three days--that is to say, on Monday next--matters will be ripe, and the Professor, with all the principal members of his gang, will be in the hands of the police. Then will come the greatest criminal trial of the century, the clearing up of over forty mysteries, and the rope for all of them; but if we move at all prematurely, you understand, they may slip out of our hands even at the last moment. "Now, if I could have done this without the knowledge of Professor Moriarty, all would have been well. But he was too wily for that. He saw every step which I took to draw my toils round him. Again and again he strove to break away, but I as often headed him off. I tell you, my friend, that if a detailed account of that silent contest could be written, it would take its place as the most brilliant bit of thrust-and-parry work in the history of detection. Never have I risen to such a height, and never have I been so hard pressed by an opponent. He cut deep, and yet I just undercut him. This morning the last steps were taken, and three days only were wanted to complete the business. I was sitting in my room thinking the matter over, when the door opened and Professor Moriarty stood before me. "My nerves are fairly proof, Watson, but I must confess to a start when I saw the very man who had been so much in my thoughts standing there on my threshold. His appearance was quite familiar to me. He is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and his two eyes are deeply sunken in his head. He is clean-shaven, pale, and ascetic-looking, retaining something of the professor in his features. His shoulders are rounded from much study, and his face protrudes forward, and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously reptilian fashion. He peered at me with great curiosity in his puckered eyes. "'You have less frontal development that I should have expected,' said he, at last. 'It is a dangerous habit to finger loaded firearms in the pocket of one's dressing-gown.' "The fact is that upon his entrance I had instantly recognized the extreme personal danger in which I lay. The only conceivable escape for him lay in silencing my tongue. In an instant I had slipped the revolver from the drawer into my pocket, and was covering him through the cloth. At his remark I drew the weapon out and laid it cocked upon the table. He still smiled and blinked, but there was something about his eyes which made me feel very glad that I had it there. "'You evidently don't know me,' said he. "'On the contrary,' I answered, 'I think it is fairly evident that I do. Pray take a chair. I can spare you five minutes if you have anything to say.' "'All that I have to say has already crossed your mind,' said he. "'Then possibly my answer has crossed yours,' I replied. "'You stand fast?' "'Absolutely.' "He clapped his hand into his pocket, and I raised the pistol from the table. But he merely drew out a memorandum-book in which he had scribbled some dates. "'You crossed my path on the 4th of January,' said he. 'On the 23d you incommoded me; by the middle of February I was seriously inconvenienced by you; at the end of March I was absolutely hampered in my plans; and now, at the close of April, I find myself placed in such a position through your continual persecution that I am in positive danger of losing my liberty. The situation is becoming an impossible one.' "'Have you any suggestion to make?' I asked. "'You must drop it, Mr. Holmes,' said he, swaying his face about. 'You really must, you know.' "'After Monday,' said I. "'Tut, tut,' said he. 'I am quite sure that a man of your intelligence will see that there can be but one outcome to this affair. It is necessary that you should withdraw. You have worked things in such a fashion that we have only one resource left. It has been an intellectual treat to me to see the way in which you have grappled with this affair, and I say, unaffectedly, that it would be a grief to me to be forced to take any extreme measure. You smile, sir, but I assure you that it really would.' "'Danger is part of my trade,' I remarked. "'That is not danger,' said he. 'It is inevitable destruction. You stand in the way not merely of an individual, but of a mighty organization, the full extent of which you, with all your cleverness, have been unable to realize. You must stand clear, Mr. Holmes, or be trodden under foot.' "'I am afraid,' said I, rising, 'that in the pleasure of this conversation I am neglecting business of importance which awaits me elsewhere.' "He rose also and looked at me in silence, shaking his head sadly. "'Well, well,' said he, at last. 'It seems a pity, but I have done what I could. I know every move of your game. You can do nothing before Monday. It has been a duel between you and me, Mr. Holmes. You hope to place me in the dock. I tell you that I will never stand in the dock. You hope to beat me. I tell you that you will never beat me. If you are clever enough to bring destruction upon me, rest assured that I shall do as much to you.' "'You have paid me several compliments, Mr. Moriarty,' said I. 'Let me pay you one in return when I say that if I were assured of the former eventuality I would, in the interests of the public, cheerfully accept the latter.' "'I can promise you the one, but not the other,' he snarled, and so turned his rounded back upon me, and went peering and blinking out of the room. "That was my singular interview with Professor Moriarty. I confess that it left an unpleasant effect upon my mind. His soft, precise fashion of speech leaves a conviction of sincerity which a mere bully could not produce. Of course, you will say: 'Why not take police precautions against him?' the reason is that I am well convinced that it is from his agents the blow would fall. I have the best proofs that it would be so." "You have already been assaulted?" "My dear Watson, Professor Moriarty is not a man who lets the grass grow under his feet. I went out about mid-day to transact some business in Oxford Street. As I passed the corner which leads from Bentinck Street on to the Welbeck Street crossing a two-horse van furiously driven whizzed round and was on me like a flash. I sprang for the foot-path and saved myself by the fraction of a second. The van dashed round by Marylebone Lane and was gone in an instant. I kept to the pavement after that, Watson, but as I walked down Vere Street a brick came down from the roof of one of the houses, and was shattered to fragments at my feet. I called the police and had the place examined. There were slates and bricks piled up on the roof preparatory to some repairs, and they would have me believe that the wind had toppled over one of these. Of course I knew better, but I could prove nothing. I took a cab after that and reached my brother's rooms in Pall Mall, where I spent the day. Now I have come round to you, and on my way I was attacked by a rough with a bludgeon. I knocked him down, and the police have him in custody; but I can tell you with the most absolute confidence that no possible connection will ever be traced between the gentleman upon whose front teeth I have barked my knuckles and the retiring mathematical coach, who is, I dare say, working out problems upon a black-board ten miles away. You will not wonder, Watson, that my first act on entering your rooms was to close your shutters, and that I have been compelled to ask your permission to leave the house by some less conspicuous exit than the front door." I had often admired my friend's courage, but never more than now, as he sat quietly checking off a series of incidents which must have combined to make up a day of horror. "You will spend the night here?" I said. "No, my friend, you might find me a dangerous guest. I have my plans laid, and all will be well. Matters have gone so far now that they can move without my help as far as the arrest goes, though my presence is necessary for a conviction. It is obvious, therefore, that I cannot do better than get away for the few days which remain before the police are at liberty to act. It would be a great pleasure to me, therefore, if you could come on to the Continent with me." "The practice is quiet," said I, "and I have an accommodating neighbor. I should be glad to come." "And to start to-morrow morning?" "If necessary." "Oh yes, it is most necessary. Then these are your instructions, and I beg, my dear Watson, that you will obey them to the letter, for you are now playing a double-handed game with me against the cleverest rogue and the most powerful syndicate of criminals in Europe. Now listen! You will dispatch whatever luggage you intend to take by a trusty messenger unaddressed to Victoria to-night. In the morning you will send for a hansom, desiring your man to take neither the first nor the second which may present itself. Into this hansom you will jump, and you will drive to the Strand end of the Lowther Arcade, handing the address to the cabman upon a slip of paper, with a request that he will not throw it away. Have your fare ready, and the instant that your cab stops, dash through the Arcade, timing yourself to reach the other side at a quarter-past nine. You will find a small brougham waiting close to the curb, driven by a fellow with a heavy black cloak tipped at the collar with red. Into this you will step, and you will reach Victoria in time for the Continental express." "Where shall I meet you?" "At the station. The second first-class carriage from the front will be reserved for us." "The carriage is our rendezvous, then?" "Yes." It was in vain that I asked Holmes to remain for the evening. It was evident to me that he thought he might bring trouble to the roof he was under, and that that was the motive which impelled him to go. With a few hurried words as to our plans for the morrow he rose and came out with me into the garden, clambering over the wall which leads into Mortimer Street, and immediately whistling for a hansom, in which I heard him drive away. In the morning I obeyed Holmes's injunctions to the letter. A hansom was procured with such precaution as would prevent its being one which was placed ready for us, and I drove immediately after breakfast to the Lowther Arcade, through which I hurried at the top of my speed. A brougham was waiting with a very massive driver wrapped in a dark cloak, who, the instant that I had stepped in, whipped up the horse and rattled off to Victoria Station. On my alighting there he turned the carriage, and dashed away again without so much as a look in my direction. So far all had gone admirably. My luggage was waiting for me, and I had no difficulty in finding the carriage which Holmes had indicated, the less so as it was the only one in the train which was marked "Engaged." My only source of anxiety now was the non-appearance of Holmes. The station clock marked only seven minutes from the time when we were due to start. In vain I searched among the groups of travellers and leave-takers for the lithe figure of my friend. There was no sign of him. I spent a few minutes in assisting a venerable Italian priest, who was endeavoring to make a porter understand, in his broken English, that his luggage was to be booked through to Paris. Then, having taken another look round, I returned to my carriage, where I found that the porter, in spite of the ticket, had given me my decrepit Italian friend as a traveling companion. It was useless for me to explain to him that his presence was an intrusion, for my Italian was even more limited than his English, so I shrugged my shoulders resignedly, and continued to look out anxiously for my friend. A chill of fear had come over me, as I thought that his absence might mean that some blow had fallen during the night. Already the doors had all been shut and the whistle blown, when-- "My dear Watson," said a voice, "you have not even condescended to say good-morning." I turned in uncontrollable astonishment. The aged ecclesiastic had turned his face towards me. For an instant the wrinkles were smoothed away, the nose drew away from the chin, the lower lip ceased to protrude and the mouth to mumble, the dull eyes regained their fire, the drooping figure expanded. The next the whole frame collapsed again, and Holmes had gone as quickly as he had come. "Good heavens!" I cried; "how you startled me!" "Every precaution is still necessary," he whispered. "I have reason to think that they are hot upon our trail. Ah, there is Moriarty himself." The train had already begun to move as Holmes spoke. Glancing back, I saw a tall man pushing his way furiously through the crowd, and waving his hand as if he desired to have the train stopped. It was too late, however, for we were rapidly gathering momentum, and an instant later had shot clear of the station. "With all our precautions, you see that we have cut it rather fine," said Holmes, laughing. He rose, and throwing off the black cassock and hat which had formed his disguise, he packed them away in a hand-bag. "Have you seen the morning paper, Watson?" "No." "You haven't seen about Baker Street, then?" "Baker Street?" "They set fire to our rooms last night. No great harm was done." "Good heavens, Holmes, this is intolerable!" "They must have lost my track completely after their bludgeon-man was arrested. Otherwise they could not have imagined that I had returned to my rooms. They have evidently taken the precaution of watching you, however, and that is what has brought Moriarty to Victoria. You could not have made any slip in coming?" "I did exactly what you advised." "Did you find your brougham?" "Yes, it was waiting." "Did you recognize your coachman?" "No." "It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence. But we must plan what we are to do about Moriarty now." "As this is an express, and as the boat runs in connection with it, I should think we have shaken him off very effectively." "My dear Watson, you evidently did not realize my meaning when I said that this man may be taken as being quite on the same intellectual plane as myself. You do not imagine that if I were the pursuer I should allow myself to be baffled by so slight an obstacle. Why, then, should you think so meanly of him?" "What will he do?" "What I should do." "What would you do, then?" "Engage a special." "But it must be late." "By no means. This train stops at Canterbury; and there is always at least a quarter of an hour's delay at the boat. He will catch us there." "One would think that we were the criminals. Let us have him arrested on his arrival." "It would be to ruin the work of three months. We should get the big fish, but the smaller would dart right and left out of the net. On Monday we should have them all. No, an arrest is inadmissible." "What then?" "We shall get out at Canterbury." "And then?" "Well, then we must make a cross-country journey to Newhaven, and so over to Dieppe. Moriarty will again do what I should do. He will get on to Paris, mark down our luggage, and wait for two days at the depot. In the meantime we shall treat ourselves to a couple of carpet-bags, encourage the manufactures of the countries through which we travel, and make our way at our leisure into Switzerland, via Luxembourg and Basle." At Canterbury, therefore, we alighted, only to find that we should have to wait an hour before we could get a train to Newhaven. I was still looking rather ruefully after the rapidly disappearing luggage-van which contained my wardrobe, when Holmes pulled my sleeve and pointed up the line. "Already, you see," said he. Far away, from among the Kentish woods there rose a thin spray of smoke. A minute later a carriage and engine could be seen flying along the open curve which leads to the station. We had hardly time to take our place behind a pile of luggage when it passed with a rattle and a roar, beating a blast of hot air into our faces. "There he goes," said Holmes, as we watched the carriage swing and rock over the point. "There are limits, you see, to our friend's intelligence. It would have been a coup-de-maître had he deduced what I would deduce and acted accordingly." "And what would he have done had he overtaken us?" "There cannot be the least doubt that he would have made a murderous attack upon me. It is, however, a game at which two may play. The question now is whether we should take a premature lunch here, or run our chance of starving before we reach the buffet at Newhaven." We made our way to Brussels that night and spent two days there, moving on upon the third day as far as Strasburg. On the Monday morning Holmes had telegraphed to the London police, and in the evening we found a reply waiting for us at our hotel. Holmes tore it open, and then with a bitter curse hurled it into the grate. "I might have known it!" he groaned. "He has escaped!" "Moriarty?" "They have secured the whole gang with the exception of him. He has given them the slip. Of course, when I had left the country there was no one to cope with him. But I did think that I had put the game in their hands. I think that you had better return to England, Watson." "Why?" "Because you will find me a dangerous companion now. This man's occupation is gone. He is lost if he returns to London. If I read his character right he will devote his whole energies to revenging himself upon me. He said as much in our short interview, and I fancy that he meant it. I should certainly recommend you to return to your practice." It was hardly an appeal to be successful with one who was an old campaigner as well as an old friend. We sat in the Strasbourg salle-à-manger arguing the question for half an hour, but the same night we had resumed our journey and were well on our way to Geneva. For a charming week we wandered up the Valley of the Rhone, and then, branching off at Leuk, we made our way over the Gemmi Pass, still deep in snow, and so, by way of Interlaken, to Meiringen. It was a lovely trip, the dainty green of the spring below, the virgin white of the winter above; but it was clear to me that never for one instant did Holmes forget the shadow which lay across him. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely mountain passes, I could tell by his quick glancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every face that passed us, that he was well convinced that, walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps. Once, I remember, as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up on to the ridge, and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It was in vain that our guide assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the spring-time at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a man who sees the fulfillment of that which he had expected. And yet for all his watchfulness he was never depressed. On the contrary, I can never recollect having seen him in such exuberant spirits. Again and again he recurred to the fact that if he could be assured that society was freed from Professor Moriarty he would cheerfully bring his own career to a conclusion. "I think that I may go so far as to say, Watson, that I have not lived wholly in vain," he remarked. "If my record were closed to-night I could still survey it with equanimity. The air of London is the sweeter for my presence. In over a thousand cases I am not aware that I have ever used my powers upon the wrong side. Of late I have been tempted to look into the problems furnished by nature rather than those more superficial ones for which our artificial state of society is responsible. Your memoirs will draw to an end, Watson, upon the day that I crown my career by the capture or extinction of the most dangerous and capable criminal in Europe." I shall be brief, and yet exact, in the little which remains for me to tell. It is not a subject on which I would willingly dwell, and yet I am conscious that a duty devolves upon me to omit no detail. It was on the third of May that we reached the little village of Meiringen, where we put up at the Englischer Hof, then kept by Peter Steiler the elder. Our landlord was an intelligent man, and spoke excellent English, having served for three years as waiter at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. At his advice, on the afternoon of the fourth we set off together, with the intention of crossing the hills and spending the night at the hamlet of Rosenlaui. We had strict injunctions, however, on no account to pass the falls of Reichenbach, which are about half-way up the hill, without making a small detour to see them. It is, indeed, a fearful place. The torrent, swollen by the melting snow, plunges into a tremendous abyss, from which the spray rolls up like the smoke from a burning house. The shaft into which the river hurls itself is an immense chasm, lined by glistening coal-black rock, and narrowing into a creaming, boiling pit of incalculable depth, which brims over and shoots the stream onward over its jagged lip. The long sweep of green water roaring forever down, and the thick flickering curtain of spray hissing forever upward, turn a man giddy with their constant whirl and clamor. We stood near the edge peering down at the gleam of the breaking water far below us against the black rocks, and listening to the half-human shout which came booming up with the spray out of the abyss. The path has been cut half-way round the fall to afford a complete view, but it ends abruptly, and the traveler has to return as he came. We had turned to do so, when we saw a Swiss lad come running along it with a letter in his hand. It bore the mark of the hotel which we had just left, and was addressed to me by the landlord. It appeared that within a very few minutes of our leaving, an English lady had arrived who was in the last stage of consumption. She had wintered at Davos Platz, and was journeying now to join her friends at Lucerne, when a sudden hemorrhage had overtaken her. It was thought that she could hardly live a few hours, but it would be a great consolation to her to see an English doctor, and, if I would only return, etc. The good Steiler assured me in a postscript that he would himself look upon my compliance as a very great favor, since the lady absolutely refused to see a Swiss physician, and he could not but feel that he was incurring a great responsibility. The appeal was one which could not be ignored. It was impossible to refuse the request of a fellow-countrywoman dying in a strange land. Yet I had my scruples about leaving Holmes. It was finally agreed, however, that he should retain the young Swiss messenger with him as guide and companion while I returned to Meiringen. My friend would stay some little time at the fall, he said, and would then walk slowly over the hill to Rosenlaui, where I was to rejoin him in the evening. As I turned away I saw Holmes, with his back against a rock and his arms folded, gazing down at the rush of the waters. It was the last that I was ever destined to see of him in this world. When I was near the bottom of the descent I looked back. It was impossible, from that position, to see the fall, but I could see the curving path which winds over the shoulder of the hill and leads to it. Along this a man was, I remember, walking very rapidly. I could see his black figure clearly outlined against the green behind him. I noted him, and the energy with which he walked but he passed from my mind again as I hurried on upon my errand. It may have been a little over an hour before I reached Meiringen. Old Steiler was standing at the porch of his hotel. "Well," said I, as I came hurrying up, "I trust that she is no worse?" A look of surprise passed over his face, and at the first quiver of his eyebrows my heart turned to lead in my breast. "You did not write this?" I said, pulling the letter from my pocket. "There is no sick Englishwoman in the hotel?" "Certainly not!" he cried. "But it has the hotel mark upon it! Ha, it must have been written by that tall Englishman who came in after you had gone. He said--" But I waited for none of the landlord's explanations. In a tingle of fear I was already running down the village street, and making for the path which I had so lately descended. It had taken me an hour to come down. For all my efforts two more had passed before I found myself at the fall of Reichenbach once more. There was Holmes's Alpine-stock still leaning against the rock by which I had left him. But there was no sign of him, and it was in vain that I shouted. My only answer was my own voice reverberating in a rolling echo from the cliffs around me. It was the sight of that Alpine-stock which turned me cold and sick. He had not gone to Rosenlaui, then. He had remained on that three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his enemy had overtaken him. The young Swiss had gone too. He had probably been in the pay of Moriarty, and had left the two men together. And then what had happened? Who was to tell us what had happened then? I stood for a minute or two to collect myself, for I was dazed with the horror of the thing. Then I began to think of Holmes's own methods and to try to practise them in reading this tragedy. It was, alas, only too easy to do. During our conversation we had not gone to the end of the path, and the Alpine-stock marked the place where we had stood. The blackish soil is kept forever soft by the incessant drift of spray, and a bird would leave its tread upon it. Two lines of footmarks were clearly marked along the farther end of the path, both leading away from me. There were none returning. A few yards from the end the soil was all ploughed up into a patch of mud, and the branches and ferns which fringed the chasm were torn and bedraggled. I lay upon my face and peered over with the spray spouting up all around me. It had darkened since I left, and now I could only see here and there the glistening of moisture upon the black walls, and far away down at the end of the shaft the gleam of the broken water. I shouted; but only the same half-human cry of the fall was borne back to my ears. But it was destined that I should after all have a last word of greeting from my friend and comrade. I have said that his Alpine-stock had been left leaning against a rock which jutted on to the path. From the top of this boulder the gleam of something bright caught my eye, and, raising my hand, I found that it came from the silver cigarette-case which he used to carry. As I took it up a small square of paper upon which it had lain fluttered down on to the ground. Unfolding it, I found that it consisted of three pages torn from his note-book and addressed to me. It was characteristic of the man that the direction was as precise, and the writing as firm and clear, as though it had been written in his study. My dear Watson [it said]: I write these few lines through the courtesy of Mr. Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion which I had formed of his abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends, and especially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis, and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax, and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs to convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed "Moriarty." I made every disposition of my property before leaving England, and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow, Very sincerely yours, Sherlock Holmes A few words may suffice to tell the little that remains. An examination by experts leaves little doubt that a personal contest between the two men ended, as it could hardly fail to end in such a situation, in their reeling over, locked in each other's arms. Any attempt at recovering the bodies was absolutely hopeless, and there, deep down in that dreadful cauldron of swirling water and seething foam, will lie for all time the most dangerous criminal and the foremost champion of the law of their generation. The Swiss youth was never found again, and there can be no doubt that he was one of the numerous agents whom Moriarty kept in his employ. As to the gang, it will be within the memory of the public how completely the evidence which Holmes had accumulated exposed their organization, and how heavily the hand of the dead man weighed upon them. Of their terrible chief few details came out during the proceedings, and if I have now been compelled to make a clear statement of his career it is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known. THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE It was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was interested, and the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of the Honourable Ronald Adair under most unusual and inexplicable circumstances. The public has already learned those particulars of the crime which came out in the police investigation; but a good deal was suppressed upon that occasion, since the case for the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not necessary to bring forward all the facts. Only now, at the end of nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply those missing links which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. The crime was of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing to me compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the greatest shock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life. Even now, after this long interval, I find myself thrilling as I think of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy, amazement, and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind. Let me say to that public which has shown some interest in those glimpses which I have occasionally given them of the thoughts and actions of a very remarkable man that they are not to blame me if I have not shared my knowledge with them, for I should have considered it my first duty to have done so had I not been barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn upon the third of last month. It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes had interested me deeply in crime, and that after his disappearance I never failed to read with care the various problems which came before the public, and I even attempted more than once for my own private satisfaction to employ his methods in their solution, though with indifferent success. There was none, however, which appealed to me like this tragedy of Ronald Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest, which led up to a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss which the community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes. There were points about this strange business which would, I was sure, have specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have been supplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observation and the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe. All day as I drove upon my round I turned over the case in my mind, and found no explanation which appeared to me to be adequate. At the risk of telling a twice-told tale I will recapitulate the facts as they were known to the public at the conclusion of the inquest. The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl of Maynooth, at that time Governor of one of the Australian Colonies. Adair's mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operation for cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her daughter Hilda were living together at 427, Park Lane. The youth moved in the best society, had, so far as was known, no enemies, and no particular vices. He had been engaged to Miss Edith Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off by mutual consent some months before, and there was no sign that it had left any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest the man's life moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. Yet it was upon this easy-going young aristocrat that death came in most strange and unexpected form between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty on the night of March 30, 1894. Ronald Adair was fond of cards, playing continually, but never for such stakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin, the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown that after dinner on the day of his death he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club. He had also played there in the afternoon. The evidence of those who had played with him--Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran--showed that the game was whist, and that there was a fairly equal fall of the cards. Adair might have lost five pounds, but not more. His fortune was a considerable one, and such a loss could not in any way affect him. He had played nearly every day at one club or other, but he was a cautious player, and usually rose a winner. It came out in evidence that in partnership with Colonel Moran he had actually won as much as four hundred and twenty pounds in a sitting some weeks before from Godfrey Milner and Lord Balmoral. So much for his recent history, as it came out at the inquest. On the evening of the crime he returned from the club exactly at ten. His mother and sister were out spending the evening with a relation. The servant deposed that she heard him enter the front room on the second floor, generally used as his sitting-room. She had lit a fire there, and as it smoked she had opened the window. No sound was heard from the room until eleven-twenty, the hour of the return of Lady Maynooth and her daughter. Desiring to say good-night, she had attempted to enter her son's room. The door was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got to their cries and knocking. Help was obtained and the door forced. The unfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head had been horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room. On the table lay two bank-notes for ten pounds each and seventeen pounds ten in silver and gold, the money arranged in little piles of varying amount. There were some figures also upon a sheet of paper with the names of some club friends opposite to them, from which it was conjectured that before his death he was endeavouring to make out his losses or winnings at cards. A minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the case more complex. In the first place, no reason could be given why the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside. There was the possibility that the murderer had done this and had afterwards escaped by the window. The drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earth showed any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road. Apparently, therefore, it was the young man himself who had fastened the door. But how did he come by his death? No one could have climbed up to the window without leaving traces. Suppose a man had fired through the window, it would indeed be a remarkable shot who could with a revolver inflict so deadly a wound. Again, Park Lane is a frequented thoroughfare, and there is a cab-stand within a hundred yards of the house. No one had heard a shot. And yet there was the dead man, and there the revolver bullet, which had mushroomed out, as soft-nosed bullets will, and so inflicted a wound which must have caused instantaneous death. Such were the circumstances of the Park Lane Mystery, which were further complicated by entire absence of motive, since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room. All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to hit upon some theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be the starting-point of every investigation. I confess that I made little progress. In the evening I strolled across the Park, and found myself about six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park Lane. A group of loafers upon the pavements, all staring up at a particular window, directed me to the house which I had come to see. A tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whom I strongly suspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out some theory of his own, while the others crowded round to listen to what he said. I got as near him as I could, but his observations seemed to me to be absurd, so I withdrew again in some disgust. As I did so I struck against an elderly deformed man, who had been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he was carrying. I remember that as I picked them up I observed the title of one of them, The Origin of Tree Worship, and it struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile who, either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure volumes. I endeavoured to apologize for the accident, but it was evident that these books which I had so unfortunately maltreated were very precious objects in the eyes of their owner. With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng. My observations of No. 427, Park Lane did little to clear up the problem in which I was interested. The house was separated from the street by a low wall and railing, the whole not more than five feet high. It was perfectly easy, therefore, for anyone to get into the garden, but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it. More puzzled than ever I retraced my steps to Kensington. I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me. To my astonishment it was none other than my strange old book-collector, his sharp, wizened face peering out from a frame of white hair, and his precious volumes, a dozen of them at least, wedged under his right arm. "You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange, croaking voice. I acknowledged that I was. "Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my books." "You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how you knew who I was?" "Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourself, sir; here's British Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy War--a bargain every one of them. With five volumes you could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does it not, sir?" I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life. Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand. "My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected." I gripped him by the arm. "Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?" "Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance." "I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes. Good heavens, to think that you--you of all men--should be standing in my study!" Again I gripped him by the sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it. "Well, you're not a spirit, anyhow," said I. "My dear chap, I am overjoyed to see you. Sit down and tell me how you came alive out of that dreadful chasm." He sat opposite to me and lit a cigarette in his old nonchalant manner. He was dressed in the seedy frock-coat of the book merchant, but the rest of that individual lay in a pile of white hair and old books upon the table. Holmes looked even thinner and keener than of old, but there was a dead-white tinge in his aquiline face which told me that his life recently had not been a healthy one. "I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," said he. "It is no joke when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we have, if I may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night's work in front of us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished." "I am full of curiosity. I should much prefer to hear now." "You'll come with me to-night?" "When you like and where you like." "This is indeed like the old days. We shall have time for a mouthful of dinner before we need go. Well, then, about that chasm. I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that I never was in it." "You never were in it?" "No, Watson, I never was in it. My note to you was absolutely genuine. I had little doubt that I had come to the end of my career when I perceived the somewhat sinister figure of the late Professor Moriarty standing upon the narrow pathway which led to safety. I read an inexorable purpose in his grey eyes. I exchanged some remarks with him, therefore, and obtained his courteous permission to write the short note which you afterwards received. I left it with my cigarette-box and my stick and I walked along the pathway, Moriarty still at my heels. When I reached the end I stood at bay. He drew no weapon, but he rushed at me and threw his long arms around me. He knew that his own game was up, and was only anxious to revenge himself upon me. We tottered together upon the brink of the fall. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds and clawed the air with both his hands. But for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he went. With my face over the brink I saw him fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the water." I listened with amazement to this explanation, which Holmes delivered between the puffs of his cigarette. "But the tracks!" I cried. "I saw with my own eyes that two went down the path and none returned." "It came about in this way. The instant that the Professor had disappeared it struck me what a really extraordinarily lucky chance Fate had placed in my way. I knew that Moriarty was not the only man who had sworn my death. There were at least three others whose desire for vengeance upon me would only be increased by the death of their leader. They were all most dangerous men. One or other would certainly get me. On the other hand, if all the world was convinced that I was dead they would take liberties, these men, they would lay themselves open, and sooner or later I could destroy them. Then it would be time for me to announce that I was still in the land of the living. So rapidly does the brain act that I believe I had thought this all out before Professor Moriarty had reached the bottom of the Reichenbach Fall. "I stood up and examined the rocky wall behind me. In your picturesque account of the matter, which I read with great interest some months later, you assert that the wall was sheer. This was not literally true. A few small footholds presented themselves, and there was some indication of a ledge. The cliff is so high that to climb it all was an obvious impossibility, and it was equally impossible to make my way along the wet path without leaving some tracks. I might, it is true, have reversed my boots, as I have done on similar occasions, but the sight of three sets of tracks in one direction would certainly have suggested a deception. On the whole, then, it was best that I should risk the climb. It was not a pleasant business, Watson. The fall roared beneath me. I am not a fanciful person, but I give you my word that I seemed to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me out of the abyss. A mistake would have been fatal. More than once, as tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, I thought that I was gone. But I struggled upwards, and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss, where I could lie unseen in the most perfect comfort. There I was stretched when you, my dear Watson, and all your following were investigating in the most sympathetic and inefficient manner the circumstances of my death. "At last, when you had all formed your inevitable and totally erroneous conclusions, you departed for the hotel and I was left alone. I had imagined that I had reached the end of my adventures, but a very unexpected occurrence showed me that there were surprises still in store for me. A huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, struck the path, and bounded over into the chasm. For an instant I thought that it was an accident; but a moment later, looking up, I saw a man's head against the darkening sky, and another stone struck the very ledge upon which I was stretched, within a foot of my head. Of course, the meaning of this was obvious. Moriarty had not been alone. A confederate--and even that one glance had told me how dangerous a man that confederate was--had kept guard while the Professor had attacked me. From a distance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend's death and of my escape. He had waited, and then, making his way round to the top of the cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where his comrade had failed. "I did not take long to think about it, Watson. Again I saw that grim face look over the cliff, and I knew that it was the precursor of another stone. I scrambled down on to the path. I don't think I could have done it in cold blood. It was a hundred times more difficult than getting up. But I had no time to think of the danger, for another stone sang past me as I hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. Halfway down I slipped, but by the blessing of God I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me. "I had only one confidant--my brother Mycroft. I owe you many apologies, my dear Watson, but it was all-important that it should be thought I was dead, and it is quite certain that you would not have written so convincing an account of my unhappy end had you not yourself thought that it was true. Several times during the last three years I have taken up my pen to write to you, but always I feared lest your affectionate regard for me should tempt you to some indiscretion which would betray my secret. For that reason I turned away from you this evening when you upset my books, for I was in danger at the time, and any show of surprise and emotion upon your part might have drawn attention to my identity and led to the most deplorable and irreparable results. As to Mycroft, I had to confide in him in order to obtain the money which I needed. The course of events in London did not run so well as I had hoped, for the trial of the Moriarty gang left two of its most dangerous members, my own most vindictive enemies, at liberty. I travelled for two years in Tibet, therefore, and amused myself by visiting Lhassa and spending some days with the head Llama. You may have read of the remarkable explorations of a Norwegian named Sigerson, but I am sure that it never occurred to you that you were receiving news of your friend. I then passed through Persia, looked in at Mecca, and paid a short but interesting visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum, the results of which I have communicated to the Foreign Office. Returning to France I spent some months in a research into the coal-tar derivatives, which I conducted in a laboratory at Montpelier, in the South of France. Having concluded this to my satisfaction, and learning that only one of my enemies was now left in London, I was about to return when my movements were hastened by the news of this very remarkable Park Lane Mystery, which not only appealed to me by its own merits, but which seemed to offer some most peculiar personal opportunities. I came over at once to London, called in my own person at Baker Street, threw Mrs. Hudson into violent hysterics, and found that Mycroft had preserved my rooms and my papers exactly as they had always been. So it was, my dear Watson, that at two o'clock to-day I found myself in my old arm-chair in my own old room, and only wishing that I could have seen my old friend Watson in the other chair which he has so often adorned." Such was the remarkable narrative to which I listened on that April evening--a narrative which would have been utterly incredible to me had it not been confirmed by the actual sight of the tall, spare figure and the keen, eager face, which I had never thought to see again. In some manner he had learned of my own sad bereavement, and his sympathy was shown in his manner rather than in his words. "Work is the best antidote to sorrow, my dear Watson," said he, "and I have a piece of work for us both to-night which, if we can bring it to a successful conclusion, will in itself justify a man's life on this planet." In vain I begged him to tell me more. "You will hear and see enough before morning," he answered. "We have three years of the past to discuss. Let that suffice until half-past nine, when we start upon the notable adventure of the empty house." It was indeed like old times when, at that hour, I found myself seated beside him in a hansom, my revolver in my pocket and the thrill of adventure in my heart. Holmes was cold and stern and silent. As the gleam of the street-lamps flashed upon his austere features I saw that his brows were drawn down in thought and his thin lips compressed. I knew not what wild beast we were about to hunt down in the dark jungle of criminal London, but I was well assured from the bearing of this master huntsman that the adventure was a most grave one, while the sardonic smile which occasionally broke through his ascetic gloom boded little good for the object of our quest. I had imagined that we were bound for Baker Street, but Holmes stopped the cab at the corner of Cavendish Square. I observed that as he stepped out he gave a most searching glance to right and left, and at every subsequent street corner he took the utmost pains to assure that he was not followed. Our route was certainly a singular one. Holmes's knowledge of the byways of London was extraordinary, and on this occasion he passed rapidly, and with an assured step, through a network of mews and stables the very existence of which I had never known. We emerged at last into a small road, lined with old, gloomy houses, which led us into Manchester Street, and so to Blandford Street. Here he turned swiftly down a narrow passage, passed through a wooden gate into a deserted yard, and then opened with a key the back door of a house. We entered together and he closed it behind us. The place was pitch-dark, but it was evident to me that it was an empty house. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging in ribbons. Holmes's cold, thin fingers closed round my wrist and led me forwards down a long hall, until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over the door. Here Holmes turned suddenly to the right, and we found ourselves in a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the corners, but faintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. There was no lamp near and the window was thick with dust, so that we could only just discern each other's figures within. My companion put his hand upon my shoulder and his lips close to my ear. "Do you know where we are?" he whispered. "Surely that is Baker Street," I answered, staring through the dim window. "Exactly. We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to our own old quarters." "But why are we here?" "Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile. Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to look up at our old rooms--the starting-point of so many of our little adventures? We will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you." I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As my eyes fell upon it I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blind was down and a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, black outline upon the luminous screen of the window. There was no mistaking the poise of the head, the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features. The face was turned half-round, and the effect was that of one of those black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. It was a perfect reproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my hand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me. He was quivering with silent laughter. "Well?" said he. "Good heavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous." "I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety,'" said he, and I recognised in his voice the joy and pride which the artist takes in his own creation. "It really is rather like me, is it not?" "I should be prepared to swear that it was you." "The credit of the execution is due to Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble, who spent some days in doing the moulding. It is a bust in wax. The rest I arranged myself during my visit to Baker Street this afternoon." "But why?" "Because, my dear Watson, I had the strongest possible reason for wishing certain people to think that I was there when I was really elsewhere." "And you thought the rooms were watched?" "I knew that they were watched." "By whom?" "By my old enemies, Watson. By the charming society whose leader lies in the Reichenbach Fall. You must remember that they knew, and only they knew, that I was still alive. Sooner or later they believed that I should come back to my rooms. They watched them continuously, and this morning they saw me arrive." "How do you know?" "Because I recognised their sentinel when I glanced out of my window. He is a harmless enough fellow, Parker by name, a garroter by trade, and a remarkable performer upon the Jew's harp. I cared nothing for him. But I cared a great deal for the much more formidable person who was behind him, the bosom friend of Moriarty, the man who dropped the rocks over the cliff, the most cunning and dangerous criminal in London. That is the man who is after me to-night, Watson, and that is the man who is quite unaware that we are after him." My friend's plans were gradually revealing themselves. From this convenient retreat the watchers were being watched and the trackers tracked. That angular shadow up yonder was the bait and we were the hunters. In silence we stood together in the darkness and watched the hurrying figures who passed and repassed in front of us. Holmes was silent and motionless; but I could tell that he was keenly alert, and that his eyes were fixed intently upon the stream of passers-by. It was a bleak and boisterous night, and the wind whistled shrilly down the long street. Many people were moving to and fro, most of them muffled in their coats and cravats. Once or twice it seemed to me that I had seen the same figure before, and I especially noticed two men who appeared to be sheltering themselves from the wind in the doorway of a house some distance up the street. I tried to draw my companion's attention to them, but he gave a little ejaculation of impatience and continued to stare into the street. More than once he fidgeted with his feet and tapped rapidly with his fingers upon the wall. It was evident to me that he was becoming uneasy and that his plans were not working out altogether as he had hoped. At last, as midnight approached and the street gradually cleared, he paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. I was about to make some remark to him when I raised my eyes to the lighted window and again experienced almost as great a surprise as before. I clutched Holmes's arm and pointed upwards. "The shadow has moved!" I cried. It was, indeed, no longer the profile, but the back, which was turned towards us. Three years had certainly not smoothed the asperities of his temper or his impatience with a less active intelligence than his own. "Of course it has moved," said he. "Am I such a farcical bungler, Watson, that I should erect an obvious dummy and expect that some of the sharpest men in Europe would be deceived by it? We have been in this room two hours, and Mrs. Hudson has made some change in that figure eight times, or once in every quarter of an hour. She works it from the front so that her shadow may never be seen. Ah!" He drew in his breath with a shrill, excited intake. In the dim light I saw his head thrown forward, his whole attitude rigid with attention. Outside, the street was absolutely deserted. Those two men might still be crouching in the doorway, but I could no longer see them. All was still and dark, save only that brilliant yellow screen in front of us with the black figure outlined upon its centre. Again in the utter silence I heard that thin, sibilant note which spoke of intense suppressed excitement. An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were quivering. Never had I known my friend more moved, and yet the dark street still stretched lonely and motionless before us. But suddenly I was aware of that which his keener senses had already distinguished. A low, stealthy sound came to my ears, not from the direction of Baker Street, but from the back of the very house in which we lay concealed. A door opened and shut. An instant later steps crept down the passage--steps which were meant to be silent, but which reverberated harshly through the empty house. Holmes crouched back against the wall and I did the same, my hand closing upon the handle of my revolver. Peering through the gloom, I saw the vague outline of a man, a shade blacker than the blackness of the open door. He stood for an instant, and then he crept forward, crouching, menacing, into the room. He was within three yards of us, this sinister figure, and I had braced myself to meet his spring, before I realized that he had no idea of our presence. He passed close beside us, stole over to the window, and very softly and noiselessly raised it for half a foot. As he sank to the level of this opening the light of the street, no longer dimmed by the dusty glass, fell full upon his face. The man seemed to be beside himself with excitement. His two eyes shone like stars and his features were working convulsively. He was an elderly man, with a thin, projecting nose, a high, bald forehead, and a huge grizzled moustache. An opera-hat was pushed to the back of his head, and an evening dress shirt-front gleamed out through his open overcoat. His face was gaunt and swarthy, scored with deep, savage lines. In his hand he carried what appeared to be a stick, but as he laid it down upon the floor it gave a metallic clang. Then from the pocket of his overcoat he drew a bulky object, and he busied himself in some task which ended with a loud, sharp click, as if a spring or bolt had fallen into its place. Still kneeling upon the floor he bent forward and threw all his weight and strength upon some lever, with the result that there came a long, whirling, grinding noise, ending once more in a powerful click. He straightened himself then, and I saw that what he held in his hand was a sort of gun, with a curiously misshapen butt. He opened it at the breech, put something in, and snapped the breech-block. Then, crouching down, he rested the end of the barrel upon the ledge of the open window, and I saw his long moustache droop over the stock and his eye gleam as it peered along the sights. I heard a little sigh of satisfaction as he cuddled the butt into his shoulder, and saw that amazing target, the black man on the yellow ground, standing clear at the end of his fore sight. For an instant he was rigid and motionless. Then his finger tightened on the trigger. There was a strange, loud whiz and a long, silvery tinkle of broken glass. At that instant Holmes sprang like a tiger on to the marksman's back and hurled him flat upon his face. He was up again in a moment, and with convulsive strength he seized Holmes by the throat; but I struck him on the head with the butt of my revolver and he dropped again upon the floor. I fell upon him, and as I held him my comrade blew a shrill call upon a whistle. There was the clatter of running feet upon the pavement, and two policemen in uniform, with one plain-clothes detective, rushed through the front entrance and into the room. "That you, Lestrade?" said Holmes. "Yes, Mr. Holmes. I took the job myself. It's good to see you back in London, sir." "I think you want a little unofficial help. Three undetected murders in one year won't do, Lestrade. But you handled the Molesey Mystery with less than your usual--that's to say, you handled it fairly well." We had all risen to our feet, our prisoner breathing hard, with a stalwart constable on each side of him. Already a few loiterers had begun to collect in the street. Holmes stepped up to the window, closed it, and dropped the blinds. Lestrade had produced two candles and the policemen had uncovered their lanterns. I was able at last to have a good look at our prisoner. It was a tremendously virile and yet sinister face which was turned towards us. With the brow of a philosopher above and the jaw of a sensualist below, the man must have started with great capacities for good or for evil. But one could not look upon his cruel blue eyes, with their drooping, cynical lids, or upon the fierce, aggressive nose and the threatening, deep-lined brow, without reading Nature's plainest danger-signals. He took no heed of any of us, but his eyes were fixed upon Holmes's face with an expression in which hatred and amazement were equally blended. "You fiend!" he kept on muttering. "You clever, clever fiend!" "Ah, Colonel!" said Holmes, arranging his rumpled collar; "'journeys end in lovers' meetings,' as the old play says. I don't think I have had the pleasure of seeing you since you favoured me with those attentions as I lay on the ledge above the Reichenbach Fall." The Colonel still stared at my friend like a man in a trance. "You cunning, cunning fiend!" was all that he could say. "I have not introduced you yet," said Holmes. "This, gentlemen, is Colonel Sebastian Moran, once of Her Majesty's Indian Army, and the best heavy game shot that our Eastern Empire has ever produced. I believe I am correct, Colonel, in saying that your bag of tigers still remains unrivalled?" The fierce old man said nothing, but still glared at my companion; with his savage eyes and bristling moustache he was wonderfully like a tiger himself. "I wonder that my very simple stratagem could deceive so old a shikari," said Holmes. "It must be very familiar to you. Have you not tethered a young kid under a tree, lain above it with your rifle, and waited for the bait to bring up your tiger? This empty house is my tree and you are my tiger. You have possibly had other guns in reserve in case there should be several tigers, or in the unlikely supposition of your own aim failing you. These," he pointed around, "are my other guns. The parallel is exact." Colonel Moran sprang forward, with a snarl of rage, but the constables dragged him back. The fury upon his face was terrible to look at. "I confess that you had one small surprise for me," said Holmes. "I did not anticipate that you would yourself make use of this empty house and this convenient front window. I had imagined you as operating from the street, where my friend Lestrade and his merry men were awaiting you. With that exception all has gone as I expected." Colonel Moran turned to the official detective. "You may or may not have just cause for arresting me," said he, "but at least there can be no reason why I should submit to the gibes of this person. If I am in the hands of the law let things be done in a legal way." "Well, that's reasonable enough," said Lestrade. "Nothing further you have to say, Mr. Holmes, before we go?" Holmes had picked up the powerful air-gun from the floor and was examining its mechanism. "An admirable and unique weapon," said he, "noiseless and of tremendous power. I knew Von Herder, the blind German mechanic, who constructed it to the order of the late Professor Moriarty. For years I have been aware of its existence, though I have never before had the opportunity of handling it. I commend it very specially to your attention, Lestrade, and also the bullets which fit it." "You can trust us to look after that, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, as the whole party moved towards the door. "Anything further to say?" "Only to ask what charge you intend to prefer?" "What charge, sir? Why, of course, the attempted murder of Mr. Sherlock Holmes." "Not so, Lestrade. I do not propose to appear in the matter at all. To you, and to you only, belongs the credit of the remarkable arrest which you have effected. Yes, Lestrade, I congratulate you! With your usual happy mixture of cunning and audacity you have got him." "Got him! Got whom, Mr. Holmes?" "The man that the whole force has been seeking in vain--Colonel Sebastian Moran, who shot the Honourable Ronald Adair with an expanding bullet from an air-gun through the open window of the second-floor front of No. 427, Park Lane, upon the 30th of last month. That's the charge, Lestrade. And now, Watson, if you can endure the draught from a broken window, I think that half an hour in my study over a cigar may afford you some profitable amusement." Our old chambers had been left unchanged through the supervision of Mycroft Holmes and the immediate care of Mrs. Hudson. As I entered I saw, it is true, an unwonted tidiness, but the old landmarks were all in their place. There were the chemical corner and the acid-stained, deal-topped table. There upon a shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference which many of our fellow-citizens would have been so glad to burn. The diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack--even the Persian slipper which contained the tobacco--all met my eyes as I glanced round me. There were two occupants of the room--one Mrs. Hudson, who beamed upon us both as we entered; the other the strange dummy which had played so important a part in the evening's adventures. It was a wax-coloured model of my friend, so admirably done that it was a perfect facsimile. It stood on a small pedestal table with an old dressing-gown of Holmes's so draped round it that the illusion from the street was absolutely perfect. "I hope you preserved all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?" said Holmes. "I went to it on my knees, sir, just as you told me." "Excellent. You carried the thing out very well. Did you observe where the bullet went?" "Yes, sir. I'm afraid it has spoilt your beautiful bust, for it passed right through the head and flattened itself on the wall. I picked it up from the carpet. Here it is!" Holmes held it out to me. "A soft revolver bullet, as you perceive, Watson. There's genius in that, for who would expect to find such a thing fired from an air-gun. All right, Mrs. Hudson, I am much obliged for your assistance. And now, Watson, let me see you in your old seat once more, for there are several points which I should like to discuss with you." He had thrown off the seedy frock-coat, and now he was the Holmes of old in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown which he took from his effigy. "The old shikari's nerves have not lost their steadiness nor his eyes their keenness," said he, with a laugh, as he inspected the shattered forehead of his bust. "Plumb in the middle of the back of the head and smack through the brain. He was the best shot in India, and I expect that there are few better in London. Have you heard the name?" "No, I have not." "Well, well, such is fame! But, then, if I remember aright, you had not heard the name of Professor James Moriarty, who had one of the great brains of the century. Just give me down my index of biographies from the shelf." He turned over the pages lazily, leaning back in his chair and blowing great clouds from his cigar. "My collection of M's is a fine one," said he. "Moriarty himself is enough to make any letter illustrious, and here is Morgan the poisoner, and Merridew of abominable memory, and Mathews, who knocked out my left canine in the waiting-room at Charing Cross, and, finally, here is our friend of to-night." He handed over the book, and I read: Moran, Sebastian, Colonel. Unemployed. Formerly 1st Bengalore Pioneers. Born London, 1840. Son of Sir Augustus Moran, C.B., once British Minister to Persia. Educated Eton and Oxford. Served in Jowaki Campaign, Afghan Campaign, Charasiab (despatches), Sherpur, and Cabul. Author of Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas, 1881; Three Months in the Jungle, 1884. Address: Conduit Street. Clubs: The Anglo-Indian, the Tankerville, the Bagatelle Card Club. On the margin was written, in Holmes's precise hand: The second most dangerous man in London. "This is astonishing," said I, as I handed back the volume. "The man's career is that of an honourable soldier." "It is true," Holmes answered. "Up to a certain point he did well. He was always a man of iron nerve, and the story is still told in India how he crawled down a drain after a wounded man-eating tiger. There are some trees, Watson, which grow to a certain height and then suddenly develop some unsightly eccentricity. You will see it often in humans. I have a theory that the individual represents in his development the whole procession of his ancestors, and that such a sudden turn to good or evil stands for some strong influence which came into the line of his pedigree. The person becomes, as it were, the epitome of the history of his own family." "It is surely rather fanciful." "Well, I don't insist upon it. Whatever the cause, Colonel Moran began to go wrong. Without any open scandal he still made India too hot to hold him. He retired, came to London, and again acquired an evil name. It was at this time that he was sought out by Professor Moriarty, to whom for a time he was chief of the staff. Moriarty supplied him liberally with money and used him only in one or two very high-class jobs which no ordinary criminal could have undertaken. You may have some recollection of the death of Mrs. Stewart, of Lauder, in 1887. Not? Well, I am sure Moran was at the bottom of it; but nothing could be proved. So cleverly was the Colonel concealed that even when the Moriarty gang was broken up we could not incriminate him. You remember at that date, when I called upon you in your rooms, how I put up the shutters for fear of air-guns? No doubt you thought me fanciful. I knew exactly what I was doing, for I knew of the existence of this remarkable gun, and I knew also that one of the best shots in the world would be behind it. When we were in Switzerland he followed us with Moriarty, and it was undoubtedly he who gave me that evil five minutes on the Reichenbach ledge. "You may think that I read the papers with some attention during my sojourn in France, on the look-out for any chance of laying him by the heels. So long as he was free in London my life would really not have been worth living. Night and day the shadow would have been over me, and sooner or later his chance must have come. What could I do? I could not shoot him at sight, or I should myself be in the dock. There was no use appealing to a magistrate. They cannot interfere on the strength of what would appear to them to be a wild suspicion. So I could do nothing. But I watched the criminal news, knowing that sooner or later I should get him. Then came the death of this Ronald Adair. My chance had come at last! Knowing what I did, was it not certain that Colonel Moran had done it? He had played cards with the lad; he had followed him home from the club; he had shot him through the open window. There was not a doubt of it. The bullets alone are enough to put his head in a noose. I came over at once. I was seen by the sentinel, who would, I knew, direct the Colonel's attention to my presence. He could not fail to connect my sudden return with his crime and to be terribly alarmed. I was sure that he would make an attempt to get me out of the way at once, and would bring round his murderous weapon for that purpose. I left him an excellent mark in the window, and, having warned the police that they might be needed--by the way, Watson, you spotted their presence in that doorway with unerring accuracy--I took up what seemed to me to be a judicious post for observation, never dreaming that he would choose the same spot for his attack. Now, my dear Watson, does anything remain for me to explain?" "Yes," said I. "You have not made it clear what was Colonel Moran's motive in murdering the Honourable Ronald Adair." "Ah! my dear Watson, there we come into those realms of conjecture where the most logical mind may be at fault. Each may form his own hypothesis upon the present evidence, and yours is as likely to be correct as mine." "You have formed one, then?" "I think that it is not difficult to explain the facts. It came out in evidence that Colonel Moran and young Adair had between them won a considerable amount of money. Now, Moran undoubtedly played foul--of that I have long been aware. I believe that on the day of the murder Adair had discovered that Moran was cheating. Very likely he had spoken to him privately, and had threatened to expose him unless he voluntarily resigned his membership of the club and promised not to play cards again. It is unlikely that a youngster like Adair would at once make a hideous scandal by exposing a well-known man so much older than himself. Probably he acted as I suggest. The exclusion from his clubs would mean ruin to Moran, who lived by his ill-gotten card gains. He therefore murdered Adair, who at the time was endeavouring to work out how much money he should himself return, since he could not profit by his partner's foul play. He locked the door lest the ladies should surprise him and insist upon knowing what he was doing with these names and coins. Will it pass?" "I have no doubt that you have hit upon the truth." "It will be verified or disproved at the trial. Meanwhile, come what may, Colonel Moran will trouble us no more, the famous air-gun of Von Herder will embellish the Scotland Yard Museum, and once again Mr. Sherlock Holmes is free to devote his life to examining those interesting little problems which the complex life of London so plentifully presents." THE ADVENTURE OF THE NORWOOD BUILDER "From the point of view of the criminal expert," said Mr. Sherlock Holmes, "London has become a singularly uninteresting city since the death of the late lamented Professor Moriarty." "I can hardly think that you would find many decent citizens to agree with you," I answered. "Well, well, I must not be selfish," said he, with a smile, as he pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table. "The community is certainly the gainer, and no one the loser, save the poor out-of-work specialist, whose occupation has gone. With that man in the field one's morning paper presented infinite possibilities. Often it was only the smallest trace, Watson, the faintest indication, and yet it was enough to tell me that the great malignant brain was there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges of the web remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre. Petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage--to the man who held the clue all could be worked into one connected whole. To the scientific student of the higher criminal world no capital in Europe offered the advantages which London then possessed. But now--" He shrugged his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of things which he had himself done so much to produce. At the time of which I speak Holmes had been back for some months, and I, at his request, had sold my practice and returned to share the old quarters in Baker Street. A young doctor, named Verner, had purchased my small Kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little demur the highest price that I ventured to ask--an incident which only explained itself some years later when I found that Verner was a distant relation of Holmes's, and that it was my friend who had really found the money. Our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he had stated, for I find, on looking over my notes, that this period includes the case of the papers of Ex-President Murillo, and also the shocking affair of the Dutch steamship Friesland, which so nearly cost us both our lives. His cold and proud nature was always averse, however, to anything in the shape of public applause, and he bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further word of himself, his methods, or his successes--a prohibition which, as I have explained, has only now been removed. Mr. Sherlock Holmes was leaning back in his chair after his whimsical protest, and was unfolding his morning paper in a leisurely fashion, when our attention was arrested by a tremendous ring at the bell, followed immediately by a hollow drumming sound, as if someone were beating on the outer door with his fist. As it opened there came a tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed and frantic young man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst into the room. He looked from one to the other of us, and under our gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was needed for this unceremonious entry. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes," he cried. "You mustn't blame me. I am nearly mad. Mr. Holmes, I am the unhappy John Hector McFarlane." He made the announcement as if the name alone would explain both his visit and its manner; but I could see by my companion's unresponsive face that it meant no more to him than to me. "Have a cigarette, Mr. McFarlane," said he, pushing his case across. "I am sure that with your symptoms my friend Dr. Watson here would prescribe a sedative. The weather has been so very warm these last few days. Now, if you feel a little more composed, I should be glad if you would sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and quietly who you are and what it is that you want. You mentioned your name as if I should recognise it, but I assure you that, beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor, a solicitor, a Freemason, and an asthmatic, I know nothing whatever about you." Familiar as I was with my friend's methods, it was not difficult for me to follow his deductions, and to observe the untidiness of attire, the sheaf of legal papers, the watch-charm, and the breathing which had prompted them. Our client, however, stared in amazement. "Yes, I am all that, Mr. Holmes, and in addition I am the most unfortunate man at this moment in London. For Heaven's sake don't abandon me, Mr. Holmes! If they come to arrest me before I have finished my story, make them give me time so that I may tell you the whole truth. I could go to jail happy if I knew that you were working for me outside." "Arrest you!" said Holmes. "This is really most grati--most interesting. On what charge do you expect to be arrested?" "Upon the charge of murdering Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood." My companion's expressive face showed a sympathy which was not, I am afraid, entirely unmixed with satisfaction. "Dear me," said he; "it was only this moment at breakfast that I was saying to my friend, Dr. Watson, that sensational cases had disappeared out of our papers." Our visitor stretched forward a quivering hand and picked up the Daily Telegraph, which still lay upon Holmes's knee. "If you had looked at it, sir, you would have seen at a glance what the errand is on which I have come to you this morning. I feel as if my name and my misfortune must be in every man's mouth." He turned it over to expose the central page. "Here it is, and with your permission I will read it to you. Listen to this, Mr. Holmes. The head-lines are: 'Mysterious Affair at Lower Norwood. Disappearance of a Well-known Builder. Suspicion of Murder and Arson. A Clue to the Criminal.' That is the clue which they are already following, Mr. Holmes, and I know that it leads infallibly to me. I have been followed from London Bridge Station, and I am sure that they are only waiting for the warrant to arrest me. It will break my mother's heart--it will break her heart!" He wrung his hands in an agony of apprehension, and swayed backwards and forwards in his chair. I looked with interest upon this man, who was accused of being the perpetrator of a crime of violence. He was flaxen-haired and handsome in a washed-out negative fashion, with frightened blue eyes and a clean-shaven face, with a weak, sensitive mouth. His age may have been about twenty-seven; his dress and bearing that of a gentleman. From the pocket of his light summer overcoat protruded the bundle of endorsed papers which proclaimed his profession. "We must use what time we have," said Holmes. "Watson, would you have the kindness to take the paper and to read me the paragraph in question?" Underneath the vigorous head-lines which our client had quoted I read the following suggestive narrative:-- "Late last night, or early this morning, an incident occurred at Lower Norwood which points, it is feared, to a serious crime. Mr. Jonas Oldacre is a well-known resident of that suburb, where he has carried on his business as a builder for many years. Mr. Oldacre is a bachelor, fifty-two years of age, and lives in Deep Dene House, at the Sydenham end of the road of that name. He has had the reputation of being a man of eccentric habits, secretive and retiring. For some years he has practically withdrawn from the business, in which he is said to have amassed considerable wealth. A small timber-yard still exists, however, at the back of the house, and last night, about twelve o'clock, an alarm was given that one of the stacks was on fire. The engines were soon upon the spot, but the dry wood burned with great fury, and it was impossible to arrest the conflagration until the stack had been entirely consumed. Up to this point the incident bore the appearance of an ordinary accident, but fresh indications seem to point to serious crime. Surprise was expressed at the absence of the master of the establishment from the scene of the fire, and an inquiry followed, which showed that he had disappeared from the house. An examination of his room revealed that the bed had not been slept in, that a safe which stood in it was open, that a number of important papers were scattered about the room, and, finally, that there were signs of a murderous struggle, slight traces of blood being found within the room, and an oaken walking-stick, which also showed stains of blood upon the handle. It is known that Mr. Jonas Oldacre had received a late visitor in his bedroom upon that night, and the stick found has been identified as the property of this person, who is a young London solicitor named John Hector McFarlane, junior partner of Graham and McFarlane, of 426, Gresham Buildings, E.C. The police believe that they have evidence in their possession which supplies a very convincing motive for the crime, and altogether it cannot be doubted that sensational developments will follow. "Later.--It is rumoured as we go to press that Mr. John Hector McFarlane has actually been arrested on the charge of the murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. It is at least certain that a warrant has been issued. There have been further and sinister developments in the investigation at Norwood. Besides the signs of a struggle in the room of the unfortunate builder it is now known that the French windows of his bedroom (which is on the ground floor) were found to be open, that there were marks as if some bulky object had been dragged across to the wood-pile, and, finally, it is asserted that charred remains have been found among the charcoal ashes of the fire. The police theory is that a most sensational crime has been committed, that the victim was clubbed to death in his own bedroom, his papers rifled, and his dead body dragged across to the wood-stack, which was then ignited so as to hide all traces of the crime. The conduct of the criminal investigation has been left in the experienced hands of Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, who is following up the clues with his accustomed energy and sagacity." Sherlock Holmes listened with closed eyes and finger-tips together to this remarkable account. "The case has certainly some points of interest," said he, in his languid fashion. "May I ask, in the first place, Mr. McFarlane, how it is that you are still at liberty, since there appears to be enough evidence to justify your arrest?" "I live at Torrington Lodge, Blackheath, with my parents, Mr. Holmes; but last night, having to do business very late with Mr. Jonas Oldacre, I stayed at an hotel in Norwood, and came to my business from there. I knew nothing of this affair until I was in the train, when I read what you have just heard. I at once saw the horrible danger of my position, and I hurried to put the case into your hands. I have no doubt that I should have been arrested either at my City office or at my home. A man followed me from London Bridge Station, and I have no doubt--Great Heaven, what is that?" It was a clang of the bell, followed instantly by heavy steps upon the stair. A moment later our old friend Lestrade appeared in the doorway. Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of one or two uniformed policemen outside. "Mr. John Hector McFarlane?" said Lestrade. Our unfortunate client rose with a ghastly face. "I arrest you for the wilful murder of Mr. Jonas Oldacre, of Lower Norwood." McFarlane turned to us with a gesture of despair, and sank into his chair once more like one who is crushed. "One moment, Lestrade," said Holmes. "Half an hour more or less can make no difference to you, and the gentleman was about to give us an account of this very interesting affair, which might aid us in clearing it up." "I think there will be no difficulty in clearing it up," said Lestrade, grimly. "None the less, with your permission, I should be much interested to hear his account." "Well, Mr. Holmes, it is difficult for me to refuse you anything, for you have been of use to the force once or twice in the past, and we owe you a good turn at Scotland Yard," said Lestrade. "At the same time I must remain with my prisoner, and I am bound to warn him that anything he may say will appear in evidence against him." "I wish nothing better," said our client. "All I ask is that you should hear and recognise the absolute truth." Lestrade looked at his watch. "I'll give you half an hour," said he. "I must explain first," said McFarlane, "that I knew nothing of Mr. Jonas Oldacre. His name was familiar to me, for many years ago my parents were acquainted with him, but they drifted apart. I was very much surprised, therefore, when yesterday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, he walked into my office in the City. But I was still more astonished when he told me the object of his visit. He had in his hand several sheets of a note-book, covered with scribbled writing--here they are--and he laid them on my table. "'Here is my will,' said he. 'I want you, Mr. McFarlane, to cast it into proper legal shape. I will sit here while you do so.' "I set myself to copy it, and you can imagine my astonishment when I found that, with some reservations, he had left all his property to me. He was a strange little, ferret-like man, with white eyelashes, and when I looked up at him I found his keen grey eyes fixed upon me with an amused expression. I could hardly believe my own senses as I read the terms of the will; but he explained that he was a bachelor with hardly any living relation, that he had known my parents in his youth, and that he had always heard of me as a very deserving young man, and was assured that his money would be in worthy hands. Of course, I could only stammer out my thanks. The will was duly finished, signed, and witnessed by my clerk. This is it on the blue paper, and these slips, as I have explained, are the rough draft. Mr. Jonas Oldacre then informed me that there were a number of documents--building leases, title-deeds, mortgages, scrip, and so forth--which it was necessary that I should see and understand. He said that his mind would not be easy until the whole thing was settled, and he begged me to come out to his house at Norwood that night, bringing the will with me, and to arrange matters. 'Remember, my boy, not one word to your parents about the affair until everything is settled. We will keep it as a little surprise for them.' He was very insistent upon this point, and made me promise it faithfully. "You can imagine, Mr. Holmes, that I was not in a humour to refuse him anything that he might ask. He was my benefactor, and all my desire was to carry out his wishes in every particular. I sent a telegram home, therefore, to say that I had important business on hand, and that it was impossible for me to say how late I might be. Mr. Oldacre had told me that he would like me to have supper with him at nine, as he might not be home before that hour. I had some difficulty in finding his house, however, and it was nearly half-past before I reached it. I found him--" "One moment!" said Holmes. "Who opened the door?" "A middle-aged woman, who was, I suppose, his housekeeper." "And it was she, I presume, who mentioned your name?" "Exactly," said McFarlane. "Pray proceed." McFarlane wiped his damp brow and then continued his narrative:-- "I was shown by this woman into a sitting-room, where a frugal supper was laid out. Afterwards Mr. Jonas Oldacre led me into his bedroom, in which there stood a heavy safe. This he opened and took out a mass of documents, which we went over together. It was between eleven and twelve when we finished. He remarked that we must not disturb the housekeeper. He showed me out through his own French window, which had been open all this time." "Was the blind down?" asked Holmes. "I will not be sure, but I believe that it was only half down. Yes, I remember how he pulled it up in order to swing open the window. I could not find my stick, and he said, 'Never mind, my boy; I shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, and I will keep your stick until you come back to claim it.' I left him there, the safe open, and the papers made up in packets upon the table. It was so late that I could not get back to Blackheath, so I spent the night at the Anerley Arms, and I knew nothing more until I read of this horrible affair in the morning." "Anything more that you would like to ask, Mr. Holmes?" said Lestrade, whose eyebrows had gone up once or twice during this remarkable explanation. "Not until I have been to Blackheath." "You mean to Norwood," said Lestrade. "Oh, yes; no doubt that is what I must have meant," said Holmes, with his enigmatical smile. Lestrade had learned by more experiences than he would care to acknowledge that that razor-like brain could cut through that which was impenetrable to him. I saw him look curiously at my companion. "I think I should like to have a word with you presently, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "Now, Mr. McFarlane, two of my constables are at the door and there is a four-wheeler waiting." The wretched young man arose, and with a last beseeching glance at us walked from the room. The officers conducted him to the cab, but Lestrade remained. Holmes had picked up the pages which formed the rough draft of the will, and was looking at them with the keenest interest upon his face. "There are some points about that document, Lestrade, are there not?" said he, pushing them over. The official looked at them with a puzzled expression. "I can read the first few lines, and these in the middle of the second page, and one or two at the end. Those are as clear as print," said he; "but the writing in between is very bad, and there are three places where I cannot read it at all." "What do you make of that?" said Holmes. "Well, what do you make of it?" "That it was written in a train; the good writing represents stations, the bad writing movement, and the very bad writing passing over points. A scientific expert would pronounce at once that this was drawn up on a suburban line, since nowhere save in the immediate vicinity of a great city could there be so quick a succession of points. Granting that his whole journey was occupied in drawing up the will, then the train was an express, only stopping once between Norwood and London Bridge." Lestrade began to laugh. "You are too many for me when you begin to get on your theories, Mr. Holmes," said he. "How does this bear on the case?" "Well, it corroborates the young man's story to the extent that the will was drawn up by Jonas Oldacre in his journey yesterday. It is curious--is it not?--that a man should draw up so important a document in so haphazard a fashion. It suggests that he did not think it was going to be of much practical importance. If a man drew up a will which he did not intend ever to be effective he might do it so." "Well, he drew up his own death-warrant at the same time," said Lestrade. "Oh, you think so?" "Don't you?" "Well, it is quite possible; but the case is not clear to me yet." "Not clear? Well, if that isn't clear, what could be clear? Here is a young man who learns suddenly that if a certain older man dies he will succeed to a fortune. What does he do? He says nothing to anyone, but he arranges that he shall go out on some pretext to see his client that night; he waits until the only other person in the house is in bed, and then in the solitude of a man's room he murders him, burns his body in the wood-pile, and departs to a neighbouring hotel. The blood-stains in the room and also on the stick are very slight. It is probable that he imagined his crime to be a bloodless one, and hoped that if the body were consumed it would hide all traces of the method of his death--traces which for some reason must have pointed to him. Is all this not obvious?" "It strikes me, my good Lestrade, as being just a trifle too obvious," said Holmes. "You do not add imagination to your other great qualities; but if you could for one moment put yourself in the place of this young man, would you choose the very night after the will had been made to commit your crime? Would it not seem dangerous to you to make so very close a relation between the two incidents? Again, would you choose an occasion when you are known to be in the house, when a servant has let you in? And, finally, would you take the great pains to conceal the body and yet leave your own stick as a sign that you were the criminal? Confess, Lestrade, that all this is very unlikely." "As to the stick, Mr. Holmes, you know as well as I do that a criminal is often flurried and does things which a cool man would avoid. He was very likely afraid to go back to the room. Give me another theory that would fit the facts." "I could very easily give you half-a-dozen," said Holmes. "Here, for example, is a very possible and even probable one. I make you a free present of it. The older man is showing documents which are of evident value. A passing tramp sees them through the window, the blind of which is only half down. Exit the solicitor. Enter the tramp! He seizes a stick, which he observes there, kills Oldacre, and departs after burning the body." "Why should the tramp burn the body?" "For the matter of that why should McFarlane?" "To hide some evidence." "Possibly the tramp wanted to hide that any murder at all had been committed." "And why did the tramp take nothing?" "Because they were papers that he could not negotiate." Lestrade shook his head, though it seemed to me that his manner was less absolutely assured than before. "Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you may look for your tramp, and while you are finding him we will hold on to our man. The future will show which is right. Just notice this point, Mr. Holmes: that so far as we know none of the papers were removed, and that the prisoner is the one man in the world who had no reason for removing them, since he was heir-at-law and would come into them in any case." My friend seemed struck by this remark. "I don't mean to deny that the evidence is in some ways very strongly in favour of your theory," said he. "I only wish to point out that there are other theories possible. As you say, the future will decide. Good morning! I dare say that in the course of the day I shall drop in at Norwood and see how you are getting on." When the detective departed my friend rose and made his preparations for the day's work with the alert air of a man who has a congenial task before him. "My first movement, Watson," said he, as he bustled into his frock-coat, "must, as I said, be in the direction of Blackheath." "And why not Norwood?" "Because we have in this case one singular incident coming close to the heels of another singular incident. The police are making the mistake of concentrating their attention upon the second, because it happens to be the one which is actually criminal. But it is evident to me that the logical way to approach the case is to begin by trying to throw some light upon the first incident--the curious will, so suddenly made, and to so unexpected an heir. It may do something to simplify what followed. No, my dear fellow, I don't think you can help me. There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring out without you. I trust that when I see you in the evening I will be able to report that I have been able to do something for this unfortunate youngster who has thrown himself upon my protection." It was late when my friend returned, and I could see by a glance at his haggard and anxious face that the high hopes with which he had started had not been fulfilled. For an hour he droned away upon his violin, endeavouring to soothe his own ruffled spirits. At last he flung down the instrument and plunged into a detailed account of his misadventures. "It's all going wrong, Watson--all as wrong as it can go. I kept a bold face before Lestrade, but, upon my soul, I believe that for once the fellow is on the right track and we are on the wrong. All my instincts are one way and all the facts are the other, and I much fear that British juries have not yet attained that pitch of intelligence when they will give the preference to my theories over Lestrade's facts." "Did you go to Blackheath?" "Yes, Watson, I went there, and I found very quickly that the late lamented Oldacre was a pretty considerable black-guard. The father was away in search of his son. The mother was at home--a little, fluffy, blue-eyed person, in a tremor of fear and indignation. Of course, she would not admit even the possibility of his guilt. But she would not express either surprise or regret over the fate of Oldacre. On the contrary, she spoke of him with such bitterness that she was unconsciously considerably strengthening the case of the police, for, of course, if her son had heard her speak of the man in this fashion it would predispose him towards hatred and violence. 'He was more like a malignant and cunning ape than a human being,' said she, 'and he always was, ever since he was a young man.' "'You knew him at that time?' said I. "'Yes, I knew him well; in fact, he was an old suitor of mine. Thank Heaven that I had the sense to turn away from him and to marry a better, if a poorer, man. I was engaged to him, Mr. Holmes, when I heard a shocking story of how he had turned a cat loose in an aviary, and I was so horrified at his brutal cruelty that I would have nothing more to do with him.' She rummaged in a bureau, and presently she produced a photograph of a woman, shamefully defaced and mutilated with a knife. 'That is my own photograph,' she said. 'He sent it to me in that state, with his curse, upon my wedding morning.' "'Well,' said I, 'at least he has forgiven you now, since he has left all his property to your son.' "'Neither my son nor I want anything from Jonas Oldacre, dead or alive,' she cried, with a proper spirit. 'There is a God in Heaven, Mr. Holmes, and that same God who has punished that wicked man will show in His own good time that my son's hands are guiltless of his blood.' "Well, I tried one or two leads, but could get at nothing which would help our hypothesis, and several points which would make against it. I gave it up at last and off I went to Norwood. "This place, Deep Dene House, is a big modern villa of staring brick, standing back in its own grounds, with a laurel-clumped lawn in front of it. To the right and some distance back from the road was the timber-yard which had been the scene of the fire. Here's a rough plan on a leaf of my note-book. This window on the left is the one which opens into Oldacre's room. You can look into it from the road, you see. That is about the only bit of consolation I have had to-day. Lestrade was not there, but his head constable did the honours. They had just made a great treasure-trove. They had spent the morning raking among the ashes of the burned wood-pile, and besides the charred organic remains they had secured several discoloured metal discs. I examined them with care, and there was no doubt that they were trouser buttons. I even distinguished that one of them was marked with the name of 'Hyams,' who was Oldacre's tailor. I then worked the lawn very carefully for signs and traces, but this drought has made everything as hard as iron. Nothing was to be seen save that some body or bundle had been dragged through a low privet hedge which is in a line with the wood-pile. All that, of course, fits in with the official theory. I crawled about the lawn with an August sun on my back, but I got up at the end of an hour no wiser than before. "Well, after this fiasco I went into the bedroom and examined that also. The blood-stains were very slight, mere smears and discolorations, but undoubtedly fresh. The stick had been removed, but there also the marks were slight. There is no doubt about the stick belonging to our client. He admits it. Footmarks of both men could be made out on the carpet, but none of any third person, which again is a trick for the other side. They were piling up their score all the time and we were at a standstill. "Only one little gleam of hope did I get--and yet it amounted to nothing. I examined the contents of the safe, most of which had been taken out and left on the table. The papers had been made up into sealed envelopes, one or two of which had been opened by the police. They were not, so far as I could judge, of any great value, nor did the bank-book show that Mr. Oldacre was in such very affluent circumstances. But it seemed to me that all the papers were not there. There were allusions to some deeds--possibly the more valuable--which I could not find. This, of course, if we could definitely prove it, would turn Lestrade's argument against himself, for who would steal a thing if he knew that he would shortly inherit it? "Finally, having drawn every other cover and picked up no scent, I tried my luck with the housekeeper. Mrs. Lexington is her name, a little, dark, silent person, with suspicious and sidelong eyes. She could tell us something if she would--I am convinced of it. But she was as close as wax. Yes, she had let Mr. McFarlane in at half-past nine. She wished her hand had withered before she had done so. She had gone to bed at half-past ten. Her room was at the other end of the house, and she could hear nothing of what passed. Mr. McFarlane had left his hat, and to the best of her belief his stick, in the hall. She had been awakened by the alarm of fire. Her poor, dear master had certainly been murdered. Had he any enemies? Well, every man had enemies, but Mr. Oldacre kept himself very much to himself, and only met people in the way of business. She had seen the buttons, and was sure that they belonged to the clothes which he had worn last night. The wood-pile was very dry, for it had not rained for a month. It burned like tinder, and by the time she reached the spot nothing could be seen but flames. She and all the firemen smelled the burned flesh from inside it. She knew nothing of the papers, nor of Mr. Oldacre's private affairs. "So, my dear Watson, there's my report of a failure. And yet--and yet--"--he clenched his thin hands in a paroxysm of conviction--"I know it's all wrong. I feel it in my bones. There is something that has not come out, and that housekeeper knows it. There was a sort of sulky defiance in her eyes, which only goes with guilty knowledge. However, there's no good talking any more about it, Watson; but unless some lucky chance comes our way I fear that the Norwood Disappearance Case will not figure in that chronicle of our successes which I foresee that a patient public will sooner or later have to endure." "Surely," said I, "the man's appearance would go far with any jury?" "That is a dangerous argument, my dear Watson. You remember that terrible murderer, Bert Stevens, who wanted us to get him off in '87? Was there ever a more mild-mannered, Sunday-school young man?" "It is true." "Unless we succeed in establishing an alternative theory this man is lost. You can hardly find a flaw in the case which can now be presented against him, and all further investigation has served to strengthen it. By the way, there is one curious little point about those papers which may serve us as the starting-point for an inquiry. On looking over the bank-book I found that the low state of the balance was principally due to large cheques which have been made out during the last year to Mr. Cornelius. I confess that I should be interested to know who this Mr. Cornelius may be with whom a retired builder has such very large transactions. Is it possible that he has had a hand in the affair? Cornelius might be a broker, but we have found no scrip to correspond with these large payments. Failing any other indication my researches must now take the direction of an inquiry at the bank for the gentleman who has cashed these cheques. But I fear, my dear fellow, that our case will end ingloriously by Lestrade hanging our client, which will certainly be a triumph for Scotland Yard." I do not know how far Sherlock Holmes took any sleep that night, but when I came down to breakfast I found him pale and harassed, his bright eyes the brighter for the dark shadows round them. The carpet round his chair was littered with cigarette-ends and with the early editions of the morning papers. An open telegram lay upon the table. "What do you think of this, Watson?" he asked, tossing it across. It was from Norwood, and ran as follows: "Important fresh evidence to hand. McFarlane's guilt definitely established. Advise you to abandon case. Lestrade. "This sounds serious," said I. "It is Lestrade's little cock-a-doodle of victory," Holmes answered, with a bitter smile. "And yet it may be premature to abandon the case. After all, important fresh evidence is a two-edged thing, and may possibly cut in a very different direction to that which Lestrade imagines. Take your breakfast, Watson, and we will go out together and see what we can do. I feel as if I shall need your company and your moral support to-day." My friend had no breakfast himself, for it was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition. "At present I cannot spare energy and nerve force for digestion," he would say in answer to my medical remonstrances. I was not surprised, therefore, when this morning he left his untouched meal behind him and started with me for Norwood. A crowd of morbid sightseers were still gathered round Deep Dene House, which was just such a suburban villa as I had pictured. Within the gates Lestrade met us, his face flushed with victory, his manner grossly triumphant. "Well, Mr. Holmes, have you proved us to be wrong yet? Have you found your tramp?" he cried. "I have formed no conclusion whatever," my companion answered. "But we formed ours yesterday, and now it proves to be correct; so you must acknowledge that we have been a little in front of you this time, Mr. Holmes." "You certainly have the air of something unusual having occurred," said Holmes. Lestrade laughed loudly. "You don't like being beaten any more than the rest of us do," said he. "A man can't expect always to have it his own way, can he, Dr. Watson? Step this way, if you please, gentlemen, and I think I can convince you once for all that it was John McFarlane who did this crime." He led us through the passage and out into a dark hall beyond. "This is where young McFarlane must have come out to get his hat after the crime was done," said he. "Now, look at this." With dramatic suddenness he struck a match and by its light exposed a stain of blood upon the whitewashed wall. As he held the match nearer I saw that it was more than a stain. It was the well-marked print of a thumb. "Look at that with your magnifying glass, Mr. Holmes." "Yes, I am doing so." "You are aware that no two thumb marks are alike?" "I have heard something of the kind." "Well, then, will you please compare that print with this wax impression of young McFarlane's right thumb, taken by my orders this morning?" As he held the waxen print close to the blood-stain it did not take a magnifying glass to see that the two were undoubtedly from the same thumb. It was evident to me that our unfortunate client was lost. "That is final," said Lestrade. "Yes, that is final," I involuntarily echoed. "It is final," said Holmes. Something in his tone caught my ear, and I turned to look at him. An extraordinary change had come over his face. It was writhing with inward merriment. His two eyes were shining like stars. It seemed to me that he was making desperate efforts to restrain a convulsive attack of laughter. "Dear me! Dear me!" he said at last. "Well, now, who would have thought it? And how deceptive appearances may be, to be sure! Such a nice young man to look at! It is a lesson to us not to trust our own judgment, is it not, Lestrade?" "Yes, some of us are a little too much inclined to be cocksure, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade. The man's insolence was maddening, but we could not resent it. "What a providential thing that this young man should press his right thumb against the wall in taking his hat from the peg! Such a very natural action, too, if you come to think of it." Holmes was outwardly calm, but his whole body gave a wriggle of suppressed excitement as he spoke. "By the way, Lestrade, who made this remarkable discovery?" "It was the housekeeper, Mrs. Lexington, who drew the night constable's attention to it." "Where was the night constable?" "He remained on guard in the bedroom where the crime was committed, so as to see that nothing was touched." "But why didn't the police see this mark yesterday?" "Well, we had no particular reason to make a careful examination of the hall. Besides, it's not in a very prominent place, as you see." "No, no, of course not. I suppose there is no doubt that the mark was there yesterday?" Lestrade looked at Holmes as if he thought he was going out of his mind. I confess that I was myself surprised both at his hilarious manner and at his rather wild observation. "I don't know whether you think that McFarlane came out of jail in the dead of the night in order to strengthen the evidence against himself," said Lestrade. "I leave it to any expert in the world whether that is not the mark of his thumb." "It is unquestionably the mark of his thumb." "There, that's enough," said Lestrade. "I am a practical man, Mr. Holmes, and when I have got my evidence I come to my conclusions. If you have anything to say you will find me writing my report in the sitting-room." Holmes had recovered his equanimity, though I still seemed to detect gleams of amusement in his expression. "Dear me, this is a very sad development, Watson, is it not?" said he. "And yet there are singular points about it which hold out some hopes for our client." "I am delighted to hear it," said I, heartily. "I was afraid it was all up with him." "I would hardly go so far as to say that, my dear Watson. The fact is that there is one really serious flaw in this evidence to which our friend attaches so much importance." "Indeed, Holmes! What is it?" "Only this: that I know that that mark was not there when I examined the hall yesterday. And now, Watson, let us have a little stroll round in the sunshine." With a confused brain, but with a heart into which some warmth of hope was returning, I accompanied my friend in a walk round the garden. Holmes took each face of the house in turn and examined it with great interest. He then led the way inside and went over the whole building from basement to attics. Most of the rooms were unfurnished, but none the less Holmes inspected them all minutely. Finally, on the top corridor, which ran outside three untenanted bedrooms, he again was seized with a spasm of merriment. "There are really some very unique features about this case, Watson," said he. "I think it is time now that we took our friend Lestrade into our confidence. He has had his little smile at our expense, and perhaps we may do as much by him if my reading of this problem proves to be correct. Yes, yes; I think I see how we should approach it." The Scotland Yard inspector was still writing in the parlour when Holmes interrupted him. "I understood that you were writing a report of this case," said he. "So I am." "Don't you think it may be a little premature? I can't help thinking that your evidence is not complete." Lestrade knew my friend too well to disregard his words. He laid down his pen and looked curiously at him. "What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?" "Only that there is an important witness whom you have not seen." "Can you produce him?" "I think I can." "Then do so." "I will do my best. How many constables have you?" "There are three within call." "Excellent!" said Holmes. "May I ask if they are all large, able-bodied men with powerful voices?" "I have no doubt they are, though I fail to see what their voices have to do with it." "Perhaps I can help you to see that and one or two other things as well," said Holmes. "Kindly summon your men, and I will try." Five minutes later three policemen had assembled in the hall. "In the outhouse you will find a considerable quantity of straw," said Holmes. "I will ask you to carry in two bundles of it. I think it will be of the greatest assistance in producing the witness whom I require. Thank you very much. I believe you have some matches in your pocket, Watson. Now, Mr. Lestrade, I will ask you all to accompany me to the top landing." As I have said, there was a broad corridor there, which ran outside three empty bedrooms. At one end of the corridor we were all marshalled by Sherlock Holmes, the constables grinning and Lestrade staring at my friend with amazement, expectation, and derision chasing each other across his features. Holmes stood before us with the air of a conjurer who is performing a trick. "Would you kindly send one of your constables for two buckets of water? Put the straw on the floor here, free from the wall on either side. Now I think that we are all ready." Lestrade's face had begun to grow red and angry. "I don't know whether you are playing a game with us, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he. "If you know anything, you can surely say it without all this tomfoolery." "I assure you, my good Lestrade, that I have an excellent reason for everything that I do. You may possibly remember that you chaffed me a little some hours ago, when the sun seemed on your side of the hedge, so you must not grudge me a little pomp and ceremony now. Might I ask you, Watson, to open that window, and then to put a match to the edge of the straw?" I did so, and, driven by the draught, a coil of grey smoke swirled down the corridor, while the dry straw crackled and flamed. "Now we must see if we can find this witness for you, Lestrade. Might I ask you all to join in the cry of 'Fire!'? Now, then; one, two, three--" "Fire!" we all yelled. "Thank you. I will trouble you once again." "Fire!" "Just once more, gentlemen, and all together." "Fire!" The shout must have rung over Norwood. It had hardly died away when an amazing thing happened. A door suddenly flew open out of what appeared to be solid wall at the end of the corridor, and a little, wizened man darted out of it, like a rabbit out of its burrow. "Capital!" said Holmes, calmly. "Watson, a bucket of water over the straw. That will do! Lestrade, allow me to present you with your principal missing witness, Mr. Jonas Oldacre." The detective stared at the new-comer with blank amazement. The latter was blinking in the bright light of the corridor, and peering at us and at the smouldering fire. It was an odious face--crafty, vicious, malignant, with shifty, light-grey eyes and white eyelashes. "What's this, then?" said Lestrade at last. "What have you been doing all this time, eh?" Oldacre gave an uneasy laugh, shrinking back from the furious red face of the angry detective. "I have done no harm." "No harm? You have done your best to get an innocent man hanged. If it wasn't for this gentleman here, I am not sure that you would not have succeeded." The wretched creature began to whimper. "I am sure, sir, it was only my practical joke." "Oh! a joke, was it? You won't find the laugh on your side, I promise you. Take him down and keep him in the sitting-room until I come. Mr. Holmes," he continued, when they had gone, "I could not speak before the constables, but I don't mind saying, in the presence of Dr. Watson, that this is the brightest thing that you have done yet, though it is a mystery to me how you did it. You have saved an innocent man's life, and you have prevented a very grave scandal, which would have ruined my reputation in the Force." Holmes smiled and clapped Lestrade upon the shoulder. "Instead of being ruined, my good sir, you will find that your reputation has been enormously enhanced. Just make a few alterations in that report which you were writing, and they will understand how hard it is to throw dust in the eyes of Inspector Lestrade." "And you don't want your name to appear?" "Not at all. The work is its own reward. Perhaps I shall get the credit also at some distant day when I permit my zealous historian to lay out his foolscap once more--eh, Watson? Well, now, let us see where this rat has been lurking." A lath-and-plaster partition had been run across the passage six feet from the end, with a door cunningly concealed in it. It was lit within by slits under the eaves. A few articles of furniture and a supply of food and water were within, together with a number of books and papers. "There's the advantage of being a builder," said Holmes, as we came out. "He was able to fix up his own little hiding-place without any confederate--save, of course, that precious housekeeper of his, whom I should lose no time in adding to your bag, Lestrade." "I'll take your advice. But how did you know of this place, Mr. Holmes?" "I made up my mind that the fellow was in hiding in the house. When I paced one corridor and found it six feet shorter than the corresponding one below, it was pretty clear where he was. I thought he had not the nerve to lie quiet before an alarm of fire. We could, of course, have gone in and taken him, but it amused me to make him reveal himself; besides, I owed you a little mystification, Lestrade, for your chaff in the morning." "Well, sir, you certainly got equal with me on that. But how in the world did you know that he was in the house at all?" "The thumb-mark, Lestrade. You said it was final; and so it was, in a very different sense. I knew it had not been there the day before. I pay a good deal of attention to matters of detail, as you may have observed, and I had examined the hall and was sure that the wall was clear. Therefore, it had been put on during the night." "But how?" "Very simply. When those packets were sealed up, Jonas Oldacre got McFarlane to secure one of the seals by putting his thumb upon the soft wax. It would be done so quickly and so naturally that I dare say the young man himself has no recollection of it. Very likely it just so happened, and Oldacre had himself no notion of the use he would put it to. Brooding over the case in that den of his, it suddenly struck him what absolutely damning evidence he could make against McFarlane by using that thumb-mark. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to take a wax impression from the seal, to moisten it in as much blood as he could get from a pin-prick, and to put the mark upon the wall during the night, either with his own hand or with that of his housekeeper. If you examine among those documents which he took with him into his retreat I will lay you a wager that you find the seal with the thumb-mark upon it." "Wonderful!" said Lestrade. "Wonderful! It's all as clear as crystal, as you put it. But what is the object of this deep deception, Mr. Holmes?" It was amusing to me to see how the detective's overbearing manner had changed suddenly to that of a child asking questions of its teacher. "Well, I don't think that is very hard to explain. A very deep, malicious, vindictive person is the gentleman who is now awaiting us downstairs. You know that he was once refused by McFarlane's mother? You don't! I told you that you should go to Blackheath first and Norwood afterwards. Well, this injury, as he would consider it, has rankled in his wicked, scheming brain, and all his life he has longed for vengeance, but never seen his chance. During the last year or two things have gone against him--secret speculation, I think--and he finds himself in a bad way. He determines to swindle his creditors, and for this purpose he pays large cheques to a certain Mr. Cornelius, who is, I imagine, himself under another name. I have not traced these cheques yet, but I have no doubt that they were banked under that name at some provincial town where Oldacre from time to time led a double existence. He intended to change his name altogether, draw this money, and vanish, starting life again elsewhere." "Well, that's likely enough." "It would strike him that in disappearing he might throw all pursuit off his track, and at the same time have an ample and crushing revenge upon his old sweetheart, if he could give the impression that he had been murdered by her only child. It was a masterpiece of villainy, and he carried it out like a master. The idea of the will, which would give an obvious motive for the crime, the secret visit unknown to his own parents, the retention of the stick, the blood, and the animal remains and buttons in the wood-pile, all were admirable. It was a net from which it seemed to me a few hours ago that there was no possible escape. But he had not that supreme gift of the artist, the knowledge of when to stop. He wished to improve that which was already perfect--to draw the rope tighter yet round the neck of his unfortunate victim--and so he ruined all. Let us descend, Lestrade. There are just one or two questions that I would ask him." The malignant creature was seated in his own parlour with a policeman upon each side of him. "It was a joke, my good sir, a practical joke, nothing more," he whined incessantly. "I assure you, sir, that I simply concealed myself in order to see the effect of my disappearance, and I am sure that you would not be so unjust as to imagine that I would have allowed any harm to befall poor young Mr. McFarlane." "That's for a jury to decide," said Lestrade. "Anyhow, we shall have you on a charge of conspiracy, if not for attempted murder." "And you'll probably find that your creditors will impound the banking account of Mr. Cornelius," said Holmes. The little man started and turned his malignant eyes upon my friend. "I have to thank you for a good deal," said he. "Perhaps I'll pay my debt some day." Holmes smiled indulgently. "I fancy that for some few years you will find your time very fully occupied," said he. "By the way, what was it you put into the wood-pile besides your old trousers? A dead dog, or rabbits, or what? You won't tell? Dear me, how very unkind of you! Well, well, I dare say that a couple of rabbits would account both for the blood and for the charred ashes. If ever you write an account, Watson, you can make rabbits serve your turn." THE ADVENTURE OF THE DANCING MEN Holmes had been seated for some hours in silence with his long, thin back curved over a chemical vessel in which he was brewing a particularly malodorous product. His head was sunk upon his breast, and he looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, with dull grey plumage and a black top-knot. "So, Watson," said he, suddenly, "you do not propose to invest in South African securities?" I gave a start of astonishment. Accustomed as I was to Holmes's curious faculties, this sudden intrusion into my most intimate thoughts was utterly inexplicable. "How on earth do you know that?" I asked. He wheeled round upon his stool, with a steaming test-tube in his hand and a gleam of amusement in his deep-set eyes. "Now, Watson, confess yourself utterly taken aback," said he. "I am." "I ought to make you sign a paper to that effect." "Why?" "Because in five minutes you will say that it is all so absurdly simple." "I am sure that I shall say nothing of the kind." "You see, my dear Watson"--he propped his test-tube in the rack and began to lecture with the air of a professor addressing his class--"it is not really difficult to construct a series of inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor and each simple in itself. If, after doing so, one simply knocks out all the central inferences and presents one's audience with the starting-point and the conclusion, one may produce a startling, though possibly a meretricious, effect. Now, it was not really difficult, by an inspection of the groove between your left forefinger and thumb, to feel sure that you did not propose to invest your small capital in the goldfields." "I see no connection." "Very likely not; but I can quickly show you a close connection. Here are the missing links of the very simple chain: 1. You had chalk between your left finger and thumb when you returned from the club last night. 2. You put chalk there when you play billiards to steady the cue. 3. You never play billiards except with Thurston. 4. You told me four weeks ago that Thurston had an option on some South African property which would expire in a month, and which he desired you to share with him. 5. Your cheque-book is locked in my drawer, and you have not asked for the key. 6. You do not propose to invest your money in this manner." "How absurdly simple!" I cried. "Quite so!" said he, a little nettled. "Every problem becomes very childish when once it is explained to you. Here is an unexplained one. See what you can make of that, friend Watson." He tossed a sheet of paper upon the table and turned once more to his chemical analysis. I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper. "Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing," I cried. "Oh, that's your idea!" "What else should it be?" "That is what Mr. Hilton Cubitt, of Ridling Thorpe Manor, Norfolk, is very anxious to know. This little conundrum came by the first post, and he was to follow by the next train. There's a ring at the bell, Watson. I should not be very much surprised if this were he." A heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and an instant later there entered a tall, ruddy, clean-shaven gentleman, whose clear eyes and florid cheeks told of a life led far from the fogs of Baker Street. He seemed to bring a whiff of his strong, fresh, bracing, east-coast air with him as he entered. Having shaken hands with each of us, he was about to sit down when his eye rested upon the paper with the curious markings, which I had just examined and left upon the table. "Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these?" he cried. "They told me that you were fond of queer mysteries, and I don't think you can find a queerer one than that. I sent the paper on ahead so that you might have time to study it before I came." "It is certainly rather a curious production," said Holmes. "At first sight it would appear to be some childish prank. It consists of a number of absurd little figures dancing across the paper upon which they are drawn. Why should you attribute any importance to so grotesque an object?" "I never should, Mr. Holmes. But my wife does. It is frightening her to death. She says nothing, but I can see terror in her eyes. That's why I want to sift the matter to the bottom." Holmes held up the paper so that the sunlight shone full upon it. It was a page torn from a note-book. The markings were done in pencil, and ran in this way:-- [ Picture: Picture of several figures of dancing men, some holding flags ] Holmes examined it for some time, and then, folding it carefully up, he placed it in his pocket-book. "This promises to be a most interesting and unusual case," said he. "You gave me a few particulars in your letter, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, but I should be very much obliged if you would kindly go over it all again for the benefit of my friend, Dr. Watson." "I'm not much of a story-teller," said our visitor, nervously clasping and unclasping his great, strong hands. "You'll just ask me anything that I don't make clear. I'll begin at the time of my marriage last year; but I want to say first of all that, though I'm not a rich man, my people have been at Ridling Thorpe for a matter of five centuries, and there is no better known family in the County of Norfolk. Last year I came up to London for the Jubilee, and I stopped at a boarding-house in Russell Square, because Parker, the vicar of our parish, was staying in it. There was an American young lady there--Patrick was the name--Elsie Patrick. In some way we became friends, until before my month was up I was as much in love as a man could be. We were quietly married at a registry office, and we returned to Norfolk a wedded couple. You'll think it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a man of a good old family should marry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of her people; but if you saw her and knew her it would help you to understand. "She was very straight about it, was Elsie. I can't say that she did not give me every chance of getting out of it if I wished to do so. 'I have had some very disagreeable associations in my life,' said she; 'I wish to forget all about them. I would rather never allude to the past, for it is very painful to me. If you take me, Hilton, you will take a woman who has nothing that she need be personally ashamed of; but you will have to be content with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up to the time when I became yours. If these conditions are too hard, then go back to Norfolk and leave me to the lonely life in which you found me.' It was only the day before our wedding that she said those very words to me. I told her that I was content to take her on her own terms, and I have been as good as my word. "Well, we have been married now for a year, and very happy we have been. But about a month ago, at the end of June, I saw for the first time signs of trouble. One day my wife received a letter from America. I saw the American stamp. She turned deadly white, read the letter, and threw it into the fire. She made no allusion to it afterwards, and I made none, for a promise is a promise; but she has never known an easy hour from that moment. There is always a look of fear upon her face--a look as if she were waiting and expecting. She would do better to trust me. She would find that I was her best friend. But until she speaks I can say nothing. Mind you, she is a truthful woman, Mr. Holmes, and whatever trouble there may have been in her past life it has been no fault of hers. I am only a simple Norfolk squire, but there is not a man in England who ranks his family honour more highly than I do. She knows it well, and she knew it well before she married me. She would never bring any stain upon it--of that I am sure. "Well, now I come to the queer part of my story. About a week ago--it was the Tuesday of last week--I found on one of the window-sills a number of absurd little dancing figures, like these upon the paper. They were scrawled with chalk. I thought that it was the stable-boy who had drawn them, but the lad swore he knew nothing about it. Anyhow, they had come there during the night. I had them washed out, and I only mentioned the matter to my wife afterwards. To my surprise she took it very seriously, and begged me if any more came to let her see them. None did come for a week, and then yesterday morning I found this paper lying on the sun-dial in the garden. I showed it to Elsie, and down she dropped in a dead faint. Since then she has looked like a woman in a dream, half dazed, and with terror always lurking in her eyes. It was then that I wrote and sent the paper to you, Mr. Holmes. It was not a thing that I could take to the police, for they would have laughed at me, but you will tell me what to do. I am not a rich man; but if there is any danger threatening my little woman I would spend my last copper to shield her." He was a fine creature, this man of the old English soil, simple, straight, and gentle, with his great, earnest blue eyes and broad, comely face. His love for his wife and his trust in her shone in his features. Holmes had listened to his story with the utmost attention, and now he sat for some time in silent thought. "Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt," said he, at last, "that your best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share her secret with you?" Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head. "A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell me she would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But I am justified in taking my own line--and I will." "Then I will help you with all my heart. In the first place, have you heard of any strangers being seen in your neighbourhood?" "No." "I presume that it is a very quiet place. Any fresh face would cause comment?" "In the immediate neighbourhood, yes. But we have several small watering-places not very far away. And the farmers take in lodgers." "These hieroglyphics have evidently a meaning. If it is a purely arbitrary one it may be impossible for us to solve it. If, on the other hand, it is systematic, I have no doubt that we shall get to the bottom of it. But this particular sample is so short that I can do nothing, and the facts which you have brought me are so indefinite that we have no basis for an investigation. I would suggest that you return to Norfolk, that you keep a keen look-out, and that you take an exact copy of any fresh dancing men which may appear. It is a thousand pities that we have not a reproduction of those which were done in chalk upon the window-sill. Make a discreet inquiry also as to any strangers in the neighbourhood. When you have collected some fresh evidence come to me again. That is the best advice which I can give you, Mr. Hilton Cubitt. If there are any pressing fresh developments I shall be always ready to run down and see you in your Norfolk home." The interview left Sherlock Holmes very thoughtful, and several times in the next few days I saw him take his slip of paper from his note-book and look long and earnestly at the curious figures inscribed upon it. He made no allusion to the affair, however, until one afternoon a fortnight or so later. I was going out when he called me back. "You had better stay here, Watson." "Why?" "Because I had a wire from Hilton Cubitt this morning--you remember Hilton Cubitt, of the dancing men? He was to reach Liverpool Street at one-twenty. He may be here at any moment. I gather from his wire that there have been some new incidents of importance." We had not long to wait, for our Norfolk squire came straight from the station as fast as a hansom could bring him. He was looking worried and depressed, with tired eyes and a lined forehead. "It's getting on my nerves, this business, Mr. Holmes," said he, as he sank, like a wearied man, into an arm-chair. "It's bad enough to feel that you are surrounded by unseen, unknown folk, who have some kind of design upon you; but when, in addition to that, you know that it is just killing your wife by inches, then it becomes as much as flesh and blood can endure. She's wearing away under it--just wearing away before my eyes." "Has she said anything yet?" "No, Mr. Holmes, she has not. And yet there have been times when the poor girl has wanted to speak, and yet could not quite bring herself to take the plunge. I have tried to help her; but I dare say I did it clumsily, and scared her off from it. She has spoken about my old family, and our reputation in the county, and our pride in our unsullied honour, and I always felt it was leading to the point; but somehow it turned off before we got there." "But you have found out something for yourself?" "A good deal, Mr. Holmes. I have several fresh dancing men pictures for you to examine, and, what is more important, I have seen the fellow." "What, the man who draws them?" "Yes, I saw him at his work. But I will tell you everything in order. When I got back after my visit to you, the very first thing I saw next morning was a fresh crop of dancing men. They had been drawn in chalk upon the black wooden door of the tool-house, which stands beside the lawn in full view of the front windows. I took an exact copy, and here it is." He unfolded a paper and laid it upon the table. Here is a copy of the hieroglyphics:-- [ Picture: Picture of a few dancing men ] "Excellent!" said Holmes. "Excellent! Pray continue." "When I had taken the copy I rubbed out the marks; but two mornings later a fresh inscription had appeared. I have a copy of it here":-- [ Picture: Picture of some more dancing man figures ] Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled with delight. "Our material is rapidly accumulating," said he. "Three days later a message was left scrawled upon paper, and placed under a pebble upon the sun-dial. Here it is. The characters are, as you see, exactly the same as the last one. After that I determined to lie in wait; so I got out my revolver and I sat up in my study, which overlooks the lawn and garden. About two in the morning I was seated by the window, all being dark save for the moonlight outside, when I heard steps behind me, and there was my wife in her dressing-gown. She implored me to come to bed. I told her frankly that I wished to see who it was who played such absurd tricks upon us. She answered that it was some senseless practical joke, and that I should not take any notice of it. "'If it really annoys you, Hilton, we might go and travel, you and I, and so avoid this nuisance.' "'What, be driven out of our own house by a practical joker?' said I. 'Why, we should have the whole county laughing at us.' "'Well, come to bed,' said she, 'and we can discuss it in the morning.' "Suddenly, as she spoke, I saw her white face grow whiter yet in the moonlight, and her hand tightened upon my shoulder. Something was moving in the shadow of the tool-house. I saw a dark, creeping figure which crawled round the corner and squatted in front of the door. Seizing my pistol I was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms round me and held me with convulsive strength. I tried to throw her off, but she clung to me most desperately. At last I got clear, but by the time I had opened the door and reached the house the creature was gone. He had left a trace of his presence, however, for there on the door was the very same arrangement of dancing men which had already twice appeared, and which I have copied on that paper. There was no other sign of the fellow anywhere, though I ran all over the grounds. And yet the amazing thing is that he must have been there all the time, for when I examined the door again in the morning he had scrawled some more of his pictures under the line which I had already seen." "Have you that fresh drawing?" "Yes; it is very short, but I made a copy of it, and here it is." Again he produced a paper. The new dance was in this form:-- [ Picture: Picture of five dancing men figures ] "Tell me," said Holmes--and I could see by his eyes that he was much excited--"was this a mere addition to the first, or did it appear to be entirely separate?" "It was on a different panel of the door." "Excellent! This is far the most important of all for our purpose. It fills me with hopes. Now, Mr. Hilton Cubitt, please continue your most interesting statement." "I have nothing more to say, Mr. Holmes, except that I was angry with my wife that night for having held me back when I might have caught the skulking rascal. She said that she feared that I might come to harm. For an instant it had crossed my mind that perhaps what she really feared was that he might come to harm, for I could not doubt that she knew who this man was and what he meant by these strange signals. But there is a tone in my wife's voice, Mr. Holmes, and a look in her eyes which forbid doubt, and I am sure that it was indeed my own safety that was in her mind. There's the whole case, and now I want your advice as to what I ought to do. My own inclination is to put half-a-dozen of my farm lads in the shrubbery, and when this fellow comes again to give him such a hiding that he will leave us in peace for the future." "I fear it is too deep a case for such simple remedies," said Holmes. "How long can you stay in London?" "I must go back to-day. I would not leave my wife alone all night for anything. She is very nervous and begged me to come back." "I dare say you are right. But if you could have stopped I might possibly have been able to return with you in a day or two. Meanwhile you will leave me these papers, and I think that it is very likely that I shall be able to pay you a visit shortly and to throw some light upon your case." Sherlock Holmes preserved his calm professional manner until our visitor had left us, although it was easy for me, who knew him so well, to see that he was profoundly excited. The moment that Hilton Cubitt's broad back had disappeared through the door my comrade rushed to the table, laid out all the slips of paper containing dancing men in front of him, and threw himself into an intricate and elaborate calculation. For two hours I watched him as he covered sheet after sheet of paper with figures and letters, so completely absorbed in his task that he had evidently forgotten my presence. Sometimes he was making progress and whistled and sang at his work; sometimes he was puzzled, and would sit for long spells with a furrowed brow and a vacant eye. Finally he sprang from his chair with a cry of satisfaction, and walked up and down the room rubbing his hands together. Then he wrote a long telegram upon a cable form. "If my answer to this is as I hope, you will have a very pretty case to add to your collection, Watson," said he. "I expect that we shall be able to go down to Norfolk to-morrow, and to take our friend some very definite news as to the secret of his annoyance." I confess that I was filled with curiosity, but I was aware that Holmes liked to make his disclosures at his own time and in his own way; so I waited until it should suit him to take me into his confidence. But there was a delay in that answering telegram, and two days of impatience followed, during which Holmes pricked up his ears at every ring of the bell. On the evening of the second there came a letter from Hilton Cubitt. All was quiet with him, save that a long inscription had appeared that morning upon the pedestal of the sun-dial. He inclosed a copy of it, which is here reproduced:-- [ Picture: Picture of many dancing men figures ] Holmes bent over this grotesque frieze for some minutes, and then suddenly sprang to his feet with an exclamation of surprise and dismay. His face was haggard with anxiety. "We have let this affair go far enough," said he. "Is there a train to North Walsham to-night?" I turned up the time-table. The last had just gone. "Then we shall breakfast early and take the very first in the morning," said Holmes. "Our presence is most urgently needed. Ah! here is our expected cablegram. One moment, Mrs. Hudson; there may be an answer. No, that is quite as I expected. This message makes it even more essential that we should not lose an hour in letting Hilton Cubitt know how matters stand, for it is a singular and a dangerous web in which our simple Norfolk squire is entangled." So, indeed, it proved, and as I come to the dark conclusion of a story which had seemed to me to be only childish and bizarre I experience once again the dismay and horror with which I was filled. Would that I had some brighter ending to communicate to my readers, but these are the chronicles of fact, and I must follow to their dark crisis the strange chain of events which for some days made Ridling Thorpe Manor a household word through the length and breadth of England. We had hardly alighted at North Walsham, and mentioned the name of our destination, when the station-master hurried towards us. "I suppose that you are the detectives from London?" said he. A look of annoyance passed over Holmes's face. "What makes you think such a thing?" "Because Inspector Martin from Norwich has just passed through. But maybe you are the surgeons. She's not dead--or wasn't by last accounts. You may be in time to save her yet--though it be for the gallows." Holmes's brow was dark with anxiety. "We are going to Ridling Thorpe Manor," said he, "but we have heard nothing of what has passed there." "It's a terrible business," said the station-master. "They are shot, both Mr. Hilton Cubitt and his wife. She shot him and then herself--so the servants say. He's dead and her life is despaired of. Dear, dear, one of the oldest families in the County of Norfolk, and one of the most honoured." Without a word Holmes hurried to a carriage, and during the long seven miles' drive he never opened his mouth. Seldom have I seen him so utterly despondent. He had been uneasy during all our journey from town, and I had observed that he had turned over the morning papers with anxious attention; but now this sudden realization of his worst fears left him in a blank melancholy. He leaned back in his seat, lost in gloomy speculation. Yet there was much around to interest us, for we were passing through as singular a country-side as any in England, where a few scattered cottages represented the population of to-day, while on every hand enormous square-towered churches bristled up from the flat, green landscape and told of the glory and prosperity of old East Anglia. At last the violet rim of the German Ocean appeared over the green edge of the Norfolk coast, and the driver pointed with his whip to two old brick and timber gables which projected from a grove of trees. "That's Ridling Thorpe Manor," said he. As we drove up to the porticoed front door I observed in front of it, beside the tennis lawn, the black tool-house and the pedestalled sun-dial with which we had such strange associations. A dapper little man, with a quick, alert manner and a waxed moustache, had just descended from a high dog-cart. He introduced himself as Inspector Martin, of the Norfolk Constabulary, and he was considerably astonished when he heard the name of my companion. "Why, Mr. Holmes, the crime was only committed at three this morning. How could you hear of it in London and get to the spot as soon as I?" "I anticipated it. I came in the hope of preventing it." "Then you must have important evidence of which we are ignorant, for they were said to be a most united couple." "I have only the evidence of the dancing men," said Holmes. "I will explain the matter to you later. Meanwhile, since it is too late to prevent this tragedy, I am very anxious that I should use the knowledge which I possess in order to ensure that justice be done. Will you associate me in your investigation, or will you prefer that I should act independently?" "I should be proud to feel that we were acting together, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector, earnestly. "In that case I should be glad to hear the evidence and to examine the premises without an instant of unnecessary delay." Inspector Martin had the good sense to allow my friend to do things in his own fashion, and contented himself with carefully noting the results. The local surgeon, an old, white-haired man, had just come down from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt's room, and he reported that her injuries were serious, but not necessarily fatal. The bullet had passed through the front of her brain, and it would probably be some time before she could regain consciousness. On the question of whether she had been shot or had shot herself he would not venture to express any decided opinion. Certainly the bullet had been discharged at very close quarters. There was only the one pistol found in the room, two barrels of which had been emptied. Mr. Hilton Cubitt had been shot through the heart. It was equally conceivable that he had shot her and then himself, or that she had been the criminal, for the revolver lay upon the floor midway between them. "Has he been moved?" asked Holmes. "We have moved nothing except the lady. We could not leave her lying wounded upon the floor." "How long have you been here, doctor?" "Since four o'clock." "Anyone else?" "Yes, the constable here." "And you have touched nothing?" "Nothing." "You have acted with great discretion. Who sent for you?" "The housemaid, Saunders." "Was it she who gave the alarm?" "She and Mrs. King, the cook." "Where are they now?" "In the kitchen, I believe." "Then I think we had better hear their story at once." The old hall, oak-panelled and high-windowed, had been turned into a court of investigation. Holmes sat in a great, old-fashioned chair, his inexorable eyes gleaming out of his haggard face. I could read in them a set purpose to devote his life to this quest until the client whom he had failed to save should at last be avenged. The trim Inspector Martin, the old, grey-headed country doctor, myself, and a stolid village policeman made up the rest of that strange company. The two women told their story clearly enough. They had been aroused from their sleep by the sound of an explosion, which had been followed a minute later by a second one. They slept in adjoining rooms, and Mrs. King had rushed in to Saunders. Together they had descended the stairs. The door of the study was open and a candle was burning upon the table. Their master lay upon his face in the centre of the room. He was quite dead. Near the window his wife was crouching, her head leaning against the wall. She was horribly wounded, and the side of her face was red with blood. She breathed heavily, but was incapable of saying anything. The passage, as well as the room, was full of smoke and the smell of powder. The window was certainly shut and fastened upon the inside. Both women were positive upon the point. They had at once sent for the doctor and for the constable. Then, with the aid of the groom and the stable-boy, they had conveyed their injured mistress to her room. Both she and her husband had occupied the bed. She was clad in her dress--he in his dressing-gown, over his night clothes. Nothing had been moved in the study. So far as they knew there had never been any quarrel between husband and wife. They had always looked upon them as a very united couple. These were the main points of the servants' evidence. In answer to Inspector Martin they were clear that every door was fastened upon the inside, and that no one could have escaped from the house. In answer to Holmes they both remembered that they were conscious of the smell of powder from the moment that they ran out of their rooms upon the top floor. "I commend that fact very carefully to your attention," said Holmes to his professional colleague. "And now I think that we are in a position to undertake a thorough examination of the room." The study proved to be a small chamber, lined on three sides with books, and with a writing-table facing an ordinary window, which looked out upon the garden. Our first attention was given to the body of the unfortunate squire, whose huge frame lay stretched across the room. His disordered dress showed that he had been hastily aroused from sleep. The bullet had been fired at him from the front, and had remained in his body after penetrating the heart. His death had certainly been instantaneous and painless. There was no powder-marking either upon his dressing-gown or on his hands. According to the country surgeon the lady had stains upon her face, but none upon her hand. "The absence of the latter means nothing, though its presence may mean everything," said Holmes. "Unless the powder from a badly-fitting cartridge happens to spurt backwards, one may fire many shots without leaving a sign. I would suggest that Mr. Cubitt's body may now be removed. I suppose, doctor, you have not recovered the bullet which wounded the lady?" "A serious operation will be necessary before that can be done. But there are still four cartridges in the revolver. Two have been fired and two wounds inflicted, so that each bullet can be accounted for." "So it would seem," said Holmes. "Perhaps you can account also for the bullet which has so obviously struck the edge of the window?" He had turned suddenly, and his long, thin finger was pointing to a hole which had been drilled right through the lower window-sash about an inch above the bottom. "By George!" cried the inspector. "How ever did you see that?" "Because I looked for it." "Wonderful!" said the country doctor. "You are certainly right, sir. Then a third shot has been fired, and therefore a third person must have been present. But who could that have been and how could he have got away?" "That is the problem which we are now about to solve," said Sherlock Holmes. "You remember, Inspector Martin, when the servants said that on leaving their room they were at once conscious of a smell of powder I remarked that the point was an extremely important one?" "Yes, sir; but I confess I did not quite follow you." "It suggested that at the time of the firing the window as well as the door of the room had been open. Otherwise the fumes of powder could not have been blown so rapidly through the house. A draught in the room was necessary for that. Both door and window were only open for a very short time, however." "How do you prove that?" "Because the candle has not guttered." "Capital!" cried the inspector. "Capital!" "Feeling sure that the window had been open at the time of the tragedy I conceived that there might have been a third person in the affair, who stood outside this opening and fired through it. Any shot directed at this person might hit the sash. I looked, and there, sure enough, was the bullet mark!" "But how came the window to be shut and fastened?" "The woman's first instinct would be to shut and fasten the window. But, halloa! what is this?" It was a lady's hand-bag which stood upon the study table--a trim little hand-bag of crocodile-skin and silver. Holmes opened it and turned the contents out. There were twenty fifty-pound notes of the Bank of England, held together by an india-rubber band--nothing else. "This must be preserved, for it will figure in the trial," said Holmes, as he handed the bag with its contents to the inspector. "It is now necessary that we should try to throw some light upon this third bullet, which has clearly, from the splintering of the wood, been fired from inside the room. I should like to see Mrs. King, the cook, again. You said, Mrs. King, that you were awakened by a loud explosion. When you said that, did you mean that it seemed to you to be louder than the second one?" "Well, sir, it wakened me from my sleep, and so it is hard to judge. But it did seem very loud." "You don't think that it might have been two shots fired almost at the same instant?" "I am sure I couldn't say, sir." "I believe that it was undoubtedly so. I rather think, Inspector Martin, that we have now exhausted all that this room can teach us. If you will kindly step round with me, we shall see what fresh evidence the garden has to offer." A flower-bed extended up to the study window, and we all broke into an exclamation as we approached it. The flowers were trampled down, and the soft soil was imprinted all over with footmarks. Large, masculine feet they were, with peculiarly long, sharp toes. Holmes hunted about among the grass and leaves like a retriever after a wounded bird. Then, with a cry of satisfaction, he bent forward and picked up a little brazen cylinder. "I thought so," said he; "the revolver had an ejector, and here is the third cartridge. I really think, Inspector Martin, that our case is almost complete." The country inspector's face had shown his intense amazement at the rapid and masterful progress of Holmes's investigation. At first he had shown some disposition to assert his own position; but now he was overcome with admiration and ready to follow without question wherever Holmes led. "Whom do you suspect?" he asked. "I'll go into that later. There are several points in this problem which I have not been able to explain to you yet. Now that I have got so far I had best proceed on my own lines, and then clear the whole matter up once and for all." "Just as you wish, Mr. Holmes, so long as we get our man." "I have no desire to make mysteries, but it is impossible at the moment of action to enter into long and complex explanations. I have the threads of this affair all in my hand. Even if this lady should never recover consciousness we can still reconstruct the events of last night and ensure that justice be done. First of all I wish to know whether there is any inn in this neighbourhood known as 'Elrige's'?" The servants were cross-questioned, but none of them had heard of such a place. The stable-boy threw a light upon the matter by remembering that a farmer of that name lived some miles off in the direction of East Ruston. "Is it a lonely farm?" "Very lonely, sir." "Perhaps they have not heard yet of all that happened here during the night?" "Maybe not, sir." Holmes thought for a little and then a curious smile played over his face. "Saddle a horse, my lad," said he. "I shall wish you to take a note to Elrige's Farm." He took from his pocket the various slips of the dancing men. With these in front of him he worked for some time at the study-table. Finally he handed a note to the boy, with directions to put it into the hands of the person to whom it was addressed, and especially to answer no questions of any sort which might be put to him. I saw the outside of the note, addressed in straggling, irregular characters, very unlike Holmes's usual precise hand. It was consigned to Mr. Abe Slaney, Elrige's Farm, East Ruston, Norfolk. "I think, inspector," Holmes remarked, "that you would do well to telegraph for an escort, as, if my calculations prove to be correct, you may have a particularly dangerous prisoner to convey to the county jail. The boy who takes this note could no doubt forward your telegram. If there is an afternoon train to town, Watson, I think we should do well to take it, as I have a chemical analysis of some interest to finish, and this investigation draws rapidly to a close." When the youth had been dispatched with the note, Sherlock Holmes gave his instructions to the servants. If any visitor were to call asking for Mrs. Hilton Cubitt no information should be given as to her condition, but he was to be shown at once into the drawing-room. He impressed these points upon them with the utmost earnestness. Finally he led the way into the drawing-room with the remark that the business was now out of our hands, and that we must while away the time as best we might until we could see what was in store for us. The doctor had departed to his patients, and only the inspector and myself remained. "I think that I can help you to pass an hour in an interesting and profitable manner," said Holmes, drawing his chair up to the table and spreading out in front of him the various papers upon which were recorded the antics of the dancing men. "As to you, friend Watson, I owe you every atonement for having allowed your natural curiosity to remain so long unsatisfied. To you, inspector, the whole incident may appeal as a remarkable professional study. I must tell you first of all the interesting circumstances connected with the previous consultations which Mr. Hilton Cubitt has had with me in Baker Street." He then shortly recapitulated the facts which have already been recorded. "I have here in front of me these singular productions, at which one might smile had they not proved themselves to be the fore-runners of so terrible a tragedy. I am fairly familiar with all forms of secret writings, and am myself the author of a trifling monograph upon the subject, in which I analyze one hundred and sixty separate ciphers; but I confess that this is entirely new to me. The object of those who invented the system has apparently been to conceal that these characters convey a message, and to give the idea that they are the mere random sketches of children. "Having once recognised, however, that the symbols stood for letters, and having applied the rules which guide us in all forms of secret writings, the solution was easy enough. The first message submitted to me was so short that it was impossible for me to do more than to say with some confidence that the symbol [ Picture: Picture of a single dancing man ] stood for E. As you are aware, E is the most common letter in the English alphabet, and it predominates to so marked an extent that even in a short sentence one would expect to find it most often. Out of fifteen symbols in the first message four were the same, so it was reasonable to set this down as E. It is true that in some cases the figure was bearing a flag and in some cases not, but it was probable from the way in which the flags were distributed that they were used to break the sentence up into words. I accepted this as a hypothesis, and noted that E was represented by [ Picture: Picture of a single dancing man ] "But now came the real difficulty of the inquiry. The order of the English letters after E is by no means well marked, and any preponderance which may be shown in an average of a printed sheet may be reversed in a single short sentence. Speaking roughly, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, and L are the numerical order in which letters occur; but T, A, O, and I are very nearly abreast of each other, and it would be an endless task to try each combination until a meaning was arrived at. I, therefore, waited for fresh material. In my second interview with Mr. Hilton Cubitt he was able to give me two other short sentences and one message, which appeared--since there was no flag--to be a single word. Here are the symbols. Now, in the single word I have already got the two E's coming second and fourth in a word of five letters. It might be 'sever,' or 'lever,' or 'never.' There can be no question that the latter as a reply to an appeal is far the most probable, and the circumstances pointed to its being a reply written by the lady. Accepting it as correct, we are now able to say that the symbols [ Picture: Picture of three dancing men ] stand respectively for N, V, and R. "Even now I was in considerable difficulty, but a happy thought put me in possession of several other letters. It occurred to me that if these appeals came, as I expected, from someone who had been intimate with the lady in her early life, a combination which contained two E's with three letters between might very well stand for the name 'ELSIE.' On examination I found that such a combination formed the termination of the message which was three times repeated. It was certainly some appeal to 'Elsie.' In this way I had got my L, S, and I. But what appeal could it be? There were only four letters in the word which preceded 'Elsie,' and it ended in E. Surely the word must be 'COME.' I tried all other four letters ending in E, but could find none to fit the case. So now I was in possession of C, O, and M, and I was in a position to attack the first message once more, dividing it into words and putting dots for each symbol which was still unknown. So treated it worked out in this fashion: .M .ERE ..E SL.NE. "Now the first letter can only be A, which is a most useful discovery, since it occurs no fewer than three times in this short sentence, and the H is also apparent in the second word. Now it becomes:-- AM HERE A.E SLANE. Or, filling in the obvious vacancies in the name:-- AM HERE ABE SLANEY. I had so many letters now that I could proceed with considerable confidence to the second message, which worked out in this fashion:-- A. ELRI.ES. Here I could only make sense by putting T and G for the missing letters, and supposing that the name was that of some house or inn at which the writer was staying." Inspector Martin and I had listened with the utmost interest to the full and clear account of how my friend had produced results which had led to so complete a command over our difficulties. "What did you do then, sir?" asked the inspector. "I had every reason to suppose that this Abe Slaney was an American, since Abe is an American contraction, and since a letter from America had been the starting-point of all the trouble. I had also every cause to think that there was some criminal secret in the matter. The lady's allusions to her past and her refusal to take her husband into her confidence both pointed in that direction. I therefore cabled to my friend, Wilson Hargreave, of the New York Police Bureau, who has more than once made use of my knowledge of London crime. I asked him whether the name of Abe Slaney was known to him. Here is his reply: 'The most dangerous crook in Chicago.' On the very evening upon which I had his answer Hilton Cubitt sent me the last message from Slaney. Working with known letters it took this form:-- ELSIE .RE.ARE TO MEET THY GO. The addition of a P and a D completed a message which showed me that the rascal was proceeding from persuasion to threats, and my knowledge of the crooks of Chicago prepared me to find that he might very rapidly put his words into action. I at once came to Norfolk with my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson, but, unhappily, only in time to find that the worst had already occurred." "It is a privilege to be associated with you in the handling of a case," said the inspector, warmly. "You will excuse me, however, if I speak frankly to you. You are only answerable to yourself, but I have to answer to my superiors. If this Abe Slaney, living at Elrige's, is indeed the murderer, and if he has made his escape while I am seated here, I should certainly get into serious trouble." "You need not be uneasy. He will not try to escape." "How do you know?" "To fly would be a confession of guilt." "Then let us go to arrest him." "I expect him here every instant." "But why should he come?" "Because I have written and asked him." "But this is incredible, Mr. Holmes! Why should he come because you have asked him? Would not such a request rather rouse his suspicions and cause him to fly?" "I think I have known how to frame the letter," said Sherlock Holmes. "In fact, if I am not very much mistaken, here is the gentleman himself coming up the drive." A man was striding up the path which led to the door. He was a tall, handsome, swarthy fellow, clad in a suit of grey flannel, with a Panama hat, a bristling black beard, and a great, aggressive hooked nose, and flourishing a cane as he walked. He swaggered up the path as if the place belonged to him, and we heard his loud, confident peal at the bell. "I think, gentlemen," said Holmes, quietly, "that we had best take up our position behind the door. Every precaution is necessary when dealing with such a fellow. You will need your handcuffs, inspector. You can leave the talking to me." We waited in silence for a minute--one of those minutes which one can never forget. Then the door opened and the man stepped in. In an instant Holmes clapped a pistol to his head and Martin slipped the handcuffs over his wrists. It was all done so swiftly and deftly that the fellow was helpless before he knew that he was attacked. He glared from one to the other of us with a pair of blazing black eyes. Then he burst into a bitter laugh. "Well, gentlemen, you have the drop on me this time. I seem to have knocked up against something hard. But I came here in answer to a letter from Mrs. Hilton Cubitt. Don't tell me that she is in this? Don't tell me that she helped to set a trap for me?" "Mrs. Hilton Cubitt was seriously injured and is at death's door." The man gave a hoarse cry of grief which rang through the house. "You're crazy!" he cried, fiercely. "It was he that was hurt, not she. Who would have hurt little Elsie? I may have threatened her, God forgive me, but I would not have touched a hair of her pretty head. Take it back--you! Say that she is not hurt!" "She was found badly wounded by the side of her dead husband." He sank with a deep groan on to the settee and buried his face in his manacled hands. For five minutes he was silent. Then he raised his face once more, and spoke with the cold composure of despair. "I have nothing to hide from you, gentlemen," said he. "If I shot the man he had his shot at me, and there's no murder in that. But if you think I could have hurt that woman, then you don't know either me or her. I tell you there was never a man in this world loved a woman more than I loved her. I had a right to her. She was pledged to me years ago. Who was this Englishman that he should come between us? I tell you that I had the first right to her, and that I was only claiming my own." "She broke away from your influence when she found the man that you are," said Holmes, sternly. "She fled from America to avoid you, and she married an honourable gentleman in England. You dogged her and followed her and made her life a misery to her in order to induce her to abandon the husband whom she loved and respected in order to fly with you, whom she feared and hated. You have ended by bringing about the death of a noble man and driving his wife to suicide. That is your record in this business, Mr. Abe Slaney, and you will answer for it to the law." "If Elsie dies I care nothing what becomes of me," said the American. He opened one of his hands and looked at a note crumpled up in his palm. "See here, mister," he cried, with a gleam of suspicion in his eyes, "you're not trying to scare me over this, are you? If the lady is hurt as bad as you say, who was it that wrote this note?" He tossed it forwards on to the table. "I wrote it to bring you here." "You wrote it? There was no one on earth outside the Joint who knew the secret of the dancing men. How came you to write it?" "What one man can invent another can discover," said Holmes. "There is a cab coming to convey you to Norwich, Mr. Slaney. But, meanwhile, you have time to make some small reparation for the injury you have wrought. Are you aware that Mrs. Hilton Cubitt has herself lain under grave suspicion of the murder of her husband, and that it was only my presence here and the knowledge which I happened to possess which has saved her from the accusation? The least that you owe her is to make it clear to the whole world that she was in no way, directly or indirectly, responsible for his tragic end." "I ask nothing better," said the American. "I guess the very best case I can make for myself is the absolute naked truth." "It is my duty to warn you that it will be used against you," cried the inspector, with the magnificent fair-play of the British criminal law. Slaney shrugged his shoulders. "I'll chance that," said he. "First of all, I want you gentlemen to understand that I have known this lady since she was a child. There were seven of us in a gang in Chicago, and Elsie's father was the boss of the Joint. He was a clever man, was old Patrick. It was he who invented that writing, which would pass as a child's scrawl unless you just happened to have the key to it. Well, Elsie learned some of our ways; but she couldn't stand the business, and she had a bit of honest money of her own, so she gave us all the slip and got away to London. She had been engaged to me, and she would have married me, I believe, if I had taken over another profession; but she would have nothing to do with anything on the cross. It was only after her marriage to this Englishman that I was able to find out where she was. I wrote to her, but got no answer. After that I came over, and, as letters were no use, I put my messages where she could read them. "Well, I have been here a month now. I lived in that farm, where I had a room down below, and could get in and out every night, and no one the wiser. I tried all I could to coax Elsie away. I knew that she read the messages, for once she wrote an answer under one of them. Then my temper got the better of me, and I began to threaten her. She sent me a letter then, imploring me to go away and saying that it would break her heart if any scandal should come upon her husband. She said that she would come down when her husband was asleep at three in the morning, and speak with me through the end window, if I would go away afterwards and leave her in peace. She came down and brought money with her, trying to bribe me to go. This made me mad, and I caught her arm and tried to pull her through the window. At that moment in rushed the husband with his revolver in his hand. Elsie had sunk down upon the floor, and we were face to face. I was heeled also, and I held up my gun to scare him off and let me get away. He fired and missed me. I pulled off almost at the same instant, and down he dropped. I made away across the garden, and as I went I heard the window shut behind me. That's God's truth, gentlemen, every word of it, and I heard no more about it until that lad came riding up with a note which made me walk in here, like a jay, and give myself into your hands." A cab had driven up whilst the American had been talking. Two uniformed policemen sat inside. Inspector Martin rose and touched his prisoner on the shoulder. "It is time for us to go." "Can I see her first?" "No, she is not conscious. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I only hope that if ever again I have an important case I shall have the good fortune to have you by my side." We stood at the window and watched the cab drive away. As I turned back my eye caught the pellet of paper which the prisoner had tossed upon the table. It was the note with which Holmes had decoyed him. "See if you can read it, Watson," said he, with a smile. It contained no word, but this little line of dancing men:-- [ Picture: Picture of various dancing men ] "If you use the code which I have explained," said Holmes, "you will find that it simply means 'Come here at once.' I was convinced that it was an invitation which he would not refuse, since he could never imagine that it could come from anyone but the lady. And so, my dear Watson, we have ended by turning the dancing men to good when they have so often been the agents of evil, and I think that I have fulfilled my promise of giving you something unusual for your note-book. Three-forty is our train, and I fancy we should be back in Baker Street for dinner." Only one word of epilogue. The American, Abe Slaney, was condemned to death at the winter assizes at Norwich; but his penalty was changed to penal servitude in consideration of mitigating circumstances, and the certainty that Hilton Cubitt had fired the first shot. Of Mrs. Hilton Cubitt I only know that I have heard she recovered entirely, and that she still remains a widow, devoting her whole life to the care of the poor and to the administration of her husband's estate. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SOLITARY CYCLIST From the years 1894 to 1901 inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a very busy man. It is safe to say that there was no public case of any difficulty in which he was not consulted during those eight years, and there were hundreds of private cases, some of them of the most intricate and extraordinary character, in which he played a prominent part. Many startling successes and a few unavoidable failures were the outcome of this long period of continuous work. As I have preserved very full notes of all these cases, and was myself personally engaged in many of them, it may be imagined that it is no easy task to know which I should select to lay before the public. I shall, however, preserve my former rule, and give the preference to those cases which derive their interest not so much from the brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity and dramatic quality of the solution. For this reason I will now lay before the reader the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and the curious sequel of our investigation, which culminated in unexpected tragedy. It is true that the circumstances did not admit of any striking illustration of those powers for which my friend was famous, but there were some points about the case which made it stand out in those long records of crime from which I gather the material for these little narratives. On referring to my note-book for the year 1895 I find that it was upon Saturday, the 23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith. Her visit was, I remember, extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was immersed at the moment in a very abstruse and complicated problem concerning the peculiar persecution to which John Vincent Harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire, had been subjected. My friend, who loved above all things precision and concentration of thought, resented anything which distracted his attention from the matter in hand. And yet without a harshness which was foreign to his nature it was impossible to refuse to listen to the story of the young and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and queenly, who presented herself at Baker Street late in the evening and implored his assistance and advice. It was vain to urge that his time was already fully occupied, for the young lady had come with the determination to tell her story, and it was evident that nothing short of force could get her out of the room until she had done so. With a resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take a seat and to inform us what it was that was troubling her. "At least it cannot be your health," said he, as his keen eyes darted over her; "so ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy." She glanced down in surprise at her own feet, and I observed the slight roughening of the side of the sole caused by the friction of the edge of the pedal. "Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, and that has something to do with my visit to you to-day." My friend took the lady's ungloved hand and examined it with as close an attention and as little sentiment as a scientist would show to a specimen. "You will excuse me, I am sure. It is my business," said he, as he dropped it. "I nearly fell into the error of supposing that you were typewriting. Of course, it is obvious that it is music. You observe the spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is common to both professions? There is a spirituality about the face, however"--he gently turned it towards the light--"which the typewriter does not generate. This lady is a musician." "Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music." "In the country, I presume, from your complexion." "Yes, sir; near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey." "A beautiful neighbourhood and full of the most interesting associations. You remember, Watson, that it was near there that we took Archie Stamford, the forger. Now, Miss Violet, what has happened to you near Farnham, on the borders of Surrey?" The young lady, with great clearness and composure, made the following curious statement:-- "My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He was James Smith, who conducted the orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My mother and I were left without a relation in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, and we have never had a word from him since. When father died we were left very poor, but one day we were told that there was an advertisement in the Times inquiring for our whereabouts. You can imagine how excited we were, for we thought that someone had left us a fortune. We went at once to the lawyer whose name was given in the paper. There we met two gentlemen, Mr. Carruthers and Mr. Woodley, who were home on a visit from South Africa. They said that my uncle was a friend of theirs, that he died some months before in great poverty in Johannesburg, and that he had asked them with his last breath to hunt up his relations and see that they were in no want. It seemed strange to us that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us when he was alive, should be so careful to look after us when he was dead; but Mr. Carruthers explained that the reason was that my uncle had just heard of the death of his brother, and so felt responsible for our fate." "Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was this interview?" "Last December--four months ago." "Pray proceed." "Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a most odious person. He was for ever making eyes at me--a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustached young man, with his hair plastered down on each side of his forehead. I thought that he was perfectly hateful--and I was sure that Cyril would not wish me to know such a person." "Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, smiling. The young lady blushed and laughed. "Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, an electrical engineer, and we hope to be married at the end of the summer. Dear me, how did I get talking about him? What I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was perfectly odious, but that Mr. Carruthers, who was a much older man, was more agreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean-shaven, silent person; but he had polite manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired how we were left, and on finding that we were very poor he suggested that I should come and teach music to his only daughter, aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave my mother, on which he suggested that I should go home to her every week-end, and he offered me a hundred a year, which was certainly splendid pay. So it ended by my accepting, and I went down to Chiltern Grange, about six miles from Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, but he had engaged a lady-housekeeper, a very respectable, elderly person, called Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. The child was a dear, and everything promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very kind and very musical, and we had most pleasant evenings together. Every week-end I went home to my mother in town. "The first flaw in my happiness was the arrival of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley. He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it seemed three months to me! He was a dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, but to me something infinitely worse. He made odious love to me, boasted of his wealth, said that if I married him I would have the finest diamonds in London, and finally, when I would have nothing to do with him, he seized me in his arms one day after dinner--he was hideously strong--and he swore that he would not let me go until I had kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came in and tore him off from me, on which he turned upon his own host, knocking him down and cutting his face open. That was the end of his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers apologized to me next day, and assured me that I should never be exposed to such an insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley since. "And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to the special thing which has caused me to ask your advice to-day. You must know that every Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle to Farnham Station in order to get the 12.22 to town. The road from Chiltern Grange is a lonely one, and at one spot it is particularly so, for it lies for over a mile between Charlington Heath upon one side and the woods which lie round Charlington Hall upon the other. You could not find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, and it is quite rare to meet so much as a cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago I was passing this place when I chanced to look back over my shoulder, and about two hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle-aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked back before I reached Farnham, but the man was gone, so I thought no more about it. But you can imagine how surprised I was, Mr. Holmes, when on my return on the Monday I saw the same man on the same stretch of road. My astonishment was increased when the incident occurred again, exactly as before, on the following Saturday and Monday. He always kept his distance and did not molest me in any way, but still it certainly was very odd. I mentioned it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested in what I said, and told me that he had ordered a horse and trap, so that in future I should not pass over these lonely roads without some companion. "The horse and trap were to have come this week, but for some reason they were not delivered, and again I had to cycle to the station. That was this morning. You can think that I looked out when I came to Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough, was the man, exactly as he had been the two weeks before. He always kept so far from me that I could not clearly see his face, but it was certainly someone whom I did not know. He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth cap. The only thing about his face that I could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day I was not alarmed, but I was filled with curiosity, and I determined to find out who he was and what he wanted. I slowed down my machine, but he slowed down his. Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped also. Then I laid a trap for him. There is a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled very quickly round this, and then I stopped and waited. I expected him to shoot round and pass me before he could stop. But he never appeared. Then I went back and looked round the corner. I could see a mile of road, but he was not on it. To make it the more extraordinary, there was no side road at this point down which he could have gone." Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "This case certainly presents some features of its own," said he. "How much time elapsed between your turning the corner and your discovery that the road was clear?" "Two or three minutes." "Then he could not have retreated down the road, and you say that there are no side roads?" "None." "Then he certainly took a footpath on one side or the other." "It could not have been on the side of the heath or I should have seen him." "So by the process of exclusion we arrive at the fact that he made his way towards Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is situated in its own grounds on one side of the road. Anything else?" "Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was so perplexed that I felt I should not be happy until I had seen you and had your advice." Holmes sat in silence for some little time. "Where is the gentleman to whom you are engaged?" he asked, at last. "He is in the Midland Electrical Company, at Coventry." "He would not pay you a surprise visit?" "Oh, Mr. Holmes! As if I should not know him!" "Have you had any other admirers?" "Several before I knew Cyril." "And since?" "There was this dreadful man, Woodley, if you can call him an admirer." "No one else?" Our fair client seemed a little confused. "Who was he?" asked Holmes. "Oh, it may be a mere fancy of mine; but it has seemed to me sometimes that my employer, Mr. Carruthers, takes a great deal of interest in me. We are thrown rather together. I play his accompaniments in the evening. He has never said anything. He is a perfect gentleman. But a girl always knows." "Ha!" Holmes looked grave. "What does he do for a living?" "He is a rich man." "No carriages or horses?" "Well, at least he is fairly well-to-do. But he goes into the City two or three times a week. He is deeply interested in South African gold shares." "You will let me know any fresh development, Miss Smith. I am very busy just now, but I will find time to make some inquiries into your case. In the meantime take no step without letting me know. Good-bye, and I trust that we shall have nothing but good news from you." "It is part of the settled order of Nature that such a girl should have followers," said Holmes, as he pulled at his meditative pipe, "but for choice not on bicycles in lonely country roads. Some secretive lover, beyond all doubt. But there are curious and suggestive details about the case, Watson." "That he should appear only at that point?" "Exactly. Our first effort must be to find who are the tenants of Charlington Hall. Then, again, how about the connection between Carruthers and Woodley, since they appear to be men of such a different type? How came they both to be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith's relations? One more point. What sort of a menage is it which pays double the market price for a governess, but does not keep a horse although six miles from the station? Odd, Watson--very odd!" "You will go down?" "No, my dear fellow, you will go down. This may be some trifling intrigue, and I cannot break my other important research for the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive early at Farnham; you will conceal yourself near Charlington Heath; you will observe these facts for yourself, and act as your own judgment advises. Then, having inquired as to the occupants of the Hall, you will come back to me and report. And now, Watson, not another word of the matter until we have a few solid stepping-stones on which we may hope to get across to our solution." We had ascertained from the lady that she went down upon the Monday by the train which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham Station I had no difficulty in being directed to Charlington Heath. It was impossible to mistake the scene of the young lady's adventure, for the road runs between the open heath on one side and an old yew hedge upon the other, surrounding a park which is studded with magnificent trees. There was a main gateway of lichen-studded stone, each side pillar surmounted by mouldering heraldic emblems; but besides this central carriage drive I observed several points where there were gaps in the hedge and paths leading through them. The house was invisible from the road, but the surroundings all spoke of gloom and decay. The heath was covered with golden patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magnificently in the light of the bright spring sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I took up my position, so as to command both the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch of the road upon either side. It had been deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from my view. A quarter of an hour passed and then a second cyclist appeared. This time it was the young lady coming from the station. I saw her look about her as she came to the Charlington hedge. An instant later the man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the broad landscape those were the only moving figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight upon her machine, and the man behind her bending low over his handle-bar, with a curiously furtive suggestion in every movement. She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was as quick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning to take any further notice of her silent attendant. He had turned also, and still kept his distance until the curve of the road hid them from my sight. I remained in my hiding-place, and it was well that I did so, for presently the man reappeared cycling slowly back. He turned in at the Hall gates and dismounted from his machine. For some few minutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands were raised and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peered through the trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old grey building with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man. However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local house-agent could tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and referred me to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted on my way home, and met with courtesy from the representative. No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer. I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he could discuss. Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not. "Your hiding-place, my dear Watson, was very faulty. You should have been behind the hedge; then you would have had a close view of this interesting person. As it is you were some hundreds of yards away, and can tell me even less than Miss Smith. She thinks she does not know the man; I am convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should he be so desperately anxious that she should not get so near him as to see his features? You describe him as bending over the handle-bar. Concealment again, you see. You really have done remarkably badly. He returns to the house and you want to find out who he is. You come to a London house-agent!" "What should I have done?" I cried, with some heat. "Gone to the nearest public-house. That is the centre of country gossip. They would have told you every name, from the master to the scullery-maid. Williamson! It conveys nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly man he is not this active cyclist who sprints away from that athletic young lady's pursuit. What have we gained by your expedition? The knowledge that the girl's story is true. I never doubted it. That there is a connection between the cyclist and the Hall. I never doubted that either. That the Hall is tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better for that? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed. We can do little more until next Saturday, and in the meantime I may make one or two inquiries myself." Next morning we had a note from Miss Smith, recounting shortly and accurately the very incidents which I had seen, but the pith of the letter lay in the postscript: "I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable. At the same time my promise is, of course, given. He took my refusal very seriously, but also very gently. You can understand, however, that the situation is a little strained." "Our young friend seems to be getting into deep waters," said Holmes, thoughtfully, as he finished the letter. "The case certainly presents more features of interest and more possibility of development than I had originally thought. I should be none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day in the country, and I am inclined to run down this afternoon and test one or two theories which I have formed." Holmes's quiet day in the country had a singular termination, for he arrived at Baker Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides a general air of dissipation which would have made his own person the fitting object of a Scotland Yard investigation. He was immensely tickled by his own adventures, and laughed heartily as he recounted them. "I get so little active exercise that it is always a treat," said he. "You are aware that I have some proficiency in the good old British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is of service. To-day, for example, I should have come to very ignominious grief without it." I begged him to tell me what had occurred. "I found that country pub which I had already recommended to your notice, and there I made my discreet inquiries. I was in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall. There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; but one or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there was a man of that name in orders whose career has been a singularly dark one. The landlord further informed me that there are usually week-end visitors--'a warm lot, sir'--at the Hall, and especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there. We had got as far as this when who should walk in but the gentleman himself, who had been drinking his beer in the tap-room and had heard the whole conversation. Who was I? What did I want? What did I mean by asking questions? He had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives were very vigorous. He ended a string of abuse by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart. So ended my country trip, and it must be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day on the Surrey border has not been much more profitable than your own." The Thursday brought us another letter from our client. You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes [said she] to hear that I am leaving Mr. Carruthers's employment. Even the high pay cannot reconcile me to the discomforts of my situation. On Saturday I come up to town and I do not intend to return. Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now over. As to the special cause of my leaving, it is not merely the strained situation with Mr. Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much excited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this morning slinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage wild animal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I can say. How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment? However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday. "So I trust, Watson; so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "There is some deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to see that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson, that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning, and make sure that this curious and inconclusive investigation has no untoward ending." I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little audacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our client, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of those week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken; but who he was or what he wanted was as obscure as ever. It was the severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events. A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the heath-covered country-side with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and drabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad, sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing in the music of the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road on the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see the grim Hall bristling out from amidst the ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were still younger than the building which they surrounded. Holmes pointed down the long tract of road which wound, a reddish yellow band, between the brown of the heath and the budding green of the woods. Far away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle moving in our direction. Holmes gave an exclamation of impatience. "I had given a margin of half an hour," said he. "If that is her trap she must be making for the earlier train. I fear, Watson, that she will be past Charlington before we can possibly meet her." From the instant that we passed the rise we could no longer see the vehicle, but we hastened onwards at such a pace that my sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I was compelled to fall behind. Holmes, however, was always in training, for he had inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon which to draw. His springy step never slowed until suddenly, when he was a hundred yards in front of me, he halted, and I saw him throw up his hand with a gesture of grief and despair. At the same instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us. "Too late, Watson; too late!" cried Holmes, as I ran panting to his side. "Fool that I was not to allow for that earlier train! It's abduction, Watson--abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder." We had sprung into the dog-cart, and Holmes, after turning the horse, gave it a sharp cut with the whip, and we flew back along the road. As we turned the curve the whole stretch of road between the Hall and the heath was opened up. I grasped Holmes's arm. "That's the man!" I gasped. A solitary cyclist was coming towards us. His head was down and his shoulders rounded as he put every ounce of energy that he possessed on to the pedals. He was flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised his bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled up, springing from his machine. That coal-black beard was in singular contrast to the pallor of his face, and his eyes were as bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us and at the dog-cart. Then a look of amazement came over his face. "Halloa! Stop there!" he shouted, holding his bicycle to block our road. "Where did you get that dog-cart? Pull up, man!" he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side pocket. "Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll put a bullet into your horse." Holmes threw the reins into my lap and sprang down from the cart. "You're the man we want to see. Where is Miss Violet Smith?" he said, in his quick, clear way. "That's what I am asking you. You're in her dog-cart. You ought to know where she is." "We met the dog-cart on the road. There was no one in it. We drove back to help the young lady." "Good Lord! Good Lord! what shall I do?" cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of despair. "They've got her, that hellhound Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come, man, come, if you really are her friend. Stand by me and we'll save her, if I have to leave my carcass in Charlington Wood." He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, towards a gap in the hedge. Holmes followed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing beside the road, followed Holmes. "This is where they came through," said he, pointing to the marks of several feet upon the muddy path. "Halloa! Stop a minute! Who's this in the bush?" It was a young fellow about seventeen, dressed like an ostler, with leather cords and gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He was insensible, but alive. A glance at his wound told me that it had not penetrated the bone. "That's Peter, the groom," cried the stranger. "He drove her. The beasts have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let him lie; we can't do him any good, but we may save her from the worst fate that can befall a woman." We ran frantically down the path, which wound among the trees. We had reached the shrubbery which surrounded the house when Holmes pulled up. "They didn't go to the house. Here are their marks on the left--here, beside the laurel bushes! Ah, I said so!" As he spoke a woman's shrill scream--a scream which vibrated with a frenzy of horror--burst from the thick green clump of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle. "This way! This way! They are in the bowling alley," cried the stranger, darting through the bushes. "Ah, the cowardly dogs! Follow me, gentlemen! Too late! too late! by the living Jingo!" We had broken suddenly into a lovely glade of greensward surrounded by ancient trees. On the farther side of it, under the shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a singular group of three people. One was a woman, our client, drooping and faint, a handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite her stood a brutal, heavy-faced, red-moustached young man, his gaitered legs parted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving a riding-crop, his whole attitude suggestive of triumphant bravado. Between them an elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently just completed the wedding service, for he pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the back in jovial congratulation. "They're married!" I gasped. "Come on!" cried our guide; "come on!" He rushed across the glade, Holmes and I at his heels. As we approached, the lady staggered against the trunk of the tree for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, bowed to us with mock politeness, and the bully Woodley advanced with a shout of brutal and exultant laughter. "You can take your beard off, Bob," said he. "I know you right enough. Well, you and your pals have just come in time for me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. Woodley." Our guide's answer was a singular one. He snatched off the dark beard which had disguised him and threw it on the ground, disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face below it. Then he raised his revolver and covered the young ruffian, who was advancing upon him with his dangerous riding-crop swinging in his hand. "Yes," said our ally, "I am Bob Carruthers, and I'll see this woman righted if I have to swing for it. I told you what I'd do if you molested her, and, by the Lord, I'll be as good as my word!" "You're too late. She's my wife!" "No, she's your widow." His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood spurt from the front of Woodley's waistcoat. He spun round with a scream and fell upon his back, his hideous red face turning suddenly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The old man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such a string of foul oaths as I have never heard, and pulled out a revolver of his own, but before he could raise it he was looking down the barrel of Holmes's weapon. "Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. "Drop that pistol! Watson, pick it up! Hold it to his head! Thank you. You, Carruthers, give me that revolver. We'll have no more violence. Come, hand it over!" "Who are you, then?" "My name is Sherlock Holmes." "Good Lord!" "You have heard of me, I see. I will represent the official police until their arrival. Here, you!" he shouted to a frightened groom who had appeared at the edge of the glade. "Come here. Take this note as hard as you can ride to Farnham." He scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his note-book. "Give it to the superintendent at the police-station. Until he comes I must detain you all under my personal custody." The strong, masterful personality of Holmes dominated the tragic scene, and all were equally puppets in his hands. Williamson and Carruthers found themselves carrying the wounded Woodley into the house, and I gave my arm to the frightened girl. The injured man was laid on his bed, and at Holmes's request I examined him. I carried my report to where he sat in the old tapestry-hung dining-room with his two prisoners before him. "He will live," said I. "What!" cried Carruthers, springing out of his chair. "I'll go upstairs and finish him first. Do you tell me that that girl, that angel, is to be tied to Roaring Jack Woodley for life?" "You need not concern yourself about that," said Holmes. "There are two very good reasons why she should under no circumstances be his wife. In the first place, we are very safe in questioning Mr. Williamson's right to solemnize a marriage." "I have been ordained," cried the old rascal. "And also unfrocked." "Once a clergyman, always a clergyman." "I think not. How about the license?" "We had a license for the marriage. I have it here in my pocket." "Then you got it by a trick. But in any case a forced marriage is no marriage, but it is a very serious felony, as you will discover before you have finished. You'll have time to think the point out during the next ten years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to you, Carruthers, you would have done better to keep your pistol in your pocket." "I begin to think so, Mr. Holmes; but when I thought of all the precaution I had taken to shield this girl--for I loved her, Mr. Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I knew what love was--it fairly drove me mad to think that she was in the power of the greatest brute and bully in South Africa, a man whose name is a holy terror from Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why, Mr. Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever since that girl has been in my employment I never once let her go past this house, where I knew these rascals were lurking, without following her on my bicycle just to see that she came to no harm. I kept my distance from her, and I wore a beard so that she should not recognise me, for she is a good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't have stayed in my employment long if she had thought that I was following her about the country roads." "Why didn't you tell her of her danger?" "Because then, again, she would have left me, and I couldn't bear to face that. Even if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to me just to see her dainty form about the house, and to hear the sound of her voice." "Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. Carruthers, but I should call it selfishness." "Maybe the two things go together. Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, with this crowd about, it was well that she should have someone near to look after her. Then when the cable came I knew they were bound to make a move." "What cable?" Carruthers took a telegram from his pocket. "That's it," said he. It was short and concise: The old man is dead. "Hum!" said Holmes. "I think I see how things worked, and I can understand how this message would, as you say, bring them to a head. But while we wait you might tell me what you can." The old reprobate with the surplice burst into a volley of bad language. "By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serve you as you served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about the girl to your heart's content, for that's your own affair, but if you round on your pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be the worst day's work that ever you did." "Your reverence need not be excited," said Holmes, lighting a cigarette. "The case is clear enough against you, and all I ask is a few details for my private curiosity. However, if there's any difficulty in your telling me I'll do the talking, and then you will see how far you have a chance of holding back your secrets. In the first place, three of you came from South Africa on this game--you Williamson, you Carruthers, and Woodley." "Lie number one," said the old man; "I never saw either of them until two months ago, and I have never been in Africa in my life, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes!" "What he says is true," said Carruthers. "Well, well, two of you came over. His reverence is our own home-made article. You had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. You had reason to believe he would not live long. You found out that his niece would inherit his fortune. How's that--eh?" Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore. "She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you were aware that the old fellow would make no will." "Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers. "So you came over, the two of you, and hunted up the girl. The idea was that one of you was to marry her and the other have a share of the plunder. For some reason Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why was that?" "We played cards for her on the voyage. He won." "I see. You got the young lady into your service, and there Woodley was to do the courting. She recognised the drunken brute that he was, and would have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement was rather upset by the fact that you had yourself fallen in love with the lady. You could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian owning her." "No, by George, I couldn't!" "There was a quarrel between you. He left you in a rage, and began to make his own plans independently of you." "It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't very much that we can tell this gentleman," cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. "Yes, we quarreled, and he knocked me down. I am level with him on that, anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That was when he picked up with this cast padre here. I found that they had set up house-keeping together at this place on the line that she had to pass for the station. I kept my eye on her after that, for I knew there was some devilry in the wind. I saw them from time to time, for I was anxious to know what they were after. Two days ago Woodley came up to my house with this cable, which showed that Ralph Smith was dead. He asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I said I would not. He asked me if I would marry the girl myself and give him a share. I said I would willingly do so, but that she would not have me. He said, 'Let us get her married first, and after a week or two she may see things a bit different.' I said I would have nothing to do with violence. So he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed blackguard that he was, and swearing that he would have her yet. She was leaving me this week-end, and I had got a trap to take her to the station, but I was so uneasy in my mind that I followed her on my bicycle. She had got a start, however, and before I could catch her the mischief was done. The first thing I knew about it was when I saw you two gentlemen driving back in her dog-cart." Holmes rose and tossed the end of his cigarette into the grate. "I have been very obtuse, Watson," said he. "When in your report you said that you had seen the cyclist as you thought arrange his necktie in the shrubbery, that alone should have told me all. However, we may congratulate ourselves upon a curious and in some respects a unique case. I perceive three of the county constabulary in the drive, and I am glad to see that the little ostler is able to keep pace with them; so it is likely that neither he nor the interesting bridegroom will be permanently damaged by their morning's adventures. I think, Watson, that in your medical capacity you might wait upon Miss Smith and tell her that if she is sufficiently recovered we shall be happy to escort her to her mother's home. If she is not quite convalescent you will find that a hint that we were about to telegraph to a young electrician in the Midlands would probably complete the cure. As to you, Mr. Carruthers, I think that you have done what you could to make amends for your share in an evil plot. There is my card, sir, and if my evidence can be of help to you in your trial it shall be at your disposal." In the whirl of our incessant activity it has often been difficult for me, as the reader has probably observed, to round off my narratives, and to give those final details which the curious might expect. Each case has been the prelude to another, and the crisis once over the actors have passed for ever out of our busy lives. I find, however, a short note at the end of my manuscripts dealing with this case, in which I have put it upon record that Miss Violet Smith did indeed inherit a large fortune, and that she is now the wife of Cyril Morton, the senior partner of Morton & Kennedy, the famous Westminster electricians. Williamson and Woodley were both tried for abduction and assault, the former getting seven years and the latter ten. Of the fate of Carruthers I have no record, but I am sure that his assault was not viewed very gravely by the Court, since Woodley had the reputation of being a most dangerous ruffian, and I think that a few months were sufficient to satisfy the demands of justice. THE ADVENTURE OF THE PRIORY SCHOOL We have had some dramatic entrances and exits upon our small stage at Baker Street, but I cannot recollect anything more sudden and startling than the first appearance of Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., etc. His card, which seemed too small to carry the weight of his academic distinctions, preceded him by a few seconds, and then he entered himself--so large, so pompous, and so dignified that he was the very embodiment of self-possession and solidity. And yet his first action when the door had closed behind him was to stagger against the table, whence he slipped down upon the floor, and there was that majestic figure prostrate and insensible upon our bearskin hearthrug. We had sprung to our feet, and for a few moments we stared in silent amazement at this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told of some sudden and fatal storm far out on the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried with a cushion for his head and I with brandy for his lips. The heavy white face was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging pouches under the closed eyes were leaden in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously at the corners, the rolling chins were unshaven. Collar and shirt bore the grime of a long journey, and the hair bristled unkempt from the well-shaped head. It was a sorely-stricken man who lay before us. "What is it, Watson?" asked Holmes. "Absolute exhaustion--possibly mere hunger and fatigue," said I, with my finger on the thready pulse, where the stream of life trickled thin and small. "Return ticket from Mackleton, in the North of England," said Holmes, drawing it from the watch-pocket. "It is not twelve o'clock yet. He has certainly been an early starter." The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, and now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked up at us. An instant later the man had scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson with shame. "Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I have been a little overwrought. Thank you, if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit I have no doubt that I should be better. I came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order to ensure that you would return with me. I feared that no telegram would convince you of the absolute urgency of the case." "When you are quite restored-- "I am quite well again. I cannot imagine how I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr. Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by the next train." My friend shook his head. "My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you that we are very busy at present. I am retained in this case of the Ferrers Documents, and the Abergavenny murder is coming up for trial. Only a very important issue could call me from London at present." "Important!" Our visitor threw up his hands. "Have you heard nothing of the abduction of the only son of the Duke of Holdernesse?" "What! the late Cabinet Minister?" "Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of the papers, but there was some rumour in the Globe last night. I thought it might have reached your ears." Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and picked out Volume "H" in his encyclopaedia of reference. "'Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C.'--half the alphabet! 'Baron Beverley, Earl of Carston'--dear me, what a list! 'Lord Lieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900. Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles Appledore, 1888. Heir and only child, Lord Saltire. Owns about two hundred and fifty thousand acres. Minerals in Lancashire and Wales. Address: Carlton House Terrace; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire; Carston Castle, Bangor, Wales. Lord of the Admiralty, 1872; Chief Secretary of State for--' Well, well, this man is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the Crown!" "The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest. I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a very high line in professional matters, and that you are prepared to work for the work's sake. I may tell you, however, that his Grace has already intimated that a cheque for five thousand pounds will be handed over to the person who can tell him where his son is, and another thousand to him who can name the man, or men, who have taken him." "It is a princely offer," said Holmes. "Watson, I think that we shall accompany Dr. Huxtable back to the North of England. And now, Dr. Huxtable, when you have consumed that milk you will kindly tell me what has happened, when it happened, how it happened, and, finally, what Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near Mackleton, has to do with the matter, and why he comes three days after an event--the state of your chin gives the date--to ask for my humble services." Our visitor had consumed his milk and biscuits. The light had come back to his eyes and the colour to his cheeks as he set himself with great vigour and lucidity to explain the situation. "I must inform you, gentlemen, that the Priory is a preparatory school, of which I am the founder and principal. 'Huxtable's Sidelights on Horace' may possibly recall my name to your memories. The Priory is, without exception, the best and most select preparatory school in England. Lord Leverstoke, the Earl of Blackwater, Sir Cathcart Soames--they all have entrusted their sons to me. But I felt that my school had reached its zenith when, three weeks ago, the Duke of Holdernesse sent Mr. James Wilder, his secretary, with the intimation that young Lord Saltire, ten years old, his only son and heir, was about to be committed to my charge. Little did I think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune of my life. "On May 1st the boy arrived, that being the beginning of the summer term. He was a charming youth, and he soon fell into our ways. I may tell you--I trust that I am not indiscreet, but half-confidences are absurd in such a case--that he was not entirely happy at home. It is an open secret that the Duke's married life had not been a peaceful one, and the matter had ended in a separation by mutual consent, the Duchess taking up her residence in the South of France. This had occurred very shortly before, and the boy's sympathies are known to have been strongly with his mother. He moped after her departure from Holdernesse Hall, and it was for this reason that the Duke desired to send him to my establishment. In a fortnight the boy was quite at home with us, and was apparently absolutely happy. "He was last seen on the night of May 13th--that is, the night of last Monday. His room was on the second floor, and was approached through another larger room in which two boys were sleeping. These boys saw and heard nothing, so that it is certain that young Saltire did not pass out that way. His window was open, and there is a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. We could trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that this is the only possible exit. "His absence was discovered at seven o'clock on Tuesday morning. His bed had been slept in. He had dressed himself fully before going off in his usual school suit of black Eton jacket and dark grey trousers. There were no signs that anyone had entered the room, and it is quite certain that anything in the nature of cries, or a struggle, would have been heard, since Caunter, the elder boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper. "When Lord Saltire's disappearance was discovered I at once called a roll of the whole establishment, boys, masters, and servants. It was then that we ascertained that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his flight. Heidegger, the German master, was missing. His room was on the second floor, at the farther end of the building, facing the same way as Lord Saltire's. His bed had also been slept in; but he had apparently gone away partly dressed, since his shirt and socks were lying on the floor. He had undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for we could see the marks of his feet where he had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was kept in a small shed beside this lawn, and it also was gone. "He had been with me for two years, and came with the best references; but he was a silent, morose man, not very popular either with masters or boys. No trace could be found of the fugitives, and now on Thursday morning we are as ignorant as we were on Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, made at once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few miles away, and we imagined that in some sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone back to his father; but nothing had been heard of him. The Duke is greatly agitated--and as to me, you have seen yourselves the state of nervous prostration to which the suspense and the responsibility have reduced me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward your full powers, I implore you to do so now, for never in your life could you have a case which is more worthy of them." Sherlock Holmes had listened with the utmost intentness to the statement of the unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows and the deep furrow between them showed that he needed no exhortation to concentrate all his attention upon a problem which, apart from the tremendous interests involved, must appeal so directly to his love of the complex and the unusual. He now drew out his note-book and jotted down one or two memoranda. "You have been very remiss in not coming to me sooner," said he, severely. "You start me on my investigation with a very serious handicap. It is inconceivable, for example, that this ivy and this lawn would have yielded nothing to an expert observer." "I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His Grace was extremely desirous to avoid all public scandal. He was afraid of his family unhappiness being dragged before the world. He has a deep horror of anything of the kind." "But there has been some official investigation?" "Yes, sir, and it has proved most disappointing. An apparent clue was at once obtained, since a boy and a young man were reported to have been seen leaving a neighbouring station by an early train. Only last night we had news that the couple had been hunted down in Liverpool, and they prove to have no connection whatever with the matter in hand. Then it was that in my despair and disappointment, after a sleepless night, I came straight to you by the early train." "I suppose the local investigation was relaxed while this false clue was being followed up?" "It was entirely dropped." "So that three days have been wasted. The affair has been most deplorably handled." "I feel it, and admit it." "And yet the problem should be capable of ultimate solution. I shall be very happy to look into it. Have you been able to trace any connection between the missing boy and this German master?" "None at all." "Was he in the master's class?" "No; he never exchanged a word with him so far as I know." "That is certainly very singular. Had the boy a bicycle?" "No." "Was any other bicycle missing?" "No." "Is that certain?" "Quite." "Well, now, you do not mean to seriously suggest that this German rode off upon a bicycle in the dead of the night bearing the boy in his arms?" "Certainly not." "Then what is the theory in your mind?" "The bicycle may have been a blind. It may have been hidden somewhere and the pair gone off on foot." "Quite so; but it seems rather an absurd blind, does it not? Were there other bicycles in this shed?" "Several." "Would he not have hidden a couple he desired to give the idea that they had gone off upon them?" "I suppose he would." "Of course he would. The blind theory won't do. But the incident is an admirable starting-point for an investigation. After all, a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or to destroy. One other question. Did anyone call to see the boy on the day before he disappeared?" "No." "Did he get any letters?" "Yes; one letter." "From whom?" "From his father." "Do you open the boys' letters?" "No." "How do you know it was from the father?" "The coat of arms was on the envelope, and it was addressed in the Duke's peculiar stiff hand. Besides, the Duke remembers having written." "When had he a letter before that?" "Not for several days." "Had he ever one from France?" "No; never." "You see the point of my questions, of course. Either the boy was carried off by force or he went of his own free will. In the latter case you would expect that some prompting from outside would be needed to make so young a lad do such a thing. If he has had no visitors, that prompting must have come in letters. Hence I try to find out who were his correspondents." "I fear I cannot help you much. His only correspondent, so far as I know, was his own father." "Who wrote to him on the very day of his disappearance. Were the relations between father and son very friendly?" "His Grace is never very friendly with anyone. He is completely immersed in large public questions, and is rather inaccessible to all ordinary emotions. But he was always kind to the boy in his own way." "But the sympathies of the latter were with the mother?" "Yes." "Did he say so?" "No." "The Duke, then?" "Good heavens, no!" "Then how could you know?" "I have had some confidential talks with Mr. James Wilder, his Grace's secretary. It was he who gave me the information about Lord Saltire's feelings." "I see. By the way, that last letter of the Duke's--was it found in the boy's room after he was gone?" "No; he had taken it with him. I think, Mr. Holmes, it is time that we were leaving for Euston." "I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter of an hour we shall be at your service. If you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, it would be well to allow the people in your neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else that red herring led your pack. In the meantime I will do a little quiet work at your own doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but that two old hounds like Watson and myself may get a sniff of it." That evening found us in the cold, bracing atmosphere of the Peak country, in which Dr. Huxtable's famous school is situated. It was already dark when we reached it. A card was lying on the hall table, and the butler whispered something to his master, who turned to us with agitation in every heavy feature. "The Duke is here," said he. "The Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study. Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce you." I was, of course, familiar with the pictures of the famous statesman, but the man himself was very different from his representation. He was a tall and stately person, scrupulously dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose which was grotesquely curved and long. His complexion was of a dead pallor, which was more startling by contrast with a long, dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed down over his white waistcoat, with his watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. Such was the stately presence who looked stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Huxtable's hearthrug. Beside him stood a very young man, whom I understood to be Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, nervous, alert, with intelligent, light-blue eyes and mobile features. It was he who at once, in an incisive and positive tone, opened the conversation. "I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too late to prevent you from starting for London. I learned that your object was to invite Mr. Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct of this case. His Grace is surprised, Dr. Huxtable, that you should have taken such a step without consulting him." "When I learned that the police had failed--" "His Grace is by no means convinced that the police have failed." "But surely, Mr. Wilder--" "You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that his Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all public scandal. He prefers to take as few people as possible into his confidence." "The matter can be easily remedied," said the brow-beaten doctor; "Mr. Sherlock Holmes can return to London by the morning train." "Hardly that, Doctor, hardly that," said Holmes, in his blandest voice. "This northern air is invigorating and pleasant, so I propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may. Whether I have the shelter of your roof or of the village inn is, of course, for you to decide." I could see that the unfortunate doctor was in the last stage of indecision, from which he was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red-bearded Duke, which boomed out like a dinner-gong. "I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, that you would have done wisely to consult me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been taken into your confidence, it would indeed be absurd that we should not avail ourselves of his services. Far from going to the inn, Mr. Holmes, I should be pleased if you would come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall." "I thank your Grace. For the purposes of my investigation I think that it would be wiser for me to remain at the scene of the mystery." "Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any information which Mr. Wilder or I can give you is, of course, at your disposal." "It will probably be necessary for me to see you at the Hall," said Holmes. "I would only ask you now, sir, whether you have formed any explanation in your own mind as to the mysterious disappearance of your son?" "No, sir, I have not." "Excuse me if I allude to that which is painful to you, but I have no alternative. Do you think that the Duchess had anything to do with the matter?" The great Minister showed perceptible hesitation. "I do not think so," he said, at last. "The other most obvious explanation is that the child has been kidnapped for the purpose of levying ransom. You have not had any demand of the sort?" "No, sir." "One more question, your Grace. I understand that you wrote to your son upon the day when this incident occurred." "No; I wrote upon the day before." "Exactly. But he received it on that day?" "Yes." "Was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him or induced him to take such a step?" "No, sir, certainly not." "Did you post that letter yourself?" The nobleman's reply was interrupted by his secretary, who broke in with some heat. "His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself," said he. "This letter was laid with others upon the study table, and I myself put them in the post-bag." "You are sure this one was among them?" "Yes; I observed it." "How many letters did your Grace write that day?" "Twenty or thirty. I have a large correspondence. But surely this is somewhat irrelevant?" "Not entirely," said Holmes. "For my own part," the Duke continued, "I have advised the police to turn their attention to the South of France. I have already said that I do not believe that the Duchess would encourage so monstrous an action, but the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, and it is possible that he may have fled to her, aided and abetted by this German. I think, Dr. Huxtable, that we will now return to the Hall." I could see that there were other questions which Holmes would have wished to put; but the nobleman's abrupt manner showed that the interview was at an end. It was evident that to his intensely aristocratic nature this discussion of his intimate family affairs with a stranger was most abhorrent, and that he feared lest every fresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly shadowed corners of his ducal history. When the nobleman and his secretary had left, my friend flung himself at once with characteristic eagerness into the investigation. The boy's chamber was carefully examined, and yielded nothing save the absolute conviction that it was only through the window that he could have escaped. The German master's room and effects gave no further clue. In his case a trailer of ivy had given way under his weight, and we saw by the light of a lantern the mark on the lawn where his heels had come down. That one dint in the short green grass was the only material witness left of this inexplicable nocturnal flight. Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and only returned after eleven. He had obtained a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, and this he brought into my room, where he laid it out on the bed, and, having balanced the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke over it, and occasionally to point out objects of interest with the reeking amber of his pipe. "This case grows upon me, Watson," said he. "There are decidedly some points of interest in connection with it. In this early stage I want you to realize those geographical features which may have a good deal to do with our investigation. "Look at this map. This dark square is the Priory School. I'll put a pin in it. Now, this line is the main road. You see that it runs east and west past the school, and you see also that there is no side road for a mile either way. If these two folk passed away by road it was this road." [ Picture: Chart of the surrounding area ] "Exactly." "By a singular and happy chance we are able to some extent to check what passed along this road during the night in question. At this point, where my pipe is now resting, a country constable was on duty from twelve to six. It is, as you perceive, the first cross road on the east side. This man declares that he was not absent from his post for an instant, and he is positive that neither boy nor man could have gone that way unseen. I have spoken with this policeman to-night, and he appears to me to be a perfectly reliable person. That blocks this end. We have now to deal with the other. There is an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady of which was ill. She had sent to Mackleton for a doctor, but he did not arrive until morning, being absent at another case. The people at the inn were alert all night, awaiting his coming, and one or other of them seems to have continually had an eye upon the road. They declare that no one passed. If their evidence is good, then we are fortunate enough to be able to block the west, and also to be able to say that the fugitives did not use the road at all." "But the bicycle?" I objected. "Quite so. We will come to the bicycle presently. To continue our reasoning: if these people did not go by the road, they must have traversed the country to the north of the house or to the south of the house. That is certain. Let us weigh the one against the other. On the south of the house is, as you perceive, a large district of arable land, cut up into small fields, with stone walls between them. There, I admit that a bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss the idea. We turn to the country on the north. Here there lies a grove of trees, marked as the 'Ragged Shaw,' and on the farther side stretches a great rolling moor, Lower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles and sloping gradually upwards. Here, at one side of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, ten miles by road, but only six across the moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A few moor farmers have small holdings, where they rear sheep and cattle. Except these, the plover and the curlew are the only inhabitants until you come to the Chesterfield high road. There is a church there, you see, a few cottages, and an inn. Beyond that the hills become precipitous. Surely it is here to the north that our quest must lie." "But the bicycle?" I persisted. "Well, well!" said Holmes, impatiently. "A good cyclist does not need a high road. The moor is intersected with paths and the moon was at the full. Halloa! what is this?" There was an agitated knock at the door, and an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was in the room. In his hand he held a blue cricket-cap, with a white chevron on the peak. "At last we have a clue!" he cried. "Thank Heaven! at last we are on the dear boy's track! It is his cap." "Where was it found?" "In the van of the gipsies who camped on the moor. They left on Tuesday. To-day the police traced them down and examined their caravan. This was found." "How do they account for it?" "They shuffled and lied--said that they found it on the moor on Tuesday morning. They know where he is, the rascals! Thank goodness, they are all safe under lock and key. Either the fear of the law or the Duke's purse will certainly get out of them all that they know." "So far, so good," said Holmes, when the doctor had at last left the room. "It at least bears out the theory that it is on the side of the Lower Gill Moor that we must hope for results. The police have really done nothing locally, save the arrest of these gipsies. Look here, Watson! There is a watercourse across the moor. You see it marked here in the map. In some parts it widens into a morass. This is particularly so in the region between Holdernesse Hall and the school. It is vain to look elsewhere for tracks in this dry weather; but at that point there is certainly a chance of some record being left. I will call you early to-morrow morning, and you and I will try if we can throw some little light upon the mystery." The day was just breaking when I woke to find the long, thin form of Holmes by my bedside. He was fully dressed, and had apparently already been out. "I have done the lawn and the bicycle shed," said he. "I have also had a ramble through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, there is cocoa ready in the next room. I must beg you to hurry, for we have a great day before us." His eyes shone, and his cheek was flushed with the exhilaration of the master workman who sees his work lie ready before him. A very different Holmes, this active, alert man, from the introspective and pallid dreamer of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon that supple figure, alive with nervous energy, that it was indeed a strenuous day that awaited us. And yet it opened in the blackest disappointment. With high hopes we struck across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with a thousand sheep paths, until we came to the broad, light-green belt which marked the morass between us and Holdernesse. Certainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he must have passed this, and he could not pass it without leaving his traces. But no sign of him or the German could be seen. With a darkening face my friend strode along the margin, eagerly observant of every muddy stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks there were in profusion, and at one place, some miles down, cows had left their tracks. Nothing more. "Check number one," said Holmes, looking gloomily over the rolling expanse of the moor. "There is another morass down yonder and a narrow neck between. Halloa! halloa! halloa! what have we here?" We had come on a small black ribbon of pathway. In the middle of it, clearly marked on the sodden soil, was the track of a bicycle. "Hurrah!" I cried. "We have it." But Holmes was shaking his head, and his face was puzzled and expectant rather than joyous. "A bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle," said he. "I am familiar with forty-two different impressions left by tyres. This, as you perceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heidegger's tyres were Palmer's, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical master, was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heidegger's track." "The boy's, then?" "Possibly, if we could prove a bicycle to have been in his possession. But this we have utterly failed to do. This track, as you perceive, was made by a rider who was going from the direction of the school." "Or towards it?" "No, no, my dear Watson. The more deeply sunk impression is, of course, the hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. You perceive several places where it has passed across and obliterated the more shallow mark of the front one. It was undoubtedly heading away from the school. It may or may not be connected with our inquiry, but we will follow it backwards before we go any farther." We did so, and at the end of a few hundred yards lost the tracks as we emerged from the boggy portion of the moor. Following the path backwards, we picked out another spot, where a spring trickled across it. Here, once again, was the mark of the bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, but the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, the wood which backed on to the school. From this wood the cycle must have emerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder and rested his chin in his hands. I had smoked two cigarettes before he moved. "Well, well," said he, at last. "It is, of course, possible that a cunning man might change the tyre of his bicycle in order to leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was capable of such a thought is a man whom I should be proud to do business with. We will leave this question undecided and hark back to our morass again, for we have left a good deal unexplored." We continued our systematic survey of the edge of the sodden portion of the moor, and soon our perseverance was gloriously rewarded. Right across the lower part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached it. An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran down the centre of it. It was the Palmer tyre. "Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!" cried Holmes, exultantly. "My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson." "I congratulate you." "But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear of the path. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that it will not lead very far." We found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor is intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more. "Do you observe," said Holmes, "that the rider is now undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it. Look at this impression, where you get both tyres clear. The one is as deep as the other. That can only mean that the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar, as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall." There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre reappeared once more. "A side-slip," I suggested. Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse. To my horror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all dabbled with crimson. On the path, too, and among the heather were dark stains of clotted blood. "Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear, Watson! Not an unnecessary footstep! What do I read here? He fell wounded, he stood up, he remounted, he proceeded. But there is no other track. Cattle on this side path. He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see no traces of anyone else. We must push on, Watson. Surely with stains as well as the track to guide us he cannot escape us now." Our search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tyre began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and the whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe was projecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfortunate rider. He was a tall man, full bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which had been knocked out. The cause of his death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed in part of his skull. That he could have gone on after receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, and his open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath it. It was undoubtedly the German master. Holmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it with great attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see by his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced us much in our inquiry. "It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson," said he, at last. "My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform the police of the discovery, and to see that this poor fellow's body is looked after." "I could take a note back." "But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is a fellow cutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will guide the police." I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched the frightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable. "Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked up two clues this morning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental." "First of all I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left of his own free will. He got down from his window and he went off, either alone or with someone. That is sure." I assented. "Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly acted on very short notice." "Undoubtedly." "Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flight of the boy. Because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his death." "So it would seem." "Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural action of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would know that he could overtake him. But the German does not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He would not do this if he did not see that the boy had some swift means of escape." "The other bicycle." "Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles from the school--not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The lad, then, had a companion in his flight. And the flight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no path within fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actual murder. Nor were there any human footmarks." "Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible." "Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating remark. It is impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?" "He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?" "In a morass, Watson?" "I am at my wit's end." "Tut, tut; we have solved some worse problems. At least we have plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched cover has to offer us." We picked up the track and followed it onwards for some distance; but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the watercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tyre it might equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey village which lay in front of us, and marked the position of the Chesterfield high road. As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of a game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan and clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With difficulty he limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a black clay pipe. "How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?" said Holmes. "Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?" the countryman answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes. "Well, it's printed on the board above your head. It's easy to see a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven't such a thing as a carriage in your stables?" "No; I have not." "I can hardly put my foot to the ground." "Don't put it to the ground." "But I can't walk." "Well, then, hop." Mr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took it with admirable good-humour. "Look here, my man," said he. "This is really rather an awkward fix for me. I don't mind how I get on." "Neither do I," said the morose landlord. "The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle." The landlord pricked up his ears. "Where do you want to go?" "To Holdernesse Hall." "Pals of the Dook, I suppose?" said the landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments with ironical eyes. Holmes laughed good-naturedly. "He'll be glad to see us, anyhow." "Why?" "Because we bring him news of his lost son." The landlord gave a very visible start. "What, you're on his track?" "He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every hour." Again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. His manner was suddenly genial. "I've less reason to wish the Dook well than most men," said he, "for I was his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying corn-chandler. But I'm glad to hear that the young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and I'll help you to take the news to the Hall." "Thank you," said Holmes. "We'll have some food first. Then you can bring round the bicycle." "I haven't got a bicycle." Holmes held up a sovereign. "I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll let you have two horses as far as the Hall." "Well, well," said Holmes, "we'll talk about it when we've had something to eat." When we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen it was astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. On the other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud exclamation. "By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got it!" he cried. "Yes, yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?" "Yes, several." "Where?" "Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the path, and again near where poor Heidegger met his death." "Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the moor?" "I don't remember seeing any." "Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but never a cow on the whole moor; very strange, Watson, eh?" "Yes, it is strange." "Now, Watson, make an effort; throw your mind back! Can you see those tracks upon the path?" "Yes, I can." "Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, Watson"--he arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion--: : : : :--"and sometimes like this"--: ` : ` : ` : `--"and occasionally like this"--. ` . ` . ` . "Can you remember that?" "No, I cannot." "But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our leisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been not to draw my conclusion!" "And what is your conclusion?" "Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. By George, Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought out such a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see." There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud. "Old shoes, but newly shod--old shoes, but new nails. This case deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy." The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes's eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket. "You infernal spies!" the man cried. "What are you doing there?" "Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes, coolly, "one might think that you were afraid of our finding something out." The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown. "You're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy," said he. "But look here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about my place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the better I shall be pleased." "All right, Mr. Hayes--no harm meant," said Holmes. "We have been having a look at your horses, but I think I'll walk after all. It's not far, I believe." "Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That's the road to the left." He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises. We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the instant that the curve hid us from the landlord's view. "We were warm, as the children say, at that inn," said he. "I seem to grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no; I can't possibly leave it." "I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it. A more self-evident villain I never saw." "Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses, there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way." A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders, stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along. "Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face--a face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the dapper James Wilder whom we had seen the night before. "The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, let us see what he does." We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had made our way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn. Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield. "What do you make of that, Watson?" Holmes whispered. "It looks like a flight." "A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door." A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room upon the first floor. "It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the Fighting Cock," said Holmes. "The bar is on the other side." "Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely." Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window. "I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage." An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he was hardly up before he was down again. "Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the better." He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams. Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death, and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the morning. "All goes well, my friend," said he. "I promise that before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery." At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I were walking up the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace's study. There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and in his twitching features. "You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; but the fact is that the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday afternoon, which told us of your discovery." "I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder." "But he is in his room." "Then I must go to his room." "I believe he is in his bed." "I will see him there." Holmes's cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it was useless to argue with him. "Very good, Mr. Holmes; I will tell him that you are here." After half an hour's delay the great nobleman appeared. His face was more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he seemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the morning before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated himself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on to the table. "Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he. But my friend's eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by his master's chair. "I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr. Wilder's absence." The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at Holmes. "If your Grace wishes--" "Yes, yes; you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?" My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating secretary. "The fact is, your Grace," said he, "that my colleague, Dr. Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a reward had been offered in this case. I should like to have this confirmed from your own lips." "Certainly, Mr. Holmes." "It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell you where your son is?" "Exactly." "And another thousand to the man who will name the person or persons who keep him in custody?" "Exactly." "Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those who may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep him in his present position?" "Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently. "If you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of niggardly treatment." My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes. "I fancy that I see your Grace's cheque-book upon the table," said he. "I should be glad if you would make me out a cheque for six thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are my agents." His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair, and looked stonily at my friend. "Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for pleasantry." "Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life." "What do you mean, then?" "I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is, and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him." The Duke's beard had turned more aggressively red than ever against his ghastly white face. "Where is he?" he gasped. "He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles from your park gate." The Duke fell back in his chair. "And whom do you accuse?" Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astounding one. He stepped swiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder. "I accuse you," said he. "And now, your Grace, I'll trouble you for that cheque." Never shall I forget the Duke's appearance as he sprang up and clawed with his hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command, he sat down and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes before he spoke. "How much do you know?" he asked at last, without raising his head. "I saw you together last night." "Does anyone else besides your friend know?" "I have spoken to no one." The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his cheque-book. "I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write your cheque, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may be to me. When the offer was first made I little thought the turn which events might take. But you and your friend are men of discretion, Mr. Holmes?" "I hardly understand your Grace." "I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it not?" But Holmes smiled and shook his head. "I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily. There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted for." "But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible for that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the misfortune to employ." "I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon a crime he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring from it." "Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in the eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at which he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much as you do. The instant that he heard of it he made a complete confession to me, so filled was he with horror and remorse. He lost not an hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save him--you must save him! I tell you that you must save him!" The Duke had dropped the last attempt at self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and with his clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mastered himself and sat down once more at his desk. "I appreciate your conduct in coming here before you spoke to anyone else," said he. "At least, we may take counsel how far we can minimize this hideous scandal." "Exactly," said Holmes. "I think, your Grace, that this can only be done by absolute and complete frankness between us. I am disposed to help your Grace to the best of my ability; but in order to do so I must understand to the last detail how the matter stands. I realize that your words applied to Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the murderer." "No; the murderer has escaped." Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely. "Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield on my information at eleven o'clock last night. I had a telegram from the head of the local police before I left the school this morning." The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my friend. "You seem to have powers that are hardly human," said he. "So Reuben Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not react upon the fate of James." "Your secretary?" "No, sir; my son." It was Holmes's turn to look astonished. "I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must beg you to be more explicit." "I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that complete frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in this desperate situation to which James's folly and jealousy have reduced us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with such a love as comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match might mar my career. Had she lived I would certainly never have married anyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for her sake I have cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge the paternity to the world; but I gave him the best of educations, and since he came to manhood I have kept him near my person. He surprised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon the claim which he has upon me and upon his power of provoking a scandal, which would be abhorrent to me. His presence had something to do with the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all, he hated my young legitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. You may well ask me why, under these circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. I answer that it was because I could see his mother's face in his, and that for her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her pretty ways, too--there was not one of them which he could not suggest and bring back to my memory. I could not send him away. But I feared so much lest he should do Arthur--that is, Lord Saltire--a mischief that I dispatched him for safety to Dr. Huxtable's school. "James came into contact with this fellow Hayes because the man was a tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a rascal from the beginning; but in some extraordinary way James became intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company. When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man's service that he availed himself. You remember that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. Well, James opened the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He used the Duchess's name, and in that way got the boy to come. That evening James bicycled over--I am telling you what he has himself confessed to me--and he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at midnight he would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her. Poor Arthur fell into the trap. He came to the appointment and found this fellow Hayes with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they set off together. It appears--though this James only heard yesterday--that they were pursued, that Hayes struck the pursuer with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he was confined in an upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, but entirely under the control of her brutal husband. "Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw you two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You will ask me what was James's motive in doing such a deed. I answer that there was a great deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in the hatred which he bore my heir. In his view he should himself have been heir of all my estates, and he deeply resented those social laws which made it impossible. At the same time he had a definite motive also. He was eager that I should break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay in my power to do so. He intended to make a bargain with me--to restore Arthur if I would break the entail, and so make it possible for the estate to be left to him by will. He knew well that I should never willingly invoke the aid of the police against him. I say that he would have proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not actually do so, for events moved too quickly for him, and he had not time to put his plans into practice. "What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery of this man Heidegger's dead body. James was seized with horror at the news. It came to us yesterday as we sat together in this study. Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation that my suspicions, which had never been entirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I taxed him with the deed. He made a complete voluntary confession. Then he implored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to give his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life. I yielded--as I have always yielded--to his prayers, and instantly James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and give him the means of flight. I could not go there by daylight without provoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried off to see my dear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified beyond expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to my promise, and much against my will, I consented to leave him there for three days under the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it was impossible to inform the police where he was without telling them also who was the murderer, and I could not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin to my unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I have taken you at your word, for I have now told you everything without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do you in turn be as frank with me." "I will," said Holmes. "In the first place, your Grace, I am bound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most serious position in the eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony and you have aided the escape of a murderer; for I cannot doubt that any money which was taken by James Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight came from your Grace's purse." The Duke bowed his assent. "This is indeed a most serious matter. Even more culpable in my opinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son. You leave him in this den for three days." "Under solemn promises--" "What are promises to such people as these? You have no guarantee that he will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty elder son you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action." The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated in his own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead, but his conscience held him dumb. "I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ring for the footman and let me give such orders as I like." Without a word the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servant entered. "You will be glad to hear," said Holmes, "that your young master is found. It is the Duke's desire that the carriage shall go at once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home. "Now," said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared, "having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with the past. I am not in an official position, and there is no reason, so long as the ends of justice are served, why I should disclose all that I know. As to Hayes I say nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I would do nothing to save him from it. What he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt that your Grace could make him understand that it is to his interest to be silent. From the police point of view he will have kidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom. If they do not themselves find it out I see no reason why I should prompt them to take a broader point of view. I would warn your Grace, however, that the continued presence of Mr. James Wilder in your household can only lead to misfortune." "I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled that he shall leave me for ever and go to seek his fortune in Australia." "In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated that any unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, I would suggest that you make such amends as you can to the Duchess, and that you try to resume those relations which have been so unhappily interrupted." "That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchess this morning." "In that case," said Holmes, rising, "I think that my friend and I can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from our little visit to the North. There is one other small point upon which I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his horses with shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder that he learned so extraordinary a device?" The Duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intense surprise on his face. Then he opened a door and showed us into a large room furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case in a corner, and pointed to the inscription. "These shoes," it ran, "were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse Hall. They are for the use of horses; but they are shaped below with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the track. They are supposed to have belonged to some of the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle Ages." Holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it along the shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin. "Thank you," said he, as he replaced the glass. "It is the second most interesting object that I have seen in the North." "And the first?" Holmes folded up his cheque and placed it carefully in his note-book. "I am a poor man," said he, as he patted it affectionately and thrust it into the depths of his inner pocket. THE ADVENTURE OF BLACK PETER I have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental and physical, than in the year '95. His increasing fame had brought with it an immense practice, and I should be guilty of an indiscretion if I were even to hint at the identity of some of the illustrious clients who crossed our humble threshold in Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimable services. So unworldly was he--or so capricious--that he frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where the problem made no appeal to his sympathies, while he would devote weeks of most intense application to the affairs of some humble client whose case presented those strange and dramatic qualities which appealed to his imagination and challenged his ingenuity. In this memorable year '95 a curious and incongruous succession of cases had engaged his attention, ranging from his famous investigation of the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca--an inquiry which was carried out by him at the express desire of His Holiness the Pope--down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer, which removed a plague-spot from the East-End of London. Close on the heels of these two famous cases came the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, and the very obscure circumstances which surrounded the death of Captain Peter Carey. No record of the doings of Mr. Sherlock Holmes would be complete which did not include some account of this very unusual affair. During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for Captain Basil made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity. He had at least five small refuges in different parts of London in which he was able to change his personality. He said nothing of his business to me, and it was not my habit to force a confidence. The first positive sign which he gave me of the direction which his investigation was taking was an extraordinary one. He had gone out before breakfast, and I had sat down to mine, when he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm. "Good gracious, Holmes!" I cried. "You don't mean to say that you have been walking about London with that thing?" "I drove to the butcher's and back." "The butcher's?" "And I return with an excellent appetite. There can be no question, my dear Watson, of the value of exercise before breakfast. But I am prepared to bet that you will not guess the form that my exercise has taken." "I will not attempt it." He chuckled as he poured out the coffee. "If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow. Perhaps you would care to try?" "Not for worlds. But why were you doing this?" "Because it seemed to me to have an indirect bearing upon the mystery of Woodman's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire last night, and I have been expecting you. Come and join us." Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one who was accustomed to official uniform. I recognised him at once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had high hopes, while he in turn professed the admiration and respect of a pupil for the scientific methods of the famous amateur. Hopkins's brow was clouded, and he sat down with an air of deep dejection. "No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before I came round. I spent the night in town, for I came up yesterday to report." "And what had you to report?" "Failure, sir; absolute failure." "You have made no progress?" "None." "Dear me! I must have a look at the matter." "I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. Holmes. It's my first big chance, and I am at my wit's end. For goodness' sake come down and lend me a hand." "Well, well, it just happens that I have already read all the available evidence, including the report of the inquest, with some care. By the way, what do you make of that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of the crime? Is there no clue there?" Hopkins looked surprised. "It was the man's own pouch, sir. His initials were inside it. And it was of seal-skin--and he an old sealer." "But he had no pipe." "No, sir, we could find no pipe; indeed, he smoked very little. And yet he might have kept some tobacco for his friends." "No doubt. I only mention it because if I had been handling the case I should have been inclined to make that the starting-point of my investigation. However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of events once more. Just give us some short sketch of the essentials." Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from his pocket. "I have a few dates here which will give you the career of the dead man, Captain Peter Carey. He was born in '45--fifty years of age. He was a most daring and successful seal and whale fisher. In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer Sea Unicorn, of Dundee. He had then had several successful voyages in succession, and in the following year, 1884, he retired. After that he travelled for some years, and finally he bought a small place called Woodman's Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There he has lived for six years, and there he died just a week ago to-day. "There were some most singular points about the man. In ordinary life he was a strict Puritan--a silent, gloomy fellow. His household consisted of his wife, his daughter, aged twenty, and two female servants. These last were continually changing, for it was never a very cheery situation, and sometimes it became past all bearing. The man was an intermittent drunkard, and when he had the fit on him he was a perfect fiend. He has been known to drive his wife and his daughter out of doors in the middle of the night, and flog them through the park until the whole village outside the gates was aroused by their screams. "He was summoned once for a savage assault upon the old vicar, who had called upon him to remonstrate with him upon his conduct. In short, Mr. Holmes, you would go far before you found a more dangerous man than Peter Carey, and I have heard that he bore the same character when he commanded his ship. He was known in the trade as Black Peter, and the name was given him, not only on account of his swarthy features and the colour of his huge beard, but for the humours which were the terror of all around him. I need not say that he was loathed and avoided by every one of his neighbours, and that I have not heard one single word of sorrow about his terrible end. "You must have read in the account of the inquest about the man's cabin, Mr. Holmes; but perhaps your friend here has not heard of it. He had built himself a wooden outhouse--he always called it 'the cabin'--a few hundred yards from his house, and it was here that he slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten. He kept the key in his pocket, made his own bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other foot to cross the threshold. There are small windows on each side, which were covered by curtains and never opened. One of these windows was turned towards the high road, and when the light burned in it at night the folk used to point it out to each other and wonder what Black Peter was doing in there. That's the window, Mr. Holmes, which gave us one of the few bits of positive evidence that came out at the inquest. "You remember that a stonemason, named Slater, walking from Forest Row about one o'clock in the morning--two days before the murder--stopped as he passed the grounds and looked at the square of light still shining among the trees. He swears that the shadow of a man's head turned sideways was clearly visible on the blind, and that this shadow was certainly not that of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. It was that of a bearded man, but the beard was short and bristled forwards in a way very different from that of the captain. So he says, but he had been two hours in the public-house, and it is some distance from the road to the window. Besides, this refers to the Monday, and the crime was done upon the Wednesday. "On the Tuesday Peter Carey was in one of his blackest moods, flushed with drink and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. He roamed about the house, and the women ran for it when they heard him coming. Late in the evening he went down to his own hut. About two o'clock the following morning his daughter, who slept with her window open, heard a most fearful yell from that direction, but it was no unusual thing for him to bawl and shout when he was in drink, so no notice was taken. On rising at seven one of the maids noticed that the door of the hut was open, but so great was the terror which the man caused that it was midday before anyone would venture down to see what had become of him. Peeping into the open door they saw a sight which sent them flying with white faces into the village. Within an hour I was on the spot and had taken over the case. "Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes, but I give you my word that I got a shake when I put my head into that little house. It was droning like a harmonium with the flies and bluebottles, and the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house. He had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was sure enough, for you would have thought that you were in a ship. There was a bunk at one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts, a picture of the Sea Unicorn, a line of log-books on a shelf, all exactly as one would expect to find it in a captain's room. And there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall behind him. He was pinned like a beetle on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, and had been so from the instant that he had uttered that last yell of agony. "I know your methods, sir, and I applied them. Before I permitted anything to be moved I examined most carefully the ground outside, and also the floor of the room. There were no footmarks." "Meaning that you saw none?" "I assure you, sir, that there were none." "My good Hopkins, I have investigated many crimes, but I have never yet seen one which was committed by a flying creature. As long as the criminal remains upon two legs so long must there be some indentation, some abrasion, some trifling displacement which can be detected by the scientific searcher. It is incredible that this blood-bespattered room contained no trace which could have aided us. I understand, however, from the inquest that there were some objects which you failed to overlook?" The young inspector winced at my companion's ironical comments. "I was a fool not to call you in at the time, Mr. Holmes. However, that's past praying for now. Yes, there were several objects in the room which called for special attention. One was the harpoon with which the deed was committed. It had been snatched down from a rack on the wall. Two others remained there, and there was a vacant place for the third. On the stock was engraved 'S.S.. Sea Unicorn, Dundee.' This seemed to establish that the crime had been done in a moment of fury, and that the murderer had seized the first weapon which came in his way. The fact that the crime was committed at two in the morning, and yet Peter Carey was fully dressed, suggested that he had an appointment with the murderer, which is borne out by the fact that a bottle of rum and two dirty glasses stood upon the table." "Yes," said Holmes; "I think that both inferences are permissible. Was there any other spirit but rum in the room?" "Yes; there was a tantalus containing brandy and whisky on the sea-chest. It is of no importance to us, however, since the decanters were full, and it had therefore not been used." "For all that its presence has some significance," said Holmes. "However, let us hear some more about the objects which do seem to you to bear upon the case." "There was this tobacco-pouch upon the table." "What part of the table?" "It lay in the middle. It was of coarse seal-skin--the straight-haired skin, with a leather thong to bind it. Inside was 'P.C.' on the flap. There was half an ounce of strong ship's tobacco in it." "Excellent! What more?" Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a drab-covered note-book. The outside was rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On the first page were written the initials "J.H.N." and the date "1883." Holmes laid it on the table and examined it in his minute way, while Hopkins and I gazed over each shoulder. On the second page were the printed letters "C.P.R.," and then came several sheets of numbers. Another heading was Argentine, another Costa Rica, and another San Paulo, each with pages of signs and figures after it. "What do you make of these?" asked Holmes. "They appear to be lists of Stock Exchange securities. I thought that 'J.H.N.' were the initials of a broker, and that 'C.P.R.' may have been his client." "Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said Holmes. Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth and struck his thigh with his clenched hand. "What a fool I have been!" he cried. "Of course, it is as you say. Then 'J.H.N.' are the only initials we have to solve. I have already examined the old Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one in 1883 either in the House or among the outside brokers whose initials correspond with these. Yet I feel that the clue is the most important one that I hold. You will admit, Mr. Holmes, that there is a possibility that these initials are those of the second person who was present--in other words, of the murderer. I would also urge that the introduction into the case of a document relating to large masses of valuable securities gives us for the first time some indication of a motive for the crime." Sherlock Holmes's face showed that he was thoroughly taken aback by this new development. "I must admit both your points," said he. "I confess that this note-book, which did not appear at the inquest, modifies any views which I may have formed. I had come to a theory of the crime in which I can find no place for this. Have you endeavoured to trace any of the securities here mentioned?" "Inquiries are now being made at the offices, but I fear that the complete register of the stockholders of these South American concerns is in South America, and that some weeks must elapse before we can trace the shares." Holmes had been examining the cover of the note-book with his magnifying lens. "Surely there is some discolouration here," said he. "Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain. I told you that I picked the book off the floor." "Was the blood-stain above or below?" "On the side next the boards." "Which proves, of course, that the book was dropped after the crime was committed." "Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay near the door." "I suppose that none of these securities have been found among the property of the dead man?" "No, sir." "Have you any reason to suspect robbery?" "No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been touched." "Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting case. Then there was a knife, was there not?" "A sheath-knife, still in its sheath. It lay at the feet of the dead man. Mrs. Carey has identified it as being her husband's property." Holmes was lost in thought for some time. "Well," said he, at last, "I suppose I shall have to come out and have a look at it." Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy. "Thank you, sir. That will indeed be a weight off my mind." Holmes shook his finger at the inspector. "It would have been an easier task a week ago," said he. "But even now my visit may not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you can spare the time I should be very glad of your company. If you will call a four-wheeler, Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for Forest Row in a quarter of an hour." Alighting at the small wayside station, we drove for some miles through the remains of widespread woods, which were once part of that great forest which for so long held the Saxon invaders at bay--the impenetrable "weald," for sixty years the bulwark of Britain. Vast sections of it have been cleared, for this is the seat of the first iron-works of the country, and the trees have been felled to smelt the ore. Now the richer fields of the North have absorbed the trade, and nothing save these ravaged groves and great scars in the earth show the work of the past. Here in a clearing upon the green slope of a hill stood a long, low stone house, approached by a curving drive running through the fields. Nearer the road, and surrounded on three sides by bushes, was a small outhouse, one window and the door facing in our direction. It was the scene of the murder. Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to a haggard, grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and ill-usage which she had endured. With her was her daughter, a pale, fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at us as she told us that she was glad that her father was dead, and that she blessed the hand which had struck him down. It was a terrible household that Black Peter Carey had made for himself, and it was with a sense of relief that we found ourselves in the sunlight again and making our way along a path which had been worn across the fields by the feet of the dead man. The outhouse was the simplest of dwellings, wooden-walled, shingle-roofed, one window beside the door and one on the farther side. Stanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket, and had stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look of attention and surprise upon his face. "Someone has been tampering with it," he said. There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut and the scratches showed white through the paint, as if they had been that instant done. Holmes had been examining the window. "Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failed to make his way in. He must have been a very poor burglar." "This is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector; "I could swear that these marks were not here yesterday evening." "Some curious person from the village, perhaps," I suggested. "Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in the grounds, far less try to force their way into the cabin. What do you think of it, Mr. Holmes?" "I think that fortune is very kind to us." "You mean that the person will come again?" "It is very probable. He came expecting to find the door open. He tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He could not manage it. What would he do?" "Come again next night with a more useful tool." "So I should say. It will be our fault if we are not there to receive him. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin." The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniture within the little room still stood as it had been on the night of the crime. For two hours, with most intense concentration, Holmes examined every object in turn, but his face showed that his quest was not a successful one. Once only he paused in his patient investigation. "Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?" "No; I have moved nothing." "Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner of the shelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on its side. It may have been a box. Well, well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk in these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a few hours to the birds and the flowers. We shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see if we can come to closer quarters with the gentleman who has paid this visit in the night." It was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade. Hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of the opinion that this would rouse the suspicions of the stranger. The lock was a perfectly simple one, and only a strong blade was needed to push it back. Holmes also suggested that we should wait, not inside the hut, but outside it among the bushes which grew round the farther window. In this way we should be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and see what his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit. It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with it something of the thrill which the hunter feels when he lies beside the water pool and waits for the coming of the thirsty beast of prey. What savage creature was it which might steal upon us out of the darkness? Was it a fierce tiger of crime, which could only be taken fighting hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerous only to the weak and unguarded? In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waiting for whatever might come. At first the steps of a few belated villagers, or the sound of voices from the village, lightened our vigil; but one by one these interruptions died away and an absolute stillness fell upon us, save for the chimes of the distant church, which told us of the progress of the night, and for the rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid the foliage which roofed us in. Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour which precedes the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp click came from the direction of the gate. Someone had entered the drive. Again there was a long silence, and I had begun to fear that it was a false alarm, when a stealthy step was heard upon the other side of the hut, and a moment later a metallic scraping and clinking. The man was trying to force the lock! This time his skill was greater or his tool was better, for there was a sudden snap and the creak of the hinges. Then a match was struck, and next instant the steady light from a candle filled the interior of the hut. Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all riveted upon the scene within. The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with a black moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could not have been much above twenty years of age. I have never seen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly chattering and he was shaking in every limb. He was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then he laid the candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view into one of the corners. He returned with a large book, one of the log-books which formed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on the table he rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume until he came to the entry which he sought. Then, with an angry gesture of his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it in the corner, and put out the light. He had hardly turned to leave the hut when Hopkins's hand was on the fellow's collar, and I heard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he was taken. The candle was re-lit, and there was our wretched captive shivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked helplessly from one of us to the other. "Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins, "who are you, and what do you want here?" The man pulled himself together and faced us with an effort at self-composure. "You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You imagine I am connected with the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you that I am innocent." "We'll see about that," said Hopkins. "First of all, what is your name?" "It is John Hopley Neligan." I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance. "What are you doing here?" "Can I speak confidentially?" "No, certainly not." "Why should I tell you?" "If you have no answer it may go badly with you at the trial." The young man winced. "Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why should I not? And yet I hate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. Did you ever hear of Dawson and Neligan?" I could see from Hopkins's face that he never had; but Holmes was keenly interested. "You mean the West-country bankers," said he. "They failed for a million, ruined half the county families of Cornwall, and Neligan disappeared." "Exactly. Neligan was my father." At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemed a long gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Carey pinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons. We all listened intently to the young man's words. "It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired. I was only ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough to feel the shame and horror of it all. It has always been said that my father stole all the securities and fled. It is not true. It was his belief that if he were given time in which to realize them all would be well and every creditor paid in full. He started in his little yacht for Norway just before the warrant was issued for his arrest. I can remember that last night when he bade farewell to my mother. He left us a list of the securities he was taking, and he swore that he would come back with his honour cleared, and that none who had trusted him would suffer. Well, no word was ever heard from him again. Both the yacht and he vanished utterly. We believed, my mother and I, that he and it, with the securities that he had taken with him, were at the bottom of the sea. We had a faithful friend, however, who is a business man, and it was he who discovered some time ago that some of the securities which my father had with him have reappeared on the London market. You can imagine our amazement. I spent months in trying to trace them, and at last, after many doublings and difficulties, I discovered that the original seller had been Captain Peter Carey, the owner of this hut. "Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found that he had been in command of a whaler which was due to return from the Arctic seas at the very time when my father was crossing to Norway. The autumn of that year was a stormy one, and there was a long succession of southerly gales. My father's yacht may well have been blown to the north, and there met by Captain Peter Carey's ship. If that were so, what had become of my father? In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey's evidence how these securities came on the market it would be a proof that my father had not sold them, and that he had no view to personal profit when he took them. "I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain, but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I read at the inquest a description of his cabin, in which it stated that the old log-books of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck me that if I could see what occurred in the month of August, 1883, on board the Sea Unicorn, I might settle the mystery of my father's fate. I tried last night to get at these log-books, but was unable to open the door. To-night I tried again, and succeeded; but I find that the pages which deal with that month have been torn from the book. It was at that moment I found myself a prisoner in your hands." "Is that all?" asked Hopkins. "Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he said it. "You have nothing else to tell us?" He hesitated. "No; there is nothing." "You have not been here before last night?" "No." "Then how do you account for that?" cried Hopkins, as he held up the damning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on the first leaf and the blood-stain on the cover. The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands and trembled all over. "Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not know. I thought I had lost it at the hotel." "That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else you have to say you must say in court. You will walk down with me now to the police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very much obliged to you and to your friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your presence was unnecessary, and I would have brought the case to this successful issue without you; but none the less I am very grateful. Rooms have been reserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to the village together." "Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked Holmes, as we travelled back next morning. "I can see that you are not satisfied." "Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the same time Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for better things from him. One should always look for a possible alternative and provide against it. It is the first rule of criminal investigation." "What, then, is the alternative?" "The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It may give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall follow it to the end." Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out into a triumphant chuckle of laughter. "Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have you telegraph forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: 'Sumner, Shipping Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on, to arrive ten to-morrow morning.--Basil.' That's my name in those parts. The other is: 'Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to come.--Sherlock Holmes.' There, Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days. I hereby banish it completely from my presence. To-morrow I trust that we shall hear the last of it for ever." Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared, and we sat down together to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson had prepared. The young detective was in high spirits at his success. "You really think that your solution must be correct?" asked Holmes. "I could not imagine a more complete case." "It did not seem to me conclusive." "You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask for?" "Does your explanation cover every point?" "Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at the Brambletye Hotel on the very day of the crime. He came on the pretence of playing golf. His room was on the ground-floor, and he could get out when he liked. That very night he went down to Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled with him, and killed him with the harpoon. Then, horrified by what he had done, he fled out of the hut, dropping the note-book which he had brought with him in order to question Peter Carey about these different securities. You may have observed that some of them were marked with ticks, and the others--the great majority--were not. Those which are ticked have been traced on the London market; but the others presumably were still in the possession of Carey, and young Neligan, according to his own account, was anxious to recover them in order to do the right thing by his father's creditors. After his flight he did not dare to approach the hut again for some time; but at last he forced himself to do so in order to obtain the information which he needed. Surely that is all simple and obvious?" Holmes smiled and shook his head. "It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and that is that it is intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to drive a harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really pay attention to these details. My friend Watson could tell you that I spent a whole morning in that exercise. It is no easy matter, and requires a strong and practised arm. But this blow was delivered with such violence that the head of the weapon sank deep into the wall. Do you imagine that this anaemic youth was capable of so frightful an assault? Is he the man who hobnobbed in rum and water with Black Peter in the dead of the night? Was it his profile that was seen on the blind two nights before? No, no, Hopkins; it is another and a more formidable person for whom we must seek." The detective's face had grown longer and longer during Holmes's speech. His hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him. But he would not abandon his position without a struggle. "You can't deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr. Holmes. The book will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it. Besides, Mr. Holmes, I have laid my hand upon my man. As to this terrible person of yours, where is he?" "I rather fancy that he is on the stair," said Holmes, serenely. "I think, Watson, that you would do well to put that revolver where you can reach it." He rose, and laid a written paper upon a side-table. "Now we are ready," said he. There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and now Mrs. Hudson opened the door to say that there were three men inquiring for Captain Basil. "Show them in one by one," said Holmes. The first who entered was a little ribston-pippin of a man, with ruddy cheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes had drawn a letter from his pocket. "What name?" he asked. "James Lancaster." "I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half a sovereign for your trouble. Just step into this room and wait there for a few minutes." The second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair and sallow cheeks. His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait. The third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. A fierce bull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and two bold dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted, overhung eyebrows. He saluted and stood sailor-fashion, turning his cap round in his hands. "Your name?" asked Holmes. "Patrick Cairns." "Harpooner?" "Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages." "Dundee, I suppose?" "Yes, sir." "And ready to start with an exploring ship?" "Yes, sir." "What wages?" "Eight pounds a month." "Could you start at once?" "As soon as I get my kit." "Have you your papers?" "Yes, sir." He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms from his pocket. Holmes glanced over them and returned them. "You are just the man I want," said he. "Here's the agreement on the side-table. If you sign it the whole matter will be settled." The seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen. "Shall I sign here?" he asked, stooping over the table. Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over his neck. "This will do," said he. I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The next instant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on the ground together. He was a man of such gigantic strength that, even with the handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his wrists, he would have very quickly overpowered my friend had Hopkins and I not rushed to his rescue. Only when I pressed the cold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at last understand that resistance was vain. We lashed his ankles with cord and rose breathless from the struggle. "I must really apologize, Hopkins," said Sherlock Holmes; "I fear that the scrambled eggs are cold. However, you will enjoy the rest of your breakfast all the better, will you not, for the thought that you have brought your case to a triumphant conclusion." Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement. "I don't know what to say, Mr. Holmes," he blurted out at last, with a very red face. "It seems to me that I have been making a fool of myself from the beginning. I understand now, what I should never have forgotten, that I am the pupil and you are the master. Even now I see what you have done, but I don't know how you did it, or what it signifies." "Well, well," said Holmes, good-humouredly. "We all learn by experience, and your lesson this time is that you should never lose sight of the alternative. You were so absorbed in young Neligan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns, the true murderer of Peter Carey." The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation. "See here, mister," said he, "I make no complaint of being man-handled in this fashion, but I would have you call things by their right names. You say I murdered Peter Carey; I say I killed Peter Carey, and there's all the difference. Maybe you don't believe what I say. Maybe you think I am just slinging you a yarn." "Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear what you have to say." "It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. I knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whipped a harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me. That's how he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd as soon die with a rope round my neck as with Black Peter's knife in my heart." "How came you there?" asked Holmes. "I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a little so as I can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened--August of that year. Peter Carey was master of the Sea Unicorn, and I was spare harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-pack on our way home, with head winds and a week's southerly gale, when we picked up a little craft that had been blown north. There was one man on her--a landsman. The crew had thought she would founder, and had made for the Norwegian coast in the dinghy. I guess they were all drowned. Well, we took him on board, this man, and he and the skipper had some long talks in the cabin. All the baggage we took off with him was one tin box. So far as I know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on the second night he disappeared as if he had never been. It was given out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallen overboard in the heavy weather that we were having. Only one man knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for with my own eyes I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over the rail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before we sighted the Shetland lights. "Well, I kept my knowledge to myself and waited to see what would come of it. When we got back to Scotland it was easily hushed up, and nobody asked any questions. A stranger died by an accident, and it was nobody's business to inquire. Shortly after Peter Carey gave up the sea, and it was long years before I could find where he was. I guessed that he had done the deed for the sake of what was in that tin box, and that he could afford now to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut. "I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met him in London, and down I went to squeeze him. The first night he was reasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would make me free of the sea for life. We were to fix it all two nights later. When I came I found him three parts drunk and in a vile temper. We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old times, but the more he drank the less I liked the look on his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I might need it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at me, spitting and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great clasp-knife in his hand. He had not time to get it from the sheath before I had the harpoon through him. Heavens! what a yell he gave; and his face gets between me and my sleep! I stood there, with his blood splashing round me, and I waited for a bit; but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. I looked round, and there was the tin box on a shelf. I had as much right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and left the hut. Like a fool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table. "Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had hardly got outside the hut when I heard someone coming, and I hid among the bushes. A man came slinking along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as he could run until he was out of sight. Who he was or what he wanted is more than I can tell. For my part I walked ten miles, got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so reached London, and no one the wiser. "Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no money in it, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell. I had lost my hold on Black Peter, and was stranded in London without a shilling. There was only my trade left. I saw these advertisements about harpooners and high wages, so I went to the shipping agents, and they sent me here. That's all I know, and I say again that if I killed Black Peter the law should give me thanks, for I saved them the price of a hempen rope." "A very clear statement," said Holmes, rising and lighting his pipe. "I think, Hopkins, that you should lose no time in conveying your prisoner to a place of safety. This room is not well adapted for a cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too large a proportion of our carpet." "Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not know how to express my gratitude. Even now I do not understand how you attained this result." "Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue from the beginning. It is very possible if I had known about this note-book it might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours. But all I heard pointed in the one direction. The amazing strength, the skill in the use of the harpoon, the rum and water, the seal-skin tobacco-pouch, with the coarse tobacco--all these pointed to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler. I was convinced that the initials 'P.C.' upon the pouch were a coincidence, and not those of Peter Carey, since he seldom smoked, and no pipe was found in his cabin. You remember that I asked whether whisky and brandy were in the cabin. You said they were. How many landsmen are there who would drink rum when they could get these other spirits? Yes, I was certain it was a seaman." "And how did you find him?" "My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. If it were a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with him on the Sea Unicorn. So far as I could learn he had sailed in no other ship. I spent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the end of that time I had ascertained the names of the crew of the Sea Unicorn in 1883. When I found Patrick Cairns among the harpooners my research was nearing its end. I argued that the man was probably in London, and that he would desire to leave the country for a time. I therefore spent some days in the East-end, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting terms for harpooners who would serve under Captain Basil--and behold the result!" "Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!" "You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon as possible," said Holmes. "I confess that I think you owe him some apology. The tin box must be returned to him, but, of course, the securities which Peter Carey has sold are lost for ever. There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can remove your man. If you want me for the trial, my address and that of Watson will be somewhere in Norway--I'll send particulars later." THE ADVENTURE OF CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON It is years since the incidents of which I speak took place, and yet it is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a long time, even with the utmost discretion and reticence, it would have been impossible to make the facts public; but now the principal person concerned is beyond the reach of human law, and with due suppression the story may be told in such fashion as to injure no one. It records an absolutely unique experience in the career both of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. The reader will excuse me if I conceal the date or any other fact by which he might trace the actual occurrence. We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I, and had returned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter's evening. As Holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upon a card on the table. He glanced at it, and then, with an ejaculation of disgust, threw it on the floor. I picked it up and read:-- Charles Augustus Milverton, Appledore Towers, Hampstead. Agent. "Who is he?" I asked. "The worst man in London," Holmes answered, as he sat down and stretched his legs before the fire. "Is anything on the back of the card?" I turned it over. "Will call at 6.30--C.A.M.," I read. "Hum! He's about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation, Watson, when you stand before the serpents in the Zoo and see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? Well, that's how Milverton impresses me. I've had to do with fifty murderers in my career, but the worst of them never gave me the repulsion which I have for this fellow. And yet I can't get out of doing business with him--indeed, he is here at my invitation." "But who is he?" "I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputation come into the power of Milverton. With a smiling face and a heart of marble he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, and would have made his mark in some more savoury trade. His method is as follows: He allows it to be known that he is prepared to pay very high sums for letters which compromise people of wealth or position. He receives these wares not only from treacherous valets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians who have gained the confidence and affection of trusting women. He deals with no niggard hand. I happen to know that he paid seven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two lines in length, and that the ruin of a noble family was the result. Everything which is in the market goes to Milverton, and there are hundreds in this great city who turn white at his name. No one knows where his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far too cunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card back for years in order to play it at the moment when the stake is best worth winning. I have said that he is the worst man in London, and I would ask you how could one compare the ruffian who in hot blood bludgeons his mate with this man, who methodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and wrings the nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?" I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling. "But surely," said I, "the fellow must be within the grasp of the law?" "Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would it profit a woman, for example, to get him a few months' imprisonment if her own ruin must immediately follow? His victims dare not hit back. If ever he blackmailed an innocent person, then, indeed, we should have him; but he is as cunning as the Evil One. No, no; we must find other ways to fight him." "And why is he here?" "Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous case in my hands. It is the Lady Eva Brackwell, the most beautiful debutante of last season. She is to be married in a fortnight to the Earl of Dovercourt. This fiend has several imprudent letters--imprudent, Watson, nothing worse--which were written to an impecunious young squire in the country. They would suffice to break off the match. Milverton will send the letters to the Earl unless a large sum of money is paid him. I have been commissioned to meet him, and--to make the best terms I can." At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the street below. Looking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, the brilliant lamps gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noble chestnuts. A footman opened the door, and a small, stout man in a shaggy astrachan overcoat descended. A minute later he was in the room. Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large, intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetual frozen smile, and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightly from behind broad, golden-rimmed glasses. There was something of Mr. Pickwick's benevolence in his appearance, marred only by the insincerity of the fixed smile and by the hard glitter of those restless and penetrating eyes. His voice was as smooth and suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump little hand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at his first visit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him with a face of granite. Milverton's smile broadened; he shrugged his shoulders, removed his overcoat, folded it with great deliberation over the back of a chair, and then took a seat. "This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "Is it discreet? Is it right?" "Dr. Watson is my friend and partner." "Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's interests that I protested. The matter is so very delicate--" "Dr. Watson has already heard of it." "Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are acting for Lady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?" "What are your terms?" "Seven thousand pounds." "And the alternative?" "My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it; but if the money is not paid on the 14th there certainly will be no marriage on the 18th." His insufferable smile was more complacent than ever. Holmes thought for a little. "You appear to me," he said, at last, "to be taking matters too much for granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contents of these letters. My client will certainly do what I may advise. I shall counsel her to tell her future husband the whole story and to trust to his generosity." Milverton chuckled. "You evidently do not know the Earl," said he. From the baffled look upon Holmes's face I could see clearly that he did. "What harm is there in the letters?" he asked. "They are sprightly--very sprightly," Milverton answered. "The lady was a charming correspondent. But I can assure you that the Earl of Dovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think otherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of business. If you think that it is in the best interests of your client that these letters should be placed in the hands of the Earl, then you would indeed be foolish to pay so large a sum of money to regain them." He rose and seized his astrachan coat. Holmes was grey with anger and mortification. "Wait a little," he said. "You go too fast. We would certainly make every effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter." Milverton relapsed into his chair. "I was sure that you would see it in that light," he purred. "At the same time," Holmes continued, "Lady Eva is not a wealthy woman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drain upon her resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyond her power. I beg, therefore, that you will moderate your demands, and that you will return the letters at the price I indicate, which is, I assure you, the highest that you can get." Milverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously. "I am aware that what you say is true about the lady's resources," said he. "At the same time, you must admit that the occasion of a lady's marriage is a very suitable time for her friends and relatives to make some little effort upon her behalf. They may hesitate as to an acceptable wedding present. Let me assure them that this little bundle of letters would give more joy than all the candelabra and butter-dishes in London." "It is impossible," said Holmes. "Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried Milverton, taking out a bulky pocket-book. "I cannot help thinking that ladies are ill-advised in not making an effort. Look at this!" He held up a little note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. "That belongs to--well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the name until to-morrow morning. But at that time it will be in the hands of the lady's husband. And all because she will not find a beggarly sum which she could get by turning her diamonds into paste. It is such a pity. Now, you remember the sudden end of the engagement between the Honourable Miss Miles and Colonel Dorking? Only two days before the wedding there was a paragraph in the Morning Post to say that it was all off. And why? It is almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelve hundred pounds would have settled the whole question. Is it not pitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense, boggling about terms when your client's future and honour are at stake. You surprise me, Mr. Holmes." "What I say is true," Holmes answered. "The money cannot be found. Surely it is better for you to take the substantial sum which I offer than to ruin this woman's career, which can profit you in no way?" "There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profit me indirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or ten similar cases maturing. If it was circulated among them that I had made a severe example of the Lady Eva I should find all of them much more open to reason. You see my point?" Holmes sprang from his chair. "Get behind him, Watson! Don't let him out! Now, sir, let us see the contents of that note-book." Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room, and stood with his back against the wall. "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," he said, turning the front of his coat and exhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projected from the inside pocket. "I have been expecting you to do something original. This has been done so often, and what good has ever come from it? I assure you that I am armed to the teeth, and I am perfectly prepared to use my weapons, knowing that the law will support me. Besides, your supposition that I would bring the letters here in a note-book is entirely mistaken. I would do nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen, I have one or two little interviews this evening, and it is a long drive to Hampstead." He stepped forward, took up his coat, laid his hand on his revolver, and turned to the door. I picked up a chair, but Holmes shook his head and I laid it down again. With bow, a smile, and a twinkle Milverton was out of the room, and a few moments after we heard the slam of the carriage door and the rattle of the wheels as he drove away. Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and still. Then, with the gesture of a man who has taken his decision, he sprang to his feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a rakish young workman with a goatee beard and a swagger lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending into the street. "I'll be back some time, Watson," said he, and vanished into the night. I understood that he had opened his campaign against Charles Augustus Milverton; but I little dreamed the strange shape which that campaign was destined to take. For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire, but beyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead, and that it was not wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on a wild, tempestuous evening, when the wind screamed and rattled against the windows, he returned from his last expedition, and having removed his disguise he sat before the fire and laughed heartily in his silent inward fashion. "You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?" "No, indeed!" "You'll be interested to hear that I am engaged." "My dear fellow! I congrat--" "To Milverton's housemaid." "Good heavens, Holmes!" "I wanted information, Watson." "Surely you have gone too far?" "It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business, Escott by name. I have walked out with her each evening, and I have talked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I wanted. I know Milverton's house as I know the palm of my hand." "But the girl, Holmes?" He shrugged his shoulders. "You can't help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cards as best you can when such a stake is on the table. However, I rejoice to say that I have a hated rival who will certainly cut me out the instant that my back is turned. What a splendid night it is!" "You like this weather?" "It suits my purpose. Watson, I mean to burgle Milverton's house to-night." I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at the words, which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentrated resolution. As a flash of lightning in the night shows up in an instant every detail of a wide landscape, so at one glance I seemed to see every possible result of such an action--the detection, the capture, the honoured career ending in irreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying at the mercy of the odious Milverton. "For Heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing," I cried. "My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I am never precipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energetic and indeed so dangerous a course if any other were possible. Let us look at the matter clearly and fairly. I suppose that you will admit that the action is morally justifiable, though technically criminal. To burgle his house is no more than to forcibly take his pocket-book--an action in which you were prepared to aid me." I turned it over in my mind. "Yes," I said; "it is morally justifiable so long as our object is to take no articles save those which are used for an illegal purpose." "Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable I have only to consider the question of personal risk. Surely a gentleman should not lay much stress upon this when a lady is in most desperate need of his help?" "You will be in such a false position." "Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible way of regaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not the money, and there are none of her people in whom she could confide. To-morrow is the last day of grace, and unless we can get the letters to-night this villain will be as good as his word and will bring about her ruin. I must, therefore, abandon my client to her fate or I must play this last card. Between ourselves, Watson, it's a sporting duel between this fellow Milverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of the first exchanges; but my self-respect and my reputation are concerned to fight it to a finish." "Well, I don't like it; but I suppose it must be," said I. "When do we start?" "You are not coming." "Then you are not going," said I. "I give you my word of honour--and I never broke it in my life--that I will take a cab straight to the police-station and give you away unless you let me share this adventure with you." "You can't help me." "How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen. Anyway, my resolution is taken. Other people beside you have self-respect and even reputations." Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared the same room for some years, and it would be amusing if we ended by sharing the same cell. You know, Watson, I don't mind confessing to you that I have always had an idea that I would have made a highly efficient criminal. This is the chance of my lifetime in that direction. See here!" He took a neat little leather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibited a number of shining instruments. "This is a first-class, up-to-date burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tipped glass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern improvement which the march of civilization demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in order. Have you a pair of silent shoes?" "I have rubber-soled tennis shoes." "Excellent. And a mask?" "I can make a couple out of black silk." "I can see that you have a strong natural turn for this sort of thing. Very good; do you make the masks. We shall have some cold supper before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At eleven we shall drive as far as Church Row. It is a quarter of an hour's walk from there to Appledore Towers. We shall be at work before midnight. Milverton is a heavy sleeper and retires punctually at ten-thirty. With any luck we should be back here by two, with the Lady Eva's letters in my pocket." Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we might appear to be two theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Street we picked up a hansom and drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our cab, and with our great-coats buttoned up, for it was bitterly cold and the wind seemed to blow through us, we walked along the edge of the Heath. "It's a business that needs delicate treatment," said Holmes. "These documents are contained in a safe in the fellow's study, and the study is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the other hand, like all these stout, little men who do themselves well, he is a plethoric sleeper. Agatha--that's my fiancee--says it is a joke in the servants' hall that it's impossible to wake the master. He has a secretary who is devoted to his interests and never budges from the study all day. That's why we are going at night. Then he has a beast of a dog which roams the garden. I met Agatha late the last two evenings, and she locks the brute up so as to give me a clear run. This is the house, this big one in its own grounds. Through the gate--now to the right among the laurels. We might put on our masks here, I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light in any of the windows, and everything is working splendidly." With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two of the most truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent, gloomy house. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side of it, lined by several windows and two doors. "That's his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This door opens straight into the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as well as locked, and we should make too much noise getting in. Come round here. There's a greenhouse which opens into the drawing-room." The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass and turned the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had closed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes of the law. The thick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich, choking fragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past banks of shrubs which brushed against our faces. Holmes had remarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding my hand in one of his he opened a door, and I was vaguely conscious that we had entered a large room in which a cigar had been smoked not long before. He felt his way among the furniture, opened another door, and closed it behind us. Putting out my hand I felt several coats hanging from the wall, and I understood that I was in a passage. We passed along it, and Holmes very gently opened a door upon the right-hand side. Something rushed out at us and my heart sprang into my mouth, but I could have laughed when I realized that it was the cat. A fire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavy with tobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for me to follow, and then very gently closed the door. We were in Milverton's study, and a portiere at the farther side showed the entrance to his bedroom. It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door I saw the gleam of an electric switch, but it was unnecessary, even if it had been safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was a heavy curtain, which covered the bay window we had seen from outside. On the other side was the door which communicated with the veranda. A desk stood in the centre, with a turning chair of shining red leather. Opposite was a large bookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top. In the corner between the bookcase and the wall there stood a tall green safe, the firelight flashing back from the polished brass knobs upon its face. Holmes stole across and looked at it. Then he crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood with slanting head listening intently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had struck me that it would be wise to secure our retreat through the outer door, so I examined it. To my amazement it was neither locked nor bolted! I touched Holmes on the arm, and he turned his masked face in that direction. I saw him start, and he was evidently as surprised as I. "I don't like it," he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear. "I can't quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose." "Can I do anything?" "Yes; stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt it on the inside, and we can get away as we came. If they come the other way, we can get through the door if our job is done, or hide behind these window curtains if it is not. Do you understand?" I nodded and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear had passed away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I had ever enjoyed when we were the defenders of the law instead of its defiers. The high object of our mission, the consciousness that it was unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous character of our opponent, all added to the sporting interest of the adventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exulted in our dangers. With a glow of admiration I watched Holmes unrolling his case of instruments and choosing his tool with the calm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicate operation. I knew that the opening of safes was a particular hobby with him, and I understood the joy which it gave him to be confronted with this green and gold monster, the dragon which held in its maw the reputations of many fair ladies. Turning up the cuffs of his dress-coat--he had placed his overcoat on a chair--Holmes laid out two drills, a jemmy, and several skeleton keys. I stood at the centre door with my eyes glancing at each of the others, ready for any emergency; though, indeed, my plans were somewhat vague as to what I should do if we were interrupted. For half an hour Holmes worked with concentrated energy, laying down one tool, picking up another, handling each with the strength and delicacy of the trained mechanic. Finally I heard a click, the broad green door swung open, and inside I had a glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied, sealed, and inscribed. Holmes picked one out, but it was hard to read by the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark lantern, for it was too dangerous, with Milverton in the next room, to switch on the electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt, listen intently, and then in an instant he had swung the door of the safe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets, and darted behind the window curtain, motioning me to do the same. It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what had alarmed his quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere within the house. A door slammed in the distance. Then a confused, dull murmur broke itself into the measured thud of heavy footsteps rapidly approaching. They were in the passage outside the room. They paused at the door. The door opened. There was a sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. The door closed once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar was borne to our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, within a few yards of us. Finally, there was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key clicked in a lock and I heard the rustle of papers. So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted the division of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the pressure of Holmes's shoulder against mine I knew that he was sharing my observations. Right in front of us, and almost within our reach, was the broad, rounded back of Milverton. It was evident that we had entirely miscalculated his movements, that he had never been to his bedroom, but that he had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in the farther wing of the house, the windows of which we had not seen. His broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness, was in the immediate foreground of our vision. He was leaning far back in the red leather chair, his legs outstretched, a long black cigar projecting at an angle from his mouth. He wore a semi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured, with a black velvet collar. In his hand he held a long legal document, which he was reading in an indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobacco smoke from his lips as he did so. There was no promise of a speedy departure in his composed bearing and his comfortable attitude. I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuring shake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers and that he was easy in his mind. I was not sure whether he had seen what was only too obvious from my position, that the door of the safe was imperfectly closed, and that Milverton might at any moment observe it. In my own mind I had determined that if I were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze, that it had caught his eye, I would at once spring out, throw my great-coat over his head, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But Milverton never looked up. He was languidly interested by the papers in his hand, and page after page was turned as he followed the argument of the lawyer. At least, I thought, when he has finished the document and the cigar he will go to his room; but before he had reached the end of either there came a remarkable development which turned our thoughts into quite another channel. Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at his watch, and once he had risen and sat down again, with a gesture of impatience. The idea, however, that he might have an appointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me until a faint sound reached my ears from the veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his chair. The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tap at the door. Milverton rose and opened it. "Well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half an hour late." So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of the nocturnal vigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle of a woman's dress. I had closed the slit between the curtains as Milverton's face had turned in our direction, but now I ventured very carefully to open it once more. He had resumed his seat, the cigar still projecting at an insolent angle from the corner of his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare of the electric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veil over her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath came quick and fast, and every inch of the lithe figure was quivering with strong emotion. "Well," said Milverton, "you've made me lose a good night's rest, my dear. I hope you'll prove worth it. You couldn't come any other time--eh?" The woman shook her head. "Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is a hard mistress you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the girl, what are you shivering about? That's right! Pull yourself together! Now, let us get down to business." He took a note from the drawer of his desk. "You say that you have five letters which compromise the Countess d'Albert. You want to sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good. It only remains to fix a price. I should want to inspect the letters, of course. If they are really good specimens--Great heavens, is it you?" The woman without a word had raised her veil and dropped the mantle from her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut face which confronted Milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong, dark eyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight, thin-lipped mouth set in a dangerous smile. "It is I," she said; "the woman whose life you have ruined." Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. "You were so very obstinate," said he. "Why did you drive me to such extremities? I assure you I wouldn't hurt a fly of my own accord, but every man has his business, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your means. You would not pay." "So you sent the letters to my husband, and he--the noblest gentleman that ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthy to lace--he broke his gallant heart and died. You remember that last night when I came through that door I begged and prayed you for mercy, and you laughed in my face as you are trying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannot keep your lips from twitching? Yes, you never thought to see me here again, but it was that night which taught me how I could meet you face to face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what have you to say?" "Don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising to his feet. "I have only to raise my voice, and I could call my servants and have you arrested. But I will make allowance for your natural anger. Leave the room at once as you came, and I will say no more." The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the same deadly smile on her thin lips. "You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wring no more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of a poisonous thing. Take that, you hound, and that!--and that!--and that!" She had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrel after barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feet of his shirt front. He shrank away and then fell forward upon the table, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolled upon the floor. "You've done me," he cried, and lay still. The woman looked at him intently and ground her heel into his upturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound or movement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into the heated room, and the avenger was gone. No interference upon our part could have saved the man from his fate; but as the woman poured bullet after bullet into Milverton's shrinking body I was about to spring out, when I felt Holmes's cold, strong grasp upon my wrist. I understood the whole argument of that firm, restraining grip--that it was no affair of ours; that justice had overtaken a villain; that we had our own duties and our own objects which were not to be lost sight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room when Holmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. He turned the key in the lock. At the same instant we heard voices in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. The revolver shots had roused the household. With perfect coolness Holmes slipped across to the safe, filled his two arms with bundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire. Again and again he did it, until the safe was empty. Someone turned the handle and beat upon the outside of the door. Holmes looked swiftly round. The letter which had been the messenger of death for Milverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed it in among the blazing papers. Then he drew the key from the outer door, passed through after me, and locked it on the outside. "This way, Watson," said he; "we can scale the garden wall in this direction." I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread so swiftly. Looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door was open, and figures were rushing down the drive. The whole garden was alive with people, and one fellow raised a view-halloa as we emerged from the veranda and followed hard at our heels. Holmes seemed to know the ground perfectly, and he threaded his way swiftly among a plantation of small trees, I close at his heels, and our foremost pursuer panting behind us. It was a six-foot wall which barred our path, but he sprang to the top and over. As I did the same I felt the hand of the man behind me grab at my ankle; but I kicked myself free and scrambled over a glass-strewn coping. I fell upon my face among some bushes; but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant, and together we dashed away across the huge expanse of Hampstead Heath. We had run two miles, I suppose, before Holmes at last halted and listened intently. All was absolute silence behind us. We had shaken off our pursuers and were safe. We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on the day after the remarkable experience which I have recorded when Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and impressive, was ushered into our modest sitting-room. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes," said he; "good morning. May I ask if you are very busy just now?" "Not too busy to listen to you." "I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand, you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case which occurred only last night at Hampstead." "Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?" "A murder--a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know how keen you are upon these things, and I would take it as a great favour if you would step down to Appledore Towers and give us the benefit of your advice. It is no ordinary crime. We have had our eyes upon this Mr. Milverton for some time, and, between ourselves, he was a bit of a villain. He is known to have held papers which he used for blackmailing purposes. These papers have all been burned by the murderers. No article of value was taken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of good position, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure." "Criminals!" said Holmes. "Plural!" "Yes, there were two of them. They were, as nearly as possible, captured red-handed. We have their foot-marks, we have their description; it's ten to one that we trace them. The first fellow was a bit too active, but the second was caught by the under-gardener and only got away after a struggle. He was a middle-sized, strongly-built man--square jaw, thick neck, moustache, a mask over his eyes." "That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes. "Why, it might be a description of Watson!" "It's true," said the inspector, with much amusement. "It might be a description of Watson." "Well, I am afraid I can't help you, Lestrade," said Holmes. "The fact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that I considered him one of the most dangerous men in London, and that I think there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch, and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge. No, it's no use arguing. I have made up my mind. My sympathies are with the criminals rather than with the victim, and I will not handle this case." Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which we had witnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in his most thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from his vacant eyes and his abstracted manner, of a man who is striving to recall something to his memory. We were in the middle of our lunch when he suddenly sprang to his feet. "By Jove, Watson; I've got it!" he cried. "Take your hat! Come with me!" He hurried at his top speed down Baker Street and along Oxford Street, until we had almost reached Regent Circus. Here on the left hand there stands a shop window filled with photographs of the celebrities and beauties of the day. Holmes's eyes fixed themselves upon one of them, and following his gaze I saw the picture of a regal and stately lady in Court dress, with a high diamond tiara upon her noble head. I looked at that delicately-curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, at the straight mouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught my breath as I read the time-honoured title of the great nobleman and statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes, and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIX NAPOLEONS It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with all that was going on at the police head-quarters. In return for the news which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready to listen with attention to the details of any case upon which the detective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without any active interference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn from his own vast knowledge and experience. On this particular evening Lestrade had spoken of the weather and the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him. "Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked. "Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very particular." "Then tell me about it." Lestrade laughed. "Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there is something on my mind. And yet it is such an absurd business that I hesitated to bother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out of the common. But in my opinion it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than ours." "Disease?" said I. "Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too! You wouldn't think there was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred of Napoleon the First that he would break any image of him that he could see." Holmes sank back in his chair. "That's no business of mine," said he. "Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commits burglary in order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman." Holmes sat up again. "Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details." Lestrade took out his official note-book and refreshed his memory from its pages. "The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It was at the shop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale of pictures and statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant had left the front shop for an instant when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments. He rushed out into the road, but, although several passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run out of the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find any means of identifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of those senseless acts of Hooliganism which occur from time to time, and it was reported to the constable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings, and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for any particular investigation. "The second case, however, was more serious and also more singular. It occurred only last night. "In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of Morse Hudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner, named Dr. Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices upon the south side of the Thames. His residence and principal consulting-room is at Kennington Road, but he has a branch surgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road, two miles away. This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor. Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudson two duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon by the French sculptor, Devine. One of these he placed in his hall in the house at Kennington Road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had been carried out and had been dashed savagely against the garden wall, under which its splintered fragments were discovered." Holmes rubbed his hands. "This is certainly very novel," said he. "I thought it would please you. But I have not got to the end yet. Dr. Barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock, and you can imagine his amazement when, on arriving there, he found that the window had been opened in the night, and that the broken pieces of his second bust were strewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where it stood. In neither case were there any signs which could give us a clue as to the criminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes, you have got the facts." "They are singular, not to say grotesque," said Holmes. "May I ask whether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicot's rooms were the exact duplicates of the one which was destroyed in Morse Hudson's shop?" "They were taken from the same mould." "Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man who breaks them is influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is too much to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust." "Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On the other hand, this Morse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of London, and these three were the only ones which had been in his shop for years. So, although, as you say, there are many hundreds of statues in London, it is very probable that these three were the only ones in that district. Therefore, a local fanatic would begin with them. What do you think, Dr. Watson?" "There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania," I answered. "There is the condition which the modern French psychologists have called the 'idée fixe,' which may be trifling in character, and accompanied by complete sanity in every other way. A man who had read deeply about Napoleon, or who had possibly received some hereditary family injury through the great war, might conceivably form such an idée fixe and under its influence be capable of any fantastic outrage." "That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his head; "for no amount of idée fixe would enable your interesting monomaniac to find out where these busts were situated." "Well, how do you explain it?" "I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is a certain method in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. For example, in Dr. Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse the family, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereas in the surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it was smashed where it stood. The affair seems absurdly trifling, and yet I dare call nothing trivial when I reflect that some of my most classic cases have had the least promising commencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. I can't afford, therefore, to smile at your three broken busts, Lestrade, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you will let me hear of any fresh developments of so singular a chain of events." The development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker and an infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. I was still dressing in my bedroom next morning when there was a tap at the door and Holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. He read it aloud: "Come instantly, 131, Pitt Street, Kensington. "Lestrade." "What is it, then?" I asked. "Don't know--may be anything. But I suspect it is the sequel of the story of the statues. In that case our friend, the image-breaker, has begun operations in another quarter of London. There's coffee on the table, Watson, and I have a cab at the door." In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet little backwater just beside one of the briskest currents of London life. No. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings. As we drove up we found the railings in front of the house lined by a curious crowd. Holmes whistled. "By George! it's attempted murder at the least. Nothing less will hold the London message-boy. There's a deed of violence indicated in that fellow's round shoulders and outstretched neck. What's this, Watson? The top steps swilled down and the other ones dry. Footsteps enough, anyhow! Well, well, there's Lestrade at the front window, and we shall soon know all about it." The official received us with a very grave face and showed us into a sitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitated elderly man, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up and down. He was introduced to us as the owner of the house--Mr. Horace Harker, of the Central Press Syndicate. "It's the Napoleon bust business again," said Lestrade. "You seemed interested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be glad to be present now that the affair has taken a very much graver turn." "What has it turned to, then?" "To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactly what has occurred?" The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a most melancholy face. "It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life I have been collecting other people's news, and now that a real piece of news has come my own way I am so confused and bothered that I can't put two words together. If I had come in here as a journalist I should have interviewed myself and had two columns in every evening paper. As it is I am giving away valuable copy by telling my story over and over to a string of different people, and I can make no use of it myself. However, I've heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if you'll only explain this queer business I shall be paid for my trouble in telling you the story." Holmes sat down and listened. "It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which I bought for this very room about four months ago. I picked it up cheap from Harding Brothers, two doors from the High Street Station. A great deal of my journalistic work is done at night, and I often write until the early morning. So it was to-day. I was sitting in my den, which is at the back of the top of the house, about three o'clock, when I was convinced that I heard some sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated, and I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly, about five minutes later, there came a most horrible yell--the most dreadful sound, Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It will ring in my ears as long as I live. I sat frozen with horror for a minute or two. Then I seized the poker and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found the window wide open, and I at once observed that the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes my understanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever. "You can see for yourself that anyone going out through that open window could reach the front doorstep by taking a long stride. This was clearly what the burglar had done, so I went round and opened the door. Stepping out into the dark I nearly fell over a dead man who was lying there. I ran back for a light, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, his knees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him in my dreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, and then I must have fainted, for I knew nothing more until I found the policeman standing over me in the hall." "Well, who was the murdered man?" asked Holmes. "There's nothing to show who he was," said Lestrade. "You shall see the body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it up to now. He is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not more than thirty. He is poorly dressed, and yet does not appear to be a labourer. A horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a pool of blood beside him. Whether it was the weapon which did the deed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do not know. There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pockets save an apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and a photograph. Here it is." It was evidently taken by a snap-shot from a small camera. It represented an alert, sharp-featured simian man with thick eyebrows, and a very peculiar projection of the lower part of the face like the muzzle of a baboon. "And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes, after a careful study of this picture. "We had news of it just before you came. It has been found in the front garden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It was broken into fragments. I am going round now to see it. Will you come?" "Certainly. I must just take one look round." He examined the carpet and the window. "The fellow had either very long legs or was a most active man," said he. "With an area beneath, it was no mean feat to reach that window-ledge and open that window. Getting back was comparatively simple. Are you coming with us to see the remains of your bust, Mr. Harker?" The disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table. "I must try and make something of it," said he, "though I have no doubt that the first editions of the evening papers are out already with full details. It's like my luck! You remember when the stand fell at Doncaster? Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal the only one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to write it. And now I'll be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep." As we left the room we heard his pen travelling shrilly over the foolscap. The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was only a few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes rested upon this presentment of the great Emperor, which seemed to raise such frantic and destructive hatred in the mind of the unknown. It lay scattered in splintered shards upon the grass. Holmes picked up several of them and examined them carefully. I was convinced from his intent face and his purposeful manner that at last he was upon a clue. "Well?" asked Lestrade. Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And yet--and yet--well, we have some suggestive facts to act upon. The possession of this trifling bust was worth more in the eyes of this strange criminal than a human life. That is one point. Then there is the singular fact that he did not break it in the house, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was his sole object." "He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He hardly knew what he was doing." "Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attention very particularly to the position of this house in the garden of which the bust was destroyed." Lestrade looked about him. "It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not be disturbed in the garden." "Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the street which he must have passed before he came to this one. Why did he not break it there, since it is evident that every yard that he carried it increased the risk of someone meeting him?" "I give it up," said Lestrade. Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads. "He could see what he was doing here and he could not there. That was his reason." "By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now that I come to think of it, Dr. Barnicot's bust was broken not far from his red lamp. Well, Mr. Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?" "To remember it--to docket it. We may come on something later which will bear upon it. What steps do you propose to take now, Lestrade?" "The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is to identify the dead man. There should be no difficulty about that. When we have found who he is and who his associates are, we should have a good start in learning what he was doing in Pitt Street last night, and who it was who met him and killed him on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don't you think so?" "No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I should approach the case." "What would you do, then?" "Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way! I suggest that you go on your line and I on mine. We can compare notes afterwards, and each will supplement the other." "Very good," said Lestrade. "If you are going back to Pitt Street you might see Mr. Horace Harker. Tell him from me that I have quite made up my mind, and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic with Napoleonic delusions was in his house last night. It will be useful for his article." Lestrade stared. "You don't seriously believe that?" Holmes smiled. "Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure that it will interest Mr. Horace Harker and the subscribers of the Central Press Syndicate. Now, Watson, I think that we shall find that we have a long and rather complex day's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could make it convenient to meet us at Baker Street at six o'clock this evening. Until then I should like to keep this photograph found in the dead man's pocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your company and assistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertaken to-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until then, good-bye and good luck!" Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, where he stopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust had been purchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Harding would be absent until after noon, and that he was himself a newcomer who could give us no information. Holmes's face showed his disappointment and annoyance. "Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way, Watson," he said, at last. "We must come back in the afternoon if Mr. Harding will not be here until then. I am, as you have no doubt surmised, endeavouring to trace these busts to their source, in order to find if there is not something peculiar which may account for their remarkable fate. Let us make for Mr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he can throw any light upon the problem." A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer's establishment. He was a small, stout man with a red face and a peppery manner. "Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we pay rates and taxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come in and break one's goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicot his two statues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot, that's what I make it. No one but an Anarchist would go about breaking statues. Red republicans, that's what I call 'em. Who did I get the statues from? I don't see what that has to do with it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelder & Co., in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in the trade, and have been this twenty years. How many had I? Three--two and one are three--two of Dr. Barnicot's and one smashed in broad daylight on my own counter. Do I know that photograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do, though. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who made himself useful in the shop. He could carve a bit and gild and frame, and do odd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard nothing of him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where he went to. I have nothing against him while he was here. He was gone two days before the bust was smashed." "Well, that's all we could reasonably expect to get from Morse Hudson," said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We have this Beppo as a common factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington, so that is worth a ten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us make for Gelder & Co., of Stepney, the source and origin of busts. I shall be surprised if we don't get some help down there." In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionable London, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London, commercial London, and, finally, maritime London, till we came to a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where the tenement houses swelter and reek with the outcasts of Europe. Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy City merchants, we found the sculpture works for which we searched. Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry. Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving or moulding. The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly, and gave a clear answer to all Holmes's questions. A reference to his books showed that hundreds of casts had been taken from a marble copy of Devine's head of Napoleon, but that the three which had been sent to Morse Hudson a year or so before had been half of a batch of six, the other three being sent to Harding Brothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those six should be different to any of the other casts. He could suggest no possible cause why anyone should wish to destroy them--in fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale price was six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds from each side of the face, and then these two profiles of plaster of Paris were joined together to make the complete bust. The work was usually done by Italians in the room we were in. When finished the busts were put on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored. That was all he could tell us. But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effect upon the manager. His face flushed with anger, and his brows knotted over his blue Teutonic eyes. "Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well. This has always been a respectable establishment, and the only time that we have ever had the police in it was over this very fellow. It was more than a year ago now. He knifed another Italian in the street, and then he came to the works with the police on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppo was his name--his second name I never knew. Serve me right for engaging a man with such a face. But he was a good workman, one of the best." "What did he get?" "The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he is out now; but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have a cousin of his here, and I dare say he could tell you where he is." "No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin--not a word, I beg you. The matter is very important, and the farther I go with it the more important it seems to grow. When you referred in your ledger to the sale of those casts I observed that the date was June 3rd of last year. Could you give me the date when Beppo was arrested?" "I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manager answered. "Yes," he continued, after some turning over of pages, "he was paid last on May 20th." "Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrude upon your time and patience any more." With a last word of caution that he should say nothing as to our researches we turned our faces westward once more. The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatch a hasty luncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entrance announced "Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and the contents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got his account into print after all. Two columns were occupied with a highly sensational and flowery rendering of the whole incident. Holmes propped it against the cruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled. "This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this: "It is satisfactory to know that there can be no difference of opinion upon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the most experienced members of the official force, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known consulting expert, have each come to the conclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, which have ended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than from deliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberration can cover the facts. "The Press, Watson, is a most valuable institution if you only know how to use it. And now, if you have quite finished, we will hark back to Kensington and see what the manager of Harding Brothers has to say to the matter." The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk, crisp little person, very dapper and quick, with a clear head and a ready tongue. "Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the evening papers. Mr. Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We supplied him with the bust some months ago. We ordered three busts of that sort from Gelder & Co., of Stepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say by consulting our sales book we could very easily tell you. Yes, we have the entries here. One to Mr. Harker, you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of Laburnum Lodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, of Lower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this face which you show me in the photograph. You would hardly forget it, would you, sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier. Have we any Italians on the staff? Yes, sir, we have several among our workpeople and cleaners. I dare say they might get a peep at that sales book if they wanted to. There is no particular reason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's a very strange business, and I hope that you'll let me know if anything comes of your inquiries." Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence, and I could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turn which affairs were taking. He made no remark, however, save that, unless we hurried, we should be late for our appointment with Lestrade. Sure enough, when we reached Baker Street the detective was already there, and we found him pacing up and down in a fever of impatience. His look of importance showed that his day's work had not been in vain. "Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?" "We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one," my friend explained. "We have seen both the retailers and also the wholesale manufacturers. I can trace each of the busts now from the beginning." "The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you have your own methods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say a word against them, but I think I have done a better day's work than you. I have identified the dead man." "You don't say so?" "And found a cause for the crime." "Splendid!" "We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill and the Italian quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholic emblem round his neck, and that, along with his colour, made me think he was from the South. Inspector Hill knew him the moment he caught sight of him. His name is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know, is a secret political society, enforcing its decrees by murder. Now you see how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow is probably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He has broken the rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Probably the photograph we found in his pocket is the man himself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He dogs the fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits outside for him, and in the scuffle he receives his own death-wound. How is that, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" Holmes clapped his hands approvingly. "Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But I didn't quite follow your explanation of the destruction of the busts." "The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head. After all, that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the murder that we are really investigating, and I tell you that I am gathering all the threads into my hands." "And the next stage?" "Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italian quarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arrest him on the charge of murder. Will you come with us?" "I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I can't say for certain, because it all depends--well, it all depends upon a factor which is completely outside our control. But I have great hopes--in fact, the betting is exactly two to one--that if you will come with us to-night I shall be able to help you to lay him by the heels." "In the Italian quarter?" "No; I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to find him. If you will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade, I'll promise to go to the Italian quarter with you to-morrow, and no harm will be done by the delay. And now I think that a few hours' sleep would do us all good, for I do not propose to leave before eleven o'clock, and it is unlikely that we shall be back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and then you are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In the meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring for an express messenger, for I have a letter to send, and it is important that it should go at once." Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of the old daily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at last he descended it was with triumph in his eyes, but he said nothing to either of us as to the result of his researches. For my own part, I had followed step by step the methods by which he had traced the various windings of this complex case, and, though I could not yet perceive the goal which we would reach, I understood clearly that Holmes expected this grotesque criminal to make an attempt upon the two remaining busts, one of which, I remembered, was at Chiswick. No doubt the object of our journey was to catch him in the very act, and I could not but admire the cunning with which my friend had inserted a wrong clue in the evening paper, so as to give the fellow the idea that he could continue his scheme with impunity. I was not surprised when Holmes suggested that I should take my revolver with me. He had himself picked up the loaded hunting-crop which was his favourite weapon. A four-wheeler was at the door at eleven, and in it we drove to a spot at the other side of Hammersmith Bridge. Here the cabman was directed to wait. A short walk brought us to a secluded road fringed with pleasant houses, each standing in its own grounds. In the light of a street lamp we read "Laburnum Villa" upon the gate-post of one of them. The occupants had evidently retired to rest, for all was dark save for a fanlight over the hall door, which shed a single blurred circle on to the garden path. The wooden fence which separated the grounds from the road threw a dense black shadow upon the inner side, and here it was that we crouched. "I fear that you'll have a long wait," Holmes whispered. "We may thank our stars that it is not raining. I don't think we can even venture to smoke to pass the time. However, it's a two to one chance that we get something to pay us for our trouble." It proved, however, that our vigil was not to be so long as Holmes had led us to fear, and it ended in a very sudden and singular fashion. In an instant, without the least sound to warn us of his coming, the garden gate swung open, and a lithe, dark figure, as swift and active as an ape, rushed up the garden path. We saw it whisk past the light thrown from over the door and disappear against the black shadow of the house. There was a long pause, during which we held our breath, and then a very gentle creaking sound came to our ears. The window was being opened. The noise ceased, and again there was a long silence. The fellow was making his way into the house. We saw the sudden flash of a dark lantern inside the room. What he sought was evidently not there, for again we saw the flash through another blind, and then through another. "Let us get to the open window. We will nab him as he climbs out," Lestrade whispered. But before we could move the man had emerged again. As he came out into the glimmering patch of light we saw that he carried something white under his arm. He looked stealthily all round him. The silence of the deserted street reassured him. Turning his back upon us he laid down his burden, and the next instant there was the sound of a sharp tap, followed by a clatter and rattle. The man was so intent upon what he was doing that he never heard our steps as we stole across the grass plot. With the bound of a tiger Holmes was on his back, and an instant later Lestrade and I had him by either wrist and the handcuffs had been fastened. As we turned him over I saw a hideous, sallow face, with writhing, furious features, glaring up at us, and I knew that it was indeed the man of the photograph whom we had secured. But it was not our prisoner to whom Holmes was giving his attention. Squatted on the doorstep, he was engaged in most carefully examining that which the man had brought from the house. It was a bust of Napoleon like the one which we had seen that morning, and it had been broken into similar fragments. Carefully Holmes held each separate shard to the light, but in no way did it differ from any other shattered piece of plaster. He had just completed his examination when the hall lights flew up, the door opened, and the owner of the house, a jovial, rotund figure in shirt and trousers, presented himself. "Mr. Josiah Brown, I suppose?" said Holmes. "Yes, sir; and you, no doubt, are Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I had the note which you sent by the express messenger, and I did exactly what you told me. We locked every door on the inside and awaited developments. Well, I'm very glad to see that you have got the rascal. I hope, gentlemen, that you will come in and have some refreshment." However, Lestrade was anxious to get his man into safe quarters, so within a few minutes our cab had been summoned and we were all four upon our way to London. Not a word would our captive say; but he glared at us from the shadow of his matted hair, and once, when my hand seemed within his reach, he snapped at it like a hungry wolf. We stayed long enough at the police-station to learn that a search of his clothing revealed nothing save a few shillings and a long sheath knife, the handle of which bore copious traces of recent blood. "That's all right," said Lestrade, as we parted. "Hill knows all these gentry, and he will give a name to him. You'll find that my theory of the Mafia will work out all right. But I'm sure I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Holmes, for the workmanlike way in which you laid hands upon him. I don't quite understand it all yet." "I fear it is rather too late an hour for explanations," said Holmes. "Besides, there are one or two details which are not finished off, and it is one of those cases which are worth working out to the very end. If you will come round once more to my rooms at six o'clock to-morrow I think I shall be able to show you that even now you have not grasped the entire meaning of this business, which presents some features which make it absolutely original in the history of crime. If ever I permit you to chronicle any more of my little problems, Watson, I foresee that you will enliven your pages by an account of the singular adventure of the Napoleonic busts." When we met again next evening Lestrade was furnished with much information concerning our prisoner. His name, it appeared, was Beppo, second name unknown. He was a well-known ne'er-do-well among the Italian colony. He had once been a skilful sculptor and had earned an honest living, but he had taken to evil courses and had twice already been in jail--once for a petty theft and once, as we had already heard, for stabbing a fellow-countryman. He could talk English perfectly well. His reasons for destroying the busts were still unknown, and he refused to answer any questions upon the subject; but the police had discovered that these same busts might very well have been made by his own hands, since he was engaged in this class of work at the establishment of Gelder & Co. To all this information, much of which we already knew, Holmes listened with polite attention; but I, who knew him so well, could clearly see that his thoughts were elsewhere, and I detected a mixture of mingled uneasiness and expectation beneath that mask which he was wont to assume. At last he started in his chair and his eyes brightened. There had been a ring at the bell. A minute later we heard steps upon the stairs, and an elderly, red-faced man with grizzled side-whiskers was ushered in. In his right hand he carried an old-fashioned carpet-bag, which he placed upon the table. "Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" My friend bowed and smiled. "Mr. Sandeford, of Reading, I suppose?" said he. "Yes, sir, I fear that I am a little late; but the trains were awkward. You wrote to me about a bust that is in my possession." "Exactly." "I have your letter here. You said, 'I desire to possess a copy of Devine's Napoleon, and am prepared to pay you ten pounds for the one which is in your possession.' Is that right?" "Certainly." "I was very much surprised at your letter, for I could not imagine how you knew that I owned such a thing." "Of course you must have been surprised, but the explanation is very simple. Mr. Harding, of Harding Brothers, said that they had sold you their last copy, and he gave me your address." "Oh, that was it, was it? Did he tell you what I paid for it?" "No, he did not." "Well, I am an honest man, though not a very rich one. I only gave fifteen shillings for the bust, and I think you ought to know that before I take ten pounds from you." "I am sure the scruple does you honour, Mr. Sandeford. But I have named that price, so I intend to stick to it." "Well, it is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. I brought the bust up with me, as you asked me to do. Here it is!" He opened his bag, and at last we saw placed upon our table a complete specimen of that bust which we had already seen more than once in fragments. Holmes took a paper from his pocket and laid a ten-pound note upon the table. "You will kindly sign that paper, Mr. Sandeford, in the presence of these witnesses. It is simply to say that you transfer every possible right that you ever had in the bust to me. I am a methodical man, you see, and you never know what turn events might take afterwards. Thank you, Mr. Sandeford; here is your money, and I wish you a very good evening." When our visitor had disappeared Sherlock Holmes's movements were such as to rivet our attention. He began by taking a clean white cloth from a drawer and laying it over the table. Then he placed his newly-acquired bust in the centre of the cloth. Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure broke into fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph, he held up one splinter, in which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding. "Gentlemen," he cried, "let me introduce you to the famous black pearl of the Borgias." Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping as at the well-wrought crisis of a play. A flush of colour sprang to Holmes's pale cheeks, and he bowed to us like the master dramatist who receives the homage of his audience. It was at such moments that for an instant he ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his human love for admiration and applause. The same singularly proud and reserved nature which turned away with disdain from popular notoriety was capable of being moved to its depths by spontaneous wonder and praise from a friend. "Yes, gentlemen," said he, "it is the most famous pearl now existing in the world, and it has been my good fortune, by a connected chain of inductive reasoning, to trace it from the Prince of Colonna's bedroom at the Dacre Hotel, where it was lost, to the interior of this, the last of the six busts of Napoleon which were manufactured by Gelder & Co., of Stepney. You will remember, Lestrade, the sensation caused by the disappearance of this valuable jewel, and the vain efforts of the London police to recover it. I was myself consulted upon the case; but I was unable to throw any light upon it. Suspicion fell upon the maid of the Princess, who was an Italian, and it was proved that she had a brother in London, but we failed to trace any connection between them. The maid's name was Lucretia Venucci, and there is no doubt in my mind that this Pietro who was murdered two nights ago was the brother. I have been looking up the dates in the old files of the paper, and I find that the disappearance of the pearl was exactly two days before the arrest of Beppo for some crime of violence, an event which took place in the factory of Gelder & Co., at the very moment when these busts were being made. Now you clearly see the sequence of events, though you see them, of course, in the inverse order to the way in which they presented themselves to me. Beppo had the pearl in his possession. He may have stolen it from Pietro, he may have been Pietro's confederate, he may have been the go-between of Pietro and his sister. It is of no consequence to us which is the correct solution. "The main fact is that he had the pearl, and at that moment, when it was on his person, he was pursued by the police. He made for the factory in which he worked, and he knew that he had only a few minutes in which to conceal this enormously valuable prize, which would otherwise be found on him when he was searched. Six plaster casts of Napoleon were drying in the passage. One of them was still soft. In an instant Beppo, a skilful workman, made a small hole in the wet plaster, dropped in the pearl, and with a few touches covered over the aperture once more. It was an admirable hiding-place. No one could possibly find it. But Beppo was condemned to a year's imprisonment, and in the meanwhile his six busts were scattered over London. He could not tell which contained his treasure. Only by breaking them could he see. Even shaking would tell him nothing, for as the plaster was wet it was probable that the pearl would adhere to it--as, in fact, it has done. Beppo did not despair, and he conducted his search with considerable ingenuity and perseverance. Through a cousin who works with Gelder he found out the retail firms who had bought the busts. He managed to find employment with Morse Hudson, and in that way tracked down three of them. The pearl was not there. Then, with the help of some Italian employe, he succeeded in finding out where the other three busts had gone. The first was at Harker's. There he was dogged by his confederate, who held Beppo responsible for the loss of the pearl, and he stabbed him in the scuffle which followed." "If he was his confederate why should he carry his photograph?" I asked. "As a means of tracing him if he wished to inquire about him from any third person. That was the obvious reason. Well, after the murder I calculated that Beppo would probably hurry rather than delay his movements. He would fear that the police would read his secret, and so he hastened on before they should get ahead of him. Of course, I could not say that he had not found the pearl in Harker's bust. I had not even concluded for certain that it was the pearl; but it was evident to me that he was looking for something, since he carried the bust past the other houses in order to break it in the garden which had a lamp overlooking it. Since Harker's bust was one in three the chances were exactly as I told you, two to one against the pearl being inside it. There remained two busts, and it was obvious that he would go for the London one first. I warned the inmates of the house, so as to avoid a second tragedy, and we went down with the happiest results. By that time, of course, I knew for certain that it was the Borgia pearl that we were after. The name of the murdered man linked the one event with the other. There only remained a single bust--the Reading one--and the pearl must be there. I bought it in your presence from the owner--and there it lies." We sat in silence for a moment. "Well," said Lestrade, "I've seen you handle a good many cases, Mr. Holmes, but I don't know that I ever knew a more workmanlike one than that. We're not jealous of you at Scotland Yard. No, sir, we are very proud of you, and if you come down to-morrow there's not a man, from the oldest inspector to the youngest constable, who wouldn't be glad to shake you by the hand." "Thank you!" said Holmes. "Thank you!" and as he turned away it seemed to me that he was more nearly moved by the softer human emotions than I had ever seen him. A moment later he was the cold and practical thinker once more. "Put the pearl in the safe, Watson," said he, "and get out the papers of the Conk-Singleton forgery case. Good-bye, Lestrade. If any little problem comes your way I shall be happy, if I can, to give you a hint or two as to its solution." THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE STUDENTS It was in the year '95 that a combination of events, into which I need not enter, caused Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself to spend some weeks in one of our great University towns, and it was during this time that the small but instructive adventure which I am about to relate befell us. It will be obvious that any details which would help the reader to exactly identify the college or the criminal would be injudicious and offensive. So painful a scandal may well be allowed to die out. With due discretion the incident itself may, however, be described, since it serves to illustrate some of those qualities for which my friend was remarkable. I will endeavour in my statement to avoid such terms as would serve to limit the events to any particular place, or give a clue as to the people concerned. We were residing at the time in furnished lodgings close to a library where Sherlock Holmes was pursuing some laborious researches in early English charters--researches which led to results so striking that they may be the subject of one of my future narratives. Here it was that one evening we received a visit from an acquaintance, Mr. Hilton Soames, tutor and lecturer at the College of St. Luke's. Mr. Soames was a tall, spare man, of a nervous and excitable temperament. I had always known him to be restless in his manner, but on this particular occasion he was in such a state of uncontrollable agitation that it was clear something very unusual had occurred. "I trust, Mr. Holmes, that you can spare me a few hours of your valuable time. We have had a very painful incident at St. Luke's, and really, but for the happy chance of your being in the town, I should have been at a loss what to do." "I am very busy just now, and I desire no distractions," my friend answered. "I should much prefer that you called in the aid of the police." "No, no, my dear sir; such a course is utterly impossible. When once the law is evoked it cannot be stayed again, and this is just one of those cases where, for the credit of the college, it is most essential to avoid scandal. Your discretion is as well known as your powers, and you are the one man in the world who can help me. I beg you, Mr. Holmes, to do what you can." My friend's temper had not improved since he had been deprived of the congenial surroundings of Baker Street. Without his scrap-books, his chemicals, and his homely untidiness, he was an uncomfortable man. He shrugged his shoulders in ungracious acquiescence, while our visitor in hurried words and with much excitable gesticulation poured forth his story. "I must explain to you, Mr. Holmes, that to-morrow is the first day of the examination for the Fortescue Scholarship. I am one of the examiners. My subject is Greek, and the first of the papers consists of a large passage of Greek translation which the candidate has not seen. This passage is printed on the examination paper, and it would naturally be an immense advantage if the candidate could prepare it in advance. For this reason great care is taken to keep the paper secret. "To-day about three o'clock the proofs of this paper arrived from the printers. The exercise consists of half a chapter of Thucydides. I had to read it over carefully, as the text must be absolutely correct. At four-thirty my task was not yet completed. I had, however, promised to take tea in a friend's rooms, so I left the proof upon my desk. I was absent rather more than an hour. "You are aware, Mr. Holmes, that our college doors are double--a green baize one within and a heavy oak one without. As I approached my outer door I was amazed to see a key in it. For an instant I imagined that I had left my own there, but on feeling in my pocket I found that it was all right. The only duplicate which existed, so far as I knew, was that which belonged to my servant, Bannister, a man who has looked after my room for ten years, and whose honesty is absolutely above suspicion. I found that the key was indeed his, that he had entered my room to know if I wanted tea, and that he had very carelessly left the key in the door when he came out. His visit to my room must have been within a very few minutes of my leaving it. His forgetfulness about the key would have mattered little upon any other occasion, but on this one day it has produced the most deplorable consequences. "The moment I looked at my table I was aware that someone had rummaged among my papers. The proof was in three long slips. I had left them all together. Now, I found that one of them was lying on the floor, one was on the side table near the window, and the third was where I had left it." Holmes stirred for the first time. "The first page on the floor, the second in the window, the third where you left it," said he. "Exactly, Mr. Holmes. You amaze me. How could you possibly know that?" "Pray continue your very interesting statement." "For an instant I imagined that Bannister had taken the unpardonable liberty of examining my papers. He denied it, however, with the utmost earnestness, and I am convinced that he was speaking the truth. The alternative was that someone passing had observed the key in the door, had known that I was out, and had entered to look at the papers. A large sum of money is at stake, for the scholarship is a very valuable one, and an unscrupulous man might very well run a risk in order to gain an advantage over his fellows. "Bannister was very much upset by the incident. He had nearly fainted when we found that the papers had undoubtedly been tampered with. I gave him a little brandy and left him collapsed in a chair while I made a most careful examination of the room. I soon saw that the intruder had left other traces of his presence besides the rumpled papers. On the table in the window were several shreds from a pencil which had been sharpened. A broken tip of lead was lying there also. Evidently the rascal had copied the paper in a great hurry, had broken his pencil, and had been compelled to put a fresh point to it." "Excellent!" said Holmes, who was recovering his good-humour as his attention became more engrossed by the case. "Fortune has been your friend." "This was not all. I have a new writing-table with a fine surface of red leather. I am prepared to swear, and so is Bannister, that it was smooth and unstained. Now I found a clean cut in it about three inches long--not a mere scratch, but a positive cut. Not only this, but on the table I found a small ball of black dough, or clay, with specks of something which looks like sawdust in it. I am convinced that these marks were left by the man who rifled the papers. There were no footmarks and no other evidence as to his identity. I was at my wits' ends, when suddenly the happy thought occurred to me that you were in the town, and I came straight round to put the matter into your hands. Do help me, Mr. Holmes! You see my dilemma. Either I must find the man or else the examination must be postponed until fresh papers are prepared, and since this cannot be done without explanation there will ensue a hideous scandal, which will throw a cloud not only on the college, but on the University. Above all things I desire to settle the matter quietly and discreetly." "I shall be happy to look into it and to give you such advice as I can," said Holmes, rising and putting on his overcoat. "The case is not entirely devoid of interest. Had anyone visited you in your room after the papers came to you?" "Yes; young Daulat Ras, an Indian student who lives on the same stair, came in to ask me some particulars about the examination." "For which he was entered?" "Yes." "And the papers were on your table?" "To the best of my belief they were rolled up." "But might be recognised as proofs?" "Possibly." "No one else in your room?" "No." "Did anyone know that these proofs would be there?" "No one save the printer." "Did this man Bannister know?" "No, certainly not. No one knew." "Where is Bannister now?" "He was very ill, poor fellow. I left him collapsed in the chair. I was in such a hurry to come to you." "You left your door open?" "I locked up the papers first." "Then it amounts to this, Mr. Soames, that unless the Indian student recognised the roll as being proofs, the man who tampered with them came upon them accidentally without knowing that they were there." "So it seems to me." Holmes gave an enigmatic smile. "Well," said he, "let us go round. Not one of your cases, Watson--mental, not physical. All right; come if you want to. Now, Mr. Soames--at your disposal!" The sitting-room of our client opened by a long, low, latticed window on to the ancient lichen-tinted court of the old college. A Gothic arched door led to a worn stone staircase. On the ground floor was the tutor's room. Above were three students, one on each story. It was already twilight when we reached the scene of our problem. Holmes halted and looked earnestly at the window. Then he approached it, and, standing on tiptoe with his neck craned, he looked into the room. "He must have entered through the door. There is no opening except the one pane," said our learned guide. "Dear me!" said Holmes, and he smiled in a singular way as he glanced at our companion. "Well, if there is nothing to be learned here we had best go inside." The lecturer unlocked the outer door and ushered us into his room. We stood at the entrance while Holmes made an examination of the carpet. "I am afraid there are no signs here," said he. "One could hardly hope for any upon so dry a day. Your servant seems to have quite recovered. You left him in a chair, you say; which chair?" "By the window there." "I see. Near this little table. You can come in now. I have finished with the carpet. Let us take the little table first. Of course, what has happened is very clear. The man entered and took the papers, sheet by sheet, from the central table. He carried them over to the window table, because from there he could see if you came across the courtyard, and so could effect an escape." "As a matter of fact he could not," said Soames, "for I entered by the side door." "Ah, that's good! Well, anyhow, that was in his mind. Let me see the three strips. No finger impressions--no! Well, he carried over this one first and he copied it. How long would it take him to do that, using every possible contraction? A quarter of an hour, not less. Then he tossed it down and seized the next. He was in the midst of that when your return caused him to make a very hurried retreat--very hurried, since he had not time to replace the papers which would tell you that he had been there. You were not aware of any hurrying feet on the stair as you entered the outer door?" "No, I can't say I was." "Well, he wrote so furiously that he broke his pencil, and had, as you observe, to sharpen it again. This is of interest, Watson. The pencil was not an ordinary one. It was above the usual size, with a soft lead; the outer colour was dark blue, the maker's name was printed in silver lettering, and the piece remaining is only about an inch and a half long. Look for such a pencil, Mr. Soames, and you have got your man. When I add that he possesses a large and very blunt knife, you have an additional aid." Mr. Soames was somewhat overwhelmed by this flood of information. "I can follow the other points," said he, "but really, in this matter of the length--" Holmes held out a small chip with the letters NN and a space of clear wood after them. "You see?" "No, I fear that even now--" "Watson, I have always done you an injustice. There are others. What could this NN be? It is at the end of a word. You are aware that Johann Faber is the most common maker's name. Is it not clear that there is just as much of the pencil left as usually follows the Johann?" He held the small table sideways to the electric light. "I was hoping that if the paper on which he wrote was thin some trace of it might come through upon this polished surface. No, I see nothing. I don't think there is anything more to be learned here. Now for the central table. This small pellet is, I presume, the black, doughy mass you spoke of. Roughly pyramidal in shape and hollowed out, I perceive. As you say, there appear to be grains of sawdust in it. Dear me, this is very interesting. And the cut--a positive tear, I see. It began with a thin scratch and ended in a jagged hole. I am much indebted to you for directing my attention to this case, Mr. Soames. Where does that door lead to?" "To my bedroom." "Have you been in it since your adventure?" "No; I came straight away for you." "I should like to have a glance round. What a charming, old-fashioned room! Perhaps you will kindly wait a minute until I have examined the floor. No, I see nothing. What about this curtain? You hang your clothes behind it. If anyone were forced to conceal himself in this room he must do it there, since the bed is too low and the wardrobe too shallow. No one there, I suppose?" As Holmes drew the curtain I was aware, from some little rigidity and alertness of his attitude, that he was prepared for an emergency. As a matter of fact the drawn curtain disclosed nothing but three or four suits of clothes hanging from a line of pegs. Holmes turned away and stooped suddenly to the floor. "Halloa! What's this?" said he. It was a small pyramid of black, putty-like stuff, exactly like the one upon the table of the study. Holmes held it out on his open palm in the glare of the electric light. "Your visitor seems to have left traces in your bedroom as well as in your sitting-room, Mr. Soames." "What could he have wanted there?" "I think it is clear enough. You came back by an unexpected way, and so he had no warning until you were at the very door. What could he do? He caught up everything which would betray him and he rushed into your bedroom to conceal himself." "Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, do you mean to tell me that all the time I was talking to Bannister in this room we had the man prisoner if we had only known it?" "So I read it." "Surely there is another alternative, Mr. Holmes. I don't know whether you observed my bedroom window?" "Lattice-paned, lead framework, three separate windows, one swinging on hinge and large enough to admit a man." "Exactly. And it looks out on an angle of the courtyard so as to be partly invisible. The man might have effected his entrance there, left traces as he passed through the bedroom, and, finally, finding the door open have escaped that way." Holmes shook his head impatiently. "Let us be practical," said he. "I understand you to say that there are three students who use this stair and are in the habit of passing your door?" "Yes, there are." "And they are all in for this examination?" "Yes." "Have you any reason to suspect any one of them more than the others?" Soames hesitated. "It is a very delicate question," said he. "One hardly likes to throw suspicion where there are no proofs." "Let us hear the suspicions. I will look after the proofs." "I will tell you, then, in a few words the character of the three men who inhabit these rooms. The lower of the three is Gilchrist, a fine scholar and athlete; plays in the Rugby team and the cricket team for the college, and got his Blue for the hurdles and the long jump. He is a fine, manly fellow. His father was the notorious Sir Jabez Gilchrist, who ruined himself on the turf. My scholar has been left very poor, but he is hard-working and industrious. He will do well. "The second floor is inhabited by Daulat Ras, the Indian. He is a quiet, inscrutable fellow, as most of those Indians are. He is well up in his work, though his Greek is his weak subject. He is steady and methodical. "The top floor belongs to Miles McLaren. He is a brilliant fellow when he chooses to work--one of the brightest intellects of the University, but he is wayward, dissipated, and unprincipled. He was nearly expelled over a card scandal in his first year. He has been idling all this term, and he must look forward with dread to the examination." "Then it is he whom you suspect?" "I dare not go so far as that. But of the three he is perhaps the least unlikely." "Exactly. Now, Mr. Soames, let us have a look at your servant, Bannister." He was a little, white-faced, clean-shaven, grizzly-haired fellow of fifty. He was still suffering from this sudden disturbance of the quiet routine of his life. His plump face was twitching with his nervousness, and his fingers could not keep still. "We are investigating this unhappy business, Bannister," said his master. "Yes, sir." "I understand," said Holmes, "that you left your key in the door?" "Yes, sir." "Was it not very extraordinary that you should do this on the very day when there were these papers inside?" "It was most unfortunate, sir. But I have occasionally done the same thing at other times." "When did you enter the room?" "It was about half-past four. That is Mr. Soames's tea time." "How long did you stay?" "When I saw that he was absent I withdrew at once." "Did you look at these papers on the table?" "No, sir; certainly not." "How came you to leave the key in the door?" "I had the tea-tray in my hand. I thought I would come back for the key. Then I forgot." "Has the outer door a spring lock?" "No, sir." "Then it was open all the time?" "Yes, sir." "Anyone in the room could get out?" "Yes, sir." "When Mr. Soames returned and called for you, you were very much disturbed?" "Yes, sir. Such a thing has never happened during the many years that I have been here. I nearly fainted, sir." "So I understand. Where were you when you began to feel bad?" "Where was I, sir? Why, here, near the door." "That is singular, because you sat down in that chair over yonder near the corner. Why did you pass these other chairs?" "I don't know, sir. It didn't matter to me where I sat." "I really don't think he knew much about it, Mr. Holmes. He was looking very bad--quite ghastly." "You stayed here when your master left?" "Only for a minute or so. Then I locked the door and went to my room." "Whom do you suspect?" "Oh, I would not venture to say, sir. I don't believe there is any gentleman in this University who is capable of profiting by such an action. No, sir, I'll not believe it." "Thank you; that will do," said Holmes. "Oh, one more word. You have not mentioned to any of the three gentlemen whom you attend that anything is amiss?" "No, sir; not a word." "You haven't seen any of them?" "No, sir." "Very good. Now, Mr. Soames, we will take a walk in the quadrangle, if you please." Three yellow squares of light shone above us in the gathering gloom. "Your three birds are all in their nests," said Holmes, looking up. "Halloa! What's that? One of them seems restless enough." It was the Indian, whose dark silhouette appeared suddenly upon his blind. He was pacing swiftly up and down his room. "I should like to have a peep at each of them," said Holmes. "Is it possible?" "No difficulty in the world," Soames answered. "This set of rooms is quite the oldest in the college, and it is not unusual for visitors to go over them. Come along, and I will personally conduct you." "No names, please!" said Holmes, as we knocked at Gilchrist's door. A tall, flaxen-haired, slim young fellow opened it, and made us welcome when he understood our errand. There were some really curious pieces of mediaeval domestic architecture within. Holmes was so charmed with one of them that he insisted on drawing it on his note-book, broke his pencil, had to borrow one from our host, and finally borrowed a knife to sharpen his own. The same curious accident happened to him in the rooms of the Indian--a silent, little, hook-nosed fellow, who eyed us askance and was obviously glad when Holmes's architectural studies had come to an end. I could not see that in either case Holmes had come upon the clue for which he was searching. Only at the third did our visit prove abortive. The outer door would not open to our knock, and nothing more substantial than a torrent of bad language came from behind it. "I don't care who you are. You can go to blazes!" roared the angry voice. "To-morrow's the exam, and I won't be drawn by anyone." "A rude fellow," said our guide, flushing with anger as we withdrew down the stair. "Of course, he did not realize that it was I who was knocking, but none the less his conduct was very uncourteous, and, indeed, under the circumstances rather suspicious." Holmes's response was a curious one. "Can you tell me his exact height?" he asked. "Really, Mr. Holmes, I cannot undertake to say. He is taller than the Indian, not so tall as Gilchrist. I suppose five foot six would be about it." "That is very important," said Holmes. "And now, Mr. Soames, I wish you good-night." Our guide cried aloud in his astonishment and dismay. "Good gracious, Mr. Holmes, you are surely not going to leave me in this abrupt fashion! You don't seem to realize the position. To-morrow is the examination. I must take some definite action to-night. I cannot allow the examination to be held if one of the papers has been tampered with. The situation must be faced." "You must leave it as it is. I shall drop round early to-morrow morning and chat the matter over. It is possible that I may be in a position then to indicate some course of action. Meanwhile you change nothing--nothing at all." "Very good, Mr. Holmes." "You can be perfectly easy in your mind. We shall certainly find some way out of your difficulties. I will take the black clay with me, also the pencil cuttings. Good-bye." When we were out in the darkness of the quadrangle we again looked up at the windows. The Indian still paced his room. The others were invisible. "Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" Holmes asked, as we came out into the main street. "Quite a little parlour game--sort of three-card trick, is it not? There are your three men. It must be one of them. You take your choice. Which is yours?" "The foul-mouthed fellow at the top. He is the one with the worst record. And yet that Indian was a sly fellow also. Why should he be pacing his room all the time?" "There is nothing in that. Many men do it when they are trying to learn anything by heart." "He looked at us in a queer way." "So would you if a flock of strangers came in on you when you were preparing for an examination next day, and every moment was of value. No, I see nothing in that. Pencils, too, and knives--all was satisfactory. But that fellow does puzzle me." "Who?" "Why, Bannister, the servant. What's his game in the matter?" "He impressed me as being a perfectly honest man." "So he did me. That's the puzzling part. Why should a perfectly honest man--well, well, here's a large stationer's. We shall begin our researches here." There were only four stationers of any consequence in the town, and at each Holmes produced his pencil chips and bid high for a duplicate. All were agreed that one could be ordered, but that it was not a usual size of pencil and that it was seldom kept in stock. My friend did not appear to be depressed by his failure, but shrugged his shoulders in half-humorous resignation. "No good, my dear Watson. This, the best and only final clue, has run to nothing. But, indeed, I have little doubt that we can build up a sufficient case without it. By Jove! my dear fellow, it is nearly nine, and the landlady babbled of green peas at seven-thirty. What with your eternal tobacco, Watson, and your irregularity at meals, I expect that you will get notice to quit and that I shall share your downfall--not, however, before we have solved the problem of the nervous tutor, the careless servant, and the three enterprising students." Holmes made no further allusion to the matter that day, though he sat lost in thought for a long time after our belated dinner. At eight in the morning he came into my room just as I finished my toilet. "Well, Watson," said he, "it is time we went down to St. Luke's. Can you do without breakfast?" "Certainly." "Soames will be in a dreadful fidget until we are able to tell him something positive." "Have you anything positive to tell him?" "I think so." "You have formed a conclusion?" "Yes, my dear Watson; I have solved the mystery." "But what fresh evidence could you have got?" "Aha! It is not for nothing that I have turned myself out of bed at the untimely hour of six. I have put in two hours' hard work and covered at least five miles, with something to show for it. Look at that!" He held out his hand. On the palm were three little pyramids of black, doughy clay. "Why, Holmes, you had only two yesterday!" "And one more this morning. It is a fair argument that wherever No. 3 came from is also the source of Nos. 1 and 2. Eh, Watson? Well, come along and put friend Soames out of his pain." The unfortunate tutor was certainly in a state of pitiable agitation when we found him in his chambers. In a few hours the examination would commence, and he was still in the dilemma between making the facts public and allowing the culprit to compete for the valuable scholarship. He could hardly stand still, so great was his mental agitation, and he ran towards Holmes with two eager hands outstretched. "Thank Heaven that you have come! I feared that you had given it up in despair. What am I to do? Shall the examination proceed?" "Yes; let it proceed by all means." "But this rascal--?" "He shall not compete." "You know him?" "I think so. If this matter is not to become public we must give ourselves certain powers, and resolve ourselves into a small private court-martial. You there, if you please, Soames! Watson, you here! I'll take the arm-chair in the middle. I think that we are now sufficiently imposing to strike terror into a guilty breast. Kindly ring the bell!" Bannister entered, and shrunk back in evident surprise and fear at our judicial appearance. "You will kindly close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Bannister, will you please tell us the truth about yesterday's incident?" The man turned white to the roots of his hair. "I have told you everything, sir." "Nothing to add?" "Nothing at all, sir." "Well, then, I must make some suggestions to you. When you sat down on that chair yesterday, did you do so in order to conceal some object which would have shown who had been in the room?" Bannister's face was ghastly. "No, sir; certainly not." "It is only a suggestion," said Holmes, suavely. "I frankly admit that I am unable to prove it. But it seems probable enough, since the moment that Mr. Soames's back was turned you released the man who was hiding in that bedroom." Bannister licked his dry lips. "There was no man, sir." "Ah, that's a pity, Bannister. Up to now you may have spoken the truth, but now I know that you have lied." The man's face set in sullen defiance. "There was no man, sir." "Come, come, Bannister!" "No, sir; there was no one." "In that case you can give us no further information. Would you please remain in the room? Stand over there near the bedroom door. Now, Soames, I am going to ask you to have the great kindness to go up to the room of young Gilchrist, and to ask him to step down into yours." An instant later the tutor returned, bringing with him the student. He was a fine figure of a man, tall, lithe, and agile, with a springy step and a pleasant, open face. His troubled blue eyes glanced at each of us, and finally rested with an expression of blank dismay upon Bannister in the farther corner. "Just close the door," said Holmes. "Now, Mr. Gilchrist, we are all quite alone here, and no one need ever know one word of what passes between us. We can be perfectly frank with each other. We want to know, Mr. Gilchrist, how you, an honourable man, ever came to commit such an action as that of yesterday?" The unfortunate young man staggered back and cast a look full of horror and reproach at Bannister. "No, no, Mr. Gilchrist, sir; I never said a word--never one word!" cried the servant. "No, but you have now," said Holmes. "Now, sir, you must see that after Bannister's words your position is hopeless, and that your only chance lies in a frank confession." For a moment Gilchrist, with upraised hand, tried to control his writhing features. The next he had thrown himself on his knees beside the table and, burying his face in his hands, he had burst into a storm of passionate sobbing. "Come, come," said Holmes, kindly; "it is human to err, and at least no one can accuse you of being a callous criminal. Perhaps it would be easier for you if I were to tell Mr. Soames what occurred, and you can check me where I am wrong. Shall I do so? Well, well, don't trouble to answer. Listen, and see that I do you no injustice. "From the moment, Mr. Soames, that you said to me that no one, not even Bannister, could have told that the papers were in your room, the case began to take a definite shape in my mind. The printer one could, of course, dismiss. He could examine the papers in his own office. The Indian I also thought nothing of. If the proofs were in a roll he could not possibly know what they were. On the other hand, it seemed an unthinkable coincidence that a man should dare to enter the room, and that by chance on that very day the papers were on the table. I dismissed that. The man who entered knew that the papers were there. How did he know? "When I approached your room I examined the window. You amused me by supposing that I was contemplating the possibility of someone having in broad daylight, under the eyes of all these opposite rooms, forced himself through it. Such an idea was absurd. I was measuring how tall a man would need to be in order to see as he passed what papers were on the central table. I am six feet high, and I could do it with an effort. No one less than that would have a chance. Already you see I had reason to think that if one of your three students was a man of unusual height he was the most worth watching of the three. "I entered and I took you into my confidence as to the suggestions of the side table. Of the centre table I could make nothing, until in your description of Gilchrist you mentioned that he was a long-distance jumper. Then the whole thing came to me in an instant, and I only needed certain corroborative proofs, which I speedily obtained. "What happened was this. This young fellow had employed his afternoon at the athletic grounds, where he had been practising the jump. He returned carrying his jumping shoes, which are provided, as you are aware, with several sharp spikes. As he passed your window he saw, by means of his great height, these proofs upon your table, and conjectured what they were. No harm would have been done had it not been that as he passed your door he perceived the key which had been left by the carelessness of your servant. A sudden impulse came over him to enter and see if they were indeed the proofs. It was not a dangerous exploit, for he could always pretend that he had simply looked in to ask a question. "Well, when he saw that they were indeed the proofs, it was then that he yielded to temptation. He put his shoes on the table. What was it you put on that chair near the window?" "Gloves," said the young man. Holmes looked triumphantly at Bannister. "He put his gloves on the chair, and he took the proofs, sheet by sheet, to copy them. He thought the tutor must return by the main gate, and that he would see him. As we know, he came back by the side gate. Suddenly he heard him at the very door. There was no possible escape. He forgot his gloves, but he caught up his shoes and darted into the bedroom. You observe that the scratch on that table is slight at one side, but deepens in the direction of the bedroom door. That in itself is enough to show us that the shoe had been drawn in that direction and that the culprit had taken refuge there. The earth round the spike had been left on the table, and a second sample was loosened and fell in the bedroom. I may add that I walked out to the athletic grounds this morning, saw that tenacious black clay is used in the jumping-pit, and carried away a specimen of it, together with some of the fine tan or sawdust which is strewn over it to prevent the athlete from slipping. Have I told the truth, Mr. Gilchrist?" The student had drawn himself erect. "Yes, sir, it is true," said he. "Good heavens, have you nothing to add?" cried Soames. "Yes, sir, I have, but the shock of this disgraceful exposure has bewildered me. I have a letter here, Mr. Soames, which I wrote to you early this morning in the middle of a restless night. It was before I knew that my sin had found me out. Here it is, sir. You will see that I have said, 'I have determined not to go in for the examination. I have been offered a commission in the Rhodesian Police, and I am going out to South Africa at once.'" "I am indeed pleased to hear that you did not intend to profit by your unfair advantage," said Soames. "But why did you change your purpose?" Gilchrist pointed to Bannister. "There is the man who set me in the right path," said he. "Come now, Bannister," said Holmes. "It will be clear to you from what I have said that only you could have let this young man out, since you were left in the room, and must have locked the door when you went out. As to his escaping by that window, it was incredible. Can you not clear up the last point in this mystery, and tell us the reasons for your action?" "It was simple enough, sir, if you only had known; but with all your cleverness it was impossible that you could know. Time was, sir, when I was butler to old Sir Jabez Gilchrist, this young gentleman's father. When he was ruined I came to the college as servant, but I never forgot my old employer because he was down in the world. I watched his son all I could for the sake of the old days. Well, sir, when I came into this room yesterday when the alarm was given, the very first thing I saw was Mr. Gilchrist's tan gloves a-lying in that chair. I knew those gloves well, and I understood their message. If Mr. Soames saw them the game was up. I flopped down into that chair, and nothing would budge me until Mr. Soames he went for you. Then out came my poor young master, whom I had dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me. Wasn't it natural, sir, that I should save him, and wasn't it natural also that I should try to speak to him as his dead father would have done, and make him understand that he could not profit by such a deed? Could you blame me, sir?" "No, indeed," said Holmes, heartily, springing to his feet. "Well, Soames, I think we have cleared your little problem up, and our breakfast awaits us at home. Come, Watson! As to you, sir, I trust that a bright future awaits you in Rhodesia. For once you have fallen low. Let us see in the future how high you can rise." THE ADVENTURE OF THE GOLDEN PINCE-NEZ When I look at the three massive manuscript volumes which contain our work for the year 1894 I confess that it is very difficult for me, out of such a wealth of material, to select the cases which are most interesting in themselves and at the same time most conducive to a display of those peculiar powers for which my friend was famous. As I turn over the pages I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red leech and the terrible death of Crosby the banker. Here also I find an account of the Addleton tragedy and the singular contents of the ancient British barrow. The famous Smith-Mortimer succession case comes also within this period, and so does the tracking and arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin--an exploit which won for Holmes an autograph letter of thanks from the French President and the Order of the Legion of Honour. Each of these would furnish a narrative, but on the whole I am of opinion that none of them unite so many singular points of interest as the episode of Yoxley Old Place, which includes not only the lamentable death of young Willoughby Smith, but also those subsequent developments which threw so curious a light upon the causes of the crime. It was a wild, tempestuous night towards the close of November. Holmes and I sat together in silence all the evening, he engaged with a powerful lens deciphering the remains of the original inscription upon a palimpsest, I deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. Outside the wind howled down Baker Street, while the rain beat fiercely against the windows. It was strange there in the very depths of the town, with ten miles of man's handiwork on every side of us, to feel the iron grip of Nature, and to be conscious that to the huge elemental forces all London was no more than the molehills that dot the fields. I walked to the window and looked out on the deserted street. The occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy road and shining pavement. A single cab was splashing its way from the Oxford Street end. "Well, Watson, it's as well we have not to turn out to-night," said Holmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up the palimpsest. "I've done enough for one sitting. It is trying work for the eyes. So far as I can make out it is nothing more exciting than an Abbey's accounts dating from the second half of the fifteenth century. Halloa! halloa! halloa! What's this?" Amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of a horse's hoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped against the kerb. The cab which I had seen had pulled up at our door. "What can he want?" I ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it. "Want! He wants us. And we, my poor Watson, want overcoats and cravats and galoshes, and every aid that man ever invented to fight the weather. Wait a bit, though! There's the cab off again! There's hope yet. He'd have kept it if he had wanted us to come. Run down, my dear fellow, and open the door, for all virtuous folk have been long in bed." When the light of the hall lamp fell upon our midnight visitor I had no difficulty in recognising him. It was young Stanley Hopkins, a promising detective, in whose career Holmes had several times shown a very practical interest. "Is he in?" he asked, eagerly. "Come up, my dear sir," said Holmes's voice from above. "I hope you have no designs upon us on such a night as this." The detective mounted the stairs, and our lamp gleamed upon his shining waterproof. I helped him out of it while Holmes knocked a blaze out of the logs in the grate. "Now, my dear Hopkins, draw up and warm your toes," said he. "Here's a cigar, and the doctor has a prescription containing hot water and a lemon which is good medicine on a night like this. It must be something important which has brought you out in such a gale." "It is indeed, Mr. Holmes. I've had a bustling afternoon, I promise you. Did you see anything of the Yoxley case in the latest editions?" "I've seen nothing later than the fifteenth century to-day." "Well, it was only a paragraph, and all wrong at that, so you have not missed anything. I haven't let the grass grow under my feet. It's down in Kent, seven miles from Chatham and three from the railway line. I was wired for at three-fifteen, reached Yoxley Old Place at five, conducted my investigation, was back at Charing Cross by the last train, and straight to you by cab." "Which means, I suppose, that you are not quite clear about your case?" "It means that I can make neither head nor tail of it. So far as I can see it is just as tangled a business as ever I handled, and yet at first it seemed so simple that one couldn't go wrong. There's no motive, Mr. Holmes. That's what bothers me--I can't put my hand on a motive. Here's a man dead--there's no denying that--but, so far as I can see, no reason on earth why anyone should wish him harm." Holmes lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. "Let us hear about it," said he. "I've got my facts pretty clear," said Stanley Hopkins. "All I want now is to know what they all mean. The story, so far as I can make it out, is like this. Some years ago this country house, Yoxley Old Place, was taken by an elderly man, who gave the name of Professor Coram. He was an invalid, keeping his bed half the time, and the other half hobbling round the house with a stick or being pushed about the grounds by the gardener in a bath-chair. He was well liked by the few neighbours who called upon him, and he has the reputation down there of being a very learned man. His household used to consist of an elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Marker, and of a maid, Susan Tarlton. These have both been with him since his arrival, and they seem to be women of excellent character. The Professor is writing a learned book, and he found it necessary about a year ago to engage a secretary. The first two that he tried were not successes; but the third, Mr. Willoughby Smith, a very young man straight from the University, seems to have been just what his employer wanted. His work consisted in writing all the morning to the Professor's dictation, and he usually spent the evening in hunting up references and passages which bore upon the next day's work. This Willoughby Smith has nothing against him either as a boy at Uppingham or as a young man at Cambridge. I have seen his testimonials, and from the first he was a decent, quiet, hardworking fellow, with no weak spot in him at all. And yet this is the lad who has met his death this morning in the Professor's study under circumstances which can point only to murder." The wind howled and screamed at the windows. Holmes and I drew closer to the fire while the young inspector slowly and point by point developed his singular narrative. "If you were to search all England," said he, "I don't suppose you could find a household more self-contained or free from outside influences. Whole weeks would pass and not one of them go past the garden gate. The Professor was buried in his work and existed for nothing else. Young Smith knew nobody in the neighbourhood, and lived very much as his employer did. The two women had nothing to take them from the house. Mortimer the gardener, who wheels the bath-chair, is an Army pensioner--an old Crimean man of excellent character. He does not live in the house, but in a three-roomed cottage at the other end of the garden. Those are the only people that you would find within the grounds of Yoxley Old Place. At the same time, the gate of the garden is a hundred yards from the main London to Chatham road. It opens with a latch, and there is nothing to prevent anyone from walking in. "Now I will give you the evidence of Susan Tarlton, who is the only person who can say anything positive about the matter. It was in the forenoon, between eleven and twelve. She was engaged at the moment in hanging some curtains in the upstairs front bedroom. Professor Coram was still in bed, for when the weather is bad he seldom rises before midday. The housekeeper was busied with some work in the back of the house. Willoughby Smith had been in his bedroom, which he uses as a sitting-room; but the maid heard him at that moment pass along the passage and descend to the study immediately below her. She did not see him, but she says that she could not be mistaken in his quick, firm tread. She did not hear the study door close, but a minute or so later there was a dreadful cry in the room below. It was a wild, hoarse scream, so strange and unnatural that it might have come either from a man or a woman. At the same instant there was a heavy thud, which shook the old house, and then all was silence. The maid stood petrified for a moment, and then, recovering her courage, she ran downstairs. The study door was shut, and she opened it. Inside young Mr. Willoughby Smith was stretched upon the floor. At first she could see no injury, but as she tried to raise him she saw that blood was pouring from the underside of his neck. It was pierced by a very small but very deep wound, which had divided the carotid artery. The instrument with which the injury had been inflicted lay upon the carpet beside him. It was one of those small sealing-wax knives to be found on old-fashioned writing-tables, with an ivory handle and a stiff blade. It was part of the fittings of the Professor's own desk. "At first the maid thought that young Smith was already dead, but on pouring some water from the carafe over his forehead he opened his eyes for an instant. 'The Professor,' he murmured--'it was she.' The maid is prepared to swear that those were the exact words. He tried desperately to say something else, and he held his right hand up in the air. Then he fell back dead. "In the meantime the housekeeper had also arrived upon the scene, but she was just too late to catch the young man's dying words. Leaving Susan with the body, she hurried to the Professor's room. He was sitting up in bed horribly agitated, for he had heard enough to convince him that something terrible had occurred. Mrs. Marker is prepared to swear that the Professor was still in his night-clothes, and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dress without the help of Mortimer, whose orders were to come at twelve o'clock. The Professor declares that he heard the distant cry, but that he knows nothing more. He can give no explanation of the young man's last words, 'The Professor--it was she,' but imagines that they were the outcome of delirium. He believes that Willoughby Smith had not an enemy in the world, and can give no reason for the crime. His first action was to send Mortimer the gardener for the local police. A little later the chief constable sent for me. Nothing was moved before I got there, and strict orders were given that no one should walk upon the paths leading to the house. It was a splendid chance of putting your theories into practice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. There was really nothing wanting." "Except Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said my companion, with a somewhat bitter smile. "Well, let us hear about it. What sort of job did you make of it?" "I must ask you first, Mr. Holmes, to glance at this rough plan, which will give you a general idea of the position of the Professor's study and the various points of the case. It will help you in following my investigation." He unfolded the rough chart, which I here reproduce, and he laid it across Holmes's knee. I rose, and, standing behind Holmes, I studied it over his shoulder. [ Picture: Sketch of the building's room and corridors ] "It is very rough, of course, and it only deals with the points which seem to me to be essential. All the rest you will see later for yourself. Now, first of all, presuming that the assassin entered the house, how did he or she come in? Undoubtedly by the garden path and the back door, from which there is direct access to the study. Any other way would have been exceedingly complicated. The escape must have also been made along that line, for of the two other exits from the room one was blocked by Susan as she ran downstairs and the other leads straight to the Professor's bedroom. I therefore directed my attention at once to the garden path, which was saturated with recent rain and would certainly show any footmarks. "My examination showed me that I was dealing with a cautious and expert criminal. No footmarks were to be found on the path. There could be no question, however, that someone had passed along the grass border which lines the path, and that he had done so in order to avoid leaving a track. I could not find anything in the nature of a distinct impression, but the grass was trodden down and someone had undoubtedly passed. It could only have been the murderer, since neither the gardener nor anyone else had been there that morning and the rain had only begun during the night." "One moment," said Holmes. "Where does this path lead to?" "To the road." "How long is it?" "A hundred yards or so." "At the point where the path passes through the gate you could surely pick up the tracks?" "Unfortunately, the path was tiled at that point." "Well, on the road itself?" "No; it was all trodden into mire." "Tut-tut! Well, then, these tracks upon the grass, were they coming or going?" "It was impossible to say. There was never any outline." "A large foot or a small?" "You could not distinguish." Holmes gave an ejaculation of impatience. "It has been pouring rain and blowing a hurricane ever since," said he. "It will be harder to read now than that palimpsest. Well, well, it can't be helped. What did you do, Hopkins, after you had made certain that you had made certain of nothing?" "I think I made certain of a good deal, Mr. Holmes. I knew that someone had entered the house cautiously from without. I next examined the corridor. It is lined with cocoanut matting and had taken no impression of any kind. This brought me into the study itself. It is a scantily-furnished room. The main article is a large writing-table with a fixed bureau. This bureau consists of a double column of drawers with a central small cupboard between them. The drawers were open, the cupboard locked. The drawers, it seems, were always open, and nothing of value was kept in them. There were some papers of importance in the cupboard, but there were no signs that this had been tampered with, and the Professor assures me that nothing was missing. It is certain that no robbery has been committed. "I come now to the body of the young man. It was found near the bureau, and just to the left of it, as marked upon that chart. The stab was on the right side of the neck and from behind forwards, so that it is almost impossible that it could have been self-inflicted." "Unless he fell upon the knife," said Holmes. "Exactly. The idea crossed my mind. But we found the knife some feet away from the body, so that seems impossible. Then, of course, there are the man's own dying words. And, finally, there was this very important piece of evidence which was found clasped in the dead man's right hand." From his pocket Stanley Hopkins drew a small paper packet. He unfolded it and disclosed a golden pince-nez, with two broken ends of black silk cord dangling from the end of it. "Willoughby Smith had excellent sight," he added. "There can be no question that this was snatched from the face or the person of the assassin." Sherlock Holmes took the glasses into his hand and examined them with the utmost attention and interest. He held them on his nose, endeavoured to read through them, went to the window and stared up the street with them, looked at them most minutely in the full light of the lamp, and finally, with a chuckle, seated himself at the table and wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper, which he tossed across to Stanley Hopkins. "That's the best I can do for you," said he. "It may prove to be of some use." The astonished detective read the note aloud. It ran as follows: "Wanted, a woman of good address, attired like a lady. She has a remarkably thick nose, with eyes which are set close upon either side of it. She has a puckered forehead, a peering expression, and probably rounded shoulders. There are indications that she has had recourse to an optician at least twice during the last few months. As her glasses are of remarkable strength and as opticians are not very numerous, there should be no difficulty in tracing her." Holmes smiled at the astonishment of Hopkins, which must have been reflected upon my features. "Surely my deductions are simplicity itself," said he. "It would be difficult to name any articles which afford a finer field for inference than a pair of glasses, especially so remarkable a pair as these. That they belong to a woman I infer from their delicacy, and also, of course, from the last words of the dying man. As to her being a person of refinement and well dressed, they are, as you perceive, handsomely mounted in solid gold, and it is inconceivable that anyone who wore such glasses could be slatternly in other respects. You will find that the clips are too wide for your nose, showing that the lady's nose was very broad at the base. This sort of nose is usually a short and coarse one, but there are a sufficient number of exceptions to prevent me from being dogmatic or from insisting upon this point in my description. My own face is a narrow one, and yet I find that I cannot get my eyes into the centre, or near the centre, of these glasses. Therefore the lady's eyes are set very near to the sides of the nose. You will perceive, Watson, that the glasses are concave and of unusual strength. A lady whose vision has been so extremely contracted all her life is sure to have the physical characteristics of such vision, which are seen in the forehead, the eyelids, and the shoulders." "Yes," I said, "I can follow each of your arguments. I confess, however, that I am unable to understand how you arrive at the double visit to the optician." Holmes took the glasses in his hand. "You will perceive," he said, "that the clips are lined with tiny bands of cork to soften the pressure upon the nose. One of these is discoloured and worn to some slight extent, but the other is new. Evidently one has fallen off and been replaced. I should judge that the older of them has not been there more than a few months. They exactly correspond, so I gather that the lady went back to the same establishment for the second." "By George, it's marvellous!" cried Hopkins, in an ecstasy of admiration. "To think that I had all that evidence in my hand and never knew it! I had intended, however, to go the round of the London opticians." "Of course you would. Meanwhile, have you anything more to tell us about the case?" "Nothing, Mr. Holmes. I think that you know as much as I do now--probably more. We have had inquiries made as to any stranger seen on the country roads or at the railway station. We have heard of none. What beats me is the utter want of all object in the crime. Not a ghost of a motive can anyone suggest." "Ah! there I am not in a position to help you. But I suppose you want us to come out to-morrow?" "If it is not asking too much, Mr. Holmes. There's a train from Charing Cross to Chatham at six in the morning, and we should be at Yoxley Old Place between eight and nine." "Then we shall take it. Your case has certainly some features of great interest, and I shall be delighted to look into it. Well, it's nearly one, and we had best get a few hours' sleep. I dare say you can manage all right on the sofa in front of the fire. I'll light my spirit-lamp and give you a cup of coffee before we start." The gale had blown itself out next day, but it was a bitter morning when we started upon our journey. We saw the cold winter sun rise over the dreary marshes of the Thames and the long, sullen reaches of the river, which I shall ever associate with our pursuit of the Andaman Islander in the earlier days of our career. After a long and weary journey we alighted at a small station some miles from Chatham. While a horse was being put into a trap at the local inn we snatched a hurried breakfast, and so we were all ready for business when we at last arrived at Yoxley Old Place. A constable met us at the garden gate. "Well, Wilson, any news?" "No, sir, nothing." "No reports of any stranger seen?" "No, sir. Down at the station they are certain that no stranger either came or went yesterday." "Have you had inquiries made at inns and lodgings?" "Yes, sir; there is no one that we cannot account for." "Well, it's only a reasonable walk to Chatham. Anyone might stay there, or take a train without being observed. This is the garden path of which I spoke, Mr. Holmes. I'll pledge my word there was no mark on it yesterday." "On which side were the marks on the grass?" "This side, sir. This narrow margin of grass between the path and the flower-bed. I can't see the traces now, but they were clear to me then." "Yes, yes; someone has passed along," said Holmes, stooping over the grass border. "Our lady must have picked her steps carefully, must she not, since on the one side she would leave a track on the path, and on the other an even clearer one on the soft bed?" "Yes, sir, she must have been a cool hand." I saw an intent look pass over Holmes's face. "You say that she must have come back this way?" "Yes, sir; there is no other." "On this strip of grass?" "Certainly, Mr. Holmes." "Hum! It was a very remarkable performance--very remarkable. Well, I think we have exhausted the path. Let us go farther. This garden door is usually kept open, I suppose? Then this visitor had nothing to do but to walk in. The idea of murder was not in her mind, or she would have provided herself with some sort of weapon, instead of having to pick this knife off the writing-table. She advanced along this corridor, leaving no traces upon the cocoanut matting. Then she found herself in this study. How long was she there? We have no means of judging." "Not more than a few minutes, sir. I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Marker, the housekeeper, had been in there tidying not very long before--about a quarter of an hour, she says." "Well, that gives us a limit. Our lady enters this room and what does she do? She goes over to the writing-table. What for? Not for anything in the drawers. If there had been anything worth her taking it would surely have been locked up. No; it was for something in that wooden bureau. Halloa! what is that scratch upon the face of it? Just hold a match, Watson. Why did you not tell me of this, Hopkins?" The mark which he was examining began upon the brass work on the right-hand side of the keyhole, and extended for about four inches, where it had scratched the varnish from the surface. "I noticed it, Mr. Holmes. But you'll always find scratches round a keyhole." "This is recent, quite recent. See how the brass shines where it is cut. An old scratch would be the same colour as the surface. Look at it through my lens. There's the varnish, too, like earth on each side of a furrow. Is Mrs. Marker there?" A sad-faced, elderly woman came into the room. "Did you dust this bureau yesterday morning?" "Yes, sir." "Did you notice this scratch?" "No, sir, I did not." "I am sure you did not, for a duster would have swept away these shreds of varnish. Who has the key of this bureau?" "The Professor keeps it on his watch-chain." "Is it a simple key?" "No, sir; it is a Chubb's key." "Very good. Mrs. Marker, you can go. Now we are making a little progress. Our lady enters the room, advances to the bureau, and either opens it or tries to do so. While she is thus engaged young Willoughby Smith enters the room. In her hurry to withdraw the key she makes this scratch upon the door. He seizes her, and she, snatching up the nearest object, which happens to be this knife, strikes at him in order to make him let go his hold. The blow is a fatal one. He falls and she escapes, either with or without the object for which she has come. Is Susan the maid there? Could anyone have got away through that door after the time that you heard the cry, Susan?" "No sir; it is impossible. Before I got down the stair I'd have seen anyone in the passage. Besides, the door never opened, for I would have heard it." "That settles this exit. Then no doubt the lady went out the way she came. I understand that this other passage leads only to the Professor's room. There is no exit that way?" "No, sir." "We shall go down it and make the acquaintance of the Professor. Halloa, Hopkins! this is very important, very important indeed. The Professor's corridor is also lined with cocoanut matting." "Well, sir, what of that?" "Don't you see any bearing upon the case? Well, well, I don't insist upon it. No doubt I am wrong. And yet it seems to me to be suggestive. Come with me and introduce me." We passed down the passage, which was of the same length as that which led to the garden. At the end was a short flight of steps ending in a door. Our guide knocked, and then ushered us into the Professor's bedroom. It was a very large chamber, lined with innumerable volumes, which had overflowed from the shelves and lay in piles in the corners, or were stacked all round at the base of the cases. The bed was in the centre of the room, and in it, propped up with pillows, was the owner of the house. I have seldom seen a more remarkable-looking person. It was a gaunt, aquiline face which was turned towards us, with piercing dark eyes, which lurked in deep hollows under overhung and tufted brows. His hair and beard were white, save that the latter was curiously stained with yellow around his mouth. A cigarette glowed amid the tangle of white hair, and the air of the room was fetid with stale tobacco-smoke. As he held out his hand to Holmes I perceived that it also was stained yellow with nicotine. "A smoker, Mr. Holmes?" said he, speaking well-chosen English with a curious little mincing accent. "Pray take a cigarette. And you, sir? I can recommend them, for I have them especially prepared by Ionides of Alexandria. He sends me a thousand at a time, and I grieve to say that I have to arrange for a fresh supply every fortnight. Bad, sir, very bad, but an old man has few pleasures. Tobacco and my work--that is all that is left to me." Holmes had lit a cigarette, and was shooting little darting glances all over the room. "Tobacco and my work, but now only tobacco," the old man exclaimed. "Alas! what a fatal interruption! Who could have foreseen such a terrible catastrophe? So estimable a young man! I assure you that after a few months' training he was an admirable assistant. What do you think of the matter, Mr. Holmes?" "I have not yet made up my mind." "I shall indeed be indebted to you if you can throw a light where all is so dark to us. To a poor bookworm and invalid like myself such a blow is paralyzing. I seem to have lost the faculty of thought. But you are a man of action--you are a man of affairs. It is part of the everyday routine of your life. You can preserve your balance in every emergency. We are fortunate indeed in having you at our side." Holmes was pacing up and down one side of the room whilst the old Professor was talking. I observed that he was smoking with extraordinary rapidity. It was evident that he shared our host's liking for the fresh Alexandrian cigarettes. "Yes, sir, it is a crushing blow," said the old man. "That is my magnum opus--the pile of papers on the side table yonder. It is my analysis of the documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt, a work which will cut deep at the very foundations of revealed religion. With my enfeebled health I do not know whether I shall ever be able to complete it now that my assistant has been taken from me. Dear me, Mr. Holmes; why, you are even a quicker smoker than I am myself." Holmes smiled. "I am a connoisseur," said he, taking another cigarette from the box--his fourth--and lighting it from the stub of that which he had finished. "I will not trouble you with any lengthy cross-examination, Professor Coram, since I gather that you were in bed at the time of the crime and could know nothing about it. I would only ask this. What do you imagine that this poor fellow meant by his last words: 'The Professor--it was she'?" The Professor shook his head. "Susan is a country girl," said he, "and you know the incredible stupidity of that class. I fancy that the poor fellow murmured some incoherent delirious words, and that she twisted them into this meaningless message." "I see. You have no explanation yourself of the tragedy?" "Possibly an accident; possibly--I only breathe it among ourselves--a suicide. Young men have their hidden troubles--some affair of the heart, perhaps, which we have never known. It is a more probable supposition than murder." "But the eye-glasses?" "Ah! I am only a student--a man of dreams. I cannot explain the practical things of life. But still, we are aware, my friend, that love-gages may take strange shapes. By all means take another cigarette. It is a pleasure to see anyone appreciate them so. A fan, a glove, glasses--who knows what article may be carried as a token or treasured when a man puts an end to his life? This gentleman speaks of footsteps in the grass; but, after all, it is easy to be mistaken on such a point. As to the knife, it might well be thrown far from the unfortunate man as he fell. It is possible that I speak as a child, but to me it seems that Willoughby Smith has met his fate by his own hand." Holmes seemed struck by the theory thus put forward, and he continued to walk up and down for some time, lost in thought and consuming cigarette after cigarette. "Tell me, Professor Coram," he said, at last, "what is in that cupboard in the bureau?" "Nothing that would help a thief. Family papers, letters from my poor wife, diplomas of Universities which have done me honour. Here is the key. You can look for yourself." Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant; then he handed it back. "No; I hardly think that it would help me," said he. "I should prefer to go quietly down to your garden and turn the whole matter over in my head. There is something to be said for the theory of suicide which you have put forward. We must apologize for having intruded upon you, Professor Coram, and I promise that we won't disturb you until after lunch. At two o'clock we will come again and report to you anything which may have happened in the interval." Holmes was curiously distrait, and we walked up and down the garden path for some time in silence. "Have you a clue?" I asked, at last. "It depends upon those cigarettes that I smoked," said he. "It is possible that I am utterly mistaken. The cigarettes will show me." "My dear Holmes," I exclaimed, "how on earth--" "Well, well, you may see for yourself. If not, there's no harm done. Of course, we always have the optician clue to fall back upon, but I take a short cut when I can get it. Ah, here is the good Mrs. Marker! Let us enjoy five minutes of instructive conversation with her." I may have remarked before that Holmes had, when he liked, a peculiarly ingratiating way with women, and that he very readily established terms of confidence with them. In half the time which he had named he had captured the housekeeper's goodwill, and was chatting with her as if he had known her for years. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is as you say, sir. He does smoke something terrible. All day and sometimes all night, sir. I've seen that room of a morning--well, sir, you'd have thought it was a London fog. Poor young Mr. Smith, he was a smoker also, but not as bad as the Professor. His health--well, I don't know that it's better nor worse for the smoking." "Ah!" said Holmes, "but it kills the appetite." "Well, I don't know about that, sir." "I suppose the Professor eats hardly anything?" "Well, he is variable. I'll say that for him." "I'll wager he took no breakfast this morning, and won't face his lunch after all the cigarettes I saw him consume." "Well, you're out there, sir, as it happens, for he ate a remarkable big breakfast this morning. I don't know when I've known him make a better one, and he's ordered a good dish of cutlets for his lunch. I'm surprised myself, for since I came into that room yesterday and saw young Mr. Smith lying there on the floor I couldn't bear to look at food. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, and the Professor hasn't let it take his appetite away." We loitered the morning away in the garden. Stanley Hopkins had gone down to the village to look into some rumours of a strange woman who had been seen by some children on the Chatham Road the previous morning. As to my friend, all his usual energy seemed to have deserted him. I had never known him handle a case in such a half-hearted fashion. Even the news brought back by Hopkins that he had found the children and that they had undoubtedly seen a woman exactly corresponding with Holmes's description, and wearing either spectacles or eye-glasses, failed to rouse any sign of keen interest. He was more attentive when Susan, who waited upon us at lunch, volunteered the information that she believed Mr. Smith had been out for a walk yesterday morning, and that he had only returned half an hour before the tragedy occurred. I could not myself see the bearing of this incident, but I clearly perceived that Holmes was weaving it into the general scheme which he had formed in his brain. Suddenly he sprang from his chair and glanced at his watch. "Two o'clock, gentlemen," said he. "We must go up and have it out with our friend the Professor." The old man had just finished his lunch, and certainly his empty dish bore evidence to the good appetite with which his housekeeper had credited him. He was, indeed, a weird figure as he turned his white mane and his glowing eyes towards us. The eternal cigarette smouldered in his mouth. He had been dressed and was seated in an arm-chair by the fire. "Well, Mr. Holmes, have you solved this mystery yet?" He shoved the large tin of cigarettes which stood on a table beside him towards my companion. Holmes stretched out his hand at the same moment, and between them they tipped the box over the edge. For a minute or two we were all on our knees retrieving stray cigarettes from impossible places. When we rose again I observed that Holmes's eyes were shining and his cheeks tinged with colour. Only at a crisis have I seen those battle-signals flying. "Yes," said he, "I have solved it." Stanley Hopkins and I stared in amazement. Something like a sneer quivered over the gaunt features of the old Professor. "Indeed! In the garden?" "No, here." "Here! When?" "This instant." "You are surely joking, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. You compel me to tell you that this is too serious a matter to be treated in such a fashion." "I have forged and tested every link of my chain, Professor Coram, and I am sure that it is sound. What your motives are or what exact part you play in this strange business I am not yet able to say. In a few minutes I shall probably hear it from your own lips. Meanwhile I will reconstruct what is past for your benefit, so that you may know the information which I still require. "A lady yesterday entered your study. She came with the intention of possessing herself of certain documents which were in your bureau. She had a key of her own. I have had an opportunity of examining yours, and I do not find that slight discolouration which the scratch made upon the varnish would have produced. You were not an accessory, therefore, and she came, so far as I can read the evidence, without your knowledge to rob you." The Professor blew a cloud from his lips. "This is most interesting and instructive," said he. "Have you no more to add? Surely, having traced this lady so far, you can also say what has become of her." "I will endeavour to do so. In the first place she was seized by your secretary, and stabbed him in order to escape. This catastrophe I am inclined to regard as an unhappy accident, for I am convinced that the lady had no intention of inflicting so grievous an injury. An assassin does not come unarmed. Horrified by what she had done she rushed wildly away from the scene of the tragedy. Unfortunately for her she had lost her glasses in the scuffle, and as she was extremely short-sighted she was really helpless without them. She ran down a corridor, which she imagined to be that by which she had come--both were lined with cocoanut matting--and it was only when it was too late that she understood that she had taken the wrong passage and that her retreat was cut off behind her. What was she to do? She could not go back. She could not remain where she was. She must go on. She went on. She mounted a stair, pushed open a door, and found herself in your room." The old man sat with his mouth open staring wildly at Holmes. Amazement and fear were stamped upon his expressive features. Now, with an effort, he shrugged his shoulders and burst into insincere laughter. "All very fine, Mr. Holmes," said he. "But there is one little flaw in your splendid theory. I was myself in my room, and I never left it during the day." "I am aware of that, Professor Coram." "And you mean to say that I could lie upon that bed and not be aware that a woman had entered my room?" "I never said so. You were aware of it. You spoke with her. You recognised her. You aided her to escape." Again the Professor burst into high-keyed laughter. He had risen to his feet and his eyes glowed like embers. "You are mad!" he cried. "You are talking insanely. I helped her to escape? Where is she now?" "She is there," said Holmes, and he pointed to a high bookcase in the corner of the room. I saw the old man throw up his arms, a terrible convulsion passed over his grim face, and he fell back in his chair. At the same instant the bookcase at which Holmes pointed swung round upon a hinge, and a woman rushed out into the room. "You are right!" she cried, in a strange foreign voice. "You are right! I am here." She was brown with the dust and draped with the cobwebs which had come from the walls of her hiding-place. Her face, too, was streaked with grime, and at the best she could never have been handsome, for she had the exact physical characteristics which Holmes had divined, with, in addition, a long and obstinate chin. What with her natural blindness, and what with the change from dark to light, she stood as one dazed, blinking about her to see where and who we were. And yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, there was a certain nobility in the woman's bearing, a gallantry in the defiant chin and in the upraised head, which compelled something of respect and admiration. Stanley Hopkins had laid his hand upon her arm and claimed her as his prisoner, but she waved him aside gently, and yet with an overmastering dignity which compelled obedience. The old man lay back in his chair, with a twitching face, and stared at her with brooding eyes. "Yes, sir, I am your prisoner," she said. "From where I stood I could hear everything, and I know that you have learned the truth. I confess it all. It was I who killed the young man. But you are right, you who say it was an accident. I did not even know that it was a knife which I held in my hand, for in my despair I snatched anything from the table and struck at him to make him let me go. It is the truth that I tell." "Madam," said Holmes, "I am sure that it is the truth. I fear that you are far from well." She had turned a dreadful colour, the more ghastly under the dark dust-streaks upon her face. She seated herself on the side of the bed; then she resumed. "I have only a little time here," she said, "but I would have you to know the whole truth. I am this man's wife. He is not an Englishman. He is a Russian. His name I will not tell." For the first time the old man stirred. "God bless you, Anna!" he cried. "God bless you!" She cast a look of the deepest disdain in his direction. "Why should you cling so hard to that wretched life of yours, Sergius?" said she. "It has done harm to many and good to none--not even to yourself. However, it is not for me to cause the frail thread to be snapped before God's time. I have enough already upon my soul since I crossed the threshold of this cursed house. But I must speak or I shall be too late. "I have said, gentlemen, that I am this man's wife. He was fifty and I a foolish girl of twenty when we married. It was in a city of Russia, a University--I will not name the place." "God bless you, Anna!" murmured the old man again. "We were reformers--revolutionists--Nihilists, you understand. He and I and many more. Then there came a time of trouble, a police officer was killed, many were arrested, evidence was wanted, and in order to save his own life and to earn a great reward my husband betrayed his own wife and his companions. Yes, we were all arrested upon his confession. Some of us found our way to the gallows and some to Siberia. I was among these last, but my term was not for life. My husband came to England with his ill-gotten gains, and has lived in quiet ever since, knowing well that if the Brotherhood knew where he was not a week would pass before justice would be done." The old man reached out a trembling hand and helped himself to a cigarette. "I am in your hands, Anna," said he. "You were always good to me." "I have not yet told you the height of his villainy," said she. "Among our comrades of the Order there was one who was the friend of my heart. He was noble, unselfish, loving--all that my husband was not. He hated violence. We were all guilty--if that is guilt--but he was not. He wrote for ever dissuading us from such a course. These letters would have saved him. So would my diary, in which from day to day I had entered both my feelings towards him and the view which each of us had taken. My husband found and kept both diary and letters. He hid them, and he tried hard to swear away the young man's life. In this he failed, but Alexis was sent a convict to Siberia, where now, at this moment, he works in a salt mine. Think of that, you villain, you villain; now, now, at this very moment, Alexis, a man whose name you are not worthy to speak, works and lives like a slave, and yet I have your life in my hands and I let you go." "You were always a noble woman, Anna," said the old man, puffing at his cigarette. She had risen, but she fell back again with a little cry of pain. "I must finish," she said. "When my term was over I set myself to get the diary and letters which, if sent to the Russian Government, would procure my friend's release. I knew that my husband had come to England. After months of searching I discovered where he was. I knew that he still had the diary, for when I was in Siberia I had a letter from him once reproaching me and quoting some passages from its pages. Yet I was sure that with his revengeful nature he would never give it to me of his own free will. I must get it for myself. With this object I engaged an agent from a private detective firm, who entered my husband's house as secretary--it was your second secretary, Sergius, the one who left you so hurriedly. He found that papers were kept in the cupboard, and he got an impression of the key. He would not go farther. He furnished me with a plan of the house, and he told me that in the forenoon the study was always empty, as the secretary was employed up here. So at last I took my courage in both hands and I came down to get the papers for myself. I succeeded, but at what a cost! "I had just taken the papers and was locking the cupboard when the young man seized me. I had seen him already that morning. He had met me in the road and I had asked him to tell me where Professor Coram lived, not knowing that he was in his employ." "Exactly! exactly!" said Holmes. "The secretary came back and told his employer of the woman he had met. Then in his last breath he tried to send a message that it was she--the she whom he had just discussed with him." "You must let me speak," said the woman, in an imperative voice, and her face contracted as if in pain. "When he had fallen I rushed from the room, chose the wrong door, and found myself in my husband's room. He spoke of giving me up. I showed him that if he did so his life was in my hands. If he gave me to the law I could give him to the Brotherhood. It was not that I wished to live for my own sake, but it was that I desired to accomplish my purpose. He knew that I would do what I said--that his own fate was involved in mine. For that reason and for no other he shielded me. He thrust me into that dark hiding-place, a relic of old days, known only to himself. He took his meals in his own room, and so was able to give me part of his food. It was agreed that when the police left the house I should slip away by night and come back no more. But in some way you have read our plans." She tore from the bosom of her dress a small packet. "These are my last words," said she; "here is the packet which will save Alexis. I confide it to your honour and to your love of justice. Take it! You will deliver it at the Russian Embassy. Now I have done my duty, and--" "Stop her!" cried Holmes. He had bounded across the room and had wrenched a small phial from her hand. "Too late!" she said, sinking back on the bed. "Too late! I took the poison before I left my hiding-place. My head swims! I am going! I charge you, sir, to remember the packet." "A simple case, and yet in some ways an instructive one," Holmes remarked, as we travelled back to town. "It hinged from the outset upon the pince-nez. But for the fortunate chance of the dying man having seized these I am not sure that we could ever have reached our solution. It was clear to me from the strength of the glasses that the wearer must have been very blind and helpless when deprived of them. When you asked me to believe that she walked along a narrow strip of grass without once making a false step I remarked, as you may remember, that it was a noteworthy performance. In my mind I set it down as an impossible performance, save in the unlikely case that she had a second pair of glasses. I was forced, therefore, to seriously consider the hypothesis that she had remained within the house. On perceiving the similarity of the two corridors it became clear that she might very easily have made such a mistake, and in that case it was evident that she must have entered the Professor's room. I was keenly on the alert, therefore, for whatever would bear out this supposition, and I examined the room narrowly for anything in the shape of a hiding-place. The carpet seemed continuous and firmly nailed, so I dismissed the idea of a trap-door. There might well be a recess behind the books. As you are aware, such devices are common in old libraries. I observed that books were piled on the floor at all other points, but that one bookcase was left clear. This, then, might be the door. I could see no marks to guide me, but the carpet was of a dun colour, which lends itself very well to examination. I therefore smoked a great number of those excellent cigarettes, and I dropped the ash all over the space in front of the suspected bookcase. It was a simple trick, but exceedingly effective. I then went downstairs and I ascertained, in your presence, Watson, without your perceiving the drift of my remarks, that Professor Coram's consumption of food had increased--as one would expect when he is supplying a second person. We then ascended to the room again, when, by upsetting the cigarette-box, I obtained a very excellent view of the floor, and was able to see quite clearly, from the traces upon the cigarette ash, that the prisoner had, in our absence, come out from her retreat. Well, Hopkins, here we are at Charing Cross, and I congratulate you on having brought your case to a successful conclusion. You are going to head-quarters, no doubt. I think, Watson, you and I will drive together to the Russian Embassy." THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING THREE-QUARTER We were fairly accustomed to receive weird telegrams at Baker Street, but I have a particular recollection of one which reached us on a gloomy February morning some seven or eight years ago and gave Mr. Sherlock Holmes a puzzled quarter of an hour. It was addressed to him, and ran thus: "Please await me. Terrible misfortune. Right wing three-quarter missing; indispensable to-morrow. Overton." "Strand post-mark and dispatched ten-thirty-six," said Holmes, reading it over and over. "Mr. Overton was evidently considerably excited when he sent it, and somewhat incoherent in consequence. Well, well, he will be here, I dare say, by the time I have looked through the times, and then we shall know all about it. Even the most insignificant problem would be welcome in these stagnant days." Things had indeed been very slow with us, and I had learned to dread such periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companion's brain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it without material upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned him from that drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkable career. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer craved for this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was not dead, but sleeping; and I have known that the sleep was a light one and the waking near when in periods of idleness I have seen the drawn look upon Holmes's ascetic face, and the brooding of his deep-set and inscrutable eyes. Therefore I blessed this Mr. Overton, whoever he might be, since he had come with his enigmatic message to break that dangerous calm which brought more peril to my friend than all the storms of his tempestuous life. As we had expected, the telegram was soon followed by its sender, and the card of Mr. Cyril Overton, of Trinity College, Cambridge, announced the arrival of an enormous young man, sixteen stone of solid bone and muscle, who spanned the doorway with his broad shoulders and looked from one of us to the other with a comely face which was haggard with anxiety. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" My companion bowed. "I've been down to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes. I saw Inspector Stanley Hopkins. He advised me to come to you. He said the case, so far as he could see, was more in your line than in that of the regular police." "Pray sit down and tell me what is the matter." "It's awful, Mr. Holmes, simply awful! I wonder my hair isn't grey. Godfrey Staunton--you've heard of him, of course? He's simply the hinge that the whole team turns on. I'd rather spare two from the pack and have Godfrey for my three-quarter line. Whether it's passing, or tackling, or dribbling, there's no one to touch him; and then, he's got the head and can hold us all together. What am I to do? That's what I ask you, Mr. Holmes. There's Moorhouse, first reserve, but he is trained as a half, and he always edges right in on to the scrum instead of keeping out on the touch-line. He's a fine place-kick, it's true, but, then, he has no judgment, and he can't sprint for nuts. Why, Morton or Johnson, the Oxford fliers, could romp round him. Stevenson is fast enough, but he couldn't drop from the twenty-five line, and a three-quarter who can't either punt or drop isn't worth a place for pace alone. No, Mr. Holmes, we are done unless you can help me to find Godfrey Staunton." My friend had listened with amused surprise to this long speech, which was poured forth with extraordinary vigour and earnestness, every point being driven home by the slapping of a brawny hand upon the speaker's knee. When our visitor was silent Holmes stretched out his hand and took down letter "S" of his commonplace book. For once he dug in vain into that mine of varied information. "There is Arthur H. Staunton, the rising young forger," said he, "and there was Henry Staunton, whom I helped to hang, but Godfrey Staunton is a new name to me." It was our visitor's turn to look surprised. "Why, Mr. Holmes, I thought you knew things," said he. "I suppose, then, if you have never heard of Godfrey Staunton you don't know Cyril Overton either?" Holmes shook his head good-humouredly. "Great Scot!" cried the athlete. "Why, I was first reserve for England against Wales, and I've skippered the 'Varsity all this year. But that's nothing! I didn't think there was a soul in England who didn't know Godfrey Staunton, the crack three-quarter, Cambridge, Blackheath, and five Internationals. Good Lord! Mr. Holmes, where have you lived?" Holmes laughed at the young giant's naive astonishment. "You live in a different world to me, Mr. Overton, a sweeter and healthier one. My ramifications stretch out into many sections of society, but never, I am happy to say, into amateur sport, which is the best and soundest thing in England. However, your unexpected visit this morning shows me that even in that world of fresh air and fair play there may be work for me to do; so now, my good sir, I beg you to sit down and to tell me slowly and quietly exactly what it is that has occurred, and how you desire that I should help you." Young Overton's face assumed the bothered look of the man who is more accustomed to using his muscles than his wits; but by degrees, with many repetitions and obscurities which I may omit from his narrative, he laid his strange story before us. "It's this way, Mr. Holmes. As I have said, I am the skipper of the Rugger team of Cambridge 'Varsity, and Godfrey Staunton is my best man. To-morrow we play Oxford. Yesterday we all came up and we settled at Bentley's private hotel. At ten o'clock I went round and saw that all the fellows had gone to roost, for I believe in strict training and plenty of sleep to keep a team fit. I had a word or two with Godfrey before he turned in. He seemed to me to be pale and bothered. I asked him what was the matter. He said he was all right--just a touch of headache. I bade him good-night and left him. Half an hour later the porter tells me that a rough-looking man with a beard called with a note for Godfrey. He had not gone to bed and the note was taken to his room. Godfrey read it and fell back in a chair as if he had been pole-axed. The porter was so scared that he was going to fetch me, but Godfrey stopped him, had a drink of water, and pulled himself together. Then he went downstairs, said a few words to the man who was waiting in the hall, and the two of them went off together. The last that the porter saw of them, they were almost running down the street in the direction of the Strand. This morning Godfrey's room was empty, his bed had never been slept in, and his things were all just as I had seen them the night before. He had gone off at a moment's notice with this stranger, and no word has come from him since. I don't believe he will ever come back. He was a sportsman, was Godfrey, down to his marrow, and he wouldn't have stopped his training and let in his skipper if it were not for some cause that was too strong for him. No; I feel as if he were gone for good and we should never see him again." Sherlock Holmes listened with the deepest attention to this singular narrative. "What did you do?" he asked. "I wired to Cambridge to learn if anything had been heard of him there. I have had an answer. No one has seen him." "Could he have got back to Cambridge?" "Yes, there is a late train--quarter-past eleven." "But so far as you can ascertain he did not take it?" "No, he has not been seen." "What did you do next?" "I wired to Lord Mount-James." "Why to Lord Mount-James?" "Godfrey is an orphan, and Lord Mount-James is his nearest relative--his uncle, I believe." "Indeed. This throws new light upon the matter. Lord Mount-James is one of the richest men in England." "So I've heard Godfrey say." "And your friend was closely related?" "Yes, he was his heir, and the old boy is nearly eighty--cram full of gout, too. They say he could chalk his billiard-cue with his knuckles. He never allowed Godfrey a shilling in his life, for he is an absolute miser, but it will all come to him right enough." "Have you heard from Lord Mount-James?" "No." "What motive could your friend have in going to Lord Mount-James?" "Well, something was worrying him the night before, and if it was to do with money it is possible that he would make for his nearest relative who had so much of it, though from all I have heard he would not have much chance of getting it. Godfrey was not fond of the old man. He would not go if he could help it." "Well, we can soon determine that. If your friend was going to his relative, Lord Mount-James, you have then to explain the visit of this rough-looking fellow at so late an hour, and the agitation that was caused by his coming." Cyril Overton pressed his hands to his head. "I can make nothing of it," said he. "Well, well, I have a clear day, and I shall be happy to look into the matter," said Holmes. "I should strongly recommend you to make your preparations for your match without reference to this young gentleman. It must, as you say, have been an overpowering necessity which tore him away in such a fashion, and the same necessity is likely to hold him away. Let us step round together to this hotel, and see if the porter can throw any fresh light upon the matter." Sherlock Holmes was a past-master in the art of putting a humble witness at his ease, and very soon, in the privacy of Godfrey Staunton's abandoned room, he had extracted all that the porter had to tell. The visitor of the night before was not a gentleman, neither was he a working man. He was simply what the porter described as a "medium-looking chap"; a man of fifty, beard grizzled, pale face, quietly dressed. He seemed himself to be agitated. The porter had observed his hand trembling when he had held out the note. Godfrey Staunton had crammed the note into his pocket. Staunton had not shaken hands with the man in the hall. They had exchanged a few sentences, of which the porter had only distinguished the one word "time." Then they had hurried off in the manner described. It was just half-past ten by the hall clock. "Let me see," said Holmes, seating himself on Staunton's bed. "You are the day porter, are you not?" "Yes, sir; I go off duty at eleven." "The night porter saw nothing, I suppose?" "No, sir; one theatre party came in late. No one else." "Were you on duty all day yesterday?" "Yes, sir." "Did you take any messages to Mr. Staunton?" "Yes, sir; one telegram." "Ah! that's interesting. What o'clock was this?" "About six." "Where was Mr. Staunton when he received it?" "Here in his room." "Were you present when he opened it?" "Yes, sir; I waited to see if there was an answer." "Well, was there?" "Yes, sir. He wrote an answer." "Did you take it?" "No; he took it himself." "But he wrote it in your presence?" "Yes, sir. I was standing by the door, and he with his back turned at that table. When he had written it he said, 'All right, porter, I will take this myself.'" "What did he write it with?" "A pen, sir." "Was the telegraphic form one of these on the table?" "Yes, sir; it was the top one." Holmes rose. Taking the forms he carried them over to the window and carefully examined that which was uppermost. "It is a pity he did not write in pencil," said he, throwing them down again with a shrug of disappointment. "As you have no doubt frequently observed, Watson, the impression usually goes through--a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage. However, I can find no trace here. I rejoice, however, to perceive that he wrote with a broad-pointed quill pen, and I can hardly doubt that we will find some impression upon this blotting-pad. Ah, yes, surely this is the very thing!" He tore off a strip of the blotting-paper and turned towards us the following hieroglyphic: [ Picture: Several unreadable scrawls on paper ] Cyril Overton was much excited. "Hold it to the glass!" he cried. "That is unnecessary," said Holmes. "The paper is thin, and the reverse will give the message. Here it is." He turned it over and we read: [ Picture: Stand by us for God’s sake! ] "So that is the tail end of the telegram which Godfrey Staunton dispatched within a few hours of his disappearance. There are at least six words of the message which have escaped us; but what remains--'Stand by us for God's sake!'--proves that this young man saw a formidable danger which approached him, and from which someone else could protect him. 'Us,' mark you! Another person was involved. Who should it be but the pale-faced, bearded man, who seemed himself in so nervous a state? What, then, is the connection between Godfrey Staunton and the bearded man? And what is the third source from which each of them sought for help against pressing danger? Our inquiry has already narrowed down to that." "We have only to find to whom that telegram is addressed," I suggested. "Exactly, my dear Watson. Your reflection, though profound, had already crossed my mind. But I dare say it may have come to your notice that if you walk into a post-office and demand to see the counterfoil of another man's message there may be some disinclination on the part of the officials to oblige you. There is so much red tape in these matters! However, I have no doubt that with a little delicacy and finesse the end may be attained. Meanwhile, I should like in your presence, Mr. Overton, to go through these papers which have been left upon the table." There were a number of letters, bills, and note-books, which Holmes turned over and examined with quick, nervous fingers and darting, penetrating eyes. "Nothing here," he said, at last. "By the way, I suppose your friend was a healthy young fellow--nothing amiss with him?" "Sound as a bell." "Have you ever known him ill?" "Not a day. He has been laid up with a hack, and once he slipped his knee-cap, but that was nothing." "Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should think he may have had some secret trouble. With your assent I will put one or two of these papers in my pocket, in case they should bear upon our future inquiry." "One moment! one moment!" cried a querulous voice, and we looked up to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in the doorway. He was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad brimmed top-hat and a loose white necktie--the whole effect being that of a very rustic parson or of an undertaker's mute. Yet, in spite of his shabby and even absurd appearance, his voice had a sharp crackle, and his manner a quick intensity which commanded attention. "Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch this gentleman's papers?" he asked. "I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain his disappearance." "Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?" "This gentleman, Mr. Staunton's friend, was referred to me by Scotland Yard." "Who are you, sir?" "I am Cyril Overton." "Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is Lord Mount-James. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater 'bus would bring me. So you have instructed a detective?" "Yes, sir." "And are you prepared to meet the cost?" "I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him, will be prepared to do that." "But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!" "In that case no doubt his family--" "Nothing of the sort, sir!" screamed the little man. "Don't look to me for a penny--not a penny! You understand that, Mr. Detective! I am all the family that this young man has got, and I tell you that I am not responsible. If he has any expectations it is due to the fact that I have never wasted money, and I do not propose to begin to do so now. As to those papers with which you are making so free, I may tell you that in case there should be anything of any value among them you will be held strictly to account for what you do with them." "Very good, sir," said Sherlock Holmes. "May I ask in the meanwhile whether you have yourself any theory to account for this young man's disappearance?" "No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to look after himself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself I entirely refuse to accept the responsibility of hunting for him." "I quite understand your position," said Holmes, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Perhaps you don't quite understand mine. Godfrey Staunton appears to have been a poor man. If he has been kidnapped it could not have been for anything which he himself possesses. The fame of your wealth has gone abroad, Lord Mount-James, and it is entirely possible that a gang of thieves have secured your nephew in order to gain from him some information as to your house, your habits, and your treasure." The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as his neckcloth. "Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy! What inhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is a fine lad--a staunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his old uncle away. I'll have the plate moved over to the bank this evening. In the meantime spare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leave no stone unturned to bring him safely back. As to money, well, so far as a fiver, or even a tenner, goes, you can always look to me." Even in his chastened frame of mind the noble miser could give us no information which could help us, for he knew little of the private life of his nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncated telegram, and with a copy of this in his hand Holmes set forth to find a second link for his chain. We had shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton had gone to consult with the other members of his team over the misfortune which had befallen them. There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel. We halted outside it. "It's worth trying, Watson," said Holmes. "Of course, with a warrant we could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have not reached that stage yet. I don't suppose they remember faces in so busy a place. Let us venture it." "I am sorry to trouble you," said he, in his blandest manner, to the young woman behind the grating; "there is some small mistake about a telegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I very much fear that I must have omitted to put my name at the end. Could you tell me if this was so?" The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils. "What o'clock was it?" she asked. "A little after six." "Whom was it to?" Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. "The last words in it were 'for God's sake,'" he whispered, confidentially; "I am very anxious at getting no answer." The young woman separated one of the forms. "This is it. There is no name," said she, smoothing it out upon the counter. "Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer," said Holmes. "Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Good morning, miss, and many thanks for having relieved my mind." He chuckled and rubbed his hands when we found ourselves in the street once more. "Well?" I asked. "We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had seven different schemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but I could hardly hope to succeed the very first time." "And what have you gained?" "A starting-point for our investigation." He hailed a cab. "King's Cross Station," said he. "We have a journey, then?" "Yes; I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All the indications seem to me to point in that direction." "Tell me," I asked, as we rattled up Gray's Inn Road, "have you any suspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don't think that among all our cases I have known one where the motives are more obscure. Surely you don't really imagine that he may be kidnapped in order to give information against his wealthy uncle?" "I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as a very probable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the one which was most likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant old person." "It certainly did that. But what are your alternatives?" "I could mention several. You must admit that it is curious and suggestive that this incident should occur on the eve of this important match, and should involve the only man whose presence seems essential to the success of the side. It may, of course, be coincidence, but it is interesting. Amateur sport is free from betting, but a good deal of outside betting goes on among the public, and it is possible that it might be worth someone's while to get at a player as the ruffians of the turf get at a race-horse. There is one explanation. A second very obvious one is that this young man really is the heir of a great property, however modest his means may at present be, and it is not impossible that a plot to hold him for ransom might be concocted." "These theories take no account of the telegram." "Quite true, Watson. The telegram still remains the only solid thing with which we have to deal, and we must not permit our attention to wander away from it. It is to gain light upon the purpose of this telegram that we are now upon our way to Cambridge. The path of our investigation is at present obscure, but I shall be very much surprised if before evening we have not cleared it up or made a considerable advance along it." It was already dark when we reached the old University city. Holmes took a cab at the station, and ordered the man to drive to the house of Dr. Leslie Armstrong. A few minutes later we had stopped at a large mansion in the busiest thoroughfare. We were shown in, and after a long wait were at last admitted into the consulting-room, where we found the doctor seated behind his table. It argues the degree in which I had lost touch with my profession that the name of Leslie Armstrong was unknown to me. Now I am aware that he is not only one of the heads of the medical school of the University, but a thinker of European reputation in more than one branch of science. Yet even without knowing his brilliant record one could not fail to be impressed by a mere glance at the man, the square, massive face, the brooding eyes under the thatched brows, and the granite moulding of the inflexible jaw. A man of deep character, a man with an alert mind, grim, ascetic, self-contained, formidable--so I read Dr. Leslie Armstrong. He held my friend's card in his hand, and he looked up with no very pleased expression upon his dour features. "I have heard your name, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I am aware of your profession, one of which I by no means approve." "In that, doctor, you will find yourself in agreement with every criminal in the country," said my friend, quietly. "So far as your efforts are directed towards the suppression of crime, sir, they must have the support of every reasonable member of the community, though I cannot doubt that the official machinery is amply sufficient for the purpose. Where your calling is more open to criticism is when you pry into the secrets of private individuals, when you rake up family matters which are better hidden, and when you incidentally waste the time of men who are more busy than yourself. At the present moment, for example, I should be writing a treatise instead of conversing with you." "No doubt, doctor; and yet the conversation may prove more important than the treatise. Incidentally I may tell you that we are doing the reverse of what you very justly blame, and that we are endeavouring to prevent anything like public exposure of private matters which must necessarily follow when once the case is fairly in the hands of the official police. You may look upon me simply as an irregular pioneer who goes in front of the regular forces of the country. I have come to ask you about Mr. Godfrey Staunton." "What about him?" "You know him, do you not?" "He is an intimate friend of mine." "You are aware that he has disappeared?" "Ah, indeed!" There was no change of expression in the rugged features of the doctor. "He left his hotel last night. He has not been heard of." "No doubt he will return." "To-morrow is the 'Varsity football match." "I have no sympathy with these childish games. The young man's fate interests me deeply, since I know him and like him. The football match does not come within my horizon at all." "I claim your sympathy, then, in my investigation of Mr. Staunton's fate. Do you know where he is?" "Certainly not." "You have not seen him since yesterday?" "No, I have not." "Was Mr. Staunton a healthy man?" "Absolutely." "Did you ever know him ill?" "Never." Holmes popped a sheet of paper before the doctor's eyes. "Then perhaps you will explain this receipted bill for thirteen guineas, paid by Mr. Godfrey Staunton last month to Dr. Leslie Armstrong of Cambridge. I picked it out from among the papers upon his desk." The doctor flushed with anger. "I do not feel that there is any reason why I should render an explanation to you, Mr. Holmes." Holmes replaced the bill in his note-book. "If you prefer a public explanation it must come sooner or later," said he. "I have already told you that I can hush up that which others will be bound to publish, and you would really be wiser to take me into your complete confidence." "I know nothing about it." "Did you hear from Mr. Staunton in London?" "Certainly not." "Dear me, dear me; the post-office again!" Holmes sighed, wearily. "A most urgent telegram was dispatched to you from London by Godfrey Staunton at six-fifteen yesterday evening--a telegram which is undoubtedly associated with his disappearance--and yet you have not had it. It is most culpable. I shall certainly go down to the office here and register a complaint." Dr. Leslie Armstrong sprang up from behind his desk, and his dark face was crimson with fury. "I'll trouble you to walk out of my house, sir," said he. "You can tell your employer, Lord Mount-James, that I do not wish to have anything to do either with him or with his agents. No, sir, not another word!" He rang the bell furiously. "John, show these gentlemen out!" A pompous butler ushered us severely to the door, and we found ourselves in the street. Holmes burst out laughing. "Dr. Leslie Armstrong is certainly a man of energy and character," said he. "I have not seen a man who, if he turned his talents that way, was more calculated to fill the gap left by the illustrious Moriarty. And now, my poor Watson, here we are, stranded and friendless in this inhospitable town, which we cannot leave without abandoning our case. This little inn just opposite Armstrong's house is singularly adapted to our needs. If you would engage a front room and purchase the necessaries for the night, I may have time to make a few inquiries." These few inquiries proved, however, to be a more lengthy proceeding than Holmes had imagined, for he did not return to the inn until nearly nine o'clock. He was pale and dejected, stained with dust, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue. A cold supper was ready upon the table, and when his needs were satisfied and his pipe alight he was ready to take that half comic and wholly philosophic view which was natural to him when his affairs were going awry. The sound of carriage wheels caused him to rise and glance out of the window. A brougham and pair of greys under the glare of a gas-lamp stood before the doctor's door. "It's been out three hours," said Holmes; "started at half-past six, and here it is back again. That gives a radius of ten or twelve miles, and he does it once, or sometimes twice, a day." "No unusual thing for a doctor in practice." "But Armstrong is not really a doctor in practice. He is a lecturer and a consultant, but he does not care for general practice, which distracts him from his literary work. Why, then, does he make these long journeys, which must be exceedingly irksome to him, and who is it that he visits?" "His coachman--" "My dear Watson, can you doubt that it was to him that I first applied? I do not know whether it came from his own innate depravity or from the promptings of his master, but he was rude enough to set a dog at me. Neither dog nor man liked the look of my stick, however, and the matter fell through. Relations were strained after that, and further inquiries out of the question. All that I have learned I got from a friendly native in the yard of our own inn. It was he who told me of the doctor's habits and of his daily journey. At that instant, to give point to his words, the carriage came round to the door." "Could you not follow it?" "Excellent, Watson! You are scintillating this evening. The idea did cross my mind. There is, as you may have observed, a bicycle shop next to our inn. Into this I rushed, engaged a bicycle, and was able to get started before the carriage was quite out of sight. I rapidly overtook it, and then, keeping at a discreet distance of a hundred yards or so, I followed its lights until we were clear of the town. We had got well out on the country road when a somewhat mortifying incident occurred. The carriage stopped, the doctor alighted, walked swiftly back to where I had also halted, and told me in an excellent sardonic fashion that he feared the road was narrow, and that he hoped his carriage did not impede the passage of my bicycle. Nothing could have been more admirable than his way of putting it. I at once rode past the carriage, and, keeping to the main road, I went on for a few miles, and then halted in a convenient place to see if the carriage passed. There was no sign of it, however, and so it became evident that it had turned down one of several side roads which I had observed. I rode back, but again saw nothing of the carriage, and now, as you perceive, it has returned after me. Of course, I had at the outset no particular reason to connect these journeys with the disappearance of Godfrey Staunton, and was only inclined to investigate them on the general grounds that everything which concerns Dr. Armstrong is at present of interest to us; but, now that I find he keeps so keen a look-out upon anyone who may follow him on these excursions, the affair appears more important, and I shall not be satisfied until I have made the matter clear." "We can follow him to-morrow." "Can we? It is not so easy as you seem to think. You are not familiar with Cambridgeshire scenery, are you? It does not lend itself to concealment. All this country that I passed over to-night is as flat and clean as the palm of your hand, and the man we are following is no fool, as he very clearly showed to-night. I have wired to Overton to let us know any fresh London developments at this address, and in the meantime we can only concentrate our attention upon Dr. Armstrong, whose name the obliging young lady at the office allowed me to read upon the counterfoil of Staunton's urgent message. He knows where the young man is--to that I'll swear--and if he knows, then it must be our own fault if we cannot manage to know also. At present it must be admitted that the odd trick is in his possession, and, as you are aware, Watson, it is not my habit to leave the game in that condition." And yet the next day brought us no nearer to the solution of the mystery. A note was handed in after breakfast, which Holmes passed across to me with a smile. Sir [it ran]: I can assure you that you are wasting your time in dogging my movements. I have, as you discovered last night, a window at the back of my brougham, and if you desire a twenty-mile ride which will lead you to the spot from which you started, you have only to follow me. Meanwhile, I can inform you that no spying upon me can in any way help Mr. Godfrey Staunton, and I am convinced that the best service you can do to that gentleman is to return at once to London and to report to your employer that you are unable to trace him. Your time in Cambridge will certainly be wasted. Yours faithfully, Leslie Armstrong. "An outspoken, honest antagonist is the doctor," said Holmes. "Well, well, he excites my curiosity, and I must really know more before I leave him." "His carriage is at his door now," said I. "There he is stepping into it. I saw him glance up at our window as he did so. Suppose I try my luck upon the bicycle?" "No, no, my dear Watson! With all respect for your natural acumen I do not think that you are quite a match for the worthy doctor. I think that possibly I can attain our end by some independent explorations of my own. I am afraid that I must leave you to your own devices, as the appearance of two inquiring strangers upon a sleepy countryside might excite more gossip than I care for. No doubt you will find some sights to amuse you in this venerable city, and I hope to bring back a more favourable report to you before evening." Once more, however, my friend was destined to be disappointed. He came back at night weary and unsuccessful. "I have had a blank day, Watson. Having got the doctor's general direction, I spent the day in visiting all the villages upon that side of Cambridge, and comparing notes with publicans and other local news agencies. I have covered some ground: Chesterton, Histon, Waterbeach, and Oakington have each been explored and have each proved disappointing. The daily appearance of a brougham and pair could hardly have been overlooked in such Sleepy Hollows. The doctor has scored once more. Is there a telegram for me?" "Yes; I opened it. Here it is: "'Ask for Pompey from Jeremy Dixon, Trinity College.' "I don't understand it." "Oh, it is clear enough. It is from our friend Overton, and is in answer to a question from me. I'll just send round a note to Mr. Jeremy Dixon, and then I have no doubt that our luck will turn. By the way, is there any news of the match?" "Yes, the local evening paper has an excellent account in its last edition. Oxford won by a goal and two tries. The last sentences of the description say: "'The defeat of the Light Blues may be entirely attributed to the unfortunate absence of the crack International, Godfrey Staunton, whose want was felt at every instant of the game. The lack of combination in the three-quarter line and their weakness both in attack and defence more than neutralized the efforts of a heavy and hard-working pack.'" "Then our friend Overton's forebodings have been justified," said Holmes. "Personally I am in agreement with Dr. Armstrong, and football does not come within my horizon. Early to bed to-night, Watson, for I foresee that to-morrow may be an eventful day." I was horrified by my first glimpse of Holmes next morning, for he sat by the fire holding his tiny hypodermic syringe. I associated that instrument with the single weakness of his nature, and I feared the worst when I saw it glittering in his hand. He laughed at my expression of dismay, and laid it upon the table. "No, no, my dear fellow, there is no cause for alarm. It is not upon this occasion the instrument of evil, but it will rather prove to be the key which will unlock our mystery. On this syringe I base all my hopes. I have just returned from a small scouting expedition and everything is favourable. Eat a good breakfast, Watson, for I propose to get upon Dr. Armstrong's trail to-day, and once on it I will not stop for rest or food until I run him to his burrow." "In that case," said I, "we had best carry our breakfast with us, for he is making an early start. His carriage is at the door." "Never mind. Let him go. He will be clever if he can drive where I cannot follow him. When you have finished come downstairs with me, and I will introduce you to a detective who is a very eminent specialist in the work that lies before us." When we descended I followed Holmes into the stable yard, where he opened the door of a loose-box and led out a squat, lop-eared, white-and-tan dog, something between a beagle and a foxhound. "Let me introduce you to Pompey," said he. "Pompey is the pride of the local draghounds, no very great flier, as his build will show, but a staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, but I expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged London gentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash to your collar. Now, boy, come along, and show what you can do." He led him across to the doctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, and then with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street, tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half an hour, we were clear of the town and hastening down a country road. "What have you done, Holmes?" I asked. "A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walked into the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe full of aniseed over the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to John o' Groat's, and our friend Armstrong would have to drive through the Cam before he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal! This is how he gave me the slip the other night." The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grown lane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and the trail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which we had just quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town and continued in the opposite direction to that in which we started. "This détour has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes. "No wonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing. The doctor has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would like to know the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be the village of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is the brougham coming round the corner. Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!" He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompey after him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when the carriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, his shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress. I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen. "I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "It cannot be long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the field!" There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey. Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks of the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath led across to the lonely cottage. Holmes tied the dog to the hedge, and we hastened onwards. My friend knocked at the little rustic door, and knocked again without response. And yet the cottage was not deserted, for a low sound came to our ears--a kind of drone of misery and despair, which was indescribably melancholy. Holmes paused irresolute, and then he glanced back at the road which we had just traversed. A brougham was coming down it, and there could be no mistaking those grey horses. "By Jove, the doctor is coming back!" cried Holmes. "That settles it. We are bound to see what it means before he comes." He opened the door and we stepped into the hall. The droning sound swelled louder upon our ears until it became one long, deep wail of distress. It came from upstairs. Holmes darted up and I followed him. He pushed open a half-closed door and we both stood appalled at the sight before us. A woman, young and beautiful, was lying dead upon the bed. Her calm, pale face, with dim, wide-opened blue eyes, looked upward from amid a great tangle of golden hair. At the foot of the bed, half sitting, half kneeling, his face buried in the clothes, was a young man, whose frame was racked by his sobs. So absorbed was he by his bitter grief that he never looked up until Holmes's hand was on his shoulder. "Are you Mr. Godfrey Staunton?" "Yes, yes; I am--but you are too late. She is dead." The man was so dazed that he could not be made to understand that we were anything but doctors who had been sent to his assistance. Holmes was endeavouring to utter a few words of consolation, and to explain the alarm which had been caused to his friends by his sudden disappearance, when there was a step upon the stairs, and there was the heavy, stern, questioning face of Dr. Armstrong at the door. "So, gentlemen," said he, "you have attained your end, and have certainly chosen a particularly delicate moment for your intrusion. I would not brawl in the presence of death, but I can assure you that if I were a younger man your monstrous conduct would not pass with impunity." "Excuse me, Dr. Armstrong, I think we are a little at cross-purposes," said my friend, with dignity. "If you could step downstairs with us we may each be able to give some light to the other upon this miserable affair." A minute later the grim doctor and ourselves were in the sitting-room below. "Well, sir?" said he. "I wish you to understand, in the first place, that I am not employed by Lord Mount-James, and that my sympathies in this matter are entirely against that nobleman. When a man is lost it is my duty to ascertain his fate, but having done so the matter ends so far as I am concerned; and so long as there is nothing criminal, I am much more anxious to hush up private scandals than to give them publicity. If, as I imagine, there is no breach of the law in this matter, you can absolutely depend upon my discretion and my co-operation in keeping the facts out of the papers." Dr. Armstrong took a quick step forward and wrung Holmes by the hand. "You are a good fellow," said he. "I had misjudged you. I thank Heaven that my compunction at leaving poor Staunton all alone in this plight caused me to turn my carriage back, and so to make your acquaintance. Knowing as much as you do, the situation is very easily explained. A year ago Godfrey Staunton lodged in London for a time, and became passionately attached to his landlady's daughter, whom he married. She was as good as she was beautiful, and as intelligent as she was good. No man need be ashamed of such a wife. But Godfrey was the heir to this crabbed old nobleman, and it was quite certain that the news of his marriage would have been the end of his inheritance. I knew the lad well, and I loved him for his many excellent qualities. I did all I could to help him to keep things straight. We did our very best to keep the thing from everyone, for when once such a whisper gets about it is not long before everyone has heard it. Thanks to this lonely cottage and his own discretion, Godfrey has up to now succeeded. Their secret was known to no one save to me and to one excellent servant who has at present gone for assistance to Trumpington. But at last there came a terrible blow in the shape of dangerous illness to his wife. It was consumption of the most virulent kind. The poor boy was half crazed with grief, and yet he had to go to London to play this match, for he could not get out of it without explanations which would expose his secret. I tried to cheer him up by a wire, and he sent me one in reply imploring me to do all I could. This was the telegram which you appear in some inexplicable way to have seen. I did not tell him how urgent the danger was, for I knew that he could do no good here, but I sent the truth to the girl's father, and he very injudiciously communicated it to Godfrey. The result was that he came straight away in a state bordering on frenzy, and has remained in the same state, kneeling at the end of her bed, until this morning death put an end to her sufferings. That is all, Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that I can rely upon your discretion and that of your friend." Holmes grasped the doctor's hand. "Come, Watson," said he, and we passed from that house of grief into the pale sunlight of the winter day. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ABBEY GRANGE It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of '97 that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at a glance that something was amiss. "Come, Watson, come!" he cried. "The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!" Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through the silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station. The first faint winter's dawn was beginning to appear, and we could dimly see the occasional figure of an early workman as he passed us, blurred and indistinct in the opalescent London reek. Holmes nestled in silence into his heavy coat, and I was glad to do the same, for the air was most bitter and neither of us had broken our fast. It was not until we had consumed some hot tea at the station, and taken our places in the Kentish train, that we were sufficiently thawed, he to speak and I to listen. Holmes drew a note from his pocket and read it aloud: "Abbey Grange, Marsham, Kent, "3.30 a.m. "My dear Mr. Holmes: "I should be very glad of your immediate assistance in what promises to be a most remarkable case. It is something quite in your line. Except for releasing the lady I will see that everything is kept exactly as I have found it, but I beg you not to lose an instant, as it is difficult to leave Sir Eustace there. "Yours faithfully, "Stanley Hopkins." "Hopkins has called me in seven times, and on each occasion his summons has been entirely justified," said Holmes. "I fancy that every one of his cases has found its way into your collection, and I must admit, Watson, that you have some power of selection which atones for much which I deplore in your narratives. Your fatal habit of looking at everything from the point of view of a story instead of as a scientific exercise has ruined what might have been an instructive and even classical series of demonstrations. You slur over work of the utmost finesse and delicacy in order to dwell upon sensational details which may excite, but cannot possibly instruct, the reader." "Why do you not write them yourself?" I said, with some bitterness. "I will, my dear Watson, I will. At present I am, as you know, fairly busy, but I propose to devote my declining years to the composition of a text-book which shall focus the whole art of detection into one volume. Our present research appears to be a case of murder." "You think this Sir Eustace is dead, then?" "I should say so. Hopkins's writing shows considerable agitation, and he is not an emotional man. Yes, I gather there has been violence, and that the body is left for our inspection. A mere suicide would not have caused him to send for me. As to the release of the lady, it would appear that she has been locked in her room during the tragedy. We are moving in high life, Watson; crackling paper, 'E.B.' monogram, coat-of-arms, picturesque address. I think that friend Hopkins will live up to his reputation and that we shall have an interesting morning. The crime was committed before twelve last night." "How can you possibly tell?" "By an inspection of the trains and by reckoning the time. The local police had to be called in, they had to communicate with Scotland Yard, Hopkins had to go out, and he in turn had to send for me. All that makes a fair night's work. Well, here we are at Chislehurst Station, and we shall soon set our doubts at rest." A drive of a couple of miles through narrow country lanes brought us to a park gate, which was opened for us by an old lodge-keeper, whose haggard face bore the reflection of some great disaster. The avenue ran through a noble park, between lines of ancient elms, and ended in a low, widespread house, pillared in front after the fashion of Palladio. The central part was evidently of a great age and shrouded in ivy, but the large windows showed that modern changes had been carried out, and one wing of the house appeared to be entirely new. The youthful figure and alert, eager face of Inspector Stanley Hopkins confronted us in the open doorway. "I'm very glad you have come, Mr. Holmes. And you too, Dr. Watson! But, indeed, if I had my time over again I should not have troubled you, for since the lady has come to herself she has given so clear an account of the affair that there is not much left for us to do. You remember that Lewisham gang of burglars?" "What, the three Randalls?" "Exactly; the father and two sons. It's their work. I have not a doubt of it. They did a job at Sydenham a fortnight ago, and were seen and described. Rather cool to do another so soon and so near, but it is they, beyond all doubt. It's a hanging matter this time." "Sir Eustace is dead, then?" "Yes; his head was knocked in with his own poker." "Sir Eustace Brackenstall, the driver tells me." "Exactly--one of the richest men in Kent. Lady Brackenstall is in the morning-room. Poor lady, she has had a most dreadful experience. She seemed half dead when I saw her first. I think you had best see her and hear her account of the facts. Then we will examine the dining-room together." Lady Brackenstall was no ordinary person. Seldom have I seen so graceful a figure, so womanly a presence, and so beautiful a face. She was a blonde, golden-haired, blue-eyed, and would, no doubt, have had the perfect complexion which goes with such colouring had not her recent experience left her drawn and haggard. Her sufferings were physical as well as mental, for over one eye rose a hideous, plum-coloured swelling, which her maid, a tall, austere woman, was bathing assiduously with vinegar and water. The lady lay back exhausted upon a couch, but her quick, observant gaze as we entered the room, and the alert expression of her beautiful features, showed that neither her wits nor her courage had been shaken by her terrible experience. She was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown of blue and silver, but a black sequin-covered dinner-dress was hung upon the couch beside her. "I have told you all that happened, Mr. Hopkins," she said, wearily; "could you not repeat it for me? Well, if you think it necessary, I will tell these gentlemen what occurred. Have they been in the dining-room yet?" "I thought they had better hear your ladyship's story first." "I shall be glad when you can arrange matters. It is horrible to me to think of him still lying there." She shuddered and buried her face in her hands. As she did so the loose gown fell back from her forearms. Holmes uttered an exclamation. "You have other injuries, madam! What is this?" Two vivid red spots stood out on one of the white, round limbs. She hastily covered it. "It is nothing. It has no connection with the hideous business of last night. If you and your friend will sit down I will tell you all I can. "I am the wife of Sir Eustace Brackenstall. I have been married about a year. I suppose that it is no use my attempting to conceal that our marriage has not been a happy one. I fear that all our neighbours would tell you that, even if I were to attempt to deny it. Perhaps the fault may be partly mine. I was brought up in the freer, less conventional atmosphere of South Australia, and this English life, with its proprieties and its primness, is not congenial to me. But the main reason lies in the one fact which is notorious to everyone, and that is that Sir Eustace was a confirmed drunkard. To be with such a man for an hour is unpleasant. Can you imagine what it means for a sensitive and high-spirited woman to be tied to him for day and night? It is a sacrilege, a crime, a villainy to hold that such a marriage is binding. I say that these monstrous laws of yours will bring a curse upon the land--Heaven will not let such wickedness endure." For an instant she sat up, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes blazing from under the terrible mark upon her brow. Then the strong, soothing hand of the austere maid drew her head down on to the cushion, and the wild anger died away into passionate sobbing. At last she continued:-- "I will tell you about last night. You are aware, perhaps, that in this house all servants sleep in the modern wing. This central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen behind and our bedroom above. My maid Theresa sleeps above my room. There is no one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing. This must have been well known to the robbers, or they would not have acted as they did. "Sir Eustace retired about half-past ten. The servants had already gone to their quarters. Only my maid was up, and she had remained in her room at the top of the house until I needed her services. I sat until after eleven in this room, absorbed in a book. Then I walked round to see that all was right before I went upstairs. It was my custom to do this myself, for, as I have explained, Sir Eustace was not always to be trusted. I went into the kitchen, the butler's pantry, the gun-room, the billiard-room, the drawing-room, and finally the dining-room. As I approached the window, which is covered with thick curtains, I suddenly felt the wind blow upon my face and realized that it was open. I flung the curtain aside and found myself face to face with a broad-shouldered, elderly man who had just stepped into the room. The window is a long French one, which really forms a door leading to the lawn. I held my bedroom candle lit in my hand, and, by its light, behind the first man I saw two others, who were in the act of entering. I stepped back, but the fellow was on me in an instant. He caught me first by the wrist and then by the throat. I opened my mouth to scream, but he struck me a savage blow with his fist over the eye, and felled me to the ground. I must have been unconscious for a few minutes, for when I came to myself I found that they had torn down the bell-rope and had secured me tightly to the oaken chair which stands at the head of the dining-room table. I was so firmly bound that I could not move, and a handkerchief round my mouth prevented me from uttering any sound. It was at this instant that my unfortunate husband entered the room. He had evidently heard some suspicious sounds, and he came prepared for such a scene as he found. He was dressed in his shirt and trousers, with his favourite blackthorn cudgel in his hand. He rushed at one of the burglars, but another--it was the elderly man--stooped, picked the poker out of the grate, and struck him a horrible blow as he passed. He fell without a groan, and never moved again. I fainted once more, but again it could only have been a very few minutes during which I was insensible. When I opened my eyes I found that they had collected the silver from the sideboard, and they had drawn a bottle of wine which stood there. Each of them had a glass in his hand. I have already told you, have I not, that one was elderly, with a beard, and the others young, hairless lads. They might have been a father with his two sons. They talked together in whispers. Then they came over and made sure that I was still securely bound. Finally they withdrew, closing the window after them. It was quite a quarter of an hour before I got my mouth free. When I did so my screams brought the maid to my assistance. The other servants were soon alarmed, and we sent for the local police, who instantly communicated with London. That is really all that I can tell you, gentlemen, and I trust that it will not be necessary for me to go over so painful a story again." "Any questions, Mr. Holmes?" asked Hopkins. "I will not impose any further tax upon Lady Brackenstall's patience and time," said Holmes. "Before I go into the dining-room I should like to hear your experience." He looked at the maid. "I saw the men before ever they came into the house," said she. "As I sat by my bedroom window I saw three men in the moonlight down by the lodge gate yonder, but I thought nothing of it at the time. It was more than an hour after that I heard my mistress scream, and down I ran, to find her, poor lamb, just as she says, and him on the floor with his blood and brains over the room. It was enough to drive a woman out of her wits, tied there, and her very dress spotted with him; but she never wanted courage, did Miss Mary Fraser of Adelaide, and Lady Brackenstall of Abbey Grange hasn't learned new ways. You've questioned her long enough, you gentlemen, and now she is coming to her own room, just with her old Theresa, to get the rest that she badly needs." With a motherly tenderness the gaunt woman put her arm round her mistress and led her from the room. "She has been with her all her life," said Hopkins. "Nursed her as a baby, and came with her to England when they first left Australia eighteen months ago. Theresa Wright is her name, and the kind of maid you don't pick up nowadays. This way, Mr. Holmes, if you please!" The keen interest had passed out of Holmes's expressive face, and I knew that with the mystery all the charm of the case had departed. There still remained an arrest to be effected, but what were these commonplace rogues that he should soil his hands with them? An abstruse and learned specialist who finds that he has been called in for a case of measles would experience something of the annoyance which I read in my friend's eyes. Yet the scene in the dining-room of the Abbey Grange was sufficiently strange to arrest his attention and to recall his waning interest. It was a very large and high chamber, with carved oak ceiling, oaken panelling, and a fine array of deer's heads and ancient weapons around the walls. At the farther end from the door was the high French window of which we had heard. Three smaller windows on the right-hand side filled the apartment with cold winter sunshine. On the left was a large, deep fireplace, with a massive, over-hanging oak mantelpiece. Beside the fireplace was a heavy oaken chair with arms and cross-bars at the bottom. In and out through the open woodwork was woven a crimson cord, which was secured at each side to the crosspiece below. In releasing the lady the cord had been slipped off her, but the knots with which it had been secured still remained. These details only struck our attention afterwards, for our thoughts were entirely absorbed by the terrible object which lay upon the tiger-skin hearthrug in front of the fire. It was the body of a tall, well-made man, about forty years of age. He lay upon his back, his face upturned, with his white teeth grinning through his short black beard. His two clenched hands were raised above his head, and a heavy blackthorn stick lay across them. His dark, handsome, aquiline features were convulsed into a spasm of vindictive hatred, which had set his dead face in a terribly fiendish expression. He had evidently been in his bed when the alarm had broken out, for he wore a foppish embroidered night-shirt, and his bare feet projected from his trousers. His head was horribly injured, and the whole room bore witness to the savage ferocity of the blow which had struck him down. Beside him lay the heavy poker, bent into a curve by the concussion. Holmes examined both it and the indescribable wreck which it had wrought. "He must be a powerful man, this elder Randall," he remarked. "Yes," said Hopkins. "I have some record of the fellow, and he is a rough customer." "You should have no difficulty in getting him." "Not the slightest. We have been on the look-out for him, and there was some idea that he had got away to America. Now that we know the gang are here I don't see how they can escape. We have the news at every seaport already, and a reward will be offered before evening. What beats me is how they could have done so mad a thing, knowing that the lady could describe them, and that we could not fail to recognise the description." "Exactly. One would have expected that they would have silenced Lady Brackenstall as well." "They may not have realized," I suggested, "that she had recovered from her faint." "That is likely enough. If she seemed to be senseless they would not take her life. What about this poor fellow, Hopkins? I seem to have heard some queer stories about him." "He was a good-hearted man when he was sober, but a perfect fiend when he was drunk, or rather when he was half drunk, for he seldom really went the whole way. The devil seemed to be in him at such times, and he was capable of anything. From what I hear, in spite of all his wealth and his title, he very nearly came our way once or twice. There was a scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on fire--her ladyship's dog, to make the matter worse--and that was only hushed up with difficulty. Then he threw a decanter at that maid, Theresa Wright; there was trouble about that. On the whole, and between ourselves, it will be a brighter house without him. What are you looking at now?" Holmes was down on his knees examining with great attention the knots upon the red cord with which the lady had been secured. Then he carefully scrutinized the broken and frayed end where it had snapped off when the burglar had dragged it down. "When this was pulled down the bell in the kitchen must have rung loudly," he remarked. "No one could hear it. The kitchen stands right at the back of the house." "How did the burglar know no one would hear it? How dared he pull at a bell-rope in that reckless fashion?" "Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You put the very question which I have asked myself again and again. There can be no doubt that this fellow must have known the house and its habits. He must have perfectly understood that the servants would all be in bed at that comparatively early hour, and that no one could possibly hear a bell ring in the kitchen. Therefore he must have been in close league with one of the servants. Surely that is evident. But there are eight servants, and all of good character." "Other things being equal," said Holmes, "one would suspect the one at whose head the master threw a decanter. And yet that would involve treachery towards the mistress to whom this woman seems devoted. Well, well, the point is a minor one, and when you have Randall you will probably find no difficulty in securing his accomplice. The lady's story certainly seems to be corroborated, if it needed corroboration, by every detail which we see before us." He walked to the French window and threw it open. "There are no signs here, but the ground is iron hard, and one would not expect them. I see that these candles on the mantelpiece have been lighted." "Yes; it was by their light and that of the lady's bedroom candle that the burglars saw their way about." "And what did they take?" "Well, they did not take much--only half-a-dozen articles of plate off the sideboard. Lady Brackenstall thinks that they were themselves so disturbed by the death of Sir Eustace that they did not ransack the house as they would otherwise have done." "No doubt that is true. And yet they drank some wine, I understand." "To steady their own nerves." "Exactly. These three glasses upon the sideboard have been untouched, I suppose?" "Yes; and the bottle stands as they left it." "Let us look at it. Halloa! halloa! what is this?" The three glasses were grouped together, all of them tinged with wine, and one of them containing some dregs of bees-wing. The bottle stood near them, two-thirds full, and beside it lay a long, deeply-stained cork. Its appearance and the dust upon the bottle showed that it was no common vintage which the murderers had enjoyed. A change had come over Holmes's manner. He had lost his listless expression, and again I saw an alert light of interest in his keen, deep-set eyes. He raised the cork and examined it minutely. "How did they draw it?" he asked. Hopkins pointed to a half-opened drawer. In it lay some table linen and a large cork-screw. "Did Lady Brackenstall say that screw was used?" "No; you remember that she was senseless at the moment when the bottle was opened." "Quite so. As a matter of fact that screw was not used. This bottle was opened by a pocket-screw, probably contained in a knife, and not more than an inch and a half long. If you examine the top of the cork you will observe that the screw was driven in three times before the cork was extracted. It has never been transfixed. This long screw would have transfixed it and drawn it with a single pull. When you catch this fellow you will find that he has one of these multiplex knives in his possession." "Excellent!" said Hopkins. "But these glasses do puzzle me, I confess. Lady Brackenstall actually saw the three men drinking, did she not?" "Yes; she was clear about that." "Then there is an end of it. What more is to be said? And yet you must admit that the three glasses are very remarkable, Hopkins. What, you see nothing remarkable! Well, well, let it pass. Perhaps when a man has special knowledge and special powers like my own it rather encourages him to seek a complex explanation when a simpler one is at hand. Of course, it must be a mere chance about the glasses. Well, good morning, Hopkins. I don't see that I can be of any use to you, and you appear to have your case very clear. You will let me know when Randall is arrested, and any further developments which may occur. I trust that I shall soon have to congratulate you upon a successful conclusion. Come, Watson, I fancy that we may employ ourselves more profitably at home." During our return journey I could see by Holmes's face that he was much puzzled by something which he had observed. Every now and then, by an effort, he would throw off the impression and talk as if the matter were clear, but then his doubts would settle down upon him again, and his knitted brows and abstracted eyes would show that his thoughts had gone back once more to the great dining-room of the Abbey Grange in which this midnight tragedy had been enacted. At last, by a sudden impulse, just as our train was crawling out of a suburban station, he sprang on to the platform and pulled me out after him. "Excuse me, my dear fellow," said he, as we watched the rear carriages of our train disappearing round a curve; "I am sorry to make you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, Watson, I simply can't leave that case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out against it. It's wrong--it's all wrong--I'll swear that it's wrong. And yet the lady's story was complete, the maid's corroboration was sufficient, the detail was fairly exact. What have I to put against that? Three wine-glasses, that is all. But if I had not taken things for granted, if I had examined everything with care which I would have shown had we approached the case de novo and had no cut-and-dried story to warp my mind, would I not then have found something more definite to go upon? Of course I should. Sit down on this bench, Watson, until a train for Chislehurst arrives, and allow me to lay the evidence before you, imploring you in the first instance to dismiss from your mind the idea that anything which the maid or her mistress may have said must necessarily be true. The lady's charming personality must not be permitted to warp our judgment. "Surely there are details in her story which, if we looked at it in cold blood, would excite our suspicion. These burglars made a considerable haul at Sydenham a fortnight ago. Some account of them and of their appearance was in the papers, and would naturally occur to anyone who wished to invent a story in which imaginary robbers should play a part. As a matter of fact, burglars who have done a good stroke of business are, as a rule, only too glad to enjoy the proceeds in peace and quiet without embarking on another perilous undertaking. Again, it is unusual for burglars to operate at so early an hour; it is unusual for burglars to strike a lady to prevent her screaming, since one would imagine that was the sure way to make her scream; it is unusual for them to commit murder when their numbers are sufficient to overpower one man; it is unusual for them to be content with a limited plunder when there is much more within their reach; and finally I should say that it was very unusual for such men to leave a bottle half empty. How do all these unusuals strike you, Watson?" "Their cumulative effect is certainly considerable, and yet each of them is quite possible in itself. The most unusual thing of all, as it seems to me, is that the lady should be tied to the chair." "Well, I am not so clear about that, Watson; for it is evident that they must either kill her or else secure her in such a way that she could not give immediate notice of their escape. But at any rate I have shown, have I not, that there is a certain element of improbability about the lady's story? And now on the top of this comes the incident of the wine-glasses." "What about the wine-glasses?" "Can you see them in your mind's eye?" "I see them clearly." "We are told that three men drank from them. Does that strike you as likely?" "Why not? There was wine in each glass." "Exactly; but there was bees-wing only in one glass. You must have noticed that fact. What does that suggest to your mind?" "The last glass filled would be most likely to contain bees-wing." "Not at all. The bottle was full of it, and it is inconceivable that the first two glasses were clear and the third heavily charged with it. There are two possible explanations, and only two. One is that after the second glass was filled the bottle was violently agitated, and so the third glass received the bees-wing. That does not appear probable. No, no; I am sure that I am right." "What, then, do you suppose?" "That only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that three people had been here. In that way all the bees-wing would be in the last glass, would it not? Yes, I am convinced that this is so. But if I have hit upon the true explanation of this one small phenomenon, then in an instant the case rises from the commonplace to the exceedingly remarkable, for it can only mean that Lady Brackenstall and her maid have deliberately lied to us, that not one word of their story is to be believed, that they have some very strong reason for covering the real criminal, and that we must construct our case for ourselves without any help from them. That is the mission which now lies before us, and here, Watson, is the Chislehurst train." The household of the Abbey Grange were much surprised at our return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to report to head-quarters, took possession of the dining-room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investigations which formed the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deduction were reared. Seated in a corner like an interested student who observes the demonstration of his professor, I followed every step of that remarkable research. The window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope--each in turn was minutely examined and duly pondered. The body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, but all else remained as we had seen it in the morning. Then, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed up on to the massive mantelpiece. Far above his head hung the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire. For a long time he gazed upward at it, and then in an attempt to get nearer to it he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall. This brought his hand within a few inches of the broken end of the rope, but it was not this so much as the bracket itself which seemed to engage his attention. Finally he sprang down with an ejaculation of satisfaction. "It's all right, Watson," said he. "We have got our case--one of the most remarkable in our collection. But, dear me, how slow-witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime! Now, I think that with a few missing links my chain is almost complete." "You have got your men?" "Man, Watson, man. Only one, but a very formidable person. Strong as a lion--witness the blow that bent that poker. Six foot three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers; finally, remarkably quick-witted, for this whole ingenious story is of his concoction. Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual. And yet in that bell-rope he has given us a clue which should not have left us a doubt." "Where was the clue?" "Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would you expect it to break? Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire. Why should it break three inches from the top as this one has done?" "Because it is frayed there?" "Exactly. This end, which we can examine, is frayed. He was cunning enough to do that with his knife. But the other end is not frayed. You could not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece you would see that it is cut clean off without any mark of fraying whatever. You can reconstruct what occurred. The man needed the rope. He would not tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell. What did he do? He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket--you will see the impression in the dust--and so got his knife to bear upon the cord. I could not reach the place by at least three inches, from which I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than I. Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair! What is it?" "Blood." "Undoubtedly it is blood. This alone puts the lady's story out of court. If she were seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes that mark? No, no; she was placed in the chair after the death of her husband. I'll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this. We have not yet met our Waterloo, Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends in victory. I should like now to have a few words with the nurse Theresa. We must be wary for awhile, if we are to get the information which we want." She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse. Taciturn, suspicious, ungracious, it took some time before Holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a corresponding amiability. She did not attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer. "Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me. I heard him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare to speak so if her brother had been there. Then it was that he threw it at me. He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone. He was for ever illtreating her, and she too proud to complain. She will not even tell me all that he has done to her. She never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw this morning, but I know very well that they come from a stab with a hat-pin. The sly fiend--Heaven forgive me that I should speak of him so, now that he is dead, but a fiend he was if ever one walked the earth. He was all honey when first we met him, only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen years. She had only just arrived in London. Yes, it was her first voyage--she had never been from home before. He won her with his title and his money and his false London ways. If she made a mistake she has paid for it, if ever a woman did. What month did we meet him? Well, I tell you it was just after we arrived. We arrived in June, and it was July. They were married in January of last year. Yes, she is down in the morning-room again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood will stand." Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked brighter than before. The maid had entered with us, and began once more to foment the bruise upon her mistress's brow. "I hope," said the lady, "that you have not come to cross-examine me again?" "No," Holmes answered, in his gentlest voice, "I will not cause you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a much-tried woman. If you will treat me as a friend and trust me you may find that I will justify your trust." "What do you want me to do?" "To tell me the truth." "Mr. Holmes!" "No, no, Lady Brackenstall, it is no use. You may have heard of any little reputation which I possess. I will stake it all on the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication." Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces and frightened eyes. "You are an impudent fellow!" cried Theresa. "Do you mean to say that my mistress has told a lie?" Holmes rose from his chair. "Have you nothing to tell me?" "I have told you everything." "Think once more, Lady Brackenstall. Would it not be better to be frank?" For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face. Then some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask. "I have told you all I know." Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders. "I am sorry," he said, and without another word we left the room and the house. There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way. It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary swan. Holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the lodge gate. There he scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins and left it with the lodge-keeper. "It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do something for friend Hopkins, just to justify this second visit," said he. "I will not quite take him into my confidence yet. I think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right. There is a second line of steamers which connect South Australia with England, but we will draw the larger cover first." Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention, and he was not long in acquiring all the information which he needed. In June of '95 only one of their line had reached a home port. It was the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best boat. A reference to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser of Adelaide, with her maid, had made the voyage in her. The boat was now on her way to Australia, somewhere to the south of the Suez Canal. Her officers were the same as in '95, with one exception. The first officer, Mr. Jack Croker, had been made a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the Bass Rock, sailing in two days' time from Southampton. He lived at Sydenham, but he was likely to be in that morning for instructions, if we cared to wait for him. No; Mr. Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know more about his record and character. His record was magnificent. There was not an officer in the fleet to touch him. As to his character, he was reliable on duty, but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship, hot-headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted. That was the pith of the information with which Holmes left the office of the Adelaide-Southampton company. Thence he drove to Scotland Yard, but instead of entering he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down, lost in profound thought. Finally he drove round to the Charing Cross telegraph office, sent off a message, and then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more. "No, I couldn't do it, Watson," said he, as we re-entered our room. "Once that warrant was made out nothing on earth would save him. Once or twice in my career I feel that I have done more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime. I have learned caution now, and I had rather play tricks with the law of England than with my own conscience. Let us know a little more before we act." Before evening we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins. Things were not going very well with him. "I believe that you are a wizard, Mr. Holmes. I really do sometimes think that you have powers that are not human. Now, how on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?" "I didn't know it." "But you told me to examine it." "You got it, then?" "Yes, I got it." "I am very glad if I have helped you." "But you haven't helped me. You have made the affair far more difficult. What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw it into the nearest pond?" "It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour. I was merely going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not want it, who merely took it for a blind as it were, then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it." "But why should such an idea cross your mind?" "Well, I thought it was possible. When they came out through the French window there was the pond, with one tempting little hole in the ice, right in front of their noses. Could there be a better hiding-place?" "Ah, a hiding-place--that is better!" cried Stanley Hopkins. "Yes, yes, I see it all now! It was early, there were folk upon the roads, they were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear. Excellent, Mr. Holmes--that is better than your idea of a blind." "Quite so; you have got an admirable theory. I have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended in discovering the silver." "Yes, sir, yes. It was all your doing. But I have had a bad set-back." "A set-back?" "Yes, Mr. Holmes. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this morning." "Dear me, Hopkins! That is certainly rather against your theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night." "It is fatal, Mr. Holmes, absolutely fatal. Still, there are other gangs of three besides the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of which the police have never heard." "Quite so; it is perfectly possible. What, are you off?" "Yes, Mr. Holmes; there is no rest for me until I have got to the bottom of the business. I suppose you have no hint to give me?" "I have given you one." "Which?" "Well, I suggested a blind." "But why, Mr. Holmes, why?" "Ah, that's the question, of course. But I commend the idea to your mind. You might possibly find that there was something in it. You won't stop for dinner? Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on." Dinner was over and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to the matter again. He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerful blaze of the fire. Suddenly he looked at his watch. "I expect developments, Watson." "When?" "Now--within a few minutes. I dare say you thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now?" "I trust your judgment." "A very sensible reply, Watson. You must look at it this way: what I know is unofficial; what he knows is official. I have the right to private judgment, but he has none. He must disclose all, or he is a traitor to his service. In a doubtful case I would not put him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon the matter." "But when will that be?" "The time has come. You will now be present at the last scene of a remarkable little drama." There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it. He was a very tall young man, golden-moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong. He closed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion. "Sit down, Captain Croker. You got my telegram?" Our visitor sank into an arm-chair and looked from one to the other of us with questioning eyes. "I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said. I heard that you had been down to the office. There was no getting away from you. Let's hear the worst. What are you going to do with me? Arrest me? Speak out, man! You can't sit there and play with me like a cat with a mouse." "Give him a cigar," said Holmes. "Bite on that, Captain Croker, and don't let your nerves run away with you. I should not sit here smoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal, you may be sure of that. Be frank with me, and we may do some good. Play tricks with me, and I'll crush you." "What do you wish me to do?" "To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey Grange last night--a true account, mind you, with nothing added and nothing taken off. I know so much already that if you go one inch off the straight I'll blow this police whistle from my window and the affair goes out of my hands for ever." The sailor thought for a little. Then he struck his leg with his great, sun-burned hand. "I'll chance it," he cried. "I believe you are a man of your word, and a white man, and I'll tell you the whole story. But one thing I will say first. So far as I am concerned I regret nothing and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of the job. Curse the beast, if he had as many lives as a cat he would owe them all to me! But it's the lady, Mary--Mary Fraser--for never will I call her by that accursed name. When I think of getting her into trouble, I who would give my life just to bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into water. And yet--and yet--what less could I do? I'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you as man to man what less could I do. "I must go back a bit. You seem to know everything, so I expect that you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first officer of the Rock of Gibraltar. From the first day I met her she was the only woman to me. Every day of that voyage I loved her more, and many a time since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it. She was never engaged to me. She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man. I have no complaint to make. It was all love on my side, and all good comradeship and friendship on hers. When we parted she was a free woman, but I could never again be a free man. "Next time I came back from sea I heard of her marriage. Well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked? Title and money--who could carry them better than she? She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty. I didn't grieve over her marriage. I was not such a selfish hound as that. I just rejoiced that good luck had come her way, and that she had not thrown herself away on a penniless sailor. That's how I loved Mary Fraser. "Well, I never thought to see her again; but last voyage I was promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham. One day out in a country lane I met Theresa Wright, her old maid. She told me about her, about him, about everything. I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad. This drunken hound, that he should dare to raise his hand to her whose boots he was not worthy to lick! I met Theresa again. Then I met Mary herself--and met her again. Then she would meet me no more. But the other day I had a notice that I was to start on my voyage within a week, and I determined that I would see her once before I left. Theresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain almost as much as I did. From her I learned the ways of the house. Mary used to sit up reading in her own little room downstairs. I crept round there last night and scratched at the window. At first she would not open to me, but in her heart I know that now she loves me, and she could not leave me in the frosty night. She whispered to me to come round to the big front window, and I found it open before me so as to let me into the dining-room. Again I heard from her own lips things that made my blood boil, and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the woman that I loved. Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just inside the window, in all innocence, as Heaven is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across the face with the stick he had in his hand. I had sprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight between us. See here on my arm where his first blow fell. Then it was my turn, and I went through him as if he had been a rotten pumpkin. Do you think I was sorry? Not I! It was his life or mine, but far more than that it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this madman? That was how I killed him. Was I wrong? Well, then, what would either of you gentlemen have done if you had been in my position? "She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Theresa down from the room above. There was a bottle of wine on the sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's lips, for she was half dead with the shock. Then I took a drop myself. Theresa was as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much as mine. We must make it appear that burglars had done the thing. Theresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress, while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell. Then I lashed her in her chair, and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got up there to cut it. Then I gathered up a few plates and pots of silver, to carry out the idea of a robbery, and there I left them with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's start. I dropped the silver into the pond and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I had done a real good night's work. And that's the truth and the whole truth, Mr. Holmes, if it costs me my neck." Holmes smoked for some time in silence. Then he crossed the room and shook our visitor by the hand. "That's what I think," said he. "I know that every word is true, for you have hardly said a word which I did not know. No one but an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened to the chair. Only once had this lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage, and it was someone of her own class of life, since she was trying hard to shield him and so showing that she loved him. You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon you when once I had started upon the right trail." "I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge." "And the police haven't; nor will they, to the best of my belief. Now, look here, Captain Croker, this is a very serious matter, though I am willing to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected. I am not sure that in defence of your own life your action will not be pronounced legitimate. However, that is for a British jury to decide. Meanwhile I have so much sympathy for you that if you choose to disappear in the next twenty-four hours I will promise you that no one will hinder you." "And then it will all come out?" "Certainly it will come out." The sailor flushed with anger. "What sort of proposal is that to make a man? I know enough of law to understand that Mary would be had as accomplice. Do you think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk away? No, sir; let them do their worst upon me, but for Heaven's sake, Mr. Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts." Holmes for a second time held out his hand to the sailor. "I was only testing you, and you ring true every time. Well, it is a great responsibility that I take upon myself, but I have given Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it I can do no more. See here, Captain Croker, we'll do this in due form of law. You are the prisoner. Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one. I am the judge. Now, gentleman of the jury, you have heard the evidence. Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?" "Not guilty, my lord," said I. "Vox populi, vox Dei. You are acquitted, Captain Croker. So long as the law does not find some other victim you are safe from me. Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced this night." THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN I had intended "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" to be the last of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I should ever communicate to the public. This resolution of mine was not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of many hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man. The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown to the continued publication of his experiences. So long as he was in actual professional practice the records of his successes were of some practical value to him; but since he has definitely retired from London and betaken himself to study and bee-farming on the Sussex Downs, notoriety has become hateful to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this matter should be strictly observed. It was only upon my representing to him that I had given a promise that "The Adventure of the Second Stain" should be published when the times were ripe, and pointing out to him that it is only appropriate that this long series of episodes should culminate in the most important international case which he has ever been called upon to handle, that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully-guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain details the public will readily understand that there is an excellent reason for my reticence. It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble room in Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger, twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty of body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope, Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising statesman in the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was business of the most pressing importance which had brought them. The Premier's thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary pulled nervously at his moustache and fidgeted with the seals of his watch-chain. "When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight o'clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It was at his suggestion that we have both come to you." "Have you informed the police?" "No, sir," said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive manner for which he was famous. "We have not done so, nor is it possible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in the long run, mean to inform the public. This is what we particularly desire to avoid." "And why, sir?" "Because the document in question is of such immense importance that its publication might very easily--I might almost say probably--lead to European complications of the utmost moment. It is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue. Unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents should be generally known." "I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this document disappeared." "That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter--for it was a letter from a foreign potentate--was received six days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it in my safe, but I have taken it across each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner, and saw the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear that no one could have entered the room during the night. And yet I repeat that the paper is gone." "What time did you dine?" "Half-past seven." "How long was it before you went to bed?" "My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was half-past eleven before we went to our room." "Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?" "No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the housemaid in the morning, and my valet, or my wife's maid, during the rest of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been with us for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly have known that there was anything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers in my despatch-box." "Who did know of the existence of that letter?" "No one in the house." "Surely your wife knew?" "No, sir; I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper this morning." The Premier nodded approvingly. "I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty," said he. "I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance it would rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties." The European Secretary bowed. "You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter." "Could she have guessed?" "No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed--nor could anyone have guessed." "Have you lost any documents before?" "No, sir." "Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this letter?" "Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday; but the pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting was increased by the solemn warning which was given by the Prime Minister. Good heavens, to think that within a few hours I should myself have lost it!" His handsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man, impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was replaced, and the gentle voice had returned. "Besides the members of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental officials who know of the letter. No one else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you." "But abroad?" "I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it. I am well convinced that his Ministers--that the usual official channels have not been employed." Holmes considered for some little time. "Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this document is, and why its disappearance should have such momentous consequences?" The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance and the Premier's shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown. "Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to--" "I fear, sir," said Holmes, "that, interesting and indeed essential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to the root of things. What was the letter?" "That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear that I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can find such an envelope as I describe with its enclosure, you will have deserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it lies in our power to bestow." Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile. "You are two of the most busy men in the country," said he, "and in my own small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regret exceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and any continuation of this interview would be a waste of time." The Premier sprang to his feet with that quick, fierce gleam of his deep-set eyes before which a Cabinet has cowered. "I am not accustomed, sir--" he began, but mastered his anger and resumed his seat. For a minute or more we all sat in silence. Then the old statesman shrugged his shoulders. "We must accept your terms, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right, and it is unreasonable for us to expect you to act unless we give you our entire confidence." "I agree with you, sir," said the younger statesman. "Then I will tell you, relying entirely upon your honour and that of your colleague, Dr. Watson. I may appeal to your patriotism also, for I could not imagine a greater misfortune for the country than that this affair should come out." "You may safely trust us." "The letter, then, is from a certain foreign potentate who has been ruffled by some recent Colonial developments of this country. It has been written hurriedly and upon his own responsibility entirely. Inquiries have shown that his Ministers know nothing of the matter. At the same time it is couched in so unfortunate a manner, and certain phrases in it are of so provocative a character, that its publication would undoubtedly lead to a most dangerous state of feeling in this country. There would be such a ferment, sir, that I do not hesitate to say that within a week of the publication of that letter this country would be involved in a great war." Holmes wrote a name upon a slip of paper and handed it to the Premier. "Exactly. It was he. And it is this letter--this letter which may well mean the expenditure of a thousand millions and the lives of a hundred thousand men--which has become lost in this unaccountable fashion." "Have you informed the sender?" "Yes, sir, a cipher telegram has been despatched." "Perhaps he desires the publication of the letter." "No, sir, we have strong reason to believe that he already understands that he has acted in an indiscreet and hot-headed manner. It would be a greater blow to him and to his country than to us if this letter were to come out." "If this is so, whose interest is it that the letter should come out? Why should anyone desire to steal it or to publish it?" "There, Mr. Holmes, you take me into regions of high international politics. But if you consider the European situation you will have no difficulty in perceiving the motive. The whole of Europe is an armed camp. There is a double league which makes a fair balance of military power. Great Britain holds the scales. If Britain were driven into war with one confederacy, it would assure the supremacy of the other confederacy, whether they joined in the war or not. Do you follow?" "Very clearly. It is then the interest of the enemies of this potentate to secure and publish this letter, so as to make a breach between his country and ours?" "Yes, sir." "And to whom would this document be sent if it fell into the hands of an enemy?" "To any of the great Chancelleries of Europe. It is probably speeding on its way thither at the present instant as fast as steam can take it." Mr. Trelawney Hope dropped his head on his chest and groaned aloud. The Premier placed his hand kindly upon his shoulder. "It is your misfortune, my dear fellow. No one can blame you. There is no precaution which you have neglected. Now, Mr. Holmes, you are in full possession of the facts. What course do you recommend?" Holmes shook his head mournfully. "You think, sir, that unless this document is recovered there will be war?" "I think it is very probable." "Then, sir, prepare for war." "That is a hard saying, Mr. Holmes." "Consider the facts, sir. It is inconceivable that it was taken after eleven-thirty at night, since I understand that Mr. Hope and his wife were both in the room from that hour until the loss was found out. It was taken, then, yesterday evening between seven-thirty and eleven-thirty, probably near the earlier hour, since whoever took it evidently knew that it was there and would naturally secure it as early as possible. Now, sir, if a document of this importance were taken at that hour, where can it be now? No one has any reason to retain it. It has been passed rapidly on to those who need it. What chance have we now to overtake or even to trace it? It is beyond our reach." The Prime Minister rose from the settee. "What you say is perfectly logical, Mr. Holmes. I feel that the matter is indeed out of our hands." "Let us presume, for argument's sake, that the document was taken by the maid or by the valet--" "They are both old and tried servants." "I understand you to say that your room is on the second floor, that there is no entrance from without, and that from within no one could go up unobserved. It must, then, be somebody in the house who has taken it. To whom would the thief take it? To one of several international spies and secret agents, whose names are tolerably familiar to me. There are three who may be said to be the heads of their profession. I will begin my research by going round and finding if each of them is at his post. If one is missing--especially if he has disappeared since last night--we will have some indication as to where the document has gone." "Why should he be missing?" asked the European Secretary. "He would take the letter to an Embassy in London, as likely as not." "I fancy not. These agents work independently, and their relations with the Embassies are often strained." The Prime Minister nodded his acquiescence. "I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes. He would take so valuable a prize to head-quarters with his own hands. I think that your course of action is an excellent one. Meanwhile, Hope, we cannot neglect all our other duties on account of this one misfortune. Should there be any fresh developments during the day we shall communicate with you, and you will no doubt let us know the results of your own inquiries." The two statesmen bowed and walked gravely from the room. When our illustrious visitors had departed Holmes lit his pipe in silence, and sat for some time lost in the deepest thought. I had opened the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational crime which had occurred in London the night before, when my friend gave an exclamation, sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe down upon the mantelpiece. "Yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it. The situation is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could be sure which of them has taken it, it is just possible that it has not yet passed out of his hands. After all, it is a question of money with these fellows, and I have the British Treasury behind me. If it's on the market I'll buy it--if it means another penny on the income-tax. It is conceivable that the fellow might hold it back to see what bids come from this side before he tries his luck on the other. There are only those three capable of playing so bold a game; there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and Eduardo Lucas. I will see each of them." I glanced at my morning paper. "Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?" "Yes." "You will not see him." "Why not?" "He was murdered in his house last night." My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventures that it was with a sense of exultation that I realized how completely I had astonished him. He stared in amazement, and then snatched the paper from my hands. This was the paragraph which I had been engaged in reading when he rose from his chair: Murder in Westminster A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16, Godolphin Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of eighteenth-century houses which lie between the river and the Abbey, almost in the shadow of the great Tower of the Houses of Parliament. This small but select mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well known in society circles both on account of his charming personality and because he has the well-deserved reputation of being one of the best amateur tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man, thirty-four years of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs. Pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former retires early and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o'clock onwards Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred during that time has not yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constable Barrett, passing along Godolphin Street, observed that the door of No. 16 was ajar. He knocked, but received no answer. Perceiving a light in the front room he advanced into the passage and again knocked, but without reply. He then pushed open the door and entered. The room was in a state of wild disorder, the furniture being all swept to one side, and one chair lying on its back in the centre. Beside this chair, and still grasping one of its legs, lay the unfortunate tenant of the house. He had been stabbed to the heart and must have died instantly. The knife with which the crime had been committed was a curved Indian dagger, plucked down from a trophy of Oriental arms which adorned one of the walls. Robbery does not appear to have been the motive of the crime, for there had been no attempt to remove the valuable contents of the room. Mr. Eduardo Lucas was so well known and popular that his violent and mysterious fate will arouse painful interest and intense sympathy in a wide-spread circle of friends. "Well, Watson, what do you make of this?" asked Holmes, after a long pause. "It is an amazing coincidence." "A coincidence! Here is one of the three men whom we had named as possible actors in this drama, and he meets a violent death during the very hours when we know that that drama was being enacted. The odds are enormous against its being coincidence. No figures could express them. No, my dear Watson, the two events are connected--must be connected. It is for us to find the connection." "But now the official police must know all." "Not at all. They know all they see at Godolphin Street. They know--and shall know--nothing of Whitehall Terrace. Only we know of both events, and can trace the relation between them. There is one obvious point which would, in any case, have turned my suspicions against Lucas. Godolphin Street, Westminster, is only a few minutes' walk from Whitehall Terrace. The other secret agents whom I have named live in the extreme West-end. It was easier, therefore, for Lucas than for the others to establish a connection or receive a message from the European Secretary's household--a small thing, and yet where events are compressed into a few hours it may prove essential. Halloa! what have we here?" Mrs. Hudson had appeared with a lady's card upon her salver. Holmes glanced at it, raised his eyebrows, and handed it over to me. "Ask Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope if she will be kind enough to step up," said he. A moment later our modest apartment, already so distinguished that morning, was further honoured by the entrance of the most lovely woman in London. I had often heard of the beauty of the youngest daughter of the Duke of Belminster, but no description of it, and no contemplation of colourless photographs, had prepared me for the subtle, delicate charm and the beautiful colouring of that exquisite head. And yet as we saw it that autumn morning, it was not its beauty which would be the first thing to impress the observer. The cheek was lovely, but it was paled with emotion; the eyes were bright, but it was the brightness of fever; the sensitive mouth was tight and drawn in an effort after self-command. Terror--not beauty--was what sprang first to the eye as our fair visitor stood framed for an instant in the open door. "Has my husband been here, Mr. Holmes?" "Yes, madam, he has been here." "Mr. Holmes, I implore you not to tell him that I came here." Holmes bowed coldly, and motioned the lady to a chair. "Your ladyship places me in a very delicate position. I beg that you will sit down and tell me what you desire; but I fear that I cannot make any unconditional promise." She swept across the room and seated herself with her back to the window. It was a queenly presence--tall, graceful, and intensely womanly. "Mr. Holmes," she said, and her white-gloved hands clasped and unclasped as she spoke--"I will speak frankly to you in the hope that it may induce you to speak frankly in return. There is complete confidence between my husband and me on all matters save one. That one is politics. On this his lips are sealed. He tells me nothing. Now, I am aware that there was a most deplorable occurrence in our house last night. I know that a paper has disappeared. But because the matter is political my husband refuses to take me into his complete confidence. Now it is essential--essential, I say--that I should thoroughly understand it. You are the only other person, save only these politicians, who knows the true facts. I beg you, then, Mr. Holmes, to tell me exactly what has happened and what it will lead to. Tell me all, Mr. Holmes. Let no regard for your client's interests keep you silent, for I assure you that his interests, if he would only see it, would be best served by taking me into his complete confidence. What was this paper which was stolen?" "Madam, what you ask me is really impossible." She groaned and sank her face in her hands. "You must see that this is so, madam. If your husband thinks fit to keep you in the dark over this matter, is it for me, who has only learned the true facts under the pledge of professional secrecy, to tell what he has withheld? It is not fair to ask it. It is him whom you must ask." "I have asked him. I come to you as a last resource. But without your telling me anything definite, Mr. Holmes, you may do a great service if you would enlighten me on one point." "What is it, madam?" "Is my husband's political career likely to suffer through this incident?" "Well, madam, unless it is set right it may certainly have a very unfortunate effect." "Ah!" She drew in her breath sharply as one whose doubts are resolved. "One more question, Mr. Holmes. From an expression which my husband dropped in the first shock of this disaster I understood that terrible public consequences might arise from the loss of this document." "If he said so, I certainly cannot deny it." "Of what nature are they?" "Nay, madam, there again you ask me more than I can possibly answer." "Then I will take up no more of your time. I cannot blame you, Mr. Holmes, for having refused to speak more freely, and you on your side will not, I am sure, think the worse of me because I desire, even against his will, to share my husband's anxieties. Once more I beg that you will say nothing of my visit." She looked back at us from the door, and I had a last impression of that beautiful haunted face, the startled eyes, and the drawn mouth. Then she was gone. "Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department," said Holmes, with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the slam of the front door. "What was the fair lady's game? What did she really want?" "Surely her own statement is clear and her anxiety very natural." "Hum! Think of her appearance, Watson--her manner, her suppressed excitement, her restlessness, her tenacity in asking questions. Remember that she comes of a caste who do not lightly show emotion." "She was certainly much moved." "Remember also the curious earnestness with which she assured us that it was best for her husband that she should know all. What did she mean by that? And you must have observed, Watson, how she manoeuvred to have the light at her back. She did not wish us to read her expression." "Yes; she chose the one chair in the room." "And yet the motives of women are so inscrutable. You remember the woman at Margate whom I suspected for the same reason. No powder on her nose--that proved to be the correct solution. How can you build on such a quicksand? Their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling-tongs. Good morning, Watson." "You are off?" "Yes; I will wile away the morning at Godolphin Street with our friends of the regular establishment. With Eduardo Lucas lies the solution of our problem, though I must admit that I have not an inkling as to what form it may take. It is a capital mistake to theorize in advance of the facts. Do you stay on guard, my good Watson, and receive any fresh visitors. I'll join you at lunch if I am able." All that day and the next and the next Holmes was in a mood which his friends would call taciturn, and others morose. He ran out and ran in, smoked incessantly, played snatches on his violin, sank into reveries, devoured sandwiches at irregular hours, and hardly answered the casual questions which I put to him. It was evident to me that things were not going well with him or his quest. He would say nothing of the case, and it was from the papers that I learned the particulars of the inquest, and the arrest with the subsequent release of John Mitton, the valet of the deceased. The coroner's jury brought in the obvious "Wilful Murder," but the parties remained as unknown as ever. No motive was suggested. The room was full of articles of value, but none had been taken. The dead man's papers had not been tampered with. They were carefully examined, and showed that he was a keen student of international politics, an indefatigable gossip, a remarkable linguist, and an untiring letter-writer. He had been on intimate terms with the leading politicians of several countries. But nothing sensational was discovered among the documents which filled his drawers. As to his relations with women, they appeared to have been promiscuous but superficial. He had many acquaintances among them, but few friends, and no one whom he loved. His habits were regular, his conduct inoffensive. His death was an absolute mystery, and likely to remain so. As to the arrest of John Mitton, the valet, it was a counsel of despair as an alternative to absolute inaction. But no case could be sustained against him. He had visited friends in Hammersmith that night. The alibi was complete. It is true that he started home at an hour which should have brought him to Westminster before the time when the crime was discovered, but his own explanation that he had walked part of the way seemed probable enough in view of the fineness of the night. He had actually arrived at twelve o'clock, and appeared to be overwhelmed by the unexpected tragedy. He had always been on good terms with his master. Several of the dead man's possessions--notably a small case of razors--had been found in the valet's boxes, but he explained that they had been presents from the deceased, and the housekeeper was able to corroborate the story. Mitton had been in Lucas's employment for three years. It was noticeable that Lucas did not take Mitton on the Continent with him. Sometimes he visited Paris for three months on end, but Mitton was left in charge of the Godolphin Street house. As to the housekeeper, she had heard nothing on the night of the crime. If her master had a visitor he had himself admitted him. So for three mornings the mystery remained, so far as I could follow it in the papers. If Holmes knew more he kept his own counsel, but, as he told me that Inspector Lestrade had taken him into his confidence in the case, I knew that he was in close touch with every development. Upon the fourth day there appeared a long telegram from Paris which seemed to solve the whole question. A discovery has just been made by the Parisian police [said the Daily Telegraph] which raises the veil which hung round the tragic fate of Mr. Eduardo Lucas, who met his death by violence last Monday night at Godolphin Street, Westminster. Our readers will remember that the deceased gentleman was found stabbed in his room, and that some suspicion attached to his valet, but that the case broke down on an alibi. Yesterday a lady, who has been known as Mme. Henri Fournaye, occupying a small villa in the Rue Austerlitz, was reported to the authorities by her servants as being insane. An examination showed that she had indeed developed mania of a dangerous and permanent form. On inquiry the police have discovered that Mme. Henri Fournaye only returned from a journey to London on Tuesday last, and there is evidence to connect her with the crime at Westminster. A comparison of photographs has proved conclusively that M. Henri Fournaye and Eduardo Lucas were really one and the same person, and that the deceased had for some reason lived a double life in London and Paris. Mme. Fournaye, who is of Creole origin, is of an extremely excitable nature, and has suffered in the past from attacks of jealousy which have amounted to frenzy. It is conjectured that it was in one of these that she committed the terrible crime which has caused such a sensation in London. Her movements upon the Monday night have not yet been traced, but it is undoubted that a woman answering to her description attracted much attention at Charing Cross Station on Tuesday morning by the wildness of her appearance and the violence of her gestures. It is probable, therefore, that the crime was either committed when insane, or that its immediate effect was to drive the unhappy woman out of her mind. At present she is unable to give any coherent account of the past, and the doctors hold out no hopes of the re-establishment of her reason. There is evidence that a woman, who might have been Mme. Fournaye, was seen for some hours on Monday night watching the house in Godolphin Street. "What do you think of that, Holmes?" I had read the account aloud to him, while he finished his breakfast. "My dear Watson," said he, as he rose from the table and paced up and down the room, "you are most long-suffering, but if I have told you nothing in the last three days it is because there is nothing to tell. Even now this report from Paris does not help us much." "Surely it is final as regards the man's death." "The man's death is a mere incident--a trivial episode--in comparison with our real task, which is to trace this document and save a European catastrophe. Only one important thing has happened in the last three days, and that is that nothing has happened. I get reports almost hourly from the Government, and it is certain that nowhere in Europe is there any sign of trouble. Now, if this letter were loose--no, it can't be loose--but if it isn't loose, where can it be? Who has it? Why is it held back? That's the question that beats in my brain like a hammer. Was it, indeed, a coincidence that Lucas should meet his death on the night when the letter disappeared? Did the letter ever reach him? If so, why is it not among his papers? Did this mad wife of his carry it off with her? If so, is it in her house in Paris? How could I search for it without the French police having their suspicions aroused? It is a case, my dear Watson, where the law is as dangerous to us as the criminals are. Every man's hand is against us, and yet the interests at stake are colossal. Should I bring it to a successful conclusion it will certainly represent the crowning glory of my career. Ah, here is my latest from the front!" He glanced hurriedly at the note which had been handed in. "Halloa! Lestrade seems to have observed something of interest. Put on your hat, Watson, and we will stroll down together to Westminster." It was my first visit to the scene of the crime--a high, dingy, narrow-chested house, prim, formal, and solid, like the century which gave it birth. Lestrade's bulldog features gazed out at us from the front window, and he greeted us warmly when a big constable had opened the door and let us in. The room into which we were shown was that in which the crime had been committed, but no trace of it now remained, save an ugly, irregular stain upon the carpet. This carpet was a small square drugget in the centre of the room, surrounded by a broad expanse of beautiful, old-fashioned wood-flooring in square blocks highly polished. Over the fireplace was a magnificent trophy of weapons, one of which had been used on that tragic night. In the window was a sumptuous writing-desk, and every detail of the apartment, the pictures, the rugs, and the hangings, all pointed to a taste which was luxurious to the verge of effeminacy. "Seen the Paris news?" asked Lestrade. Holmes nodded. "Our French friends seem to have touched the spot this time. No doubt it's just as they say. She knocked at the door--surprise visit, I guess, for he kept his life in water-tight compartments. He let her in--couldn't keep her in the street. She told him how she had traced him, reproached him, one thing led to another, and then with that dagger so handy the end soon came. It wasn't all done in an instant, though, for these chairs were all swept over yonder, and he had one in his hand as if he had tried to hold her off with it. We've got it all clear as if we had seen it." Holmes raised his eyebrows. "And yet you have sent for me?" "Ah, yes, that's another matter--a mere trifle, but the sort of thing you take an interest in--queer, you know, and what you might call freakish. It has nothing to do with the main fact--can't have, on the face of it." "What is it, then?" "Well, you know, after a crime of this sort we are very careful to keep things in their position. Nothing has been moved. Officer in charge here day and night. This morning, as the man was buried and the investigation over--so far as this room is concerned--we thought we could tidy up a bit. This carpet. You see, it is not fastened down; only just laid there. We had occasion to raise it. We found--" "Yes? You found--" Holmes's face grew tense with anxiety. "Well, I'm sure you would never guess in a hundred years what we did find. You see that stain on the carpet? Well, a great deal must have soaked through, must it not?" "Undoubtedly it must." "Well, you will be surprised to hear that there is no stain on the white woodwork to correspond." "No stain! But there must--" "Yes; so you would say. But the fact remains that there isn't." He took the corner of the carpet in his hand and, turning it over, he showed that it was indeed as he said. "But the underside is as stained as the upper. It must have left a mark." Lestrade chuckled with delight at having puzzled the famous expert. "Now I'll show you the explanation. There is a second stain, but it does not correspond with the other. See for yourself." As he spoke he turned over another portion of the carpet, and there, sure enough, was a great crimson spill upon the square white facing of the old-fashioned floor. "What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?" "Why, it is simple enough. The two stains did correspond, but the carpet has been turned round. As it was square and unfastened it was easily done." "The official police don't need you, Mr. Holmes, to tell them that the carpet must have been turned round. That's clear enough, for the stains lie above each other--if you lay it over this way. But what I want to know is, who shifted the carpet, and why?" I could see from Holmes's rigid face that he was vibrating with inward excitement. "Look here, Lestrade," said he, "has that constable in the passage been in charge of the place all the time?" "Yes, he has." "Well, take my advice. Examine him carefully. Don't do it before us. We'll wait here. You take him into the back room. You'll be more likely to get a confession out of him alone. Ask him how he dared to admit people and leave them alone in this room. Don't ask him if he has done it. Take it for granted. Tell him you know someone has been here. Press him. Tell him that a full confession is his only chance of forgiveness. Do exactly what I tell you!" "By George, if he knows I'll have it out of him!" cried Lestrade. He darted into the hall, and a few moments later his bullying voice sounded from the back room. "Now, Watson, now!" cried Holmes, with frenzied eagerness. All the demoniacal force of the man masked behind that listless manner burst out in a paroxysm of energy. He tore the drugget from the floor, and in an instant was down on his hands and knees clawing at each of the squares of wood beneath it. One turned sideways as he dug his nails into the edge of it. It hinged back like the lid of a box. A small black cavity opened beneath it. Holmes plunged his eager hand into it, and drew it out with a bitter snarl of anger and disappointment. It was empty. "Quick, Watson, quick! Get it back again!" The wooden lid was replaced, and the drugget had only just been drawn straight when Lestrade's voice was heard in the passage. He found Holmes leaning languidly against the mantelpiece, resigned and patient, endeavouring to conceal his irrepressible yawns. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Holmes. I can see that you are bored to death with the whole affair. Well, he has confessed, all right. Come in here, MacPherson. Let these gentlemen hear of your most inexcusable conduct." The big constable, very hot and penitent, sidled into the room. "I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure. The young woman came to the door last evening--mistook the house, she did. And then we got talking. It's lonesome, when you're on duty here all day." "Well, what happened then?" "She wanted to see where the crime was done--had read about it in the papers, she said. She was a very respectable, well-spoken young woman, sir, and I saw no harm in letting her have a peep. When she saw that mark on the carpet, down she dropped on the floor, and lay as if she were dead. I ran to the back and got some water, but I could not bring her to. Then I went round the corner to the Ivy Plant for some brandy, and by the time I had brought it back the young woman had recovered and was off--ashamed of herself, I dare say, and dared not face me." "How about moving that drugget?" "Well, sir, it was a bit rumpled, certainly, when I came back. You see, she fell on it, and it lies on a polished floor with nothing to keep it in place. I straightened it out afterwards." "It's a lesson to you that you can't deceive me, Constable MacPherson," said Lestrade, with dignity. "No doubt you thought that your breach of duty could never be discovered, and yet a mere glance at that drugget was enough to convince me that someone had been admitted to the room. It's lucky for you, my man, that nothing is missing, or you would find yourself in Queer Street. I'm sorry to have called you down over such a petty business, Mr. Holmes, but I thought the point of the second stain not corresponding with the first would interest you." "Certainly, it was most interesting. Has this woman only been here once, constable?" "Yes, sir, only once." "Who was she?" "Don't know the name, sir. Was answering an advertisement about type-writing, and came to the wrong number--very pleasant, genteel young woman, sir." "Tall? Handsome?" "Yes, sir; she was a well-grown young woman. I suppose you might say she was handsome. Perhaps some would say she was very handsome. 'Oh, officer, do let me have a peep!' says she. She had pretty, coaxing ways, as you might say, and I thought there was no harm in letting her just put her head through the door." "How was she dressed?" "Quiet, sir--a long mantle down to her feet." "What time was it?" "It was just growing dusk at the time. They were lighting the lamps as I came back with the brandy." "Very good," said Holmes. "Come, Watson, I think that we have more important work elsewhere." As we left the house Lestrade remained in the front room, while the repentant constable opened the door to let us out. Holmes turned on the step and held up something in his hand. The constable stared intently. "Good Lord, sir!" he cried, with amazement on his face. Holmes put his finger on his lips, replaced his hand in his breast-pocket, and burst out laughing as we turned down the street. "Excellent!" said he. "Come, friend Watson, the curtain rings up for the last act. You will be relieved to hear that there will be no war, that the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope will suffer no set-back in his brilliant career, that the indiscreet Sovereign will receive no punishment for his indiscretion, that the Prime Minister will have no European complication to deal with, and that with a little tact and management upon our part nobody will be a penny the worse for what might have been a very ugly incident." My mind filled with admiration for this extraordinary man. "You have solved it!" I cried. "Hardly that, Watson. There are some points which are as dark as ever. But we have so much that it will be our own fault if we cannot get the rest. We will go straight to Whitehall Terrace and bring the matter to a head." When we arrived at the residence of the European Secretary it was for Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope that Sherlock Holmes inquired. We were shown into the morning-room. "Mr. Holmes!" said the lady, and her face was pink with her indignation, "this is surely most unfair and ungenerous upon your part. I desired, as I have explained, to keep my visit to you a secret, lest my husband should think that I was intruding into his affairs. And yet you compromise me by coming here and so showing that there are business relations between us." "Unfortunately, madam, I had no possible alternative. I have been commissioned to recover this immensely important paper. I must therefore ask you, madam, to be kind enough to place it in my hands." The lady sprang to her feet, with the colour all dashed in an instant from her beautiful face. Her eyes glazed--she tottered--I thought that she would faint. Then with a grand effort she rallied from the shock, and a supreme astonishment and indignation chased every other expression from her features. "You--you insult me, Mr. Holmes." "Come, come, madam, it is useless. Give up the letter." She darted to the bell. "The butler shall show you out." "Do not ring, Lady Hilda. If you do, then all my earnest efforts to avoid a scandal will be frustrated. Give up the letter and all will be set right. If you will work with me I can arrange everything. If you work against me I must expose you." She stood grandly defiant, a queenly figure, her eyes fixed upon his as if she would read his very soul. Her hand was on the bell, but she had forborne to ring it. "You are trying to frighten me. It is not a very manly thing, Mr. Holmes, to come here and browbeat a woman. You say that you know something. What is it that you know?" "Pray sit down, madam. You will hurt yourself there if you fall. I will not speak until you sit down. Thank you." "I give you five minutes, Mr. Holmes." "One is enough, Lady Hilda. I know of your visit to Eduardo Lucas, of your giving him this document, of your ingenious return to the room last night, and of the manner in which you took the letter from the hiding-place under the carpet." She stared at him with an ashen face and gulped twice before she could speak. "You are mad, Mr. Holmes--you are mad!" she cried, at last. He drew a small piece of cardboard from his pocket. It was the face of a woman cut out of a portrait. "I have carried this because I thought it might be useful," said he. "The policeman has recognised it." She gave a gasp and her head dropped back in the chair. "Come, Lady Hilda. You have the letter. The matter may still be adjusted. I have no desire to bring trouble to you. My duty ends when I have returned the lost letter to your husband. Take my advice and be frank with me; it is your only chance." Her courage was admirable. Even now she would not own defeat. "I tell you again, Mr. Holmes, that you are under some absurd illusion." Holmes rose from his chair. "I am sorry for you, Lady Hilda. I have done my best for you; I can see that it is all in vain." He rang the bell. The butler entered. "Is Mr. Trelawney Hope at home?" "He will be home, sir, at a quarter to one." Holmes glanced at his watch. "Still a quarter of an hour," said he. "Very good, I shall wait." The butler had hardly closed the door behind him when Lady Hilda was down on her knees at Holmes's feet, her hands out-stretched, her beautiful face upturned and wet with her tears. "Oh, spare me, Mr. Holmes! Spare me!" she pleaded, in a frenzy of supplication. "For Heaven's sake, don't tell him! I love him so! I would not bring one shadow on his life, and this I know would break his noble heart." Holmes raised the lady. "I am thankful, madam, that you have come to your senses even at this last moment! There is not an instant to lose. Where is the letter?" She darted across to a writing-desk, unlocked it, and drew out a long blue envelope. "Here it is, Mr. Holmes. Would to Heaven I had never seen it!" "How can we return it?" Holmes muttered. "Quick, quick, we must think of some way! Where is the despatch-box?" "Still in his bedroom." "What a stroke of luck! Quick, madam, bring it here!" A moment later she had appeared with a red flat box in her hand. "How did you open it before? You have a duplicate key? Yes, of course you have. Open it!" From out of her bosom Lady Hilda had drawn a small key. The box flew open. It was stuffed with papers. Holmes thrust the blue envelope deep down into the heart of them, between the leaves of some other document. The box was shut, locked, and returned to the bedroom. "Now we are ready for him," said Holmes; "we have still ten minutes. I am going far to screen you, Lady Hilda. In return you will spend the time in telling me frankly the real meaning of this extraordinary affair." "Mr. Holmes, I will tell you everything," cried the lady. "Oh, Mr. Holmes, I would cut off my right hand before I gave him a moment of sorrow! There is no woman in all London who loves her husband as I do, and yet if he knew how I have acted--how I have been compelled to act--he would never forgive me. For his own honour stands so high that he could not forget or pardon a lapse in another. Help me, Mr. Holmes! My happiness, his happiness, our very lives are at stake!" "Quick, madam, the time grows short!" "It was a letter of mine, Mr. Holmes, an indiscreet letter written before my marriage--a foolish letter, a letter of an impulsive, loving girl. I meant no harm, and yet he would have thought it criminal. Had he read that letter his confidence would have been for ever destroyed. It is years since I wrote it. I had thought that the whole matter was forgotten. Then at last I heard from this man, Lucas, that it had passed into his hands, and that he would lay it before my husband. I implored his mercy. He said that he would return my letter if I would bring him a certain document which he described in my husband's despatch-box. He had some spy in the office who had told him of its existence. He assured me that no harm could come to my husband. Put yourself in my position, Mr. Holmes! What was I to do?" "Take your husband into your confidence." "I could not, Mr. Holmes, I could not! On the one side seemed certain ruin; on the other, terrible as it seemed to take my husband's paper, still in a matter of politics I could not understand the consequences, while in a matter of love and trust they were only too clear to me. I did it, Mr. Holmes! I took an impression of his key; this man Lucas furnished a duplicate. I opened his despatch-box, took the paper, and conveyed it to Godolphin Street." "What happened there, madam?" "I tapped at the door as agreed. Lucas opened it. I followed him into his room, leaving the hall door ajar behind me, for I feared to be alone with the man. I remember that there was a woman outside as I entered. Our business was soon done. He had my letter on his desk; I handed him the document. He gave me the letter. At this instant there was a sound at the door. There were steps in the passage. Lucas quickly turned back the drugget, thrust the document into some hiding-place there, and covered it over. "What happened after that is like some fearful dream. I have a vision of a dark, frantic face, of a woman's voice, which screamed in French, 'My waiting is not in vain. At last, at last I have found you with her!' There was a savage struggle. I saw him with a chair in his hand, a knife gleamed in hers. I rushed from the horrible scene, ran from the house, and only next morning in the paper did I learn the dreadful result. That night I was happy, for I had my letter, and I had not seen yet what the future would bring. "It was the next morning that I realized that I had only exchanged one trouble for another. My husband's anguish at the loss of his paper went to my heart. I could hardly prevent myself from there and then kneeling down at his feet and telling him what I had done. But that again would mean a confession of the past. I came to you that morning in order to understand the full enormity of my offence. From the instant that I grasped it my whole mind was turned to the one thought of getting back my husband's paper. It must still be where Lucas had placed it, for it was concealed before this dreadful woman entered the room. If it had not been for her coming, I should not have known where his hiding-place was. How was I to get into the room? For two days I watched the place, but the door was never left open. Last night I made a last attempt. What I did and how I succeeded, you have already learned. I brought the paper back with me, and thought of destroying it since I could see no way of returning it, without confessing my guilt to my husband. Heavens, I hear his step upon the stair!" The European Secretary burst excitedly into the room. "Any news, Mr. Holmes, any news?" he cried. "I have some hopes." "Ah, thank heaven!" His face became radiant. "The Prime Minister is lunching with me. May he share your hopes? He has nerves of steel, and yet I know that he has hardly slept since this terrible event. Jacobs, will you ask the Prime Minister to come up? As to you, dear, I fear that this is a matter of politics. We will join you in a few minutes in the dining-room." The Prime Minister's manner was subdued, but I could see by the gleam of his eyes and the twitchings of his bony hands that he shared the excitement of his young colleague. "I understand that you have something to report, Mr. Holmes?" "Purely negative as yet," my friend answered. "I have inquired at every point where it might be, and I am sure that there is no danger to be apprehended." "But that is not enough, Mr. Holmes. We cannot live for ever on such a volcano. We must have something definite." "I am in hopes of getting it. That is why I am here. The more I think of the matter the more convinced I am that the letter has never left this house." "Mr. Holmes!" "If it had it would certainly have been public by now." "But why should anyone take it in order to keep it in his house?" "I am not convinced that anyone did take it." "Then how could it leave the despatch-box?" "I am not convinced that it ever did leave the despatch-box." "Mr. Holmes, this joking is very ill-timed. You have my assurance that it left the box." "Have you examined the box since Tuesday morning?" "No; it was not necessary." "You may conceivably have overlooked it." "Impossible, I say." "But I am not convinced of it; I have known such things to happen. I presume there are other papers there. Well, it may have got mixed with them." "It was on the top." "Someone may have shaken the box and displaced it." "No, no; I had everything out." "Surely it is easily decided, Hope," said the Premier. "Let us have the despatch-box brought in." The Secretary rang the bell. "Jacobs, bring down my despatch-box. This is a farcical waste of time, but still, if nothing else will satisfy you, it shall be done. Thank you, Jacobs; put it here. I have always had the key on my watch-chain. Here are the papers, you see. Letter from Lord Merrow, report from Sir Charles Hardy, memorandum from Belgrade, note on the Russo-German grain taxes, letter from Madrid, note from Lord Flowers--good heavens! what is this? Lord Bellinger! Lord Bellinger!" The Premier snatched the blue envelope from his hand. "Yes, it is it--and the letter is intact. Hope, I congratulate you." "Thank you! Thank you! What a weight from my heart. But this is inconceivable--impossible. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard, a sorcerer! How did you know it was there?" "Because I knew it was nowhere else." "I cannot believe my eyes!" He ran wildly to the door. "Where is my wife? I must tell her that all is well. Hilda! Hilda!" we heard his voice on the stairs. The Premier looked at Holmes with twinkling eyes. "Come, sir," said he. "There is more in this than meets the eye. How came the letter back in the box?" Holmes turned away smiling from the keen scrutiny of those wonderful eyes. "We also have our diplomatic secrets," said he, and picking up his hat he turned to the door. THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES Table of contents Mr. Sherlock Holmes The Curse of the Baskervilles The Problem Sir Henry Baskerville Three Broken Threads Baskerville Hall The Stapletons of Merripit House First Report of Dr. Watson Second Report of Dr. Watson Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson The Man on the Tor Death on the Moor Fixing the Nets The Hound of the Baskervilles A Retrospection CHAPTER I Mr. Sherlock Holmes Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang lawyer." Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carry--dignified, solid, and reassuring. "Well, Watson, what do you make of it?" Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation. "How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in the back of your head." "I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it." "I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of their appreciation." "Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!" "I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot." "Why so?" "Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it." "Perfectly sound!" said Holmes. "And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a small presentation in return." "Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your debt." He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a convex lens. "Interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to his favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or two indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several deductions." "Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked?" "I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this instance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he walks a good deal." "Then I was right." "To that extent." "But that was all." "No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I would suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words 'Charing Cross' very naturally suggest themselves." "You may be right." "The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our construction of this unknown visitor." "Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'Charing Cross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?" "Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!" "I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has practised in town before going to the country." "I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look at it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable that such a presentation would be made? When would his friends unite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the hospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there has been a presentation. We believe there has been a change from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the occasion of the change?" "It certainly seems probable." "Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of the hospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior student. And he left five years ago--the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff." I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling. "As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said I, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man's age and professional career." From my small medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud. "Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow." "No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room." "And the dog?" "Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been--yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel." He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I glanced up in surprise. "My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?" "For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!" The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. "I am so very glad," said he. "I was not sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick for the world." "A presentation, I see," said Holmes. "Yes, sir." "From Charing Cross Hospital?" "From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage." "Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head. Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment. "Why was it bad?" "Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage, you say?" "Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home of my own." "Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said Holmes. "And now, Dr. James Mortimer--" "Mister, sir, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S." "And a man of precise mind, evidently." "A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not--" "No, this is my friend Dr. Watson." "Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned in connection with that of your friend. You interest me very much, Mr. Holmes. I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have any objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull." Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. "You are an enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am in mine," said he. "I observe from your forefinger that you make your own cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one." The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the other with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers as agile and restless as the antennae of an insect. Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me the interest which he took in our curious companion. "I presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was not merely for the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the honour to call here last night and again to-day?" "No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity of doing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognized that I am myself an unpractical man and because I am suddenly confronted with a most serious and extraordinary problem. Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest expert in Europe--" "Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the first?" asked Holmes with some asperity. "To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of Monsieur Bertillon must always appeal strongly." "Then had you not better consult him?" "I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a practical man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. I trust, sir, that I have not inadvertently--" "Just a little," said Holmes. "I think, Dr. Mortimer, you would do wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly what the exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my assistance." CHAPTER II The Curse of the Baskervilles "I have in my pocket a manuscript," said Dr. James Mortimer. "I observed it as you entered the room," said Holmes. "It is an old manuscript." "Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery." "How can you say that, sir?" "You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject. I put that at 1730." "The exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket. "This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him." Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon his knee. "You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date." I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At the head was written: "Baskerville Hall," and below in large, scrawling figures: "1742." "It appears to be a statement of some sort." "Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskerville family." "But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon which you wish to consult me?" "Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you." Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following curious, old-world narrative:-- "Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even as is here set forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not again be loosed to our undoing. "Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned, seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a byword through the West. It chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that which might have daunted the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her father's farm. "It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests to carry food and drink--with other worse things, perchance--to his captive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table, flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud before all the company that he would that very night render his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the wench. And while the revellers stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of the maid's, he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor. "Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable to understand all that had been done in such haste. But anon their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar, some calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for another flask of wine. But at length some sense came back to their crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home. "They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if he had seen the hunt. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. 'But I have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo Baskerville passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels.' So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode onward. But soon their skins turned cold, for there came a galloping across the moor, and the black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing bridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close together, for a great fear was on them, but they still followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad to have turned his horse's head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them. "The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you may guess, than when they started. The most of them would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three daredevil roysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days. "Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have set it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence, which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy Writ. To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted. "[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their sister Elizabeth.]" When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire. "Well?" said he. "Do you not find it interesting?" "To a collector of fairy tales." Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket. "Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that date." My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:-- "The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose name has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county. Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville Hall for a comparatively short period his amiability of character and extreme generosity had won the affection and respect of all who had been brought into contact with him. In these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old county family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is well known, made large sums of money in South African speculation. More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns against them, he realized his gains and returned to England with them. It is only two years since he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement which have been interrupted by his death. Being himself childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the whole country-side should, within his own lifetime, profit by his good fortune, and many will have personal reasons for bewailing his untimely end. His generous donations to local and county charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns. "The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours to which local superstition has given rise. There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of a married couple named Barrymore, the husband acting as butler and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that Sir Charles's health has for some time been impaired, and points especially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous depression. Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect. "The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the famous Yew Alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the Barrymores shows that this had been his custom. On the 4th of May Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day for London, and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That night he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned. At twelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open, became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of his master. The day had been wet, and Sir Charles's footmarks were easily traced down the Alley. Half-way down this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. There were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some little time here. He then proceeded down the Alley, and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered. One fact which has not been explained is the statement of Barrymore that his master's footprints altered their character from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared from thence onward to have been walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears by his own confession to have been the worse for drink. He declares that he heard cries, but is unable to state from what direction they came. No signs of violence were to be discovered upon Sir Charles's person, and though the doctor's evidence pointed to an almost incredible facial distortion--so great that Dr. Mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who lay before him--it was explained that that is a symptom which is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion. This explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing organic disease, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence. It is well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost importance that Sir Charles's heir should settle at the Hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly interrupted. Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is understood that the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he be still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville's younger brother. The young man when last heard of was in America, and inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune." Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket. "Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the death of Sir Charles Baskerville." "I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes, "for calling my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch with several interesting English cases. This article, you say, contains all the public facts?" "It does." "Then let me have the private ones." He leaned back, put his finger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression. "In doing so," said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some strong emotion, "I am telling that which I have not confided to anyone. My motive for withholding it from the coroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less than I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank. "The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near each other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests in science kept us so. He had brought back much scientific information from South Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the Hottentot. "Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that Sir Charles's nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart--so much so that, although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and certainly the records which he was able to give of his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with excitement. "I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening some three weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had descended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder, and stare past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he that I was compelled to go down to the spot where the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when first I came. I mention this small episode because it assumes some importance in view of the tragedy which followed, but I was convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his excitement had no justification. "It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London. His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health. I thought that a few months among the distractions of town would send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe. "On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler, who made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the footsteps down the Yew Alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the prints after that point, I noted that there were no other footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did--some little distance off, but fresh and clear." "Footprints?" "Footprints." "A man's or a woman's?" Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:-- "Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" CHAPTER III The Problem I confess at these words a shudder passed through me. There was a thrill in the doctor's voice which showed that he was himself deeply moved by that which he told us. Holmes leaned forward in his excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot from them when he was keenly interested. "You saw this?" "As clearly as I see you." "And you said nothing?" "What was the use?" "How was it that no one else saw it?" "The marks were some twenty yards from the body and no one gave them a thought. I don't suppose I should have done so had I not known this legend." "There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?" "No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog." "You say it was large?" "Enormous." "But it had not approached the body?" "No." "What sort of night was it?" "Damp and raw." "But not actually raining?" "No." "What is the Alley like?" "There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and impenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feet across." "Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?" "Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either side." "I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by a gate?" "Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor." "Is there any other opening?" "None." "So that to reach the Yew Alley one either has to come down it from the house or else to enter it by the moor-gate?" "There is an exit through a summer-house at the far end." "Had Sir Charles reached this?" "No; he lay about fifty yards from it." "Now, tell me, Dr. Mortimer--and this is important--the marks which you saw were on the path and not on the grass?" "No marks could show on the grass." "Were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?" "Yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as the moor-gate." "You interest me exceedingly. Another point. Was the wicket-gate closed?" "Closed and padlocked." "How high was it?" "About four feet high." "Then anyone could have got over it?" "Yes." "And what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?" "None in particular." "Good heaven! Did no one examine?" "Yes, I examined myself." "And found nothing?" "It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood there for five or ten minutes." "How do you know that?" "Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar." "Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. But the marks?" "He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I could discern no others." Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an impatient gesture. "If I had only been there!" he cried. "It is evidently a case of extraordinary interest, and one which presented immense opportunities to the scientific expert. That gravel page upon which I might have read so much has been long ere this smudged by the rain and defaced by the clogs of curious peasants. Oh, Dr. Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer, to think that you should not have called me in! You have indeed much to answer for." "I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without disclosing these facts to the world, and I have already given my reasons for not wishing to do so. Besides, besides--" "Why do you hesitate?" "There is a realm in which the most acute and most experienced of detectives is helpless." "You mean that the thing is supernatural?" "I did not positively say so." "No, but you evidently think it." "Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, there have come to my ears several incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled order of Nature." "For example?" "I find that before the terrible event occurred several people had seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with this Baskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal known to science. They all agreed that it was a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral. I have cross-examined these men, one of them a hard-headed countryman, one a farrier, and one a moorland farmer, who all tell the same story of this dreadful apparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of the legend. I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night." "And you, a trained man of science, believe it to be supernatural?" "I do not know what to believe." Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "I have hitherto confined my investigations to this world," said he. "In a modest way I have combated evil, but to take on the Father of Evil himself would, perhaps, be too ambitious a task. Yet you must admit that the footmark is material." "The original hound was material enough to tug a man's throat out, and yet he was diabolical as well." "I see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists. But now, Dr. Mortimer, tell me this. If you hold these views, why have you come to consult me at all? You tell me in the same breath that it is useless to investigate Sir Charles's death, and that you desire me to do it." "I did not say that I desired you to do it." "Then, how can I assist you?" "By advising me as to what I should do with Sir Henry Baskerville, who arrives at Waterloo Station"--Dr. Mortimer looked at his watch--"in exactly one hour and a quarter." "He being the heir?" "Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this young gentleman and found that he had been farming in Canada. From the accounts which have reached us he is an excellent fellow in every way. I speak not as a medical man but as a trustee and executor of Sir Charles's will." "There is no other claimant, I presume?" "None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able to trace was Rodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor Sir Charles was the elder. The second brother, who died young, is the father of this lad Henry. The third, Rodger, was the black sheep of the family. He came of the old masterful Baskerville strain, and was the very image, they tell me, of the family picture of old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold him, fled to Central America, and died there in 1876 of yellow fever. Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes I meet him at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrived at Southampton this morning. Now, Mr. Holmes, what would you advise me to do with him?" "Why should he not go to the home of his fathers?" "It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that every Baskerville who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel sure that if Sir Charles could have spoken with me before his death he would have warned me against bringing this, the last of the old race, and the heir to great wealth, to that deadly place. And yet it cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor, bleak country-side depends upon his presence. All the good work which has been done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if there is no tenant of the Hall. I fear lest I should be swayed too much by my own obvious interest in the matter, and that is why I bring the case before you and ask for your advice." Holmes considered for a little time. "Put into plain words, the matter is this," said he. "In your opinion there is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor an unsafe abode for a Baskerville--that is your opinion?" "At least I might go the length of saying that there is some evidence that this may be so." "Exactly. But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it could work the young man evil in London as easily as in Devonshire. A devil with merely local powers like a parish vestry would be too inconceivable a thing." "You put the matter more flippantly, Mr. Holmes, than you would probably do if you were brought into personal contact with these things. Your advice, then, as I understand it, is that the young man will be as safe in Devonshire as in London. He comes in fifty minutes. What would you recommend?" "I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spaniel who is scratching at my front door, and proceed to Waterloo to meet Sir Henry Baskerville." "And then?" "And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have made up my mind about the matter." "How long will it take you to make up your mind?" "Twenty-four hours. At ten o'clock to-morrow, Dr. Mortimer, I will be much obliged to you if you will call upon me here, and it will be of help to me in my plans for the future if you will bring Sir Henry Baskerville with you." "I will do so, Mr. Holmes." He scribbled the appointment on his shirtcuff and hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-minded fashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair. "Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before Sir Charles Baskerville's death several people saw this apparition upon the moor?" "Three people did." "Did any see it after?" "I have not heard of any." "Thank you. Good morning." Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of inward satisfaction which meant that he had a congenial task before him. "Going out, Watson?" "Unless I can help you." "No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that I turn to you for aid. But this is splendid, really unique from some points of view. When you pass Bradley's, would you ask him to send up a pound of the strongest shag tobacco? Thank you. It would be as well if you could make it convenient not to return before evening. Then I should be very glad to compare impressions as to this most interesting problem which has been submitted to us this morning." I knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my friend in those hours of intense mental concentration during which he weighed every particle of evidence, constructed alternative theories, balanced one against the other, and made up his mind as to which points were essential and which immaterial. I therefore spent the day at my club and did not return to Baker Street until evening. It was nearly nine o'clock when I found myself in the sitting-room once more. My first impression as I opened the door was that a fire had broken out, for the room was so filled with smoke that the light of the lamp upon the table was blurred by it. As I entered, however, my fears were set at rest, for it was the acrid fumes of strong coarse tobacco which took me by the throat and set me coughing. Through the haze I had a vague vision of Holmes in his dressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black clay pipe between his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him. "Caught cold, Watson?" said he. "No, it's this poisonous atmosphere." "I suppose it is pretty thick, now that you mention it." "Thick! It is intolerable." "Open the window, then! You have been at your club all day, I perceive." "My dear Holmes!" "Am I right?" "Certainly, but how?" He laughed at my bewildered expression. "There is a delightful freshness about you, Watson, which makes it a pleasure to exercise any small powers which I possess at your expense. A gentleman goes forth on a showery and miry day. He returns immaculate in the evening with the gloss still on his hat and his boots. He has been a fixture therefore all day. He is not a man with intimate friends. Where, then, could he have been? Is it not obvious?" "Well, it is rather obvious." "The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes. Where do you think that I have been?" "A fixture also." "On the contrary, I have been to Devonshire." "In spirit?" "Exactly. My body has remained in this arm-chair and has, I regret to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of coffee and an incredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent down to Stamford's for the Ordnance map of this portion of the moor, and my spirit has hovered over it all day. I flatter myself that I could find my way about." "A large scale map, I presume?" "Very large." He unrolled one section and held it over his knee. "Here you have the particular district which concerns us. That is Baskerville Hall in the middle." "With a wood round it?" "Exactly. I fancy the Yew Alley, though not marked under that name, must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you perceive, upon the right of it. This small clump of buildings here is the hamlet of Grimpen, where our friend Dr. Mortimer has his headquarters. Within a radius of five miles there are, as you see, only a very few scattered dwellings. Here is Lafter Hall, which was mentioned in the narrative. There is a house indicated here which may be the residence of the naturalist--Stapleton, if I remember right, was his name. Here are two moorland farm-houses, High Tor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles away the great convict prison of Princetown. Between and around these scattered points extends the desolate, lifeless moor. This, then, is the stage upon which tragedy has been played, and upon which we may help to play it again." "It must be a wild place." "Yes, the setting is a worthy one. If the devil did desire to have a hand in the affairs of men--" "Then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural explanation." "The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not? There are two questions waiting for us at the outset. The one is whether any crime has been committed at all; the second is, what is the crime and how was it committed? Of course, if Dr. Mortimer's surmise should be correct, and we are dealing with forces outside the ordinary laws of Nature, there is an end of our investigation. But we are bound to exhaust all other hypotheses before falling back upon this one. I think we'll shut that window again, if you don't mind. It is a singular thing, but I find that a concentrated atmosphere helps a concentration of thought. I have not pushed it to the length of getting into a box to think, but that is the logical outcome of my convictions. Have you turned the case over in your mind?" "Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the course of the day." "What do you make of it?" "It is very bewildering." "It has certainly a character of its own. There are points of distinction about it. That change in the footprints, for example. What do you make of that?" "Mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down that portion of the alley." "He only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest. Why should a man walk on tiptoe down the alley?" "What then?" "He was running, Watson--running desperately, running for his life, running until he burst his heart and fell dead upon his face." "Running from what?" "There lies our problem. There are indications that the man was crazed with fear before ever he began to run." "How can you say that?" "I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him across the moor. If that were so, and it seems most probable, only a man who had lost his wits would have run from the house instead of towards it. If the gipsy's evidence may be taken as true, he ran with cries for help in the direction where help was least likely to be. Then, again, whom was he waiting for that night, and why was he waiting for him in the Yew Alley rather than in his own house?" "You think that he was waiting for someone?" "The man was elderly and infirm. We can understand his taking an evening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement. Is it natural that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as Dr. Mortimer, with more practical sense than I should have given him credit for, deduced from the cigar ash?" "But he went out every evening." "I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every evening. On the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the moor. That night he waited there. It was the night before he made his departure for London. The thing takes shape, Watson. It becomes coherent. Might I ask you to hand me my violin, and we will postpone all further thought upon this business until we have had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville in the morning." CHAPTER IV Sir Henry Baskerville Our breakfast-table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his dressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were punctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet. The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his time in the open air, and yet there was something in his steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the gentleman. "This is Sir Henry Baskerville," said Dr. Mortimer. "Why, yes," said he, "and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to you this morning I should have come on my own account. I understand that you think out little puzzles, and I've had one this morning which wants more thinking out than I am able to give it." "Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say that you have yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in London?" "Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as like as not. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reached me this morning." He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. It was of common quality, grayish in colour. The address, "Sir Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel," was printed in rough characters; the postmark "Charing Cross," and the date of posting the preceding evening. "Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Hotel?" asked Holmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor. "No one could have known. We only decided after I met Dr. Mortimer." "But Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?" "No, I had been staying with a friend," said the doctor. "There was no possible indication that we intended to go to this hotel." "Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in your movements." Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscap paper folded into four. This he opened and spread flat upon the table. Across the middle of it a single sentence had been formed by the expedient of pasting printed words upon it. It ran: As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor. The word "moor" only was printed in ink. "Now," said Sir Henry Baskerville, "perhaps you will tell me, Mr. Holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is that takes so much interest in my affairs?" "What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow that there is nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?" "No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who was convinced that the business is supernatural." "What business?" asked Sir Henry sharply. "It seems to me that all you gentlemen know a great deal more than I do about my own affairs." "You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room, Sir Henry. I promise you that," said Sherlock Holmes. "We will confine ourselves for the present with your permission to this very interesting document, which must have been put together and posted yesterday evening. Have you yesterday's Times, Watson?" "It is here in the corner." "Might I trouble you for it--the inside page, please, with the leading articles?" He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes up and down the columns. "Capital article this on free trade. Permit me to give you an extract from it. "'You may be cajoled into imagining that your own special trade or your own industry will be encouraged by a protective tariff, but it stands to reason that such legislation must in the long run keep away wealth from the country, diminish the value of our imports, and lower the general conditions of life in this island.' "What do you think of that, Watson?" cried Holmes in high glee, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. "Don't you think that is an admirable sentiment?" Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professional interest, and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark eyes upon me. "I don't know much about the tariff and things of that kind," said he; "but it seems to me we've got a bit off the trail so far as that note is concerned." "On the contrary, I think we are particularly hot upon the trail, Sir Henry. Watson here knows more about my methods than you do, but I fear that even he has not quite grasped the significance of this sentence." "No, I confess that I see no connection." "And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connection that the one is extracted out of the other. 'You,' 'your,' 'your,' 'life,' 'reason,' 'value,' 'keep away,' 'from the.' Don't you see now whence these words have been taken?" "By thunder, you're right! Well, if that isn't smart!" cried Sir Henry. "If any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that 'keep away' and 'from the' are cut out in one piece." "Well, now--so it is!" "Really, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could have imagined," said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement. "I could understand anyone saying that the words were from a newspaper; but that you should name which, and add that it came from the leading article, is really one of the most remarkable things which I have ever known. How did you do it?" "I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from that of an Esquimau?" "Most certainly." "But how?" "Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious. The supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the--" "But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening half-penny paper as there could be between your negro and your Esquimau. The detection of types is one of the most elementary branches of knowledge to the special expert in crime, though I confess that once when I was very young I confused the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning News. But a Times leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could have been taken from nothing else. As it was done yesterday the strong probability was that we should find the words in yesterday's issue." "So far as I can follow you, then, Mr. Holmes," said Sir Henry Baskerville, "someone cut out this message with a scissors--" "Nail-scissors," said Holmes. "You can see that it was a very short-bladed scissors, since the cutter had to take two snips over 'keep away.'" "That is so. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair of short-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste--" "Gum," said Holmes. "With gum on to the paper. But I want to know why the word 'moor' should have been written?" "Because he could not find it in print. The other words were all simple and might be found in any issue, but 'moor' would be less common." "Why, of course, that would explain it. Have you read anything else in this message, Mr. Holmes?" "There are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains have been taken to remove all clues. The address, you observe is printed in rough characters. But the Times is a paper which is seldom found in any hands but those of the highly educated. We may take it, therefore, that the letter was composed by an educated man who wished to pose as an uneducated one, and his effort to conceal his own writing suggests that that writing might be known, or come to be known, by you. Again, you will observe that the words are not gummed on in an accurate line, but that some are much higher than others. 'Life,' for example is quite out of its proper place. That may point to carelessness or it may point to agitation and hurry upon the part of the cutter. On the whole I incline to the latter view, since the matter was evidently important, and it is unlikely that the composer of such a letter would be careless. If he were in a hurry it opens up the interesting question why he should be in a hurry, since any letter posted up to early morning would reach Sir Henry before he would leave his hotel. Did the composer fear an interruption--and from whom?" "We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork," said Dr. Mortimer. "Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination, but we have always some material basis on which to start our speculation. Now, you would call it a guess, no doubt, but I am almost certain that this address has been written in a hotel." "How in the world can you say that?" "If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and the ink have given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered twice in a single word, and has run dry three times in a short address, showing that there was very little ink in the bottle. Now, a private pen or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such a state, and the combination of the two must be quite rare. But you know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rare to get anything else. Yes, I have very little hesitation in saying that could we examine the waste-paper baskets of the hotels around Charing Cross until we found the remains of the mutilated Times leader we could lay our hands straight upon the person who sent this singular message. Halloa! Halloa! What's this?" He was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the words were pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes. "Well?" "Nothing," said he, throwing it down. "It is a blank half-sheet of paper, without even a water-mark upon it. I think we have drawn as much as we can from this curious letter; and now, Sir Henry, has anything else of interest happened to you since you have been in London?" "Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I think not." "You have not observed anyone follow or watch you?" "I seem to have walked right into the thick of a dime novel," said our visitor. "Why in thunder should anyone follow or watch me?" "We are coming to that. You have nothing else to report to us before we go into this matter?" "Well, it depends upon what you think worth reporting." "I think anything out of the ordinary routine of life well worth reporting." Sir Henry smiled. "I don't know much of British life yet, for I have spent nearly all my time in the States and in Canada. But I hope that to lose one of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life over here." "You have lost one of your boots?" "My dear sir," cried Dr. Mortimer, "it is only mislaid. You will find it when you return to the hotel. What is the use of troubling Mr. Holmes with trifles of this kind?" "Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine." "Exactly," said Holmes, "however foolish the incident may seem. You have lost one of your boots, you say?" "Well, mislaid it, anyhow. I put them both outside my door last night, and there was only one in the morning. I could get no sense out of the chap who cleans them. The worst of it is that I only bought the pair last night in the Strand, and I have never had them on." "If you have never worn them, why did you put them out to be cleaned?" "They were tan boots and had never been varnished. That was why I put them out." "Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday you went out at once and bought a pair of boots?" "I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went round with me. You see, if I am to be squire down there I must dress the part, and it may be that I have got a little careless in my ways out West. Among other things I bought these brown boots--gave six dollars for them--and had one stolen before ever I had them on my feet." "It seems a singularly useless thing to steal," said Sherlock Holmes. "I confess that I share Dr. Mortimer's belief that it will not be long before the missing boot is found." "And, now, gentlemen," said the baronet with decision, "it seems to me that I have spoken quite enough about the little that I know. It is time that you kept your promise and gave me a full account of what we are all driving at." "Your request is a very reasonable one," Holmes answered. "Dr. Mortimer, I think you could not do better than to tell your story as you told it to us." Thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from his pocket, and presented the whole case as he had done upon the morning before. Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepest attention, and with an occasional exclamation of surprise. "Well, I seem to have come into an inheritance with a vengeance," said he when the long narrative was finished. "Of course, I've heard of the hound ever since I was in the nursery. It's the pet story of the family, though I never thought of taking it seriously before. But as to my uncle's death--well, it all seems boiling up in my head, and I can't get it clear yet. You don't seem quite to have made up your mind whether it's a case for a policeman or a clergyman." "Precisely." "And now there's this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. I suppose that fits into its place." "It seems to show that someone knows more than we do about what goes on upon the moor," said Dr. Mortimer. "And also," said Holmes, "that someone is not ill-disposed towards you, since they warn you of danger." "Or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scare me away." "Well, of course, that is possible also. I am very much indebted to you, Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem which presents several interesting alternatives. But the practical point which we now have to decide, Sir Henry, is whether it is or is not advisable for you to go to Baskerville Hall." "Why should I not go?" "There seems to be danger." "Do you mean danger from this family fiend or do you mean danger from human beings?" "Well, that is what we have to find out." "Whichever it is, my answer is fixed. There is no devil in hell, Mr. Holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can prevent me from going to the home of my own people, and you may take that to be my final answer." His dark brows knitted and his face flushed to a dusky red as he spoke. It was evident that the fiery temper of the Baskervilles was not extinct in this their last representative. "Meanwhile," said he, "I have hardly had time to think over all that you have told me. It's a big thing for a man to have to understand and to decide at one sitting. I should like to have a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind. Now, look here, Mr. Holmes, it's half-past eleven now and I am going back right away to my hotel. Suppose you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come round and lunch with us at two. I'll be able to tell you more clearly then how this thing strikes me." "Is that convenient to you, Watson?" "Perfectly." "Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab called?" "I'd prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried me rather." "I'll join you in a walk, with pleasure," said his companion. "Then we meet again at two o'clock. Au revoir, and good-morning!" We heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and the bang of the front door. In an instant Holmes had changed from the languid dreamer to the man of action. "Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!" He rushed into his room in his dressing-gown and was back again in a few seconds in a frock-coat. We hurried together down the stairs and into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were still visible about two hundred yards ahead of us in the direction of Oxford Street. "Shall I run on and stop them?" "Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfied with your company if you will tolerate mine. Our friends are wise, for it is certainly a very fine morning for a walk." He quickened his pace until we had decreased the distance which divided us by about half. Then, still keeping a hundred yards behind, we followed into Oxford Street and so down Regent Street. Once our friends stopped and stared into a shop window, upon which Holmes did the same. An instant afterwards he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and, following the direction of his eager eyes, I saw that a hansom cab with a man inside which had halted on the other side of the street was now proceeding slowly onward again. "There's our man, Watson! Come along! We'll have a good look at him, if we can do no more." At that instant I was aware of a bushy black beard and a pair of piercing eyes turned upon us through the side window of the cab. Instantly the trapdoor at the top flew up, something was screamed to the driver, and the cab flew madly off down Regent Street. Holmes looked eagerly round for another, but no empty one was in sight. Then he dashed in wild pursuit amid the stream of the traffic, but the start was too great, and already the cab was out of sight. "There now!" said Holmes bitterly as he emerged panting and white with vexation from the tide of vehicles. "Was ever such bad luck and such bad management, too? Watson, Watson, if you are an honest man you will record this also and set it against my successes!" "Who was the man?" "I have not an idea." "A spy?" "Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Baskerville has been very closely shadowed by someone since he has been in town. How else could it be known so quickly that it was the Northumberland Hotel which he had chosen? If they had followed him the first day I argued that they would follow him also the second. You may have observed that I twice strolled over to the window while Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend." "Yes, I remember." "I was looking out for loiterers in the street, but I saw none. We are dealing with a clever man, Watson. This matter cuts very deep, and though I have not finally made up my mind whether it is a benevolent or a malevolent agency which is in touch with us, I am conscious always of power and design. When our friends left I at once followed them in the hopes of marking down their invisible attendant. So wily was he that he had not trusted himself upon foot, but he had availed himself of a cab so that he could loiter behind or dash past them and so escape their notice. His method had the additional advantage that if they were to take a cab he was all ready to follow them. It has, however, one obvious disadvantage." "It puts him in the power of the cabman." "Exactly." "What a pity we did not get the number!" "My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been, you surely do not seriously imagine that I neglected to get the number? No. 2704 is our man. But that is no use to us for the moment." "I fail to see how you could have done more." "On observing the cab I should have instantly turned and walked in the other direction. I should then at my leisure have hired a second cab and followed the first at a respectful distance, or, better still, have driven to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there. When our unknown had followed Baskerville home we should have had the opportunity of playing his own game upon himself and seeing where he made for. As it is, by an indiscreet eagerness, which was taken advantage of with extraordinary quickness and energy by our opponent, we have betrayed ourselves and lost our man." We had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during this conversation, and Dr. Mortimer, with his companion, had long vanished in front of us. "There is no object in our following them," said Holmes. "The shadow has departed and will not return. We must see what further cards we have in our hands and play them with decision. Could you swear to that man's face within the cab?" "I could swear only to the beard." "And so could I--from which I gather that in all probability it was a false one. A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use for a beard save to conceal his features. Come in here, Watson!" He turned into one of the district messenger offices, where he was warmly greeted by the manager. "Ah, Wilson, I see you have not forgotten the little case in which I had the good fortune to help you?" "No, sir, indeed I have not. You saved my good name, and perhaps my life." "My dear fellow, you exaggerate. I have some recollection, Wilson, that you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright, who showed some ability during the investigation." "Yes, sir, he is still with us." "Could you ring him up?--thank you! And I should be glad to have change of this five-pound note." A lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed the summons of the manager. He stood now gazing with great reverence at the famous detective. "Let me have the Hotel Directory," said Holmes. "Thank you! Now, Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all in the immediate neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Do you see?" "Yes, sir." "You will visit each of these in turn." "Yes, sir." "You will begin in each case by giving the outside porter one shilling. Here are twenty-three shillings." "Yes, sir." "You will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper of yesterday. You will say that an important telegram has miscarried and that you are looking for it. You understand?" "Yes, sir." "But what you are really looking for is the centre page of the Times with some holes cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy of the Times. It is this page. You could easily recognize it, could you not?" "Yes, sir." "In each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter, to whom also you will give a shilling. Here are twenty-three shillings. You will then learn in possibly twenty cases out of the twenty-three that the waste of the day before has been burned or removed. In the three other cases you will be shown a heap of paper and you will look for this page of the Times among it. The odds are enormously against your finding it. There are ten shillings over in case of emergencies. Let me have a report by wire at Baker Street before evening. And now, Watson, it only remains for us to find out by wire the identity of the cabman, No. 2704, and then we will drop into one of the Bond Street picture galleries and fill in the time until we are due at the hotel." CHAPTER V Three Broken Threads Sherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power of detaching his mind at will. For two hours the strange business in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest ideas, from our leaving the gallery until we found ourselves at the Northumberland Hotel. "Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you," said the clerk. "He asked me to show you up at once when you came." "Have you any objection to my looking at your register?" said Holmes. "Not in the least." The book showed that two names had been added after that of Baskerville. One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of Newcastle; the other Mrs. Oldmore and maid, of High Lodge, Alton. "Surely that must be the same Johnson whom I used to know," said Holmes to the porter. "A lawyer, is he not, gray-headed, and walks with a limp?" "No, sir; this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active gentleman, not older than yourself." "Surely you are mistaken about his trade?" "No, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is very well known to us." "Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember the name. Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend one finds another." "She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was once mayor of Gloucester. She always comes to us when she is in town." "Thank you; I am afraid I cannot claim her acquaintance. We have established a most important fact by these questions, Watson," he continued in a low voice as we went upstairs together. "We know now that the people who are so interested in our friend have not settled down in his own hotel. That means that while they are, as we have seen, very anxious to watch him, they are equally anxious that he should not see them. Now, this is a most suggestive fact." "What does it suggest?" "It suggests--halloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is the matter?" As we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against Sir Henry Baskerville himself. His face was flushed with anger, and he held an old and dusty boot in one of his hands. So furious was he that he was hardly articulate, and when he did speak it was in a much broader and more Western dialect than any which we had heard from him in the morning. "Seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel," he cried. "They'll find they've started in to monkey with the wrong man unless they are careful. By thunder, if that chap can't find my missing boot there will be trouble. I can take a joke with the best, Mr. Holmes, but they've got a bit over the mark this time." "Still looking for your boot?" "Yes, sir, and mean to find it." "But, surely, you said that it was a new brown boot?" "So it was, sir. And now it's an old black one." "What! you don't mean to say--?" "That's just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs in the world--the new brown, the old black, and the patent leathers, which I am wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, and to-day they have sneaked one of the black. Well, have you got it? Speak out, man, and don't stand staring!" An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene. "No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hear no word of it." "Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I'll see the manager and tell him that I go right straight out of this hotel." "It shall be found, sir--I promise you that if you will have a little patience it will be found." "Mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that I'll lose in this den of thieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you'll excuse my troubling you about such a trifle--" "I think it's well worth troubling about." "Why, you look very serious over it." "How do you explain it?" "I just don't attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest, queerest thing that ever happened to me." "The queerest perhaps--" said Holmes, thoughtfully. "What do you make of it yourself?" "Well, I don't profess to understand it yet. This case of yours is very complex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with your uncle's death I am not sure that of all the five hundred cases of capital importance which I have handled there is one which cuts so deep. But we hold several threads in our hands, and the odds are that one or other of them guides us to the truth. We may waste time in following the wrong one, but sooner or later we must come upon the right." We had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the business which had brought us together. It was in the private sitting-room to which we afterwards repaired that Holmes asked Baskerville what were his intentions. "To go to Baskerville Hall." "And when?" "At the end of the week." "On the whole," said Holmes, "I think that your decision is a wise one. I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in London, and amid the millions of this great city it is difficult to discover who these people are or what their object can be. If their intentions are evil they might do you a mischief, and we should be powerless to prevent it. You did not know, Dr. Mortimer, that you were followed this morning from my house?" Dr. Mortimer started violently. "Followed! By whom?" "That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you among your neighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a black, full beard?" "No--or, let me see--why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles's butler, is a man with a full, black beard." "Ha! Where is Barrymore?" "He is in charge of the Hall." "We had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any possibility he might be in London." "How can you do that?" "Give me a telegraph form. 'Is all ready for Sir Henry?' That will do. Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is the nearest telegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a second wire to the postmaster, Grimpen: 'Telegram to Mr. Barrymore to be delivered into his own hand. If absent, please return wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel.' That should let us know before evening whether Barrymore is at his post in Devonshire or not." "That's so," said Baskerville. "By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who is this Barrymore, anyhow?" "He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They have looked after the Hall for four generations now. So far as I know, he and his wife are as respectable a couple as any in the county." "At the same time," said Baskerville, "it's clear enough that so long as there are none of the family at the Hall these people have a mighty fine home and nothing to do." "That is true." "Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles's will?" asked Holmes. "He and his wife had five hundred pounds each." "Ha! Did they know that they would receive this?" "Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking about the provisions of his will." "That is very interesting." "I hope," said Dr. Mortimer, "that you do not look with suspicious eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for I also had a thousand pounds left to me." "Indeed! And anyone else?" "There were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a large number of public charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry." "And how much was the residue?" "Seven hundred and forty thousand pounds." Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I had no idea that so gigantic a sum was involved," said he. "Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not know how very rich he was until we came to examine his securities. The total value of the estate was close on to a million." "Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play a desperate game. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing that anything happened to our young friend here--you will forgive the unpleasant hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?" "Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charles's younger brother died unmarried, the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who are distant cousins. James Desmond is an elderly clergyman in Westmoreland." "Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met Mr. James Desmond?" "Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man of venerable appearance and of saintly life. I remember that he refused to accept any settlement from Sir Charles, though he pressed it upon him." "And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to Sir Charles's thousands." "He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He would also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise by the present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it." "And have you made your will, Sir Henry?" "No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I've had no time, for it was only yesterday that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feel that the money should go with the title and estate. That was my poor uncle's idea. How is the owner going to restore the glories of the Baskervilles if he has not money enough to keep up the property? House, land, and dollars must go together." "Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to the advisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. There is only one provision which I must make. You certainly must not go alone." "Dr. Mortimer returns with me." "But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is miles away from yours. With all the good will in the world he may be unable to help you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with you someone, a trusty man, who will be always by your side." "Is it possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?" "If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present in person; but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting practice and with the constant appeals which reach me from many quarters, it is impossible for me to be absent from London for an indefinite time. At the present instant one of the most revered names in England is being besmirched by a blackmailer, and only I can stop a disastrous scandal. You will see how impossible it is for me to go to Dartmoor." "Whom would you recommend, then?" Holmes laid his hand upon my arm. "If my friend would undertake it there is no man who is better worth having at your side when you are in a tight place. No one can say so more confidently than I." The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had time to answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it heartily. "Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson," said he. "You see how it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter as I do. If you will come down to Baskerville Hall and see me through I'll never forget it." The promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and I was complimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness with which the baronet hailed me as a companion. "I will come, with pleasure," said I. "I do not know how I could employ my time better." "And you will report very carefully to me," said Holmes. "When a crisis comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I suppose that by Saturday all might be ready?" "Would that suit Dr. Watson?" "Perfectly." "Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the 10.30 train from Paddington." We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumph, and diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from under a cabinet. "My missing boot!" he cried. "May all our difficulties vanish as easily!" said Sherlock Holmes. "But it is a very singular thing," Dr. Mortimer remarked. "I searched this room carefully before lunch." "And so did I," said Baskerville. "Every inch of it." "There was certainly no boot in it then." "In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were lunching." The German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter, nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been added to that constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting aside the whole grim story of Sir Charles's death, we had a line of inexplicable incidents all within the limits of two days, which included the receipt of the printed letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot, the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new brown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to Baker Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that his mind, like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted. All afternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco and thought. Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran: Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall. Baskerville. The second: Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry to report unable to trace cut sheet of Times. Cartwright. "There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We must cast round for another scent." "We have still the cabman who drove the spy." "Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the Official Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an answer to my question." The ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactory than an answer, however, for the door opened and a rough-looking fellow entered who was evidently the man himself. "I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address had been inquiring for 2704," said he. "I've driven my cab this seven years and never a word of complaint. I came here straight from the Yard to ask you to your face what you had against me." "I have nothing in the world against you, my good man," said Holmes. "On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will give me a clear answer to my questions." "Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman, with a grin. "What was it you wanted to ask, sir?" "First of all your name and address, in case I want you again." "John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of Shipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station." Sherlock Holmes made a note of it. "Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched this house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed the two gentlemen down Regent Street." The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "Why, there's no good my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as I do already," said he. "The truth is that the gentleman told me that he was a detective and that I was to say nothing about him to anyone." "My good fellow, this is a very serious business, and you may find yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from me. You say that your fare told you that he was a detective?" "Yes, he did." "When did he say this?" "When he left me." "Did he say anything more?" "He mentioned his name." Holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. "Oh, he mentioned his name, did he? That was imprudent. What was the name that he mentioned?" "His name," said the cabman, "was Mr. Sherlock Holmes." Never have I seen my friend more completely taken aback than by the cabman's reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement. Then he burst into a hearty laugh. "A touch, Watson--an undeniable touch!" said he. "I feel a foil as quick and supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettily that time. So his name was Sherlock Holmes, was it?" "Yes, sir, that was the gentleman's name." "Excellent! Tell me where you picked him up and all that occurred." "He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He said that he was a detective, and he offered me two guineas if I would do exactly what he wanted all day and ask no questions. I was glad enough to agree. First we drove down to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there until two gentlemen came out and took a cab from the rank. We followed their cab until it pulled up somewhere near here." "This very door," said Holmes. "Well, I couldn't be sure of that, but I dare say my fare knew all about it. We pulled up half-way down the street and waited an hour and a half. Then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and we followed down Baker Street and along--" "I know," said Holmes. "Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then my gentleman threw up the trap, and he cried that I should drive right away to Waterloo Station as hard as I could go. I whipped up the mare and we were there under the ten minutes. Then he paid up his two guineas, like a good one, and away he went into the station. Only just as he was leaving he turned round and he said: 'It might interest you to know that you have been driving Mr. Sherlock Holmes.' That's how I come to know the name." "I see. And you saw no more of him?" "Not after he went into the station." "And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" The cabman scratched his head. "Well, he wasn't altogether such an easy gentleman to describe. I'd put him at forty years of age, and he was of a middle height, two or three inches shorter than you, sir. He was dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cut square at the end, and a pale face. I don't know as I could say more than that." "Colour of his eyes?" "No, I can't say that." "Nothing more that you can remember?" "No, sir; nothing." "Well, then, here is your half-sovereign. There's another one waiting for you if you can bring any more information. Good night!" "Good night, sir, and thank you!" John Clayton departed chuckling, and Holmes turned to me with a shrug of his shoulders and a rueful smile. "Snap goes our third thread, and we end where we began," said he. "The cunning rascal! He knew our number, knew that Sir Henry Baskerville had consulted me, spotted who I was in Regent Street, conjectured that I had got the number of the cab and would lay my hands on the driver, and so sent back this audacious message. I tell you, Watson, this time we have got a foeman who is worthy of our steel. I've been checkmated in London. I can only wish you better luck in Devonshire. But I'm not easy in my mind about it." "About what?" "About sending you. It's an ugly business, Watson, an ugly dangerous business, and the more I see of it the less I like it. Yes, my dear fellow, you may laugh, but I give you my word that I shall be very glad to have you back safe and sound in Baker Street once more." CHAPTER VI Baskerville Hall Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon the appointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr. Sherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me his last parting injunctions and advice. "I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions, Watson," said he; "I wish you simply to report facts in the fullest possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing." "What sort of facts?" I asked. "Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon the case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville and his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles. I have made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the results have, I fear, been negative. One thing only appears to be certain, and that is that Mr. James Desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does not arise from him. I really think that we may eliminate him entirely from our calculations. There remain the people who will actually surround Sir Henry Baskerville upon the moor." "Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymore couple?" "By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they are innocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no, we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then there is a groom at the Hall, if I remember right. There are two moorland farmers. There is our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, of whom we know nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there is his sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. There is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor, and there are one or two other neighbours. These are the folk who must be your very special study." "I will do my best." "You have arms, I suppose?" "Yes, I thought it as well to take them." "Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, and never relax your precautions." Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waiting for us upon the platform. "No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr. Mortimer in answer to my friend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, and that is that we have not been shadowed during the last two days. We have never gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our notice." "You have always kept together, I presume?" "Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pure amusement when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of the College of Surgeons." "And I went to look at the folk in the park," said Baskerville. "But we had no trouble of any kind." "It was imprudent, all the same," said Holmes, shaking his head and looking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go about alone. Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did you get your other boot?" "No, sir, it is gone forever." "Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added as the train began to glide down the platform. "Bear in mind, Sir Henry, one of the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr. Mortimer has read to us, and avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil are exalted." I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind, and saw the tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and gazing after us. The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in making the more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing with Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours the brown earth had become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in well-hedged fields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if a damper, climate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out of the window, and cried aloud with delight as he recognized the familiar features of the Devon scenery. "I've been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr. Watson," said he; "but I have never seen a place to compare with it." "I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county," I remarked. "It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county," said Dr. Mortimer. "A glance at our friend here reveals the rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was of a very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young when you last saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?" "I was a boy in my 'teens at the time of my father's death, and had never seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'm as keen as possible to see the moor." "Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first sight of the moor," said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage window. Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time, his eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where the men of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark so deep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how true a descendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. If on that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should lie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one might venture to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravely share it. The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended. Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs was waiting. Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master and porters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. It was a sweet, simple country spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms, who leaned upon their short rifles and glanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hard-faced, gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit country-side there rose ever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills. The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge, and skirted a noisy stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the country-side, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles. "Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?" A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. He was watching the road along which we travelled. "What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer. Our driver half turned in his seat. "There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. He's been out three days now, and the warders watch every road and every station, but they've had no sight of him yet. The farmers about here don't like it, sir, and that's a fact." "Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can give information." "Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isn't like any ordinary convict. This is a man that would stick at nothing." "Who is he, then?" "It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer." I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had taken an interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the wanton brutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. The commutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to his complete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. Our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled and craggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and set us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out. It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him. We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into a cup-like depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip. "Baskerville Hall," said he. Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars' heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles's South African gold. Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a sombre tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end. "Was it here?" he asked in a low voice. "No, no, the Yew Alley is on the other side." The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face. "It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in such a place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare any man. I'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of six months, and you won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power Swan and Edison right here in front of the hall door." The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a heavy block of building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat-of-arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient, crenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single black column of smoke. "Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!" A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the door of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand down our bags. "You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" said Dr. Mortimer. "My wife is expecting me." "Surely you will stay and have some dinner?" "No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I would stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I can be of service." The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge balks of age-blackened oak. In the great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags' heads, the coats-of-arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp. "It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry. "Is it not the very picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it." I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed about him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows trailed down the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. Barrymore had returned from taking our luggage to our rooms. He stood in front of us now with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. He was a remarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard and pale, distinguished features. "Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?" "Is it ready?" "In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in your rooms. My wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you have made your fresh arrangements, but you will understand that under the new conditions this house will require a considerable staff." "What new conditions?" "I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and we were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have more company, and so you will need changes in your household." "Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?" "Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir." "But your family have been with us for several generations, have they not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old family connection." I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's white face. "I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth, sir, we were both very much attached to Sir Charles, and his death gave us a shock and made these surroundings very painful to us. I fear that we shall never again be easy in our minds at Baskerville Hall." "But what do you intend to do?" "I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves in some business. Sir Charles's generosity has given us the means to do so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to your rooms." A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall, approached by a double stair. From this central point two long corridors extended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedrooms opened. My own was in the same wing as Baskerville's and almost next door to it. These rooms appeared to be much more modern than the central part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles did something to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had left upon my mind. But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of shadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the dais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents. At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rows of flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of an old-time banquet, it might have softened; but now, when two black-clothed gentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one's voice became hushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the buck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their silent company. We talked little, and I for one was glad when the meal was over and we were able to retire into the modern billiard-room and smoke a cigarette. "My word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said Sir Henry. "I suppose one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present. I don't wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone in such a house as this. However, if it suits you, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning." I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from my window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the hall door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. A half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. I closed the curtain, feeling that my last impression was in keeping with the rest. And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yet wakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep which would not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. And then suddenly, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to my ears, clear, resonant, and unmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the muffled, strangling gasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up in bed and listened intently. The noise could not have been far away and was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the chiming clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall. CHAPTER VII The Stapletons of Merripit House The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both of us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered them. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before. "I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!" said the baronet. "We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more." "And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination," I answered. "Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think, sobbing in the night?" "That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream." "I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of a woman." "We must ask about this right away." He rang the bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to his master's question. "There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry," he answered. "One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The other is my wife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come from her." And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth. But her tell-tale eyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was he who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word for all the circumstances which led up to the old man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been the same. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such an impression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the Grimpen postmaster, and find whether the test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at least have something to report to Sherlock Holmes. Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram. "Certainly, sir," said he, "I had the telegram delivered to Mr. Barrymore exactly as directed." "Who delivered it?" "My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore at the Hall last week, did you not?" "Yes, father, I delivered it." "Into his own hands?" I asked. "Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore's hands, and she promised to deliver it at once." "Did you see Mr. Barrymore?" "No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft." "If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?" "Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is," said the postmaster testily. "Didn't he get the telegram? If there is any mistake it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain." It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it were so--suppose that the same man had been the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when he returned to England. What then? Was he the agent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interest could he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could be scared away a comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the Barrymores. But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that no more complex case had come to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders. Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned, expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net in one of his hands. "You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson," said he, as he came panting up to where I stood. "Here on the moor we are homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, of Merripit House." "Your net and box would have told me as much," said I, "for I knew that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?" "I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me from the window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey?" "He is very well, thank you." "We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the country-side. Sir Henry has, I suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?" "I do not think that it is likely." "Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts the family?" "I have heard it." "It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! Any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creature upon the moor." He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. "The story took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to his tragic end." "But how?" "His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he really did see something of the kind upon that last night in the Yew Alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for I was very fond of the old man, and I knew that his heart was weak." "How did you know that?" "My friend Mortimer told me." "You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he died of fright in consequence?" "Have you any better explanation?" "I have not come to any conclusion." "Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" The words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise was intended. "It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr. Watson," said he. "The records of your detective have reached us here, and you could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here, then it follows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what view he may take." "I am afraid that I cannot answer that question." "May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?" "He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage his attention." "What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I can be of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid or advice." "I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry, and that I need no help of any kind." "Excellent!" said Stapleton. "You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again." We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume of smoke. "A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House," said he. "Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister." My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. But then I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path. "It is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. "You never tire of the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious." "You know it well, then?" "I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and I should think that there are few men who know it better than I do." "Is it hard to know?" "Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable about that?" "It would be a rare place for a gallop." "You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly over it?" "Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest." Stapleton laughed. "That is the great Grimpen Mire," said he. "A false step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!" Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine. "It's gone!" said he. "The mire has him. Two in two days, and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather, and never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire." "And you say you can penetrate it?" "Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. I have found them out." "But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?" "Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them." "I shall try my luck some day." He looked at me with a surprised face. "For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he. "Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it." "Halloa!" I cried. "What is that?" A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face. "Queer place, the moor!" said he. "But what is it?" "The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud." I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor behind us. "You are an educated man. You don't believe such nonsense as that?" said I. "What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?" "Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, or the water rising, or something." "No, no, that was a living voice." "Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?" "No, I never did." "It's a very rare bird--practically extinct--in England now, but all things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns." "It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life." "Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hill-side yonder. What do you make of those?" The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a score of them at least. "What are they? Sheep-pens?" "No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to go inside." "But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?" "Neolithic man--no date." "What did he do?" "He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides." A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in the treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and turning round found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close. I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. The woman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen in England--slim, elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark, when her own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel. "Go back!" she said. "Go straight back to London, instantly." I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot. "Why should I go back?" I asked. "I cannot explain." She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lisp in her utterance. "But for God's sake do what I ask you. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again." "But I have only just come." "Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning is for your own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this place at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mares-tails yonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties of the place." Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and flushed with his exertions. "Halloa, Beryl!" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his greeting was not altogether a cordial one. "Well, Jack, you are very hot." "Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him!" He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me. "You have introduced yourselves, I can see." "Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to see the true beauties of the moor." "Why, who do you think this is?" "I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville." "No, no," said I. "Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My name is Dr. Watson." A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "We have been talking at cross purposes," said she. "Why, you had not very much time for talk," her brother remarked with the same questioning eyes. "I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely a visitor," said she. "It cannot much matter to him whether it is early or late for the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see Merripit House?" A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked from their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in such a place. "Queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer to my thought. "And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, Beryl?" "Quite happy," said she, but there was no ring of conviction in her words. "I had a school," said Stapleton. "It was in the north country. The work to a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals, was very dear to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and three of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sister is as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window." "It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull--less for you, perhaps, than for your sister." "No, no, I am never dull," said she, quickly. "We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew him well, and miss him more than I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry?" "I am sure that he would be delighted." "Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may in our humble way do something to make things more easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is the most complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that you have looked through them lunch will be almost ready." But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less vague impressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking the grass-grown path by which we had come. It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for those who knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she held her hand to her side. "I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson," said she. "I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said, which have no application whatever to you." "But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton," said I. "I am Sir Henry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why it was that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London." "A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you will understand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do." "No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look in your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton, for ever since I have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry." An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me. "You make too much of it, Dr. Watson," said she. "My brother and I were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him very intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family, and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when another member of the family came down to live here, and I felt that he should be warned of the danger which he will run. That was all which I intended to convey. "But what is the danger?" "You know the story of the hound?" "I do not believe in such nonsense." "But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away from a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?" "Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it would be impossible to get him to move." "I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite." "I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your brother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he, or anyone else, could object." "My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he thinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He would be very angry if he knew that I have said anything which might induce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I must get back, or he will miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!" She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall. CHAPTER VIII First Report of Dr. Watson From this point onward I will follow the course of events by transcribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie before me on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise they are exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of the moment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon these tragic events, can possibly do. Baskerville Hall, October 13th. My dear Holmes: My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to date as to all that has occurred in this most God-forsaken corner of the world. The longer one stays here the more does the spirit of the moor sink into one's soul, its vastness, and also its grim charm. When you are once out upon its bosom you have left all traces of modern England behind you, but on the other hand you are conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk are the houses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the huge monoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples. As you look at their gray stone huts against the scarred hill-sides you leave your own age behind you, and if you were to see a skin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you would feel that his presence there was more natural than your own. The strange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what must always have been most unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian, but I could imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried race who were forced to accept that which none other would occupy. All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me and will probably be very uninteresting to your severely practical mind. I can still remember your complete indifference as to whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth round the sun. Let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning Sir Henry Baskerville. If you have not had any report within the last few days it is because up to to-day there was nothing of importance to relate. Then a very surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tell you in due course. But, first of all, I must keep you in touch with some of the other factors in the situation. One of these, concerning which I have said little, is the escaped convict upon the moor. There is strong reason now to believe that he has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the lonely householders of this district. A fortnight has passed since his flight, during which he has not been seen and nothing has been heard of him. It is surely inconceivable that he could have held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course, so far as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Any one of these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there is nothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter one of the moor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and the outlying farmers sleep the better in consequence. We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could take good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasy moments when I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles from any help. There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, and the brother, the latter not a very strong man. They would be helpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting Hill criminal, if he could once effect an entrance. Both Sir Henry and I were concerned at their situation, and it was suggested that Perkins the groom should go over to sleep there, but Stapleton would not hear of it. The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a considerable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an active man like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful woman. There is something tropical and exotic about her which forms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother. Yet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a very marked influence over her, for I have seen her continually glance at him as she talked as if seeking approbation for what she said. I trust that he is kind to her. There is a dry glitter in his eyes, and a firm set of his thin lips, which goes with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find him an interesting study. He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the very next morning he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the wicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion of some miles across the moor to a place which is so dismal that it might have suggested the story. We found a short valley between rugged tors which led to an open, grassy space flecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end, until they looked like the huge corroding fangs of some monstrous beast. In every way it corresponded with the scene of the old tragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton more than once whether he did really believe in the possibility of the interference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spoke lightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest. Stapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that he said less than he might, and that he would not express his whole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of the baronet. He told us of similar cases, where families had suffered from some evil influence, and he left us with the impression that he shared the popular view upon the matter. On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it was there that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton. From the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly attracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual. He referred to her again and again on our walk home, and since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen something of the brother and sister. They dine here to-night, and there is some talk of our going to them next week. One would imagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton, and yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongest disapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some attention to his sister. He is much attached to her, no doubt, and would lead a lonely life without her, but it would seem the height of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not wish their intimacy to ripen into love, and I have several times observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from being tête-à-tête. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow Sir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous if a love affair were to be added to our other difficulties. My popularity would soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders to the letter. The other day--Thursday, to be more exact--Dr. Mortimer lunched with us. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down, and has got a prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. Never was there such a single-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came in afterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the Yew Alley, at Sir Henry's request, to show us exactly how everything occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long, dismal walk, the Yew Alley, between two high walls of clipped hedge, with a narrow band of grass upon either side. At the far end is an old tumble-down summer-house. Half-way down is the moor-gate, where the old gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with a latch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of the affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the old man stood there he saw something coming across the moor, something which terrified him so that he lost his wits, and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There was the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. And from what? A sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral hound, black, silent, and monstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale, watchful Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim and vague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind it. One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a large fortune in litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a question, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly amusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him open it. At others he will with his own hands tear down some other man's gate and declare that a path has existed there from time immemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass. He is learned in old manorial and communal rights, and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of Fernworthy and sometimes against them, so that he is periodically either carried in triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy, according to his latest exploit. He is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his hands at present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his fortune and so draw his sting and leave him harmless for the future. Apart from the law he seems a kindly, good-natured person, and I only mention him because you were particular that I should send some description of the people who surround us. He is curiously employed at present, for, being an amateur astronomer, he has an excellent telescope, with which he lies upon the roof of his own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If he would confine his energies to this all would be well, but there are rumours that he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening a grave without the consent of the next-of-kin, because he dug up the Neolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keep our lives from being monotonous and gives a little comic relief where it is badly needed. And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict, the Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let me end on that which is most important and tell you more about the Barrymores, and especially about the surprising development of last night. First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London in order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I have already explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows that the test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or the other. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, in his downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked him whether he had received the telegram himself. Barrymore said that he had. "Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?" asked Sir Henry. Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time. "No," said he, "I was in the box-room at the time, and my wife brought it up to me." "Did you answer it yourself?" "No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it." In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord. "I could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning, Sir Henry," said he. "I trust that they do not mean that I have done anything to forfeit your confidence?" Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by giving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London outfit having now all arrived. Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid person, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical. You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject. Yet I have told you how, on the first night here, I heard her sobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than once observed traces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at her heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts her, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic tyrant. I have always felt that there was something singular and questionable in this man's character, but the adventure of last night brings all my suspicions to a head. And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that I am not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard in this house my slumbers have been lighter than ever. Last night, about two in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step passing my room. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out. A long black shadow was trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a man who walked softly down the passage with a candle held in his hand. He was in shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet. I could merely see the outline, but his height told me that it was Barrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly, and there was something indescribably guilty and furtive in his whole appearance. I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which runs round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side. I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I followed him. When I came round the balcony he had reached the end of the farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmer of light through an open door that he had entered one of the rooms. Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied, so that his expedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shone steadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept down the passage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner of the door. Barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle held against the glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and his face seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out into the blackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood watching intently. Then he gave a deep groan and with an impatient gesture he put out the light. Instantly I made my way back to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing once more upon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had fallen into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but I could not tell whence the sound came. What it all means I cannot guess, but there is some secret business going on in this house of gloom which sooner or later we shall get to the bottom of. I do not trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to furnish you only with facts. I have had a long talk with Sir Henry this morning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded upon my observations of last night. I will not speak about it just now, but it should make my next report interesting reading. CHAPTER IX Second Report of Dr. Watson THE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR Baskerville Hall, Oct. 15th. My dear Holmes: If I was compelled to leave you without much news during the early days of my mission you must acknowledge that I am making up for lost time, and that events are now crowding thick and fast upon us. In my last report I ended upon my top note with Barrymore at the window, and now I have quite a budget already which will, unless I am much mistaken, considerably surprise you. Things have taken a turn which I could not have anticipated. In some ways they have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and in some ways they have become more complicated. But I will tell you all and you shall judge for yourself. Before breakfast on the morning following my adventure I went down the corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had been on the night before. The western window through which he had stared so intently has, I noticed, one peculiarity above all other windows in the house--it commands the nearest outlook on the moor. There is an opening between two trees which enables one from this point of view to look right down upon it, while from all the other windows it is only a distant glimpse which can be obtained. It follows, therefore, that Barrymore, since only this window would serve the purpose, must have been looking out for something or somebody upon the moor. The night was very dark, so that I can hardly imagine how he could have hoped to see anyone. It had struck me that it was possible that some love intrigue was on foot. That would have accounted for his stealthy movements and also for the uneasiness of his wife. The man is a striking-looking fellow, very well equipped to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theory seemed to have something to support it. That opening of the door which I had heard after I had returned to my room might mean that he had gone out to keep some clandestine appointment. So I reasoned with myself in the morning, and I tell you the direction of my suspicions, however much the result may have shown that they were unfounded. But whatever the true explanation of Barrymore's movements might be, I felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself until I could explain them was more than I could bear. I had an interview with the baronet in his study after breakfast, and I told him all that I had seen. He was less surprised than I had expected. "I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind to speak to him about it," said he. "Two or three times I have heard his steps in the passage, coming and going, just about the hour you name." "Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular window," I suggested. "Perhaps he does. If so, we should be able to shadow him, and see what it is that he is after. I wonder what your friend Holmes would do, if he were here." "I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest," said I. "He would follow Barrymore and see what he did." "Then we shall do it together." "But surely he would hear us." "The man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance of that. We'll sit up in my room to-night and wait until he passes." Sir Henry rubbed his hands with pleasure, and it was evident that he hailed the adventure as a relief to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor. The baronet has been in communication with the architect who prepared the plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from London, so that we may expect great changes to begin here soon. There have been decorators and furnishers up from Plymouth, and it is evident that our friend has large ideas, and means to spare no pains or expense to restore the grandeur of his family. When the house is renovated and refurnished, all that he will need will be a wife to make it complete. Between ourselves there are pretty clear signs that this will not be wanting if the lady is willing, for I have seldom seen a man more infatuated with a woman than he is with our beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton. And yet the course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as one would under the circumstances expect. To-day, for example, its surface was broken by a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friend considerable perplexity and annoyance. After the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, Sir Henry put on his hat and prepared to go out. As a matter of course I did the same. "What, are you coming, Watson?" he asked, looking at me in a curious way. "That depends on whether you are going on the moor," said I. "Yes, I am." "Well, you know what my instructions are. I am sorry to intrude, but you heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not leave you, and especially that you should not go alone upon the moor." Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile. "My dear fellow," said he, "Holmes, with all his wisdom, did not foresee some things which have happened since I have been on the moor. You understand me? I am sure that you are the last man in the world who would wish to be a spoil-sport. I must go out alone." It put me in a most awkward position. I was at a loss what to say or what to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked up his cane and was gone. But when I came to think the matter over my conscience reproached me bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my sight. I imagined what my feelings would be if I had to return to you and to confess that some misfortune had occurred through my disregard for your instructions. I assure you my cheeks flushed at the very thought. It might not even now be too late to overtake him, so I set off at once in the direction of Merripit House. I hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing anything of Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moor path branches off. There, fearing that perhaps I had come in the wrong direction after all, I mounted a hill from which I could command a view--the same hill which is cut into the dark quarry. Thence I saw him at once. He was on the moor path, about a quarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only be Miss Stapleton. It was clear that there was already an understanding between them and that they had met by appointment. They were walking slowly along in deep conversation, and I saw her making quick little movements of her hands as if she were very earnest in what she was saying, while he listened intently, and once or twice shook his head in strong dissent. I stood among the rocks watching them, very much puzzled as to what I should do next. To follow them and break into their intimate conversation seemed to be an outrage, and yet my clear duty was never for an instant to let him out of my sight. To act the spy upon a friend was a hateful task. Still, I could see no better course than to observe him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by confessing to him afterwards what I had done. It is true that if any sudden danger had threatened him I was too far away to be of use, and yet I am sure that you will agree with me that the position was very difficult, and that there was nothing more which I could do. Our friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and were standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was suddenly aware that I was not the only witness of their interview. A wisp of green floating in the air caught my eye, and another glance showed me that it was carried on a stick by a man who was moving among the broken ground. It was Stapleton with his butterfly-net. He was very much closer to the pair than I was, and he appeared to be moving in their direction. At this instant Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton to his side. His arm was round her, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from him with her face averted. He stooped his head to hers, and she raised one hand as if in protest. Next moment I saw them spring apart and turn hurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause of the interruption. He was running wildly towards them, his absurd net dangling behind him. He gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front of the lovers. What the scene meant I could not imagine, but it seemed to me that Stapleton was abusing Sir Henry, who offered explanations, which became more angry as the other refused to accept them. The lady stood by in haughty silence. Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in a peremptory way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at Sir Henry, walked off by the side of her brother. The naturalist's angry gestures showed that the lady was included in his displeasure. The baronet stood for a minute looking after them, and then he walked slowly back the way that he had come, his head hanging, the very picture of dejection. What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend's knowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom. His face was flushed with anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to do. "Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?" said he. "You don't mean to say that you came after me in spite of all?" I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to remain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a rather rueful laugh. "You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe place for a man to be private," said he, "but, by thunder, the whole country-side seems to have been out to see me do my wooing--and a mighty poor wooing at that! Where had you engaged a seat?" "I was on that hill." "Quite in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to the front. Did you see him come out on us?" "Yes, I did." "Did he ever strike you as being crazy--this brother of hers?" "I can't say that he ever did." "I dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until to-day, but you can take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a strait-jacket. What's the matter with me, anyhow? You've lived near me for some weeks, Watson. Tell me straight, now! Is there anything that would prevent me from making a good husband to a woman that I loved?" "I should say not." "He can't object to my worldly position, so it must be myself that he has this down on. What has he against me? I never hurt man or woman in my life that I know of. And yet he would not so much as let me touch the tips of her fingers." "Did he say so?" "That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson, I've only known her these few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made for me, and she, too--she was happy when she was with me, and that I'll swear. There's a light in a woman's eyes that speaks louder than words. But he has never let us get together, and it was only to-day for the first time that I saw a chance of having a few words with her alone. She was glad to meet me, but when she did it was not love that she would talk about, and she wouldn't have let me talk about it either if she could have stopped it. She kept coming back to it that this was a place of danger, and that she would never be happy until I had left it. I told her that since I had seen her I was in no hurry to leave it, and that if she really wanted me to go, the only way to work it was for her to arrange to go with me. With that I offered in as many words to marry her, but before she could answer, down came this brother of hers, running at us with a face on him like a madman. He was just white with rage, and those light eyes of his were blazing with fury. What was I doing with the lady? How dared I offer her attentions which were distasteful to her? Did I think that because I was a baronet I could do what I liked? If he had not been her brother I should have known better how to answer him. As it was I told him that my feelings towards his sister were such as I was not ashamed of, and that I hoped that she might honour me by becoming my wife. That seemed to make the matter no better, so then I lost my temper too, and I answered him rather more hotly than I should perhaps, considering that she was standing by. So it ended by his going off with her, as you saw, and here am I as badly puzzled a man as any in this county. Just tell me what it all means, Watson, and I'll owe you more than ever I can hope to pay." I tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely puzzled myself. Our friend's title, his fortune, his age, his character, and his appearance are all in his favour, and I know nothing against him unless it be this dark fate which runs in his family. That his advances should be rejected so brusquely without any reference to the lady's own wishes, and that the lady should accept the situation without protest, is very amazing. However, our conjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapleton himself that very afternoon. He had come to offer apologies for his rudeness of the morning, and after a long private interview with Sir Henry in his study, the upshot of their conversation was that the breach is quite healed, and that we are to dine at Merripit House next Friday as a sign of it. "I don't say now that he isn't a crazy man," said Sir Henry; "I can't forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning, but I must allow that no man could make a more handsome apology than he has done." "Did he give any explanation of his conduct?" "His sister is everything in his life, he says. That is natural enough, and I am glad that he should understand her value. They have always been together, and according to his account he has been a very lonely man with only her as a companion, so that the thought of losing her was really terrible to him. He had not understood, he said, that I was becoming attached to her, but when he saw with his own eyes that it was really so, and that she might be taken away from him, it gave him such a shock that for a time he was not responsible for what he said or did. He was very sorry for all that had passed, and he recognized how foolish and how selfish it was that he should imagine that he could hold a beautiful woman like his sister to himself for her whole life. If she had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour like myself than to anyone else. But in any case it was a blow to him, and it would take him some time before he could prepare himself to meet it. He would withdraw all opposition upon his part if I would promise for three months to let the matter rest and to be content with cultivating the lady's friendship during that time without claiming her love. This I promised, and so the matter rests." So there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. It is something to have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we are floundering. We know now why Stapleton looked with disfavour upon his sister's suitor--even when that suitor was so eligible a one as Sir Henry. And now I pass on to another thread which I have extricated out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the sobs in the night, of the tear-stained face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the secret journey of the butler to the western lattice window. Congratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell me that I have not disappointed you as an agent--that you do not regret the confidence which you showed in me when you sent me down. All these things have by one night's work been thoroughly cleared. I have said "by one night's work," but, in truth, it was by two nights' work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I sat up with Sir Henry in his rooms until nearly three o'clock in the morning, but no sound of any sort did we hear except the chiming clock upon the stairs. It was a most melancholy vigil, and ended by each of us falling asleep in our chairs. Fortunately we were not discouraged, and we determined to try again. The next night we lowered the lamp, and sat smoking cigarettes without making the least sound. It was incredible how slowly the hours crawled by, and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient interest which the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into which he hopes the game may wander. One struck, and two, and we had almost for the second time given it up in despair, when in an instant we both sat bolt upright in our chairs, with all our weary senses keenly on the alert once more. We had heard the creak of a step in the passage. Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the distance. Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in pursuit. Already our man had gone round the gallery, and the corridor was all in darkness. Softly we stole along until we had come into the other wing. We were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure, his shoulders rounded, as he tip-toed down the passage. Then he passed through the same door as before, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness and shot one single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor. We shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every plank before we dared to put our whole weight upon it. We had taken the precaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards snapped and creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it seemed impossible that he should fail to hear our approach. However, the man is fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which he was doing. When at last we reached the door and peeped through we found him crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent face pressed against the pane, exactly as I had seen him two nights before. We had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom the most direct way is always the most natural. He walked into the room, and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp hiss of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, before us. His dark eyes, glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of horror and astonishment as he gazed from Sir Henry to me. "What are you doing here, Barrymore?" "Nothing, sir." His agitation was so great that he could hardly speak, and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle. "It was the window, sir. I go round at night to see that they are fastened." "On the second floor?" "Yes, sir, all the windows." "Look here, Barrymore," said Sir Henry, sternly; "we have made up our minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell it sooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies! What were you doing at that window?" The fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his hands together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery. "I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a candle to the window." "And why were you holding a candle to the window?" "Don't ask me, Sir Henry--don't ask me! I give you my word, sir, that it is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it. If it concerned no one but myself I would not try to keep it from you." A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the trembling hand of the butler. "He must have been holding it as a signal," said I. "Let us see if there is any answer." I held it as he had done, and stared out into the darkness of the night. Vaguely I could discern the black bank of the trees and the lighter expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the clouds. And then I gave a cry of exultation, for a tiny pin-point of yellow light had suddenly transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily in the centre of the black square framed by the window. "There it is!" I cried. "No, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!" the butler broke in; "I assure you, sir--" "Move your light across the window, Watson!" cried the baronet. "See, the other moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal? Come, speak up! Who is your confederate out yonder, and what is this conspiracy that is going on?" The man's face became openly defiant. "It is my business, and not yours. I will not tell." "Then you leave my employment right away." "Very good, sir. If I must I must." "And you go in disgrace. By thunder, you may well be ashamed of yourself. Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years under this roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot against me." "No, no, sir; no, not against you!" It was a woman's voice, and Mrs. Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standing at the door. Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comic were it not for the intensity of feeling upon her face. "We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack our things," said the butler. "Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, Sir Henry--all mine. He has done nothing except for my sake and because I asked him." "Speak out, then! What does it mean?" "My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let him perish at our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food is ready for him, and his light out yonder is to show the spot to which to bring it." "Then your brother is--" "The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal." "That's the truth, sir," said Barrymore. "I said that it was not my secret and that I could not tell it to you. But now you have heard it, and you will see that if there was a plot it was not against you." This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at night and the light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared at the woman in amazement. Was it possible that this stolidly respectable person was of the same blood as one of the most notorious criminals in the country? "Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. We humoured him too much when he was a lad, and gave him his own way in everything until he came to think that the world was made for his pleasure, and that he could do what he liked in it. Then as he grew older he met wicked companions, and the devil entered into him until he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name in the dirt. From crime to crime he sank lower and lower, until it is only the mercy of God which has snatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the little curly-headed boy that I had nursed and played with, as an elder sister would. That was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I was here and that we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself here one night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what could we do? We took him in and fed him and cared for him. Then you returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than anywhere else until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there. But every second night we made sure if he was still there by putting a light in the window, and if there was an answer my husband took out some bread and meat to him. Every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long as he was there we could not desert him. That is the whole truth, as I am an honest Christian woman, and you will see that if there is blame in the matter it does not lie with my husband, but with me, for whose sake he has done all that he has." The woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried conviction with them. "Is this true, Barrymore?" "Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it." "Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget what I have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about this matter in the morning." When they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henry had flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces. Far away in the black distance there still glowed that one tiny point of yellow light. "I wonder he dares," said Sir Henry. "It may be so placed as to be only visible from here." "Very likely. How far do you think it is?" "Out by the Cleft Tor, I think." "Not more than a mile or two off." "Hardly that." "Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to it. And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By thunder, Watson, I am going out to take that man!" The same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if the Barrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had been forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, an unmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. We were only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting him back where he could do no harm. With his brutal and violent nature, others would have to pay the price if we held our hands. Any night, for example, our neighbours the Stapletons might be attacked by him, and it may have been the thought of this which made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure. "I will come," said I. "Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner we start the better, as the fellow may put out his light and be off." In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our expedition. We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull moaning of the autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves. The night air was heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now and again the moon peeped out for an instant, but clouds were driving over the face of the sky, and just as we came out on the moor a thin rain began to fall. The light still burned steadily in front. "Are you armed?" I asked. "I have a hunting-crop." "We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperate fellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy before he can resist." "I say, Watson," said the baronet, "what would Holmes say to this? How about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?" As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloom of the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon the borders of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind through the silence of the night, a long, deep mutter, then a rising howl, and then the sad moan in which it died away. Again and again it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it, strident, wild, and menacing. The baronet caught my sleeve and his face glimmered white through the darkness. "My God, what's that, Watson?" "I don't know. It's a sound they have on the moor. I heard it once before." It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stood straining our ears, but nothing came. "Watson," said the baronet, "it was the cry of a hound." My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice which told of the sudden horror which had seized him. "What do they call this sound?" he asked. "Who?" "The folk on the country-side." "Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what they call it?" "Tell me, Watson. What do they say of it?" I hesitated but could not escape the question. "They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles." He groaned and was silent for a few moments. "A hound it was," he said, at last, "but it seemed to come from miles away, over yonder, I think." "It was hard to say whence it came." "It rose and fell with the wind. Isn't that the direction of the great Grimpen Mire?" "Yes, it is." "Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didn't you think yourself that it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You need not fear to speak the truth." "Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that it might be the calling of a strange bird." "No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in all these stories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from so dark a cause? You don't believe it, do you, Watson?" "No, no." "And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is another to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry as that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of the hound beside him as he lay. It all fits together. I don't think that I am a coward, Watson, but that sound seemed to freeze my very blood. Feel my hand!" It was as cold as a block of marble. "You'll be all right to-morrow." "I don't think I'll get that cry out of my head. What do you advise that we do now?" "Shall we turn back?" "No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it. We after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us. Come on! We'll see it through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon the moor." We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of the craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon the horizon and sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us. But at last we could see whence it came, and then we knew that we were indeed very close. A guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which flanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent it from being visible, save in the direction of Baskerville Hall. A boulder of granite concealed our approach, and crouching behind it we gazed over it at the signal light. It was strange to see this single candle burning there in the middle of the moor, with no sign of life near it--just the one straight yellow flame and the gleam of the rock on each side of it. "What shall we do now?" whispered Sir Henry. "Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get a glimpse of him." The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. Over the rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with vile passions. Foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have belonged to one of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides. The light beneath him was reflected in his small, cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and left through the darkness, like a crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps of the hunters. Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have been that Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to give, or the fellow may have had some other reason for thinking that all was not well, but I could read his fears upon his wicked face. Any instant he might dash out the light and vanish in the darkness. I sprang forward therefore, and Sir Henry did the same. At the same moment the convict screamed out a curse at us and hurled a rock which splintered up against the boulder which had sheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short, squat, strongly-built figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run. At the same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds. We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our man running with great speed down the other side, springing over the stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky long shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but I had brought it only to defend myself if attacked, and not to shoot an unarmed man who was running away. We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soon found that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him for a long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck moving swiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill. We ran and ran until we were completely blown, but the space between us grew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat panting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the distance. And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and unexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to go home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low upon the right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined as black as an ebony statue on that shining back-ground, I saw the figure of a man upon the tor. Do not think that it was a delusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my life seen anything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little separated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which lay before him. He might have been the very spirit of that terrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far from the place where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much taller man. With a cry of surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instant during which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone. There was the sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but its peak bore no trace of that silent and motionless figure. I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it was some distance away. The baronet's nerves were still quivering from that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and he was not in the mood for fresh adventures. He had not seen this lonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which his strange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. "A warder, no doubt," said he. "The moor has been thick with them since this fellow escaped." Well, perhaps his explanation may be the right one, but I should like to have some further proof of it. To-day we mean to communicate to the Princetown people where they should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that we have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our own prisoner. Such are the adventures of last night, and you must acknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in the matter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite irrelevant, but still I feel that it is best that I should let you have all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those which will be of most service to you in helping you to your conclusions. We are certainly making some progress. So far as the Barrymores go we have found the motive of their actions, and that has cleared up the situation very much. But the moor with its mysteries and its strange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as ever. Perhaps in my next I may be able to throw some light upon this also. Best of all would it be if you could come down to us. In any case you will hear from me again in the course of the next few days. CHAPTER X Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson So far I have been able to quote from the reports which I have forwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now, however, I have arrived at a point in my narrative where I am compelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to my recollections, aided by the diary which I kept at the time. A few extracts from the latter will carry me on to those scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the convict and our other strange experiences upon the moor. October 16th.--A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. The house is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins upon the sides of the hills, and the distant boulders gleaming where the light strikes upon their wet faces. It is melancholy outside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after the excitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at my heart and a feeling of impending danger--ever present danger, which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it. And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long sequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is at work around us. There is the death of the last occupant of the Hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions of the family legend, and there are the repeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor. Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound which resembled the distant baying of a hound. It is incredible, impossible, that it should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howling is surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in with such a superstition, and Mortimer also; but if I have one quality upon earth it is common-sense, and nothing will persuade me to believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend to the level of these poor peasants, who are not content with a mere fiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shooting from his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies, and I am his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twice heard this crying upon the moor. Suppose that there were really some huge hound loose upon it; that would go far to explain everything. But where could such a hound lie concealed, where did it get its food, where did it come from, how was it that no one saw it by day? It must be confessed that the natural explanation offers almost as many difficulties as the other. And always, apart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency in London, the man in the cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry against the moor. This at least was real, but it might have been the work of a protecting friend as easily as of an enemy. Where is that friend or enemy now? Has he remained in London, or has he followed us down here? Could he--could he be the stranger whom I saw upon the tor? It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet there are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one whom I have seen down here, and I have now met all the neighbours. The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of Frankland. Barrymore it might possibly have been, but we had left him behind us, and I am certain that he could not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us, just as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken him off. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might find ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one purpose I must now devote all my energies. My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second and wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible to anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have been strangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will say nothing to add to his anxieties, but I will take my own steps to attain my own end. We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore asked leave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in his study some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more than once heard the sound of voices raised, and I had a pretty good idea what the point was which was under discussion. After a time the baronet opened his door and called for me. "Barrymore considers that he has a grievance," he said. "He thinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law down when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret." The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us. "I may have spoken too warmly, sir," said he, "and if I have, I am sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much surprised when I heard you two gentlemen come back this morning and learned that you had been chasing Selden. The poor fellow has enough to fight against without my putting more upon his track." "If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a different thing," said the baronet, "you only told us, or rather your wife only told us, when it was forced from you and you could not help yourself." "I didn't think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir Henry--indeed I didn't." "The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered over the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You only want to get a glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr. Stapleton's house, for example, with no one but himself to defend it. There's no safety for anyone until he is under lock and key." "He'll break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn word upon that. But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I assure you, Sir Henry, that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to South America. For God's sake, sir, I beg of you not to let the police know that he is still on the moor. They have given up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for him. You can't tell on him without getting my wife and me into trouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing to the police." "What do you say, Watson?" I shrugged my shoulders. "If he were safely out of the country it would relieve the tax-payer of a burden." "But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he goes?" "He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with all that he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where he was hiding." "That is true," said Sir Henry. "Well, Barrymore--" "God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would have killed my poor wife had he been taken again." "I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after what we have heard I don't feel as if I could give the man up, so there is an end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go." With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he hesitated and then came back. "You've been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the best I can for you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, and perhaps I should have said it before, but it was long after the inquest that I found it out. I've never breathed a word about it yet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's death." The baronet and I were both upon our feet. "Do you know how he died?" "No, sir, I don't know that." "What then?" "I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman." "To meet a woman! He?" "Yes, sir." "And the woman's name?" "I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Her initials were L. L." "How do you know this, Barrymore?" "Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usually a great many letters, for he was a public man and well known for his kind heart, so that everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. But that morning, as it chanced, there was only this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. It was from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand." "Well?" "Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never would have done had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning out Sir Charles's study--it had never been touched since his death--and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grate. The greater part of it was charred to pieces, but one little slip, the end of a page, hung together, and the writing could still be read, though it was gray on a black ground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the letter, and it said: 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock'. Beneath it were signed the initials L. L." "Have you got that slip?" "No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it." "Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing?" "Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I should not have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone." "And you have no idea who L. L. is?" "No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could lay our hands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles's death." "I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal this important information." "Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble came to us. And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of Sir Charles, as we well might be considering all that he has done for us. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's well to go carefully when there's a lady in the case. Even the best of us--" "You thought it might injure his reputation?" "Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have been kind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to tell you all that I know about the matter." "Very good, Barrymore; you can go." When the butler had left us Sir Henry turned to me. "Well, Watson, what do you think of this new light?" "It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before." "So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up the whole business. We have gained that much. We know that there is someone who has the facts if we can only find her. What do you think we should do?" "Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue for which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not bring him down." I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning's conversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busy of late, for the notes which I had from Baker Street were few and short, with no comments upon the information which I had supplied and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his interest. I wish that he were here. October 17th.--All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on the ivy and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. And then I thought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure against the moon. Was he also out in that deluged--the unseen watcher, the man of darkness? In the evening I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling about my ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now, for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black tor upon which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked out myself across the melancholy downs. Rain squalls drifted across their russet face, and the heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over the landscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastic hills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They were the only signs of human life which I could see, save only those prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the hills. Nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whom I had seen on the same spot two nights before. As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his dog-cart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouse of Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passed that he has not called at the Hall to see how we were getting on. He insisted upon my climbing into his dog-cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. I found him much troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It had wandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gave him such consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the Grimpen Mire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again. "By the way, Mortimer," said I as we jolted along the rough road, "I suppose there are few people living within driving distance of this whom you do not know?" "Hardly any, I think." "Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are L. L.?" He thought for a few minutes. "No," said he. "There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for whom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whose initials are those. Wait a bit though," he added after a pause. "There is Laura Lyons--her initials are L. L.--but she lives in Coombe Tracey." "Who is she?" I asked. "She is Frankland's daughter." "What! Old Frankland the crank?" "Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching on the moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. The fault from what I hear may not have been entirely on one side. Her father refused to have anything to do with her because she had married without his consent, and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So, between the old sinner and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time." "How does she live?" "I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more, for his own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she may have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her story got about, and several of the people here did something to enable her to earn an honest living. Stapleton did for one, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It was to set her up in a typewriting business." He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why we should take anyone into our confidence. To-morrow morning I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, and if I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearing one incident in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom of the serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to an inconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Frankland's skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. I have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing. I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous and melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now, which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time. Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played écarté afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I took the chance to ask him a few questions. "Well," said I, "has this precious relation of yours departed, or is he still lurking out yonder?" "I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has brought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him since I left out food for him last, and that was three days ago." "Did you see him then?" "No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way." "Then he was certainly there?" "So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it." I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore. "You know that there is another man then?" "Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor." "Have you seen him?" "No, sir." "How do you know of him then?" "Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's in hiding, too, but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. I don't like it, Dr. Watson--I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like it." He spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness. "Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but that of your master. I have come here with no object except to help him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like." Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst, or found it difficult to express his own feelings in words. "It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving his hand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. "There's foul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear! Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London again!" "But what is it that alarms you?" "Look at Sir Charles's death! That was bad enough, for all that the coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. There's not a man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! What's he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it all on the day that Sir Henry's new servants are ready to take over the Hall." "But about this stranger," said I. "Can you tell me anything about him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, or what he was doing?" "He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one, and gives nothing away. At first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that he had some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doing he could not make out." "And where did he say that he lived?" "Among the old houses on the hillside--the stone huts where the old folk used to live." "But how about his food?" "Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and brings him all he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wants." "Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other time." When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and I looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild night indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor. What passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time! And what deep and earnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that hut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery. CHAPTER XI The Man on the Tor The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter has brought my narrative up to the 18th of October, a time when these strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion. The incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon my recollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made at the time. I start then from the day which succeeded that upon which I had established two facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyons of Coombe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made an appointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among the stone huts upon the hill-side. With these two facts in my possession I felt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light upon these dark places. I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained with him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him about my discovery, and asked him whether he would care to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might be better. The more formal we made the visit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest. When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses, and I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate. I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well appointed. A maid showed me in without ceremony, and as I entered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting before a Remington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome. Her face fell, however, when she saw that I was a stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of my visit. The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme beauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and her cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with the exquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at the heart of the sulphur rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the first impression. But the second was criticism. There was something subtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are after-thoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking me the reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until that instant how delicate my mission was. "I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing your father." It was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it. "There is nothing in common between my father and me," she said. "I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not for the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I might have starved for all that my father cared." "It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come here to see you." The freckles started out on the lady's face. "What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers played nervously over the stops of her typewriter. "You knew him, did you not?" "I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If I am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest which he took in my unhappy situation." "Did you correspond with him?" The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes. "What is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply. "The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I should ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our control." She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner. "Well, I'll answer," she said. "What are your questions?" "Did you correspond with Sir Charles?" "I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy and his generosity." "Have you the dates of those letters?" "No." "Have you ever met him?" "Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a very retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth." "But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he know enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say that he has done?" She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness. "There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of Sir Charles's. He was exceedingly kind, and it was through him that Sir Charles learned about my affairs." I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton his almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore the impress of truth upon it. "Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?" I continued. Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again. "Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question." "I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it." "Then I answer, certainly not." "Not on the very day of Sir Charles's death?" The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before me. Her dry lips could not speak the "No" which I saw rather than heard. "Surely your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even quote a passage of your letter. It ran 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.'" I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme effort. "Is there no such thing as a gentleman?" she gasped. "You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But sometimes a letter may be legible even when burned. You acknowledge now that you wrote it?" "Yes, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent of words. "I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have no reason to be ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believed that if I had an interview I could gain his help, so I asked him to meet me." "But why at such an hour?" "Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next day and might be away for months. There were reasons why I could not get there earlier." "But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the house?" "Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor's house?" "Well, what happened when you did get there?" "I never went." "Mrs. Lyons!" "No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went. Something intervened to prevent my going." "What was that?" "That is a private matter. I cannot tell it." "You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with Sir Charles at the very hour and place at which he met his death, but you deny that you kept the appointment." "That is the truth." Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past that point. "Mrs. Lyons," said I, as I rose from this long and inconclusive interview, "you are taking a very great responsibility and putting yourself in a very false position by not making an absolutely clean breast of all that you know. If I have to call in the aid of the police you will find how seriously you are compromised. If your position is innocent, why did you in the first instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that date?" "Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from it and that I might find myself involved in a scandal." "And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy your letter?" "If you have read the letter you will know." "I did not say that I had read all the letter." "You quoted some of it." "I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned and it was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that you were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter which he received on the day of his death." "The matter is a very private one." "The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation." "I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappy history you will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason to regret it." "I have heard so much." "My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom I abhor. The law is upon his side, and every day I am faced by the possibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time that I wrote this letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there was a prospect of my regaining my freedom if certain expenses could be met. It meant everything to me--peace of mind, happiness, self-respect--everything. I knew Sir Charles's generosity, and I thought that if he heard the story from my own lips he would help me." "Then how is it that you did not go?" "Because I received help in the interval from another source." "Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?" "So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper next morning." The woman's story hung coherently together, and all my questions were unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she had, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband at or about the time of the tragedy. It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been to Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be necessary to take her there, and could not have returned to Coombe Tracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an excursion could not be kept secret. The probability was, therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I had reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet the more I thought of the lady's face and of her manner the more I felt that something was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale? Why should she fight against every admission until it was forced from her? Why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy? Surely the explanation of all this could not be as innocent as she would have me believe. For the moment I could proceed no farther in that direction, but must turn back to that other clue which was to be sought for among the stone huts upon the moor. And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove back and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient people. Barrymore's only indication had been that the stranger lived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout the length and breadth of the moor. But I had my own experience for a guide since it had shown me the man himself standing upon the summit of the Black Tor. That then should be the centre of my search. From there I should explore every hut upon the moor until I lighted upon the right one. If this man were inside it I should find out from his own lips, at the point of my revolver if necessary, who he was and why he had dogged us so long. He might slip away from us in the crowd of Regent Street, but it would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely moor. On the other hand, if I should find the hut and its tenant should not be within it I must remain there, however long the vigil, until he returned. Holmes had missed him in London. It would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earth, where my master had failed. Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now at last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was none other than Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray-whiskered and red-faced, outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the high road along which I travelled. "Good-day, Dr. Watson," cried he with unwonted good humour, "you must really give your horses a rest, and come in to have a glass of wine and to congratulate me." My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after what I had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was anxious to send Perkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunity was a good one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that I should walk over in time for dinner. Then I followed Frankland into his dining-room. "It is a great day for me, sir--one of the red-letter days of my life," he cried with many chuckles. "I have brought off a double event. I mean to teach them in these parts that law is law, and that there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. I have established a right of way through the centre of old Middleton's park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own front door. What do you think of that? We'll teach these magnates that they cannot ride roughshod over the rights of the commoners, confound them! And I've closed the wood where the Fernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to think that there are no rights of property, and that they can swarm where they like with their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided, Dr. Watson, and both in my favour. I haven't had such a day since I had Sir John Morland for trespass, because he shot in his own warren." "How on earth did you do that?" "Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading--Frankland v. Morland, Court of Queen's Bench. It cost me 200 pounds, but I got my verdict." "Did it do you any good?" "None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the matter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no doubt, for example, that the Fernworthy people will burn me in effigy to-night. I told the police last time they did it that they should stop these disgraceful exhibitions. The County Constabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not afforded me the protection to which I am entitled. The case of Frankland v. Regina will bring the matter before the attention of the public. I told them that they would have occasion to regret their treatment of me, and already my words have come true." "How so?" I asked. The old man put on a very knowing expression. "Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but nothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way." I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get away from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. I had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences. "Some poaching case, no doubt?" said I, with an indifferent manner. "Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! What about the convict on the moor?" I started. "You don't mean that you know where he is?" said I. "I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I could help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never struck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where he got his food, and so trace it to him?" He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth. "No doubt," said I; "but how do you know that he is anywhere upon the moor?" "I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who takes him his food." My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in the power of this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took a weight from my mind. "You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child. I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He passes along the same path at the same hour, and to whom should he be going except to the convict?" Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of interest. A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was supplied by a boy. It was on his track, and not upon the convict's, that Frankland had stumbled. If I could get his knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. But incredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest cards. "I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of one of the moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner." The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old autocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whiskers bristled like those of an angry cat. "Indeed, sir!" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching moor. "Do you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see the low hill beyond with the thornbush upon it? It is the stoniest part of the whole moor. Is that a place where a shepherd would be likely to take his station? Your suggestion, sir, is a most absurd one." I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the facts. My submission pleased him and led him to further confidences. "You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I come to an opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his bundle. Every day, and sometimes twice a day, I have been able--but wait a moment, Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is there at the present moment something moving upon that hill-side?" It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark dot against the dull green and gray. "Come, sir, come!" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. "You will see with your own eyes and judge for yourself." The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod, stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eye to it and gave a cry of satisfaction. "Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!" There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon his shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached the crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant against the cold blue sky. He looked round him with a furtive and stealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over the hill. "Well! Am I right?" "Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand." "And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But not one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy also, Dr. Watson. Not a word! You understand!" "Just as you wish." "They have treated me shamefully--shamefully. When the facts come out in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of indignation will run through the country. Nothing would induce me to help the police in any way. For all they cared it might have been me, instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned at the stake. Surely you are not going! You will help me to empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion!" But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading him from his announced intention of walking home with me. I kept the road as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off across the moor and made for the stony hill over which the boy had disappeared. Everything was working in my favour, and I swore that it should not be through lack of energy or perseverance that I should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in my way. The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no sound and no movement. One great gray bird, a gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be the only living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was nowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a screen against the weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw it. This must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding place--his secret was within my grasp. As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do when with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as a habitation. A vague pathway among the boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent within. The unknown might be lurking there, or he might be prowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure. Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt of my revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked in. The place was empty. But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false scent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which Neolithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small cloth bundle--the same, no doubt, which I had seen through the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of preserved peaches. As I set it down again, after having examined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read, roughly scrawled in pencil:-- Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey. For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir Henry, who was being dogged by this secret man. He had not followed me himself, but he had set an agent--the boy, perhaps--upon my track, and this was his report. Possibly I had taken no step since I had been upon the moor which had not been observed and reported. Always there was this feeling of an unseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes. If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round the hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of anything of the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he must be of Spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that inhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by chance our guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut until I knew. Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There were the two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the village of Grimpen. Between the two, behind the hill, was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves, but a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant. And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner, and cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the opening of the hut. "It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known voice. "I really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in." CHAPTER XII Death on the Moor For a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from my soul. That cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the world. "Holmes!" I cried--"Holmes!" "Come out," said he, "and please be careful with the revolver." I stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone outside, his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon my astonished features. He was thin and worn, but clear and alert, his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. In his tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other tourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen as perfect as if he were in Baker Street. "I never was more glad to see anyone in my life," said I, as I wrung him by the hand. "Or more astonished, eh?" "Well, I must confess to it." "The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no idea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that you were inside it, until I was within twenty paces of the door." "My footprint, I presume?" "No, Watson; I fear that I could not undertake to recognize your footprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously desire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I see the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know that my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see it there beside the path. You threw it down, no doubt, at that supreme moment when you charged into the empty hut." "Exactly." "I thought as much--and knowing your admirable tenacity I was convinced that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach, waiting for the tenant to return. So you actually thought that I was the criminal?" "I did not know who you were, but I was determined to find out." "Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me, perhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when I was so imprudent as to allow the moon to rise behind me?" "Yes, I saw you then." "And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this one?" "No, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide where to look." "The old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. I could not make it out when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens." He rose and peeped into the hut. "Ha, I see that Cartwright has brought up some supplies. What's this paper? So you have been to Coombe Tracey, have you?" "Yes." "To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?" "Exactly." "Well done! Our researches have evidently been running on parallel lines, and when we unite our results I expect we shall have a fairly full knowledge of the case." "Well, I am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed the responsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for my nerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what have you been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Street working out that case of blackmailing." "That was what I wished you to think." "Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!" I cried with some bitterness. "I think that I have deserved better at your hands, Holmes." "My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play a trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your own sake that I did it, and it was my appreciation of the danger which you ran which led me to come down and examine the matter for myself. Had I been with Sir Henry and you it is confident that my point of view would have been the same as yours, and my presence would have warned our very formidable opponents to be on their guard. As it is, I have been able to get about as I could not possibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and I remain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my weight at a critical moment." "But why keep me in the dark?" "For you to know could not have helped us, and might possibly have led to my discovery. You would have wished to tell me something, or in your kindness you would have brought me out some comfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. I brought Cartwright down with me--you remember the little chap at the express office--and he has seen after my simple wants: a loaf of bread and a clean collar. What does man want more? He has given me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of feet, and both have been invaluable." "Then my reports have all been wasted!"--My voice trembled as I recalled the pains and the pride with which I had composed them. Holmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket. "Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, I assure you. I made excellent arrangements, and they are only delayed one day upon their way. I must compliment you exceedingly upon the zeal and the intelligence which you have shown over an extraordinarily difficult case." I was still rather raw over the deception which had been practised upon me, but the warmth of Holmes's praise drove my anger from my mind. I felt also in my heart that he was right in what he said and that it was really best for our purpose that I should not have known that he was upon the moor. "That's better," said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face. "And now tell me the result of your visit to Mrs. Laura Lyons--it was not difficult for me to guess that it was to see her that you had gone, for I am already aware that she is the one person in Coombe Tracey who might be of service to us in the matter. In fact, if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable that I should have gone to-morrow." The sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air had turned chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There, sitting together in the twilight, I told Holmes of my conversation with the lady. So interested was he that I had to repeat some of it twice before he was satisfied. "This is most important," said he when I had concluded. "It fills up a gap which I had been unable to bridge, in this most complex affair. You are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists between this lady and the man Stapleton?" "I did not know of a close intimacy." "There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write, there is a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts a very powerful weapon into our hands. If I could only use it to detach his wife--" "His wife?" "I am giving you some information now, in return for all that you have given me. The lady who has passed here as Miss Stapleton is in reality his wife." "Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How could he have permitted Sir Henry to fall in love with her?" "Sir Henry's falling in love could do no harm to anyone except Sir Henry. He took particular care that Sir Henry did not make love to her, as you have yourself observed. I repeat that the lady is his wife and not his sister." "But why this elaborate deception?" "Because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful to him in the character of a free woman." All my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took shape and centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive, colourless man, with his straw hat and his butterfly-net, I seemed to see something terrible--a creature of infinite patience and craft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart. "It is he, then, who is our enemy--it is he who dogged us in London?" "So I read the riddle." "And the warning--it must have come from her!" "Exactly." The shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed, loomed through the darkness which had girt me so long. "But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that the woman is his wife?" "Because he so far forgot himself as to tell you a true piece of autobiography upon the occasion when he first met you, and I dare say he has many a time regretted it since. He was once a schoolmaster in the north of England. Now, there is no one more easy to trace than a schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies by which one may identify any man who has been in the profession. A little investigation showed me that a school had come to grief under atrocious circumstances, and that the man who had owned it--the name was different--had disappeared with his wife. The descriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing man was devoted to entomology the identification was complete." The darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the shadows. "If this woman is in truth his wife, where does Mrs. Laura Lyons come in?" I asked. "That is one of the points upon which your own researches have shed a light. Your interview with the lady has cleared the situation very much. I did not know about a projected divorce between herself and her husband. In that case, regarding Stapleton as an unmarried man, she counted no doubt upon becoming his wife." "And when she is undeceived?" "Why, then we may find the lady of service. It must be our first duty to see her--both of us--to-morrow. Don't you think, Watson, that you are away from your charge rather long? Your place should be at Baskerville Hall." The last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had settled upon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a violet sky. "One last question, Holmes," I said, as I rose. "Surely there is no need of secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of it all? What is he after?" Holmes's voice sank as he answered:-- "It is murder, Watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. Do not ask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon him, even as his are upon Sir Henry, and with your help he is already almost at my mercy. There is but one danger which can threaten us. It is that he should strike before we are ready to do so. Another day--two at the most--and I have my case complete, but until then guard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother watched her ailing child. Your mission to-day has justified itself, and yet I could almost wish that you had not left his side. Hark!" A terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst out of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins. "Oh, my God!" I gasped. "What is it? What does it mean?" Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic outline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward, his face peering into the darkness. "Hush!" he whispered. "Hush!" The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it burst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before. "Where is it?" Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of his voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul. "Where is it, Watson?" "There, I think." I pointed into the darkness. "No, there!" Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and much nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, muttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling like the low, constant murmur of the sea. "The hound!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, if we are too late!" He had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed at his heels. But now from somewhere among the broken ground immediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull, heavy thud. We halted and listened. Not another sound broke the heavy silence of the windless night. I saw Holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted. He stamped his feet upon the ground. "He has beaten us, Watson. We are too late." "No, no, surely not!" "Fool that I was to hold my hand. And you, Watson, see what comes of abandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst has happened, we'll avenge him!" Blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders, forcing our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and rushing down slopes, heading always in the direction whence those dreadful sounds had come. At every rise Holmes looked eagerly round him, but the shadows were thick upon the moor, and nothing moved upon its dreary face. "Can you see anything?" "Nothing." "But, hark, what is that?" A low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon our left! On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which overlooked a stone-strewn slope. On its jagged face was spread-eagled some dark, irregular object. As we ran towards it the vague outline hardened into a definite shape. It was a prostrate man face downward upon the ground, the head doubled under him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded and the body hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault. So grotesque was the attitude that I could not for the instant realize that that moan had been the passing of his soul. Not a whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which we stooped. Holmes laid his hand upon him, and held it up again, with an exclamation of horror. The gleam of the match which he struck shone upon his clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim. And it shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint within us--the body of Sir Henry Baskerville! There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddy tweed suit--the very one which he had worn on the first morning that we had seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one clear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out of our souls. Holmes groaned, and his face glimmered white through the darkness. "The brute! the brute!" I cried with clenched hands. "Oh Holmes, I shall never forgive myself for having left him to his fate." "I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my case well rounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of my client. It is the greatest blow which has befallen me in my career. But how could I know--how could l know--that he would risk his life alone upon the moor in the face of all my warnings?" "That we should have heard his screams--my God, those screams!--and yet have been unable to save him! Where is this brute of a hound which drove him to his death? It may be lurking among these rocks at this instant. And Stapleton, where is he? He shall answer for this deed." "He shall. I will see to that. Uncle and nephew have been murdered--the one frightened to death by the very sight of a beast which he thought to be supernatural, the other driven to his end in his wild flight to escape from it. But now we have to prove the connection between the man and the beast. Save from what we heard, we cannot even swear to the existence of the latter, since Sir Henry has evidently died from the fall. But, by heavens, cunning as he is, the fellow shall be in my power before another day is past!" We stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body, overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had brought all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end. Then, as the moon rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over which our poor friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed out over the shadowy moor, half silver and half gloom. Far away, miles off, in the direction of Grimpen, a single steady yellow light was shining. It could only come from the lonely abode of the Stapletons. With a bitter curse I shook my fist at it as I gazed. "Why should we not seize him at once?" "Our case is not complete. The fellow is wary and cunning to the last degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we make one false move the villain may escape us yet." "What can we do?" "There will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. To-night we can only perform the last offices to our poor friend." Together we made our way down the precipitous slope and approached the body, black and clear against the silvered stones. The agony of those contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain and blurred my eyes with tears. "We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the way to the Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?" He had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancing and laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern, self-contained friend? These were hidden fires, indeed! "A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!" "A beard?" "It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the convict!" With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that dripping beard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There could be no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal eyes. It was indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the light of the candle from over the rock--the face of Selden, the criminal. Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the baronet had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to Barrymore. Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden in his escape. Boots, shirt, cap--it was all Sir Henry's. The tragedy was still black enough, but this man had at least deserved death by the laws of his country. I told Holmes how the matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy. "Then the clothes have been the poor devil's death," said he. "It is clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article of Sir Henry's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in all probability--and so ran this man down. There is one very singular thing, however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to know that the hound was on his trail?" "He heard him." "To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like this convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk recapture by screaming wildly for help. By his cries he must have run a long way after he knew the animal was on his track. How did he know?" "A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all our conjectures are correct--" "I presume nothing." "Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I suppose that it does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would not let it go unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would be there." "My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think that we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remain forever a mystery. The question now is, what shall we do with this poor wretch's body? We cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens." "I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicate with the police." "Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far. Halloa, Watson, what's this? It's the man himself, by all that's wonderful and audacious! Not a word to show your suspicions--not a word, or my plans crumble to the ground." A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red glow of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish the dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped when he saw us, and then came on again. "Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last man that I should have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night. But, dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not--don't tell me that it is our friend Sir Henry!" He hurried past me and stooped over the dead man. I heard a sharp intake of his breath and the cigar fell from his fingers. "Who--who's this?" he stammered. "It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown." Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort he had overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked sharply from Holmes to me. "Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?" "He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks. My friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry." "I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy about Sir Henry." "Why about Sir Henry in particular?" I could not help asking. "Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did not come I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his safety when I heard cries upon the moor. By the way"--his eyes darted again from my face to Holmes's--"did you hear anything else besides a cry?" "No," said Holmes; "did you?" "No." "What do you mean, then?" "Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom hound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor. I was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound to-night." "We heard nothing of the kind," said I. "And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?" "I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off his head. He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over here and broken his neck." "That seems the most reasonable theory," said Stapleton, and he gave a sigh which I took to indicate his relief. "What do you think about it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" My friend bowed his compliments. "You are quick at identification," said he. "We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came down. You are in time to see a tragedy." "Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will cover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to London with me to-morrow." "Oh, you return to-morrow?" "That is my intention." "I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have puzzled us?" Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An investigator needs facts, and not legends or rumours. It has not been a satisfactory case." My friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner. Stapleton still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me. "I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it would give my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified in doing it. I think that if we put something over his face he will be safe until morning." And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer of hospitality, Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving the naturalist to return alone. Looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away over the broad moor, and behind him that one black smudge on the silvered slope which showed where the man was lying who had come so horribly to his end. CHAPTER XIII Fixing the Nets "We're at close grips at last," said Holmes as we walked together across the moor. "What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled himself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when he found that the wrong man had fallen a victim to his plot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell you now again, that we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel." "I am sorry that he has seen you." "And so was I at first. But there was no getting out of it." "What effect do you think it will have upon his plans now that he knows you are here?" "It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to desperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may be too confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he has completely deceived us." "Why should we not arrest him at once?" "My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Your instinct is always to do something energetic. But supposing, for argument's sake, that we had him arrested to-night, what on earth the better off should we be for that? We could prove nothing against him. There's the devilish cunning of it! If he were acting through a human agent we could get some evidence, but if we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would not help us in putting a rope round the neck of its master." "Surely we have a case." "Not a shadow of one--only surmise and conjecture. We should be laughed out of court if we came with such a story and such evidence." "There is Sir Charles's death." "Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he died of sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how are we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are there of a hound? Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we know that a hound does not bite a dead body and that Sir Charles was dead before ever the brute overtook him. But we have to prove all this, and we are not in a position to do it." "Well, then, to-night?" "We are not much better off to-night. Again, there was no direct connection between the hound and the man's death. We never saw the hound. We heard it; but we could not prove that it was running upon this man's trail. There is a complete absence of motive. No, my dear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that we have no case at present, and that it is worth our while to run any risk in order to establish one." "And how do you propose to do so?" "I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when the position of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my own plan as well. Sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but I hope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last." I could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in thought, as far as the Baskerville gates. "Are you coming up?" "Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one last word, Watson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him think that Selden's death was as Stapleton would have us believe. He will have a better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergo to-morrow, when he is engaged, if I remember your report aright, to dine with these people." "And so am I." "Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That will be easily arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I think that we are both ready for our suppers." Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes, for he had for some days been expecting that recent events would bring him down from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however, when he found that my friend had neither any luggage nor any explanations for its absence. Between us we soon supplied his wants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the baronet as much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he should know. But first I had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news to Barrymore and his wife. To him it may have been an unmitigated relief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the world he was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her he always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the child who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has not one woman to mourn him. "I've been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in the morning," said the baronet. "I guess I should have some credit, for I have kept my promise. If I hadn't sworn not to go about alone I might have had a more lively evening, for I had a message from Stapleton asking me over there." "I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening," said Holmes drily. "By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate that we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck?" Sir Henry opened his eyes. "How was that?" "This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your servant who gave them to him may get into trouble with the police." "That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as I know." "That's lucky for him--in fact, it's lucky for all of you, since you are all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am not sure that as a conscientious detective my first duty is not to arrest the whole household. Watson's reports are most incriminating documents." "But how about the case?" asked the baronet. "Have you made anything out of the tangle? I don't know that Watson and I are much the wiser since we came down." "I think that I shall be in a position to make the situation rather more clear to you before long. It has been an exceedingly difficult and most complicated business. There are several points upon which we still want light--but it is coming all the same." "We've had one experience, as Watson has no doubt told you. We heard the hound on the moor, so I can swear that it is not all empty superstition. I had something to do with dogs when I was out West, and I know one when I hear one. If you can muzzle that one and put him on a chain I'll be ready to swear you are the greatest detective of all time." "I think I will muzzle him and chain him all right if you will give me your help." "Whatever you tell me to do I will do." "Very good; and I will ask you also to do it blindly, without always asking the reason." "Just as you like." "If you will do this I think the chances are that our little problem will soon be solved. I have no doubt--" He stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the air. The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so still that it might have been that of a clear-cut classical statue, a personification of alertness and expectation. "What is it?" we both cried. I could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internal emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes shone with amused exultation. "Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur," said he as he waved his hand towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite wall. "Watson won't allow that I know anything of art, but that is mere jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ. Now, these are a really very fine series of portraits." "Well, I'm glad to hear you say so," said Sir Henry, glancing with some surprise at my friend. "I don't pretend to know much about these things, and I'd be a better judge of a horse or a steer than of a picture. I didn't know that you found time for such things." "I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. That's a Kneller, I'll swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, and the stout gentleman with the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They are all family portraits, I presume?" "Every one." "Do you know the names?" "Barrymore has been coaching me in them, and I think I can say my lessons fairly well." "Who is the gentleman with the telescope?" "That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney in the West Indies. The man with the blue coat and the roll of paper is Sir William Baskerville, who was Chairman of Committees of the House of Commons under Pitt." "And this Cavalier opposite to me--the one with the black velvet and the lace?" "Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the cause of all the mischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the Hound of the Baskervilles. We're not likely to forget him." I gazed with interest and some surprise upon the portrait. "Dear me!" said Holmes, "he seems a quiet, meek-mannered man enough, but I dare say that there was a lurking devil in his eyes. I had pictured him as a more robust and ruffianly person." "There's no doubt about the authenticity, for the name and the date, 1647, are on the back of the canvas." Holmes said little more, but the picture of the old roysterer seemed to have a fascination for him, and his eyes were continually fixed upon it during supper. It was not until later, when Sir Henry had gone to his room, that I was able to follow the trend of his thoughts. He led me back into the banqueting-hall, his bedroom candle in his hand, and he held it up against the time-stained portrait on the wall. "Do you see anything there?" I looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the white lace collar, and the straight, severe face which was framed between them. It was not a brutal countenance, but it was prim, hard, and stern, with a firm-set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly intolerant eye. "Is it like anyone you know?" "There is something of Sir Henry about the jaw." "Just a suggestion, perhaps. But wait an instant!" He stood upon a chair, and, holding up the light in his left hand, he curved his right arm over the broad hat and round the long ringlets. "Good heavens!" I cried, in amazement. The face of Stapleton had sprung out of the canvas. "Ha, you see it now. My eyes have been trained to examine faces and not their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminal investigator that he should see through a disguise." "But this is marvellous. It might be his portrait." "Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears to be both physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits is enough to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. The fellow is a Baskerville--that is evident." "With designs upon the succession." "Exactly. This chance of the picture has supplied us with one of our most obvious missing links. We have him, Watson, we have him, and I dare swear that before to-morrow night he will be fluttering in our net as helpless as one of his own butterflies. A pin, a cork, and a card, and we add him to the Baker Street collection!" He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he turned away from the picture. I have not heard him laugh often, and it has always boded ill to somebody. I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier still, for I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive. "Yes, we should have a full day to-day," he remarked, and he rubbed his hands with the joy of action. "The nets are all in place, and the drag is about to begin. We'll know before the day is out whether we have caught our big, lean-jawed pike, or whether he has got through the meshes." "Have you been on the moor already?" "I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the death of Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubled in the matter. And I have also communicated with my faithful Cartwright, who would certainly have pined away at the door of my hut, as a dog does at his master's grave, if I had not set his mind at rest about my safety." "What is the next move?" "To see Sir Henry. Ah, here he is!" "Good morning, Holmes," said the baronet. "You look like a general who is planning a battle with his chief of the staff." "That is the exact situation. Watson was asking for orders." "And so do I." "Very good. You are engaged, as I understand, to dine with our friends the Stapletons to-night." "I hope that you will come also. They are very hospitable people, and I am sure that they would be very glad to see you." "I fear that Watson and I must go to London." "To London?" "Yes, I think that we should be more useful there at the present juncture." The baronet's face perceptibly lengthened. "I hoped that you were going to see me through this business. The Hall and the moor are not very pleasant places when one is alone." "My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what I tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have been happy to have come with you, but that urgent business required us to be in town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will you remember to give them that message?" "If you insist upon it." "There is no alternative, I assure you." I saw by the baronet's clouded brow that he was deeply hurt by what he regarded as our desertion. "When do you desire to go?" he asked coldly. "Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey, but Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come back to you. Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell him that you regret that you cannot come." "I have a good mind to go to London with you," said the baronet. "Why should I stay here alone?" "Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your word that you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay." "All right, then, I'll stay." "One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House. Send back your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walk home." "To walk across the moor?" "Yes." "But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me not to do." "This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidence in your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but it is essential that you should do it." "Then I will do it." "And as you value your life do not go across the moor in any direction save along the straight path which leads from Merripit House to the Grimpen Road, and is your natural way home." "I will do just what you say." "Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast as possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon." I was much astounded by this programme, though I remembered that Holmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit would terminate next day. It had not crossed my mind, however, that he would wish me to go with him, nor could I understand how we could both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to be critical. There was nothing for it, however, but implicit obedience; so we bade good-bye to our rueful friend, and a couple of hours afterwards we were at the station of Coombe Tracey and had dispatched the trap upon its return journey. A small boy was waiting upon the platform. "Any orders, sir?" "You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment you arrive you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name, to say that if he finds the pocket-book which I have dropped he is to send it by registered post to Baker Street." "Yes, sir." "And ask at the station office if there is a message for me." The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me. It ran: Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrive five-forty. Lestrade. "That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of the professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now, Watson, I think that we cannot employ our time better than by calling upon your acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons." His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use the baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were really gone, while we should actually return at the instant when we were likely to be needed. That telegram from London, if mentioned by Sir Henry to the Stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from their minds. Already I seemed to see our nets drawing closer around that lean-jawed pike. Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened his interview with a frankness and directness which considerably amazed her. "I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of the late Sir Charles Baskerville," said he. "My friend here, Dr. Watson, has informed me of what you have communicated, and also of what you have withheld in connection with that matter." "What have I withheld?" she asked defiantly. "You have confessed that you asked Sir Charles to be at the gate at ten o'clock. We know that that was the place and hour of his death. You have withheld what the connection is between these events." "There is no connection." "In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one. But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection after all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. We regard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicate not only your friend Mr. Stapleton, but his wife as well." The lady sprang from her chair. "His wife!" she cried. "The fact is no longer a secret. The person who has passed for his sister is really his wife." Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms of her chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned white with the pressure of her grip. "His wife!" she said again. "His wife! He is not a married man." Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so--!" The fierce flash of her eyes said more than any words. "I have come prepared to do so," said Holmes, drawing several papers from his pocket. "Here is a photograph of the couple taken in York four years ago. It is indorsed 'Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,' but you will have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also, if you know her by sight. Here are three written descriptions by trustworthy witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that time kept St. Oliver's private school. Read them and see if you can doubt the identity of these people." She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid face of a desperate woman. "Mr. Holmes," she said, "this man had offered me marriage on condition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has lied to me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of truth has he ever told me. And why--why? I imagined that all was for my own sake. But now I see that I was never anything but a tool in his hands. Why should I preserve faith with him who never kept any with me? Why should I try to shield him from the consequences of his own wicked acts? Ask me what you like, and there is nothing which I shall hold back. One thing I swear to you, and that is that when I wrote the letter I never dreamed of any harm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend." "I entirely believe you, madam," said Sherlock Holmes. "The recital of these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps it will make it easier if I tell you what occurred, and you can check me if I make any material mistake. The sending of this letter was suggested to you by Stapleton?" "He dictated it." "I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive help from Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce?" "Exactly." "And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from keeping the appointment?" "He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other man should find the money for such an object, and that though he was a poor man himself he would devote his last penny to removing the obstacles which divided us." "He appears to be a very consistent character. And then you heard nothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?" "No." "And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment with Sir Charles?" "He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, and that I should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. He frightened me into remaining silent." "Quite so. But you had your suspicions?" She hesitated and looked down. "I knew him," she said. "But if he had kept faith with me I should always have done so with him." "I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape," said Sherlock Holmes. "You have had him in your power and he knew it, and yet you are alive. You have been walking for some months very near to the edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morning now, Mrs. Lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly hear from us again." "Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty thins away in front of us," said Holmes as we stood waiting for the arrival of the express from town. "I shall soon be in the position of being able to put into a single connected narrative one of the most singular and sensational crimes of modern times. Students of criminology will remember the analogous incidents in Godno, in Little Russia, in the year '66, and of course there are the Anderson murders in North Carolina, but this case possesses some features which are entirely its own. Even now we have no clear case against this very wily man. But I shall be very much surprised if it is not clear enough before we go to bed this night." The London express came roaring into the station, and a small, wiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We all three shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way in which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since the days when they had first worked together. I could well remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in the practical man. "Anything good?" he asked. "The biggest thing for years," said Holmes. "We have two hours before we need think of starting. I think we might employ it in getting some dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London fog out of your throat by giving you a breath of the pure night air of Dartmoor. Never been there? Ah, well, I don't suppose you will forget your first visit." CHAPTER XIV The Hound of the Baskervilles One of Sherlock Holmes's defects--if, indeed, one may call it a defect--was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full plans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment. Partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly also from his professional caution, which urged him never to take any chances. The result, however, was very trying for those who were acting as his agents and assistants. I had often suffered under it, but never more so than during that long drive in the darkness. The great ordeal was in front of us; at last we were about to make our final effort, and yet Holmes had said nothing, and I could only surmise what his course of action would be. My nerves thrilled with anticipation when at last the cold wind upon our faces and the dark, void spaces on either side of the narrow road told me that we were back upon the moor once again. Every stride of the horses and every turn of the wheels was taking us nearer to our supreme adventure. Our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver of the hired wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivial matters when our nerves were tense with emotion and anticipation. It was a relief to me, after that unnatural restraint, when we at last passed Frankland's house and knew that we were drawing near to the Hall and to the scene of action. We did not drive up to the door but got down near the gate of the avenue. The wagonette was paid off and ordered to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith, while we started to walk to Merripit House. "Are you armed, Lestrade?" The little detective smiled. "As long as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket, and as long as I have my hip-pocket I have something in it." "Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies." "You're mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What's the game now?" "A waiting game." "My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place," said the detective with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes of the hill and at the huge lake of fog which lay over the Grimpen Mire. "I see the lights of a house ahead of us." "That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I must request you to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper." We moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for the house, but Holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards from it. "This will do," said he. "These rocks upon the right make an admirable screen." "We are to wait here?" "Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into this hollow, Lestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not, Watson? Can you tell the position of the rooms? What are those latticed windows at this end?" "I think they are the kitchen windows." "And the one beyond, which shines so brightly?" "That is certainly the dining-room." "The blinds are up. You know the lie of the land best. Creep forward quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven's sake don't let them know that they are watched!" I tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall which surrounded the stunted orchard. Creeping in its shadow I reached a point whence I could look straight through the uncurtained window. There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton. They sat with their profiles towards me on either side of the round table. Both of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and wine were in front of them. Stapleton was talking with animation, but the baronet looked pale and distrait. Perhaps the thought of that lonely walk across the ill-omened moor was weighing heavily upon his mind. As I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while Sir Henry filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffing at his cigar. I heard the creak of a door and the crisp sound of boots upon gravel. The steps passed along the path on the other side of the wall under which I crouched. Looking over, I saw the naturalist pause at the door of an out-house in the corner of the orchard. A key turned in a lock, and as he passed in there was a curious scuffling noise from within. He was only a minute or so inside, and then I heard the key turn once more and he passed me and re-entered the house. I saw him rejoin his guest, and I crept quietly back to where my companions were waiting to tell them what I had seen. "You say, Watson, that the lady is not there?" Holmes asked, when I had finished my report. "No." "Where can she be, then, since there is no light in any other room except the kitchen?" "I cannot think where she is." I have said that over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense, white fog. It was drifting slowly in our direction, and banked itself up like a wall on that side of us, low, but thick and well defined. The moon shone on it, and it looked like a great shimmering ice-field, with the heads of the distant tors as rocks borne upon its surface. Holmes's face was turned towards it, and he muttered impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift. "It's moving towards us, Watson." "Is that serious?" "Very serious, indeed--the one thing upon earth which could have disarranged my plans. He can't be very long, now. It is already ten o'clock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his coming out before the fog is over the path." The night was clear and fine above us. The stars shone cold and bright, while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft, uncertain light. Before us lay the dark bulk of the house, its serrated roof and bristling chimneys hard outlined against the silver-spangled sky. Broad bars of golden light from the lower windows stretched across the orchard and the moor. One of them was suddenly shut off. The servants had left the kitchen. There only remained the lamp in the dining-room where the two men, the murderous host and the unconscious guest, still chatted over their cigars. Every minute that white woolly plain which covered one half of the moor was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already the first thin wisps of it were curling across the golden square of the lighted window. The farther wall of the orchard was already invisible, and the trees were standing out of a swirl of white vapour. As we watched it the fog-wreaths came crawling round both corners of the house and rolled slowly into one dense bank, on which the upper floor and the roof floated like a strange ship upon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck his hand passionately upon the rock in front of us and stamped his feet in his impatience. "If he isn't out in a quarter of an hour the path will be covered. In half an hour we won't be able to see our hands in front of us." "Shall we move farther back upon higher ground?" "Yes, I think it would be as well." So as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back before it until we were half a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea, with the moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and inexorably on. "We are going too far," said Holmes. "We dare not take the chance of his being overtaken before he can reach us. At all costs we must hold our ground where we are." He dropped on his knees and clapped his ear to the ground. "Thank God, I think that I hear him coming." A sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching among the stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank in front of us. The steps grew louder, and through the fog, as through a curtain, there stepped the man whom we were awaiting. He looked round him in surprise as he emerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he came swiftly along the path, passed close to where we lay, and went on up the long slope behind us. As he walked he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man who is ill at ease. "Hist!" cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol. "Look out! It's coming!" There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the heart of that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards of where we lay, and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horror was about to break from the heart of it. I was at Holmes's elbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell of terror and threw himself face downward upon the ground. I sprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us out of the wall of fog. With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So paralyzed were we by the apparition that we allowed him to pass before we had recovered our nerve. Then Holmes and I both fired together, and the creature gave a hideous howl, which showed that one at least had hit him. He did not pause, however, but bounded onward. Far away on the path we saw Sir Henry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror, glaring helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down. But that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to the winds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could wound him we could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that night. I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me as much as I outpaced the little professional. In front of us as we flew up the track we heard scream after scream from Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was in time to see the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and worry at his throat. But the next instant Holmes had emptied five barrels of his revolver into the creature's flank. With a last howl of agony and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its back, four feet pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its side. I stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to the dreadful, shimmering head, but it was useless to press the trigger. The giant hound was dead. Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his collar, and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw that there was no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in time. Already our friend's eyelids shivered and he made a feeble effort to move. Lestrade thrust his brandy-flask between the baronet's teeth, and two frightened eyes were looking up at us. "My God!" he whispered. "What was it? What, in heaven's name, was it?" "It's dead, whatever it is," said Holmes. "We've laid the family ghost once and forever." In mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was lying stretched before us. It was not a pure bloodhound and it was not a pure mastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of the two--gaunt, savage, and as large as a small lioness. Even now, in the stillness of death, the huge jaws seemed to be dripping with a bluish flame and the small, deep-set, cruel eyes were ringed with fire. I placed my hand upon the glowing muzzle, and as I held them up my own fingers smouldered and gleamed in the darkness. "Phosphorus," I said. "A cunning preparation of it," said Holmes, sniffing at the dead animal. "There is no smell which might have interfered with his power of scent. We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for having exposed you to this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not for such a creature as this. And the fog gave us little time to receive him." "You have saved my life." "Having first endangered it. Are you strong enough to stand?" "Give me another mouthful of that brandy and I shall be ready for anything. So! Now, if you will help me up. What do you propose to do?" "To leave you here. You are not fit for further adventures to-night. If you will wait, one or other of us will go back with you to the Hall." He tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly pale and trembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock, where he sat shivering with his face buried in his hands. "We must leave you now," said Holmes. "The rest of our work must be done, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, and now we only want our man. "It's a thousand to one against our finding him at the house," he continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. "Those shots must have told him that the game was up." "We were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them." "He followed the hound to call him off--of that you may be certain. No, no, he's gone by this time! But we'll search the house and make sure." The front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from room to room to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met us in the passage. There was no light save in the dining-room, but Holmes caught up the lamp and left no corner of the house unexplored. No sign could we see of the man whom we were chasing. On the upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked. "There's someone in here," cried Lestrade. "I can hear a movement. Open this door!" A faint moaning and rustling came from within. Holmes struck the door just over the lock with the flat of his foot and it flew open. Pistol in hand, we all three rushed into the room. But there was no sign within it of that desperate and defiant villain whom we expected to see. Instead we were faced by an object so strange and so unexpected that we stood for a moment staring at it in amazement. The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and the walls were lined by a number of glass-topped cases full of that collection of butterflies and moths the formation of which had been the relaxation of this complex and dangerous man. In the centre of this room there was an upright beam, which had been placed at some period as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk of timber which spanned the roof. To this post a figure was tied, so swathed and muffled in the sheets which had been used to secure it that one could not for the moment tell whether it was that of a man or a woman. One towel passed round the throat and was secured at the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of the face, and over it two dark eyes--eyes full of grief and shame and a dreadful questioning--stared back at us. In a minute we had torn off the gag, unswathed the bonds, and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us. As her beautiful head fell upon her chest I saw the clear red weal of a whiplash across her neck. "The brute!" cried Holmes. "Here, Lestrade, your brandy-bottle! Put her in the chair! She has fainted from ill-usage and exhaustion." She opened her eyes again. "Is he safe?" she asked. "Has he escaped?" "He cannot escape us, madam." "No, no, I did not mean my husband. Sir Henry? Is he safe?" "Yes." "And the hound?" "It is dead." She gave a long sigh of satisfaction. "Thank God! Thank God! Oh, this villain! See how he has treated me!" She shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with horror that they were all mottled with bruises. "But this is nothing--nothing! It is my mind and soul that he has tortured and defiled. I could endure it all, ill-usage, solitude, a life of deception, everything, as long as I could still cling to the hope that I had his love, but now I know that in this also I have been his dupe and his tool." She broke into passionate sobbing as she spoke. "You bear him no good will, madam," said Holmes. "Tell us then where we shall find him. If you have ever aided him in evil, help us now and so atone." "There is but one place where he can have fled," she answered. "There is an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. It was there that he kept his hound and there also he had made preparations so that he might have a refuge. That is where he would fly." The fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held the lamp towards it. "See," said he. "No one could find his way into the Grimpen Mire to-night." She laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamed with fierce merriment. "He may find his way in, but never out," she cried. "How can he see the guiding wands to-night? We planted them together, he and I, to mark the pathway through the mire. Oh, if I could only have plucked them out to-day. Then indeed you would have had him at your mercy!" It was evident to us that all pursuit was in vain until the fog had lifted. Meanwhile we left Lestrade in possession of the house while Holmes and I went back with the baronet to Baskerville Hall. The story of the Stapletons could no longer be withheld from him, but he took the blow bravely when he learned the truth about the woman whom he had loved. But the shock of the night's adventures had shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay delirious in a high fever, under the care of Dr. Mortimer. The two of them were destined to travel together round the world before Sir Henry had become once more the hale, hearty man that he had been before he became master of that ill-omened estate. And now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular narrative, in which I have tried to make the reader share those dark fears and vague surmises which clouded our lives so long and ended in so tragic a manner. On the morning after the death of the hound the fog had lifted and we were guided by Mrs. Stapleton to the point where they had found a pathway through the bog. It helped us to realize the horror of this woman's life when we saw the eagerness and joy with which she laid us on her husband's track. We left her standing upon the thin peninsula of firm, peaty soil which tapered out into the widespread bog. From the end of it a small wand planted here and there showed where the path zigzagged from tuft to tuft of rushes among those green-scummed pits and foul quagmires which barred the way to the stranger. Rank reeds and lush, slimy water-plants sent an odour of decay and a heavy miasmatic vapour onto our faces, while a false step plunged us more than once thigh-deep into the dark, quivering mire, which shook for yards in soft undulations around our feet. Its tenacious grip plucked at our heels as we walked, and when we sank into it it was as if some malignant hand was tugging us down into those obscene depths, so grim and purposeful was the clutch in which it held us. Once only we saw a trace that someone had passed that perilous way before us. From amid a tuft of cotton grass which bore it up out of the slime some dark thing was projecting. Holmes sank to his waist as he stepped from the path to seize it, and had we not been there to drag him out he could never have set his foot upon firm land again. He held an old black boot in the air. "Meyers, Toronto," was printed on the leather inside. "It is worth a mud bath," said he. "It is our friend Sir Henry's missing boot." "Thrown there by Stapleton in his flight." "Exactly. He retained it in his hand after using it to set the hound upon the track. He fled when he knew the game was up, still clutching it. And he hurled it away at this point of his flight. We know at least that he came so far in safety." But more than that we were never destined to know, though there was much which we might surmise. There was no chance of finding footsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly for them. But no slightest sign of them ever met our eyes. If the earth told a true story, then Stapleton never reached that island of refuge towards which he struggled through the fog upon that last night. Somewhere in the heart of the great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is forever buried. Many traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he had hid his savage ally. A huge driving-wheel and a shaft half-filled with rubbish showed the position of an abandoned mine. Beside it were the crumbling remains of the cottages of the miners, driven away no doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. In one of these a staple and chain with a quantity of gnawed bones showed where the animal had been confined. A skeleton with a tangle of brown hair adhering to it lay among the debris. "A dog!" said Holmes. "By Jove, a curly-haired spaniel. Poor Mortimer will never see his pet again. Well, I do not know that this place contains any secret which we have not already fathomed. He could hide his hound, but he could not hush its voice, and hence came those cries which even in daylight were not pleasant to hear. On an emergency he could keep the hound in the out-house at Merripit, but it was always a risk, and it was only on the supreme day, which he regarded as the end of all his efforts, that he dared do it. This paste in the tin is no doubt the luminous mixture with which the creature was daubed. It was suggested, of course, by the story of the family hell-hound, and by the desire to frighten old Sir Charles to death. No wonder the poor devil of a convict ran and screamed, even as our friend did, and as we ourselves might have done, when he saw such a creature bounding through the darkness of the moor upon his track. It was a cunning device, for, apart from the chance of driving your victim to his death, what peasant would venture to inquire too closely into such a creature should he get sight of it, as many have done, upon the moor? I said it in London, Watson, and I say it again now, that never yet have we helped to hunt down a more dangerous man than he who is lying yonder"--he swept his long arm towards the huge mottled expanse of green-splotched bog which stretched away until it merged into the russet slopes of the moor. CHAPTER XV A Retrospection It was the end of November and Holmes and I sat, upon a raw and foggy night, on either side of a blazing fire in our sitting-room in Baker Street. Since the tragic upshot of our visit to Devonshire he had been engaged in two affairs of the utmost importance, in the first of which he had exposed the atrocious conduct of Colonel Upwood in connection with the famous card scandal of the Nonpareil Club, while in the second he had defended the unfortunate Mme. Montpensier from the charge of murder which hung over her in connection with the death of her step-daughter, Mlle. Carere, the young lady who, as it will be remembered, was found six months later alive and married in New York. My friend was in excellent spirits over the success which had attended a succession of difficult and important cases, so that I was able to induce him to discuss the details of the Baskerville mystery. I had waited patiently for the opportunity, for I was aware that he would never permit cases to overlap, and that his clear and logical mind would not be drawn from its present work to dwell upon memories of the past. Sir Henry and Dr. Mortimer were, however, in London, on their way to that long voyage which had been recommended for the restoration of his shattered nerves. They had called upon us that very afternoon, so that it was natural that the subject should come up for discussion. "The whole course of events," said Holmes, "from the point of view of the man who called himself Stapleton was simple and direct, although to us, who had no means in the beginning of knowing the motives of his actions and could only learn part of the facts, it all appeared exceedingly complex. I have had the advantage of two conversations with Mrs. Stapleton, and the case has now been so entirely cleared up that I am not aware that there is anything which has remained a secret to us. You will find a few notes upon the matter under the heading B in my indexed list of cases." "Perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course of events from memory." "Certainly, though I cannot guarantee that I carry all the facts in my mind. Intense mental concentration has a curious way of blotting out what has passed. The barrister who has his case at his fingers' ends, and is able to argue with an expert upon his own subject finds that a week or two of the courts will drive it all out of his head once more. So each of my cases displaces the last, and Mlle. Carere has blurred my recollection of Baskerville Hall. To-morrow some other little problem may be submitted to my notice which will in turn dispossess the fair French lady and the infamous Upwood. So far as the case of the Hound goes, however, I will give you the course of events as nearly as I can, and you will suggest anything which I may have forgotten. "My inquiries show beyond all question that the family portrait did not lie, and that this fellow was indeed a Baskerville. He was a son of that Rodger Baskerville, the younger brother of Sir Charles, who fled with a sinister reputation to South America, where he was said to have died unmarried. He did, as a matter of fact, marry, and had one child, this fellow, whose real name is the same as his father's. He married Beryl Garcia, one of the beauties of Costa Rica, and, having purloined a considerable sum of public money, he changed his name to Vandeleur and fled to England, where he established a school in the east of Yorkshire. His reason for attempting this special line of business was that he had struck up an acquaintance with a consumptive tutor upon the voyage home, and that he had used this man's ability to make the undertaking a success. Fraser, the tutor, died however, and the school which had begun well sank from disrepute into infamy. The Vandeleurs found it convenient to change their name to Stapleton, and he brought the remains of his fortune, his schemes for the future, and his taste for entomology to the south of England. I learned at the British Museum that he was a recognized authority upon the subject, and that the name of Vandeleur has been permanently attached to a certain moth which he had, in his Yorkshire days, been the first to describe. "We now come to that portion of his life which has proved to be of such intense interest to us. The fellow had evidently made inquiry and found that only two lives intervened between him and a valuable estate. When he went to Devonshire his plans were, I believe, exceedingly hazy, but that he meant mischief from the first is evident from the way in which he took his wife with him in the character of his sister. The idea of using her as a decoy was clearly already in his mind, though he may not have been certain how the details of his plot were to be arranged. He meant in the end to have the estate, and he was ready to use any tool or run any risk for that end. His first act was to establish himself as near to his ancestral home as he could, and his second was to cultivate a friendship with Sir Charles Baskerville and with the neighbours. "The baronet himself told him about the family hound, and so prepared the way for his own death. Stapleton, as I will continue to call him, knew that the old man's heart was weak and that a shock would kill him. So much he had learned from Dr. Mortimer. He had heard also that Sir Charles was superstitious and had taken this grim legend very seriously. His ingenious mind instantly suggested a way by which the baronet could be done to death, and yet it would be hardly possible to bring home the guilt to the real murderer. "Having conceived the idea he proceeded to carry it out with considerable finesse. An ordinary schemer would have been content to work with a savage hound. The use of artificial means to make the creature diabolical was a flash of genius upon his part. The dog he bought in London from Ross and Mangles, the dealers in Fulham Road. It was the strongest and most savage in their possession. He brought it down by the North Devon line and walked a great distance over the moor so as to get it home without exciting any remarks. He had already on his insect hunts learned to penetrate the Grimpen Mire, and so had found a safe hiding-place for the creature. Here he kennelled it and waited his chance. "But it was some time coming. The old gentleman could not be decoyed outside of his grounds at night. Several times Stapleton lurked about with his hound, but without avail. It was during these fruitless quests that he, or rather his ally, was seen by peasants, and that the legend of the demon dog received a new confirmation. He had hoped that his wife might lure Sir Charles to his ruin, but here she proved unexpectedly independent. She would not endeavour to entangle the old gentleman in a sentimental attachment which might deliver him over to his enemy. Threats and even, I am sorry to say, blows refused to move her. She would have nothing to do with it, and for a time Stapleton was at a deadlock. "He found a way out of his difficulties through the chance that Sir Charles, who had conceived a friendship for him, made him the minister of his charity in the case of this unfortunate woman, Mrs. Laura Lyons. By representing himself as a single man he acquired complete influence over her, and he gave her to understand that in the event of her obtaining a divorce from her husband he would marry her. His plans were suddenly brought to a head by his knowledge that Sir Charles was about to leave the Hall on the advice of Dr. Mortimer, with whose opinion he himself pretended to coincide. He must act at once, or his victim might get beyond his power. He therefore put pressure upon Mrs. Lyons to write this letter, imploring the old man to give her an interview on the evening before his departure for London. He then, by a specious argument, prevented her from going, and so had the chance for which he had waited. "Driving back in the evening from Coombe Tracey he was in time to get his hound, to treat it with his infernal paint, and to bring the beast round to the gate at which he had reason to expect that he would find the old gentleman waiting. The dog, incited by its master, sprang over the wicket-gate and pursued the unfortunate baronet, who fled screaming down the Yew Alley. In that gloomy tunnel it must indeed have been a dreadful sight to see that huge black creature, with its flaming jaws and blazing eyes, bounding after its victim. He fell dead at the end of the alley from heart disease and terror. The hound had kept upon the grassy border while the baronet had run down the path, so that no track but the man's was visible. On seeing him lying still the creature had probably approached to sniff at him, but finding him dead had turned away again. It was then that it left the print which was actually observed by Dr. Mortimer. The hound was called off and hurried away to its lair in the Grimpen Mire, and a mystery was left which puzzled the authorities, alarmed the country-side, and finally brought the case within the scope of our observation. "So much for the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. You perceive the devilish cunning of it, for really it would be almost impossible to make a case against the real murderer. His only accomplice was one who could never give him away, and the grotesque, inconceivable nature of the device only served to make it more effective. Both of the women concerned in the case, Mrs. Stapleton and Mrs. Laura Lyons, were left with a strong suspicion against Stapleton. Mrs. Stapleton knew that he had designs upon the old man, and also of the existence of the hound. Mrs. Lyons knew neither of these things, but had been impressed by the death occurring at the time of an uncancelled appointment which was only known to him. However, both of them were under his influence, and he had nothing to fear from them. The first half of his task was successfully accomplished but the more difficult still remained. "It is possible that Stapleton did not know of the existence of an heir in Canada. In any case he would very soon learn it from his friend Dr. Mortimer, and he was told by the latter all details about the arrival of Henry Baskerville. Stapleton's first idea was that this young stranger from Canada might possibly be done to death in London without coming down to Devonshire at all. He distrusted his wife ever since she had refused to help him in laying a trap for the old man, and he dared not leave her long out of his sight for fear he should lose his influence over her. It was for this reason that he took her to London with him. They lodged, I find, at the Mexborough Private Hotel, in Craven Street, which was actually one of those called upon by my agent in search of evidence. Here he kept his wife imprisoned in her room while he, disguised in a beard, followed Dr. Mortimer to Baker Street and afterwards to the station and to the Northumberland Hotel. His wife had some inkling of his plans; but she had such a fear of her husband--a fear founded upon brutal ill-treatment--that she dare not write to warn the man whom she knew to be in danger. If the letter should fall into Stapleton's hands her own life would not be safe. Eventually, as we know, she adopted the expedient of cutting out the words which would form the message, and addressing the letter in a disguised hand. It reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his danger. "It was very essential for Stapleton to get some article of Sir Henry's attire so that, in case he was driven to use the dog, he might always have the means of setting him upon his track. With characteristic promptness and audacity he set about this at once, and we cannot doubt that the boots or chamber-maid of the hotel was well bribed to help him in his design. By chance, however, the first boot which was procured for him was a new one and, therefore, useless for his purpose. He then had it returned and obtained another--a most instructive incident, since it proved conclusively to my mind that we were dealing with a real hound, as no other supposition could explain this anxiety to obtain an old boot and this indifference to a new one. The more outré and grotesque an incident is the more carefully it deserves to be examined, and the very point which appears to complicate a case is, when duly considered and scientifically handled, the one which is most likely to elucidate it. "Then we had the visit from our friends next morning, shadowed always by Stapleton in the cab. From his knowledge of our rooms and of my appearance, as well as from his general conduct, I am inclined to think that Stapleton's career of crime has been by no means limited to this single Baskerville affair. It is suggestive that during the last three years there have been four considerable burglaries in the West Country, for none of which was any criminal ever arrested. The last of these, at Folkestone Court, in May, was remarkable for the cold-blooded pistoling of the page, who surprised the masked and solitary burglar. I cannot doubt that Stapleton recruited his waning resources in this fashion, and that for years he has been a desperate and dangerous man. "We had an example of his readiness of resource that morning when he got away from us so successfully, and also of his audacity in sending back my own name to me through the cabman. From that moment he understood that I had taken over the case in London, and that therefore there was no chance for him there. He returned to Dartmoor and awaited the arrival of the baronet." "One moment!" said I. "You have, no doubt, described the sequence of events correctly, but there is one point which you have left unexplained. What became of the hound when its master was in London?" "I have given some attention to this matter and it is undoubtedly of importance. There can be no question that Stapleton had a confidant, though it is unlikely that he ever placed himself in his power by sharing all his plans with him. There was an old manservant at Merripit House, whose name was Anthony. His connection with the Stapletons can be traced for several years, as far back as the schoolmastering days, so that he must have been aware that his master and mistress were really husband and wife. This man has disappeared and has escaped from the country. It is suggestive that Anthony is not a common name in England, while Antonio is so in all Spanish or Spanish-American countries. The man, like Mrs. Stapleton herself, spoke good English, but with a curious lisping accent. I have myself seen this old man cross the Grimpen Mire by the path which Stapleton had marked out. It is very probable, therefore, that in the absence of his master it was he who cared for the hound, though he may never have known the purpose for which the beast was used. "The Stapletons then went down to Devonshire, whither they were soon followed by Sir Henry and you. One word now as to how I stood myself at that time. It may possibly recur to your memory that when I examined the paper upon which the printed words were fastened I made a close inspection for the water-mark. In doing so I held it within a few inches of my eyes, and was conscious of a faint smell of the scent known as white jessamine. There are seventy-five perfumes, which it is very necessary that a criminal expert should be able to distinguish from each other, and cases have more than once within my own experience depended upon their prompt recognition. The scent suggested the presence of a lady, and already my thoughts began to turn towards the Stapletons. Thus I had made certain of the hound, and had guessed at the criminal before ever we went to the west country. "It was my game to watch Stapleton. It was evident, however, that I could not do this if I were with you, since he would be keenly on his guard. I deceived everybody, therefore, yourself included, and I came down secretly when I was supposed to be in London. My hardships were not so great as you imagined, though such trifling details must never interfere with the investigation of a case. I stayed for the most part at Coombe Tracey, and only used the hut upon the moor when it was necessary to be near the scene of action. Cartwright had come down with me, and in his disguise as a country boy he was of great assistance to me. I was dependent upon him for food and clean linen. When I was watching Stapleton, Cartwright was frequently watching you, so that I was able to keep my hand upon all the strings. "I have already told you that your reports reached me rapidly, being forwarded instantly from Baker Street to Coombe Tracey. They were of great service to me, and especially that one incidentally truthful piece of biography of Stapleton's. I was able to establish the identity of the man and the woman and knew at last exactly how I stood. The case had been considerably complicated through the incident of the escaped convict and the relations between him and the Barrymores. This also you cleared up in a very effective way, though I had already come to the same conclusions from my own observations. "By the time that you discovered me upon the moor I had a complete knowledge of the whole business, but I had not a case which could go to a jury. Even Stapleton's attempt upon Sir Henry that night which ended in the death of the unfortunate convict did not help us much in proving murder against our man. There seemed to be no alternative but to catch him red-handed, and to do so we had to use Sir Henry, alone and apparently unprotected, as a bait. We did so, and at the cost of a severe shock to our client we succeeded in completing our case and driving Stapleton to his destruction. That Sir Henry should have been exposed to this is, I must confess, a reproach to my management of the case, but we had no means of foreseeing the terrible and paralyzing spectacle which the beast presented, nor could we predict the fog which enabled him to burst upon us at such short notice. We succeeded in our object at a cost which both the specialist and Dr. Mortimer assure me will be a temporary one. A long journey may enable our friend to recover not only from his shattered nerves but also from his wounded feelings. His love for the lady was deep and sincere, and to him the saddest part of all this black business was that he should have been deceived by her. "It only remains to indicate the part which she had played throughout. There can be no doubt that Stapleton exercised an influence over her which may have been love or may have been fear, or very possibly both, since they are by no means incompatible emotions. It was, at least, absolutely effective. At his command she consented to pass as his sister, though he found the limits of his power over her when he endeavoured to make her the direct accessory to murder. She was ready to warn Sir Henry so far as she could without implicating her husband, and again and again she tried to do so. Stapleton himself seems to have been capable of jealousy, and when he saw the baronet paying court to the lady, even though it was part of his own plan, still he could not help interrupting with a passionate outburst which revealed the fiery soul which his self-contained manner so cleverly concealed. By encouraging the intimacy he made it certain that Sir Henry would frequently come to Merripit House and that he would sooner or later get the opportunity which he desired. On the day of the crisis, however, his wife turned suddenly against him. She had learned something of the death of the convict, and she knew that the hound was being kept in the out-house on the evening that Sir Henry was coming to dinner. She taxed her husband with his intended crime, and a furious scene followed, in which he showed her for the first time that she had a rival in his love. Her fidelity turned in an instant to bitter hatred and he saw that she would betray him. He tied her up, therefore, that she might have no chance of warning Sir Henry, and he hoped, no doubt, that when the whole country-side put down the baronet's death to the curse of his family, as they certainly would do, he could win his wife back to accept an accomplished fact and to keep silent upon what she knew. In this I fancy that in any case he made a miscalculation, and that, if we had not been there, his doom would none the less have been sealed. A woman of Spanish blood does not condone such an injury so lightly. And now, my dear Watson, without referring to my notes, I cannot give you a more detailed account of this curious case. I do not know that anything essential has been left unexplained." "He could not hope to frighten Sir Henry to death as he had done the old uncle with his bogie hound." "The beast was savage and half-starved. If its appearance did not frighten its victim to death, at least it would paralyze the resistance which might be offered." "No doubt. There only remains one difficulty. If Stapleton came into the succession, how could he explain the fact that he, the heir, had been living unannounced under another name so close to the property? How could he claim it without causing suspicion and inquiry?" "It is a formidable difficulty, and I fear that you ask too much when you expect me to solve it. The past and the present are within the field of my inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is a hard question to answer. Mrs. Stapleton has heard her husband discuss the problem on several occasions. There were three possible courses. He might claim the property from South America, establish his identity before the British authorities there and so obtain the fortune without ever coming to England at all; or he might adopt an elaborate disguise during the short time that he need be in London; or, again, he might furnish an accomplice with the proofs and papers, putting him in as heir, and retaining a claim upon some proportion of his income. We cannot doubt from what we know of him that he would have found some way out of the difficulty. And now, my dear Watson, we have had some weeks of severe work, and for one evening, I think, we may turn our thoughts into more pleasant channels. I have a box for 'Les Huguenots.' Have you heard the De Reszkes? Might I trouble you then to be ready in half an hour, and we can stop at Marcini's for a little dinner on the way?" THE VALLEY OF FEAR Table of contents Part I The Warning Sherlock Holmes Discourses The Tragedy of Birlstone Darkness The People Of the Drama A Dawning Light The Solution Part II The Man The Bodymaster Lodge 341, Vermissa The Valley of Fear The Darkest Hour Danger The Trapping of Birdy Edwards Epilogue PART I The Tragedy of Birlstone CHAPTER I The Warning "I am inclined to think--" said I. "I should do so," Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently. I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption. "Really, Holmes," said I severely, "you are a little trying at times." He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with his untasted breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had just drawn from its envelope. Then he took the envelope itself, held it up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the flap. "It is Porlock's writing," said he thoughtfully. "I can hardly doubt that it is Porlock's writing, though I have seen it only twice before. The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. But if it is Porlock, then it must be something of the very first importance." He was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexation disappeared in the interest which the words awakened. "Who then is Porlock?" I asked. "Porlock, Watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere identification mark; but behind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. In a former letter he frankly informed me that the name was not his own, and defied me ever to trace him among the teeming millions of this great city. Porlock is important, not for himself, but for the great man with whom he is in touch. Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lion--anything that is insignificant in companionship with what is formidable: not only formidable, Watson, but sinister--in the highest degree sinister. That is where he comes within my purview. You have heard me speak of Professor Moriarty?" "The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as--" "My blushes, Watson!" Holmes murmured in a deprecating voice. "I was about to say, as he is unknown to the public." "A touch! A distinct touch!" cried Holmes. "You are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I must learn to guard myself. But in calling Moriarty a criminal you are uttering libel in the eyes of the law--and there lie the glory and the wonder of it! The greatest schemer of all time, the organizer of every deviltry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations--that's the man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. Is he not the celebrated author of The Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book which ascends to such rarefied heights of pure mathematics that it is said that there was no man in the scientific press capable of criticizing it? Is this a man to traduce? Foul-mouthed doctor and slandered professor--such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson. But if I am spared by lesser men, our day will surely come." "May I be there to see!" I exclaimed devoutly. "But you were speaking of this man Porlock." "Ah, yes--the so-called Porlock is a link in the chain some little way from its great attachment. Porlock is not quite a sound link--between ourselves. He is the only flaw in that chain so far as I have been able to test it." "But no chain is stronger than its weakest link." "Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance of Porlock. Led on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, and encouraged by the judicious stimulation of an occasional ten-pound note sent to him by devious methods, he has once or twice given me advance information which has been of value--that highest value which anticipates and prevents rather than avenges crime. I cannot doubt that, if we had the cipher, we should find that this communication is of the nature that I indicate." Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. I rose and, leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription, which ran as follows: 534 C2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41 DOUGLAS 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE 26 BIRLSTONE 9 47 171 "What do you make of it, Holmes?" "It is obviously an attempt to convey secret information." "But what is the use of a cipher message without the cipher?" "In this instance, none at all." "Why do you say 'in this instance'?" "Because there are many ciphers which I would read as easily as I do the apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devices amuse the intelligence without fatiguing it. But this is different. It is clearly a reference to the words in a page of some book. Until I am told which page and which book I am powerless." "But why 'Douglas' and 'Birlstone'?" "Clearly because those are words which were not contained in the page in question." "Then why has he not indicated the book?" "Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning which is the delight of your friends, would surely prevent you from inclosing cipher and message in the same envelope. Should it miscarry, you are undone. As it is, both have to go wrong before any harm comes from it. Our second post is now overdue, and I shall be surprised if it does not bring us either a further letter of explanation, or, as is more probable, the very volume to which these figures refer." Holmes's calculation was fulfilled within a very few minutes by the appearance of Billy, the page, with the very letter which we were expecting. "The same writing," remarked Holmes, as he opened the envelope, "and actually signed," he added in an exultant voice as he unfolded the epistle. "Come, we are getting on, Watson." His brow clouded, however, as he glanced over the contents. "Dear me, this is very disappointing! I fear, Watson, that all our expectations come to nothing. I trust that the man Porlock will come to no harm. "Dear Mr. Holmes [he says]: "I will go no further in this matter. It is too dangerous--he suspects me. I can see that he suspects me. He came to me quite unexpectedly after I had actually addressed this envelope with the intention of sending you the key to the cipher. I was able to cover it up. If he had seen it, it would have gone hard with me. But I read suspicion in his eyes. Please burn the cipher message, which can now be of no use to you. "Fred Porlock." Holmes sat for some little time twisting this letter between his fingers, and frowning, as he stared into the fire. "After all," he said at last, "there may be nothing in it. It may be only his guilty conscience. Knowing himself to be a traitor, he may have read the accusation in the other's eyes." "The other being, I presume, Professor Moriarty." "No less! When any of that party talk about 'He' you know whom they mean. There is one predominant 'He' for all of them." "But what can he do?" "Hum! That's a large question. When you have one of the first brains of Europe up against you, and all the powers of darkness at his back, there are infinite possibilities. Anyhow, Friend Porlock is evidently scared out of his senses--kindly compare the writing in the note to that upon its envelope; which was done, he tells us, before this ill-omened visit. The one is clear and firm. The other hardly legible." "Why did he write at all? Why did he not simply drop it?" "Because he feared I would make some inquiry after him in that case, and possibly bring trouble on him." "No doubt," said I. "Of course." I had picked up the original cipher message and was bending my brows over it. "It's pretty maddening to think that an important secret may lie here on this slip of paper, and that it is beyond human power to penetrate it." Sherlock Holmes had pushed away his untasted breakfast and lit the unsavoury pipe which was the companion of his deepest meditations. "I wonder!" said he, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "Perhaps there are points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect. Let us consider the problem in the light of pure reason. This man's reference is to a book. That is our point of departure." "A somewhat vague one." "Let us see then if we can narrow it down. As I focus my mind upon it, it seems rather less impenetrable. What indications have we as to this book?" "None." "Well, well, it is surely not quite so bad as that. The cipher message begins with a large 534, does it not? We may take it as a working hypothesis that 534 is the particular page to which the cipher refers. So our book has already become a large book which is surely something gained. What other indications have we as to the nature of this large book? The next sign is C2. What do you make of that, Watson?" "Chapter the second, no doubt." "Hardly that, Watson. You will, I am sure, agree with me that if the page be given, the number of the chapter is immaterial. Also that if page 534 finds us only in the second chapter, the length of the first one must have been really intolerable." "Column!" I cried. "Brilliant, Watson. You are scintillating this morning. If it is not column, then I am very much deceived. So now, you see, we begin to visualize a large book printed in double columns which are each of a considerable length, since one of the words is numbered in the document as the two hundred and ninety-third. Have we reached the limits of what reason can supply?" "I fear that we have." "Surely you do yourself an injustice. One more coruscation, my dear Watson--yet another brain-wave! Had the volume been an unusual one, he would have sent it to me. Instead of that, he had intended, before his plans were nipped, to send me the clue in this envelope. He says so in his note. This would seem to indicate that the book is one which he thought I would have no difficulty in finding for myself. He had it--and he imagined that I would have it, too. In short, Watson, it is a very common book." "What you say certainly sounds plausible." "So we have contracted our field of search to a large book, printed in double columns and in common use." "The Bible!" I cried triumphantly. "Good, Watson, good! But not, if I may say so, quite good enough! Even if I accepted the compliment for myself I could hardly name any volume which would be less likely to lie at the elbow of one of Moriarty's associates. Besides, the editions of Holy Writ are so numerous that he could hardly suppose that two copies would have the same pagination. This is clearly a book which is standardized. He knows for certain that his page 534 will exactly agree with my page 534." "But very few books would correspond with that." "Exactly. Therein lies our salvation. Our search is narrowed down to standardized books which anyone may be supposed to possess." "Bradshaw!" "There are difficulties, Watson. The vocabulary of Bradshaw is nervous and terse, but limited. The selection of words would hardly lend itself to the sending of general messages. We will eliminate Bradshaw. The dictionary is, I fear, inadmissible for the same reason. What then is left?" "An almanac!" "Excellent, Watson! I am very much mistaken if you have not touched the spot. An almanac! Let us consider the claims of Whitaker's Almanac. It is in common use. It has the requisite number of pages. It is in double column. Though reserved in its earlier vocabulary, it becomes, if I remember right, quite garrulous towards the end." He picked the volume from his desk. "Here is page 534, column two, a substantial block of print dealing, I perceive, with the trade and resources of British India. Jot down the words, Watson! Number thirteen is 'Mahratta.' Not, I fear, a very auspicious beginning. Number one hundred and twenty-seven is 'Government'; which at least makes sense, though somewhat irrelevant to ourselves and Professor Moriarty. Now let us try again. What does the Mahratta government do? Alas! the next word is 'pig's-bristles.' We are undone, my good Watson! It is finished!" He had spoken in jesting vein, but the twitching of his bushy eyebrows bespoke his disappointment and irritation. I sat helpless and unhappy, staring into the fire. A long silence was broken by a sudden exclamation from Holmes, who dashed at a cupboard, from which he emerged with a second yellow-covered volume in his hand. "We pay the price, Watson, for being too up-to-date!" he cried. "We are before our time, and suffer the usual penalties. Being the seventh of January, we have very properly laid in the new almanac. It is more than likely that Porlock took his message from the old one. No doubt he would have told us so had his letter of explanation been written. Now let us see what page 534 has in store for us. Number thirteen is 'There,' which is much more promising. Number one hundred and twenty-seven is 'is'--'There is'"--Holmes's eyes were gleaming with excitement, and his thin, nervous fingers twitched as he counted the words--"'danger.' Ha! Ha! Capital! Put that down, Watson. 'There is danger-- may-- come-- very-- soon-- one.' Then we have the name 'Douglas' --'rich-- country-- now-- at-- Birlstone-- House-- Birlstone-- confidence-- is-- pressing.' There, Watson! What do you think of pure reason and its fruit? If the greengrocer had such a thing as a laurel wreath, I should send Billy round for it." I was staring at the strange message which I had scrawled, as he deciphered it, upon a sheet of foolscap on my knee. "What a queer, scrambling way of expressing his meaning!" said I. "On the contrary, he has done quite remarkably well," said Holmes. "When you search a single column for words with which to express your meaning, you can hardly expect to get everything you want. You are bound to leave something to the intelligence of your correspondent. The purport is perfectly clear. Some deviltry is intended against one Douglas, whoever he may be, residing as stated, a rich country gentleman. He is sure--'confidence' was as near as he could get to 'confident'--that it is pressing. There is our result--and a very workmanlike little bit of analysis it was!" Holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his better work, even as he mourned darkly when it fell below the high level to which he aspired. He was still chuckling over his success when Billy swung open the door and Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yard was ushered into the room. Those were the early days at the end of the '80's, when Alec MacDonald was far from having attained the national fame which he has now achieved. He was a young but trusted member of the detective force, who had distinguished himself in several cases which had been entrusted to him. His tall, bony figure gave promise of exceptional physical strength, while his great cranium and deep-set, lustrous eyes spoke no less clearly of the keen intelligence which twinkled out from behind his bushy eyebrows. He was a silent, precise man with a dour nature and a hard Aberdonian accent. Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success, his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For this reason the affection and respect of the Scotchman for his amateur colleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness with which he consulted Holmes in every difficulty. Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonald had talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive that there was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who already stood alone in Europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was not prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and smiled at the sight of him. "You are an early bird, Mr. Mac," said he. "I wish you luck with your worm. I fear this means that there is some mischief afoot." "If you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer the truth, I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes," the inspector answered, with a knowing grin. "Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, I won't smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing on my way; for the early hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better than your own self. But--but--" The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look of absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheet upon which I had scrawled the enigmatic message. "Douglas!" he stammered. "Birlstone! What's this, Mr. Holmes? Man, it's witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those names?" "It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to solve. But why--what's amiss with the names?" The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment. "Just this," said he, "that Mr. Douglas of Birlstone Manor House was horribly murdered last night!" CHAPTER II Sherlock Holmes Discourses It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long over-stimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of the horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution. "Remarkable!" said he. "Remarkable!" "You don't seem surprised." "Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised? I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within an hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that the person is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not surprised." In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts about the letter and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on his hands and his great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle. "I was going down to Birlstone this morning," said he. "I had come to ask you if you cared to come with me--you and your friend here. But from what you say we might perhaps be doing better work in London." "I rather think not," said Holmes. "Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!" cried the inspector. "The papers will be full of the Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's the mystery if there is a man in London who prophesied the crime before ever it occurred? We have only to lay our hands on that man, and the rest will follow." "No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands on the so-called Porlock?" MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him. "Posted in Camberwell--that doesn't help us much. Name, you say, is assumed. Not much to go on, certainly. Didn't you say that you have sent him money?" "Twice." "And how?" "In notes to Camberwell post-office." "Did you ever trouble to see who called for them?" "No." The inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. "Why not?" "Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he first wrote that I would not try to trace him." "You think there is someone behind him?" "I know there is." "This professor that I've heard you mention?" "Exactly!" Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glanced towards me. "I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that we think in the C. I. D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over this professor. I made some inquiries myself about the matter. He seems to be a very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man." "I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent." "Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your view I made it my business to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. How the talk got that way I canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and a globe, and made it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book; but I don't mind saying that it was a bit above my head, though I had a good Aberdeen upbringing. He'd have made a grand meenister with his thin face and gray hair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his hand on my shoulder as we were parting, it was like a father's blessing before you go out into the cold, cruel world." Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "Great!" he said. "Great! Tell me, Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, I suppose, in the professor's study?" "That's so." "A fine room, is it not?" "Very fine--very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes." "You sat in front of his writing desk?" "Just so." "Sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?" "Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned on my face." "It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over the professor's head?" "I don't miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you. Yes, I saw the picture--a young woman with her head on her hands, peeping at you sideways." "That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze." The inspector endeavoured to look interested. "Jean Baptiste Greuze," Holmes continued, joining his finger tips and leaning well back in his chair, "was a French artist who flourished between the years 1750 and 1800. I allude, of course to his working career. Modern criticism has more than indorsed the high opinion formed of him by his contemporaries." The inspector's eyes grew abstracted. "Hadn't we better--" he said. "We are doing so," Holmes interrupted. "All that I am saying has a very direct and vital bearing upon what you have called the Birlstone Mystery. In fact, it may in a sense be called the very centre of it." MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. "Your thoughts move a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out a link or two, and I can't get over the gap. What in the whole wide world can be the connection between this dead painting man and the affair at Birlstone?" "All knowledge comes useful to the detective," remarked Holmes. "Even the trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuze entitled La Jeune Fille a l'Agneau fetched one million two hundred thousand francs--more than forty thousand pounds--at the Portalis sale may start a train of reflection in your mind." It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestly interested. "I may remind you," Holmes continued, "that the professor's salary can be ascertained in several trustworthy books of reference. It is seven hundred a year." "Then how could he buy--" "Quite so! How could he?" "Ay, that's remarkable," said the inspector thoughtfully. "Talk away, Mr. Holmes. I'm just loving it. It's fine!" Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine admiration--the characteristic of the real artist. "What about Birlstone?" he asked. "We've time yet," said the inspector, glancing at his watch. "I've a cab at the door, and it won't take us twenty minutes to Victoria. But about this picture: I thought you told me once, Mr. Holmes, that you had never met Professor Moriarty." "No, I never have." "Then how do you know about his rooms?" "Ah, that's another matter. I have been three times in his rooms, twice waiting for him under different pretexts and leaving before he came. Once--well, I can hardly tell about the once to an official detective. It was on the last occasion that I took the liberty of running over his papers--with the most unexpected results." "You found something compromising?" "Absolutely nothing. That was what amazed me. However, you have now seen the point of the picture. It shows him to be a very wealthy man. How did he acquire wealth? He is unmarried. His younger brother is a station master in the west of England. His chair is worth seven hundred a year. And he owns a Greuze." "Well?" "Surely the inference is plain." "You mean that he has a great income and that he must earn it in an illegal fashion?" "Exactly. Of course I have other reasons for thinking so--dozens of exiguous threads which lead vaguely up towards the centre of the web where the poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. I only mention the Greuze because it brings the matter within the range of your own observation." "Well, Mr. Holmes, I admit that what you say is interesting: it's more than interesting--it's just wonderful. But let us have it a little clearer if you can. Is it forgery, coining, burglary--where does the money come from?" "Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?" "Well, the name has a familiar sound. Someone in a novel, was he not? I don't take much stock of detectives in novels--chaps that do things and never let you see how they do them. That's just inspiration: not business." "Jonathan Wild wasn't a detective, and he wasn't in a novel. He was a master criminal, and he lived last century--1750 or thereabouts." "Then he's no use to me. I'm a practical man." "Mr. Mac, the most practical thing that you ever did in your life would be to shut yourself up for three months and read twelve hours a day at the annals of crime. Everything comes in circles--even Professor Moriarty. Jonathan Wild was the hidden force of the London criminals, to whom he sold his brains and his organization on a fifteen per cent commission. The old wheel turns, and the same spoke comes up. It's all been done before, and will be again. I'll tell you one or two things about Moriarty which may interest you." "You'll interest me, right enough." "I happen to know who is the first link in his chain--a chain with this Napoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred broken fighting men, pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every sort of crime in between. His chief of staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran, as aloof and guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself. What do you think he pays him?" "I'd like to hear." "Six thousand a year. That's paying for brains, you see--the American business principle. I learned that detail quite by chance. It's more than the Prime Minister gets. That gives you an idea of Moriarty's gains and of the scale on which he works. Another point: I made it my business to hunt down some of Moriarty's checks lately--just common innocent checks that he pays his household bills with. They were drawn on six different banks. Does that make any impression on your mind?" "Queer, certainly! But what do you gather from it?" "That he wanted no gossip about his wealth. No single man should know what he had. I have no doubt that he has twenty banking accounts; the bulk of his fortune abroad in the Deutsche Bank or the Credit Lyonnais as likely as not. Sometime when you have a year or two to spare I commend to you the study of Professor Moriarty." Inspector MacDonald had grown steadily more impressed as the conversation proceeded. He had lost himself in his interest. Now his practical Scotch intelligence brought him back with a snap to the matter in hand. "He can keep, anyhow," said he. "You've got us side-tracked with your interesting anecdotes, Mr. Holmes. What really counts is your remark that there is some connection between the professor and the crime. That you get from the warning received through the man Porlock. Can we for our present practical needs get any further than that?" "We may form some conception as to the motives of the crime. It is, as I gather from your original remarks, an inexplicable, or at least an unexplained, murder. Now, presuming that the source of the crime is as we suspect it to be, there might be two different motives. In the first place, I may tell you that Moriarty rules with a rod of iron over his people. His discipline is tremendous. There is only one punishment in his code. It is death. Now we might suppose that this murdered man--this Douglas whose approaching fate was known by one of the arch-criminal's subordinates--had in some way betrayed the chief. His punishment followed, and would be known to all--if only to put the fear of death into them." "Well, that is one suggestion, Mr. Holmes." "The other is that it has been engineered by Moriarty in the ordinary course of business. Was there any robbery?" "I have not heard." "If so, it would, of course, be against the first hypothesis and in favour of the second. Moriarty may have been engaged to engineer it on a promise of part spoils, or he may have been paid so much down to manage it. Either is possible. But whichever it may be, or if it is some third combination, it is down at Birlstone that we must seek the solution. I know our man too well to suppose that he has left anything up here which may lead us to him." "Then to Birlstone we must go!" cried MacDonald, jumping from his chair. "My word! it's later than I thought. I can give you, gentlemen, five minutes for preparation, and that is all." "And ample for us both," said Holmes, as he sprang up and hastened to change from his dressing gown to his coat. "While we are on our way, Mr. Mac, I will ask you to be good enough to tell me all about it." "All about it" proved to be disappointingly little, and yet there was enough to assure us that the case before us might well be worthy of the expert's closest attention. He brightened and rubbed his thin hands together as he listened to the meagre but remarkable details. A long series of sterile weeks lay behind us, and here at last there was a fitting object for those remarkable powers which, like all special gifts, become irksome to their owner when they are not in use. That razor brain blunted and rusted with inaction. Sherlock Holmes's eyes glistened, his pale cheeks took a warmer hue, and his whole eager face shone with an inward light when the call for work reached him. Leaning forward in the cab, he listened intently to MacDonald's short sketch of the problem which awaited us in Sussex. The inspector was himself dependent, as he explained to us, upon a scribbled account forwarded to him by the milk train in the early hours of the morning. White Mason, the local officer, was a personal friend, and hence MacDonald had been notified much more promptly than is usual at Scotland Yard when provincials need their assistance. It is a very cold scent upon which the Metropolitan expert is generally asked to run. "Dear Inspector MacDonald [said the letter which he read to us]: "Official requisition for your services is in separate envelope. This is for your private eye. Wire me what train in the morning you can get for Birlstone, and I will meet it--or have it met if I am too occupied. This case is a snorter. Don't waste a moment in getting started. If you can bring Mr. Holmes, please do so; for he will find something after his own heart. We would think the whole thing had been fixed up for theatrical effect if there wasn't a dead man in the middle of it. My word! it is a snorter." "Your friend seems to be no fool," remarked Holmes. "No, sir, White Mason is a very live man, if I am any judge." "Well, have you anything more?" "Only that he will give us every detail when we meet." "Then how did you get at Mr. Douglas and the fact that he had been horribly murdered?" "That was in the enclosed official report. It didn't say 'horrible': that's not a recognized official term. It gave the name John Douglas. It mentioned that his injuries had been in the head, from the discharge of a shotgun. It also mentioned the hour of the alarm, which was close on to midnight last night. It added that the case was undoubtedly one of murder, but that no arrest had been made, and that the case was one which presented some very perplexing and extraordinary features. That's absolutely all we have at present, Mr. Holmes." "Then, with your permission, we will leave it at that, Mr. Mac. The temptation to form premature theories upon insufficient data is the bane of our profession. I can see only two things for certain at present--a great brain in London, and a dead man in Sussex. It's the chain between that we are going to trace." CHAPTER III The Tragedy of Birlstone Now for a moment I will ask leave to remove my own insignificant personality and to describe events which occurred before we arrived upon the scene by the light of knowledge which came to us afterwards. Only in this way can I make the reader appreciate the people concerned and the strange setting in which their fate was cast. The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of half-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county of Sussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged; but within the last few years its picturesque appearance and situation have attracted a number of well-to-do residents, whose villas peep out from the woods around. These woods are locally supposed to be the extreme fringe of the great Weald forest, which thins away until it reaches the northern chalk downs. A number of small shops have come into being to meet the wants of the increased population; so there seems some prospect that Birlstone may soon grow from an ancient village into a modern town. It is the centre for a considerable area of country, since Tunbridge Wells, the nearest place of importance, is ten or twelve miles to the eastward, over the borders of Kent. About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for its huge beech trees, is the ancient Manor House of Birlstone. Part of this venerable building dates back to the time of the first crusade, when Hugo de Capus built a fortalice in the centre of the estate, which had been granted to him by the Red King. This was destroyed by fire in 1543, and some of its smoke-blackened corner stones were used when, in Jacobean times, a brick country house rose upon the ruins of the feudal castle. The Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond-paned windows, was still much as the builder had left it in the early seventeenth century. Of the double moats which had guarded its more warlike predecessor, the outer had been allowed to dry up, and served the humble function of a kitchen garden. The inner one was still there, and lay forty feet in breadth, though now only a few feet in depth, round the whole house. A small stream fed it and continued beyond it, so that the sheet of water, though turbid, was never ditch-like or unhealthy. The ground floor windows were within a foot of the surface of the water. The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains and windlass of which had long been rusted and broken. The latest tenants of the Manor House had, however, with characteristic energy, set this right, and the drawbridge was not only capable of being raised, but actually was raised every evening and lowered every morning. By thus renewing the custom of the old feudal days the Manor House was converted into an island during the night--a fact which had a very direct bearing upon the mystery which was soon to engage the attention of all England. The house had been untenanted for some years and was threatening to moulder into a picturesque decay when the Douglases took possession of it. This family consisted of only two individuals--John Douglas and his wife. Douglas was a remarkable man, both in character and in person. In age he may have been about fifty, with a strong-jawed, rugged face, a grizzling moustache, peculiarly keen gray eyes, and a wiry, vigorous figure which had lost nothing of the strength and activity of youth. He was cheery and genial to all, but somewhat offhand in his manners, giving the impression that he had seen life in social strata on some far lower horizon than the county society of Sussex. Yet, though looked at with some curiosity and reserve by his more cultivated neighbours, he soon acquired a great popularity among the villagers, subscribing handsomely to all local objects, and attending their smoking concerts and other functions, where, having a remarkably rich tenor voice, he was always ready to oblige with an excellent song. He appeared to have plenty of money, which was said to have been gained in the California gold fields, and it was clear from his own talk and that of his wife that he had spent a part of his life in America. The good impression which had been produced by his generosity and by his democratic manners was increased by a reputation gained for utter indifference to danger. Though a wretched rider, he turned out at every meet, and took the most amazing falls in his determination to hold his own with the best. When the vicarage caught fire he distinguished himself also by the fearlessness with which he reentered the building to save property, after the local fire brigade had given it up as impossible. Thus it came about that John Douglas of the Manor House had within five years won himself quite a reputation in Birlstone. His wife, too, was popular with those who had made her acquaintance; though, after the English fashion, the callers upon a stranger who settled in the county without introductions were few and far between. This mattered the less to her, as she was retiring by disposition, and very much absorbed, to all appearance, in her husband and her domestic duties. It was known that she was an English lady who had met Mr. Douglas in London, he being at that time a widower. She was a beautiful woman, tall, dark, and slender, some twenty years younger than her husband, a disparity which seemed in no wise to mar the contentment of their family life. It was remarked sometimes, however, by those who knew them best, that the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete, since the wife was either very reticent about her husband's past life, or else, as seemed more likely, was imperfectly informed about it. It had also been noted and commented upon by a few observant people that there were signs sometimes of some nerve-strain upon the part of Mrs. Douglas, and that she would display acute uneasiness if her absent husband should ever be particularly late in his return. On a quiet countryside, where all gossip is welcome, this weakness of the lady of the Manor House did not pass without remark, and it bulked larger upon people's memory when the events arose which gave it a very special significance. There was yet another individual whose residence under that roof was, it is true, only an intermittent one, but whose presence at the time of the strange happenings which will now be narrated brought his name prominently before the public. This was Cecil James Barker, of Hales Lodge, Hampstead. Cecil Barker's tall, loose-jointed figure was a familiar one in the main street of Birlstone village; for he was a frequent and welcome visitor at the Manor House. He was the more noticed as being the only friend of the past unknown life of Mr. Douglas who was ever seen in his new English surroundings. Barker was himself an undoubted Englishman; but by his remarks it was clear that he had first known Douglas in America and had there lived on intimate terms with him. He appeared to be a man of considerable wealth, and was reputed to be a bachelor. In age he was rather younger than Douglas--forty-five at the most--a tall, straight, broad-chested fellow with a clean-shaved, prize-fighter face, thick, strong, black eyebrows, and a pair of masterful black eyes which might, even without the aid of his very capable hands, clear a way for him through a hostile crowd. He neither rode nor shot, but spent his days in wandering round the old village with his pipe in his mouth, or in driving with his host, or in his absence with his hostess, over the beautiful countryside. "An easy-going, free-handed gentleman," said Ames, the butler. "But, my word! I had rather not be the man that crossed him!" He was cordial and intimate with Douglas, and he was no less friendly with his wife--a friendship which more than once seemed to cause some irritation to the husband, so that even the servants were able to perceive his annoyance. Such was the third person who was one of the family when the catastrophe occurred. As to the other denizens of the old building, it will suffice out of a large household to mention the prim, respectable, and capable Ames, and Mrs. Allen, a buxom and cheerful person, who relieved the lady of some of her household cares. The other six servants in the house bear no relation to the events of the night of January 6th. It was at eleven forty-five that the first alarm reached the small local police station, in charge of Sergeant Wilson of the Sussex Constabulary. Cecil Barker, much excited, had rushed up to the door and pealed furiously upon the bell. A terrible tragedy had occurred at the Manor House, and John Douglas had been murdered. That was the breathless burden of his message. He had hurried back to the house, followed within a few minutes by the police sergeant, who arrived at the scene of the crime a little after twelve o'clock, after taking prompt steps to warn the county authorities that something serious was afoot. On reaching the Manor House, the sergeant had found the drawbridge down, the windows lighted up, and the whole household in a state of wild confusion and alarm. The white-faced servants were huddling together in the hall, with the frightened butler wringing his hands in the doorway. Only Cecil Barker seemed to be master of himself and his emotions; he had opened the door which was nearest to the entrance and he had beckoned to the sergeant to follow him. At that moment there arrived Dr. Wood, a brisk and capable general practitioner from the village. The three men entered the fatal room together, while the horror-stricken butler followed at their heels, closing the door behind him to shut out the terrible scene from the maid servants. The dead man lay on his back, sprawling with outstretched limbs in the centre of the room. He was clad only in a pink dressing gown, which covered his night clothes. There were carpet slippers on his bare feet. The doctor knelt beside him and held down the hand lamp which had stood on the table. One glance at the victim was enough to show the healer that his presence could be dispensed with. The man had been horribly injured. Lying across his chest was a curious weapon, a shotgun with the barrel sawed off a foot in front of the triggers. It was clear that this had been fired at close range and that he had received the whole charge in the face, blowing his head almost to pieces. The triggers had been wired together, so as to make the simultaneous discharge more destructive. The country policeman was unnerved and troubled by the tremendous responsibility which had come so suddenly upon him. "We will touch nothing until my superiors arrive," he said in a hushed voice, staring in horror at the dreadful head. "Nothing has been touched up to now," said Cecil Barker. "I'll answer for that. You see it all exactly as I found it." "When was that?" The sergeant had drawn out his notebook. "It was just half-past eleven. I had not begun to undress, and I was sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the report. It was not very loud--it seemed to be muffled. I rushed down--I don't suppose it was thirty seconds before I was in the room." "Was the door open?" "Yes, it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him. His bedroom candle was burning on the table. It was I who lit the lamp some minutes afterward." "Did you see no one?" "No. I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stair behind me, and I rushed out to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight. Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, came and took her away. Ames had arrived, and we ran back into the room once more." "But surely I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all night." "Yes, it was up until I lowered it." "Then how could any murderer have got away? It is out of the question! Mr. Douglas must have shot himself." "That was our first idea. But see!" Barker drew aside the curtain, and showed that the long, diamond-paned window was open to its full extent. "And look at this!" He held the lamp down and illuminated a smudge of blood like the mark of a boot-sole upon the wooden sill. "Someone has stood there in getting out." "You mean that someone waded across the moat?" "Exactly!" "Then if you were in the room within half a minute of the crime, he must have been in the water at that very moment." "I have not a doubt of it. I wish to heaven that I had rushed to the window! But the curtain screened it, as you can see, and so it never occurred to me. Then I heard the step of Mrs. Douglas, and I could not let her enter the room. It would have been too horrible." "Horrible enough!" said the doctor, looking at the shattered head and the terrible marks which surrounded it. "I've never seen such injuries since the Birlstone railway smash." "But, I say," remarked the police sergeant, whose slow, bucolic common sense was still pondering the open window. "It's all very well your saying that a man escaped by wading this moat, but what I ask you is, how did he ever get into the house at all if the bridge was up?" "Ah, that's the question," said Barker. "At what o'clock was it raised?" "It was nearly six o'clock," said Ames, the butler. "I've heard," said the sergeant, "that it was usually raised at sunset. That would be nearer half-past four than six at this time of year." "Mrs. Douglas had visitors to tea," said Ames. "I couldn't raise it until they went. Then I wound it up myself." "Then it comes to this," said the sergeant: "If anyone came from outside--if they did--they must have got in across the bridge before six and been in hiding ever since, until Mr. Douglas came into the room after eleven." "That is so! Mr. Douglas went round the house every night the last thing before he turned in to see that the lights were right. That brought him in here. The man was waiting and shot him. Then he got away through the window and left his gun behind him. That's how I read it; for nothing else will fit the facts." The sergeant picked up a card which lay beside the dead man on the floor. The initials V. V. and under them the number 341 were rudely scrawled in ink upon it. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up. Barker looked at it with curiosity. "I never noticed it before," he said. "The murderer must have left it behind him." "V. V.--341. I can make no sense of that." The sergeant kept turning it over in his big fingers. "What's V. V.? Somebody's initials, maybe. What have you got there, Dr. Wood?" It was a good-sized hammer which had been lying on the rug in front of the fireplace--a substantial, workmanlike hammer. Cecil Barker pointed to a box of brass-headed nails upon the mantelpiece. "Mr. Douglas was altering the pictures yesterday," he said. "I saw him myself, standing upon that chair and fixing the big picture above it. That accounts for the hammer." "We'd best put it back on the rug where we found it," said the sergeant, scratching his puzzled head in his perplexity. "It will want the best brains in the force to get to the bottom of this thing. It will be a London job before it is finished." He raised the hand lamp and walked slowly round the room. "Hullo!" he cried, excitedly, drawing the window curtain to one side. "What o'clock were those curtains drawn?" "When the lamps were lit," said the butler. "It would be shortly after four." "Someone had been hiding here, sure enough." He held down the light, and the marks of muddy boots were very visible in the corner. "I'm bound to say this bears out your theory, Mr. Barker. It looks as if the man got into the house after four when the curtains were drawn and before six when the bridge was raised. He slipped into this room, because it was the first that he saw. There was no other place where he could hide, so he popped in behind this curtain. That all seems clear enough. It is likely that his main idea was to burgle the house; but Mr. Douglas chanced to come upon him, so he murdered him and escaped." "That's how I read it," said Barker. "But, I say, aren't we wasting precious time? Couldn't we start out and scour the country before the fellow gets away?" The sergeant considered for a moment. "There are no trains before six in the morning; so he can't get away by rail. If he goes by road with his legs all dripping, it's odds that someone will notice him. Anyhow, I can't leave here myself until I am relieved. But I think none of you should go until we see more clearly how we all stand." The doctor had taken the lamp and was narrowly scrutinizing the body. "What's this mark?" he asked. "Could this have any connection with the crime?" The dead man's right arm was thrust out from his dressing gown, and exposed as high as the elbow. About halfway up the forearm was a curious brown design, a triangle inside a circle, standing out in vivid relief upon the lard-coloured skin. "It's not tattooed," said the doctor, peering through his glasses. "I never saw anything like it. The man has been branded at some time as they brand cattle. What is the meaning of this?" "I don't profess to know the meaning of it," said Cecil Barker; "but I have seen the mark on Douglas many times this last ten years." "And so have I," said the butler. "Many a time when the master has rolled up his sleeves I have noticed that very mark. I've often wondered what it could be." "Then it has nothing to do with the crime, anyhow," said the sergeant. "But it's a rum thing all the same. Everything about this case is rum. Well, what is it now?" The butler had given an exclamation of astonishment and was pointing at the dead man's outstretched hand. "They've taken his wedding ring!" he gasped. "What!" "Yes, indeed. Master always wore his plain gold wedding ring on the little finger of his left hand. That ring with the rough nugget on it was above it, and the twisted snake ring on the third finger. There's the nugget and there's the snake, but the wedding ring is gone." "He's right," said Barker. "Do you tell me," said the sergeant, "that the wedding ring was below the other?" "Always!" "Then the murderer, or whoever it was, first took off this ring you call the nugget ring, then the wedding ring, and afterwards put the nugget ring back again." "That is so!" The worthy country policeman shook his head. "Seems to me the sooner we get London on to this case the better," said he. "White Mason is a smart man. No local job has ever been too much for White Mason. It won't be long now before he is here to help us. But I expect we'll have to look to London before we are through. Anyhow, I'm not ashamed to say that it is a deal too thick for the likes of me." CHAPTER IV Darkness At three in the morning the chief Sussex detective, obeying the urgent call from Sergeant Wilson of Birlstone, arrived from headquarters in a light dog-cart behind a breathless trotter. By the five-forty train in the morning he had sent his message to Scotland Yard, and he was at the Birlstone station at twelve o'clock to welcome us. White Mason was a quiet, comfortable-looking person in a loose tweed suit, with a clean-shaved, ruddy face, a stoutish body, and powerful bandy legs adorned with gaiters, looking like a small farmer, a retired gamekeeper, or anything upon earth except a very favourable specimen of the provincial criminal officer. "A real downright snorter, Mr. MacDonald!" he kept repeating. "We'll have the pressmen down like flies when they understand it. I'm hoping we will get our work done before they get poking their noses into it and messing up all the trails. There has been nothing like this that I can remember. There are some bits that will come home to you, Mr. Holmes, or I am mistaken. And you also, Dr. Watson; for the medicos will have a word to say before we finish. Your room is at the Westville Arms. There's no other place; but I hear that it is clean and good. The man will carry your bags. This way, gentlemen, if you please." He was a very bustling and genial person, this Sussex detective. In ten minutes we had all found our quarters. In ten more we were seated in the parlour of the inn and being treated to a rapid sketch of those events which have been outlined in the previous chapter. MacDonald made an occasional note, while Holmes sat absorbed, with the expression of surprised and reverent admiration with which the botanist surveys the rare and precious bloom. "Remarkable!" he said, when the story was unfolded, "most remarkable! I can hardly recall any case where the features have been more peculiar." "I thought you would say so, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason in great delight. "We're well up with the times in Sussex. I've told you now how matters were, up to the time when I took over from Sergeant Wilson between three and four this morning. My word! I made the old mare go! But I need not have been in such a hurry, as it turned out; for there was nothing immediate that I could do. Sergeant Wilson had all the facts. I checked them and considered them and maybe added a few of my own." "What were they?" asked Holmes eagerly. "Well, I first had the hammer examined. There was Dr. Wood there to help me. We found no signs of violence upon it. I was hoping that if Mr. Douglas defended himself with the hammer, he might have left his mark upon the murderer before he dropped it on the mat. But there was no stain." "That, of course, proves nothing at all," remarked Inspector MacDonald. "There has been many a hammer murder and no trace on the hammer." "Quite so. It doesn't prove it wasn't used. But there might have been stains, and that would have helped us. As a matter of fact there were none. Then I examined the gun. They were buckshot cartridges, and, as Sergeant Wilson pointed out, the triggers were wired together so that, if you pulled on the hinder one, both barrels were discharged. Whoever fixed that up had made up his mind that he was going to take no chances of missing his man. The sawed gun was not more than two foot long--one could carry it easily under one's coat. There was no complete maker's name; but the printed letters P-E-N were on the fluting between the barrels, and the rest of the name had been cut off by the saw." "A big P with a flourish above it, E and N smaller?" asked Holmes. "Exactly." "Pennsylvania Small Arms Company--well-known American firm," said Holmes. White Mason gazed at my friend as the little village practitioner looks at the Harley Street specialist who by a word can solve the difficulties that perplex him. "That is very helpful, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. Wonderful! Wonderful! Do you carry the names of all the gun makers in the world in your memory?" Holmes dismissed the subject with a wave. "No doubt it is an American shotgun," White Mason continued. "I seem to have read that a sawed-off shotgun is a weapon used in some parts of America. Apart from the name upon the barrel, the idea had occurred to me. There is some evidence then, that this man who entered the house and killed its master was an American." MacDonald shook his head. "Man, you are surely travelling overfast," said he. "I have heard no evidence yet that any stranger was ever in the house at all." "The open window, the blood on the sill, the queer card, the marks of boots in the corner, the gun!" "Nothing there that could not have been arranged. Mr. Douglas was an American, or had lived long in America. So had Mr. Barker. You don't need to import an American from outside in order to account for American doings." "Ames, the butler--" "What about him? Is he reliable?" "Ten years with Sir Charles Chandos--as solid as a rock. He has been with Douglas ever since he took the Manor House five years ago. He has never seen a gun of this sort in the house." "The gun was made to conceal. That's why the barrels were sawed. It would fit into any box. How could he swear there was no such gun in the house?" "Well, anyhow, he had never seen one." MacDonald shook his obstinate Scotch head. "I'm not convinced yet that there was ever anyone in the house," said he. "I'm asking you to conseedar" (his accent became more Aberdonian as he lost himself in his argument) "I'm asking you to conseedar what it involves if you suppose that this gun was ever brought into the house, and that all these strange things were done by a person from outside. Oh, man, it's just inconceivable! It's clean against common sense! I put it to you, Mr. Holmes, judging it by what we have heard." "Well, state your case, Mr. Mac," said Holmes in his most judicial style. "The man is not a burglar, supposing that he ever existed. The ring business and the card point to premeditated murder for some private reason. Very good. Here is a man who slips into a house with the deliberate intention of committing murder. He knows, if he knows anything, that he will have a deeficulty in making his escape, as the house is surrounded with water. What weapon would he choose? You would say the most silent in the world. Then he could hope when the deed was done to slip quickly from the window, to wade the moat, and to get away at his leisure. That's understandable. But is it understandable that he should go out of his way to bring with him the most noisy weapon he could select, knowing well that it will fetch every human being in the house to the spot as quick as they can run, and that it is all odds that he will be seen before he can get across the moat? Is that credible, Mr. Holmes?" "Well, you put the case strongly," my friend replied thoughtfully. "It certainly needs a good deal of justification. May I ask, Mr. White Mason, whether you examined the farther side of the moat at once to see if there were any signs of the man having climbed out from the water?" "There were no signs, Mr. Holmes. But it is a stone ledge, and one could hardly expect them." "No tracks or marks?" "None." "Ha! Would there be any objection, Mr. White Mason, to our going down to the house at once? There may possibly be some small point which might be suggestive." "I was going to propose it, Mr. Holmes; but I thought it well to put you in touch with all the facts before we go. I suppose if anything should strike you--" White Mason looked doubtfully at the amateur. "I have worked with Mr. Holmes before," said Inspector MacDonald. "He plays the game." "My own idea of the game, at any rate," said Holmes, with a smile. "I go into a case to help the ends of justice and the work of the police. If I have ever separated myself from the official force, it is because they have first separated themselves from me. I have no wish ever to score at their expense. At the same time, Mr. White Mason, I claim the right to work in my own way and give my results at my own time--complete rather than in stages." "I am sure we are honoured by your presence and to show you all we know," said White Mason cordially. "Come along, Dr. Watson, and when the time comes we'll all hope for a place in your book." We walked down the quaint village street with a row of pollarded elms on each side of it. Just beyond were two ancient stone pillars, weather-stained and lichen-blotched bearing upon their summits a shapeless something which had once been the rampant lion of Capus of Birlstone. A short walk along the winding drive with such sward and oaks around it as one only sees in rural England, then a sudden turn, and the long, low Jacobean house of dingy, liver-coloured brick lay before us, with an old-fashioned garden of cut yews on each side of it. As we approached it, there was the wooden drawbridge and the beautiful broad moat as still and luminous as quicksilver in the cold, winter sunshine. Three centuries had flowed past the old Manor House, centuries of births and of homecomings, of country dances and of the meetings of fox hunters. Strange that now in its old age this dark business should have cast its shadow upon the venerable walls! And yet those strange, peaked roofs and quaint, overhung gables were a fitting covering to grim and terrible intrigue. As I looked at the deep-set windows and the long sweep of the dull-coloured, water-lapped front, I felt that no more fitting scene could be set for such a tragedy. "That's the window," said White Mason, "that one on the immediate right of the drawbridge. It's open just as it was found last night." "It looks rather narrow for a man to pass." "Well, it wasn't a fat man, anyhow. We don't need your deductions, Mr. Holmes, to tell us that. But you or I could squeeze through all right." Holmes walked to the edge of the moat and looked across. Then he examined the stone ledge and the grass border beyond it. "I've had a good look, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "There is nothing there, no sign that anyone has landed--but why should he leave any sign?" "Exactly. Why should he? Is the water always turbid?" "Generally about this colour. The stream brings down the clay." "How deep is it?" "About two feet at each side and three in the middle." "So we can put aside all idea of the man having been drowned in crossing." "No, a child could not be drowned in it." We walked across the drawbridge, and were admitted by a quaint, gnarled, dried-up person, who was the butler, Ames. The poor old fellow was white and quivering from the shock. The village sergeant, a tall, formal, melancholy man, still held his vigil in the room of Fate. The doctor had departed. "Anything fresh, Sergeant Wilson?" asked White Mason. "No, sir." "Then you can go home. You've had enough. We can send for you if we want you. The butler had better wait outside. Tell him to warn Mr. Cecil Barker, Mrs. Douglas, and the housekeeper that we may want a word with them presently. Now, gentlemen, perhaps you will allow me to give you the views I have formed first, and then you will be able to arrive at your own." He impressed me, this country specialist. He had a solid grip of fact and a cool, clear, common-sense brain, which should take him some way in his profession. Holmes listened to him intently, with no sign of that impatience which the official exponent too often produced. "Is it suicide, or is it murder--that's our first question, gentlemen, is it not? If it were suicide, then we have to believe that this man began by taking off his wedding ring and concealing it; that he then came down here in his dressing gown, trampled mud into a corner behind the curtain in order to give the idea someone had waited for him, opened the window, put blood on the--" "We can surely dismiss that," said MacDonald. "So I think. Suicide is out of the question. Then a murder has been done. What we have to determine is, whether it was done by someone outside or inside the house." "Well, let's hear the argument." "There are considerable difficulties both ways, and yet one or the other it must be. We will suppose first that some person or persons inside the house did the crime. They got this man down here at a time when everything was still and yet no one was asleep. They then did the deed with the queerest and noisiest weapon in the world so as to tell everyone what had happened--a weapon that was never seen in the house before. That does not seem a very likely start, does it?" "No, it does not." "Well, then, everyone is agreed that after the alarm was given only a minute at the most had passed before the whole household--not Mr. Cecil Barker alone, though he claims to have been the first, but Ames and all of them were on the spot. Do you tell me that in that time the guilty person managed to make footmarks in the corner, open the window, mark the sill with blood, take the wedding ring off the dead man's finger, and all the rest of it? It's impossible!" "You put it very clearly," said Holmes. "I am inclined to agree with you." "Well, then, we are driven back to the theory that it was done by someone from outside. We are still faced with some big difficulties; but anyhow they have ceased to be impossibilities. The man got into the house between four-thirty and six; that is to say, between dusk and the time when the bridge was raised. There had been some visitors, and the door was open; so there was nothing to prevent him. He may have been a common burglar, or he may have had some private grudge against Mr. Douglas. Since Mr. Douglas has spent most of his life in America, and this shotgun seems to be an American weapon, it would seem that the private grudge is the more likely theory. He slipped into this room because it was the first he came to, and he hid behind the curtain. There he remained until past eleven at night. At that time Mr. Douglas entered the room. It was a short interview, if there were any interview at all; for Mrs. Douglas declares that her husband had not left her more than a few minutes when she heard the shot." "The candle shows that," said Holmes. "Exactly. The candle, which was a new one, is not burned more than half an inch. He must have placed it on the table before he was attacked; otherwise, of course, it would have fallen when he fell. This shows that he was not attacked the instant that he entered the room. When Mr. Barker arrived the candle was lit and the lamp was out." "That's all clear enough." "Well, now, we can reconstruct things on those lines. Mr. Douglas enters the room. He puts down the candle. A man appears from behind the curtain. He is armed with this gun. He demands the wedding ring--Heaven only knows why, but so it must have been. Mr. Douglas gave it up. Then either in cold blood or in the course of a struggle--Douglas may have gripped the hammer that was found upon the mat--he shot Douglas in this horrible way. He dropped his gun and also it would seem this queer card--V. V. 341, whatever that may mean--and he made his escape through the window and across the moat at the very moment when Cecil Barker was discovering the crime. How's that, Mr. Holmes?" "Very interesting, but just a little unconvincing." "Man, it would be absolute nonsense if it wasn't that anything else is even worse!" cried MacDonald. "Somebody killed the man, and whoever it was I could clearly prove to you that he should have done it some other way. What does he mean by allowing his retreat to be cut off like that? What does he mean by using a shotgun when silence was his one chance of escape? Come, Mr. Holmes, it's up to you to give us a lead, since you say Mr. White Mason's theory is unconvincing." Holmes had sat intently observant during this long discussion, missing no word that was said, with his keen eyes darting to right and to left, and his forehead wrinkled with speculation. "I should like a few more facts before I get so far as a theory, Mr. Mac," said he, kneeling down beside the body. "Dear me! these injuries are really appalling. Can we have the butler in for a moment? ... Ames, I understand that you have often seen this very unusual mark--a branded triangle inside a circle--upon Mr. Douglas's forearm?" "Frequently, sir." "You never heard any speculation as to what it meant?" "No, sir." "It must have caused great pain when it was inflicted. It is undoubtedly a burn. Now, I observe, Ames, that there is a small piece of plaster at the angle of Mr. Douglas's jaw. Did you observe that in life?" "Yes, sir, he cut himself in shaving yesterday morning." "Did you ever know him to cut himself in shaving before?" "Not for a very long time, sir." "Suggestive!" said Holmes. "It may, of course, be a mere coincidence, or it may point to some nervousness which would indicate that he had reason to apprehend danger. Had you noticed anything unusual in his conduct, yesterday, Ames?" "It struck me that he was a little restless and excited, sir." "Ha! The attack may not have been entirely unexpected. We do seem to make a little progress, do we not? Perhaps you would rather do the questioning, Mr. Mac?" "No, Mr. Holmes, it's in better hands than mine." "Well, then, we will pass to this card--V. V. 341. It is rough cardboard. Have you any of the sort in the house?" "I don't think so." Holmes walked across to the desk and dabbed a little ink from each bottle on to the blotting paper. "It was not printed in this room," he said; "this is black ink and the other purplish. It was done by a thick pen, and these are fine. No, it was done elsewhere, I should say. Can you make anything of the inscription, Ames?" "No, sir, nothing." "What do you think, Mr. Mac?" "It gives me the impression of a secret society of some sort; the same with his badge upon the forearm." "That's my idea, too," said White Mason. "Well, we can adopt it as a working hypothesis and then see how far our difficulties disappear. An agent from such a society makes his way into the house, waits for Mr. Douglas, blows his head nearly off with this weapon, and escapes by wading the moat, after leaving a card beside the dead man, which will when mentioned in the papers, tell other members of the society that vengeance has been done. That all hangs together. But why this gun, of all weapons?" "Exactly." "And why the missing ring?" "Quite so." "And why no arrest? It's past two now. I take it for granted that since dawn every constable within forty miles has been looking out for a wet stranger?" "That is so, Mr. Holmes." "Well, unless he has a burrow close by or a change of clothes ready, they can hardly miss him. And yet they have missed him up to now!" Holmes had gone to the window and was examining with his lens the blood mark on the sill. "It is clearly the tread of a shoe. It is remarkably broad; a splay-foot, one would say. Curious, because, so far as one can trace any footmark in this mud-stained corner, one would say it was a more shapely sole. However, they are certainly very indistinct. What's this under the side table?" "Mr. Douglas's dumb-bells," said Ames. "Dumb-bell--there's only one. Where's the other?" "I don't know, Mr. Holmes. There may have been only one. I have not noticed them for months." "One dumb-bell--" Holmes said seriously; but his remarks were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. A tall, sunburned, capable-looking, clean-shaved man looked in at us. I had no difficulty in guessing that it was the Cecil Barker of whom I had heard. His masterful eyes travelled quickly with a questioning glance from face to face. "Sorry to interrupt your consultation," said he, "but you should hear the latest news." "An arrest?" "No such luck. But they've found his bicycle. The fellow left his bicycle behind him. Come and have a look. It is within a hundred yards of the hall door." We found three or four grooms and idlers standing in the drive inspecting a bicycle which had been drawn out from a clump of evergreens in which it had been concealed. It was a well used Rudge-Whitworth, splashed as from a considerable journey. There was a saddlebag with spanner and oilcan, but no clue as to the owner. "It would be a grand help to the police," said the inspector, "if these things were numbered and registered. But we must be thankful for what we've got. If we can't find where he went to, at least we are likely to get where he came from. But what in the name of all that is wonderful made the fellow leave it behind? And how in the world has he got away without it? We don't seem to get a gleam of light in the case, Mr. Holmes." "Don't we?" my friend answered thoughtfully. "I wonder!" CHAPTER V The People Of the Drama "Have you seen all you want of the study?" asked White Mason as we reentered the house. "For the time," said the inspector, and Holmes nodded. "Then perhaps you would now like to hear the evidence of some of the people in the house. We could use the dining-room, Ames. Please come yourself first and tell us what you know." The butler's account was a simple and a clear one, and he gave a convincing impression of sincerity. He had been engaged five years before, when Douglas first came to Birlstone. He understood that Mr. Douglas was a rich gentleman who had made his money in America. He had been a kind and considerate employer--not quite what Ames was used to, perhaps; but one can't have everything. He never saw any signs of apprehension in Mr. Douglas: on the contrary, he was the most fearless man he had ever known. He ordered the drawbridge to be pulled up every night because it was the ancient custom of the old house, and he liked to keep the old ways up. Mr. Douglas seldom went to London or left the village; but on the day before the crime he had been shopping at Tunbridge Wells. He (Ames) had observed some restlessness and excitement on the part of Mr. Douglas that day; for he had seemed impatient and irritable, which was unusual with him. He had not gone to bed that night; but was in the pantry at the back of the house, putting away the silver, when he heard the bell ring violently. He heard no shot; but it was hardly possible he would, as the pantry and kitchens were at the very back of the house and there were several closed doors and a long passage between. The housekeeper had come out of her room, attracted by the violent ringing of the bell. They had gone to the front of the house together. As they reached the bottom of the stair he had seen Mrs. Douglas coming down it. No, she was not hurrying; it did not seem to him that she was particularly agitated. Just as she reached the bottom of the stair Mr. Barker had rushed out of the study. He had stopped Mrs. Douglas and begged her to go back. "For God's sake, go back to your room!" he cried. "Poor Jack is dead! You can do nothing. For God's sake, go back!" After some persuasion upon the stairs Mrs. Douglas had gone back. She did not scream. She made no outcry whatever. Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, had taken her upstairs and stayed with her in the bedroom. Ames and Mr. Barker had then returned to the study, where they had found everything exactly as the police had seen it. The candle was not lit at that time; but the lamp was burning. They had looked out of the window; but the night was very dark and nothing could be seen or heard. They had then rushed out into the hall, where Ames had turned the windlass which lowered the drawbridge. Mr. Barker had then hurried off to get the police. Such, in its essentials, was the evidence of the butler. The account of Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, was, so far as it went, a corroboration of that of her fellow servant. The housekeeper's room was rather nearer to the front of the house than the pantry in which Ames had been working. She was preparing to go to bed when the loud ringing of the bell had attracted her attention. She was a little hard of hearing. Perhaps that was why she had not heard the shot; but in any case the study was a long way off. She remembered hearing some sound which she imagined to be the slamming of a door. That was a good deal earlier--half an hour at least before the ringing of the bell. When Mr. Ames ran to the front she went with him. She saw Mr. Barker, very pale and excited, come out of the study. He intercepted Mrs. Douglas, who was coming down the stairs. He entreated her to go back, and she answered him, but what she said could not be heard. "Take her up! Stay with her!" he had said to Mrs. Allen. She had therefore taken her to the bedroom, and endeavoured to soothe her. She was greatly excited, trembling all over, but made no other attempt to go downstairs. She just sat in her dressing gown by her bedroom fire, with her head sunk in her hands. Mrs. Allen stayed with her most of the night. As to the other servants, they had all gone to bed, and the alarm did not reach them until just before the police arrived. They slept at the extreme back of the house, and could not possibly have heard anything. So far the housekeeper could add nothing on cross-examination save lamentations and expressions of amazement. Cecil Barker succeeded Mrs. Allen as a witness. As to the occurrences of the night before, he had very little to add to what he had already told the police. Personally, he was convinced that the murderer had escaped by the window. The bloodstain was conclusive, in his opinion, on that point. Besides, as the bridge was up, there was no other possible way of escaping. He could not explain what had become of the assassin or why he had not taken his bicycle, if it were indeed his. He could not possibly have been drowned in the moat, which was at no place more than three feet deep. In his own mind he had a very definite theory about the murder. Douglas was a reticent man, and there were some chapters in his life of which he never spoke. He had emigrated to America when he was a very young man. He had prospered well, and Barker had first met him in California, where they had become partners in a successful mining claim at a place called Benito Canyon. They had done very well; but Douglas had suddenly sold out and started for England. He was a widower at that time. Barker had afterwards realized his money and come to live in London. Thus they had renewed their friendship. Douglas had given him the impression that some danger was hanging over his head, and he had always looked upon his sudden departure from California, and also his renting a house in so quiet a place in England, as being connected with this peril. He imagined that some secret society, some implacable organization, was on Douglas's track, which would never rest until it killed him. Some remarks of his had given him this idea; though he had never told him what the society was, nor how he had come to offend it. He could only suppose that the legend upon the placard had some reference to this secret society. "How long were you with Douglas in California?" asked Inspector MacDonald. "Five years altogether." "He was a bachelor, you say?" "A widower." "Have you ever heard where his first wife came from?" "No, I remember his saying that she was of German extraction, and I have seen her portrait. She was a very beautiful woman. She died of typhoid the year before I met him." "You don't associate his past with any particular part of America?" "I have heard him talk of Chicago. He knew that city well and had worked there. I have heard him talk of the coal and iron districts. He had travelled a good deal in his time." "Was he a politician? Had this secret society to do with politics?" "No, he cared nothing about politics." "You have no reason to think it was criminal?" "On the contrary, I never met a straighter man in my life." "Was there anything curious about his life in California?" "He liked best to stay and to work at our claim in the mountains. He would never go where other men were if he could help it. That's why I first thought that someone was after him. Then when he left so suddenly for Europe I made sure that it was so. I believe that he had a warning of some sort. Within a week of his leaving half a dozen men were inquiring for him." "What sort of men?" "Well, they were a mighty hard-looking crowd. They came up to the claim and wanted to know where he was. I told them that he was gone to Europe and that I did not know where to find him. They meant him no good--it was easy to see that." "Were these men Americans--Californians?" "Well, I don't know about Californians. They were Americans, all right. But they were not miners. I don't know what they were, and was very glad to see their backs." "That was six years ago?" "Nearer seven." "And then you were together five years in California, so that this business dates back not less than eleven years at the least?" "That is so." "It must be a very serious feud that would be kept up with such earnestness for as long as that. It would be no light thing that would give rise to it." "I think it shadowed his whole life. It was never quite out of his mind." "But if a man had a danger hanging over him, and knew what it was, don't you think he would turn to the police for protection?" "Maybe it was some danger that he could not be protected against. There's one thing you should know. He always went about armed. His revolver was never out of his pocket. But, by bad luck, he was in his dressing gown and had left it in the bedroom last night. Once the bridge was up, I guess he thought he was safe." "I should like these dates a little clearer," said MacDonald. "It is quite six years since Douglas left California. You followed him next year, did you not?" "That is so." "And he had been married five years. You must have returned about the time of his marriage." "About a month before. I was his best man." "Did you know Mrs. Douglas before her marriage?" "No, I did not. I had been away from England for ten years." "But you have seen a good deal of her since." Barker looked sternly at the detective. "I have seen a good deal of him since," he answered. "If I have seen her, it is because you cannot visit a man without knowing his wife. If you imagine there is any connection--" "I imagine nothing, Mr. Barker. I am bound to make every inquiry which can bear upon the case. But I mean no offense." "Some inquiries are offensive," Barker answered angrily. "It's only the facts that we want. It is in your interest and everyone's interest that they should be cleared up. Did Mr. Douglas entirely approve your friendship with his wife?" Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were clasped convulsively together. "You have no right to ask such questions!" he cried. "What has this to do with the matter you are investigating?" "I must repeat the question." "Well, I refuse to answer." "You can refuse to answer; but you must be aware that your refusal is in itself an answer, for you would not refuse if you had not something to conceal." Barker stood for a moment with his face set grimly and his strong black eyebrows drawn low in intense thought. Then he looked up with a smile. "Well, I guess you gentlemen are only doing your clear duty after all, and I have no right to stand in the way of it. I'd only ask you not to worry Mrs. Douglas over this matter; for she has enough upon her just now. I may tell you that poor Douglas had just one fault in the world, and that was his jealousy. He was fond of me--no man could be fonder of a friend. And he was devoted to his wife. He loved me to come here, and was forever sending for me. And yet if his wife and I talked together or there seemed any sympathy between us, a kind of wave of jealousy would pass over him, and he would be off the handle and saying the wildest things in a moment. More than once I've sworn off coming for that reason, and then he would write me such penitent, imploring letters that I just had to. But you can take it from me, gentlemen, if it was my last word, that no man ever had a more loving, faithful wife--and I can say also no friend could be more loyal than I!" It was spoken with fervour and feeling, and yet Inspector MacDonald could not dismiss the subject. "You are aware," said he, "that the dead man's wedding ring has been taken from his finger?" "So it appears," said Barker. "What do you mean by 'appears'? You know it as a fact." The man seemed confused and undecided. "When I said 'appears' I meant that it was conceivable that he had himself taken off the ring." "The mere fact that the ring should be absent, whoever may have removed it, would suggest to anyone's mind, would it not, that the marriage and the tragedy were connected?" Barker shrugged his broad shoulders. "I can't profess to say what it means." he answered. "But if you mean to hint that it could reflect in any way upon this lady's honour"--his eyes blazed for an instant, and then with an evident effort he got a grip upon his own emotions--"well, you are on the wrong track, that's all." "I don't know that I've anything else to ask you at present," said MacDonald, coldly. "There was one small point," remarked Sherlock Holmes. "When you entered the room there was only a candle lighted on the table, was there not?" "Yes, that was so." "By its light you saw that some terrible incident had occurred?" "Exactly." "You at once rang for help?" "Yes." "And it arrived very speedily?" "Within a minute or so." "And yet when they arrived they found that the candle was out and that the lamp had been lighted. That seems very remarkable." Again Barker showed some signs of indecision. "I don't see that it was remarkable, Mr. Holmes," he answered after a pause. "The candle threw a very bad light. My first thought was to get a better one. The lamp was on the table; so I lit it." "And blew out the candle?" "Exactly." Holmes asked no further question, and Barker, with a deliberate look from one to the other of us, which had, as it seemed to me, something of defiance in it, turned and left the room. Inspector MacDonald had sent up a note to the effect that he would wait upon Mrs. Douglas in her room; but she had replied that she would meet us in the dining room. She entered now, a tall and beautiful woman of thirty, reserved and self-possessed to a remarkable degree, very different from the tragic and distracted figure I had pictured. It is true that her face was pale and drawn, like that of one who has endured a great shock; but her manner was composed, and the finely moulded hand which she rested upon the edge of the table was as steady as my own. Her sad, appealing eyes travelled from one to the other of us with a curiously inquisitive expression. That questioning gaze transformed itself suddenly into abrupt speech. "Have you found anything out yet?" she asked. Was it my imagination that there was an undertone of fear rather than of hope in the question? "We have taken every possible step, Mrs. Douglas," said the inspector. "You may rest assured that nothing will be neglected." "Spare no money," she said in a dead, even tone. "It is my desire that every possible effort should be made." "Perhaps you can tell us something which may throw some light upon the matter." "I fear not; but all I know is at your service." "We have heard from Mr. Cecil Barker that you did not actually see--that you were never in the room where the tragedy occurred?" "No, he turned me back upon the stairs. He begged me to return to my room." "Quite so. You had heard the shot, and you had at once come down." "I put on my dressing gown and then came down." "How long was it after hearing the shot that you were stopped on the stair by Mr. Barker?" "It may have been a couple of minutes. It is so hard to reckon time at such a moment. He implored me not to go on. He assured me that I could do nothing. Then Mrs. Allen, the housekeeper, led me upstairs again. It was all like some dreadful dream." "Can you give us any idea how long your husband had been downstairs before you heard the shot?" "No, I cannot say. He went from his dressing room, and I did not hear him go. He did the round of the house every night, for he was nervous of fire. It is the only thing that I have ever known him nervous of." "That is just the point which I want to come to, Mrs. Douglas. You have known your husband only in England, have you not?" "Yes, we have been married five years." "Have you heard him speak of anything which occurred in America and might bring some danger upon him?" Mrs. Douglas thought earnestly before she answered. "Yes." she said at last, "I have always felt that there was a danger hanging over him. He refused to discuss it with me. It was not from want of confidence in me--there was the most complete love and confidence between us--but it was out of his desire to keep all alarm away from me. He thought I should brood over it if I knew all, and so he was silent." "How did you know it, then?" Mrs. Douglas's face lit with a quick smile. "Can a husband ever carry about a secret all his life and a woman who loves him have no suspicion of it? I knew it by his refusal to talk about some episodes in his American life. I knew it by certain precautions he took. I knew it by certain words he let fall. I knew it by the way he looked at unexpected strangers. I was perfectly certain that he had some powerful enemies, that he believed they were on his track, and that he was always on his guard against them. I was so sure of it that for years I have been terrified if ever he came home later than was expected." "Might I ask," asked Holmes, "what the words were which attracted your attention?" "The Valley of Fear," the lady answered. "That was an expression he has used when I questioned him. 'I have been in the Valley of Fear. I am not out of it yet.'--'Are we never to get out of the Valley of Fear?' I have asked him when I have seen him more serious than usual. 'Sometimes I think that we never shall,' he has answered." "Surely you asked him what he meant by the Valley of Fear?" "I did; but his face would become very grave and he would shake his head. 'It is bad enough that one of us should have been in its shadow,' he said. 'Please God it shall never fall upon you!' It was some real valley in which he had lived and in which something terrible had occurred to him, of that I am certain; but I can tell you no more." "And he never mentioned any names?" "Yes, he was delirious with fever once when he had his hunting accident three years ago. Then I remember that there was a name that came continually to his lips. He spoke it with anger and a sort of horror. McGinty was the name--Bodymaster McGinty. I asked him when he recovered who Bodymaster McGinty was, and whose body he was master of. 'Never of mine, thank God!' he answered with a laugh, and that was all I could get from him. But there is a connection between Bodymaster McGinty and the Valley of Fear." "There is one other point," said Inspector MacDonald. "You met Mr. Douglas in a boarding house in London, did you not, and became engaged to him there? Was there any romance, anything secret or mysterious, about the wedding?" "There was romance. There is always romance. There was nothing mysterious." "He had no rival?" "No, I was quite free." "You have heard, no doubt, that his wedding ring has been taken. Does that suggest anything to you? Suppose that some enemy of his old life had tracked him down and committed this crime, what possible reason could he have for taking his wedding ring?" For an instant I could have sworn that the faintest shadow of a smile flickered over the woman's lips. "I really cannot tell," she answered. "It is certainly a most extraordinary thing." "Well, we will not detain you any longer, and we are sorry to have put you to this trouble at such a time," said the inspector. "There are some other points, no doubt; but we can refer to you as they arise." She rose, and I was again conscious of that quick, questioning glance with which she had just surveyed us. "What impression has my evidence made upon you?" The question might as well have been spoken. Then, with a bow, she swept from the room. "She's a beautiful woman--a very beautiful woman," said MacDonald thoughtfully, after the door had closed behind her. "This man Barker has certainly been down here a good deal. He is a man who might be attractive to a woman. He admits that the dead man was jealous, and maybe he knew best himself what cause he had for jealousy. Then there's that wedding ring. You can't get past that. The man who tears a wedding ring off a dead man's--What do you say to it, Mr. Holmes?" My friend had sat with his head upon his hands, sunk in the deepest thought. Now he rose and rang the bell. "Ames," he said, when the butler entered, "where is Mr. Cecil Barker now?" "I'll see, sir." He came back in a moment to say that Barker was in the garden. "Can you remember, Ames, what Mr. Barker had on his feet last night when you joined him in the study?" "Yes, Mr. Holmes. He had a pair of bedroom slippers. I brought him his boots when he went for the police." "Where are the slippers now?" "They are still under the chair in the hall." "Very good, Ames. It is, of course, important for us to know which tracks may be Mr. Barker's and which from outside." "Yes, sir. I may say that I noticed that the slippers were stained with blood--so indeed were my own." "That is natural enough, considering the condition of the room. Very good, Ames. We will ring if we want you." A few minutes later we were in the study. Holmes had brought with him the carpet slippers from the hall. As Ames had observed, the soles of both were dark with blood. "Strange!" murmured Holmes, as he stood in the light of the window and examined them minutely. "Very strange indeed!" Stooping with one of his quick feline pounces, he placed the slipper upon the blood mark on the sill. It exactly corresponded. He smiled in silence at his colleagues. The inspector was transfigured with excitement. His native accent rattled like a stick upon railings. "Man," he cried, "there's not a doubt of it! Barker has just marked the window himself. It's a good deal broader than any bootmark. I mind that you said it was a splay-foot, and here's the explanation. But what's the game, Mr. Holmes--what's the game?" "Ay, what's the game?" my friend repeated thoughtfully. White Mason chuckled and rubbed his fat hands together in his professional satisfaction. "I said it was a snorter!" he cried. "And a real snorter it is!" CHAPTER VI A Dawning Light The three detectives had many matters of detail into which to inquire; so I returned alone to our modest quarters at the village inn. But before doing so I took a stroll in the curious old-world garden which flanked the house. Rows of very ancient yew trees cut into strange designs girded it round. Inside was a beautiful stretch of lawn with an old sundial in the middle, the whole effect so soothing and restful that it was welcome to my somewhat jangled nerves. In that deeply peaceful atmosphere one could forget, or remember only as some fantastic nightmare, that darkened study with the sprawling, bloodstained figure on the floor. And yet, as I strolled round it and tried to steep my soul in its gentle balm, a strange incident occurred, which brought me back to the tragedy and left a sinister impression in my mind. I have said that a decoration of yew trees circled the garden. At the end farthest from the house they thickened into a continuous hedge. On the other side of this hedge, concealed from the eyes of anyone approaching from the direction of the house, there was a stone seat. As I approached the spot I was aware of voices, some remark in the deep tones of a man, answered by a little ripple of feminine laughter. An instant later I had come round the end of the hedge and my eyes lit upon Mrs. Douglas and the man Barker before they were aware of my presence. Her appearance gave me a shock. In the dining-room she had been demure and discreet. Now all pretense of grief had passed away from her. Her eyes shone with the joy of living, and her face still quivered with amusement at some remark of her companion. He sat forward, his hands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with an answering smile upon his bold, handsome face. In an instant--but it was just one instant too late--they resumed their solemn masks as my figure came into view. A hurried word or two passed between them, and then Barker rose and came towards me. "Excuse me, sir," said he, "but am I addressing Dr. Watson?" I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly the impression which had been produced upon my mind. "We thought that it was probably you, as your friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes is so well known. Would you mind coming over and speaking to Mrs. Douglas for one instant?" I followed him with a dour face. Very clearly I could see in my mind's eye that shattered figure on the floor. Here within a few hours of the tragedy were his wife and his nearest friend laughing together behind a bush in the garden which had been his. I greeted the lady with reserve. I had grieved with her grief in the dining-room. Now I met her appealing gaze with an unresponsive eye. "I fear that you think me callous and hard-hearted," said she. I shrugged my shoulders. "It is no business of mine," said I. "Perhaps some day you will do me justice. If you only realized--" "There is no need why Dr. Watson should realize," said Barker quickly. "As he has himself said, it is no possible business of his." "Exactly," said I, "and so I will beg leave to resume my walk." "One moment, Dr. Watson," cried the woman in a pleading voice. "There is one question which you can answer with more authority than anyone else in the world, and it may make a very great difference to me. You know Mr. Holmes and his relations with the police better than anyone else can. Supposing that a matter were brought confidentially to his knowledge, is it absolutely necessary that he should pass it on to the detectives?" "Yes, that's it," said Barker eagerly. "Is he on his own or is he entirely in with them?" "I really don't know that I should be justified in discussing such a point." "I beg--I implore that you will, Dr. Watson! I assure you that you will be helping us--helping me greatly if you will guide us on that point." There was such a ring of sincerity in the woman's voice that for the instant I forgot all about her levity and was moved only to do her will. "Mr. Holmes is an independent investigator," I said. "He is his own master, and would act as his own judgment directed. At the same time, he would naturally feel loyalty towards the officials who were working on the same case, and he would not conceal from them anything which would help them in bringing a criminal to justice. Beyond this I can say nothing, and I would refer you to Mr. Holmes himself if you wanted fuller information." So saying I raised my hat and went upon my way, leaving them still seated behind that concealing hedge. I looked back as I rounded the far end of it, and saw that they were still talking very earnestly together, and, as they were gazing after me, it was clear that it was our interview that was the subject of their debate. "I wish none of their confidences," said Holmes, when I reported to him what had occurred. He had spent the whole afternoon at the Manor House in consultation with his two colleagues, and returned about five with a ravenous appetite for a high tea which I had ordered for him. "No confidences, Watson; for they are mighty awkward if it comes to an arrest for conspiracy and murder." "You think it will come to that?" He was in his most cheerful and debonair humour. "My dear Watson, when I have exterminated that fourth egg I shall be ready to put you in touch with the whole situation. I don't say that we have fathomed it--far from it--but when we have traced the missing dumb-bell--" "The dumb-bell!" "Dear me, Watson, is it possible that you have not penetrated the fact that the case hangs upon the missing dumb-bell? Well, well, you need not be downcast; for between ourselves I don't think that either Inspector Mac or the excellent local practitioner has grasped the overwhelming importance of this incident. One dumb-bell, Watson! Consider an athlete with one dumb-bell! Picture to yourself the unilateral development, the imminent danger of a spinal curvature. Shocking, Watson, shocking!" He sat with his mouth full of toast and his eyes sparkling with mischief, watching my intellectual entanglement. The mere sight of his excellent appetite was an assurance of success, for I had very clear recollections of days and nights without a thought of food, when his baffled mind had chafed before some problem while his thin, eager features became more attenuated with the asceticism of complete mental concentration. Finally he lit his pipe, and sitting in the inglenook of the old village inn he talked slowly and at random about his case, rather as one who thinks aloud than as one who makes a considered statement. "A lie, Watson--a great, big, thumping, obtrusive, uncompromising lie--that's what meets us on the threshold! There is our starting point. The whole story told by Barker is a lie. But Barker's story is corroborated by Mrs. Douglas. Therefore she is lying also. They are both lying, and in a conspiracy. So now we have the clear problem. Why are they lying, and what is the truth which they are trying so hard to conceal? Let us try, Watson, you and I, if we can get behind the lie and reconstruct the truth. "How do I know that they are lying? Because it is a clumsy fabrication which simply could not be true. Consider! According to the story given to us, the assassin had less than a minute after the murder had been committed to take that ring, which was under another ring, from the dead man's finger, to replace the other ring--a thing which he would surely never have done--and to put that singular card beside his victim. I say that this was obviously impossible. "You may argue--but I have too much respect for your judgment, Watson, to think that you will do so--that the ring may have been taken before the man was killed. The fact that the candle had been lit only a short time shows that there had been no lengthy interview. Was Douglas, from what we hear of his fearless character, a man who would be likely to give up his wedding ring at such short notice, or could we conceive of his giving it up at all? No, no, Watson, the assassin was alone with the dead man for some time with the lamp lit. Of that I have no doubt at all. "But the gunshot was apparently the cause of death. Therefore the shot must have been fired some time earlier than we are told. But there could be no mistake about such a matter as that. We are in the presence, therefore, of a deliberate conspiracy upon the part of the two people who heard the gunshot--of the man Barker and of the woman Douglas. When on the top of this I am able to show that the blood mark on the windowsill was deliberately placed there by Barker, in order to give a false clue to the police, you will admit that the case grows dark against him. "Now we have to ask ourselves at what hour the murder actually did occur. Up to half-past ten the servants were moving about the house; so it was certainly not before that time. At a quarter to eleven they had all gone to their rooms with the exception of Ames, who was in the pantry. I have been trying some experiments after you left us this afternoon, and I find that no noise which MacDonald can make in the study can penetrate to me in the pantry when the doors are all shut. "It is otherwise, however, from the housekeeper's room. It is not so far down the corridor, and from it I could vaguely hear a voice when it was very loudly raised. The sound from a shotgun is to some extent muffled when the discharge is at very close range, as it undoubtedly was in this instance. It would not be very loud, and yet in the silence of the night it should have easily penetrated to Mrs. Allen's room. She is, as she has told us, somewhat deaf; but none the less she mentioned in her evidence that she did hear something like a door slamming half an hour before the alarm was given. Half an hour before the alarm was given would be a quarter to eleven. I have no doubt that what she heard was the report of the gun, and that this was the real instant of the murder. "If this is so, we have now to determine what Barker and Mrs. Douglas, presuming that they are not the actual murderers, could have been doing from quarter to eleven, when the sound of the shot brought them down, until quarter past eleven, when they rang the bell and summoned the servants. What were they doing, and why did they not instantly give the alarm? That is the question which faces us, and when it has been answered we shall surely have gone some way to solve our problem." "I am convinced myself," said I, "that there is an understanding between those two people. She must be a heartless creature to sit laughing at some jest within a few hours of her husband's murder." "Exactly. She does not shine as a wife even in her own account of what occurred. I am not a whole-souled admirer of womankind, as you are aware, Watson, but my experience of life has taught me that there are few wives, having any regard for their husbands, who would let any man's spoken word stand between them and that husband's dead body. Should I ever marry, Watson, I should hope to inspire my wife with some feeling which would prevent her from being walked off by a housekeeper when my corpse was lying within a few yards of her. It was badly stage-managed; for even the rawest investigators must be struck by the absence of the usual feminine ululation. If there had been nothing else, this incident alone would have suggested a prearranged conspiracy to my mind." "You think then, definitely, that Barker and Mrs. Douglas are guilty of the murder?" "There is an appalling directness about your questions, Watson," said Holmes, shaking his pipe at me. "They come at me like bullets. If you put it that Mrs. Douglas and Barker know the truth about the murder, and are conspiring to conceal it, then I can give you a whole-souled answer. I am sure they do. But your more deadly proposition is not so clear. Let us for a moment consider the difficulties which stand in the way. "We will suppose that this couple are united by the bonds of a guilty love, and that they have determined to get rid of the man who stands between them. It is a large supposition; for discreet inquiry among servants and others has failed to corroborate it in any way. On the contrary, there is a good deal of evidence that the Douglases were very attached to each other." "That, I am sure, cannot he true." said I, thinking of the beautiful smiling face in the garden. "Well at least they gave that impression. However, we will suppose that they are an extraordinarily astute couple, who deceive everyone upon this point, and conspire to murder the husband. He happens to be a man over whose head some danger hangs--" "We have only their word for that." Holmes looked thoughtful. "I see, Watson. You are sketching out a theory by which everything they say from the beginning is false. According to your idea, there was never any hidden menace, or secret society, or Valley of Fear, or Boss MacSomebody, or anything else. Well, that is a good sweeping generalization. Let us see what that brings us to. They invent this theory to account for the crime. They then play up to the idea by leaving this bicycle in the park as proof of the existence of some outsider. The stain on the windowsill conveys the same idea. So does the card on the body, which might have been prepared in the house. That all fits into your hypothesis, Watson. But now we come on the nasty, angular, uncompromising bits which won't slip into their places. Why a cut-off shotgun of all weapons--and an American one at that? How could they be so sure that the sound of it would not bring someone on to them? It's a mere chance as it is that Mrs. Allen did not start out to inquire for the slamming door. Why did your guilty couple do all this, Watson?" "I confess that I can't explain it." "Then again, if a woman and her lover conspire to murder a husband, are they going to advertise their guilt by ostentatiously removing his wedding ring after his death? Does that strike you as very probable, Watson?" "No, it does not." "And once again, if the thought of leaving a bicycle concealed outside had occurred to you, would it really have seemed worth doing when the dullest detective would naturally say this is an obvious blind, as the bicycle is the first thing which the fugitive needed in order to make his escape." "I can conceive of no explanation." "And yet there should be no combination of events for which the wit of man cannot conceive an explanation. Simply as a mental exercise, without any assertion that it is true, let me indicate a possible line of thought. It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination the mother of truth? "We will suppose that there was a guilty secret, a really shameful secret in the life of this man Douglas. This leads to his murder by someone who is, we will suppose, an avenger, someone from outside. This avenger, for some reason which I confess I am still at a loss to explain, took the dead man's wedding ring. The vendetta might conceivably date back to the man's first marriage, and the ring be taken for some such reason. "Before this avenger got away, Barker and the wife had reached the room. The assassin convinced them that any attempt to arrest him would lead to the publication of some hideous scandal. They were converted to this idea, and preferred to let him go. For this purpose they probably lowered the bridge, which can be done quite noiselessly, and then raised it again. He made his escape, and for some reason thought that he could do so more safely on foot than on the bicycle. He therefore left his machine where it would not be discovered until he had got safely away. So far we are within the bounds of possibility, are we not?" "Well, it is possible, no doubt," said I, with some reserve. "We have to remember, Watson, that whatever occurred is certainly something very extraordinary. Well, now, to continue our supposititious case, the couple--not necessarily a guilty couple--realize after the murderer is gone that they have placed themselves in a position in which it may be difficult for them to prove that they did not themselves either do the deed or connive at it. They rapidly and rather clumsily met the situation. The mark was put by Barker's bloodstained slipper upon the window-sill to suggest how the fugitive got away. They obviously were the two who must have heard the sound of the gun; so they gave the alarm exactly as they would have done, but a good half hour after the event." "And how do you propose to prove all this?" "Well, if there were an outsider, he may be traced and taken. That would be the most effective of all proofs. But if not--well, the resources of science are far from being exhausted. I think that an evening alone in that study would help me much." "An evening alone!" "I propose to go up there presently. I have arranged it with the estimable Ames, who is by no means whole-hearted about Barker. I shall sit in that room and see if its atmosphere brings me inspiration. I'm a believer in the genius loci. You smile, Friend Watson. Well, we shall see. By the way, you have that big umbrella of yours, have you not?" "It is here." "Well, I'll borrow that if I may." "Certainly--but what a wretched weapon! If there is danger--" "Nothing serious, my dear Watson, or I should certainly ask for your assistance. But I'll take the umbrella. At present I am only awaiting the return of our colleagues from Tunbridge Wells, where they are at present engaged in trying for a likely owner to the bicycle." It was nightfall before Inspector MacDonald and White Mason came back from their expedition, and they arrived exultant, reporting a great advance in our investigation. "Man, I'll admeet that I had my doubts if there was ever an outsider," said MacDonald, "but that's all past now. We've had the bicycle identified, and we have a description of our man; so that's a long step on our journey." "It sounds to me like the beginning of the end," said Holmes. "I'm sure I congratulate you both with all my heart." "Well, I started from the fact that Mr. Douglas had seemed disturbed since the day before, when he had been at Tunbridge Wells. It was at Tunbridge Wells then that he had become conscious of some danger. It was clear, therefore, that if a man had come over with a bicycle it was from Tunbridge Wells that he might be expected to have come. We took the bicycle over with us and showed it at the hotels. It was identified at once by the manager of the Eagle Commercial as belonging to a man named Hargrave, who had taken a room there two days before. This bicycle and a small valise were his whole belongings. He had registered his name as coming from London, but had given no address. The valise was London made, and the contents were British; but the man himself was undoubtedly an American." "Well, well," said Holmes gleefully, "you have indeed done some solid work while I have been sitting spinning theories with my friend! It's a lesson in being practical, Mr. Mac." "Ay, it's just that, Mr. Holmes," said the inspector with satisfaction. "But this may all fit in with your theories," I remarked. "That may or may not be. But let us hear the end, Mr. Mac. Was there nothing to identify this man?" "So little that it was evident that he had carefully guarded himself against identification. There were no papers or letters, and no marking upon the clothes. A cycle map of the county lay on his bedroom table. He had left the hotel after breakfast yesterday morning on his bicycle, and no more was heard of him until our inquiries." "That's what puzzles me, Mr. Holmes," said White Mason. "If the fellow did not want the hue and cry raised over him, one would imagine that he would have returned and remained at the hotel as an inoffensive tourist. As it is, he must know that he will be reported to the police by the hotel manager and that his disappearance will be connected with the murder." "So one would imagine. Still, he has been justified of his wisdom up to date, at any rate, since he has not been taken. But his description--what of that?" MacDonald referred to his notebook. "Here we have it so far as they could give it. They don't seem to have taken any very particular stock of him; but still the porter, the clerk, and the chambermaid are all agreed that this about covers the points. He was a man about five foot nine in height, fifty or so years of age, his hair slightly grizzled, a grayish moustache, a curved nose, and a face which all of them described as fierce and forbidding." "Well, bar the expression, that might almost be a description of Douglas himself," said Holmes. "He is just over fifty, with grizzled hair and moustache, and about the same height. Did you get anything else?" "He was dressed in a heavy gray suit with a reefer jacket, and he wore a short yellow overcoat and a soft cap." "What about the shotgun?" "It is less than two feet long. It could very well have fitted into his valise. He could have carried it inside his overcoat without difficulty." "And how do you consider that all this bears upon the general case?" "Well, Mr. Holmes," said MacDonald, "when we have got our man--and you may be sure that I had his description on the wires within five minutes of hearing it--we shall be better able to judge. But, even as it stands, we have surely gone a long way. We know that an American calling himself Hargrave came to Tunbridge Wells two days ago with bicycle and valise. In the latter was a sawed-off shotgun; so he came with the deliberate purpose of crime. Yesterday morning he set off for this place on his bicycle, with his gun concealed in his overcoat. No one saw him arrive, so far as we can learn; but he need not pass through the village to reach the park gates, and there are many cyclists upon the road. Presumably he at once concealed his cycle among the laurels where it was found, and possibly lurked there himself, with his eye on the house, waiting for Mr. Douglas to come out. The shotgun is a strange weapon to use inside a house; but he had intended to use it outside, and there it has very obvious advantages, as it would be impossible to miss with it, and the sound of shots is so common in an English sporting neighbourhood that no particular notice would be taken." "That is all very clear," said Holmes. "Well, Mr. Douglas did not appear. What was he to do next? He left his bicycle and approached the house in the twilight. He found the bridge down and no one about. He took his chance, intending, no doubt, to make some excuse if he met anyone. He met no one. He slipped into the first room that he saw, and concealed himself behind the curtain. Thence he could see the drawbridge go up, and he knew that his only escape was through the moat. He waited until quarter-past eleven, when Mr. Douglas upon his usual nightly round came into the room. He shot him and escaped, as arranged. He was aware that the bicycle would be described by the hotel people and be a clue against him; so he left it there and made his way by some other means to London or to some safe hiding place which he had already arranged. How is that, Mr. Holmes?" "Well, Mr. Mac, it is very good and very clear so far as it goes. That is your end of the story. My end is that the crime was committed half an hour earlier than reported; that Mrs. Douglas and Barker are both in a conspiracy to conceal something; that they aided the murderer's escape--or at least that they reached the room before he escaped--and that they fabricated evidence of his escape through the window, whereas in all probability they had themselves let him go by lowering the bridge. That's my reading of the first half." The two detectives shook their heads. "Well, Mr. Holmes, if this is true, we only tumble out of one mystery into another," said the London inspector. "And in some ways a worse one," added White Mason. "The lady has never been in America in all her life. What possible connection could she have with an American assassin which would cause her to shelter him?" "I freely admit the difficulties," said Holmes. "I propose to make a little investigation of my own to-night, and it is just possible that it may contribute something to the common cause." "Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?" "No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella--my wants are simple. And Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All my lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question--why should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?" It was late that night when Holmes returned from his solitary excursion. We slept in a double-bedded room, which was the best that the little country inn could do for us. I was already asleep when I was partly awakened by his entrance. "Well, Holmes," I murmured, "have you found anything out?" He stood beside me in silence, his candle in his hand. Then the tall, lean figure inclined towards me. "I say, Watson," he whispered, "would you be afraid to sleep in the same room with a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?" "Not in the least," I answered in astonishment. "Ah, that's lucky," he said, and not another word would he utter that night. CHAPTER VII The Solution Next morning, after breakfast, we found Inspector MacDonald and White Mason seated in close consultation in the small parlour of the local police sergeant. On the table in front of them were piled a number of letters and telegrams, which they were carefully sorting and docketing. Three had been placed on one side. "Still on the track of the elusive bicyclist?" Holmes asked cheerfully. "What is the latest news of the ruffian?" MacDonald pointed ruefully to his heap of correspondence. "He is at present reported from Leicester, Nottingham, Southampton, Derby, East Ham, Richmond, and fourteen other places. In three of them--East Ham, Leicester, and Liverpool--there is a clear case against him, and he has actually been arrested. The country seems to be full of the fugitives with yellow coats." "Dear me!" said Holmes sympathetically. "Now, Mr. Mac and you, Mr. White Mason, I wish to give you a very earnest piece of advice. When I went into this case with you I bargained, as you will no doubt remember, that I should not present you with half-proved theories, but that I should retain and work out my own ideas until I had satisfied myself that they were correct. For this reason I am not at the present moment telling you all that is in my mind. On the other hand, I said that I would play the game fairly by you, and I do not think it is a fair game to allow you for one unnecessary moment to waste your energies upon a profitless task. Therefore I am here to advise you this morning, and my advice to you is summed up in three words--abandon the case." MacDonald and White Mason stared in amazement at their celebrated colleague. "You consider it hopeless!" cried the inspector. "I consider your case to be hopeless. I do not consider that it is hopeless to arrive at the truth." "But this cyclist. He is not an invention. We have his description, his valise, his bicycle. The fellow must be somewhere. Why should we not get him?" "Yes, yes, no doubt he is somewhere, and no doubt we shall get him; but I would not have you waste your energies in East Ham or Liverpool. I am sure that we can find some shorter cut to a result." "You are holding something back. It's hardly fair of you, Mr. Holmes." The inspector was annoyed. "You know my methods of work, Mr. Mac. But I will hold it back for the shortest time possible. I only wish to verify my details in one way, which can very readily be done, and then I make my bow and return to London, leaving my results entirely at your service. I owe you too much to act otherwise; for in all my experience I cannot recall any more singular and interesting study." "This is clean beyond me, Mr. Holmes. We saw you when we returned from Tunbridge Wells last night, and you were in general agreement with our results. What has happened since then to give you a completely new idea of the case?" "Well, since you ask me, I spent, as I told you that I would, some hours last night at the Manor House." "Well, what happened?" "Ah, I can only give you a very general answer to that for the moment. By the way, I have been reading a short but clear and interesting account of the old building, purchasable at the modest sum of one penny from the local tobacconist." Here Holmes drew a small tract, embellished with a rude engraving of the ancient Manor House, from his waistcoat pocket. "It immensely adds to the zest of an investigation, my dear Mr. Mac, when one is in conscious sympathy with the historical atmosphere of one's surroundings. Don't look so impatient; for I assure you that even so bald an account as this raises some sort of picture of the past in one's mind. Permit me to give you a sample. 'Erected in the fifth year of the reign of James I, and standing upon the site of a much older building, the Manor House of Birlstone presents one of the finest surviving examples of the moated Jacobean residence--' " "You are making fools of us, Mr. Holmes!" "Tut, tut, Mr. Mac!--the first sign of temper I have detected in you. Well, I won't read it verbatim, since you feel so strongly upon the subject. But when I tell you that there is some account of the taking of the place by a parliamentary colonel in 1644, of the concealment of Charles for several days in the course of the Civil War, and finally of a visit there by the second George, you will admit that there are various associations of interest connected with this ancient house." "I don't doubt it, Mr. Holmes; but that is no business of ours." "Is it not? Is it not? Breadth of view, my dear Mr. Mac, is one of the essentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and the oblique uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest. You will excuse these remarks from one who, though a mere connoisseur of crime, is still rather older and perhaps more experienced than yourself." "I'm the first to admit that," said the detective heartily. "You get to your point, I admit; but you have such a deuced round-the-corner way of doing it." "Well, well, I'll drop past history and get down to present-day facts. I called last night, as I have already said, at the Manor House. I did not see either Barker or Mrs. Douglas. I saw no necessity to disturb them; but I was pleased to hear that the lady was not visibly pining and that she had partaken of an excellent dinner. My visit was specially made to the good Mr. Ames, with whom I exchanged some amiabilities, which culminated in his allowing me, without reference to anyone else, to sit alone for a time in the study." "What! With that?" I ejaculated. "No, no, everything is now in order. You gave permission for that, Mr. Mac, as I am informed. The room was in its normal state, and in it I passed an instructive quarter of an hour." "What were you doing?" "Well, not to make a mystery of so simple a matter, I was looking for the missing dumb-bell. It has always bulked rather large in my estimate of the case. I ended by finding it." "Where?" "Ah, there we come to the edge of the unexplored. Let me go a little further, a very little further, and I will promise that you shall share everything that I know." "Well, we're bound to take you on your own terms," said the inspector; "but when it comes to telling us to abandon the case--why in the name of goodness should we abandon the case?" "For the simple reason, my dear Mr. Mac, that you have not got the first idea what it is that you are investigating." "We are investigating the murder of Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone Manor." "Yes, yes, so you are. But don't trouble to trace the mysterious gentleman upon the bicycle. I assure you that it won't help you." "Then what do you suggest that we do?" "I will tell you exactly what to do, if you will do it." "Well, I'm bound to say I've always found you had reason behind all your queer ways. I'll do what you advise." "And you, Mr. White Mason?" The country detective looked helplessly from one to the other. Holmes and his methods were new to him. "Well, if it is good enough for the inspector, it is good enough for me," he said at last. "Capital!" said Holmes. "Well, then, I should recommend a nice, cheery country walk for both of you. They tell me that the views from Birlstone Ridge over the Weald are very remarkable. No doubt lunch could be got at some suitable hostelry; though my ignorance of the country prevents me from recommending one. In the evening, tired but happy--" "Man, this is getting past a joke!" cried MacDonald, rising angrily from his chair. "Well, well, spend the day as you like," said Holmes, patting him cheerfully upon the shoulder. "Do what you like and go where you will, but meet me here before dusk without fail--without fail, Mr. Mac." "That sounds more like sanity." "All of it was excellent advice; but I don't insist, so long as you are here when I need you. But now, before we part, I want you to write a note to Mr. Barker." "Well?" "I'll dictate it, if you like. Ready? "Dear Sir: "It has struck me that it is our duty to drain the moat, in the hope that we may find some--" "It's impossible," said the inspector. "I've made inquiry." "Tut, tut! My dear sir, please do what I ask you." "Well, go on." "--in the hope that we may find something which may bear upon our investigation. I have made arrangements, and the workmen will be at work early to-morrow morning diverting the stream--" "Impossible!" "--diverting the stream; so I thought it best to explain matters beforehand. "Now sign that, and send it by hand about four o'clock. At that hour we shall meet again in this room. Until then we may each do what we like; for I can assure you that this inquiry has come to a definite pause." Evening was drawing in when we reassembled. Holmes was very serious in his manner, myself curious, and the detectives obviously critical and annoyed. "Well, gentlemen," said my friend gravely, "I am asking you now to put everything to the test with me, and you will judge for yourselves whether the observations I have made justify the conclusions to which I have come. It is a chill evening, and I do not know how long our expedition may last; so I beg that you will wear your warmest coats. It is of the first importance that we should be in our places before it grows dark; so with your permission we shall get started at once." We passed along the outer bounds of the Manor House park until we came to a place where there was a gap in the rails which fenced it. Through this we slipped, and then in the gathering gloom we followed Holmes until we had reached a shrubbery which lies nearly opposite to the main door and the drawbridge. The latter had not been raised. Holmes crouched down behind the screen of laurels, and we all three followed his example. "Well, what are we to do now?" asked MacDonald with some gruffness. "Possess our souls in patience and make as little noise as possible," Holmes answered. "What are we here for at all? I really think that you might treat us with more frankness." Holmes laughed. "Watson insists that I am the dramatist in real life," said he. "Some touch of the artist wells up within me, and calls insistently for a well-staged performance. Surely our profession, Mr. Mac, would be a drab and sordid one if we did not sometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results. The blunt accusation, the brutal tap upon the shoulder--what can one make of such a dénouement? But the quick inference, the subtle trap, the clever forecast of coming events, the triumphant vindication of bold theories--are these not the pride and the justification of our life's work? At the present moment you thrill with the glamour of the situation and the anticipation of the hunt. Where would be that thrill if I had been as definite as a timetable? I only ask a little patience, Mr. Mac, and all will be clear to you." "Well, I hope the pride and justification and the rest of it will come before we all get our death of cold," said the London detective with comic resignation. We all had good reason to join in the aspiration; for our vigil was a long and bitter one. Slowly the shadows darkened over the long, sombre face of the old house. A cold, damp reek from the moat chilled us to the bones and set our teeth chattering. There was a single lamp over the gateway and a steady globe of light in the fatal study. Everything else was dark and still. "How long is this to last?" asked the inspector finally. "And what is it we are watching for?" "I have no more notion than you how long it is to last," Holmes answered with some asperity. "If criminals would always schedule their movements like railway trains, it would certainly be more convenient for all of us. As to what it is we--Well, that's what we are watching for!" As he spoke the bright, yellow light in the study was obscured by somebody passing to and fro before it. The laurels among which we lay were immediately opposite the window and not more than a hundred feet from it. Presently it was thrown open with a whining of hinges, and we could dimly see the dark outline of a man's head and shoulders looking out into the gloom. For some minutes he peered forth in furtive, stealthy fashion, as one who wishes to be assured that he is unobserved. Then he leaned forward, and in the intense silence we were aware of the soft lapping of agitated water. He seemed to be stirring up the moat with something which he held in his hand. Then suddenly he hauled something in as a fisherman lands a fish--some large, round object which obscured the light as it was dragged through the open casement. "Now!" cried Holmes. "Now!" We were all upon our feet, staggering after him with our stiffened limbs, while he ran swiftly across the bridge and rang violently at the bell. There was the rasping of bolts from the other side, and the amazed Ames stood in the entrance. Holmes brushed him aside without a word and, followed by all of us, rushed into the room which had been occupied by the man whom we had been watching. The oil lamp on the table represented the glow which we had seen from outside. It was now in the hand of Cecil Barker, who held it towards us as we entered. Its light shone upon his strong, resolute, clean-shaved face and his menacing eyes. "What the devil is the meaning of all this?" he cried. "What are you after, anyhow?" Holmes took a swift glance round, and then pounced upon a sodden bundle tied together with cord which lay where it had been thrust under the writing table. "This is what we are after, Mr. Barker--this bundle, weighted with a dumb-bell, which you have just raised from the bottom of the moat." Barker stared at Holmes with amazement in his face. "How in thunder came you to know anything about it?" he asked. "Simply that I put it there." "You put it there! You!" "Perhaps I should have said 'replaced it there,'" said Holmes. "You will remember, Inspector MacDonald, that I was somewhat struck by the absence of a dumb-bell. I drew your attention to it; but with the pressure of other events you had hardly the time to give it the consideration which would have enabled you to draw deductions from it. When water is near and a weight is missing it is not a very far-fetched supposition that something has been sunk in the water. The idea was at least worth testing; so with the help of Ames, who admitted me to the room, and the crook of Dr. Watson's umbrella, I was able last night to fish up and inspect this bundle. "It was of the first importance, however, that we should be able to prove who placed it there. This we accomplished by the very obvious device of announcing that the moat would be dried to-morrow, which had, of course, the effect that whoever had hidden the bundle would most certainly withdraw it the moment that darkness enabled him to do so. We have no less than four witnesses as to who it was who took advantage of the opportunity, and so, Mr. Barker, I think the word lies now with you." Sherlock Holmes put the sopping bundle upon the table beside the lamp and undid the cord which bound it. From within he extracted a dumb-bell, which he tossed down to its fellow in the corner. Next he drew forth a pair of boots. "American, as you perceive," he remarked, pointing to the toes. Then he laid upon the table a long, deadly, sheathed knife. Finally he unravelled a bundle of clothing, comprising a complete set of underclothes, socks, a gray tweed suit, and a short yellow overcoat. "The clothes are commonplace," remarked Holmes, "save only the overcoat, which is full of suggestive touches." He held it tenderly towards the light. "Here, as you perceive, is the inner pocket prolonged into the lining in such fashion as to give ample space for the truncated fowling piece. The tailor's tab is on the neck--'Neal, Outfitter, Vermissa, U. S. A.' I have spent an instructive afternoon in the rector's library, and have enlarged my knowledge by adding the fact that Vermissa is a flourishing little town at the head of one of the best known coal and iron valleys in the United States. I have some recollection, Mr. Barker, that you associated the coal districts with Mr. Douglas's first wife, and it would surely not be too far-fetched an inference that the V. V. upon the card by the dead body might stand for Vermissa Valley, or that this very valley which sends forth emissaries of murder may be that Valley of Fear of which we have heard. So much is fairly clear. And now, Mr. Barker, I seem to be standing rather in the way of your explanation." It was a sight to see Cecil Barker's expressive face during this exposition of the great detective. Anger, amazement, consternation, and indecision swept over it in turn. Finally he took refuge in a somewhat acrid irony. "You know such a lot, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you had better tell us some more," he sneered. "I have no doubt that I could tell you a great deal more, Mr. Barker; but it would come with a better grace from you." "Oh, you think so, do you? Well, all I can say is that if there's any secret here it is not my secret, and I am not the man to give it away." "Well, if you take that line, Mr. Barker," said the inspector quietly, "we must just keep you in sight until we have the warrant and can hold you." "You can do what you damn please about that," said Barker defiantly. The proceedings seemed to have come to a definite end so far as he was concerned; for one had only to look at that granite face to realize that no peine forte et dure would ever force him to plead against his will. The deadlock was broken, however, by a woman's voice. Mrs. Douglas had been standing listening at the half opened door, and now she entered the room. "You have done enough for now, Cecil," said she. "Whatever comes of it in the future, you have done enough." "Enough and more than enough," remarked Sherlock Holmes gravely. "I have every sympathy with you, madam, and should strongly urge you to have some confidence in the common sense of our jurisdiction and to take the police voluntarily into your complete confidence. It may be that I am myself at fault for not following up the hint which you conveyed to me through my friend, Dr. Watson; but, at that time I had every reason to believe that you were directly concerned in the crime. Now I am assured that this is not so. At the same time, there is much that is unexplained, and I should strongly recommend that you ask Mr. Douglas to tell us his own story." Mrs. Douglas gave a cry of astonishment at Holmes's words. The detectives and I must have echoed it, when we were aware of a man who seemed to have emerged from the wall, who advanced now from the gloom of the corner in which he had appeared. Mrs. Douglas turned, and in an instant her arms were round him. Barker had seized his outstretched hand. "It's best this way, Jack," his wife repeated; "I am sure that it is best." "Indeed, yes, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes, "I am sure that you will find it best." The man stood blinking at us with the dazed look of one who comes from the dark into the light. It was a remarkable face, bold gray eyes, a strong, short-clipped, grizzled moustache, a square, projecting chin, and a humorous mouth. He took a good look at us all, and then to my amazement he advanced to me and handed me a bundle of paper. "I've heard of you," said he in a voice which was not quite English and not quite American, but was altogether mellow and pleasing. "You are the historian of this bunch. Well, Dr. Watson, you've never had such a story as that pass through your hands before, and I'll lay my last dollar on that. Tell it your own way; but there are the facts, and you can't miss the public so long as you have those. I've been cooped up two days, and I've spent the daylight hours--as much daylight as I could get in that rat trap--in putting the thing into words. You're welcome to them--you and your public. There's the story of the Valley of Fear." "That's the past, Mr. Douglas," said Sherlock Holmes quietly. "What we desire now is to hear your story of the present." "You'll have it, sir," said Douglas. "May I smoke as I talk? Well, thank you, Mr. Holmes. You're a smoker yourself, if I remember right, and you'll guess what it is to be sitting for two days with tobacco in your pocket and afraid that the smell will give you away." He leaned against the mantelpiece and sucked at the cigar which Holmes had handed him. "I've heard of you, Mr. Holmes. I never guessed that I should meet you. But before you are through with that," he nodded at my papers, "you will say I've brought you something fresh." Inspector MacDonald had been staring at the newcomer with the greatest amazement. "Well, this fairly beats me!" he cried at last. "If you are Mr. John Douglas of Birlstone Manor, then whose death have we been investigating for these two days, and where in the world have you sprung from now? You seemed to me to come out of the floor like a jack-in-a-box." "Ah, Mr. Mac," said Holmes, shaking a reproving forefinger, "you would not read that excellent local compilation which described the concealment of King Charles. People did not hide in those days without excellent hiding places, and the hiding place that has once been used may be again. I had persuaded myself that we should find Mr. Douglas under this roof." "And how long have you been playing this trick upon us, Mr. Holmes?" said the inspector angrily. "How long have you allowed us to waste ourselves upon a search that you knew to be an absurd one?" "Not one instant, my dear Mr. Mac. Only last night did I form my views of the case. As they could not be put to the proof until this evening, I invited you and your colleague to take a holiday for the day. Pray what more could I do? When I found the suit of clothes in the moat, it at once became apparent to me that the body we had found could not have been the body of Mr. John Douglas at all, but must be that of the bicyclist from Tunbridge Wells. No other conclusion was possible. Therefore I had to determine where Mr. John Douglas himself could be, and the balance of probability was that with the connivance of his wife and his friend he was concealed in a house which had such conveniences for a fugitive, and awaiting quieter times when he could make his final escape." "Well, you figured it out about right," said Douglas approvingly. "I thought I'd dodge your British law; for I was not sure how I stood under it, and also I saw my chance to throw these hounds once for all off my track. Mind you, from first to last I have done nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing that I would not do again; but you'll judge that for yourselves when I tell you my story. Never mind warning me, Inspector: I'm ready to stand pat upon the truth. "I'm not going to begin at the beginning. That's all there," he indicated my bundle of papers, "and a mighty queer yarn you'll find it. It all comes down to this: That there are some men that have good cause to hate me and would give their last dollar to know that they had got me. So long as I am alive and they are alive, there is no safety in this world for me. They hunted me from Chicago to California, then they chased me out of America; but when I married and settled down in this quiet spot I thought my last years were going to be peaceable. "I never explained to my wife how things were. Why should I pull her into it? She would never have a quiet moment again; but would always be imagining trouble. I fancy she knew something, for I may have dropped a word here or a word there; but until yesterday, after you gentlemen had seen her, she never knew the rights of the matter. She told you all she knew, and so did Barker here; for on the night when this thing happened there was mighty little time for explanations. She knows everything now, and I would have been a wiser man if I had told her sooner. But it was a hard question, dear," he took her hand for an instant in his own, "and I acted for the best. "Well, gentlemen, the day before these happenings I was over in Tunbridge Wells, and I got a glimpse of a man in the street. It was only a glimpse; but I have a quick eye for these things, and I never doubted who it was. It was the worst enemy I had among them all--one who has been after me like a hungry wolf after a caribou all these years. I knew there was trouble coming, and I came home and made ready for it. I guessed I'd fight through it all right on my own, my luck was a proverb in the States about '76. I never doubted that it would be with me still. "I was on my guard all that next day, and never went out into the park. It's as well, or he'd have had the drop on me with that buckshot gun of his before ever I could draw on him. After the bridge was up--my mind was always more restful when that bridge was up in the evenings--I put the thing clear out of my head. I never dreamed of his getting into the house and waiting for me. But when I made my round in my dressing gown, as was my habit, I had no sooner entered the study than I scented danger. I guess when a man has had dangers in his life--and I've had more than most in my time--there is a kind of sixth sense that waves the red flag. I saw the signal clear enough, and yet I couldn't tell you why. Next instant I spotted a boot under the window curtain, and then I saw why plain enough. "I'd just the one candle that was in my hand; but there was a good light from the hall lamp through the open door. I put down the candle and jumped for a hammer that I'd left on the mantel. At the same moment he sprang at me. I saw the glint of a knife, and I lashed at him with the hammer. I got him somewhere; for the knife tinkled down on the floor. He dodged round the table as quick as an eel, and a moment later he'd got his gun from under his coat. I heard him cock it; but I had got hold of it before he could fire. I had it by the barrel, and we wrestled for it all ends up for a minute or more. It was death to the man that lost his grip. "He never lost his grip; but he got it butt downward for a moment too long. Maybe it was I that pulled the trigger. Maybe we just jolted it off between us. Anyhow, he got both barrels in the face, and there I was, staring down at all that was left of Ted Baldwin. I'd recognized him in the township, and again when he sprang for me; but his own mother wouldn't recognize him as I saw him then. I'm used to rough work; but I fairly turned sick at the sight of him. "I was hanging on the side of the table when Barker came hurrying down. I heard my wife coming, and I ran to the door and stopped her. It was no sight for a woman. I promised I'd come to her soon. I said a word or two to Barker--he took it all in at a glance--and we waited for the rest to come along. But there was no sign of them. Then we understood that they could hear nothing, and that all that had happened was known only to ourselves. "It was at that instant that the idea came to me. I was fairly dazzled by the brilliance of it. The man's sleeve had slipped up and there was the branded mark of the lodge upon his forearm. See here!" The man whom we had known as Douglas turned up his own coat and cuff to show a brown triangle within a circle exactly like that which we had seen upon the dead man. "It was the sight of that which started me on it. I seemed to see it all clear at a glance. There were his height and hair and figure, about the same as my own. No one could swear to his face, poor devil! I brought down this suit of clothes, and in a quarter of an hour Barker and I had put my dressing gown on him and he lay as you found him. We tied all his things into a bundle, and I weighted them with the only weight I could find and put them through the window. The card he had meant to lay upon my body was lying beside his own. "My rings were put on his finger; but when it came to the wedding ring," he held out his muscular hand, "you can see for yourselves that I had struck the limit. I have not moved it since the day I was married, and it would have taken a file to get it off. I don't know, anyhow, that I should have cared to part with it; but if I had wanted to I couldn't. So we just had to leave that detail to take care of itself. On the other hand, I brought a bit of plaster down and put it where I am wearing one myself at this instant. You slipped up there, Mr. Holmes, clever as you are; for if you had chanced to take off that plaster you would have found no cut underneath it. "Well, that was the situation. If I could lie low for a while and then get away where I could be joined by my 'widow' we should have a chance at last of living in peace for the rest of our lives. These devils would give me no rest so long as I was above ground; but if they saw in the papers that Baldwin had got his man, there would be an end of all my troubles. I hadn't much time to make it all clear to Barker and to my wife; but they understood enough to be able to help me. I knew all about this hiding place, so did Ames; but it never entered his head to connect it with the matter. I retired into it, and it was up to Barker to do the rest. "I guess you can fill in for yourselves what he did. He opened the window and made the mark on the sill to give an idea of how the murderer escaped. It was a tall order, that; but as the bridge was up there was no other way. Then, when everything was fixed, he rang the bell for all he was worth. What happened afterward you know. And so, gentlemen, you can do what you please; but I've told you the truth and the whole truth, so help me God! What I ask you now is how do I stand by the English law?" There was a silence which was broken by Sherlock Holmes. "The English law is in the main a just law. You will get no worse than your deserts from that, Mr. Douglas. But I would ask you how did this man know that you lived here, or how to get into your house, or where to hide to get you?" "I know nothing of this." Holmes's face was very white and grave. "The story is not over yet, I fear," said he. "You may find worse dangers than the English law, or even than your enemies from America. I see trouble before you, Mr. Douglas. You'll take my advice and still be on your guard." And now, my long-suffering readers, I will ask you to come away with me for a time, far from the Sussex Manor House of Birlstone, and far also from the year of grace in which we made our eventful journey which ended with the strange story of the man who had been known as John Douglas. I wish you to journey back some twenty years in time, and westward some thousands of miles in space, that I may lay before you a singular and terrible narrative--so singular and so terrible that you may find it hard to believe that even as I tell it, even so did it occur. Do not think that I intrude one story before another is finished. As you read on you will find that this is not so. And when I have detailed those distant events and you have solved this mystery of the past, we shall meet once more in those rooms on Baker Street, where this, like so many other wonderful happenings, will find its end. PART II The Scowrers CHAPTER I The Man It was the fourth of February in the year 1875. It had been a severe winter, and the snow lay deep in the gorges of the Gilmerton Mountains. The steam ploughs had, however, kept the railroad open, and the evening train which connects the long line of coal-mining and iron-working settlements was slowly groaning its way up the steep gradients which lead from Stagville on the plain to Vermissa, the central township which lies at the head of Vermissa Valley. From this point the track sweeps downward to Bartons Crossing, Helmdale, and the purely agricultural county of Merton. It was a single-track railroad; but at every siding--and they were numerous--long lines of trucks piled with coal and iron ore told of the hidden wealth which had brought a rude population and a bustling life to this most desolate corner of the United States of America. For desolate it was! Little could the first pioneer who had traversed it have ever imagined that the fairest prairies and the most lush water pastures were valueless compared to this gloomy land of black crag and tangled forest. Above the dark and often scarcely penetrable woods upon their flanks, the high, bare crowns of the mountains, white snow, and jagged rock towered upon each flank, leaving a long, winding, tortuous valley in the centre. Up this the little train was slowly crawling. The oil lamps had just been lit in the leading passenger car, a long, bare carriage in which some twenty or thirty people were seated. The greater number of these were workmen returning from their day's toil in the lower part of the valley. At least a dozen, by their grimed faces and the safety lanterns which they carried, proclaimed themselves miners. These sat smoking in a group and conversed in low voices, glancing occasionally at two men on the opposite side of the car, whose uniforms and badges showed them to be policemen. Several women of the labouring class and one or two travellers who might have been small local storekeepers made up the rest of the company, with the exception of one young man in a corner by himself. It is with this man that we are concerned. Take a good look at him, for he is worth it. He is a fresh-complexioned, middle-sized young man, not far, one would guess, from his thirtieth year. He has large, shrewd, humorous gray eyes which twinkle inquiringly from time to time as he looks round through his spectacles at the people about him. It is easy to see that he is of a sociable and possibly simple disposition, anxious to be friendly to all men. Anyone could pick him at once as gregarious in his habits and communicative in his nature, with a quick wit and a ready smile. And yet the man who studied him more closely might discern a certain firmness of jaw and grim tightness about the lips which would warn him that there were depths beyond, and that this pleasant, brown-haired young Irishman might conceivably leave his mark for good or evil upon any society to which he was introduced. Having made one or two tentative remarks to the nearest miner, and receiving only short, gruff replies, the traveller resigned himself to uncongenial silence, staring moodily out of the window at the fading landscape. It was not a cheering prospect. Through the growing gloom there pulsed the red glow of the furnaces on the sides of the hills. Great heaps of slag and dumps of cinders loomed up on each side, with the high shafts of the collieries towering above them. Huddled groups of mean, wooden houses, the windows of which were beginning to outline themselves in light, were scattered here and there along the line, and the frequent halting places were crowded with their swarthy inhabitants. The iron and coal valleys of the Vermissa district were no resorts for the leisured or the cultured. Everywhere there were stern signs of the crudest battle of life, the rude work to be done, and the rude, strong workers who did it. The young traveller gazed out into this dismal country with a face of mingled repulsion and interest, which showed that the scene was new to him. At intervals he drew from his pocket a bulky letter to which he referred, and on the margins of which he scribbled some notes. Once from the back of his waist he produced something which one would hardly have expected to find in the possession of so mild-mannered a man. It was a navy revolver of the largest size. As he turned it slantwise to the light, the glint upon the rims of the copper shells within the drum showed that it was fully loaded. He quickly restored it to his secret pocket, but not before it had been observed by a working man who had seated himself upon the adjoining bench. "Hullo, mate!" said he. "You seem heeled and ready." The young man smiled with an air of embarrassment. "Yes," said he, "we need them sometimes in the place I come from." "And where may that be?" "I'm last from Chicago." "A stranger in these parts?" "Yes." "You may find you need it here," said the workman. "Ah! is that so?" The young man seemed interested. "Have you heard nothing of doings hereabouts?" "Nothing out of the way." "Why, I thought the country was full of it. You'll hear quick enough. What made you come here?" "I heard there was always work for a willing man." "Are you a member of the union?" "Sure." "Then you'll get your job, I guess. Have you any friends?" "Not yet; but I have the means of making them." "How's that, then?" "I am one of the Eminent Order of Freemen. There's no town without a lodge, and where there is a lodge I'll find my friends." The remark had a singular effect upon his companion. He glanced round suspiciously at the others in the car. The miners were still whispering among themselves. The two police officers were dozing. He came across, seated himself close to the young traveller, and held out his hand. "Put it there," he said. A hand-grip passed between the two. "I see you speak the truth," said the workman. "But it's well to make certain." He raised his right hand to his right eyebrow. The traveller at once raised his left hand to his left eyebrow. "Dark nights are unpleasant," said the workman. "Yes, for strangers to travel," the other answered. "That's good enough. I'm Brother Scanlan, Lodge 341, Vermissa Valley. Glad to see you in these parts." "Thank you. I'm Brother John McMurdo, Lodge 29, Chicago. Bodymaster J. H. Scott. But I am in luck to meet a brother so early." "Well, there are plenty of us about. You won't find the order more flourishing anywhere in the States than right here in Vermissa Valley. But we could do with some lads like you. I can't understand a spry man of the union finding no work to do in Chicago." "I found plenty of work to do," said McMurdo. "Then why did you leave?" McMurdo nodded towards the policemen and smiled. "I guess those chaps would be glad to know," he said. Scanlan groaned sympathetically. "In trouble?" he asked in a whisper. "Deep." "A penitentiary job?" "And the rest." "Not a killing!" "It's early days to talk of such things," said McMurdo with the air of a man who had been surprised into saying more than he intended. "I've my own good reasons for leaving Chicago, and let that be enough for you. Who are you that you should take it on yourself to ask such things?" His gray eyes gleamed with sudden and dangerous anger from behind his glasses. "All right, mate, no offense meant. The boys will think none the worse of you, whatever you may have done. Where are you bound for now?" "Vermissa." "That's the third halt down the line. Where are you staying?" McMurdo took out an envelope and held it close to the murky oil lamp. "Here is the address--Jacob Shafter, Sheridan Street. It's a boarding house that was recommended by a man I knew in Chicago." "Well, I don't know it; but Vermissa is out of my beat. I live at Hobson's Patch, and that's here where we are drawing up. But, say, there's one bit of advice I'll give you before we part: If you're in trouble in Vermissa, go straight to the Union House and see Boss McGinty. He is the Bodymaster of Vermissa Lodge, and nothing can happen in these parts unless Black Jack McGinty wants it. So long, mate! Maybe we'll meet in lodge one of these evenings. But mind my words: If you are in trouble, go to Boss McGinty." Scanlan descended, and McMurdo was left once again to his thoughts. Night had now fallen, and the flames of the frequent furnaces were roaring and leaping in the darkness. Against their lurid background dark figures were bending and straining, twisting and turning, with the motion of winch or of windlass, to the rhythm of an eternal clank and roar. "I guess hell must look something like that," said a voice. McMurdo turned and saw that one of the policemen had shifted in his seat and was staring out into the fiery waste. "For that matter," said the other policeman, "I allow that hell must be something like that. If there are worse devils down yonder than some we could name, it's more than I'd expect. I guess you are new to this part, young man?" "Well, what if I am?" McMurdo answered in a surly voice. "Just this, mister, that I should advise you to be careful in choosing your friends. I don't think I'd begin with Mike Scanlan or his gang if I were you." "What the hell is it to you who are my friends?" roared McMurdo in a voice which brought every head in the carriage round to witness the altercation. "Did I ask you for your advice, or did you think me such a sucker that I couldn't move without it? You speak when you are spoken to, and by the Lord you'd have to wait a long time if it was me!" He thrust out his face and grinned at the patrolmen like a snarling dog. The two policemen, heavy, good-natured men, were taken aback by the extraordinary vehemence with which their friendly advances had been rejected. "No offense, stranger," said one. "It was a warning for your own good, seeing that you are, by your own showing, new to the place." "I'm new to the place; but I'm not new to you and your kind!" cried McMurdo in cold fury. "I guess you're the same in all places, shoving your advice in when nobody asks for it." "Maybe we'll see more of you before very long," said one of the patrolmen with a grin. "You're a real hand-picked one, if I am a judge." "I was thinking the same," remarked the other. "I guess we may meet again." "I'm not afraid of you, and don't you think it!" cried McMurdo. "My name's Jack McMurdo--see? If you want me, you'll find me at Jacob Shafter's on Sheridan Street, Vermissa; so I'm not hiding from you, am I? Day or night I dare to look the like of you in the face--don't make any mistake about that!" There was a murmur of sympathy and admiration from the miners at the dauntless demeanour of the newcomer, while the two policemen shrugged their shoulders and renewed a conversation between themselves. A few minutes later the train ran into the ill-lit station, and there was a general clearing; for Vermissa was by far the largest town on the line. McMurdo picked up his leather gripsack and was about to start off into the darkness, when one of the miners accosted him. "By Gar, mate! you know how to speak to the cops," he said in a voice of awe. "It was grand to hear you. Let me carry your grip and show you the road. I'm passing Shafter's on the way to my own shack." There was a chorus of friendly "Good-nights" from the other miners as they passed from the platform. Before ever he had set foot in it, McMurdo the turbulent had become a character in Vermissa. The country had been a place of terror; but the town was in its way even more depressing. Down that long valley there was at least a certain gloomy grandeur in the huge fires and the clouds of drifting smoke, while the strength and industry of man found fitting monuments in the hills which he had spilled by the side of his monstrous excavations. But the town showed a dead level of mean ugliness and squalor. The broad street was churned up by the traffic into a horrible rutted paste of muddy snow. The sidewalks were narrow and uneven. The numerous gas-lamps served only to show more clearly a long line of wooden houses, each with its veranda facing the street, unkempt and dirty. As they approached the centre of the town the scene was brightened by a row of well-lit stores, and even more by a cluster of saloons and gaming houses, in which the miners spent their hard-earned but generous wages. "That's the Union House," said the guide, pointing to one saloon which rose almost to the dignity of being a hotel. "Jack McGinty is the boss there." "What sort of a man is he?" McMurdo asked. "What! have you never heard of the boss?" "How could I have heard of him when you know that I am a stranger in these parts?" "Well, I thought his name was known clear across the country. It's been in the papers often enough." "What for?" "Well," the miner lowered his voice--"over the affairs." "What affairs?" "Good Lord, mister! you are queer, if I must say it without offense. There's only one set of affairs that you'll hear of in these parts, and that's the affairs of the Scowrers." "Why, I seem to have read of the Scowrers in Chicago. A gang of murderers, are they not?" "Hush, on your life!" cried the miner, standing still in alarm, and gazing in amazement at his companion. "Man, you won't live long in these parts if you speak in the open street like that. Many a man has had the life beaten out of him for less." "Well, I know nothing about them. It's only what I have read." "And I'm not saying that you have not read the truth." The man looked nervously round him as he spoke, peering into the shadows as if he feared to see some lurking danger. "If killing is murder, then God knows there is murder and to spare. But don't you dare to breathe the name of Jack McGinty in connection with it, stranger; for every whisper goes back to him, and he is not one that is likely to let it pass. Now, that's the house you're after, that one standing back from the street. You'll find old Jacob Shafter that runs it as honest a man as lives in this township." "I thank you," said McMurdo, and shaking hands with his new acquaintance he plodded, gripsack in hand, up the path which led to the dwelling house, at the door of which he gave a resounding knock. It was opened at once by someone very different from what he had expected. It was a woman, young and singularly beautiful. She was of the German type, blonde and fair-haired, with the piquant contrast of a pair of beautiful dark eyes with which she surveyed the stranger with surprise and a pleasing embarrassment which brought a wave of colour over her pale face. Framed in the bright light of the open doorway, it seemed to McMurdo that he had never seen a more beautiful picture; the more attractive for its contrast with the sordid and gloomy surroundings. A lovely violet growing upon one of those black slag-heaps of the mines would not have seemed more surprising. So entranced was he that he stood staring without a word, and it was she who broke the silence. "I thought it was father," said she with a pleasing little touch of a German accent. "Did you come to see him? He is downtown. I expect him back every minute." McMurdo continued to gaze at her in open admiration until her eyes dropped in confusion before this masterful visitor. "No, miss," he said at last, "I'm in no hurry to see him. But your house was recommended to me for board. I thought it might suit me--and now I know it will." "You are quick to make up your mind," said she with a smile. "Anyone but a blind man could do as much," the other answered. She laughed at the compliment. "Come right in, sir," she said. "I'm Miss Ettie Shafter, Mr. Shafter's daughter. My mother's dead, and I run the house. You can sit down by the stove in the front room until father comes along--Ah, here he is! So you can fix things with him right away." A heavy, elderly man came plodding up the path. In a few words McMurdo explained his business. A man of the name of Murphy had given him the address in Chicago. He in turn had had it from someone else. Old Shafter was quite ready. The stranger made no bones about terms, agreed at once to every condition, and was apparently fairly flush of money. For seven dollars a week paid in advance he was to have board and lodging. So it was that McMurdo, the self-confessed fugitive from justice, took up his abode under the roof of the Shafters, the first step which was to lead to so long and dark a train of events, ending in a far distant land. CHAPTER II The Bodymaster McMurdo was a man who made his mark quickly. Wherever he was the folk around soon knew it. Within a week he had become infinitely the most important person at Shafter's. There were ten or a dozen boarders there; but they were honest foremen or commonplace clerks from the stores, of a very different calibre from the young Irishman. Of an evening when they gathered together his joke was always the readiest, his conversation the brightest, and his song the best. He was a born boon companion, with a magnetism which drew good humour from all around him. And yet he showed again and again, as he had shown in the railway carriage, a capacity for sudden, fierce anger, which compelled the respect and even the fear of those who met him. For the law, too, and all who were connected with it, he exhibited a bitter contempt which delighted some and alarmed others of his fellow boarders. From the first he made it evident, by his open admiration, that the daughter of the house had won his heart from the instant that he had set eyes upon her beauty and her grace. He was no backward suitor. On the second day he told her that he loved her, and from then onward he repeated the same story with an absolute disregard of what she might say to discourage him. "Someone else?" he would cry. "Well, the worse luck for someone else! Let him look out for himself! Am I to lose my life's chance and all my heart's desire for someone else? You can keep on saying no, Ettie: the day will come when you will say yes, and I'm young enough to wait." He was a dangerous suitor, with his glib Irish tongue, and his pretty, coaxing ways. There was about him also that glamour of experience and of mystery which attracts a woman's interest, and finally her love. He could talk of the sweet valleys of County Monaghan from which he came, of the lovely, distant island, the low hills and green meadows of which seemed the more beautiful when imagination viewed them from this place of grime and snow. Then he was versed in the life of the cities of the North, of Detroit, and the lumber camps of Michigan, and finally of Chicago, where he had worked in a planing mill. And afterwards came the hint of romance, the feeling that strange things had happened to him in that great city, so strange and so intimate that they might not be spoken of. He spoke wistfully of a sudden leaving, a breaking of old ties, a flight into a strange world, ending in this dreary valley, and Ettie listened, her dark eyes gleaming with pity and with sympathy--those two qualities which may turn so rapidly and so naturally to love. McMurdo had obtained a temporary job as bookkeeper; for he was a well-educated man. This kept him out most of the day, and he had not found occasion yet to report himself to the head of the lodge of the Eminent Order of Freemen. He was reminded of his omission, however, by a visit one evening from Mike Scanlan, the fellow member whom he had met in the train. Scanlan, the small, sharp-faced, nervous, black-eyed man, seemed glad to see him once more. After a glass or two of whisky he broached the object of his visit. "Say, McMurdo," said he, "I remembered your address, so l made bold to call. I'm surprised that you've not reported to the Bodymaster. Why haven't you seen Boss McGinty yet?" "Well, I had to find a job. I have been busy." "You must find time for him if you have none for anything else. Good Lord, man! you're a fool not to have been down to the Union House and registered your name the first morning after you came here! If you run against him--well, you mustn't, that's all!" McMurdo showed mild surprise. "I've been a member of the lodge for over two years, Scanlan, but I never heard that duties were so pressing as all that." "Maybe not in Chicago." "Well, it's the same society here." "Is it?" Scanlan looked at him long and fixedly. There was something sinister in his eyes. "Isn't it?" "You'll tell me that in a month's time. I hear you had a talk with the patrolmen after I left the train." "How did you know that?" "Oh, it got about--things do get about for good and for bad in this district." "Well, yes. I told the hounds what I thought of them." "By the Lord, you'll be a man after McGinty's heart!" "What, does he hate the police too?" Scanlan burst out laughing. "You go and see him, my lad," said he as he took his leave. "It's not the police but you that he'll hate if you don't! Now, take a friend's advice and go at once!" It chanced that on the same evening McMurdo had another more pressing interview which urged him in the same direction. It may have been that his attentions to Ettie had been more evident than before, or that they had gradually obtruded themselves into the slow mind of his good German host; but, whatever the cause, the boarding-house keeper beckoned the young man into his private room and started on the subject without any circumlocution. "It seems to me, mister," said he, "that you are gettin' set on my Ettie. Ain't that so, or am I wrong?" "Yes, that is so," the young man answered. "Vell, I vant to tell you right now that it ain't no manner of use. There's someone slipped in afore you." "She told me so." "Vell, you can lay that she told you truth. But did she tell you who it vas?" "No, I asked her; but she wouldn't tell." "I dare say not, the leetle baggage! Perhaps she did not vish to frighten you avay." "Frighten!" McMurdo was on fire in a moment. "Ah, yes, my friend! You need not be ashamed to be frightened of him. It is Teddy Baldwin." "And who the devil is he?" "He is a boss of Scowrers." "Scowrers! I've heard of them before. It's Scowrers here and Scowrers there, and always in a whisper! What are you all afraid of? Who are the Scowrers?" The boarding-house keeper instinctively sank his voice, as everyone did who talked about that terrible society. "The Scowrers," said he, "are the Eminent Order of Freemen!" The young man stared. "Why, I am a member of that order myself." "You! I vould never have had you in my house if I had known it--not if you vere to pay me a hundred dollar a week." "What's wrong with the order? It's for charity and good fellowship. The rules say so." "Maybe in some places. Not here!" "What is it here?" "It's a murder society, that's vat it is." McMurdo laughed incredulously. "How can you prove that?" he asked. "Prove it! Are there not fifty murders to prove it? Vat about Milman and Van Shorst, and the Nicholson family, and old Mr. Hyam, and little Billy James, and the others? Prove it! Is there a man or a voman in this valley vat does not know it?" "See here!" said McMurdo earnestly. "I want you to take back what you've said, or else make it good. One or the other you must do before I quit this room. Put yourself in my place. Here am I, a stranger in the town. I belong to a society that I know only as an innocent one. You'll find it through the length and breadth of the States, but always as an innocent one. Now, when I am counting upon joining it here, you tell me that it is the same as a murder society called the Scowrers. I guess you owe me either an apology or else an explanation, Mr. Shafter." "I can but tell you vat the whole vorld knows, mister. The bosses of the one are the bosses of the other. If you offend the one, it is the other vat vill strike you. We have proved it too often." "That's just gossip--I want proof!" said McMurdo. "If you live here long you vill get your proof. But I forget that you are yourself one of them. You vill soon be as bad as the rest. But you vill find other lodgings, mister. I cannot have you here. Is it not bad enough that one of these people come courting my Ettie, and that I dare not turn him down, but that I should have another for my boarder? Yes, indeed, you shall not sleep here after to-night!" McMurdo found himself under sentence of banishment both from his comfortable quarters and from the girl whom he loved. He found her alone in the sitting-room that same evening, and he poured his troubles into her ear. "Sure, your father is after giving me notice," he said. "It's little I would care if it was just my room, but indeed, Ettie, though it's only a week that I've known you, you are the very breath of life to me, and I can't live without you!" "Oh, hush, Mr. McMurdo, don't speak so!" said the girl. "I have told you, have I not, that you are too late? There is another, and if I have not promised to marry him at once, at least I can promise no one else." "Suppose I had been first, Ettie, would I have had a chance?" The girl sank her face into her hands. "I wish to heaven that you had been first!" she sobbed. McMurdo was down on his knees before her in an instant. "For God's sake, Ettie, let it stand at that!" he cried. "Will you ruin your life and my own for the sake of this promise? Follow your heart, acushla! 'Tis a safer guide than any promise before you knew what it was that you were saying." He had seized Ettie's white hand between his own strong brown ones. "Say that you will be mine, and we will face it out together!" "Not here?" "Yes, here." "No, no, Jack!" His arms were round her now. "It could not be here. Could you take me away?" A struggle passed for a moment over McMurdo's face; but it ended by setting like granite. "No, here," he said. "I'll hold you against the world, Ettie, right here where we are!" "Why should we not leave together?" "No, Ettie, I can't leave here." "But why?" "I'd never hold my head up again if I felt that I had been driven out. Besides, what is there to be afraid of? Are we not free folks in a free country? If you love me, and I you, who will dare to come between?" "You don't know, Jack. You've been here too short a time. You don't know this Baldwin. You don't know McGinty and his Scowrers." "No, I don't know them, and I don't fear them, and I don't believe in them!" said McMurdo. "I've lived among rough men, my darling, and instead of fearing them it has always ended that they have feared me--always, Ettie. It's mad on the face of it! If these men, as your father says, have done crime after crime in the valley, and if everyone knows them by name, how comes it that none are brought to justice? You answer me that, Ettie!" "Because no witness dares to appear against them. He would not live a month if he did. Also because they have always their own men to swear that the accused one was far from the scene of the crime. But surely, Jack, you must have read all this. I had understood that every paper in the United States was writing about it." "Well, I have read something, it is true; but I had thought it was a story. Maybe these men have some reason in what they do. Maybe they are wronged and have no other way to help themselves." "Oh, Jack, don't let me hear you speak so! That is how he speaks--the other one!" "Baldwin--he speaks like that, does he?" "And that is why I loathe him so. Oh, Jack, now I can tell you the truth. I loathe him with all my heart; but I fear him also. I fear him for myself; but above all I fear him for father. I know that some great sorrow would come upon us if I dared to say what I really felt. That is why I have put him off with half-promises. It was in real truth our only hope. But if you would fly with me, Jack, we could take father with us and live forever far from the power of these wicked men." Again there was the struggle upon McMurdo's face, and again it set like granite. "No harm shall come to you, Ettie--nor to your father either. As to wicked men, I expect you may find that I am as bad as the worst of them before we're through." "No, no, Jack! I would trust you anywhere." McMurdo laughed bitterly. "Good Lord! how little you know of me! Your innocent soul, my darling, could not even guess what is passing in mine. But, hullo, who's the visitor?" The door had opened suddenly, and a young fellow came swaggering in with the air of one who is the master. He was a handsome, dashing young man of about the same age and build as McMurdo himself. Under his broad-brimmed black felt hat, which he had not troubled to remove, a handsome face with fierce, domineering eyes and a curved hawk-bill of a nose looked savagely at the pair who sat by the stove. Ettie had jumped to her feet full of confusion and alarm. "I'm glad to see you, Mr. Baldwin," said she. "You're earlier than I had thought. Come and sit down." Baldwin stood with his hands on his hips looking at McMurdo. "Who is this?" he asked curtly. "It's a friend of mine, Mr. Baldwin, a new boarder here. Mr. McMurdo, may I introduce you to Mr. Baldwin?" The young men nodded in surly fashion to each other. "Maybe Miss Ettie has told you how it is with us?" said Baldwin. "I didn't understand that there was any relation between you." "Didn't you? Well, you can understand it now. You can take it from me that this young lady is mine, and you'll find it a very fine evening for a walk." "Thank you, I am in no humour for a walk." "Aren't you?" The man's savage eyes were blazing with anger. "Maybe you are in a humour for a fight, Mr. Boarder!" "That I am!" cried McMurdo, springing to his feet. "You never said a more welcome word." "For God's sake, Jack! Oh, for God's sake!" cried poor, distracted Ettie. "Oh, Jack, Jack, he will hurt you!" "Oh, it's Jack, is it?" said Baldwin with an oath. "You've come to that already, have you?" "Oh, Ted, be reasonable--be kind! For my sake, Ted, if ever you loved me, be big-hearted and forgiving!" "I think, Ettie, that if you were to leave us alone we could get this thing settled," said McMurdo quietly. "Or maybe, Mr. Baldwin, you will take a turn down the street with me. It's a fine evening, and there's some open ground beyond the next block." "I'll get even with you without needing to dirty my hands," said his enemy. "You'll wish you had never set foot in this house before I am through with you!" "No time like the present," cried McMurdo. "I'll choose my own time, mister. You can leave the time to me. See here!" He suddenly rolled up his sleeve and showed upon his forearm a peculiar sign which appeared to have been branded there. It was a circle with a triangle within it. "D'you know what that means?" "I neither know nor care!" "Well, you will know, I'll promise you that. You won't be much older, either. Perhaps Miss Ettie can tell you something about it. As to you, Ettie, you'll come back to me on your knees--d'ye hear, girl?--on your knees--and then I'll tell you what your punishment may be. You've sowed--and by the Lord, I'll see that you reap!" He glanced at them both in fury. Then he turned upon his heel, and an instant later the outer door had banged behind him. For a few moments McMurdo and the girl stood in silence. Then she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Jack, how brave you were! But it is no use, you must fly! To-night--Jack--to-night! It's your only hope. He will have your life. I read it in his horrible eyes. What chance have you against a dozen of them, with Boss McGinty and all the power of the lodge behind them?" McMurdo disengaged her hands, kissed her, and gently pushed her back into a chair. "There, acushla, there! Don't be disturbed or fear for me. I'm a Freeman myself. I'm after telling your father about it. Maybe I am no better than the others; so don't make a saint of me. Perhaps you hate me too, now that I've told you as much?" "Hate you, Jack? While life lasts I could never do that! I've heard that there is no harm in being a Freeman anywhere but here; so why should I think the worse of you for that? But if you are a Freeman, Jack, why should you not go down and make a friend of Boss McGinty? Oh, hurry, Jack, hurry! Get your word in first, or the hounds will be on your trail." "I was thinking the same thing," said McMurdo. "I'll go right now and fix it. You can tell your father that I'll sleep here to-night and find some other quarters in the morning." The bar of McGinty's saloon was crowded as usual, for it was the favourite loafing place of all the rougher elements of the town. The man was popular; for he had a rough, jovial disposition which formed a mask, covering a great deal which lay behind it. But apart from this popularity, the fear in which he was held throughout the township, and indeed down the whole thirty miles of the valley and past the mountains on each side of it, was enough in itself to fill his bar; for none could afford to neglect his good will. Besides those secret powers which it was universally believed that he exercised in so pitiless a fashion, he was a high public official, a municipal councillor, and a commissioner of roads, elected to the office through the votes of the ruffians who in turn expected to receive favours at his hands. Assessments and taxes were enormous; the public works were notoriously neglected, the accounts were slurred over by bribed auditors, and the decent citizen was terrorized into paying public blackmail, and holding his tongue lest some worse thing befall him. Thus it was that, year by year, Boss McGinty's diamond pins became more obtrusive, his gold chains more weighty across a more gorgeous vest, and his saloon stretched farther and farther, until it threatened to absorb one whole side of the Market Square. McMurdo pushed open the swinging door of the saloon and made his way amid the crowd of men within, through an atmosphere blurred with tobacco smoke and heavy with the smell of spirits. The place was brilliantly lighted, and the huge, heavily gilt mirrors upon every wall reflected and multiplied the garish illumination. There were several bartenders in their shirt sleeves, hard at work mixing drinks for the loungers who fringed the broad, brass-trimmed counter. At the far end, with his body resting upon the bar and a cigar stuck at an acute angle from the corner of his mouth, stood a tall, strong, heavily built man who could be none other than the famous McGinty himself. He was a black-maned giant, bearded to the cheek-bones, and with a shock of raven hair which fell to his collar. His complexion was as swarthy as that of an Italian, and his eyes were of a strange dead black, which, combined with a slight squint, gave them a particularly sinister appearance. All else in the man--his noble proportions, his fine features, and his frank bearing--fitted in with that jovial, man-to-man manner which he affected. Here, one would say, is a bluff, honest fellow, whose heart would be sound however rude his outspoken words might seem. It was only when those dead, dark eyes, deep and remorseless, were turned upon a man that he shrank within himself, feeling that he was face to face with an infinite possibility of latent evil, with a strength and courage and cunning behind it which made it a thousand times more deadly. Having had a good look at his man, McMurdo elbowed his way forward with his usual careless audacity, and pushed himself through the little group of courtiers who were fawning upon the powerful boss, laughing uproariously at the smallest of his jokes. The young stranger's bold gray eyes looked back fearlessly through their glasses at the deadly black ones which turned sharply upon him. "Well, young man, I can't call your face to mind." "I'm new here, Mr. McGinty." "You are not so new that you can't give a gentleman his proper title." "He's Councillor McGinty, young man," said a voice from the group. "I'm sorry, Councillor. I'm strange to the ways of the place. But I was advised to see you." "Well, you see me. This is all there is. What d'you think of me?" "Well, it's early days. If your heart is as big as your body, and your soul as fine as your face, then I'd ask for nothing better," said McMurdo. "By Gar! you've got an Irish tongue in your head anyhow," cried the saloon-keeper, not quite certain whether to humour this audacious visitor or to stand upon his dignity. "So you are good enough to pass my appearance?" "Sure," said McMurdo. "And you were told to see me?" "I was." "And who told you?" "Brother Scanlan of Lodge 341, Vermissa. I drink your health Councillor, and to our better acquaintance." He raised a glass with which he had been served to his lips and elevated his little finger as he drank it. McGinty, who had been watching him narrowly, raised his thick black eyebrows. "Oh, it's like that, is it?" said he. "I'll have to look a bit closer into this, Mister--" "McMurdo." "A bit closer, Mr. McMurdo; for we don't take folk on trust in these parts, nor believe all we're told neither. Come in here for a moment, behind the bar." There was a small room there, lined with barrels. McGinty carefully closed the door, and then seated himself on one of them, biting thoughtfully on his cigar and surveying his companion with those disquieting eyes. For a couple of minutes he sat in complete silence. McMurdo bore the inspection cheerfully, one hand in his coat pocket, the other twisting his brown moustache. Suddenly McGinty stooped and produced a wicked-looking revolver. "See here, my joker," said he, "if I thought you were playing any game on us, it would be short work for you." "This is a strange welcome," McMurdo answered with some dignity, "for the Bodymaster of a lodge of Freemen to give to a stranger brother." "Ay, but it's just that same that you have to prove," said McGinty, "and God help you if you fail! Where were you made?" "Lodge 29, Chicago." "When?" "June 24, 1872." "What Bodymaster?" "James H. Scott." "Who is your district ruler?" "Bartholomew Wilson." "Hum! You seem glib enough in your tests. What are you doing here?" "Working, the same as you--but a poorer job." "You have your back answer quick enough." "Yes, I was always quick of speech." "Are you quick of action?" "I have had that name among those that knew me best." "Well, we may try you sooner than you think. Have you heard anything of the lodge in these parts?" "I've heard that it takes a man to be a brother." "True for you, Mr. McMurdo. Why did you leave Chicago?" "I'm damned if I tell you that!" McGinty opened his eyes. He was not used to being answered in such fashion, and it amused him. "Why won't you tell me?" "Because no brother may tell another a lie." "Then the truth is too bad to tell?" "You can put it that way if you like." "See here, mister, you can't expect me, as Bodymaster, to pass into the lodge a man for whose past he can't answer." McMurdo looked puzzled. Then he took a worn newspaper cutting from an inner pocket. "You wouldn't squeal on a fellow?" said he. "I'll wipe my hand across your face if you say such words to me!" cried McGinty hotly. "You are right, Councillor," said McMurdo meekly. "I should apologize. I spoke without thought. Well, I know that I am safe in your hands. Look at that clipping." McGinty glanced his eyes over the account of the shooting of one Jonas Pinto, in the Lake Saloon, Market Street, Chicago, in the New Year week of 1874. "Your work?" he asked, as he handed back the paper. McMurdo nodded. "Why did you shoot him?" "I was helping Uncle Sam to make dollars. Maybe mine were not as good gold as his, but they looked as well and were cheaper to make. This man Pinto helped me to shove the queer--" "To do what?" "Well, it means to pass the dollars out into circulation. Then he said he would split. Maybe he did split. I didn't wait to see. I just killed him and lighted out for the coal country." "Why the coal country?" "'Cause I'd read in the papers that they weren't too particular in those parts." McGinty laughed. "You were first a coiner and then a murderer, and you came to these parts because you thought you'd be welcome." "That's about the size of it," McMurdo answered. "Well, I guess you'll go far. Say, can you make those dollars yet?" McMurdo took half a dozen from his pocket. "Those never passed the Philadelphia mint," said he. "You don't say!" McGinty held them to the light in his enormous hand, which was hairy as a gorilla's. "I can see no difference. Gar! you'll be a mighty useful brother, I'm thinking! We can do with a bad man or two among us, Friend McMurdo: for there are times when we have to take our own part. We'd soon be against the wall if we didn't shove back at those that were pushing us." "Well, I guess I'll do my share of shoving with the rest of the boys." "You seem to have a good nerve. You didn't squirm when I shoved this gun at you." "It was not me that was in danger." "Who then?" "It was you, Councillor." McMurdo drew a cocked pistol from the side pocket of his peajacket. "I was covering you all the time. I guess my shot would have been as quick as yours." "By Gar!" McGinty flushed an angry red and then burst into a roar of laughter. "Say, we've had no such holy terror come to hand this many a year. I reckon the lodge will learn to be proud of you ... Well, what the hell do you want? And can't I speak alone with a gentleman for five minutes but you must butt in on us?" The bartender stood abashed. "I'm sorry, Councillor, but it's Ted Baldwin. He says he must see you this very minute." The message was unnecessary; for the set, cruel face of the man himself was looking over the servant's shoulder. He pushed the bartender out and closed the door on him. "So," said he with a furious glance at McMurdo, "you got here first, did you? I've a word to say to you, Councillor, about this man." "Then say it here and now before my face," cried McMurdo. "I'll say it at my own time, in my own way." "Tut! Tut!" said McGinty, getting off his barrel. "This will never do. We have a new brother here, Baldwin, and it's not for us to greet him in such fashion. Hold out your hand, man, and make it up!" "Never!" cried Baldwin in a fury. "I've offered to fight him if he thinks I have wronged him," said McMurdo. "I'll fight him with fists, or, if that won't satisfy him, I'll fight him any other way he chooses. Now, I'll leave it to you, Councillor, to judge between us as a Bodymaster should." "What is it, then?" "A young lady. She's free to choose for herself." "Is she?" cried Baldwin. "As between two brothers of the lodge I should say that she was," said the Boss. "Oh, that's your ruling, is it?" "Yes, it is, Ted Baldwin," said McGinty, with a wicked stare. "Is it you that would dispute it?" "You would throw over one that has stood by you this five years in favour of a man that you never saw before in your life? You're not Bodymaster for life, Jack McGinty, and by God! when next it comes to a vote--" The Councillor sprang at him like a tiger. His hand closed round the other's neck, and he hurled him back across one of the barrels. In his mad fury he would have squeezed the life out of him if McMurdo had not interfered. "Easy, Councillor! For heaven's sake, go easy!" he cried, as he dragged him back. McGinty released his hold, and Baldwin, cowed and shaken gasping for breath, and shivering in every limb, as one who has looked over the very edge of death, sat up on the barrel over which he had been hurled. "You've been asking for it this many a day, Ted Baldwin--now you've got it!" cried McGinty, his huge chest rising and falling. "Maybe you think if I was voted down from Bodymaster you would find yourself in my shoes. It's for the lodge to say that. But so long as I am the chief I'll have no man lift his voice against me or my rulings." "I have nothing against you," mumbled Baldwin, feeling his throat. "Well, then," cried the other, relapsing in a moment into a bluff joviality, "we are all good friends again and there's an end of the matter." He took a bottle of champagne down from the shelf and twisted out the cork. "See now," he continued, as he filled three high glasses. "Let us drink the quarrelling toast of the lodge. After that, as you know, there can be no bad blood between us. Now, then the left hand on the apple of my throat. I say to you, Ted Baldwin, what is the offense, sir?" "The clouds are heavy," answered Baldwin. "But they will forever brighten." "And this I swear!" The men drank their glasses, and the same ceremony was performed between Baldwin and McMurdo "There!" cried McGinty, rubbing his hands. "That's the end of the black blood. You come under lodge discipline if it goes further, and that's a heavy hand in these parts, as Brother Baldwin knows--and as you will damn soon find out, Brother McMurdo, if you ask for trouble!" "Faith, I'd be slow to do that," said McMurdo. He held out his hand to Baldwin. "I'm quick to quarrel and quick to forgive. It's my hot Irish blood, they tell me. But it's over for me, and I bear no grudge." Baldwin had to take the proffered hand, for the baleful eye of the terrible Boss was upon him. But his sullen face showed how little the words of the other had moved him. McGinty clapped them both on the shoulders. "Tut! These girls! These girls!" he cried. "To think that the same petticoats should come between two of my boys! It's the devil's own luck! Well, it's the colleen inside of them that must settle the question for it's outside the jurisdiction of a Bodymaster--and the Lord be praised for that! We have enough on us, without the women as well. You'll have to be affiliated to Lodge 341, Brother McMurdo. We have our own ways and methods, different from Chicago. Saturday night is our meeting, and if you come then, we'll make you free forever of the Vermissa Valley." CHAPTER III Lodge 341, Vermissa On the day following the evening which had contained so many exciting events, McMurdo moved his lodgings from old Jacob Shafter's and took up his quarters at the Widow MacNamara's on the extreme outskirts of the town. Scanlan, his original acquaintance aboard the train, had occasion shortly afterwards to move into Vermissa, and the two lodged together. There was no other boarder, and the hostess was an easy-going old Irishwoman who left them to themselves; so that they had a freedom for speech and action welcome to men who had secrets in common. Shafter had relented to the extent of letting McMurdo come to his meals there when he liked; so that his intercourse with Ettie was by no means broken. On the contrary, it drew closer and more intimate as the weeks went by. In his bedroom at his new abode McMurdo felt it safe to take out the coining moulds, and under many a pledge of secrecy a number of brothers from the lodge were allowed to come in and see them, each carrying away in his pocket some examples of the false money, so cunningly struck that there was never the slightest difficulty or danger in passing it. Why, with such a wonderful art at his command, McMurdo should condescend to work at all was a perpetual mystery to his companions; though he made it clear to anyone who asked him that if he lived without any visible means it would very quickly bring the police upon his track. One policeman was indeed after him already; but the incident, as luck would have it, did the adventurer a great deal more good than harm. After the first introduction there were few evenings when he did not find his way to McGinty's saloon, there to make closer acquaintance with "the boys," which was the jovial title by which the dangerous gang who infested the place were known to one another. His dashing manner and fearlessness of speech made him a favourite with them all; while the rapid and scientific way in which he polished off his antagonist in an "all in" bar-room scrap earned the respect of that rough community. Another incident, however, raised him even higher in their estimation. Just at the crowded hour one night, the door opened and a man entered with the quiet blue uniform and peaked cap of the mine police. This was a special body raised by the railways and colliery owners to supplement the efforts of the ordinary civil police, who were perfectly helpless in the face of the organized ruffianism which terrorized the district. There was a hush as he entered, and many a curious glance was cast at him; but the relations between policemen and criminals are peculiar in some parts of the States, and McGinty himself standing behind his counter, showed no surprise when the policeman enrolled himself among his customers. "A straight whisky, for the night is bitter," said the police officer. "I don't think we have met before, Councillor?" "You'll be the new captain?" said McGinty. "That's so. We're looking to you, Councillor, and to the other leading citizens, to help us in upholding law and order in this township. Captain Marvin is my name." "We'd do better without you, Captain Marvin," said McGinty coldly; "for we have our own police of the township, and no need for any imported goods. What are you but the paid tool of the capitalists, hired by them to club or shoot your poorer fellow citizen?" "Well, well, we won't argue about that," said the police officer good-humouredly. "I expect we all do our duty same as we see it; but we can't all see it the same." He had drunk off his glass and had turned to go, when his eyes fell upon the face of Jack McMurdo, who was scowling at his elbow. "Hullo! Hullo!" he cried, looking him up and down. "Here's an old acquaintance!" McMurdo shrank away from him. "I was never a friend to you nor any other cursed copper in my life," said he. "An acquaintance isn't always a friend," said the police captain, grinning. "You're Jack McMurdo of Chicago, right enough, and don't you deny it!" McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not denying it," said he. "D'ye think I'm ashamed of my own name?" "You've got good cause to be, anyhow." "What the devil d'you mean by that?" he roared with his fists clenched. "No, no, Jack, bluster won't do with me. I was an officer in Chicago before ever I came to this darned coal bunker, and I know a Chicago crook when I see one." McMurdo's face fell. "Don't tell me that you're Marvin of the Chicago Central!" he cried. "Just the same old Teddy Marvin, at your service. We haven't forgotten the shooting of Jonas Pinto up there." "I never shot him." "Did you not? That's good impartial evidence, ain't it? Well, his death came in uncommon handy for you, or they would have had you for shoving the queer. Well, we can let that be bygones; for, between you and me--and perhaps I'm going further than my duty in saying it--they could get no clear case against you, and Chicago's open to you to-morrow." "I'm very well where I am." "Well, I've given you the pointer, and you're a sulky dog not to thank me for it." "Well, I suppose you mean well, and I do thank you," said McMurdo in no very gracious manner. "It's mum with me so long as I see you living on the straight," said the captain. "But, by the Lord! if you get off after this, it's another story! So good-night to you--and goodnight, Councillor." He left the bar-room; but not before he had created a local hero. McMurdo's deeds in far Chicago had been whispered before. He had put off all questions with a smile, as one who did not wish to have greatness thrust upon him. But now the thing was officially confirmed. The bar loafers crowded round him and shook him heartily by the hand. He was free of the community from that time on. He could drink hard and show little trace of it; but that evening, had his mate Scanlan not been at hand to lead him home, the feted hero would surely have spent his night under the bar. On a Saturday night McMurdo was introduced to the lodge. He had thought to pass in without ceremony as being an initiate of Chicago; but there were particular rites in Vermissa of which they were proud, and these had to be undergone by every postulant. The assembly met in a large room reserved for such purposes at the Union House. Some sixty members assembled at Vermissa; but that by no means represented the full strength of the organization, for there were several other lodges in the valley, and others across the mountains on each side, who exchanged members when any serious business was afoot, so that a crime might be done by men who were strangers to the locality. Altogether there were not less than five hundred scattered over the coal district. In the bare assembly room the men were gathered round a long table. At the side was a second one laden with bottles and glasses, on which some members of the company were already turning their eyes. McGinty sat at the head with a flat black velvet cap upon his shock of tangled black hair, and a coloured purple stole round his neck, so that he seemed to be a priest presiding over some diabolical ritual. To right and left of him were the higher lodge officials, the cruel, handsome face of Ted Baldwin among them. Each of these wore some scarf or medallion as emblem of his office. They were, for the most part, men of mature age; but the rest of the company consisted of young fellows from eighteen to twenty-five, the ready and capable agents who carried out the commands of their seniors. Among the older men were many whose features showed the tigerish, lawless souls within; but looking at the rank and file it was difficult to believe that these eager and open-faced young fellows were in very truth a dangerous gang of murderers, whose minds had suffered such complete moral perversion that they took a horrible pride in their proficiency at the business, and looked with deepest respect at the man who had the reputation of making what they called "a clean job." To their contorted natures it had become a spirited and chivalrous thing to volunteer for service against some man who had never injured them, and whom in many cases they had never seen in their lives. The crime committed, they quarrelled as to who had actually struck the fatal blow, and amused one another and the company by describing the cries and contortions of the murdered man. At first they had shown some secrecy in their arrangements; but at the time which this narrative describes their proceedings were extraordinarily open, for the repeated failures of the law had proved to them that, on the one hand, no one would dare to witness against them, and on the other they had an unlimited number of stanch witnesses upon whom they could call, and a well-filled treasure chest from which they could draw the funds to engage the best legal talent in the state. In ten long years of outrage there had been no single conviction, and the only danger that ever threatened the Scowrers lay in the victim himself--who, however outnumbered and taken by surprise, might and occasionally did leave his mark upon his assailants. McMurdo had been warned that some ordeal lay before him; but no one would tell him in what it consisted. He was led now into an outer room by two solemn brothers. Through the plank partition he could hear the murmur of many voices from the assembly within. Once or twice he caught the sound of his own name, and he knew that they were discussing his candidacy. Then there entered an inner guard with a green and gold sash across his chest. "The Bodymaster orders that he shall be trussed, blinded, and entered," said he. The three of them removed his coat, turned up the sleeve of his right arm, and finally passed a rope round above the elbows and made it fast. They next placed a thick black cap right over his head and the upper part of his face, so that he could see nothing. He was then led into the assembly hall. It was pitch dark and very oppressive under his hood. He heard the rustle and murmur of the people round him, and then the voice of McGinty sounded dull and distant through the covering of his ears. "John McMurdo," said the voice, "are you already a member of the Ancient Order of Freemen?" He bowed in assent. "Is your lodge No. 29, Chicago?" He bowed again. "Dark nights are unpleasant," said the voice. "Yes, for strangers to travel," he answered. "The clouds are heavy." "Yes, a storm is approaching." "Are the brethren satisfied?" asked the Bodymaster. There was a general murmur of assent. "We know, Brother, by your sign and by your countersign that you are indeed one of us," said McGinty. "We would have you know, however, that in this county and in other counties of these parts we have certain rites, and also certain duties of our own which call for good men. Are you ready to be tested?" "I am." "Are you of stout heart?" "I am." "Take a stride forward to prove it." As the words were said he felt two hard points in front of his eyes, pressing upon them so that it appeared as if he could not move forward without a danger of losing them. None the less, he nerved himself to step resolutely out, and as he did so the pressure melted away. There was a low murmur of applause. "He is of stout heart," said the voice. "Can you bear pain?" "As well as another," he answered. "Test him!" It was all he could do to keep himself from screaming out, for an agonizing pain shot through his forearm. He nearly fainted at the sudden shock of it; but he bit his lip and clenched his hands to hide his agony. "I can take more than that," said he. This time there was loud applause. A finer first appearance had never been made in the lodge. Hands clapped him on the back, and the hood was plucked from his head. He stood blinking and smiling amid the congratulations of the brothers. "One last word, Brother McMurdo," said McGinty. "You have already sworn the oath of secrecy and fidelity, and you are aware that the punishment for any breach of it is instant and inevitable death?" "I am," said McMurdo. "And you accept the rule of the Bodymaster for the time being under all circumstances?" "I do." "Then in the name of Lodge 341, Vermissa, I welcome you to its privileges and debates. You will put the liquor on the table, Brother Scanlan, and we will drink to our worthy brother." McMurdo's coat had been brought to him; but before putting it on he examined his right arm, which still smarted heavily. There on the flesh of the forearm was a circle with a triangle within it, deep and red, as the branding iron had left it. One or two of his neighbours pulled up their sleeves and showed their own lodge marks. "We've all had it," said one; "but not all as brave as you over it." "Tut! It was nothing," said he; but it burned and ached all the same. When the drinks which followed the ceremony of initiation had all been disposed of, the business of the lodge proceeded. McMurdo, accustomed only to the prosaic performances of Chicago, listened with open ears and more surprise than he ventured to show to what followed. "The first business on the agenda paper," said McGinty, "is to read the following letter from Division Master Windle of Merton County Lodge 249. He says: "Dear Sir: "There is a job to be done on Andrew Rae of Rae & Sturmash, coal owners near this place. You will remember that your lodge owes us a return, having had the service of two brethren in the matter of the patrolman last fall. You will send two good men, they will be taken charge of by Treasurer Higgins of this lodge, whose address you know. He will show them when to act and where. Yours in freedom, "J. W. Windle D. M. A. O. F. "Windle has never refused us when we have had occasion to ask for the loan of a man or two, and it is not for us to refuse him." McGinty paused and looked round the room with his dull, malevolent eyes. "Who will volunteer for the job?" Several young fellows held up their hands. The Bodymaster looked at them with an approving smile. "You'll do, Tiger Cormac. If you handle it as well as you did the last, you won't be wrong. And you, Wilson." "I've no pistol," said the volunteer, a mere boy in his teens. "It's your first, is it not? Well, you have to be blooded some time. It will be a great start for you. As to the pistol, you'll find it waiting for you, or I'm mistaken. If you report yourselves on Monday, it will be time enough. You'll get a great welcome when you return." "Any reward this time?" asked Cormac, a thick-set, dark-faced, brutal-looking young man, whose ferocity had earned him the nickname of "Tiger." "Never mind the reward. You just do it for the honour of the thing. Maybe when it is done there will be a few odd dollars at the bottom of the box." "What has the man done?" asked young Wilson. "Sure, it's not for the likes of you to ask what the man has done. He has been judged over there. That's no business of ours. All we have to do is to carry it out for them, same as they would for us. Speaking of that, two brothers from the Merton lodge are coming over to us next week to do some business in this quarter." "Who are they?" asked someone. "Faith, it is wiser not to ask. If you know nothing, you can testify nothing, and no trouble can come of it. But they are men who will make a clean job when they are about it." "And time, too!" cried Ted Baldwin. "Folk are gettin' out of hand in these parts. It was only last week that three of our men were turned off by Foreman Blaker. It's been owing him a long time, and he'll get it full and proper." "Get what?" McMurdo whispered to his neighbour. "The business end of a buckshot cartridge!" cried the man with a loud laugh. "What think you of our ways, Brother?" McMurdo's criminal soul seemed to have already absorbed the spirit of the vile association of which he was now a member. "I like it well," said he. "'Tis a proper place for a lad of mettle." Several of those who sat around heard his words and applauded them. "What's that?" cried the black-maned Bodymaster from the end of the table. "'Tis our new brother, sir, who finds our ways to his taste." McMurdo rose to his feet for an instant. "I would say, Eminent Bodymaster, that if a man should be wanted I should take it as an honour to be chosen to help the lodge." There was great applause at this. It was felt that a new sun was pushing its rim above the horizon. To some of the elders it seemed that the progress was a little too rapid. "I would move," said the secretary, Harraway, a vulture-faced old graybeard who sat near the chairman, "that Brother McMurdo should wait until it is the good pleasure of the lodge to employ him." "Sure, that was what I meant; I'm in your hands," said McMurdo. "Your time will come, Brother," said the chairman. "We have marked you down as a willing man, and we believe that you will do good work in these parts. There is a small matter to-night in which you may take a hand if it so please you." "I will wait for something that is worth while." "You can come to-night, anyhow, and it will help you to know what we stand for in this community. I will make the announcement later. Meanwhile," he glanced at his agenda paper, "I have one or two more points to bring before the meeting. First of all, I will ask the treasurer as to our bank balance. There is the pension to Jim Carnaway's widow. He was struck down doing the work of the lodge, and it is for us to see that she is not the loser." "Jim was shot last month when they tried to kill Chester Wilcox of Marley Creek," McMurdo's neighbour informed him. "The funds are good at the moment," said the treasurer, with the bankbook in front of him. "The firms have been generous of late. Max Linder & Co. paid five hundred to be left alone. Walker Brothers sent in a hundred; but I took it on myself to return it and ask for five. If I do not hear by Wednesday, their winding gear may get out of order. We had to burn their breaker last year before they became reasonable. Then the West Section Coaling Company has paid its annual contribution. We have enough on hand to meet any obligations." "What about Archie Swindon?" asked a brother. "He has sold out and left the district. The old devil left a note for us to say that he had rather be a free crossing sweeper in New York than a large mine owner under the power of a ring of blackmailers. By Gar! it was as well that he made a break for it before the note reached us! I guess he won't show his face in this valley again." An elderly, clean-shaved man with a kindly face and a good brow rose from the end of the table which faced the chairman. "Mr. Treasurer," he asked, "may I ask who has bought the property of this man that we have driven out of the district?" "Yes, Brother Morris. It has been bought by the State & Merton County Railroad Company." "And who bought the mines of Todman and of Lee that came into the market in the same way last year?" "The same company, Brother Morris." "And who bought the ironworks of Manson and of Shuman and of Van Deher and of Atwood, which have all been given up of late?" "They were all bought by the West Gilmerton General Mining Company." "I don't see, Brother Morris," said the chairman, "that it matters to us who buys them, since they can't carry them out of the district." "With all respect to you, Eminent Bodymaster, I think it may matter very much to us. This process has been going on now for ten long years. We are gradually driving all the small men out of trade. What is the result? We find in their places great companies like the Railroad or the General Iron, who have their directors in New York or Philadelphia, and care nothing for our threats. We can take it out of their local bosses, but it only means that others will be sent in their stead. And we are making it dangerous for ourselves. The small men could not harm us. They had not the money nor the power. So long as we did not squeeze them too dry, they would stay on under our power. But if these big companies find that we stand between them and their profits, they will spare no pains and no expense to hunt us down and bring us to court." There was a hush at these ominous words, and every face darkened as gloomy looks were exchanged. So omnipotent and unchallenged had they been that the very thought that there was possible retribution in the background had been banished from their minds. And yet the idea struck a chill to the most reckless of them. "It is my advice," the speaker continued, "that we go easier upon the small men. On the day that they have all been driven out the power of this society will have been broken." Unwelcome truths are not popular. There were angry cries as the speaker resumed his seat. McGinty rose with gloom upon his brow. "Brother Morris," said he, "you were always a croaker. So long as the members of this lodge stand together there is no power in the United States that can touch them. Sure, have we not tried it often enough in the law courts? I expect the big companies will find it easier to pay than to fight, same as the little companies do. And now, Brethren," McGinty took off his black velvet cap and his stole as he spoke, "this lodge has finished its business for the evening, save for one small matter which may be mentioned when we are parting. The time has now come for fraternal refreshment and for harmony." Strange indeed is human nature. Here were these men, to whom murder was familiar, who again and again had struck down the father of the family, some man against whom they had no personal feeling, without one thought of compunction or of compassion for his weeping wife or helpless children, and yet the tender or pathetic in music could move them to tears. McMurdo had a fine tenor voice, and if he had failed to gain the good will of the lodge before, it could no longer have been withheld after he had thrilled them with "I'm Sitting on the Stile, Mary," and "On the Banks of Allan Water." In his very first night the new recruit had made himself one of the most popular of the brethren, marked already for advancement and high office. There were other qualities needed, however, besides those of good fellowship, to make a worthy Freeman, and of these he was given an example before the evening was over. The whisky bottle had passed round many times, and the men were flushed and ripe for mischief when their Bodymaster rose once more to address them. "Boys," said he, "there's one man in this town that wants trimming up, and it's for you to see that he gets it. I'm speaking of James Stanger of the Herald. You've seen how he's been opening his mouth against us again?" There was a murmur of assent, with many a muttered oath. McGinty took a slip of paper from his waistcoat pocket. Law and Order! That's how he heads it. "Reign of terror in the coal and iron district "Twelve years have now elapsed since the first assassinations which proved the existence of a criminal organization in our midst. From that day these outrages have never ceased, until now they have reached a pitch which makes us the opprobrium of the civilized world. Is it for such results as this that our great country welcomes to its bosom the alien who flies from the despotisms of Europe? Is it that they shall themselves become tyrants over the very men who have given them shelter, and that a state of terrorism and lawlessness should be established under the very shadow of the sacred folds of the starry Flag of Freedom which would raise horror in our minds if we read of it as existing under the most effete monarchy of the East? The men are known. The organization is patent and public. How long are we to endure it? Can we forever live-- Sure, I've read enough of the slush!" cried the chairman, tossing the paper down upon the table. "That's what he says of us. The question I'm asking you is what shall we say to him?" "Kill him!" cried a dozen fierce voices. "I protest against that," said Brother Morris, the man of the good brow and shaved face. "I tell you, Brethren, that our hand is too heavy in this valley, and that there will come a point where in self-defense every man will unite to crush us out. James Stanger is an old man. He is respected in the township and the district. His paper stands for all that is solid in the valley. If that man is struck down, there will be a stir through this state that will only end with our destruction." "And how would they bring about our destruction, Mr. Standback?" cried McGinty. "Is it by the police? Sure, half of them are in our pay and half of them afraid of us. Or is it by the law courts and the judge? Haven't we tried that before now, and what ever came of it?" "There is a Judge Lynch that might try the case," said Brother Morris. A general shout of anger greeted the suggestion. "I have but to raise my finger," cried McGinty, "and I could put two hundred men into this town that would clear it out from end to end." Then suddenly raising his voice and bending his huge black brows into a terrible frown, "See here, Brother Morris, I have my eye on you, and have had for some time! You've no heart yourself, and you try to take the heart out of others. It will be an ill day for you, Brother Morris, when your own name comes on our agenda paper, and I'm thinking that it's just there that I ought to place it." Morris had turned deadly pale, and his knees seemed to give way under him as he fell back into his chair. He raised his glass in his trembling hand and drank before he could answer. "I apologize, Eminent Bodymaster, to you and to every brother in this lodge if I have said more than I should. I am a faithful member--you all know that--and it is my fear lest evil come to the lodge which makes me speak in anxious words. But I have greater trust in your judgment than in my own, Eminent Bodymaster, and I promise you that I will not offend again." The Bodymaster's scowl relaxed as he listened to the humble words. "Very good, Brother Morris. It's myself that would be sorry if it were needful to give you a lesson. But so long as I am in this chair we shall be a united lodge in word and in deed. And now, boys," he continued, looking round at the company, "I'll say this much, that if Stanger got his full deserts there would be more trouble than we need ask for. These editors hang together, and every journal in the state would be crying out for police and troops. But I guess you can give him a pretty severe warning. Will you fix it, Brother Baldwin?" "Sure!" said the young man eagerly. "How many will you take?" "Half a dozen, and two to guard the door. You'll come, Gower, and you, Mansel, and you, Scanlan, and the two Willabys." "I promised the new brother he should go," said the chairman. Ted Baldwin looked at McMurdo with eyes which showed that he had not forgotten nor forgiven. "Well, he can come if he wants," he said in a surly voice. "That's enough. The sooner we get to work the better." The company broke up with shouts and yells and snatches of drunken song. The bar was still crowded with revellers, and many of the brethren remained there. The little band who had been told off for duty passed out into the street, proceeding in twos and threes along the sidewalk so as not to provoke attention. It was a bitterly cold night, with a half-moon shining brilliantly in a frosty, star-spangled sky. The men stopped and gathered in a yard which faced a high building. The words "Vermissa Herald" were printed in gold lettering between the brightly lit windows. From within came the clanking of the printing press. "Here, you," said Baldwin to McMurdo, "you can stand below at the door and see that the road is kept open for us. Arthur Willaby can stay with you. You others come with me. Have no fears, boys; for we have a dozen witnesses that we are in the Union Bar at this very moment." It was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for one or two revellers upon their way home. The party crossed the road, and, pushing open the door of the newspaper office, Baldwin and his men rushed in and up the stair which faced them. McMurdo and another remained below. From the room above came a shout, a cry for help, and then the sound of trampling feet and of falling chairs. An instant later a gray-haired man rushed out on the landing. He was seized before he could get farther, and his spectacles came tinkling down to McMurdo's feet. There was a thud and a groan. He was on his face, and half a dozen sticks were clattering together as they fell upon him. He writhed, and his long, thin limbs quivered under the blows. The others ceased at last; but Baldwin, his cruel face set in an infernal smile, was hacking at the man's head, which he vainly endeavoured to defend with his arms. His white hair was dabbled with patches of blood. Baldwin was still stooping over his victim, putting in a short, vicious blow whenever he could see a part exposed, when McMurdo dashed up the stair and pushed him back. "You'll kill the man," said he. "Drop it!" Baldwin looked at him in amazement. "Curse you!" he cried. "Who are you to interfere--you that are new to the lodge? Stand back!" He raised his stick; but McMurdo had whipped his pistol out of his hip pocket. "Stand back yourself!" he cried. "I'll blow your face in if you lay a hand on me. As to the lodge, wasn't it the order of the Bodymaster that the man was not to be killed--and what are you doing but killing him?" "It's truth he says," remarked one of the men. "By Gar! you'd best hurry yourselves!" cried the man below. "The windows are all lighting up, and you'll have the whole town here inside of five minutes." There was indeed the sound of shouting in the street, and a little group of compositors and pressmen was forming in the hall below and nerving itself to action. Leaving the limp and motionless body of the editor at the head of the stair, the criminals rushed down and made their way swiftly along the street. Having reached the Union House, some of them mixed with the crowd in McGinty's saloon, whispering across the bar to the Boss that the job had been well carried through. Others, and among them McMurdo, broke away into side streets, and so by devious paths to their own homes. CHAPTER IV The Valley of Fear When McMurdo awoke next morning he had good reason to remember his initiation into the lodge. His head ached with the effect of the drink, and his arm, where he had been branded, was hot and swollen. Having his own peculiar source of income, he was irregular in his attendance at his work; so he had a late breakfast, and remained at home for the morning writing a long letter to a friend. Afterwards he read the Daily Herald. In a special column put in at the last moment he read: Outrage at the herald office -- Editor seriously injured It was a short account of the facts with which he was himself more familiar than the writer could have been. It ended with the statement: The matter is now in the hands of the police; but it can hardly be hoped that their exertions will be attended by any better results than in the past. Some of the men were recognized, and there is hope that a conviction may be obtained. The source of the outrage was, it need hardly be said, that infamous society which has held this community in bondage for so long a period, and against which the Herald has taken so uncompromising a stand. Mr. Stanger's many friends will rejoice to hear that, though he has been cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has sustained severe injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger to his life. Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchester rifles, had been requisitioned for the defense of the office. McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with a hand which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening, when there was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a note which had just been handed in by a lad. It was unsigned, and ran thus: I should wish to speak to you, but would rather not do so in your house. You will find me beside the flagstaff upon Miller Hill. If you will come there now, I have something which it is important for you to hear and for me to say. McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he could not imagine what it meant or who was the author of it. Had it been in a feminine hand, he might have imagined that it was the beginning of one of those adventures which had been familiar enough in his past life. But it was the writing of a man, and of a well educated one, too. Finally, after some hesitation, he determined to see the matter through. Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of the town. In summer it is a favourite resort of the people; but in winter it is desolate enough. From the top of it one has a view not only of the whole straggling, grimy town, but of the winding valley beneath, with its scattered mines and factories blackening the snow on each side of it, and of the wooded and white-capped ranges flanking it. McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens until he reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of summer gaiety. Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it a man, his hat drawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned up. When he turned his face McMurdo saw that it was Brother Morris, he who had incurred the anger of the Bodymaster the night before. The lodge sign was given and exchanged as they met. "I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo," said the older man, speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on delicate ground. "It was kind of you to come." "Why did you not put your name to the note?" "One has to be cautious, mister. One never knows in times like these how a thing may come back to one. One never knows either who to trust or who not to trust." "Surely one may trust brothers of the lodge." "No, no, not always," cried Morris with vehemence. "Whatever we say, even what we think, seems to go back to that man McGinty." "Look here!" said McMurdo sternly. "It was only last night, as you know well, that I swore good faith to our Bodymaster. Would you be asking me to break my oath?" "If that is the view you take," said Morris sadly, "I can only say that I am sorry I gave you the trouble to come and meet me. Things have come to a bad pass when two free citizens cannot speak their thoughts to each other." McMurdo, who had been watching his companion very narrowly, relaxed somewhat in his bearing. "Sure I spoke for myself only," said he. "I am a newcomer, as you know, and I am strange to it all. It is not for me to open my mouth, Mr. Morris, and if you think well to say anything to me I am here to hear it." "And to take it back to Boss McGinty!" said Morris bitterly. "Indeed, then, you do me injustice there," cried McMurdo. "For myself I am loyal to the lodge, and so I tell you straight; but I would be a poor creature if I were to repeat to any other what you might say to me in confidence. It will go no further than me; though I warn you that you may get neither help nor sympathy." "I have given up looking for either the one or the other," said Morris. "I may be putting my very life in your hands by what I say; but, bad as you are--and it seemed to me last night that you were shaping to be as bad as the worst--still you are new to it, and your conscience cannot yet be as hardened as theirs. That was why I thought to speak with you." "Well, what have you to say?" "If you give me away, may a curse be on you!" "Sure, I said I would not." "I would ask you, then, when you joined the Freeman's society in Chicago and swore vows of charity and fidelity, did ever it cross your mind that you might find it would lead you to crime?" "If you call it crime," McMurdo answered. "Call it crime!" cried Morris, his voice vibrating with passion. "You have seen little of it if you can call it anything else. Was it crime last night when a man old enough to be your father was beaten till the blood dripped from his white hairs? Was that crime--or what else would you call it?" "There are some would say it was war," said McMurdo, "a war of two classes with all in, so that each struck as best it could." "Well, did you think of such a thing when you joined the Freeman's society at Chicago?" "No, I'm bound to say I did not." "Nor did I when I joined it at Philadelphia. It was just a benefit club and a meeting place for one's fellows. Then I heard of this place--curse the hour that the name first fell upon my ears!--and I came to better myself! My God! to better myself! My wife and three children came with me. I started a dry goods store on Market Square, and I prospered well. The word had gone round that I was a Freeman, and I was forced to join the local lodge, same as you did last night. I've the badge of shame on my forearm and something worse branded on my heart. I found that I was under the orders of a black villain and caught in a meshwork of crime. What could I do? Every word I said to make things better was taken as treason, same as it was last night. I can't get away; for all I have in the world is in my store. If I leave the society, I know well that it means murder to me, and God knows what to my wife and children. Oh, man, it is awful--awful!" He put his hands to his face, and his body shook with convulsive sobs. McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "You were too soft for the job," said he. "You are the wrong sort for such work." "I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal among them. I was chosen for a job. If I backed down I knew well what would come to me. Maybe I'm a coward. Maybe it's the thought of my poor little woman and the children that makes me one. Anyhow I went. I guess it will haunt me forever. "It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder. I was told off for the door, same as you were last night. They could not trust me with the job. The others went in. When they came out their hands were crimson to the wrists. As we turned away a child was screaming out of the house behind us. It was a boy of five who had seen his father murdered. I nearly fainted with the horror of it, and yet I had to keep a bold and smiling face; for well I knew that if I did not it would be out of my house that they would come next with their bloody hands and it would be my little Fred that would be screaming for his father. "But I was a criminal then, part sharer in a murder, lost forever in this world, and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic; but the priest would have no word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I am excommunicated from my faith. That's how it stands with me. And I see you going down the same road, and I ask you what the end is to be. Are you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything to stop it?" "What would you do?" asked McMurdo abruptly. "You would not inform?" "God forbid!" cried Morris. "Sure, the very thought would cost me my life." "That's well," said McMurdo. "I'm thinking that you are a weak man and that you make too much of the matter." "Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley! See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear, the Valley of Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself." "Well, I'll let you know what I think when I have seen more," said McMurdo carelessly. "What is very clear is that you are not the man for the place, and that the sooner you sell out--if you only get a dime a dollar for what the business is worth--the better it will be for you. What you have said is safe with me; but, by Gar! if I thought you were an informer--" "No, no!" cried Morris piteously. "Well, let it rest at that. I'll bear what you have said in mind, and maybe some day I'll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly by speaking to me like this. Now I'll be getting home." "One word before you go," said Morris. "We may have been seen together. They may want to know what we have spoken about." "Ah! that's well thought of." "I offer you a clerkship in my store." "And I refuse it. That's our business. Well, so long, Brother Morris, and may you find things go better with you in the future." That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought beside the stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework was filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He passed the sign, and then seating himself opposite to the young man he looked at him steadily for some time, a look which was as steadily returned. "I'm not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo," he said at last. "I guess I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought I'd stretch a point and drop down to see you in your own house." "I'm proud to see you here, Councillor," McMurdo answered heartily, bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. "It's an honour that I had not expected." "How's the arm?" asked the Boss. McMurdo made a wry face. "Well, I'm not forgetting it," he said; "but it's worth it." "Yes, it's worth it," the other answered, "to those that are loyal and go through with it and are a help to the lodge. What were you speaking to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill this morning?" The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his answer prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. "Morris didn't know I could earn a living here at home. He shan't know either; for he has got too much conscience for the likes of me. But he's a good-hearted old chap. It was his idea that I was at a loose end, and that he would do me a good turn by offering me a clerkship in a dry goods store." "Oh, that was it?" "Yes, that was it." "And you refused it?" "Sure. Couldn't I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with four hours' work?" "That's so. But I wouldn't get about too much with Morris." "Why not?" "Well, I guess because I tell you not. That's enough for most folk in these parts." "It may be enough for most folk; but it ain't enough for me, Councillor," said McMurdo boldly. "If you are a judge of men, you'll know that." The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for an instant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of his companion. Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincere fashion. "You're a queer card, for sure," said he. "Well, if you want reasons, I'll give them. Did Morris say nothing to you against the lodge?" "No." "Nor against me?" "No." "Well, that's because he daren't trust you. But in his heart he is not a loyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and we wait for the time to admonish him. I'm thinking that the time is drawing near. There's no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But if you keep company with a disloyal man, we might think that you were disloyal, too. See?" "There's no chance of my keeping company with him; for I dislike the man," McMurdo answered. "As to being disloyal, if it was any man but you he would not use the word to me twice." "Well, that's enough," said McGinty, draining off his glass. "I came down to give you a word in season, and you've had it." "I'd like to know," said McMurdo, "how you ever came to learn that I had spoken with Morris at all?" McGinty laughed. "It's my business to know what goes on in this township," said he. "I guess you'd best reckon on my hearing all that passes. Well, time's up, and I'll just say--" But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion. With a sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intent faces glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps. McMurdo sprang to his feet and half drew his revolver; but his arm stopped midway as he became conscious that two Winchester rifles were levelled at his head. A man in uniform advanced into the room, a six-shooter in his hand. It was Captain Marvin, once of Chicago, and now of the Mine Constabulary. He shook his head with a half-smile at McMurdo. "I thought you'd be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked McMurdo of Chicago," said he. "Can't keep out of it, can you? Take your hat and come along with us." "I guess you'll pay for this, Captain Marvin," said McGinty. "Who are you, I'd like to know, to break into a house in this fashion and molest honest, law-abiding men?" "You're standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty," said the police captain. "We are not out after you, but after this man McMurdo. It is for you to help, not to hinder us in our duty," "He is a friend of mine, and I'll answer for his conduct," said the Boss. "By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for your own conduct some of these days," the captain answered. "This man McMurdo was a crook before ever he came here, and he's a crook still. Cover him, Patrolman, while I disarm him." "There's my pistol," said McMurdo coolly. "Maybe, Captain Marvin, if you and I were alone and face to face you would not take me so easily." "Where's your warrant?" asked McGinty. "By Gar! a man might as well live in Russia as in Vermissa while folk like you are running the police. It's a capitalist outrage, and you'll hear more of it, I reckon." "You do what you think is your duty the best way you can, Councillor. We'll look after ours." "What am I accused of?" asked McMurdo. "Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor Stanger at the Herald office. It wasn't your fault that it isn't a murder charge." "Well, if that's all you have against him," cried McGinty with a laugh, "you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping it right now. This man was with me in my saloon playing poker up to midnight, and I can bring a dozen to prove it." "That's your affair, and I guess you can settle it in court to-morrow. Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if you don't want a gun across your head. You stand wide, Mr. McGinty; for I warn you I will stand no resistance when I am on duty!" So determined was the appearance of the captain that both McMurdo and his boss were forced to accept the situation. The latter managed to have a few whispered words with the prisoner before they parted. "What about--" he jerked his thumb upward to signify the coining plant. "All right," whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe hiding place under the floor. "I'll bid you good-bye," said the Boss, shaking hands. "I'll see Reilly the lawyer and take the defense upon myself. Take my word for it that they won't be able to hold you." "I wouldn't bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you two, and shoot him if he tries any games. I'll search the house before I leave." He did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant. When he had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo to headquarters. Darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowing so that the streets were nearly deserted; but a few loiterers followed the group, and emboldened by invisibility shouted imprecations at the prisoner. "Lynch the cursed Scowrer!" they cried. "Lynch him!" They laughed and jeered as he was pushed into the police station. After a short, formal examination from the inspector in charge he was put into the common cell. Here he found Baldwin and three other criminals of the night before, all arrested that afternoon and waiting their trial next morning. But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of the Freemen was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailer with a straw bundle for their bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles of whisky, some glasses, and a pack of cards. They spent a hilarious night, without an anxious thought as to the ordeal of the morning. Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistrate could not possibly, on the evidence, have held them for a higher court. On the one hand the compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the light was uncertain, that they were themselves much perturbed, and that it was difficult for them to swear to the identity of the assailants; although they believed that the accused were among them. Cross examined by the clever attorney who had been engaged by McGinty, they were even more nebulous in their evidence. The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the fact that the first man who struck him wore a moustache. He added that he knew them to be Scowrers, since no one else in the community could possibly have any enmity to him, and he had long been threatened on account of his outspoken editorials. On the other hand, it was clearly shown by the united and unfaltering evidence of six citizens, including that high municipal official, Councillor McGinty, that the men had been at a card party at the Union House until an hour very much later than the commission of the outrage. Needless to say that they were discharged with something very near to an apology from the bench for the inconvenience to which they had been put, together with an implied censure of Captain Marvin and the police for their officious zeal. The verdict was greeted with loud applause by a court in which McMurdo saw many familiar faces. Brothers of the lodge smiled and waved. But there were others who sat with compressed lips and brooding eyes as the men filed out of the dock. One of them, a little, dark-bearded, resolute fellow, put the thoughts of himself and comrades into words as the ex-prisoners passed him. "You damned murderers!" he said. "We'll fix you yet!" CHAPTER V The Darkest Hour If anything had been needed to give an impetus to Jack McMurdo's popularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest and acquittal. That a man on the very night of joining the lodge should have done something which brought him before the magistrate was a new record in the annals of the society. Already he had earned the reputation of a good boon companion, a cheery reveller, and withal a man of high temper, who would not take an insult even from the all-powerful Boss himself. But in addition to this he impressed his comrades with the idea that among them all there was not one whose brain was so ready to devise a bloodthirsty scheme, or whose hand would be more capable of carrying it out. "He'll be the boy for the clean job," said the oldsters to one another, and waited their time until they could set him to his work. McGinty had instruments enough already; but he recognized that this was a supremely able one. He felt like a man holding a fierce bloodhound in leash. There were curs to do the smaller work; but some day he would slip this creature upon its prey. A few members of the lodge, Ted Baldwin among them, resented the rapid rise of the stranger and hated him for it; but they kept clear of him, for he was as ready to fight as to laugh. But if he gained favour with his fellows, there was another quarter, one which had become even more vital to him, in which he lost it. Ettie Shafter's father would have nothing more to do with him, nor would he allow him to enter the house. Ettie herself was too deeply in love to give him up altogether, and yet her own good sense warned her of what would come from a marriage with a man who was regarded as a criminal. One morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him, possibly for the last time, and make one strong endeavour to draw him from those evil influences which were sucking him down. She went to his house, as he had often begged her to do, and made her way into the room which he used as his sitting-room. He was seated at a table, with his back turned and a letter in front of him. A sudden spirit of girlish mischief came over her--she was still only nineteen. He had not heard her when she pushed open the door. Now she tiptoed forward and laid her hand lightly upon his bended shoulders. If she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; but only in turn to be startled herself. With a tiger spring he turned on her, and his right hand was feeling for her throat. At the same instant with the other hand he crumpled up the paper that lay before him. For an instant he stood glaring. Then astonishment and joy took the place of the ferocity which had convulsed his features--a ferocity which had sent her shrinking back in horror as from something which had never before intruded into her gentle life. "It's you!" said he, mopping his brow. "And to think that you should come to me, heart of my heart, and I should find nothing better to do than to want to strangle you! Come then, darling," and he held out his arms, "let me make it up to you." But she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guilty fear which she had read in the man's face. All her woman's instinct told her that it was not the mere fright of a man who is startled. Guilt--that was it--guilt and fear! "What's come over you, Jack?" she cried. "Why were you so scared of me? Oh, Jack, if your conscience was at ease, you would not have looked at me like that!" "Sure, I was thinking of other things, and when you came tripping so lightly on those fairy feet of yours--" "No, no, it was more than that, Jack." Then a sudden suspicion seized her. "Let me see that letter you were writing." "Ah, Ettie, I couldn't do that." Her suspicions became certainties. "It's to another woman," she cried. "I know it! Why else should you hold it from me? Was it to your wife that you were writing? How am I to know that you are not a married man--you, a stranger, that nobody knows?" "I am not married, Ettie. See now, I swear it! You're the only one woman on earth to me. By the cross of Christ I swear it!" He was so white with passionate earnestness that she could not but believe him. "Well, then," she cried, "why will you not show me the letter?" "I'll tell you, acushla," said he. "I'm under oath not to show it, and just as I wouldn't break my word to you so I would keep it to those who hold my promise. It's the business of the lodge, and even to you it's secret. And if I was scared when a hand fell on me, can't you understand it when it might have been the hand of a detective?" She felt that he was telling the truth. He gathered her into his arms and kissed away her fears and doubts. "Sit here by me, then. It's a queer throne for such a queen; but it's the best your poor lover can find. He'll do better for you some of these days, I'm thinking. Now your mind is easy once again, is it not?" "How can it ever be at ease, Jack, when I know that you are a criminal among criminals, when I never know the day that I may hear you are in court for murder? 'McMurdo the Scowrer,' that's what one of our boarders called you yesterday. It went through my heart like a knife." "Sure, hard words break no bones." "But they were true." "Well, dear, it's not so bad as you think. We are but poor men that are trying in our own way to get our rights." Ettie threw her arms round her lover's neck. "Give it up, Jack! For my sake, for God's sake, give it up! It was to ask you that I came here to-day. Oh, Jack, see--I beg it of you on my bended knees! Kneeling here before you I implore you to give it up!" He raised her and soothed her with her head against his breast. "Sure, my darlin', you don't know what it is you are asking. How could I give it up when it would be to break my oath and to desert my comrades? If you could see how things stand with me you could never ask it of me. Besides, if I wanted to, how could I do it? You don't suppose that the lodge would let a man go free with all its secrets?" "I've thought of that, Jack. I've planned it all. Father has saved some money. He is weary of this place where the fear of these people darkens our lives. He is ready to go. We would fly together to Philadelphia or New York, where we would be safe from them." McMurdo laughed. "The lodge has a long arm. Do you think it could not stretch from here to Philadelphia or New York?" "Well, then, to the West, or to England, or to Germany, where father came from--anywhere to get away from this Valley of Fear!" McMurdo thought of old Brother Morris. "Sure, it is the second time I have heard the valley so named," said he. "The shadow does indeed seem to lie heavy on some of you." "It darkens every moment of our lives. Do you suppose that Ted Baldwin has ever forgiven us? If it were not that he fears you, what do you suppose our chances would be? If you saw the look in those dark, hungry eyes of his when they fall on me!" "By Gar! I'd teach him better manners if I caught him at it! But see here, little girl. I can't leave here. I can't--take that from me once and for all. But if you will leave me to find my own way, I will try to prepare a way of getting honourably out of it." "There is no honour in such a matter." "Well, well, it's just how you look at it. But if you'll give me six months, I'll work it so that I can leave without being ashamed to look others in the face." The girl laughed with joy. "Six months!" she cried. "Is it a promise?" "Well, it may be seven or eight. But within a year at the furthest we will leave the valley behind us." It was the most that Ettie could obtain, and yet it was something. There was this distant light to illuminate the gloom of the immediate future. She returned to her father's house more light-hearted than she had ever been since Jack McMurdo had come into her life. It might be thought that as a member, all the doings of the society would be told to him; but he was soon to discover that the organization was wider and more complex than the simple lodge. Even Boss McGinty was ignorant as to many things; for there was an official named the County Delegate, living at Hobson's Patch farther down the line, who had power over several different lodges which he wielded in a sudden and arbitrary way. Only once did McMurdo see him, a sly, little gray-haired rat of a man, with a slinking gait and a sidelong glance which was charged with malice. Evans Pott was his name, and even the great Boss of Vermissa felt towards him something of the repulsion and fear which the huge Danton may have felt for the puny but dangerous Robespierre. One day Scanlan, who was McMurdo's fellow boarder, received a note from McGinty inclosing one from Evans Pott, which informed him that he was sending over two good men, Lawler and Andrews, who had instructions to act in the neighbourhood; though it was best for the cause that no particulars as to their objects should be given. Would the Bodymaster see to it that suitable arrangements be made for their lodgings and comfort until the time for action should arrive? McGinty added that it was impossible for anyone to remain secret at the Union House, and that, therefore, he would be obliged if McMurdo and Scanlan would put the strangers up for a few days in their boarding house. The same evening the two men arrived, each carrying his gripsack. Lawler was an elderly man, shrewd, silent, and self-contained, clad in an old black frock coat, which with his soft felt hat and ragged, grizzled beard gave him a general resemblance to an itinerant preacher. His companion Andrews was little more than a boy, frank-faced and cheerful, with the breezy manner of one who is out for a holiday and means to enjoy every minute of it. Both men were total abstainers, and behaved in all ways as exemplary members of the society, with the one simple exception that they were assassins who had often proved themselves to be most capable instruments for this association of murder. Lawler had already carried out fourteen commissions of the kind, and Andrews three. They were, as McMurdo found, quite ready to converse about their deeds in the past, which they recounted with the half-bashful pride of men who had done good and unselfish service for the community. They were reticent, however, as to the immediate job in hand. "They chose us because neither I nor the boy here drink," Lawler explained. "They can count on us saying no more than we should. You must not take it amiss, but it is the orders of the County Delegate that we obey." "Sure, we are all in it together," said Scanlan, McMurdo's mate, as the four sat together at supper. "That's true enough, and we'll talk till the cows come home of the killing of Charlie Williams or of Simon Bird, or any other job in the past. But till the work is done we say nothing." "There are half a dozen about here that I have a word to say to," said McMurdo, with an oath. "I suppose it isn't Jack Knox of Ironhill that you are after. I'd go some way to see him get his deserts." "No, it's not him yet." "Or Herman Strauss?" "No, nor him either." "Well, if you won't tell us we can't make you; but I'd be glad to know." Lawler smiled and shook his head. He was not to be drawn. In spite of the reticence of their guests, Scanlan and McMurdo were quite determined to be present at what they called "the fun." When, therefore, at an early hour one morning McMurdo heard them creeping down the stairs he awakened Scanlan, and the two hurried on their clothes. When they were dressed they found that the others had stolen out, leaving the door open behind them. It was not yet dawn, and by the light of the lamps they could see the two men some distance down the street. They followed them warily, treading noiselessly in the deep snow. The boarding house was near the edge of the town, and soon they were at the crossroads which is beyond its boundary. Here three men were waiting, with whom Lawler and Andrews held a short, eager conversation. Then they all moved on together. It was clearly some notable job which needed numbers. At this point there are several trails which lead to various mines. The strangers took that which led to the Crow Hill, a huge business which was in strong hands which had been able, thanks to their energetic and fearless New England manager, Josiah H. Dunn, to keep some order and discipline during the long reign of terror. Day was breaking now, and a line of workmen were slowly making their way, singly and in groups, along the blackened path. McMurdo and Scanlan strolled on with the others, keeping in sight of the men whom they followed. A thick mist lay over them, and from the heart of it there came the sudden scream of a steam whistle. It was the ten-minute signal before the cages descended and the day's labour began. When they reached the open space round the mine shaft there were a hundred miners waiting, stamping their feet and blowing on their fingers; for it was bitterly cold. The strangers stood in a little group under the shadow of the engine house. Scanlan and McMurdo climbed a heap of slag from which the whole scene lay before them. They saw the mine engineer, a great bearded Scotchman named Menzies, come out of the engine house and blow his whistle for the cages to be lowered. At the same instant a tall, loose-framed young man with a clean-shaved, earnest face advanced eagerly towards the pit head. As he came forward his eyes fell upon the group, silent and motionless, under the engine house. The men had drawn down their hats and turned up their collars to screen their faces. For a moment the presentiment of Death laid its cold hand upon the manager's heart. At the next he had shaken it off and saw only his duty towards intrusive strangers. "Who are you?" he asked as he advanced. "What are you loitering there for?" There was no answer; but the lad Andrews stepped forward and shot him in the stomach. The hundred waiting miners stood as motionless and helpless as if they were paralyzed. The manager clapped his two hands to the wound and doubled himself up. Then he staggered away; but another of the assassins fired, and he went down sidewise, kicking and clawing among a heap of clinkers. Menzies, the Scotchman, gave a roar of rage at the sight and rushed with an iron spanner at the murderers; but was met by two balls in the face which dropped him dead at their very feet. There was a surge forward of some of the miners, and an inarticulate cry of pity and of anger; but a couple of the strangers emptied their six-shooters over the heads of the crowd, and they broke and scattered, some of them rushing wildly back to their homes in Vermissa. When a few of the bravest had rallied, and there was a return to the mine, the murderous gang had vanished in the mists of morning, without a single witness being able to swear to the identity of these men who in front of a hundred spectators had wrought this double crime. Scanlan and McMurdo made their way back; Scanlan somewhat subdued, for it was the first murder job that he had seen with his own eyes, and it appeared less funny than he had been led to believe. The horrible screams of the dead manager's wife pursued them as they hurried to the town. McMurdo was absorbed and silent; but he showed no sympathy for the weakening of his companion. "Sure, it is like a war," he repeated. "What is it but a war between us and them, and we hit back where we best can." There was high revel in the lodge room at the Union House that night, not only over the killing of the manager and engineer of the Crow Hill mine, which would bring this organization into line with the other blackmailed and terror-stricken companies of the district, but also over a distant triumph which had been wrought by the hands of the lodge itself. It would appear that when the County Delegate had sent over five good men to strike a blow in Vermissa, he had demanded that in return three Vermissa men should be secretly selected and sent across to kill William Hales of Stake Royal, one of the best known and most popular mine owners in the Gilmerton district, a man who was believed not to have an enemy in the world; for he was in all ways a model employer. He had insisted, however, upon efficiency in the work, and had, therefore, paid off certain drunken and idle employees who were members of the all-powerful society. Coffin notices hung outside his door had not weakened his resolution, and so in a free, civilized country he found himself condemned to death. The execution had now been duly carried out. Ted Baldwin, who sprawled now in the seat of honour beside the Bodymaster, had been chief of the party. His flushed face and glazed, blood-shot eyes told of sleeplessness and drink. He and his two comrades had spent the night before among the mountains. They were unkempt and weather-stained. But no heroes, returning from a forlorn hope, could have had a warmer welcome from their comrades. The story was told and retold amid cries of delight and shouts of laughter. They had waited for their man as he drove home at nightfall, taking their station at the top of a steep hill, where his horse must be at a walk. He was so furred to keep out the cold that he could not lay his hand on his pistol. They had pulled him out and shot him again and again. He had screamed for mercy. The screams were repeated for the amusement of the lodge. "Let's hear again how he squealed," they cried. None of them knew the man; but there is eternal drama in a killing, and they had shown the Scowrers of Gilmerton that the Vermissa men were to be relied upon. There had been one contretemps; for a man and his wife had driven up while they were still emptying their revolvers into the silent body. It had been suggested that they should shoot them both; but they were harmless folk who were not connected with the mines, so they were sternly bidden to drive on and keep silent, lest a worse thing befall them. And so the blood-mottled figure had been left as a warning to all such hard-hearted employers, and the three noble avengers had hurried off into the mountains where unbroken nature comes down to the very edge of the furnaces and the slag heaps. Here they were, safe and sound, their work well done, and the plaudits of their companions in their ears. It had been a great day for the Scowrers. The shadow had fallen even darker over the valley. But as the wise general chooses the moment of victory in which to redouble his efforts, so that his foes may have no time to steady themselves after disaster, so Boss McGinty, looking out upon the scene of his operations with his brooding and malicious eyes, had devised a new attack upon those who opposed him. That very night, as the half-drunken company broke up, he touched McMurdo on the arm and led him aside into that inner room where they had their first interview. "See here, my lad," said he, "I've got a job that's worthy of you at last. You'll have the doing of it in your own hands." "Proud I am to hear it," McMurdo answered. "You can take two men with you--Manders and Reilly. They have been warned for service. We'll never be right in this district until Chester Wilcox has been settled, and you'll have the thanks of every lodge in the coal fields if you can down him." "I'll do my best, anyhow. Who is he, and where shall I find him?" McGinty took his eternal half-chewed, half-smoked cigar from the corner of his mouth, and proceeded to draw a rough diagram on a page torn from his notebook. "He's the chief foreman of the Iron Dike Company. He's a hard citizen, an old colour sergeant of the war, all scars and grizzle. We've had two tries at him; but had no luck, and Jim Carnaway lost his life over it. Now it's for you to take it over. That's the house--all alone at the Iron Dike crossroad, same as you see here on the map--without another within earshot. It's no good by day. He's armed and shoots quick and straight, with no questions asked. But at night--well, there he is with his wife, three children, and a hired help. You can't pick or choose. It's all or none. If you could get a bag of blasting powder at the front door with a slow match to it--" "What's the man done?" "Didn't I tell you he shot Jim Carnaway?" "Why did he shoot him?" "What in thunder has that to do with you? Carnaway was about his house at night, and he shot him. That's enough for me and you. You've got to settle the thing right." "There's these two women and the children. Do they go up too?" "They have to--else how can we get him?" "It seems hard on them; for they've done nothing." "What sort of fool's talk is this? Do you back out?" "Easy, Councillor, easy! What have I ever said or done that you should think I would be after standing back from an order of the Bodymaster of my own lodge? If it's right or if it's wrong, it's for you to decide." "You'll do it, then?" "Of course I will do it." "When?" "Well, you had best give me a night or two that I may see the house and make my plans. Then--" "Very good," said McGinty, shaking him by the hand. "I leave it with you. It will be a great day when you bring us the news. It's just the last stroke that will bring them all to their knees." McMurdo thought long and deeply over the commission which had been so suddenly placed in his hands. The isolated house in which Chester Wilcox lived was about five miles off in an adjacent valley. That very night he started off all alone to prepare for the attempt. It was daylight before he returned from his reconnaissance. Next day he interviewed his two subordinates, Manders and Reilly, reckless youngsters who were as elated as if it were a deer-hunt. Two nights later they met outside the town, all three armed, and one of them carrying a sack stuffed with the powder which was used in the quarries. It was two in the morning before they came to the lonely house. The night was a windy one, with broken clouds drifting swiftly across the face of a three-quarter moon. They had been warned to be on their guard against bloodhounds; so they moved forward cautiously, with their pistols cocked in their hands. But there was no sound save the howling of the wind, and no movement but the swaying branches above them. McMurdo listened at the door of the lonely house; but all was still within. Then he leaned the powder bag against it, ripped a hole in it with his knife, and attached the fuse. When it was well alight he and his two companions took to their heels, and were some distance off, safe and snug in a sheltering ditch, before the shattering roar of the explosion, with the low, deep rumble of the collapsing building, told them that their work was done. No cleaner job had ever been carried out in the bloodstained annals of the society. But alas that work so well organized and boldly carried out should all have gone for nothing! Warned by the fate of the various victims, and knowing that he was marked down for destruction, Chester Wilcox had moved himself and his family only the day before to some safer and less known quarters, where a guard of police should watch over them. It was an empty house which had been torn down by the gunpowder, and the grim old colour sergeant of the war was still teaching discipline to the miners of Iron Dike. "Leave him to me," said McMurdo. "He's my man, and I'll get him sure if I have to wait a year for him." A vote of thanks and confidence was passed in full lodge, and so for the time the matter ended. When a few weeks later it was reported in the papers that Wilcox had been shot at from an ambuscade, it was an open secret that McMurdo was still at work upon his unfinished job. Such were the methods of the Society of Freemen, and such were the deeds of the Scowrers by which they spread their rule of fear over the great and rich district which was for so long a period haunted by their terrible presence. Why should these pages be stained by further crimes? Have I not said enough to show the men and their methods? These deeds are written in history, and there are records wherein one may read the details of them. There one may learn of the shooting of Policemen Hunt and Evans because they had ventured to arrest two members of the society--a double outrage planned at the Vermissa lodge and carried out in cold blood upon two helpless and disarmed men. There also one may read of the shooting of Mrs. Larbey when she was nursing her husband, who had been beaten almost to death by orders of Boss McGinty. The killing of the elder Jenkins, shortly followed by that of his brother, the mutilation of James Murdoch, the blowing up of the Staphouse family, and the murder of the Stendals all followed hard upon one another in the same terrible winter. Darkly the shadow lay upon the Valley of Fear. The spring had come with running brooks and blossoming trees. There was hope for all Nature bound so long in an iron grip; but nowhere was there any hope for the men and women who lived under the yoke of the terror. Never had the cloud above them been so dark and hopeless as in the early summer of the year 1875. CHAPTER VI Danger It was the height of the reign of terror. McMurdo, who had already been appointed Inner Deacon, with every prospect of some day succeeding McGinty as Bodymaster, was now so necessary to the councils of his comrades that nothing was done without his help and advice. The more popular he became, however, with the Freemen, the blacker were the scowls which greeted him as he passed along the streets of Vermissa. In spite of their terror the citizens were taking heart to band themselves together against their oppressors. Rumours had reached the lodge of secret gatherings in the Herald office and of distribution of firearms among the law-abiding people. But McGinty and his men were undisturbed by such reports. They were numerous, resolute, and well armed. Their opponents were scattered and powerless. It would all end, as it had done in the past, in aimless talk and possibly in impotent arrests. So said McGinty, McMurdo, and all the bolder spirits. It was a Saturday evening in May. Saturday was always the lodge night, and McMurdo was leaving his house to attend it when Morris, the weaker brother of the order, came to see him. His brow was creased with care, and his kindly face was drawn and haggard. "Can I speak with you freely, Mr. McMurdo?" "Sure." "I can't forget that I spoke my heart to you once, and that you kept it to yourself, even though the Boss himself came to ask you about it." "What else could I do if you trusted me? It wasn't that I agreed with what you said." "I know that well. But you are the one that I can speak to and be safe. I've a secret here," he put his hand to his breast, "and it is just burning the life out of me. I wish it had come to any one of you but me. If I tell it, it will mean murder, for sure. If I don't, it may bring the end of us all. God help me, but I am near out of my wits over it!" McMurdo looked at the man earnestly. He was trembling in every limb. He poured some whisky into a glass and handed it to him. "That's the physic for the likes of you," said he. "Now let me hear of it." Morris drank, and his white face took a tinge of colour. "I can tell it to you all in one sentence," said he. "There's a detective on our trail." McMurdo stared at him in astonishment. "Why, man, you're crazy," he said. "Isn't the place full of police and detectives and what harm did they ever do us?" "No, no, it's no man of the district. As you say, we know them, and it is little that they can do. But you've heard of Pinkerton's?" "I've read of some folk of that name." "Well, you can take it from me you've no show when they are on your trail. It's not a take-it-or-miss-it government concern. It's a dead earnest business proposition that's out for results and keeps out till by hook or crook it gets them. If a Pinkerton man is deep in this business, we are all destroyed." "We must kill him." "Ah, it's the first thought that came to you! So it will be up at the lodge. Didn't I say to you that it would end in murder?" "Sure, what is murder? Isn't it common enough in these parts?" "It is, indeed; but it's not for me to point out the man that is to be murdered. I'd never rest easy again. And yet it's our own necks that may be at stake. In God's name what shall I do?" He rocked to and fro in his agony of indecision. But his words had moved McMurdo deeply. It was easy to see that he shared the other's opinion as to the danger, and the need for meeting it. He gripped Morris's shoulder and shook him in his earnestness. "See here, man," he cried, and he almost screeched the words in his excitement, "you won't gain anything by sitting keening like an old wife at a wake. Let's have the facts. Who is the fellow? Where is he? How did you hear of him? Why did you come to me?" "I came to you; for you are the one man that would advise me. I told you that I had a store in the East before I came here. I left good friends behind me, and one of them is in the telegraph service. Here's a letter that I had from him yesterday. It's this part from the top of the page. You can read it yourself." This was what McMurdo read: How are the Scowrers getting on in your parts? We read plenty of them in the papers. Between you and me I expect to hear news from you before long. Five big corporations and the two railroads have taken the thing up in dead earnest. They mean it, and you can bet they'll get there! They are right deep down into it. Pinkerton has taken hold under their orders, and his best man, Birdy Edwards, is operating. The thing has got to be stopped right now. "Now read the postscript." Of course, what I give you is what I learned in business; so it goes no further. It's a queer cipher that you handle by the yard every day and can get no meaning from. McMurdo sat in silence for some time, with the letter in his listless hands. The mist had lifted for a moment, and there was the abyss before him. "Does anyone else know of this?" he asked. "I have told no one else." "But this man--your friend--has he any other person that he would be likely to write to?" "Well, I dare say he knows one or two more." "Of the lodge?" "It's likely enough." "I was asking because it is likely that he may have given some description of this fellow Birdy Edwards--then we could get on his trail." "Well, it's possible. But I should not think he knew him. He is just telling me the news that came to him by way of business. How would he know this Pinkerton man?" McMurdo gave a violent start. "By Gar!" he cried, "I've got him. What a fool I was not to know it. Lord! but we're in luck! We will fix him before he can do any harm. See here, Morris, will you leave this thing in my hands?" "Sure, if you will only take it off mine." "I'll do that. You can stand right back and let me run it. Even your name need not be mentioned. I'll take it all on myself, as if it were to me that this letter has come. Will that content you?" "It's just what I would ask." "Then leave it at that and keep your head shut. Now I'll get down to the lodge, and we'll soon make old man Pinkerton sorry for himself." "You wouldn't kill this man?" "The less you know, Friend Morris, the easier your conscience will be, and the better you will sleep. Ask no questions, and let these things settle themselves. I have hold of it now." Morris shook his head sadly as he left. "I feel that his blood is on my hands," he groaned. "Self-protection is no murder, anyhow," said McMurdo, smiling grimly. "It's him or us. I guess this man would destroy us all if we left him long in the valley. Why, Brother Morris, we'll have to elect you Bodymaster yet; for you've surely saved the lodge." And yet it was clear from his actions that he thought more seriously of this new intrusion than his words would show. It may have been his guilty conscience, it may have been the reputation of the Pinkerton organization, it may have been the knowledge that great, rich corporations had set themselves the task of clearing out the Scowrers; but, whatever his reason, his actions were those of a man who is preparing for the worst. Every paper which would incriminate him was destroyed before he left the house. After that he gave a long sigh of satisfaction; for it seemed to him that he was safe. And yet the danger must still have pressed somewhat upon him; for on his way to the lodge he stopped at old man Shafter's. The house was forbidden him; but when he tapped at the window Ettie came out to him. The dancing Irish deviltry had gone from her lover's eyes. She read his danger in his earnest face. "Something has happened!" she cried. "Oh, Jack, you are in danger!" "Sure, it is not very bad, my sweetheart. And yet it may be wise that we make a move before it is worse." "Make a move?" "I promised you once that I would go some day. I think the time is coming. I had news to-night, bad news, and I see trouble coming." "The police?" "Well, a Pinkerton. But, sure, you wouldn't know what that is, acushla, nor what it may mean to the likes of me. I'm too deep in this thing, and I may have to get out of it quick. You said you would come with me if I went." "Oh, Jack, it would be the saving of you!" "I'm an honest man in some things, Ettie. I wouldn't hurt a hair of your bonny head for all that the world can give, nor ever pull you down one inch from the golden throne above the clouds where I always see you. Would you trust me?" She put her hand in his without a word. "Well, then, listen to what I say, and do as I order you, for indeed it's the only way for us. Things are going to happen in this valley. I feel it in my bones. There may be many of us that will have to look out for ourselves. I'm one, anyhow. If I go, by day or night, it's you that must come with me!" "I'd come after you, Jack." "No, no, you shall come with me. If this valley is closed to me and I can never come back, how can I leave you behind, and me perhaps in hiding from the police with never a chance of a message? It's with me you must come. I know a good woman in the place I come from, and it's there I'd leave you till we can get married. Will you come?" "Yes, Jack, I will come." "God bless you for your trust in me! It's a fiend out of hell that I should be if I abused it. Now, mark you, Ettie, it will be just a word to you, and when it reaches you, you will drop everything and come right down to the waiting room at the depot and stay there till I come for you." "Day or night, I'll come at the word, Jack." Somewhat eased in mind, now that his own preparations for escape had been begun, McMurdo went on to the lodge. It had already assembled, and only by complicated signs and counter-signs could he pass through the outer guard and inner guard who close-tiled it. A buzz of pleasure and welcome greeted him as he entered. The long room was crowded, and through the haze of tobacco smoke he saw the tangled black mane of the Bodymaster, the cruel, unfriendly features of Baldwin, the vulture face of Harraway, the secretary, and a dozen more who were among the leaders of the lodge. He rejoiced that they should all be there to take counsel over his news. "Indeed, it's glad we are to see you, Brother!" cried the chairman. "There's business here that wants a Solomon in judgment to set it right." "It's Lander and Egan," explained his neighbour as he took his seat. "They both claim the head money given by the lodge for the shooting of old man Crabbe over at Stylestown, and who's to say which fired the bullet?" McMurdo rose in his place and raised his hand. The expression of his face froze the attention of the audience. There was a dead hush of expectation. "Eminent Bodymaster," he said, in a solemn voice, "I claim urgency!" "Brother McMurdo claims urgency," said McGinty. "It's a claim that by the rules of this lodge takes precedence. Now Brother, we attend you." McMurdo took the letter from his pocket. "Eminent Bodymaster and Brethren," he said, "I am the bearer of ill news this day; but it is better that it should be known and discussed, than that a blow should fall upon us without warning which would destroy us all. I have information that the most powerful and richest organizations in this state have bound themselves together for our destruction, and that at this very moment there is a Pinkerton detective, one Birdy Edwards, at work in the valley collecting the evidence which may put a rope round the necks of many of us, and send every man in this room into a felon's cell. That is the situation for the discussion of which I have made a claim of urgency." There was a dead silence in the room. It was broken by the chairman. "What is your evidence for this, Brother McMurdo?" he asked. "It is in this letter which has come into my hands," said McMurdo. He read the passage aloud. "It is a matter of honour with me that I can give no further particulars about the letter, nor put it into your hands; but I assure you that there is nothing else in it which can affect the interests of the lodge. I put the case before you as it has reached me." "Let me say, Mr. Chairman," said one of the older brethren, "that I have heard of Birdy Edwards, and that he has the name of being the best man in the Pinkerton service." "Does anyone know him by sight?" asked McGinty. "Yes," said McMurdo, "I do." There was a murmur of astonishment through the hall. "I believe we hold him in the hollow of our hands," he continued with an exulting smile upon his face. "If we act quickly and wisely, we can cut this thing short. If I have your confidence and your help, it is little that we have to fear." "What have we to fear, anyhow? What can he know of our affairs?" "You might say so if all were as stanch as you, Councillor. But this man has all the millions of the capitalists at his back. Do you think there is no weaker brother among all our lodges that could not be bought? He will get at our secrets--maybe has got them already. There's only one sure cure." "That he never leaves the valley," said Baldwin. McMurdo nodded. "Good for you, Brother Baldwin," he said. "You and I have had our differences, but you have said the true word to-night." "Where is he, then? Where shall we know him?" "Eminent Bodymaster," said McMurdo, earnestly, "I would put it to you that this is too vital a thing for us to discuss in open lodge. God forbid that I should throw a doubt on anyone here; but if so much as a word of gossip got to the ears of this man, there would be an end of any chance of our getting him. I would ask the lodge to choose a trusty committee, Mr. Chairman--yourself, if I might suggest it, and Brother Baldwin here, and five more. Then I can talk freely of what I know and of what I advise should be done." The proposition was at once adopted, and the committee chosen. Besides the chairman and Baldwin there were the vulture-faced secretary, Harraway, Tiger Cormac, the brutal young assassin, Carter, the treasurer, and the brothers Willaby, fearless and desperate men who would stick at nothing. The usual revelry of the lodge was short and subdued: for there was a cloud upon the men's spirits, and many there for the first time began to see the cloud of avenging Law drifting up in that serene sky under which they had dwelt so long. The horrors they had dealt out to others had been so much a part of their settled lives that the thought of retribution had become a remote one, and so seemed the more startling now that it came so closely upon them. They broke up early and left their leaders to their council. "Now, McMurdo!" said McGinty when they were alone. The seven men sat frozen in their seats. "I said just now that I knew Birdy Edwards," McMurdo explained. "I need not tell you that he is not here under that name. He's a brave man, but not a crazy one. He passes under the name of Steve Wilson, and he is lodging at Hobson's Patch." "How do you know this?" "Because I fell into talk with him. I thought little of it at the time, nor would have given it a second thought but for this letter; but now I'm sure it's the man. I met him on the cars when I went down the line on Wednesday--a hard case if ever there was one. He said he was a reporter. I believed it for the moment. Wanted to know all he could about the Scowrers and what he called 'the outrages' for a New York paper. Asked me every kind of question so as to get something. You bet I was giving nothing away. 'I'd pay for it and pay well,' said he, 'if I could get some stuff that would suit my editor.' I said what I thought would please him best, and he handed me a twenty-dollar bill for my information. 'There's ten times that for you,' said he, 'if you can find me all that I want.'" "What did you tell him, then?" "Any stuff I could make up." "How do you know he wasn't a newspaper man?" "I'll tell you. He got out at Hobson's Patch, and so did I. I chanced into the telegraph bureau, and he was leaving it. "'See here,' said the operator after he'd gone out, 'I guess we should charge double rates for this.'--'I guess you should,' said I. He had filled the form with stuff that might have been Chinese, for all we could make of it. 'He fires a sheet of this off every day,' said the clerk. 'Yes,' said I; 'it's special news for his paper, and he's scared that the others should tap it.' That was what the operator thought and what I thought at the time; but I think differently now." "By Gar! I believe you are right," said McGinty. "But what do you allow that we should do about it?" "Why not go right down now and fix him?" someone suggested. "Ay, the sooner the better." "I'd start this next minute if I knew where we could find him," said McMurdo. "He's in Hobson's Patch; but I don't know the house. I've got a plan, though, if you'll only take my advice." "Well, what is it?" "I'll go to the Patch to-morrow morning. I'll find him through the operator. He can locate him, I guess. Well, then I'll tell him that I'm a Freeman myself. I'll offer him all the secrets of the lodge for a price. You bet he'll tumble to it. I'll tell him the papers are at my house, and that it's as much as my life would be worth to let him come while folk were about. He'll see that that's horse sense. Let him come at ten o'clock at night, and he shall see everything. That will fetch him sure." "Well?" "You can plan the rest for yourselves. Widow MacNamara's is a lonely house. She's as true as steel and as deaf as a post. There's only Scanlan and me in the house. If I get his promise--and I'll let you know if I do--I'd have the whole seven of you come to me by nine o'clock. We'll get him in. If ever he gets out alive--well, he can talk of Birdy Edwards's luck for the rest of his days!" "There's going to be a vacancy at Pinkerton's or I'm mistaken. Leave it at that, McMurdo. At nine to-morrow we'll be with you. You once get the door shut behind him, and you can leave the rest with us." CHAPTER VII The Trapping of Birdy Edwards As McMurdo had said, the house in which he lived was a lonely one and very well suited for such a crime as they had planned. It was on the extreme fringe of the town and stood well back from the road. In any other case the conspirators would have simply called out their man, as they had many a time before, and emptied their pistols into his body; but in this instance it was very necessary to find out how much he knew, how he knew it, and what had been passed on to his employers. It was possible that they were already too late and that the work had been done. If that was indeed so, they could at least have their revenge upon the man who had done it. But they were hopeful that nothing of great importance had yet come to the detective's knowledge, as otherwise, they argued, he would not have troubled to write down and forward such trivial information as McMurdo claimed to have given him. However, all this they would learn from his own lips. Once in their power, they would find a way to make him speak. It was not the first time that they had handled an unwilling witness. McMurdo went to Hobson's Patch as agreed. The police seemed to take particular interest in him that morning, and Captain Marvin--he who had claimed the old acquaintance with him at Chicago--actually addressed him as he waited at the station. McMurdo turned away and refused to speak with him. He was back from his mission in the afternoon, and saw McGinty at the Union House. "He is coming," he said. "Good!" said McGinty. The giant was in his shirt sleeves, with chains and seals gleaming athwart his ample waistcoat and a diamond twinkling through the fringe of his bristling beard. Drink and politics had made the Boss a very rich as well as powerful man. The more terrible, therefore, seemed that glimpse of the prison or the gallows which had risen before him the night before. "Do you reckon he knows much?" he asked anxiously. McMurdo shook his head gloomily. "He's been here some time--six weeks at the least. I guess he didn't come into these parts to look at the prospect. If he has been working among us all that time with the railroad money at his back, I should expect that he has got results, and that he has passed them on." "There's not a weak man in the lodge," cried McGinty. "True as steel, every man of them. And yet, by the Lord! there is that skunk Morris. What about him? If any man gives us away, it would be he. I've a mind to send a couple of the boys round before evening to give him a beating up and see what they can get from him." "Well, there would be no harm in that," McMurdo answered. "I won't deny that I have a liking for Morris and would be sorry to see him come to harm. He has spoken to me once or twice over lodge matters, and though he may not see them the same as you or I, he never seemed the sort that squeals. But still it is not for me to stand between him and you." "I'll fix the old devil!" said McGinty with an oath. "I've had my eye on him this year past." "Well, you know best about that," McMurdo answered. "But whatever you do must be to-morrow; for we must lie low until the Pinkerton affair is settled up. We can't afford to set the police buzzing, to-day of all days." "True for you," said McGinty. "And we'll learn from Birdy Edwards himself where he got his news if we have to cut his heart out first. Did he seem to scent a trap?" McMurdo laughed. "I guess I took him on his weak point," he said. "If he could get on a good trail of the Scowrers, he's ready to follow it into hell. I took his money," McMurdo grinned as he produced a wad of dollar notes, "and as much more when he has seen all my papers." "What papers?" "Well, there are no papers. But I filled him up about constitutions and books of rules and forms of membership. He expects to get right down to the end of everything before he leaves." "Faith, he's right there," said McGinty grimly. "Didn't he ask you why you didn't bring him the papers?" "As if I would carry such things, and me a suspected man, and Captain Marvin after speaking to me this very day at the depot!" "Ay, I heard of that," said McGinty. "I guess the heavy end of this business is coming on to you. We could put him down an old shaft when we've done with him; but however we work it we can't get past the man living at Hobson's Patch and you being there to-day." McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. "If we handle it right, they can never prove the killing," said he. "No one can see him come to the house after dark, and I'll lay to it that no one will see him go. Now see here, Councillor, I'll show you my plan and I'll ask you to fit the others into it. You will all come in good time. Very well. He comes at ten. He is to tap three times, and me to open the door for him. Then I'll get behind him and shut it. He's our man then." "That's all easy and plain." "Yes; but the next step wants considering. He's a hard proposition. He's heavily armed. I've fooled him proper, and yet he is likely to be on his guard. Suppose I show him right into a room with seven men in it where he expected to find me alone. There is going to be shooting, and somebody is going to be hurt." "That's so." "And the noise is going to bring every damned copper in the township on top of it." "I guess you are right." "This is how I should work it. You will all be in the big room--same as you saw when you had a chat with me. I'll open the door for him, show him into the parlour beside the door, and leave him there while I get the papers. That will give me the chance of telling you how things are shaping. Then I will go back to him with some faked papers. As he is reading them I will jump for him and get my grip on his pistol arm. You'll hear me call and in you will rush. The quicker the better; for he is as strong a man as I, and I may have more than I can manage. But I allow that I can hold him till you come." "It's a good plan," said McGinty. "The lodge will owe you a debt for this. I guess when I move out of the chair I can put a name to the man that's coming after me." "Sure, Councillor, I am little more than a recruit," said McMurdo; but his face showed what he thought of the great man's compliment. When he had returned home he made his own preparations for the grim evening in front of him. First he cleaned, oiled, and loaded his Smith & Wesson revolver. Then he surveyed the room in which the detective was to be trapped. It was a large apartment, with a long deal table in the centre, and the big stove at one side. At each of the other sides were windows. There were no shutters on these: only light curtains which drew across. McMurdo examined these attentively. No doubt it must have struck him that the apartment was very exposed for so secret a meeting. Yet its distance from the road made it of less consequence. Finally he discussed the matter with his fellow lodger. Scanlan, though a Scowrer, was an inoffensive little man who was too weak to stand against the opinion of his comrades, but was secretly horrified by the deeds of blood at which he had sometimes been forced to assist. McMurdo told him shortly what was intended. "And if I were you, Mike Scanlan, I would take a night off and keep clear of it. There will be bloody work here before morning." "Well, indeed then, Mac," Scanlan answered. "It's not the will but the nerve that is wanting in me. When I saw Manager Dunn go down at the colliery yonder it was just more than I could stand. I'm not made for it, same as you or McGinty. If the lodge will think none the worse of me, I'll just do as you advise and leave you to yourselves for the evening." The men came in good time as arranged. They were outwardly respectable citizens, well clad and cleanly; but a judge of faces would have read little hope for Birdy Edwards in those hard mouths and remorseless eyes. There was not a man in the room whose hands had not been reddened a dozen times before. They were as hardened to human murder as a butcher to sheep. Foremost, of course, both in appearance and in guilt, was the formidable Boss. Harraway, the secretary, was a lean, bitter man with a long, scraggy neck and nervous, jerky limbs, a man of incorruptible fidelity where the finances of the order were concerned, and with no notion of justice or honesty to anyone beyond. The treasurer, Carter, was a middle-aged man, with an impassive, rather sulky expression, and a yellow parchment skin. He was a capable organizer, and the actual details of nearly every outrage had sprung from his plotting brain. The two Willabys were men of action, tall, lithe young fellows with determined faces, while their companion, Tiger Cormac, a heavy, dark youth, was feared even by his own comrades for the ferocity of his disposition. These were the men who assembled that night under the roof of McMurdo for the killing of the Pinkerton detective. Their host had placed whisky upon the table, and they had hastened to prime themselves for the work before them. Baldwin and Cormac were already half-drunk, and the liquor had brought out all their ferocity. Cormac placed his hands on the stove for an instant--it had been lighted, for the nights were still cold. "That will do," said he, with an oath. "Ay," said Baldwin, catching his meaning. "If he is strapped to that, we will have the truth out of him." "We'll have the truth out of him, never fear," said McMurdo. He had nerves of steel, this man; for though the whole weight of the affair was on him his manner was as cool and unconcerned as ever. The others marked it and applauded. "You are the one to handle him," said the Boss approvingly. "Not a warning will he get till your hand is on his throat. It's a pity there are no shutters to your windows." McMurdo went from one to the other and drew the curtains tighter. "Sure no one can spy upon us now. It's close upon the hour." "Maybe he won't come. Maybe he'll get a sniff of danger," said the secretary. "He'll come, never fear," McMurdo answered. "He is as eager to come as you can be to see him. Hark to that!" They all sat like wax figures, some with their glasses arrested halfway to their lips. Three loud knocks had sounded at the door. "Hush!" McMurdo raised his hand in caution. An exulting glance went round the circle, and hands were laid upon hidden weapons. "Not a sound, for your lives!" McMurdo whispered, as he went from the room, closing the door carefully behind him. With strained ears the murderers waited. They counted the steps of their comrade down the passage. Then they heard him open the outer door. There were a few words as of greeting. Then they were aware of a strange step inside and of an unfamiliar voice. An instant later came the slam of the door and the turning of the key in the lock. Their prey was safe within the trap. Tiger Cormac laughed horribly, and Boss McGinty clapped his great hand across his mouth. "Be quiet, you fool!" he whispered. "You'll be the undoing of us yet!" There was a mutter of conversation from the next room. It seemed interminable. Then the door opened, and McMurdo appeared, his finger upon his lip. He came to the end of the table and looked round at them. A subtle change had come over him. His manner was as of one who has great work to do. His face had set into granite firmness. His eyes shone with a fierce excitement behind his spectacles. He had become a visible leader of men. They stared at him with eager interest; but he said nothing. Still with the same singular gaze he looked from man to man. "Well!" cried Boss McGinty at last. "Is he here? Is Birdy Edwards here?" "Yes," McMurdo answered slowly. "Birdy Edwards is here. I am Birdy Edwards!" There were ten seconds after that brief speech during which the room might have been empty, so profound was the silence. The hissing of a kettle upon the stove rose sharp and strident to the ear. Seven white faces, all turned upward to this man who dominated them, were set motionless with utter terror. Then, with a sudden shivering of glass, a bristle of glistening rifle barrels broke through each window, while the curtains were torn from their hangings. At the sight Boss McGinty gave the roar of a wounded bear and plunged for the half-opened door. A levelled revolver met him there with the stern blue eyes of Captain Marvin of the Mine Police gleaming behind the sights. The Boss recoiled and fell back into his chair. "You're safer there, Councillor," said the man whom they had known as McMurdo. "And you, Baldwin, if you don't take your hand off your pistol, you'll cheat the hangman yet. Pull it out, or by the Lord that made me--There, that will do. There are forty armed men round this house, and you can figure it out for yourself what chance you have. Take their pistols, Marvin!" There was no possible resistance under the menace of those rifles. The men were disarmed. Sulky, sheepish, and amazed, they still sat round the table. "I'd like to say a word to you before we separate," said the man who had trapped them. "I guess we may not meet again until you see me on the stand in the courthouse. I'll give you something to think over between now and then. You know me now for what I am. At last I can put my cards on the table. I am Birdy Edwards of Pinkerton's. I was chosen to break up your gang. I had a hard and dangerous game to play. Not a soul, not one soul, not my nearest and dearest, knew that I was playing it. Only Captain Marvin here and my employers knew that. But it's over to-night, thank God, and I am the winner!" The seven pale, rigid faces looked up at him. There was unappeasable hatred in their eyes. He read the relentless threat. "Maybe you think that the game is not over yet. Well, I take my chance of that. Anyhow, some of you will take no further hand, and there are sixty more besides yourselves that will see a jail this night. I'll tell you this, that when I was put upon this job I never believed there was such a society as yours. I thought it was paper talk, and that I would prove it so. They told me it was to do with the Freemen; so I went to Chicago and was made one. Then I was surer than ever that it was just paper talk; for I found no harm in the society, but a deal of good. "Still, I had to carry out my job, and I came to the coal valleys. When I reached this place I learned that I was wrong and that it wasn't a dime novel after all. So I stayed to look after it. I never killed a man in Chicago. I never minted a dollar in my life. Those I gave you were as good as any others; but I never spent money better. But I knew the way into your good wishes and so I pretended to you that the law was after me. It all worked just as I thought. "So I joined your infernal lodge, and I took my share in your councils. Maybe they will say that I was as bad as you. They can say what they like, so long as I get you. But what is the truth? The night I joined you beat up old man Stanger. I could not warn him, for there was no time; but I held your hand, Baldwin, when you would have killed him. If ever I have suggested things, so as to keep my place among you, they were things which I knew I could prevent. I could not save Dunn and Menzies, for I did not know enough; but I will see that their murderers are hanged. I gave Chester Wilcox warning, so that when I blew his house in he and his folk were in hiding. There was many a crime that I could not stop; but if you look back and think how often your man came home the other road, or was down in town when you went for him, or stayed indoors when you thought he would come out, you'll see my work." "You blasted traitor!" hissed McGinty through his closed teeth. "Ay, John McGinty, you may call me that if it eases your smart. You and your like have been the enemy of God and man in these parts. It took a man to get between you and the poor devils of men and women that you held under your grip. There was just one way of doing it, and I did it. You call me a traitor; but I guess there's many a thousand will call me a deliverer that went down into hell to save them. I've had three months of it. I wouldn't have three such months again if they let me loose in the treasury at Washington for it. I had to stay till I had it all, every man and every secret right here in this hand. I'd have waited a little longer if it hadn't come to my knowledge that my secret was coming out. A letter had come into the town that would have set you wise to it all. Then I had to act and act quickly. "I've nothing more to say to you, except that when my time comes I'll die the easier when I think of the work I have done in this valley. Now, Marvin, I'll keep you no more. Take them in and get it over." There is little more to tell. Scanlan had been given a sealed note to be left at the address of Miss Ettie Shafter, a mission which he had accepted with a wink and a knowing smile. In the early hours of the morning a beautiful woman and a much muffled man boarded a special train which had been sent by the railroad company, and made a swift, unbroken journey out of the land of danger. It was the last time that ever either Ettie or her lover set foot in the Valley of Fear. Ten days later they were married in Chicago, with old Jacob Shafter as witness of the wedding. The trial of the Scowrers was held far from the place where their adherents might have terrified the guardians of the law. In vain they struggled. In vain the money of the lodge--money squeezed by blackmail out of the whole countryside--was spent like water in the attempt to save them. That cold, clear, unimpassioned statement from one who knew every detail of their lives, their organization, and their crimes was unshaken by all the wiles of their defenders. At last after so many years they were broken and scattered. The cloud was lifted forever from the valley. McGinty met his fate upon the scaffold, cringing and whining when the last hour came. Eight of his chief followers shared his fate. Fifty-odd had various degrees of imprisonment. The work of Birdy Edwards was complete. And yet, as he had guessed, the game was not over yet. There was another hand to be played, and yet another and another. Ted Baldwin, for one, had escaped the scaffold; so had the Willabys; so had several others of the fiercest spirits of the gang. For ten years they were out of the world, and then came a day when they were free once more--a day which Edwards, who knew his men, was very sure would be an end of his life of peace. They had sworn an oath on all that they thought holy to have his blood as a vengeance for their comrades. And well they strove to keep their vow! From Chicago he was chased, after two attempts so near success that it was sure that the third would get him. From Chicago he went under a changed name to California, and it was there that the light went for a time out of his life when Ettie Edwards died. Once again he was nearly killed, and once again under the name of Douglas he worked in a lonely canyon, where with an English partner named Barker he amassed a fortune. At last there came a warning to him that the bloodhounds were on his track once more, and he cleared--only just in time--for England. And thence came the John Douglas who for a second time married a worthy mate, and lived for five years as a Sussex county gentleman, a life which ended with the strange happenings of which we have heard. CHAPTER VIII Epilogue The police trial had passed, in which the case of John Douglas was referred to a higher court. So had the Quarter Sessions, at which he was acquitted as having acted in self-defense. "Get him out of England at any cost," wrote Holmes to the wife. "There are forces here which may be more dangerous than those he has escaped. There is no safety for your husband in England." Two months had gone by, and the case had to some extent passed from our minds. Then one morning there came an enigmatic note slipped into our letter box. "Dear me, Mr. Holmes. Dear me!" said this singular epistle. There was neither superscription nor signature. I laughed at the quaint message; but Holmes showed unwonted seriousness. "Deviltry, Watson!" he remarked, and sat long with a clouded brow. Late last night Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, brought up a message that a gentleman wished to see Holmes, and that the matter was of the utmost importance. Close at the heels of his messenger came Cecil Barker, our friend of the moated Manor House. His face was drawn and haggard. "I've had bad news--terrible news, Mr. Holmes," said he. "I feared as much," said Holmes. "You have not had a cable, have you?" "I have had a note from someone who has." "It's poor Douglas. They tell me his name is Edwards; but he will always be Jack Douglas of Benito Canyon to me. I told you that they started together for South Africa in the Palmyra three weeks ago." "Exactly." "The ship reached Cape Town last night. I received this cable from Mrs. Douglas this morning:-- "Jack has been lost overboard in gale off St. Helena. No one knows how accident occurred. "Ivy Douglas." "Ha! It came like that, did it?" said Holmes, thoughtfully. "Well, I've no doubt it was well stage-managed." "You mean that you think there was no accident?" "None in the world." "He was murdered?" "Surely!" "So I think also. These infernal Scowrers, this cursed vindictive nest of criminals--" "No, no, my good sir," said Holmes. "There is a master hand here. It is no case of sawed-off shot-guns and clumsy six-shooters. You can tell an old master by the sweep of his brush. I can tell a Moriarty when I see one. This crime is from London, not from America." "But for what motive?" "Because it is done by a man who cannot afford to fail--one whose whole unique position depends upon the fact that all he does must succeed. A great brain and a huge organization have been turned to the extinction of one man. It is crushing the nut with the hammer--an absurd extravagance of energy--but the nut is very effectually crushed all the same." "How came this man to have anything to do with it?" "I can only say that the first word that ever came to us of the business was from one of his lieutenants. These Americans were well advised. Having an English job to do, they took into partnership, as any foreign criminal could do, this great consultant in crime. From that moment their man was doomed. At first he would content himself by using his machinery in order to find their victim. Then he would indicate how the matter might be treated. Finally, when he read in the reports of the failure of this agent, he would step in himself with a master touch. You heard me warn this man at Birlstone Manor House that the coming danger was greater than the past. Was I right?" Barker beat his head with his clenched fist in his impotent anger. "Do you tell me that we have to sit down under this? Do you say that no one can ever get level with this king-devil?" "No, I don't say that," said Holmes, and his eyes seemed to be looking far into the future. "I don't say that he can't be beat. But you must give me time--you must give me time!" We all sat in silence for some minutes, while those fateful eyes still strained to pierce the veil. HIS LAST BOW PREFACE The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided between philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retirement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war caused him, however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the government, with historical results which are recounted in His Last Bow. Several previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio have been added to His Last Bow so as to complete the volume. John H. Watson, M. D. THE ADVENTURE OF WISTERIA LODGE Table of contents The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles The Tiger of San Pedro CHAPTER I The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day towards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had received a telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. He made no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood in front of the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe, and casting an occasional glance at the message. Suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters," said he. "How do you define the word 'grotesque'?" "Strange--remarkable," I suggested. He shook his head at my definition. "There is surely something more than that," said he; "some underlying suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you cast your mind back to some of those narratives with which you have afflicted a long-suffering public, you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened into the criminal. Think of that little affair of the red-headed men. That was grotesque enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at robbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orange pips, which let straight to a murderous conspiracy. The word puts me on the alert." "Have you it there?" I asked. He read the telegram aloud. "Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I consult you? "Scott Eccles, "Post Office, Charing Cross." "Man or woman?" I asked. "Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paid telegram. She would have come." "Will you see him?" "My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked up Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may prove? But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client." A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout, tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into the room. His life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to the last degree. But some amazing experience had disturbed his native composure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angry cheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. He plunged instantly into his business. "I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes," said he. "Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It is most improper--most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation." He swelled and puffed in his anger. "Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes in a soothing voice. "May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?" "Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the police, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that I could not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a class with whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your name--" "Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at once?" "What do you mean?" Holmes glanced at his watch. "It is a quarter-past two," he said. "Your telegram was dispatched about one. But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking." Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin. "You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet. I was only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been running round making inquiries before I came to you. I went to the house agents, you know, and they said that Mr. Garcia's rent was paid up all right and that everything was in order at Wisteria Lodge." "Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing. "You are like my friend, Dr. Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost. Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance." Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance. "I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me." But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary. "We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this direction." He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "Are you Mr. John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?" "I am." "We have been following you about all the morning." "You traced him through the telegram, no doubt," said Holmes. "Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here." "But why do you follow me? What do you want?" "We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which let up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Esher." Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face. "Dead? Did you say he was dead?" "Yes, sir, he is dead." "But how? An accident?" "Murder, if ever there was one upon earth." "Good God! This is awful! You don't mean--you don't mean that I am suspected?" "A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and we know by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house." "So I did." "Oh, you did, did you?" Out came the official notebook. "Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes. "All you desire is a plain statement, is it not?" "And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against him." "Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you never been interrupted." Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to his face. With a dubious glance at the inspector's notebook, he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement. "I am a bachelor," said he, "and being of a sociable turn I cultivate a large number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewer called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He was, I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and as good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life. "In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, Wisteria Lodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher to fulfil this engagement. "He had described his household to me before I went there. He lived with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all his needs. This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping for him. Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he had picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. I remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart of Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good deal queerer than I thought. "I drove to the place--about two miles on the south side of Esher. The house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old, tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair. When the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-stained door, I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly. He opened the door himself, however, and greeted me with a great show of cordiality. I was handed over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy individual, who led the way, my bag in his hand, to my bedroom. The whole place was depressing. Our dinner was tête-à-tête, and though my host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemed to continually wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that I could hardly understand him. He continually drummed his fingers on the table, gnawed his nails, and gave other signs of nervous impatience. The dinner itself was neither well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy presence of the taciturn servant did not help to enliven us. I can assure you that many times in the course of the evening I wished that I could invent some excuse which would take me back to Lee. "One thing comes back to my memory which may have a bearing upon the business that you two gentlemen are investigating. I thought nothing of it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was handed in by the servant. I noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even more distrait and strange than before. He gave up all pretence at conversation and sat, smoking endless cigarettes, lost in his own thoughts, but he made no remark as to the contents. About eleven I was glad to go to bed. Some time later Garcia looked in at my door--the room was dark at the time--and asked me if I had rung. I said that I had not. He apologized for having disturbed me so late, saying that it was nearly one o'clock. I dropped off after this and slept soundly all night. "And now I come to the amazing part of my tale. When I woke it was broad daylight. I glanced at my watch, and the time was nearly nine. I had particularly asked to be called at eight, so I was very much astonished at this forgetfulness. I sprang up and rang for the servant. There was no response. I rang again and again, with the same result. Then I came to the conclusion that the bell was out of order. I huddled on my clothes and hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper to order some hot water. You can imagine my surprise when I found that there was no one there. I shouted in the hall. There was no answer. Then I ran from room to room. All were deserted. My host had shown me which was his bedroom the night before, so I knocked at the door. No reply. I turned the handle and walked in. The room was empty, and the bed had never been slept in. He had gone with the rest. The foreign host, the foreign footman, the foreign cook, all had vanished in the night! That was the end of my visit to Wisteria Lodge." Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added this bizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes. "Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly unique," said he. "May I ask, sir, what you did then?" "I was furious. My first idea was that I had been the victim of some absurd practical joke. I packed my things, banged the hall door behind me, and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand. I called at Allan Brothers', the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was from this firm that the villa had been rented. It struck me that the whole proceeding could hardly be for the purpose of making a fool of me, and that the main objet must be to get out of the rent. It is late in March, so quarter-day is at hand. But this theory would not work. The agent was obliged to me for my warning, but told me that the rent had been paid in advance. Then I made my way to town and called at the Spanish embassy. The man was unknown there. After this I went to see Melville, at whose house I had first met Garcia, but I found that he really knew rather less about him than I did. Finally when I got your reply to my wire I came out to you, since I gather that you are a person who gives advice in difficult cases. But now, Mr. Inspector, I understand, from what you said when you entered the room, that you can carry the story on, and that some tragedy had occurred. I can assure you that every word I have said is the truth, and that, outside of what I have told you, I know absolutely nothing about the fate of this man. My only desire is to help the law in every possible way." "I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles--I am sure of it," said Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone. "I am bound to say that everything which you have said agrees very closely with the facts as they have come to our notice. For example, there was that note which arrived during dinner. Did you chance to observe what became of it?" "Yes, I did. Garcia rolled it up and threw it into the fire." "What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?" The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. With a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket. "It was a dog-grate, Mr. Holmes, and he overpitched it. I picked this out unburned from the back of it." Holmes smiled his appreciation. "You must have examined the house very carefully to find a single pellet of paper." "I did, Mr. Holmes. It's my way. Shall I read it, Mr. Gregson?" The Londoner nodded. "The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without watermark. It is a quarter-sheet. The paper is cut off in two snips with a short-bladed scissors. It has been folded over three times and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down with some flat oval object. It is addressed to Mr. Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says: "Our own colours, green and white. Green open, white shut. Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize. Godspeed. D. "It is a woman's writing, done with a sharp-pointed pen, but the address is either done with another pen or by someone else. It is thicker and bolder, as you see." "A very remarkable note," said Holmes, glancing it over. "I must compliment you, Mr. Baynes, upon your attention to detail in your examination of it. A few trifling points might perhaps be added. The oval seal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-link--what else is of such a shape? The scissors were bent nail scissors. Short as the two snips are, you can distinctly see the same slight curve in each." The country detective chuckled. "I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of it, but I see there was a little over," he said. "I'm bound to say that I make nothing of the note except that there was something on hand, and that a woman, as usual, was at the bottom of it." Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during this conversation. "I am glad you found the note, since it corroborates my story," said he. "But I beg to point out that I have not yet heard what has happened to Mr. Garcia, nor what has become of his household." "As to Garcia," said Gregson, "that is easily answered. He was found dead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from his home. His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded. It is a lonely corner, and there is no house within a quarter of a mile of the spot. He had apparently been struck down first from behind, but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he was dead. It was a most furious assault. There are no footsteps nor any clue to the criminals." "Robbed?" "No, there was no attempt at robbery." "This is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?" "Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered. "The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name and address. It was after nine this morning when we reached his house and found neither you nor anyone else inside it. I wired to Mr. Gregson to run you down in London while I examined Wisteria Lodge. Then I came into town, joined Mr. Gregson, and here we are." "I think now," said Gregson, rising, "we had best put this matter into an official shape. You will come round with us to the station, Mr. Scott Eccles, and let us have your statement in writing." "Certainly, I will come at once. But I retain your services, Mr. Holmes. I desire you to spare no expense and no pains to get at the truth." My friend turned to the country inspector. "I suppose that you have no objection to my collaborating with you, Mr. Baynes?" "Highly honoured, sir, I am sure." "You appear to have been very prompt and businesslike in all that you have done. Was there any clue, may I ask, as to the exact hour that the man met his death?" "He had been there since one o'clock. There was rain about that time, and his death had certainly been before the rain." "But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes," cried our client. "His voice is unmistakable. I could swear to it that it was he who addressed me in my bedroom at that very hour." "Remarkable, but by no means impossible," said Holmes, smiling. "You have a clue?" asked Gregson. "On the face of it the case is not a very complex one, though it certainly presents some novel and interesting features. A further knowledge of facts is necessary before I would venture to give a final and definite opinion. By the way, Mr. Baynes, did you find anything remarkable besides this note in your examination of the house?" The detective looked at my friend in a singular way. "There were," said he, "one or two very remarkable things. Perhaps when I have finished at the police-station you would care to come out and give me your opinion of them." "In am entirely at your service," said Sherlock Holmes, ringing the bell. "You will show these gentlemen out, Mrs. Hudson, and kindly send the boy with this telegram. He is to pay a five-shilling reply." We sat for some time in silence after our visitors had left. Holmes smoked hard, with his browns drawn down over his keen eyes, and his head thrust forward in the eager way characteristic of the man. "Well, Watson," he asked, turning suddenly upon me, "what do you make of it?" "I can make nothing of this mystification of Scott Eccles." "But the crime?" "Well, taken with the disappearance of the man's companions, I should say that they were in some way concerned in the murder and had fled from justice." "That is certainly a possible point of view. On the face of it you must admit, however, that it is very strange that his two servants should have been in a conspiracy against him and should have attacked him on the one night when he had a guest. They had him alone at their mercy every other night in the week." "Then why did they fly?" "Quite so. Why did they fly? There is a big fact. Another big fact is the remarkable experience of our client, Scott Eccles. Now, my dear Watson, is it beyond the limits of human ingenuity to furnish an explanation which would cover both of these big facts? If it were one which would also admit of the mysterious note with its very curious phraseology, why, then it would be worth accepting as a temporary hypothesis. If the fresh facts which come to our knowledge all fit themselves into the scheme, then our hypothesis may gradually become a solution." "But what is our hypothesis?" Holmes leaned back in his chair with half-closed eyes. "You must admit, my dear Watson, that the idea of a joke is impossible. There were grave events afoot, as the sequel showed, and the coaxing of Scott Eccles to Wisteria Lodge had some connection with them." "But what possible connection?" "Let us take it link by link. There is, on the face of it, something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the young Spaniard and Scott Eccles. It was the former who forced the pace. He called upon Eccles at the other end of London on the very day after he first met him, and he kept in close touch with him until he got him down to Esher. Now, what did he want with Eccles? What could Eccles supply? I see no charm in the man. He is not particulary intelligent--not a man likely to be congenial to a quick-witted Latin. Why, then, was he picked out from all the other people whom Garcia met as particularly suited to his purpose? Has he any one outstanding quality? I say that he has. He is the very type of conventional British respectability, and the very man as a witness to impress another Briton. You saw yourself how neither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement, extraordinary as it was." "But what was he to witness?" "Nothing, as things turned out, but everything had they gone another way. That is how I read the matter." "I see, he might have proved an alibi." "Exactly, my dear Watson; he might have proved an alibi. We will suppose, for argument's sake, that the household of Wisteria Lodge are confederates in some design. The attempt, whatever it may be, is to come off, we will say, before one o'clock. By some juggling of the clocks it is quite possible that they may have got Scott Eccles to bed earlier than he thought, but in any case it is likely that when Garcia went out of his way to tell him that it was one it was really not more than twelve. If Garcia could do whatever he had to do and be back by the hour mentioned he had evidently a powerful reply to any accusation. Here was this irreproachable Englishman ready to swear in any court of law that the accused was in the house all the time. It was an insurance against the worst." "Yes, yes, I see that. But how about the disappearance of the others?" "I have not all my facts yet, but I do not think there are any insuperable difficulties. Still, it is an error to argue in front of your data. You find yourself insensibly twisting them round to fit your theories." "And the message?" "How did it run? 'Our own colours, green and white.' Sounds like racing. 'Green open, white shut.' That is clearly a signal. 'Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize.' This is an assignation. We may find a jealous husband at the bottom of it all. It was clearly a dangerous quest. She would not have said 'Godspeed' had it not been so. 'D'--that should be a guide." "The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that 'D' stands for Dolores, a common female name in Spain." "Good, Watson, very good--but quite inadmissable. A Spaniard would write to a Spaniard in Spanish. The writer of this note is certainly English. Well, we can only possess our soul in patience until this excellent inspector come back for us. Meanwhile we can thank our lucky fate which has rescued us for a few short hours from the insufferable fatigues of idleness." An answer had arrived to Holmes's telegram before our Surrey officer had returned. Holmes read it and was about to place it in his notebook when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. He tossed it across with a laugh. "We are moving in exalted circles," said he. The telegram was a list of names and addresses: Lord Harringby, The Dingle; Sir George Ffolliott, Oxshott Towers; Mr. Hynes Hynes, J.P., Purdley Place; Mr. James Baker Williams, Forton Old Hall; Mr. Henderson, High Gable; Rev. Joshua Stone, Nether Walsling. "This is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations," said Holmes. "No doubt Baynes, with his methodical mind, has already adopted some similar plan." "I don't quite understand." "Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion that the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or an assignation. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, and in order to keep the tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seek the seventh door in a corridor, it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large one. It is equally certain that this house cannot be more than a mile or two from Oxshott, since Garcia was walking in that direction and hoped, according to my reading of the facts, to be back in Wisteria Lodge in time to avail himself of an alibi, which would only be valid up to one o'clock. As the number of large houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted the obvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles and obtaining a list of them. Here they are in this telegram, and the other end of our tangled skein must lie among them." It was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in the pretty Surrey village of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as our companion. Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and found comfortable quarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the company of the detective on our visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, dark March evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces, a fit setting for the wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which it led us. CHAPTER II The Tiger of San Pedro A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a high wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. The curved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-black against a slate-coloured sky. From the front window upon the left of the door there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light. "There's a constable in possession," said Baynes. "I'll knock at the window." He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand on the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from a chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. An instant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened the door, the candle wavering in his trembling hand. "What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes sharply. The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and agave a long sigh of relief. "I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I don't think my nerve is as good as it was." "Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve in your body." "Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in the kitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had come again." "That what had come again?" "The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window." "What was at the window, and when?" "It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was sitting reading in the chair. I don't know what made me look up, but there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir, what a face it was! I'll see it in my dreams." "Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable." "I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to deny it. It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that I know but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. Then there was the size of it--it was twice yours, sir. And the look of it--the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move a finger, nor get my breath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out I ran and through the shrubbery, but thank God there was no one there." "If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a black mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him. I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?" "That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant." "What became of him?" "He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the road." "Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr. Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house." The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a careful search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing with them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been taken over with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had been already made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer save that he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few novels, two of them in Spanish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar were among the personal property. "Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from room to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen." It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the debris of last night's dinner. "Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?" He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that it was difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was animal or human. A double band of white shells were strung round the centre of it. "Very interesting--very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at this sinister relic. "Anything more?" In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle. The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed to the wattles on the severed head. "A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very curious case." But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. From under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood. Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of charred bone. "Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked all these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says that they are not human." Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. "I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seem superior to your opportunities." Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure. "You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What do you make of these bones?" "A lamb, I should say, or a kid." "And the white cock?" "Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique." "Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some very strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his companions follow him and kill him? If they did we should have them, for every port is watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir, my own views are very different." "You have a theory then?" "And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my own credit to do so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should be glad to be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without your help." Holmes laughed good-humoredly. "Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and I will follow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you care to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I wish in this house, and that my time may be more profitably employed elsewhere. Au revoir and good luck!" I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost upon anyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as ever to the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker manner which assured me that the game was afoot. After his habit he said nothing, and after mine I asked no questions. Sufficient for me to share the sport and lend my humble help to the capture without distracting that intent brain with needless interruption. All would come round to me in due time. I waited, therefore--but to my ever-deepening disappointment I waited in vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. One morning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that he had visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he spent his days in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated. "I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you," he remarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a tin box, and an elementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be spent." He prowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a poor show of plants which he would bring back of an evening. Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes. His fat, red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that little we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events. I must admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when, some five days after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in large letters: The Oxshott Mystery a solution Arrest of Supposed Assassin Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read the headlines. "By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that Baynes has got him?" "Apparently," said I as I read the following report: "Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouring district when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected in connection with the Oxshott murder. It will be remembered that Mr. Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found dead on Oxshott Common, his body showing signs of extreme violence, and that on the same night his servant and his cook fled, which appeared to show their participation in the crime. It was suggested, but never proved, that the deceased gentleman may have had valuables in the house, and that their abstraction was the motive of the crime. Every effort was made by Inspector Baynes, who has the case in hand, to ascertain the hiding place of the fugitives, and he had good reason to believe that they had not gone far but were lurking in some retreat which had been already prepared. It was certain from the first, however, that they would eventually be detected, as the cook, from the evidence of one or two tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through the window, was a man of most remarkable appearance--being a huge and hideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronounced negroid type. This man has been seen since the crime, for he was detected and pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening, when he had the audacity to revisit Wisteria Lodge. Inspector Baynes, considering that such a visit must have some purpose in view and was likely, therefore, to be repeated, abandoned the house but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. The man walked into the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in which Constable Downing was badly bitten by the savage. We understand that when the prison is brought before the magistrates a remand will be applied for by the police, and that great developments are hoped from his capture." "Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes, picking up his hat. "We will just catch him before he starts." We hurried down the village street and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was just leaving his lodgings. "You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, holding one out to us. "Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a liberty if I give you a word of friendly warning." "Of warning, Mr. Holmes?" "I have looked into this case with some care, and I am not convinced that you are on the right lines. I don't want you to commit yourself too far unless you are sure." "You're very kind, Mr. Holmes." "I assure you I speak for your good." It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant over one of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes. "We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. That's what I am doing." "Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't blame me." "No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we all have our own systems, Mr. Holmes. You have yours, and maybe I have mine." "Let us say no more about it." "You're welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfect savage, as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. He chewed Downing's thumb nearly off before they could master him. He hardly speaks a word of English, and we can get nothing out of him but grunts." "And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?" "I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so. We all have our little ways. You try yours and I will try mine. That's the agreement." Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "I can't make the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says, we must each try our own way and see what comes of it. But there's something in Inspector Baynes which I can't quite understand." "Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes when we had returned to our apartment at the Bull. "I want to put you in touch with the situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let me show you the evolution of this case so far as I have been able to follow it. Simple as it has been in its leading features, it has none the less presented surprising difficulties in the way of an arrest. There are gaps in that direction which we have still to fill. "We will go back to the note which was handed in to Garcia upon the evening of his death. We may put aside this idea of Baynes's that Garcia's servants were concerned in the matter. The proof of this lies in the fact that it was he who had arranged for the presence of Scott Eccles, which could only have been done for the purpose of an alibi. It was Garcia, then, who had an enterprise, and apparently a criminal enterprise, in hand that night in the course of which he met his death. I say 'criminal' because only a man with a criminal enterprise desires to establish an alibi. Who, then, is most likely to have taken his life? Surely the person against whom the criminal enterprise was directed. So far it seems to me that we are on safe ground. "We can now see a reason for the disappearance of Garcia's household. They were all confederates in the same unknown crime. If it came off when Garcia returned, any possible suspicion would be warded off by the Englishman's evidence, and all would be well. But the attempt was a dangerous one, and if Garcia did not return by a certain hour it was probable that his own life had been sacrificed. It had been arranged, therefore, that in such a case his two subordinates were to make for some prearranged spot where they could escape investigation and be in a position afterwards to renew their attempt. That would fully explain the facts, would it not?" The whole inexplicable tangle seemed to straighten out before me. I wondered, as I always did, how it had not been obvious to me before. "But why should one servant return?" "We can imagine that in the confusion of flight something precious, something which he could not bear to part with, had been left behind. That would explain his persistence, would it not?" "Well, what is the next step?" "The next step is the note received by Garcia at the dinner. It indicates a confederate at the other end. Now, where was the other end? I have already shown you that it could only lie in some large house, and that the number of large houses is limited. My first days in this village were devoted to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my botanical researches I made a reconnaissance of all the large houses and an examination of the family history of the occupants. One house, and only one, riveted my attention. It is the famous old Jacobean grange of High Gable, one mile on the farther side of Oxshott, and less than half a mile from the scene of the tragedy. The other mansions belonged to prosaic and respectable people who live far aloof from romance. But Mr. Henderson, of High Gable, was by all accounts a curious man to whom curious adventures might befall. I concentrated my attention, therefore, upon him and his household. "A singular set of people, Watson--the man himself the most singular of them all. I managed to see him on a plausible pretext, but I seemed to read in his dark, deepset, brooding eyes that he was perfectly aware of my true business. He is a man of fifty, strong, active, with iron-gray hair, great bunched black eyebrows, the step of a deer and the air of an emperor--a fierce, masterful man, with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face. He is either a foreigner or has lived long in the tropics, for he is yellow and sapless, but tough as whipcord. His friend and secretary, Mr. Lucas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown, wily, suave, and catlike, with a poisonous gentleness of speech. You see, Watson, we have come already upon two sets of foreigners--one at Wisteria Lodge and one at High Gable--so our gaps are beginning to close. "These two men, close and confidential friends, are the centre of the household; but there is one other person who for our immediate purpose may be even more important. Henderson has two children--girls of eleven and thirteen. Their governess is a Miss Burnet, an Englishwoman of forty or thereabouts. There is also one confidential manservant. This little group forms the real family, for their travel about together, and Henderson is a great traveller, always on the move. It is only within the last weeks that he has returned, after a year's absence, to High Gable. I may add that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims may be he can very easily satisfy them. For the rest, his house is full of butlers, footmen, maidservants, and the usual overfed, underworked staff of a large English country house. "So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly from my own observation. There are no better instruments than discharged servants with a grievance, and I was lucky enough to find one. I call it luck, but it would not have come my way had I not been looking out for it. As Baynes remarks, we all have our systems. It was my system which enabled me to find John Warner, late gardener of High Gable, sacked in a moment of temper by his imperious employer. He in turn had friends among the indoor servants who unite in their fear and dislike of their master. So I had my key to the secrets of the establishment. "Curious people, Watson! I don't pretend to understand it all yet, but very curious people anyway. It's a double-winged house, and the servants live on one side, the family on the other. There's no link between the two save for Henderson's own servant, who serves the family's meals. Everything is carried to a certain door, which forms the one connection. Governess and children hardly go out at all, except into the garden. Henderson never by any chance walks alone. His dark secretary is like his shadow. The gossip among the servants is that their master is terribly afraid of something. 'Sold his soul to the devil in exchange for money,' says Warner, 'and expects his creditor to come up and claim his own.' Where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. They are very violent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with his dog-whip, and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out of the courts. "Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation by this new information. We may take it that the letter came out of this strange household and was an invitation to Garcia to carry out some attempt which had already been planned. Who wrote the note? It was someone within the citadel, and it was a woman. Who then but Miss Burnet, the governess? All our reasoning seems to point that way. At any rate, we may take it as a hypothesis and see what consequences it would entail. I may add that Miss Burnet's age and character make it certain that my first idea that there might be a love interest in our story is out of the question. "If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend and confederate of Garcia. What, then, might she be expected to do if she heard of his death? If he met it in some nefarious enterprise her lips might be sealed. Still, in her heart, she must retain bitterness and hatred against those who had killed him and would presumably help so far as she could to have revenge upon them. Could we see her, then and try to use her? That was my first thought. But now we come to a sinister fact. Miss Burnet has not been seen by any human eye since the night of the murder. From that evening she has utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has she perhaps met her end on the same night as the friend whom she had summoned? Or is she merely a prisoner? There is the point which we still have to decide. "You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, Watson. There is nothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. Our whole scheme might seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. The woman's disappearance counts for nothing, since in that extraordinary household any member of it might be invisible for a week. And yet she may at the present moment be in danger of her life. All I can do is to watch the house and leave my agent, Warner, on guard at the gates. We can't let such a situation continue. If the law can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves." "What do you suggest?" "I know which is her room. It is accessible from the top of an outhouse. My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see if we can strike at the very heart of the mystery." It was not, I must confess, a very alluring prospect. The old house with its atmosphere of murder, the singular and formidable inhabitants, the unknown dangers of the approach, and the fact that we were putting ourselves legally in a false position all combined to damp my ardour. But there was something in the ice-cold reasoning of Holmes which made it impossible to shrink from any adventure which he might recommend. One knew that thus, and only thus, could a solution be found. I clasped his hand in silence, and the die was cast. But it was not destined that our investigation should have so adventurous an ending. It was about five o'clock, and the shadows of the March evening were beginning to fall, when an excited rustic rushed into our room. "They've gone, Mr. Holmes. They went by the last train. The lady broke away, and I've got her in a cab downstairs." "Excellent, Warner!" cried Holmes, springing to his feet. "Watson, the gaps are closing rapidly." In the cab was a woman, half-collapsed from nervous exhaustion. She bore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of some recent tragedy. Her head hung listlessly upon her breast, but as she raised it and turned her dull eyes upon us I saw that her pupils were dark dots in the centre of the broad gray iris. She was drugged with opium. "I watched at the gate, same as you advised, Mr. Holmes," said our emissary, the discharged gardener. "When the carriage came out I followed it to the station. She was like one walking in her sleep, but when they tried to get her into the train she came to life and struggled. They pushed her into the carriage. She fought her way out again. I took her part, got her into a cab, and here we are. I shan't forget the face at the carriage window as I led her away. I'd have a short life if he had his way--the black-eyed, scowling, yellow devil." We carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa, and a couple of cups of the strongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mists of the drug. Baynes had been summoned by Holmes, and the situation rapidly explained to him. "Why, sir, you've got me the very evidence I want," said the inspector warmly, shaking my friend by the hand. "I was on the same scent as you from the first." "What! You were after Henderson?" "Why, Mr. Holmes, when you were crawling in the shrubbery at High Gable I was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw you down below. It was just who would get his evidence first." "Then why did you arrest the mulatto?" Baynes chuckled. "I was sure Henderson, as he calls himself, felt that he was suspected, and that he would lie low and make no move so long as he thought he was in any danger. I arrested the wrong man to make him believe that our eyes were off him. I knew he would be likely to clear off then and give us a chance of getting at Miss Burnet." Holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's shoulder. "You will rise high in your profession. You have instinct and intuition," said he. Baynes flushed with pleasure. "I've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all the week. Wherever the High Gable folk go he will keep them in sight. But he must have been hard put to it when Miss Burnet broke away. However, your man picked her up, and it all ends well. We can't arrest without her evidence, that is clear, so the sooner we get a statement the better." "Every minute she gets stronger," said Holmes, glancing at the governess. "But tell me, Baynes, who is this man Henderson?" "Henderson," the inspector answered, "is Don Murillo, once called the Tiger of San Pedro." The Tiger of San Pedro! The whole history of the man came back to me in a flash. He had made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrant that had ever governed any country with a pretence to civilization. Strong, fearless, and energetic, he had sufficient virtue to enable him to impose his odious vices upon a cowering people for ten or twelve years. His name was a terror through all Central America. At the end of that time there was a universal rising against him. But he was as cunning as he was cruel, and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly conveyed his treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devoted adherents. It was an empty palace which was stormed by the insurgents next day. The dictator, his two children, his secretary, and his wealth had all escaped them. From that moment he had vanished from the world, and his identity had been a frequent subject for comment in the European press. "Yes, sir, Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro," said Baynes. "If you look it up you will find that the San Pedro colours are green and white, same as in the note, Mr. Holmes. Henderson he called himself, but I traced him back, Paris and Rome and Madrid to Barcelona, where his ship came in in '86. They've been looking for him all the time for their revenge, but it is only now that they have begun to find him out." "They discovered him a year ago," said Miss Burnet, who had sat up and was now intently following the conversation. "Once already his life has been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him. Now, again, it is the noble, chivalrous Garcia who has fallen, while the monster goes safe. But another will come, and yet another, until some day justice will be done; that is as certain as the rise of to-morrow's sun." Her thin hands clenched, and her worn face blanched with the passion of her hatred. "But how come you into this matter, Miss Burnet?" asked Holmes. "How can an English lady join in such a murderous affair?" "I join in it because there is no other way in the world by which justice can be gained. What does the law of England care for the rivers of blood shed years ago in San Pedro, or for the shipload of treasure which this man has stolen? To you they are like crimes committed in some other planet. But we know. We have learned the truth in sorrow and in suffering. To us there is no fiend in hell like Juan Murillo, and no peace in life while his victims still cry for vengeance." "No doubt," said Holmes, "he was as you say. I have heard that he was atrocious. But how are you affected?" "I will tell you it all. This villain's policy was to murder, on one pretext or another, every man who showed such promise that he might in time come to be a dangerous rival. My husband--yes, my real name is Signora Victor Durando--was the San Pedro minister in London. He met me and married me there. A nobler man never lived upon earth. Unhappily, Murillo heard of his excellence, recalled him on some pretext, and had him shot. With a premonition of his fate he had refused to take me with him. His estates were confiscated, and I was left with a pittance and a broken heart. "Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He escaped as you have just described. But the many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest and dearest had suffered torture and death at his hands, would not let the matter rest. They banded themselves into a society which should never be dissolved until the work was done. It was my part after we had discovered in the transformed Henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to his household and keep the others in touch with his movements. This I was able to do by securing the position of governess in his family. He little knew that the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whose husband he had hurried at an hour's notice into eternity. I smiled on him, did my duty to his children, and bided my time. An attempt was made in Paris and failed. We zig-zagged swiftly here and there over Europe to throw off the pursuers and finally returned to this house, which he had taken upon his first arrival in England. "But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowing that he would return there, Garcia, who is the son of the former highest dignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions of humble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. He could do little during the day, for Murillo took every precaution and never went out save with his satellite Lucas, or Lopez as he was known in the days of his greatness. At night, however, he slept alone, and the avenger might find him. On a certain evening, which had been prearranged, I sent my friend final instructions, for the man was forever on the alert and continually changed his room. I was to see that the doors were open and the signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive was to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed. "But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excited the suspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me and sprang upon me just as I had finished the note. He and his master dragged me to my room and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. Then and there they would have plunged their knives into me could they have seen how to escape the consequences of the deed. Finally, after much debate, they concluded that my murder was too dangerous. But they determined to get rid forever of Garcia. They had gagged me, and Murillo twisted my arm round until I gave him the address. I swear that he might have twisted it off had I understood what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed the note which I had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent it by the hand of the servant, Jose. How they murdered him I do not know, save that it was Murillo's hand who struck him down, for Lopez had remained to guard me. I believe he must have waited among the gorse bushes through which the path winds and struck him down as he passed. At first they were of a mind to let him enter the house and to kill him as a detected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquiry their own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would be open to further attacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease, since such a death might frighten others from the task. "All would now have been well for them had it not been for my knowledge of what they had done. I have no doubt that there were times when my life hung in the balance. I was confined to my room, terrorized by the most horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spirit--see this stab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my arms--and a gag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when I tried to call from the window. For five days this cruel imprisonment continued, with hardly enough food to hold body and soul together. This afternoon a good lunch was brought me, but the moment after I took it I knew that I had been drugged. In a sort of dream I remember being half-led, half-carried to the carriage; in the same state I was conveyed to the train. Only then, when the wheels were almost moving, did I suddenly realize that my liberty lay in my own hands. I sprang out, they tried to drag me back, and had it not been for the help of this good man, who led me to the cab, I should never had broken away. Now, thank God, I am beyond their power forever." We had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. It was Holmes who broke the silence. "Our difficulties are not over," he remarked, shaking his head. "Our police work ends, but our legal work begins." "Exactly," said I. "A plausible lawyer could make it out as an act of self-defence. There may be a hundred crimes in the background, but it is only on this one that they can be tried." "Come, come," said Baynes cheerily, "I think better of the law than that. Self-defence is one thing. To entice a man in cold blood with the object of murdering him is another, whatever danger you may fear from him. No, no, we shall all be justified when we see the tenants of High Gable at the next Guildford Assizes." It is a matter of history, however, that a little time was still to elapse before the Tiger of San Pedro should meet with his deserts. Wily and bold, he and his companion threw their pursuer off their track by entering a lodging-house in Edmonton Street and leaving by the back-gate into Curzon Square. From that day they were seen no more in England. Some six months afterwards the Marquess of Montalva and Signor Rulli, his secretary, were both murdered in their rooms at the Hotel Escurial at Madrid. The crime was ascribed to Nihilism, and the murderers were never arrested. Inspector Baynes visited us at Baker Street with a printed description of the dark face of the secretary, and of the masterful features, the magnetic black eyes, and the tufted brows of his master. We could not doubt that justice, if belated, had come at last. "A chaotic case, my dear Watson," said Holmes over an evening pipe. "It will not be possible for you to present in that compact form which is dear to your heart. It covers two continents, concerns two groups of mysterious persons, and is further complicated by the highly respectable presence of our friend, Scott Eccles, whose inclusion shows me that the deceased Garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developed instinct of self-preservation. It is remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfect jungle of possibilities we, with our worthy collaborator, the inspector, have kept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along the crooked and winding path. Is there any point which is not quite clear to you?" "The object of the mulatto cook's return?" "I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account for it. The man was a primitive savage from the backwoods of San Pedro, and this was his fetish. When his companion and he had fled to some prearranged retreat--already occupied, no doubt by a confederate--the companion had persuaded him to leave so compromising an article of furniture. But the mulatto's heart was with it, and he was driven back to it next day, when, on reconnoitering through the window, he found policeman Walters in possession. He waited three days longer, and then his piety or his superstition drove him to try once more. Inspector Baynes, who, with his usual astuteness, had minimized the incident before me, had really recognized its importance and had left a trap into which the creature walked. Any other point, Watson?" "The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all the mystery of that weird kitchen?" Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his note-book. "I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up on that and other points. Here is a quotation from Eckermann's Voodooism and the Negroid Religions: "'The true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importance without certain sacrifices which are intended to propitiate his unclean gods. In extreme cases these rites take the form of human sacrifices followed by cannibalism. The more usual victims are a white cock, which is plucked in pieces alive, or a black goat, whose throat is cut and body burned.' "So you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual. It is grotesque, Watson," Holmes added, as he slowly fastened his notebook, "but, as I have had occasion to remark, there is but one step from the grotesque to the horrible." THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events. It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very center of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country. Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossed side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts: "You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a most preposterous way of settling a dispute." "Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement. "What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I could have imagined." He laughed heartily at my perplexity. "You remember," said he, "that some little time ago when I read you the passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity." "Oh, no!" "Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with you." But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?" "You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants." "Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?" "Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?" "No, I cannot." "Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon's picture there." "You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed. "So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder, you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct." "Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before." "It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. But I have in my hands here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay in thought reading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross Street, Croydon?" "No, I saw nothing." "Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to read it aloud." I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read the paragraph indicated. It was headed, "A Gruesome Packet." "Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the incident. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case." "So much for the Daily Chronicle," said Holmes as I finished reading. "Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says: "I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the police-station all day. "What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?" "I was longing for something to do." "You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. I'll be back in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case." A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided. It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her. "They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as Lestrade entered. "I wish that you would take them away altogether." "So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence." "Why in my presence, sir?" "In case he wished to ask any questions." "What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothing whatever about it?" "Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business." "Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. I won't have those things in here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse." It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him. "The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?" "It has been tarred." "Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance." "I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade. "The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar character." "It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect," said Lestrade complacently. "So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the box wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an 'i', which has been changed to 'y'. The parcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing is distinctly masculine--of limited education and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular enclosures." He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation. "You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not a pair." "Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair." "Precisely. But this is not a practical joke." "You are sure of it?" "The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious crime." A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced. "There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but there are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?" "That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is a woman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell her that the deed was done; or to pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needs straightening out." He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house. "I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he. "In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station." "We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. A moment later he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes. "I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?" "I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable--" He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing which could account for my companion's evident excitement. "There were one or two questions--" "Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing impatiently. "You have two sisters, I believe." "How could you know that?" "I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship." "Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary." "And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time." "You are very quick at observing." "That is my trade." "Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few days afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats." "Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?" "No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them." It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time. "About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together." "Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah." "You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations." "Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was the start of it." "Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Your sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do." There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it. "How far to Wallington?" he asked. "Only about a mile, sir." "Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby." Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step. "Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes. "Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. "She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days." He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street. "Well, if we can't we can't," said Holmes, cheerfully. "Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much." "I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the police-station." We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door. "A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes," said he. "Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket. "That's all right," said he. "Have you found out anything?" "I have found out everything!" "What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You are joking." "I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been committed, and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it." "And the criminal?" Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards and threw it over to Lestrade. "That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson." We strode off together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which Holmes had thrown him. "The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over or cigars that night in our rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names of 'A Study in Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four,' we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he had secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland Yard." "Your case is not complete, then?" I asked. "It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions." "I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?" "Oh! it is more than a suspicion." "And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications." "On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me run over the principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories. We were simply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What did we see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one of these. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the very singular contents of the little yellow box. "The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: "In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." THE ADVENTURE OF THE RED CIRCLE Table of contents Part One Part Two CHAPTER I Part One "Well, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particular cause for uneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is of some value, should interfere in the matter. I really have other things to engage me." So spoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in which he was arranging and indexing some of his recent material. But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex. She held her ground firmly. "You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine last year," she said--"Mr. Fairdale Hobbs." "Ah, yes--a simple matter." "But he would never cease talking of it--your kindness, sir, and the way in which you brought light into the darkness. I remembered his words when I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know you could if you only would." Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and also, to do him justice, upon the side of kindliness. The two forces made him lay down his gum-brush with a sigh of resignation and push back his chair. "Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about it, then. You don't object to tobacco, I take it? Thank you, Watson--the matches! You are uneasy, as I understand, because your new lodger remains in his rooms and you cannot see him. Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger you often would not see me for weeks on end." "No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can't sleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving here and moving there from early morning to late at night, and yet never to catch so much as a glimpse of him--it's more than I can stand. My husband is as nervous over it as I am, but he is out at his work all day, while I get no rest from it. What is he hiding for? What has he done? Except for the girl, I am all alone in the house with him, and it's more than my nerves can stand." Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers upon the woman's shoulder. He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when he wished. The scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitated features smoothed into their usual commonplace. She sat down in the chair which he had indicated. "If I take it up I must understand every detail," said he. "Take time to consider. The smallest point may be the most essential. You say that the man came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnight's board and lodging?" "He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There is a small sitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house." "Well?" "He said, 'I'll pay you five pounds a week if I can have it on my own terms.' I'm a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren earns little, and the money meant much to me. He took out a ten-pound note, and he held it out to me then and there. 'You can have the same every fortnight for a long time to come if you keep the terms,' he said. 'If not, I'll have no more to do with you.' "What were the terms?" "Well, sir, they were that he was to have a key of the house. That was all right. Lodgers often have them. Also, that he was to be left entirely to himself and never, upon any excuse, to be disturbed." "Nothing wonderful in that, surely?" "Not in reason, sir. But this is out of all reason. He has been there for ten days, and neither Mr. Warren, nor I, nor the girl has once set eyes upon him. We can hear that quick step of his pacing up and down, up and down, night, morning, and noon; but except on that first night he had never once gone out of the house." "Oh, he went out the first night, did he?" "Yes, sir, and returned very late--after we were all in bed. He told me after he had taken the rooms that he would do so and asked me not to bar the door. I heard him come up the stair after midnight." "But his meals?" "It was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang, leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he rings again when he has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. If he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it." "Prints it?" "Yes, sir; prints it in pencil. Just the word, nothing more. Here's the one I brought to show you--soap. Here's another--match. This is one he left the first morning--daily gazette. I leave that paper with his breakfast every morning." "Dear me, Watson," said Homes, staring with great curiosity at the slips of foolscap which the landlady had handed to him, "this is certainly a little unusual. Seclusion I can understand; but why print? Printing is a clumsy process. Why not write? What would it suggest, Watson?" "That he desired to conceal his handwriting." "But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady should have a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then, again, why such laconic messages?" "I cannot imagine." "It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The words are written with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusual pattern. You will observe that the paper is torn away at the side here after the printing was done, so that the 's' of 'soap' is partly gone. Suggestive, Watson, is it not?" "Of caution?" "Exactly. There was evidently some mark, some thumbprint, something which might give a clue to the person's identity. Now. Mrs. Warren, you say that the man was of middle size, dark, and bearded. What age would he be?" "Youngish, sir--not over thirty." "Well, can you give me no further indications?" "He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought he was a foreigner by his accent." "And he was well dressed?" "Very smartly dressed, sir--quite the gentleman. Dark clothes--nothing you would note." "He gave no name?" "No, sir." "And has had no letters or callers?" "None." "But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?" "No, sir; he looks after himself entirely." "Dear me! that is certainly remarkable. What about his luggage?" "He had one big brown bag with him--nothing else." "Well, we don't seem to have much material to help us. Do you say nothing has come out of that room--absolutely nothing?" The landlady drew an envelope from her bag; from it she shook out two burnt matches and a cigarette-end upon the table. "They were on his tray this morning. I brought them because I had heard that you can read great things out of small ones." Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There is nothing here," said he. "The matches have, of course, been used to light cigarettes. That is obvious from the shortness of the burnt end. Half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe or cigar. But, dear me! this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. The gentleman was bearded and moustached, you say?" "Yes, sir." "I don't understand that. I should say that only a clean-shaven man could have smoked this. Why, Watson, even your modest moustache would have been singed." "A holder?" I suggested. "No, no; the end is matted. I suppose there could not be two people in your rooms, Mrs. Warren?" "No, sir. He eats so little that I often wonder it can keep life in one." "Well, I think we must wait for a little more material. After all, you have nothing to complain of. You have received your rent, and he is not a troublesome lodger, though he is certainly an unusual one. He pays you well, and if he chooses to lie concealed it is no direct business of yours. We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have some reason to think that there is a guilty reason for it. I've taken up the matter, and I won't lose sight of it. Report to me if anything fresh occurs, and rely upon my assistance if it should be needed. "There are certainly some points of interest in this case, Watson," he remarked when the landlady had left us. "It may, of course, be trivial--individual eccentricity; or it may be very much deeper than appears on the surface. The first thing that strike one is the obvious possibility that the person now in the rooms may be entirely different from the one who engaged them." "Why should you think so?" "Well, apart form this cigarette-end, was it not suggestive that the only time the lodger went out was immediately after his taking the rooms? He came back--or someone came back--when all witnesses were out of the way. We have no proof that the person who came back was the person who went out. Then, again, the man who took the rooms spoke English well. This other, however, prints 'match' when it should have been 'matches.' I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural. The laconic style may be to conceal the absence of knowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there are good reasons to suspect that there has been a substitution of lodgers." "But for what possible end?" "Ah! there lies our problem. There is one rather obvious line of investigation." He took down the great book in which, day by day, he filed the agony columns of the various London journals. "Dear me!" said he, turning over the pages, "what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings! What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But surely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! This person is alone and cannot be approached by letter without a breach of that absolute secrecy which is desired. How is any news or any message to reach him from without? Obviously by advertisement through a newspaper. There seems no other way, and fortunately we need concern ourselves with the one paper only. Here are the Daily Gazette extracts of the last fortnight. 'Lady with a black boa at Prince's Skating Club'--that we may pass. 'Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's heart'--that appears to be irrelevant. 'If the lady who fainted on Brixton bus'--she does not interest me. 'Every day my heart longs--' Bleat, Watson--unmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more possible. Listen to this: 'Be patient. Will find some sure means of communications. Meanwhile, this column. G.' That is two days after Mrs. Warren's lodger arrived. It sounds plausible, does it not? The mysterious one could understand English, even if he could not print it. Let us see if we can pick up the trace again. Yes, here we are--three days later. 'Am making successful arrangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds will pass. G.' Nothing for a week after that. Then comes something much more definite: 'The path is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember code agreed--One A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G.' That was in yesterday's paper, and there is nothing in to-day's. It's all very appropriate to Mrs. Warren's lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, I don't doubt that the affair will grow more intelligible." So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of complete satisfaction upon his face. "How's this, Watson?" he cried, picking up the paper from the table. "'High red house with white stone facings. Third floor. Second window left. After dusk. G.' That is definite enough. I think after breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of Mrs. Warren's neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs. Warren! what news do you bring us this morning?" Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosive energy which told of some new and momentous development. "It's a police matter, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. "I'll have no more of it! He shall pack out of there with his baggage. I would have gone straight up and told him so, only I thought it was but fair to you to take your opinion first. But I'm at the end of my patience, and when it comes to knocking my old man about--" "Knocking Mr. Warren about?" "Using him roughly, anyway." "But who used him roughly?" "Ah! that's what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr. Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight's, in Tottenham Court Road. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning he had not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot him out. He lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he never saw what became of the cab. When he picked himself up he found he was on Hampstead Heath; so he took a bus home, and there he lies now on his sofa, while I came straight round to tell you what had happened." "Most interesting," said Holmes. "Did he observe the appearance of these men--did he hear them talk?" "No; he is clean dazed. He just knows that he was lifted up as if by magic and dropped as if by magic. Two a least were in it, and maybe three." "And you connect this attack with your lodger?" "Well, we've lived there fifteen years and no such happenings ever came before. I've had enough of him. Money's not everything. I'll have him out of my house before the day is done." "Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I begin to think that this affair may be very much more important than appeared at first sight. It is clear now that some danger is threatening your lodger. It is equally clear that his enemies, lying in wait for him near your door, mistook your husband for him in the foggy morning light. On discovering their mistake they released him. What they would have done had it not been a mistake, we can only conjecture." "Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes?" "I have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, Mrs. Warren." "I don't see how that is to be managed, unless you break in the door. I always hear him unlock it as I go down the stair after I leave the tray." "He has to take the tray in. Surely we could conceal ourselves and see him do it." The landlady thought for a moment. "Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. I could arrange a looking-glass, maybe, and if you were behind the door--" "Excellent!" said Holmes. "When does he lunch?" "About one, sir." "Then Dr. Watson and I will come round in time. For the present, Mrs. Warren, good-bye." At half-past twelve we found ourselves upon the steps of Mrs. Warren's house--a high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme Street, a narrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the British Museum. Standing as it does near the corner of the street, it commands a view down Howe Street, with its ore pretentious houses. Holmes pointed with a chuckle to one of these, a row of residential flats, which projected so that they could not fail to catch the eye. "See, Watson!" said he. "'High red house with stone facings.' There is the signal station all right. We know the place, and we know the code; so surely our task should be simple. There's a 'to let' card in that window. It is evidently an empty flat to which the confederate has access. Well, Mrs. Warren, what now?" "I have it all ready for you. If you will both come up and leave your boots below on the landing, I'll put you there now." It was an excellent hiding-place which she had arranged. The mirror was so placed that, seated in the dark, we could very plainly see the door opposite. We had hardly settled down in it, and Mrs. Warren left us, when a distant tinkle announced that our mysterious neighbour had rung. Presently the landlady appeared with the tray, laid it down upon a chair beside the closed door, and then, treading heavily, departed. Crouching together in the angle of the door, we kept our eyes fixed upon the mirror. Suddenly, as the landlady's footsteps died away, there was the creak of a turning key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands darted out and lifted the tray form the chair. An instant later it was hurriedly replaced, and I caught a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face glaring at the narrow opening of the box-room. Then the door crashed to, the key turned once more, and all was silence. Holmes twitched my sleeve, and together we stole down the stair. "I will call again in the evening," said he to the expectant landlady. "I think, Watson, we can discuss this business better in our own quarters." "My surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct," said he, speaking from the depths of his easy-chair. "There has been a substitution of lodgers. What I did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinary woman, Watson." "She saw us." "Well, she saw something to alarm her. That is certain. The general sequence of events is pretty clear, is it not? A couple seek refuge in London from a very terrible and instant danger. The measure of that danger is the rigour of their precautions. The man, who has some work which he must do, desires to leave the woman in absolute safety while he does it. It is not an easy problem, but he solved it in an original fashion, and so effectively that her presence was not even known to the landlady who supplies her with food. The printed messages, as is now evident, were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing. The man cannot come near the woman, or he will guide their enemies to her. Since he cannot communicate with her direct, he has recourse to the agony column of a paper. So far all is clear." "But what is at the root of it?" "Ah, yes, Watson--severely practical, as usual! What is at the root of it all? Mrs. Warren's whimsical problem enlarges somewhat and assumes a more sinister aspect as we proceed. This much we can say: that it is no ordinary love escapade. You saw the woman's face at the sign of danger. We have heard, too, of the attack upon the landlord, which was undoubtedly meant for the lodger. These alarms, and the desperate need for secrecy, argue that the matter is one of life or death. The attack upon Mr. Warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male. It is very curious and complex, Watson." "Why should you go further in it? What have you to gain from it?" "What, indeed? It is art for art's sake, Watson. I suppose when you doctored you found yourself studying cases without thought of a fee?" "For my education, Holmes." "Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons with the greatest for the last. This is an instructive case. There is neither money nor credit in it, and yet one would wish to tidy it up. When dusk comes we should find ourselves one stage advanced in our investigation." When we returned to Mrs. Warren's rooms, the gloom of a London winter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotone of colour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windows and the blurred haloes of the gas-lamps. As we peered from the darkened sitting-room of the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered high up through the obscurity. "Someone is moving in that room," said Holmes in a whisper, his gaunt and eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. "Yes, I can see his shadow. There he is again! He has a candle in his hand. Now he is peering across. He wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. Now he begins to flash. Take the message also, Watson, that we may check each other. A single flash--that is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That should mean T. AT--that's intelligible enough. Another T. Surely this is the beginning of a second word. Now, then--TENTA. Dead stop. That can't be all, Watson? ATTENTA gives no sense. Nor is it any better as three words AT, TEN, TA, unless T. A. are a person's initials. There it goes again! What's that? ATTE--why, it is the same message over again. Curious, Watson, very curious. Now he is off once more! AT--why he is repeating it for the third time. ATTENTA three times! How often will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. He has withdrawn form the window. What do you make of it, Watson?" "A cipher message, Holmes." My companion gave a sudden chuckle of comprehension. "And not a very obscure cipher, Watson," said he. "Why, of course, it is Italian! The A means that it is addressed to a woman. 'Beware! Beware! Beware!' How's that, Watson? "I believe you have hit it." "Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, thrice repeated to make it more so. But beware of what? Wait a bit, he is coming to the window once more." Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whisk of the small flame across the window as the signals were renewed. They came more rapidly than before--so rapid that it was hard to follow them. "PERICOLO--pericolo--eh, what's that, Watson? 'Danger,' isn't it? Yes, by Jove, it's a danger signal. There he goes again! PERI. Halloa, what on earth--" The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of window had disappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round the lofty building, with its tiers of shining casements. That last warning cry had been suddenly cut short. How, and by whom? The same thought occurred on the instant to us both. Holmes sprang up from where he crouched by the window. "This is serious, Watson," he cried. "There is some devilry going forward! Why should such a message stop in such a way? I should put Scotland Yard in touch with this business--and yet, it is too pressing for us to leave." "Shall I go for the police?" "We must define the situation a little more clearly. It may bear some more innocent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us go across ourselves and see what we can make of it." CHAPTER II Part Two As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at the building which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top window, I could see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing tensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of that interrupted message. At the doorway of the Howe Street flats a man, muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. He started as the hall-light fell upon our faces. "Holmes!" he cried. "Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with the Scotland Yard detective. "Journeys end with lovers' meetings. What brings you here?" "The same reasons that bring you, I expect," said Gregson. "How you got on to it I can't imagine." "Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've been taking the signals." "Signals?" "Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came over to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object in continuing this business." "Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice, Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feel stronger for having you on my side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so we have him safe." "Who is he?" "Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You must give us best this time." He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. "May I introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" he said to the cabman. "This is Mr. Leverton, of Pinkerton's American Agency." "The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" said Holmes. "Sir, I am pleased to meet you." The American, a quiet, businesslike young man, with a clean-shaven, hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation. "I am on the trail of my life now, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If I can get Gorgiano--" "What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?" "Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we've learned all about him in America. We know he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet we have nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from New York, and I've been close to him for a week in London, waiting some excuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Gregson and I ran him to ground in that big tenement house, and there's only one door, so he can't slip us. There's three folk come out since he went in, but I'll swear he wasn't one of them." "Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, as usual, he knows a good deal that we don't." In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it had appeared to us. The American struck his hands together with vexation. "He's on to us!" he cried. "Why do you think so?" "Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sending out messages to an accomplice--there are several of his gang in London. Then suddenly, just as by your own account he was telling them that there was danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in some way come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must act right away if he was to avoid it? What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?" "That we go up at once and see for ourselves." "But we have no warrant for his arrest." "He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," said Gregson. "That is good enough for the moment. When we have him by the heels we can see if New York can't help us to keep him. I'll take the responsibility of arresting him now." Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, but never in that of courage. Gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascended the official staircase of Scotland Yard. The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but Gregson had firmly elbowed him back. London dangers were the privilege of the London force. The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standing ajar. Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolute silence and darkness. I struck a match and lit the detective's lantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the deal boards of the carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood. The red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, the door of which was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light full blaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly over his shoulders. In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure of an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in its contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His knees were drawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre of his broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knife driven blade-deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must have gone down like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside his right hand a most formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove. "By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the American detective. "Someone has got ahead of us this time." "Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson. "Why, whatever are you doing?" Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing it backward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered into the darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor. "I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and stood in deep thought while the two professionals were examining the body. "You say that three people came out form the flat while you were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe them closely?" "Yes, I did." "Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?" "Yes; he was the last to pass me." "That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and we have a very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enough for you." "Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London." "Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to your aid." We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was a tall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowly she advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark figure on the floor. "You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have killed him!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang into the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and a thousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It was terrible and amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight. Suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare. "But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed Giuseppe Gorgiano. Is it not so?" "We are police, madam." She looked round into the shadows of the room. "But where, then, is Gennaro?" she asked. "He is my husband, Gennaro Lucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York. Where is Gennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and I ran with all my speed." "It was I who called," said Holmes. "You! How could you call?" "Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here was desirable. I knew that I had only to flash 'Vieni' and you would surely come." The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion. "I do not understand how you know these things," she said. "Giuseppe Gorgiano--how did he--" She paused, and then suddenly her face lit up with pride and delight. "Now I see it! My Gennaro! My splendid, beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm, he did it, with his own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh, Gennaro, how wonderful you are! What woman could every be worthy of such a man?" "Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand upon the lady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a Notting Hill hooligan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; but you've said enough to make it very clear that we shall want you at the Yard." "One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I rather fancy that this lady may be as anxious to give us information as we can be to get it. You understand, madam, that your husband will be arrested and tried for the death of the man who lies before us? What you say may be used in evidence. But if you think that he has acted from motives which are not criminal, and which he would wish to have known, then you cannot serve him better than by telling us the whole story." "Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," said the lady. "He was a devil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the world who would punish my husband for having killed him." "In that case," said Holmes, "my suggestion is that we lock this door, leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her room, and form our opinion after we have heard what it is that she has to say to us." Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small sitting-room of Signora Lucca, listening to her remarkable narrative of those sinister events, the ending of which we had chanced to witness. She spoke in rapid and fluent but very unconventional English, which, for the sake of clearness, I will make grammatical. "I was born in Posilippo, near Naples," said she, "and was the daughter of Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once the deputy of that part. Gennaro was in my father's employment, and I came to love him, as any woman must. He had neither money nor position--nothing but his beauty and strength and energy--so my father forbade the match. We fled together, were married at Bari, and sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us to America. This was four years ago, and we have been in New York ever since. "Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do a service to an Italian gentleman--he saved him from some ruffians in the place called the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend. His name was Tito Castalotte, and he was the senior partner of the great firm of Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruit importers of New York. Signor Zamba is an invalid, and our new friend Castalotte has all power within the firm, which employs more than three hundred men. He took my husband into his employment, made him head of a department, and showed his good-will towards him in every way. Signor Castalotte was a bachelor, and I believe that he felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my husband and I loved him as if he were our father. We had taken and furnished a little house in Brooklyn, and our whole future seemed assured when that black cloud appeared which was soon to overspread our sky. "One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought a fellow-countryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he had come also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can testify, for you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his body that of a giant but everything about him was grotesque, gigantic, and terrifying. His voice was like thunder in our little house. There was scarce room for the whirl of his great arms as he talked. His thoughts, his emotions, his passions, all were exaggerated and monstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with such energy that others could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty stream of words. His eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. He was a terrible and wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead! "He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro was no more happy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sit pale and listless, listening to the endless raving upon politics and upon social questions which made up or visitor's conversation. Gennaro said nothing, but I, who knew him so well, could read in his face some emotion which I had never seen there before. At first I thought that it was dislike. And then, gradually, I understood that it was more than dislike. It was fear--a deep, secret, shrinking fear. That night--the night that I read his terror--I put my arms round him and I implored him by his love for me and by all that he held dear to hold nothing from me, and to tell me why this huge man overshadowed him so. "He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. My poor Gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemed against him and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices of life, had joined a Neapolitan society, the Red Circle, which was allied to the old Carbonari. The oaths and secrets of this brotherhood were frightful, but once within its rule no escape was possible. When we had fled to America Gennaro thought that he had cast it all off forever. What was his horror one evening to meet in the streets the very man who had initiated him in Naples, the giant Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of 'Death' in the south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! He had come to New York to avoid the Italian police, and he had already planted a branch of this dreadful society in his new home. All this Gennaro told me and showed me a summons which he had received that very day, a Red Circle drawn upon the head of it telling him that a lodge would be held upon a certain date, and that his presence at it was required and ordered. "That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed for some time that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in the evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to my husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were always turned upon me. One night his secret came out. I had awakened what he called 'love' within him--the love of a brute--a savage. Gennaro had not yet returned when he came. He pushed his way in, seized me in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear's embrace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to come away with him. I was struggling and screaming when Gennaro entered and attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fled from the house which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemy that we made that night. "A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from it with a face which told me that something dreadful had occurred. It was worse than we could have imagined possible. The funds of the society were raised by blackmailing rich Italians and threatening them with violence should they refuse the money. It seems that Castalotte, our dear friend and benefactor, had been approached. He had refused to yield to threats, and he had handed the notices to the police. It was resolved now that such an example should be made of them as would prevent any other victim from rebelling. At the meeting it was arranged that he and his house should be blown up with dynamite. There was a drawing of lots as to who should carry out the deed. Gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face smiling at him as he dipped his hand in the bag. No doubt it had been prearranged in some fashion, for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle upon it, the mandate for murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to kill his best friend, or he was to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his comrades. It was part of their fiendish system to punish those whom they feared or hated by injuring not only their own persons but those whom they loved, and it was the knowledge of this which hung as a terror over my poor Gennaro's head and drove him nearly crazy with apprehension. "All that night we sat together, our arms round each other, each strengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. The very next evening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my husband and I were on our way to London, but not before he had given our benefactor full warning of this danger, and had also left such information for the police as would safeguard his life for the future. "The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure that our enemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano had his private reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew how ruthless, cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and America are full of stories of his dreadful powers. If ever they were exerted it would be now. My darling made use of the few clear days which our start had given us in arranging for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no possible danger could reach me. For his own part, he wished to be free that he might communicate both with the American and with the Italian police. I do not myself know where he lived, or how. All that I learned was through the columns of a newspaper. But once as I looked through my window, I saw two Italians watching the house, and I understood that in some way Gorgiano had found our retreat. Finally Gennaro told me, through the paper, that he would signal to me from a certain window, but when the signals came they were nothing but warnings, which were suddenly interrupted. It is very clear to me now that he knew Gorgiano to be close upon him, and that, thank God! he was ready for him when he came. And now, gentleman, I would ask you whether we have anything to fear from the law, or whether any judge upon earth would condemn my Gennaro for what he has done?" "Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, looking across at the official, "I don't know what your British point of view may be, but I guess that in New York this lady's husband will receive a pretty general vote of thanks." "She will have to come with me and see the chief," Gregson answered. "If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she or her husband has much to fear. But what I can't make head or tail of, Mr. Holmes, is how on earth you got yourself mixed up in the matter." "Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at the old university. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of the tragic and grotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it is not eight o'clock, and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If we hurry, we might be in time for the second act." THE ADVENTURE OF THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he hand recently made his hobby--the music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction. "Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson?" he said. In was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant anything of criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of a possible war, and of an impending change of government; but these did not come within the horizon of my companion. I could see nothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. Holmes groaned and resumed hs restless meanderings. "The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow," said he in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. "Look out this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim." "There have," said I, "been numerous petty thefts." Holmes snorted his contempt. "This great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy than that," said he. "It is fortunate for this community that I am not a criminal." "It is, indeed!" said I heartily. "Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fifty men who have good reason for taking my life, how long could I survive against my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment, and all would be over. It is well they don't have days of fog in the Latin countries--the countries of assassination. By Jove! here comes something at last to break our dead monotony." It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst out laughing. "Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother Mycroft is coming round." "Why not?" I asked. "Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall--that is his cycle. Once, and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?" "Does he not explain?" Holmes handed me his brother's telegram. Must see you over Cadogen West. Coming at once. Mycroft. "Cadogen West? I have heard the name." "It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit. By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?" I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of the Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. "You told me that he had some small office under the British government." Holmes chuckled. "I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be discreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are right in thinking that he under the British government. You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the British government." "My dear Holmes!" "I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred and fifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the most indispensable man in the country." "But how?" "Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again. He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great powers which I have turned to the detection of crime he has used for this particular business. The conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?" "I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West was the young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday morning." Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips. "This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?" "There has been an inquest," said I, "and a good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was a curious case." "Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a most extraordinary one." He snuggled down in his armchair. "Now, Watson, let us have the facts." "The man's name was Arthur Cadogan West. He was twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal." "Government employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!" "He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7.30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and she can give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer named Mason, just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system in London." "When?" "The body was found at six on Tuesday morning. It was lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward, at a point close to the station, where the line emerges from the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly crushed--an injury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train. The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain." "Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive, either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear to me. Continue." "The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body was found are those which run from west to east, some being purely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions. It can be stated for certain that this young man, when he met his death, was travelling in this direction at some late hour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state." "His ticket, of course, would show that." "There was no ticket in his pockets." "No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular. According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket. Presumably, then, the young man had one. Was it taken from him in order to conceal the station from which he came? It is possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage? That is also possible. But the point is of curious interest. I understand that there was no sign of robbery?" "Apparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. His purse contained two pounds fifteen. He had also a check-book on the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through this his identity was established. There were also two dress-circle tickets for the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening. Also a small packet of technical papers." Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction. "There we have it at last, Watson! British government--Woolwich. Arsenal--technical papers--Brother Mycroft, the chain is complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for himself." A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind. At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard--thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word. Mycroft Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into an armchair. "A most annoying business, Sherlock," said he. "I extremely dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that I should be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have never seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty--it is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up the case?" "We have just done so. What were the technical papers?" "Ah, there's the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The press would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretched youth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine." Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense of the importance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant. "Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it." "Only as a name." "Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a Bruce-Partington's operation. Two years ago a very large sum was smuggled through the Estimates and was expended in acquiring a monopoly of the invention. Every effort has been made to keep the secret. The plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents, each essential to the working of the whole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Under no conceivable circumstances were the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief constructor of the Navy desired to consult them, even he was forced to go to the Woolwich office for the purpose. And yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of London. From an official point of view it's simply awful." "But you have recovered them?" "No, Sherlock, no! That's the pinch. We have not. Ten papers were taken from Woolwich. There were seven in the pocket of Cadogan West. The three most essential are gone--stolen, vanished. You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. It's a vital international problem that you have to solve. Why did Cadogan West take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be set right? Find an answer to all these questions, and you will have done good service for your country." "Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as far as I." "Possibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of getting details. Give me your details, and from an armchair I will return you an excellent expert opinion. But to run here and run there, to cross-question railway guards, and lie on my face with a lens to my eye--it is not my métier. No, you are the one man who can clear the matter up. If you have a fancy to see your name in the next honours list--" My friend smiled and shook his head. "I play the game for the game's own sake," said he. "But the problem certainly presents some points of interest, and I shall be very pleased to look into it. Some more facts, please." "I have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet of paper, together with a few addresses which you will find of service. The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I may add that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working hours on Monday, and that Sir James left for London about three o'clock taking his key with him. He was at the house of Admiral Sinclair at Barclay Square during the whole of the evening when this incident occurred." "Has the fact been verified?" "Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem." "Who was the other man with a key?" "The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is a man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the public service. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker. According to his own account, corroborated only by the word of his wife, he was at home the whole of Monday evening after office hours, and his key has never left the watch-chain upon which it hangs." "Tell us about Cadogan West." "He has been ten years in the service and has done good work. He has the reputation of being hot-headed and imperious, but a straight, honest man. We have nothing against him. He was next Sidney Johnson in the office. His duties brought him into daily, personal contact with the plans. No one else had the handling of them." "Who locked up the plans that night?" "Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk." "Well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them away. They are actually found upon the person of this junior clerk, Cadogan West. That seems final, does it not?" "It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. In the first place, why did he take them?" "I presume they were of value?" "He could have got several thousands for them very easily." "Can you suggest any possible motive for taking the papers to London except to sell them?" "No, I cannot." "Then we must take that as our working hypothesis. Young West took the papers. Now this could only be done by having a false key--" "Several false keys. He had to open the building and the room." "He had, then, several false keys. He took the papers to London to sell the secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plans themselves back in the safe next morning before they were missed. While in London on this treasonable mission he met his end." "How?" "We will suppose that he was travelling back to Woolwich when he was killed and thrown out of the compartment." "Aldgate, where the body was found, is considerably past the station London Bridge, which would be his route to Woolwich." "Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would pass London Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for example, with whom he was having an absorbing interview. This interview led to a violent scene in which he lost his life. Possibly he tried to leave the carriage, fell out on the line, and so met his end. The other closed the door. There was a thick fog, and nothing could be seen." "No better explanation can be given with our present knowledge; and yet consider, Sherlock, how much you leave untouched. We will suppose, for argument's sake, that young Cadogan West had determined to convey these papers to London. He would naturally have made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. Instead of that he took two tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenly disappeared." "A blind," said Lestrade, who had sat listening with some impatience to the conversation. "A very singular one. That is objection No. 1. Objection No. 2: We will suppose that he reaches London and sees the foreign agent. He must bring back the papers before morning or the loss will be discovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in his pocket. What had become of the other three? He certainly would not leave them of his own free will. Then, again, where is the price of his treason? Once would have expected to find a large sum of money in his pocket." "It seems to me perfectly clear," said Lestrade. "I have no doubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He started home again, but the agent went with him. In the train the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his body from the carriage. That would account for everything, would it not?" "Why had he no ticket?" "The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the agent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man's pocket." "Good, Lestrade, very good," said Holmes. "Your theory holds together. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On the one hand, the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine are presumably already on the Continent. What is there for us to do?" "To act, Sherlock--to act!" cried Mycroft, springing to his feet. "All my instincts are against this explanation. Use your powers! Go to the scene of the crime! See the people concerned! Leave no stone unturned! In all your career you have never had so great a chance of serving your country." "Well, well!" said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "Come, Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your company for an hour or two? We will begin our investigation by a visit to Aldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you have a report before evening, but I warn you in advance that you have little to expect." An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Underground railroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel immediately before Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old gentleman represented the railway company. "This is where the young man's body lay," said he, indicating a spot about three feet from the metals. "It could not have fallen from above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls. Therefore, it could only have come from a train, and that train, so far as we can trace it, must have passed about midnight on Monday." "Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?" "There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found." "No record of a door being found open?" "None." "We have had some fresh evidence this morning," said Lestrade. "A passenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan train about 11.40 on Monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud, as of a body striking the line, just before the train reached the station. There was dense fog, however, and nothing could be seen. He made no report of it at the time. Why, whatever is the matter with Mr. Holmes?" My friend was standing with an expression of strained intensity upon his face, staring at the railway metals where they curved out of the tunnel. Aldgate is a junction, and there was a network of points. On these his eager, questioning eyes were fixed, and I saw on his keen, alert face that tightening of the lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of the heavy, tufted brows which I knew so well. "Points," he muttered; "the points." "What of it? What do you mean?" "I suppose there are no great number of points on a system such as this?" "No; they are very few." "And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were only so." "What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?" "An idea--an indication, no more. But the case certainly grows in interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do not see any indications of bleeding on the line." "There were hardly any." "But I understand that there was a considerable wound." "The bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury." "And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it be possible for me to inspect the train which contained the passenger who heard the thud of a fall in the fog?" "I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before now, and the carriages redistributed." "I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, "that every carriage has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself." It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he was impatient with less alert intelligences than his own. "Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it happens, it was not the carriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done all we can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. I think our investigations must now carry us to Woolwich." At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which he handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus: See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out. Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at Baker Street, a complete list of all foreign spies or international agents known to be in England, with full address. Sherlock. "That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked as we took our seats in the Woolwich train. "We certainly owe Brother Mycroft a debt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really very remarkable case." His eager face still wore that expression of intense and high-strung energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive circumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See the foxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about the kennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with gleaming eyes and straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent--such was the change in Holmes since the morning. He was a different man from the limp and lounging figure in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly only a few hours before round the fog-girt room. "There is material here. There is scope," said he. "I am dull indeed not to have understood its possibilities." "Even now they are dark to me." "The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which may lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the roof of a carriage." "On the roof!" "Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it a coincidence that it is found at the very point where the train pitches and sways as it comes round on the points? Is not that the place where an object upon the roof might be expected to fall off? The points would affect no object inside the train. Either the body fell from the roof, or a very curious coincidence has occurred. But now consider the question of the blood. Of course, there was no bleeding on the line if the body had bled elsewhere. Each fact is suggestive in itself. Together they have a cumulative force." "And the ticket, too!" I cried. "Exactly. We could not explain the absence of a ticket. This would explain it. Everything fits together." "But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from unravelling the mystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes not simpler but stranger." "Perhaps," said Holmes, thoughtfully, "perhaps." He relapsed into a silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up at last in Woolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew Mycroft's paper from his pocket. "We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," said he. "I think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention." The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green lawns stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler answered our ring. "Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir James died this morning." "Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement. "How did he die?" "Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother, Colonel Valentine?" "Yes, we had best do so." We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden blow which had fallen upon the household. He was hardly articulate as he spoke of it. "It was this horrible scandal," said he. "My brother, Sir James, was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such an affair. It broke his heart. He was always so proud of the efficiency of his department, and this was a crushing blow." "We had hoped that he might have given us some indications which would have helped us to clear the matter up." "I assure you that it was all a mystery to him as it is to you and to all of us. He had already put all his knowledge at the disposal of the police. Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan West was guilty. But all the rest was inconceivable." "You cannot throw any new light upon the affair?" "I know nothing myself save what I have read or heard. I have no desire to be discourteous, but you can understand, Mr. Holmes, that we are much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to hasten this interview to an end." "This is indeed an unexpected development," said my friend when we had regained the cab. "I wonder if the death was natural, or whether the poor old fellow killed himself! If the latter, may it be taken as some sign of self-reproach for duty neglected? We must leave that question to the future. Now we shall turn to the Cadogan Wests." A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of the town sheltered the bereaved mother. The old lady was too dazed with grief to be of any use to us, but at her side was a white-faced young lady, who introduced herself as Miss Violet Westbury, the fiancee of the dead man, and the last to see him upon that fatal night. "I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I have not shut an eye since the tragedy, thinking, thinking, thinking, night and day, what the true meaning of it can be. Arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He would have cut his right hand off before he would sell a State secret confided to his keeping. It is absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who knew him." "But the facts, Miss Westbury?" "Yes, yes; I admit I cannot explain them." "Was he in any want of money?" "No; his needs were very simple and his salary ample. He had saved a few hundreds, and we were to marry at the New Year." "No signs of any mental excitement? Come, Miss Westbury, be absolutely frank with us." The quick eye of my companion had noted some change in her manner. She coloured and hesitated. "Yes," she said at last, "I had a feeling that there was something on his mind." "For long?" "Only for the last week or so. He was thoughtful and worried. Once I pressed him about it. He admitted that there was something, and that it was concerned with his official life. 'It is too serious for me to speak about, even to you,' said he. I could get nothing more." Holmes looked grave. "Go on, Miss Westbury. Even if it seems to tell against him, go on. We cannot say what it may lead to." "Indeed, I have nothing more to tell. Once or twice it seemed to me that he was on the point of telling me something. He spoke one evening of the importance of the secret, and I have some recollection that he said that no doubt foreign spies would pay a great deal to have it." My friend's face grew graver still. "Anything else?" "He said that we were slack about such matters--that it would be easy for a traitor to get the plans." "Was it only recently that he made such remarks?" "Yes, quite recently." "Now tell us of that last evening." "We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so thick that a cab was useless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office. Suddenly he darted away into the fog." "Without a word?" "He gave an exclamation; that was all. I waited but he never returned. Then I walked home. Next morning, after the office opened, they came to inquire. About twelve o'clock we heard the terrible news. Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could only, only save his honour! It was so much to him." Holmes shook his head sadly. "Come, Watson," said he, "our ways lie elsewhere. Our next station must be the office from which the papers were taken. "It was black enough before against this young man, but our inquiries make it blacker," he remarked as the cab lumbered off. "His coming marriage gives a motive for the crime. He naturally wanted money. The idea was in his head, since he spoke about it. He nearly made the girl an accomplice in the treason by telling her his plans. It is all very bad." "But surely, Holmes, character goes for something? Then, again, why should he leave the girl in the street and dart away to commit a felony?" "Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it is a formidable case which they have to meet." Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office and received us with that respect which my companion's card always commanded. He was a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age, his cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the nervous strain to which he had been subjected. "It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the death of the chief?" "We have just come from his house." "The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening, we were as efficient an office as any in the government service. Good God, it's dreadful to think of! That West, of all men, should have done such a thing!" "You are sure of his guilt, then?" "I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trusted him as I trust myself." "At what hour was the office closed on Monday?" "At five." "Did you close it?" "I am always the last man out." "Where were the plans?" "In that safe. I put them there myself." "Is there no watchman to the building?" "There is, but he has other departments to look after as well. He is an old soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothing that evening. Of course the fog was very thick." "Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into the building after hours; he would need three keys, would he not, before the could reach the papers?" "Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of the office, and the key of the safe." "Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?" "I had no keys of the doors--only of the safe." "Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his habits?" "Yes, I think he was. I know that so far as those three keys are concerned he kept them on the same ring. I have often seen them there." "And that ring went with him to London?" "He said so." "And your key never left your possession?" "Never." "Then West, if he is the culprit, must have had a duplicate. And yet none was found upon his body. One other point: if a clerk in this office desired to sell the plans, would it not be simply to copy the plans for himself than to take the originals, as was actually done?" "It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the plans in an effective way." "But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West has that technical knowledge?" "No doubt we had, but I beg you won't try to drag me into the matter, Mr. Holmes. What is the use of our speculating in this way when the original plans were actually found on West?" "Well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk of taking originals if he could safely have taken copies, which would have equally served his turn." "Singular, no doubt--and yet he did so." "Every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable. Now there are three papers still missing. They are, as I understand, the vital ones." "Yes, that is so." "Do you mean to say that anyone holding these three papers, and without the seven others, could construct a Bruce-Partington submarine?" "I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But to-day I have been over the drawings again, and I am not so sure of it. The double valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers which have been returned. Until the foreigners had invented that for themselves they could not make the boat. Of course they might soon get over the difficulty." "But the three missing drawings are the most important?" "Undoubtedly." "I think, with your permission, I will now take a stroll round the premises. I do not recall any other question which I desired to ask." He examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, and finally the iron shutters of the window. It was only when we were on the lawn outside that his interest was strongly excited. There was a laurel bush outside the window, and several of the branches bore signs of having been twisted or snapped. He examined them carefully with his lens, and then some dim and vague marks upon the earth beneath. Finally he asked the chief clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me that they hardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for anyone outside to see what was going on within the room. "The indications are ruined by three days' delay. They may mean something or nothing. Well, Watson, I do not think that Woolwich can help us further. It is a small crop which we have gathered. Let us see if we can do better in London." Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we left Woolwich Station. The clerk in the ticket office was able to say with confidence that he saw Cadogan West--whom he knew well by sight--upon the Monday night, and that he went to London by the 8.15 to London Bridge. He was alone and took a single third-class ticket. The clerk was struck at the time by his excited and nervous manner. So shaky was he that he could hardly pick up his change, and the clerk had helped him with it. A reference to the timetable showed that the 8.15 was the first train which it was possible for West to take after he had left the lady about 7.30. "Let us reconstruct, Watson," said Holmes after half an hour of silence. "I am not aware that in all our joint researches we have ever had a case which was more difficult to get at. Every fresh advance which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond. And yet we have surely made some appreciable progress. "The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in the main been against young Cadogan West; but the indications at the window would lend themselves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us suppose, for example, that he had been approached by some foreign agent. It might have been done under such pledges as would have prevented him from speaking of it, and yet would have affected his thoughts in the direction indicated by his remarks to his fiancee. Very good. We will now suppose that as he went to the theatre with the young lady he suddenly, in the fog, caught a glimpse of this same agent going in the direction of the office. He was an impetuous man, quick in his decisions. Everything gave way to his duty. He followed the man, reached the window, saw the abstraction of the documents, and pursued the thief. In this way we get over the objection that no one would take originals when he could make copies. This outsider had to take originals. So far it holds together." "What is the next step?" "Then we come into difficulties. One would imagine that under such circumstances the first act of young Cadogan West would be to seize the villain and raise the alarm. Why did he not do so? Could it have been an official superior who took the papers? That would explain West's conduct. Or could the chief have given West the slip in the fog, and West started at once to London to head him off from his own rooms, presuming that he knew where the rooms were? The call must have been very pressing, since he left his girl standing in the fog and made no effort to communicate with her. Our scent runs cold here, and there is a vast gap between either hypothesis and the laying of West's body, with seven papers in his pocket, on the roof of a Metropolitan train. My instinct now is to work form the other end. If Mycroft has given us the list of addresses we may be able to pick our man and follow two tracks instead of one." Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker Street. A government messenger had brought it post-haste. Holmes glanced at it and threw it over to me. There are numerous small fry, but few who would handle so big an affair. The only men worth considering are Adolph Mayer, of 13 Great George Street, Westminster; Louis La Rothiere, of Campden Mansions, Notting Hill; and Hugo Oberstein, 13 Caulfield Gardens, Kensington. The latter was known to be in town on Monday and is now reported as having left. Glad to hear you have seen some light. The Cabinet awaits your final report with the utmost anxiety. Urgent representations have arrived from the very highest quarter. The whole force of the State is at your back if you should need it. Mycroft. "I'm afraid," said Holmes, smiling, "that all the queen's horses and all the queen's men cannot avail in this matter." He had spread out his big map of London and leaned eagerly over it. "Well, well," said he presently with an exclamation of satisfaction, "things are turning a little in our direction at last. Why, Watson, I do honestly believe that we are going to pull it off, after all." He slapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burst of hilarity. "I am going out now. It is only a reconnaissance. I will do nothing serious without my trusted comrade and biographer at my elbow. Do you stay here, and the odds are that you will see me again in an hour or two. If time hangs heavy get foolscap and a pen, and begin your narrative of how we saved the State." I felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for I knew well that he would not depart so far from his usual austerity of demeanour unless there was good cause for exultation. All the long November evening I waited, filled with impatience for his return. At last, shortly after nine o'clock, there arrived a messenger with a note: Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver. S.H. It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry through the dim, fog-draped streets. I stowed them all discreetly away in my overcoat and drove straight to the address given. There sat my friend at a little round table near the door of the garish Italian restaurant. "Have you had something to eat? Then join me in a coffee and curacao. Try one of the proprietor's cigars. They are less poisonous than one would expect. Have you the tools?" "They are here, in my overcoat." "Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of what I have done, with some indication of what we are about to do. Now it must be evident to you, Watson, that this young man's body was placed on the roof of the train. That was clear from the instant that I determined the fact that it was from the roof, and not from a carriage, that he had fallen." "Could it not have been dropped from a bridge?" "I should say it was impossible. If you examine the roofs you will find that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railing round them. Therefore, we can say for certain that young Cadogan West was placed on it." "How could he be placed there?" "That was the question which we had to answer. There is only one possible way. You are aware that the Underground runs clear of tunnels at some points in the West End. I had a vague memory that as I have travelled by it I have occasionally seen windows just above my head. Now, suppose that a train halted under such a window, would there be any difficulty in laying a body upon the roof?" "It seems most improbable." "We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Here all other contingencies have failed. When I found that the leading international agent, who had just left London, lived in a row of houses which abutted upon the Underground, I was so pleased that you were a little astonished at my sudden frivolity." "Oh, that was it, was it?" "Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield Gardens, had become my objective. I began my operations at Gloucester Road Station, where a very helpful official walked with me along the track and allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the back-stair windows of Caulfield Gardens open on the line but the even more essential fact that, owing to the intersection of one of the larger railways, the Underground trains are frequently held motionless for some minutes at that very spot." "Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!" "So far--so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well, having seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front and satisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerable house, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in the upper rooms. Oberstein lived there with a single valet, who was probably a confederate entirely in his confidence. We must bear in mind that Oberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of his booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear a warrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainly never occur to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to make." "Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?" "Hardly on the evidence." "What can we hope to do?" "We cannot tell what correspondence may be there." "I don't like it, Holmes." "My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. I'll do the criminal part. It's not a time to stick at trifles. Think of Mycroft's note, of the Admiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person who waits for news. We are bound to go." My answer was to rise from the table. "You are right, Holmes. We are bound to go." He sprang up and shook me by the hand. "I knew you would not shrink at the last," said he, and for a moment I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tenderness than I had ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful, practical self once more. "It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk," said he. "Don't drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication." Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared, and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the middle Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door there appeared to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of young voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through the night. The fog still hung about and screened us with its friendly shade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the massive door. "This is a serious proposition," said he. "It is certainly bolted as well as locked. We would do better in the area. There is an excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous policeman should intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do the same for you." A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reached the dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in the fog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work upon the lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until with a sharp crash it flew open. We sprang through into the dark passage, closing the area door behind us. Holmes let the way up the curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow light shone upon a low window. "Here we are, Watson--this must be the one." He threw it open, and as he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmes swept his light along the window-sill. It was thickly coated with soot from the passing engines, but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in places. "You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson! what is this? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark." He was pointing to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the window. "Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The demonstration is complete. Let us stay here until a train stops." We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from the tunnel as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creaking of brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not four feet from the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages. Holmes softly closed the window. "So far we are justified," said he. "What do you think of it, Watson?" "A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height." "I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that I conceived the idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not a very abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were not for the grave interests involved the affair up to this point would be insignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. But perhaps we may find something here which may help us." We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of rooms upon the first floor. One was a dining-room, severely furnished and containing nothing of interest. A second was a bedroom, which also drew blank. The remaining room appeared more promising, and my companion settled down to a systematic examination. It was littered with books and papers, and was evidently used as a study. Swiftly and methodically Holmes turned over the contents of drawer after drawer and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austere face. At the end of an hour he was no further than when he started. "The cunning dog has covered his tracks," said he. "He has left nothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence has been destroyed or removed. This is our last chance." It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk. Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper were within, covered with figures and calculations, without any note to show to what they referred. The recurring words, "water pressure" and "pressure to the square inch" suggested some possible relation to a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. There only remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips inside it. He shook them out on the table, and at once I saw by his eager face that his hopes had been raised. "What's this, Watson? Eh? What's this? Record of a series of messages in the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph agony column by the print and paper. Right-hand top corner of a page. No dates--but messages arrange themselves. This must be the first: "Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to address given on card. Pierrot. "Next comes: "Too complex for description. Must have full report, Stuff awaits you when goods delivered. Pierrot. "Then comes: "Matter presses. Must withdraw offer unless contract completed. Make appointment by letter. Will confirm by advertisement. Pierrot. "Finally: "Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do not be so suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered. Pierrot. "A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at the man at the other end!" He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table. Finally he sprang to his feet. "Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all. There is nothing more to be done here, Watson. I think we might drive round to the offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day's work to a conclusion." Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round by appointment after breakfast next day and Sherlock Holmes had recounted to them our proceedings of the day before. The professional shook his head over our confessed burglary. "We can't do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes," said he. "No wonder you get results that are beyond us. But some of these days you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend in trouble." "For England, home and beauty--eh, Watson? Martyrs on the altar of our country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft?" "Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use will you make of it?" Holmes picked up the Daily Telegraph which lay upon the table. "Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement to-day?" "What? Another one?" "Yes, here it is: "To-night. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most vitally important. Your own safety at stake. Pierrot. "By George!" cried Lestrade. "If he answers that we've got him!" "That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both make it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to Caulfield Gardens we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution." One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes was his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that he could no longer work to advantage. I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. For my own part I had none of this power of detachment, and the day, in consequence, appeared to be interminable. The great national importance of the issue, the suspense in high quarters, the direct nature of the experiment which we were trying--all combined to work upon my nerve. It was a relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at the outside of Gloucester Road Station. The area door of Oberstein's house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. By nine o'clock we were all seated in the study, waiting patently for our man. An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the measured beat of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes. Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert. He raised his head with a sudden jerk. "He is coming," said he. There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned. We heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the knocker. Holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The gas in the hall was a mere point of light. He opened the outer door, and then as a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. "This way!" we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us. Holmes had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm he caught him by the collar and threw him back into the room. Before our prisoner had recovered his balance the door was shut and Holmes standing with his back against it. The man glared round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped sown from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter. Holmes gave a whistle of surprise. "You can write me down an ass this time, Watson," said he. "This was not the bird that I was looking for." "Who is he?" asked Mycroft eagerly. "The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of the Submarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. He is coming to. I think that you had best leave his examination to me." We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our prisoner sat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses. "What is this?" he asked. "I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein." "Everything is known, Colonel Walter," said Holmes. "How an English gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension. But your whole correspondence and relations with Oberstein are within our knowledge. So also are the circumstances connected with the death of young Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain at least the small credit for repentance and confession, since there are still some details which we can only learn from your lips." The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, but he was silent. "I can assure you," said Holmes, "that every essential is already known. We know that you were pressed for money; that you took an impress of the keys which your brother held; and that you entered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who answered your letters through the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are aware that you went down to the office in the fog on Monday night, but that you were seen and followed by young Cadogan West, who had probably some previous reason to suspect you. He saw your theft, but could not give the alarm, as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to your brother in London. Leaving all his private concerns, like the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog and kept at your heels until you reached this very house. There he intervened, and then it was, Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crime of murder." "I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I did not!" cried our wretched prisoner. "Tell us, then, how Cadogan West met his end before you laid him upon the roof of a railway carriage." "I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the rest. I confess it. It was just as you say. A Stock Exchange debt had to be paid. I needed the money badly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It was to save myself from ruin. But as to murder, I am as innocent as you." "What happened, then?" "He had his suspicions before, and he followed me as you describe. I never knew it until I was at the very door. It was thick fog, and one could not see three yards. I had given two taps and Oberstein had come to the door. The young man rushed up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the papers. Oberstein had a short life-preserver. He always carried it with him. As West forced his way after us into the house Oberstein struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one. He was dead within five minutes. There he lay in the hall, and we were at our wit's end what to do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trains which halted under his back window. But first he examined the papers which I had brought. He said that three of them were essential, and that he must keep them. 'You cannot keep them,' said I. 'There will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if they are not returned.' 'I must keep them,' said he, 'for they are so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies.' 'Then they must all go back together to-night,' said I. He thought for a little, and then he cried out that he had it. 'Three I will keep,' said he. 'The others we will stuff into the pocket of this young man. When he is found the whole business will assuredly be put to his account.' I could see no other way out of it, so we did as he suggested. We waited half an hour at the window before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen, and we had no difficulty in lowering West's body on to the train. That was the end of the matter so far as I was concerned." "And your brother?" "He said nothing, but he had caught me once with his keys, and I think that he suspected. I read in his eyes that he suspected. As you know, he never held up his head again." There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft Holmes. "Can you not make reparation? It would ease your conscience, and possibly your punishment." "What reparation can I make?" "Where is Oberstein with the papers?" "I do not know." "Did he give you no address?" "He said that letters to the Hôtel du Louvre, Paris, would eventually reach him." "Then reparation is still within your power," said Sherlock Holmes. "I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particular good-will. He has been my ruin and my downfall." "Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to my dictation. Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right. Now the letter: "Dear Sir: "With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have observed by now that one essential detail is missing. I have a tracing which will make it complete. This has involved me in extra trouble, however, and I must ask you for a further advance of five hundred pounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I take anything but gold or notes. I would come to you abroad, but it would excite remark if I left the country at present. Therefore I shall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on Saturday. Remember that only English notes, or gold, will be taken. "That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if it does not fetch our man." And it did! It is a matter of history--that secret history of a nation which is often so much more intimate and interesting than its public chronicles--that Oberstein, eager to complete the coup of his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely engulfed for fifteen years in a British prison. In his trunk were found the invaluable Bruce-Partington plans, which he had put up for auction in all the naval centres of Europe. Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second year of his sentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject. Some weeks afterwards I learned incidentally that my friend spent a day at Windsor, whence be returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. When I asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a present from a certain gracious lady in whose interests he had once been fortunate enough to carry out a small commission. He said no more; but I fancy that I could guess at that lady's august name, and I have little doubt that the emerald pin will forever recall to my friend's memory the adventure of the Bruce-Partington plans. THE ADVENTURE OF THE DYING DETECTIVE Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman. Not only was her first-floor flat invaded at all hours by throngs of singular and often undesirable characters but her remarkable lodger showed an eccentricity and irregularity in his life which must have sorely tried her patience. His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London. On the other hand, his payments were princely. I have no doubt that the house might have been purchased at the price which Holmes paid for his rooms during the years that I was with him. The landlady stood in the deepest awe of him and never dared to interfere with him, however outrageous his proceedings might seem. She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent. Knowing how genuine was her regard for him, I listened earnestly to her story when she came to my rooms in the second year of my married life and told me of the sad condition to which my poor friend was reduced. "He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he has been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day. He would not let me get a doctor. This morning when I saw his bones sticking out of his face and his great bright eyes looking at me I could stand no more of it. 'With your leave or without it, Mr. Holmes, I am going for a doctor this very hour,' said I. 'Let it be Watson, then,' said he. I wouldn't waste an hour in coming to him, sir, or you may not see him alive." I was horrified for I had heard nothing of his illness. I need not say that I rushed for my coat and my hat. As we drove back I asked for the details. "There is little I can tell you, sir. He has been working at a case down at Rotherhithe, in an alley near the river, and he has brought this illness back with him. He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips." "Good God! Why did you not call in a doctor?" "He wouldn't have it, sir. You know how masterful he is. I didn't dare to disobey him. But he's not long for this world, as you'll see for yourself the moment that you set eyes on him." He was indeed a deplorable spectacle. In the dim light of a foggy November day the sick room was a gloomy spot, but it was that gaunt, wasted face staring at me from the bed which sent a chill to my heart. His eyes had the brightness of fever, there was a hectic flush upon either cheek, and dark crusts clung to his lips; the thin hands upon the coverlet twitched incessantly, his voice was croaking and spasmodic. He lay listlessly as I entered the room, but the sight of me brought a gleam of recognition to his eyes. "Well, Watson, we seem to have fallen upon evil days," said he in a feeble voice, but with something of his old carelessness of manner. "My dear fellow!" I cried, approaching him. "Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. "If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house." "But why?" "Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?" Yes, Mrs. Hudson was right. He was more masterful than ever. It was pitiful, however, to see his exhaustion. "I only wished to help," I explained. "Exactly! You will help best by doing what you are told." "Certainly, Holmes." He relaxed the austerity of his manner. "You are not angry?" he asked, gasping for breath. Poor devil, how could I be angry when I saw him lying in such a plight before me? "It's for your own sake, Watson," he croaked. "For my sake?" "I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease from Sumatra--a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though they have made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious." He spoke now with a feverish energy, the long hands twitching and jerking as he motioned me away. "Contagious by touch, Watson--that's it, by touch. Keep your distance and all is well." "Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?" Again I advanced, but he repulsed me with a look of furious anger. "If you will stand there I will talk. If you do not you must leave the room." I have so deep a respect for the extraordinary qualities of Holmes that I have always deferred to his wishes, even when I least understood them. But now all my professional instincts were aroused. Let him be my master elsewhere, I at least was his in a sick room. "Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you. Whether you like it or not, I will examine your symptoms and treat you for them." He looked at me with venomous eyes. "If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence," said he. "Then you have none in me?" "In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice." I was bitterly hurt. "Such a remark is unworthy of you, Holmes. It shows me very clearly the state of your own nerves. But if you have no confidence in me I would not intrude my services. Let me bring Sir Jasper Meek or Penrose Fisher, or any of the best men in London. But someone you must have, and that is final. If you think that I am going to stand here and see you die without either helping you myself or bringing anyone else to help you, then you have mistaken your man." "You mean well, Watson," said the sick man with something between a sob and a groan. "Shall I demonstrate your own ignorance? What do you know, pray, of Tapanuli fever? What do you know of the black Formosa corruption?" "I have never heard of either." "There are many problems of disease, many strange pathological possibilities, in the East, Watson." He paused after each sentence to collect his failing strength. "I have learned so much during some recent researches which have a medico-criminal aspect. It was in the course of them that I contracted this complaint. You can do nothing." "Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him." I turned resolutely to the door. Never have I had such a shock! In an instant, with a tiger-spring, the dying man had intercepted me. I heard the sharp snap of a twisted key. The next moment he had staggered back to his bed, exhausted and panting after his one tremendous outflame of energy. "You won't take the key from be by force, Watson, I've got you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I'll humour you." (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) "You've only my own good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It's four o'clock. At six you can go." "This is insanity, Holmes." "Only two hours, Watson. I promise you will go at six. Are you content to wait?" "I seem to have no choice." "None in the world, Watson. Thank you, I need no help in arranging the clothes. You will please keep your distance. Now, Watson, there is one other condition that I would make. You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I choose." "By all means." "The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, Watson. You will find some books over there. I am somewhat exhausted; I wonder how a battery feels when it pours electricity into a non-conductor? At six, Watson, we resume our conversation." But it was destined to be resumed long before that hour, and in circumstances which gave me a shock hardly second to that caused by his spring to the door. I had stood for some minutes looking at the silent figure in the bed. His face was almost covered by the clothes and he appeared to be asleep. Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned. Finally, in my aimless perambulation, I came to the mantelpiece. A litter of pipes, tobacco-pouches, syringes, penknives, revolver-cartridges, and other debris was scattered over it. In the midst of these was a small black and white ivory box with a sliding lid. It was a neat little thing, and I had stretched out my hand to examine it more closely when-- It was a dreadful cry that he gave--a yell which might have been heard down the street. My skin went cold and my hair bristled at that horrible scream. As I turned I caught a glimpse of a convulsed face and frantic eyes. I stood paralyzed, with the little box in my hand. "Put it down! Down, this instant, Watson--this instant, I say!" His head sank back upon the pillow and he gave a deep sigh of relief as I replaced the box upon the mantelpiece. "I hate to have my things touched, Watson. You know that I hate it. You fidget me beyond endurance. You, a doctor--you are enough to drive a patient into an asylum. Sit down, man, and let me have my rest!" The incident left a most unpleasant impression upon my mind. The violent and causeless excitement, followed by this brutality of speech, so far removed from his usual suavity, showed me how deep was the disorganization of his mind. Of all ruins, that of a noble mind is the most deplorable. I sat in silent dejection until the stipulated time had passed. He seemed to have been watching the clock as well as I, for it was hardly six before he began to talk with the same feverish animation as before. "Now, Watson," said he. "Have you any change in your pocket?" "Yes." "Any silver?" "A good deal." "How many half-crowns?" "I have five." "Ah, too few! Too few! How very unfortunate, Watson! However, such as they are you can put them in your watchpocket. And all the rest of your money in your left trouser pocket. Thank you. It will balance you so much better like that." This was raving insanity. He shuddered, and again made a sound between a cough and a sob. "You will now light the gas, Watson, but you will be very careful that not for one instant shall it be more than half on. I implore you to be careful, Watson. Thank you, that is excellent. No, you need not draw the blind. Now you will have the kindness to place some letters and papers upon this table within my reach. Thank you. Now some of that litter from the mantelpiece. Excellent, Watson! There is a sugar-tongs there. Kindly raise that small ivory box with its assistance. Place it here among the papers. Good! You can now go and fetch Mr. Culverton Smith, of 13 Lower Burke Street." To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave him. However, he was as eager now to consult the person named as he had been obstinate in refusing. "I never heard the name," said I. "Possibly not, my good Watson. It may surprise you to know that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and I did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware that you would not find him in his study. If you could persuade him to come here and give us the benefit of his unique experience of this disease, the investigation of which has been his dearest hobby, I cannot doubt that he could help me." I gave Holmes's remarks as a consecutive whole and will not attempt to indicate how they were interrupted by gaspings for breath and those clutchings of his hands which indicated the pain from which he was suffering. His appearance had changed for the worse during the few hours that I had been with him. Those hectic spots were more pronounced, the eyes shone more brightly out of darker hollows, and a cold sweat glimmered upon his brow. He still retained, however, the jaunty gallantry of his speech. To the last gasp he would always be the master. "You will tell him exactly how you have left me," said he. "You will convey the very impression which is in your own mind--a dying man--a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem. Ah, I am wondering! Strange how the brain controls the brain! What was I saying, Watson?" "My directions for Mr. Culverton Smith." "Ah, yes, I remember. My life depends upon it. Plead with him, Watson. There is no good feeling between us. His nephew, Watson--I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me. You will soften him, Watson. Beg him, pray him, get him here by any means. He can save me--only he!" "I will bring him in a cab, if I have to carry him down to it." "You will do nothing of the sort. You will persuade him to come. And then you will return in front of him. Make any excuse so as not to come with him. Don't forget, Watson. You won't fail me. You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! You'll convey all that is in your mind." I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a happy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage. Behind me as I passed from the flat I heard Holmes's high, thin voice in some delirious chant. Below, as I stood whistling for a cab, a man came on me through the fog. "How is Mr. Holmes, sir?" he asked. It was an old acquaintance, Inspector Morton, of Scotland Yard, dressed in unofficial tweeds. "He is very ill," I answered. He looked at me in a most singular fashion. Had it not been too fiendish, I could have imagined that the gleam of the fanlight showed exultation in his face. "I heard some rumour of it," said he. The cab had driven up, and I left him. Lower Burke Street proved to be a line of fine houses lying in the vague borderland between Notting Hill and Kensington. The particular one at which my cabman pulled up had an air of smug and demure respectability in its old-fashioned iron railings, its massive folding-door, and its shining brasswork. All was in keeping with a solemn butler who appeared framed in the pink radiance of a tinted electrical light behind him. "Yes, Mr. Culverton Smith is in. Dr. Watson! Very good, sir, I will take up your card." My humble name and title did not appear to impress Mr. Culverton Smith. Through the half-open door I heard a high, petulant, penetrating voice. "Who is this person? What does he want? Dear me, Staples, how often have I said that I am not to be disturbed in my hours of study?" There came a gentle flow of soothing explanation from the butler. "Well, I won't see him, Staples. I can't have my work interrupted like this. I am not at home. Say so. Tell him to come in the morning if he really must see me." Again the gentle murmur. "Well, well, give him that message. He can come in the morning, or he can stay away. My work must not be hindered." I thought of Holmes tossing upon his bed of sickness and counting the minutes, perhaps, until I could bring help to him. It was not a time to stand upon ceremony. His life depended upon my promptness. Before the apologetic butler had delivered his message I had pushed past him and was in the room. With a shrill cry of anger a man rose from a reclining chair beside the fire. I saw a great yellow face, coarse-grained and greasy, with heavy, double-chin, and two sullen, menacing gray eyes which glared at me from under tufted and sandy brows. A high bald head had a small velvet smoking-cap poised coquettishly upon one side of its pink curve. The skull was of enormous capacity, and yet as I looked down I saw to my amazement that the figure of the man was small and frail, twisted in the shoulders and back like one who has suffered from rickets in his childhood. "What's this?" he cried in a high, screaming voice. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? Didn't I send you word that I would see you to-morrow morning?" "I am sorry," said I, "but the matter cannot be delayed. Mr. Sherlock Holmes--" The mention of my friend's name had an extraordinary effect upon the little man. The look of anger passed in an instant from his face. His features became tense and alert. "Have you come from Holmes?" he asked. "I have just left him." "What about Holmes? How is he?" "He is desperately ill. That is why I have come." The man motioned me to a chair, and turned to resume his own. As he did so I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. I could have sworn that it was set in a malicious and abominable smile. Yet I persuaded myself that it must have been some nervous contraction which I had surprised, for he turned to me an instant later with genuine concern upon his features. "I am sorry to hear this," said he. "I only know Mr. Holmes through some business dealings which we have had, but I have every respect for his talents and his character. He is an amateur of crime, as I am of disease. For him the villain, for me the microbe. There are my prisons," he continued, pointing to a row of bottles and jars which stood upon a side table. "Among those gelatine cultivations some of the very worst offenders in the world are now doing time." "It was on account of your special knowledge that Mr. Holmes desired to see you. He has a high opinion of you and thought that you were the one man in London who could help him." The little man started, and the jaunty smoking-cap slid to the floor. "Why?" he asked. "Why should Mr. Homes think that I could help him in his trouble?" "Because of your knowledge of Eastern diseases." "But why should he think that this disease which he has contracted is Eastern?" "Because, in some professional inquiry, he has been working among Chinese sailors down in the docks." Mr. Culverton Smith smiled pleasantly and picked up his smoking-cap. "Oh, that's it--is it?" said he. "I trust the matter is not so grave as you suppose. How long has he been ill?" "About three days." "Is he delirious?" "Occasionally." "Tut, tut! This sounds serious. It would be inhuman not to answer his call. I very much resent any interruption to my work, Dr. Watson, but this case is certainly exceptional. I will come with you at once." I remembered Holmes's injunction. "I have another appointment," said I. "Very good. I will go alone. I have a note of Mr. Holmes's address. You can rely upon my being there within half an hour at most." It was with a sinking heart that I reentered Holmes's bedroom. For all that I knew the worst might have happened in my absence. To my enormous relief, he had improved greatly in the interval. His appearance was as ghastly as ever, but all trace of delirium had left him and he spoke in a feeble voice, it is true, but with even more than his usual crispness and lucidity. "Well, did you see him, Watson?" "Yes; he is coming." "Admirable, Watson! Admirable! You are the best of messengers." "He wished to return with me." "That would never do, Watson. That would be obviously impossible. Did he ask what ailed me?" "I told him about the Chinese in the East End." "Exactly! Well, Watson, you have done all that a good friend could. You can now disappear from the scene." "I must wait and hear his opinion, Holmes." "Of course you must. But I have reasons to suppose that this opinion would be very much more frank and valuable if he imagines that we are alone. There is just room behind the head of my bed, Watson." "My dear Holmes!" "I fear there is no alternative, Watson. The room does not lend itself to concealment, which is as well, as it is the less likely to arouse suspicion. But just there, Watson, I fancy that it could be done." Suddenly he sat up with a rigid intentness upon his haggard face. "There are the wheels, Watson. Quick, man, if you love me! And don't budge, whatever happens--whatever happens, do you hear? Don't speak! Don't move! Just listen with all your ears." Then in an instant his sudden access of strength departed, and his masterful, purposeful talk droned away into the low, vague murmurings of a semi-delirious man. From the hiding-place into which I had been so swiftly hustled I heard the footfalls upon the stair, with the opening and the closing of the bedroom door. Then, to my surprise, there came a long silence, broken only by the heavy breathings and gaspings of the sick man. I could imagine that our visitor was standing by the bedside and looking down at the sufferer. At last that strange hush was broken. "Holmes!" he cried. "Holmes!" in the insistent tone of one who awakens a sleeper. "Can't you hear me, Holmes?" There was a rustling, as if he had shaken the sick man roughly by the shoulder. "Is that you, Mr. Smith?" Holmes whispered. "I hardly dared hope that you would come." The other laughed. "I should imagine not," he said. "And yet, you see, I am here. Coals of fire, Holmes--coals of fire!" "It is very good of you--very noble of you. I appreciate your special knowledge." Our visitor sniggered. "You do. You are, fortunately, the only man in London who does. Do you know what is the matter with you?" "The same," said Holmes. "Ah! You recognize the symptoms?" "Only too well." "Well, I shouldn't be surprised, Holmes. I shouldn't be surprised if it were the same. A bad lookout for you if it is. Poor Victor was a dead man on the fourth day--a strong, hearty young fellow. It was certainly, as you said, very surprising that he should have contracted and out-of-the-way Asiatic disease in the heart of London--a disease, too, of which I had made such a very special study. Singular coincidence, Holmes. Very smart of you to notice it, but rather uncharitable to suggest that it was cause and effect." "I knew that you did it." "Oh, you did, did you? Well, you couldn't prove it, anyhow. But what do you think of yourself spreading reports about me like that, and then crawling to me for help the moment you are in trouble? What sort of a game is that--eh?" I heard the rasping, laboured breathing of the sick man. "Give me the water!" he gasped. "You're precious near your end, my friend, but I don't want you to go till I have had a word with you. That's why I give you water. There, don't slop it about! That's right. Can you understand what I say?" Holmes groaned. "Do what you can for me. Let bygones be bygones," he whispered. "I'll put the words out of my head--I swear I will. Only cure me, and I'll forget it." "Forget what?" "Well, about Victor Savage's death. You as good as admitted just now that you had done it. I'll forget it." "You can forget it or remember it, just as you like. I don't see you in the witnessbox. Quite another shaped box, my good Holmes, I assure you. It matters nothing to me that you should know how my nephew died. It's not him we are talking about. It's you." "Yes, yes." "The fellow who came for me--I've forgotten his name--said that you contracted it down in the East End among the sailors." "I could only account for it so." "You are proud of your brains, Holmes, are you not? Think yourself smart, don't you? You came across someone who was smarter this time. Now cast your mind back, Holmes. Can you think of no other way you could have got this thing?" "I can't think. My mind is gone. For heaven's sake help me!" "Yes, I will help you. I'll help you to understand just where you are and how you got there. I'd like you to know before you die." "Give me something to ease my pain." "Painful, is it? Yes, the coolies used to do some squealing towards the end. Takes you as cramp, I fancy." "Yes, yes; it is cramp." "Well, you can hear what I say, anyhow. Listen now! Can you remember any unusual incident in your life just about the time your symptoms began?" "No, no; nothing." "Think again." "I'm too ill to think." "Well, then, I'll help you. Did anything come by post?" "By post?" "A box by chance?" "I'm fainting--I'm gone!" "Listen, Holmes!" There was a sound as if he was shaking the dying man, and it was all that I could do to hold myself quiet in my hiding-place. "You must hear me. You shall hear me. Do you remember a box--an ivory box? It came on Wednesday. You opened it--do you remember?" "Yes, yes, I opened it. There was a sharp spring inside it. Some joke--" "It was no joke, as you will find to your cost. You fool, you would have it and you have got it. Who asked you to cross my path? If you had left me alone I would not have hurt you." "I remember," Holmes gasped. "The spring! It drew blood. This box--this on the table." "The very one, by George! And it may as well leave the room in my pocket. There goes your last shred of evidence. But you have the truth now, Holmes, and you can die with the knowledge that I killed you. You knew too much of the fate of Victor Savage, so I have sent you to share it. You are very near your end, Holmes. I will sit here and I will watch you die." Holmes's voice had sunk to an almost inaudible whisper. "What is that?" said Smith. "Turn up the gas? Ah, the shadows begin to fall, do they? Yes, I will turn it up, that I may see you the better." He crossed the room and the light suddenly brightened. "Is there any other little service that I can do you, my friend?" "A match and a cigarette." I nearly called out in my joy and my amazement. He was speaking in his natural voice--a little weak, perhaps, but the very voice I knew. There was a long pause, and I felt that Culverton Smith was standing in silent amazement looking down at his companion. "What's the meaning of this?" I heard him say at last in a dry, rasping tone. "The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it," said Holmes. "I give you my word that for three days I have tasted neither food nor drink until you were good enough to pour me out that glass of water. But it is the tobacco which I find most irksome. Ah, here are some cigarettes." I heard the striking of a match. "That is very much better. Halloa! halloa! Do I hear the step of a friend?" There were footfalls outside, the door opened, and Inspector Morton appeared. "All is in order and this is your man," said Holmes. The officer gave the usual cautions. "I arrest you on the charge of the murder of one Victor Savage," he concluded. "And you might add of the attempted murder of one Sherlock Holmes," remarked my friend with a chuckle. "To save an invalid trouble, Inspector, Mr. Culverton Smith was good enough to give our signal by turning up the gas. By the way, the prisoner has a small box in the right-hand pocket of his coat which it would be as well to remove. Thank you. I would handle it gingerly if I were you. Put it down here. It may play its part in the trial." There was a sudden rush and a scuffle, followed by the clash of iron and a cry of pain. "You'll only get yourself hurt," said the inspector. "Stand still, will you?" There was the click of the closing handcuffs. "A nice trap!" cried the high, snarling voice. "It will bring you into the dock, Holmes, not me. He asked me to come here to cure him. I was sorry for him and I came. Now he will pretend, no doubt, that I have said anything which he may invent which will corroborate his insane suspicions. You can lie as you like, Holmes. My word is always as good as yours." "Good heavens!" cried Holmes. "I had totally forgotten him. My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. To think that I should have overlooked you! I need not introduce you to Mr. Culverton Smith, since I understand that you met somewhat earlier in the evening. Have you the cab below? I will follow you when I am dressed, for I may be of some use at the station. "I never needed it more," said Holmes as he refreshed himself with a glass of claret and some biscuits in the intervals of his toilet. "However, as you know, my habits are irregular, and such a feat means less to me than to most men. It was very essential that I should impress Mrs. Hudson with the reality of my condition, since she was to convey it to you, and you in turn to him. You won't be offended, Watson? You will realize that among your many talents dissimulation finds no place, and that if you had shared my secret you would never have been able to impress Smith with the urgent necessity of his presence, which was the vital point of the whole scheme. Knowing his vindictive nature, I was perfectly certain that he would come to look upon his handiwork." "But your appearance, Holmes--your ghastly face?" "Three days of absolute fast does not improve one's beauty, Watson. For the rest, there is nothing which a sponge may not cure. With vaseline upon one's forehead, belladonna in one's eyes, rouge over the cheek-bones, and crusts of beeswax round one's lips, a very satisfying effect can be produced. Malingering is a subject upon which I have sometimes thought of writing a monograph. A little occasional talk about half-crowns, oysters, or any other extraneous subject produces a pleasing effect of delirium." "But why would you not let me near you, since there was in truth no infection?" "Can you ask, my dear Watson? Do you imagine that I have no respect for your medical talents? Could I fancy that your astute judgment would pass a dying man who, however weak, had no rise of pulse or temperature? At four yards, I could deceive you. If I failed to do so, who would bring my Smith within my grasp? No, Watson, I would not touch that box. You can just see if you look at it sideways where the sharp spring like a viper's tooth emerges as you open it. I dare say it was by some such device that poor Savage, who stood between this monster and a reversion, was done to death. My correspondence, however, is, as you know, a varied one, and I am somewhat upon my guard against any packages which reach me. It was clear to me, however, that by pretending that he had really succeeded in his design I might surprise a confession. That pretence I have carried out with the thoroughness of the true artist. Thank you, Watson, you must help me on with my coat. When we have finished at the police-station I think that something nutritious at Simpson's would not be out of place." THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY FRANCES CARFAX "But why Turkish?" asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly at my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention. "English," I answered in some surprise. "I got them at Latimer's, in Oxford Street." Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience. "The bath!" he said; "the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?" "Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine--a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system. "By the way, Holmes," I added, "I have no doubt the connection between my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a logical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it." "The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle. "It belongs to the same elementary class of deduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning." "I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation," said I with some asperity. "Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Let me see, what were the points? Take the last one first--the cab. You observe that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat. Had you sat in the centre of a hansom you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical. Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion." "That is very evident." "Absurdly commonplace, is it not?" "But the boots and the bath?" "Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in a certain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? A bootmaker--or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. Well, what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath has served a purpose." "What is that?" "You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let me suggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dear Watson--first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?" "Splendid! But why?" Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook from his pocket. "One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is the drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crime in others. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boardinghouses. She is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax." I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular. Holmes consulted his notes. "Lady Frances," he continued, "is the sole survivor of the direct family of the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in the male line. She was left with limited means, but with some very remarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached--too attached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather pathetic figure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange change, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet." "What has happened to her, then?" "Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead? There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it has been her invariable custom to write every second week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in Camberwell. It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks have passed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address. The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clear the matter up." "Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had other correspondents?" "There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries. She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced over her account. The last check but one paid her bill at Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. Only one check has been drawn since." "To whom, and where?" "To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the check was drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellier less than three weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds." "And who is Miss Marie Devine?" "That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was the maid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid her this check we have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, that your researches will soon clear the matter up." "My researches!" "Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. You know that I cannot possibly leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terror of his life. Besides, on general principles it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes. Go, then, my dear Watson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the end of the Continental wire." Two days later found me at the Hotel National at Lausanne, where I received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the well-known manager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for several weeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her age was not more than forty. She was still handsome and bore every sign of having in her youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knew nothing of any valuable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that the heavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was always scrupulously locked. Marie Devine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actually engaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was no difficulty in getting her address. It was 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. All this I jotted down and felt that Holmes himself could not have been more adroit in collecting his facts. Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which I possessed could clear up the cause for the lady's sudden departure. She was very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believe that she intended to remain for the season in her luxurious rooms overlooking the lake. And yet she had left at a single day's notice, which involved her in the useless payment of a week's rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of the maid, had any suggestion to offer. He connected the sudden departure with the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. "Un sauvage--un véritable sauvage!" cried Jules Vibart. The man had rooms somewhere in the town. He had been seen talking earnestly to Madame on the promenade by the lake. Then he had called. She had refused to see him. He was English, but of his name there was no record. Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and, what was of more importance, Jules Vibart's sweetheart, thought that this call and the departure were cause and effect. Only one thing Jules would not discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress. Of that he could or would say nothing. If I wished to know, I must go to Montpellier and ask her. So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The second was devoted to the place which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lausanne. Concerning this there had been some secrecy, which confirmed the idea that she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track. Otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled for Baden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous route. This much I gathered from the manager of Cook's local office. So to Baden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all my proceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorous commendation. At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayed at the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made the acquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from South America. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort and occupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger's remarkable personality, his whole hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it to me, upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon either side of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with special reference to the kingdom of the Midianites, upon which he was writing a monograph. Finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife had returned to London, and Lady Frances had started thither in their company. This was just three weeks before, and the manager had heard nothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she had gone off some days beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she was leaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid the bill of the whole party before his departure. "By the way," said the landlord in conclusion, "you are not the only friend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her just now. Only a week or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand." "Did he give a name?" I asked. "None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type." "A savage?" said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustrious friend. "Exactly. That describes him very well. He is a bulky, bearded, sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in a farmers' inn than in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I should think, and one whom I should be sorry to offend." Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. Here was this good and pious lady pursued from place to place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. She feared him, or she would not have fled from Lausanne. He had still followed. Sooner or later he would overtake her. Had he already overtaken her? Was that the secret of her continued silence? Could the good people who were her companions not screen her from his violence or his blackmail? What horrible purpose, what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? There was the problem which I had to solve. To Holmes I wrote showing how rapidly and surely I had got down to the roots of the matter. In reply I had a telegram asking for a description of Dr. Shlessinger's left ear. Holmes's ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jest--indeed, I had already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, Marie, before his message came. I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that she could tell me. She was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistress because she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her own approaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. Her mistress had, as she confessed with distress, shown some irritability of temper towards her during their stay in Baden, and had even questioned her once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made the parting easier than it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had given her fifty pounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deep distrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne. With her own eyes she had seen him seize the lady's wrist with great violence on the public promenade by the lake. He was a fierce and terrible man. She believed that it was out of dread of him that Lady Frances had accepted the escort of the Shlessingers to London. She had never spoken to Marie about it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistress lived in a state of continual nervous apprehension. So far she had got in her narrative, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed with surprise and fear. "See!" she cried. "The miscreant follows still! There is the very man of whom I speak." Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man with a bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It was clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I rushed out and accosted him. "You are an Englishman," I said. "What if I am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl. "May I ask what your name is?" "No, you may not," said he with decision. The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best. "Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked. He stared at me with amazement. "What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insist upon an answer!" said I. The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold. He stood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack. Then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from which I had just come. I turned to thank my preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway. "Well, Watson," said he, "a very pretty hash you have made of it! I rather think you had better come back with me to London by the night express." An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, was seated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he could get away from London, he determined to head me off at the next obvious point of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had sat in the cabaret waiting for my appearance. "And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dear Watson," said he. "I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder which you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing." "Perhaps you would have done no better," I answered bitterly. "There is no 'perhaps' about it. I have done better. Here is the Hon. Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we may find him the starting-point for a more successful investigation." A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the same bearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when he saw me. "What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had your note and I have come. But what has this man to do with the matter?" "This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping us in this affair." The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words of apology. "I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lost my grip of myself. Indeed, I'm not responsible in these days. My nerves are like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I want to know, in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear of my existence at all." "I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances's governess." "Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well." "And she remembers you. It was in the days before--before you found it better to go to South Africa." "Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know--not worse than others of my class. But her mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of coarseness. So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she would have no more to say to me. And yet she loved me--that is the wonder of it!--loved me well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sake alone. When the years had passed and I had made my money at Barberton I thought perhaps I could seek her out and soften her. I had heard that she was still unmarried, I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. She weakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I called she had left the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a time heard that her maid was here. I'm a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke to me as he did I lost hold of myself for a moment. But for God's sake tell me what has become of the Lady Frances." "That is for us to find out," said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar gravity. "What is your London address, Mr. Green?" "The Langham Hotel will find me." "Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case I should want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you may rest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for the instant. I will leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for two hungry travellers at 7.30 to-morrow." A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Street rooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across to me. "Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place of origin, Baden. "What is this?" I asked. "It is everything," Holmes answered. "You may remember my seemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. You did not answer it." "I had left Baden and could not inquire." "Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of the Englischer Hof, whose answer lies here." "What does it show?" "It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionally astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever evolved--and for a young country it has turned out some very finished types. His particular specialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and this physical peculiarity--he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at Adelaide in '89--confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson. That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that she never reached London, or that she has passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rouges could not hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep a person under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, but as we have at present no possible means of telling where, we can only take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls in patience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a word with friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard." But neither the official police nor Holmes's own small but very efficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid the crowded millions of London the three persons we sought were as completely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisements were tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear of him. And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense there came a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanish design had been pawned at Bovington's, in Westminster Road. The pawner was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. His name and address were demonstrably false. The ear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger. Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called for news--the third time within an hour of this fresh development. His clothes were getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be wilting away in his anxiety. "If you will only give me something to do!" was his constant wail. At last Holmes could oblige him. "He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now." "But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?" Holmes shook his head very gravely. "Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must prepare for the worst." "What can I do?" "These people do not know you by sight?" "No." "It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the future. in that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he will probably come back to Bovington's. I will give you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion, and, above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you will take no step without my knowledge and consent." For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering with excitement. "We have him! We have him!" he cried. He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with a few words and thrust him into an armchair. "Come, now, give us the order of events," said he. "She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the pendant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, with ferret eyes." "That is the lady," said Holmes. "She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the Kennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker's." My companion started. "Well?" he asked in that vibrant voice which told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face. "She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well. 'It is late,' I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was excusing herself. 'It should be there before now,' she answered. 'It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' They both stopped and looked at me, so I asked some questions and then left the shop." "You did excellently well. What happened next?" "The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway. Her suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house." "Did you see anyone?" "The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there, wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it. They descended, took something out of the van, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin." "Ah!" "For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had been opened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who had opened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I think that she recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. I remembered my promise to you, and here I am." "You have done excellent work," said Holmes, scribbling a few words upon a half-sheet of paper. "We can do nothing legal without a warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to the authorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I should think that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade will see to all details." "But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffin mean, and for whom could it be but for her?" "We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. Not a moment will be lost. Leave it in our hands. Now Watson," he added as our client hurried away, "he will set the regular forces on the move. We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own line of action. The situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified. Not a moment is to be lost in getting to Poultney Square. "Let us try to reconstruct the situation," said he as we drove swiftly past the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge. "These villains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after first alienating her from her faithful maid. If she has written any letters they have been intercepted. Through some confederate they have engaged a furnished house. Once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their object from the first. Already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safe enough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyone is interested in the lady's fate. When she is released she will, of course, denounce them. Therefore, she must not be released. But they cannot keep her under lock and key forever. So murder is their only solution." "That seems very clear." "Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you follow two separate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point of intersection which should approximate to the truth. We will start now, not from the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. That incident proves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. It points also to an orthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate and official sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered, they would have buried her in a hole in the back garden. But here all is open and regular. What does this mean? Surely that they have done her to death in some way which has deceived the doctor and simulated a natural end--poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let a doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly a credible proposition." "Could they have forged a medical certificate?" "Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing that. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker's, for we have just passed the pawnbroker's. Would go in, Watson? Your appearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takes place to-morrow." The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was to be at eight o'clock in the morning. "You see, Watson, no mystery; everything above-board! In some way the legal forms have undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. Well, there's nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are you armed?" "My stick!" "Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' We simply can't afford to wait for the police or to keep within the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby. Now, Watson, we'll just take our luck together, as we have occasionally in the past." He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre of Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall. "Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us through the darkness. "I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes. "There is no such person here," she answered, and tried to close the door, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot. "Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may call himself," said Holmes firmly. She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. "Well, come in!" said she. "My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." She closed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr. Peters will be with you in an instant," she said. Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly into the room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a general air of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel, vicious mouth. "There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in an unctuous, make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have been misdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the street--" "That will do; we have no time to waste," said my companion firmly. "You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, of Baden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name is Sherlock Holmes." Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at his formidable pursuer. "I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes," said he coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can't rattle him. What is your business in my house?" "I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax, whom you brought away with you from Baden." "I'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be," Peters answered coolly. "I've a bill against her for a nearly a hundred pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants that the dealer would hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me at Baden--it is a fact that I was using another name at the time--and she stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left these out-of-date jewels to pay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I'm your debtor." In mean to find her," said Sherlock Holmes. "I'm going through this house till I do find her." "Where is your warrant?" Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. "This will have to serve till a better one comes." "Why, you're a common burglar." "So you might describe me," said Holmes cheerfully. "My companion is also a dangerous ruffian. And together we are going through your house." Our opponent opened the door. "Fetch a policeman, Annie!" said he. There was a whisk of feminine skirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut. "Our time is limited, Watson," said Holmes. "If you try to stop us, Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin which was brought into your house?" "What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body in it." "I must see the body." "Never with my consent." "Then without it." With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellow to one side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stood immediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On the table, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gas and raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of the coffin lay an emaciated figure. The glare from the lights above beat down upon an aged and withered face. By no possible process of cruelty, starvation, or disease could this wornout wreck be the still beautiful Lady Frances. Holmes's face showed his amazement, and also his relief. "Thank God!" he muttered. "It's someone else." "Ah, you've blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Peters, who had followed us into the room. "Who is the dead woman?" "Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife's, Rose Spender by name, whom we found in the Brixton Workhouse Infirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13 Firbank Villas--mind you take the address, Mr. Holmes--and had her carefully tended, as Christian folk should. On the third day she died--certificate says senile decay--but that's only the doctor's opinion, and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to be carried out by Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will bury her at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes? You've made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. I'd give something for a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulled aside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found a poor old woman of ninety." Holmes's expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers of his antagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acute annoyance. "I am going through your house," said he. "Are you, though!" cried Peters as a woman's voice and heavy steps sounded in the passage. "We'll soon see about that. This way, officers, if you please. These men have forced their way into my house, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me to put them out." A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his card from his case. "This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson." "Bless you, sir, we know you very well," said the sergeant, "but you can't stay here without a warrant." "Of course not. I quite understand that." "Arrest him!" cried Peters. "We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted," said the sergeant majestically, "but you'll have to go, Mr. Holmes." "Yes, Watson, we shall have to go." A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool as ever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation. The sergeant had followed us. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that's the law." "Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise." "I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there is anything I can do--" "It's a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in that house. I expect a warrant presently." "Then I'll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comes along, I will surely let you know." It was only nine o'clock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once. First we drove to Brixton Workhoused Infirmary, where we found that it was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called some days before, that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, and that they had obtained permission to take her away with them. No surprise was expressed at the news that she had since died. The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had found the woman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and had signed the certificate in due form. "I assure you that everything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter," said he. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for people of their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. So far and no further went the doctor. Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had been difficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay was inevitable. The magistrate's signature might not be obtained until next morning. If Holmes would call about nine he could go down with Lestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnight our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lights here and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one had left it and none had entered. We could but pray for patience and wait for the morrow. Sherlock Holmes was too irritable for conversation and too restless for sleep. I left him smoking hard, with his heavy, dark brows knotted together, and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair, as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of the mystery. Several times in the course of the night I heard him prowling about the house. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning, he rushed into my room. He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow-eyed face told me that his night had been a sleepless one. "What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?" he asked eagerly. "Well, it is 7.20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what has become of any brains that God has given me? Quick, man, quick! It's life or death--a hundred chances on death to one on life. I'll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!" Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom down Baker Street. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed Big Ben, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road. But others were late as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standing at the door of the house, and even as our foaming horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes darted forward and barred their way. "Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost. "Take it back this instant!" "What the devil do you mean? Once again I ask you, where is your warrant?" shouted the furious Peters, his big red face glaring over the farther end of the coffin. "The warrant is on its way. The coffin shall remain in the house until it comes." The authority in Holmes's voice had its effect upon the bearers. Peters had suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders. "Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver!" he shouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. "Here's one for you, my man! A sovreign if the lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questions--work away! That's good! Another! And another! Now pull all together! It's giving! It's giving! Ah, that does it at last." With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did so there came from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. A body lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had been soaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In an instant he had passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position. "Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not too late!" For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actual suffocation, and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform, the Lady Frances seemed to have passed the last point of recall. And then, at last, with artificial respiration, with injected ether, and with every device that science could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly returning life. A cab had driven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. "Here is Lestrade with his warrant," said he. "He will find that his birds have flown. And here," he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, "is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. Good morning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can move the Lady Frances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, and the poor old woman who still lies in that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone." "Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson," said Holmes that evening, "it can only be as an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. Such slips are common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize and repair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, make some claim. My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had been too easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, the words came back to me. It was the remark of the undertaker's wife, as reported by Philip Green. She had said, 'It should be there before now. It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' It was the coffin of which she spoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean that it had been made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then in an instant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at the bottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? To leave room for another body. Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had all been so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight the Lady Frances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffin before it left the house. "It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it was a chance, as the result showed. These people had never, to my knowledge, done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence at the last. The could bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she were exhumed there was a chance for them. I hoped that such considerations might prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scene well enough. You saw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long. They rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried her down, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and then screwed down the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in the annals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches of Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their future career." THE ADVENTURE OF THE DEVIL'S FOOT In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continually been faced by difficulties caused by his own aversion to publicity. To his sombre and cynical spirit all popular applause was always abhorrent, and nothing amused him more at the end of a successful case than to hand over the actual exposure to some orthodox official, and to listen with a mocking smile to the general chorus of misplaced congratulation. It was indeed this attitude upon the part of my friend and certainly not any lack of interesting material which has caused me of late years to lay very few of my records before the public. My participation in some if his adventures was always a privilege which entailed discretion and reticence upon me. It was, then, with considerable surprise that I received a telegram from Homes last Tuesday--he has never been known to write where a telegram would serve--in the following terms: Why not tell them of the Cornish horror--strangest case I have handled. I have no idea what backward sweep of memory had brought the matter fresh to his mind, or what freak had caused him to desire that I should recount it; but I hasten, before another cancelling telegram may arrive, to hunt out the notes which give me the exact details of the case and to lay the narrative before my readers. It was, then, in the spring of the year 1897 that Holmes's iron constitution showed some symptoms of giving way in the face of constant hard work of a most exacting kind, aggravated, perhaps, by occasional indiscretions of his own. In March of that year Dr. Moore Agar, of Harley Street, whose dramatic introduction to Holmes I may some day recount, gave positive injunctions that the famous private agent lay aside all his cases and surrender himself to complete rest if he wished to avert an absolute breakdown. The state of his health was not a matter in which he himself took the faintest interest, for his mental detachment was absolute, but he was induced at last, on the threat of being permanently disqualified from work, to give himself a complete change of scene and air. Thus it was that in the early spring of that year we found ourselves together in a small cottage near Poldhu Bay, at the further extremity of the Cornish peninsula. It was a singular spot, and one peculiarly well suited to the grim humour of my patient. From the windows of our little whitewashed house, which stood high upon a grassy headland, we looked down upon the whole sinister semicircle of Mounts Bay, that old death trap of sailing vessels, with its fringe of black cliffs and surge-swept reefs on which innumerable seamen have met their end. With a northerly breeze it lies placid and sheltered, inviting the storm-tossed craft to tack into it for rest and protection. Then come the sudden swirl round of the wind, the blistering gale from the south-west, the dragging anchor, the lee shore, and the last battle in the creaming breakers. The wise mariner stands far out from that evil place. On the land side our surroundings were as sombre as on the sea. It was a country of rolling moors, lonely and dun-colored, with an occasional church tower to mark the site of some old-world village. In every direction upon these moors there were traces of some vanished race which had passed utterly away, and left as it sole record strange monuments of stone, irregular mounds which contained the burned ashes of the dead, and curious earthworks which hinted at prehistoric strife. The glamour and mystery of the place, with its sinister atmosphere of forgotten nations, appealed to the imagination of my friend, and he spent much of his time in long walks and solitary meditations upon the moor. The ancient Cornish language had also arrested his attention, and he had, I remember, conceived the idea that it was akin to the Chaldean, and had been largely derived from the Phoenician traders in tin. He had received a consignment of books upon philology and was settling down to develop this thesis when suddenly, to my sorrow and to his unfeigned delight, we found ourselves, even in that land of dreams, plunged into a problem at our very doors which was more intense, more engrossing, and infinitely more mysterious than any of those which had driven us from London. Our simple life and peaceful, healthy routine were violently interrupted, and we were precipitated into the midst of a series of events which caused the utmost excitement not only in Cornwall but throughout the whole west of England. Many of my readers may retain some recollection of what was called at the time "The Cornish Horror," though a most imperfect account of the matter reached the London press. Now, after thirteen years, I will give the true details of this inconceivable affair to the public. I have said that scattered towers marked the villages which dotted this part of Cornwall. The nearest of these was the hamlet of Tredannick Wollas, where the cottages of a couple of hundred inhabitants clustered round an ancient, moss-grown church. The vicar of the parish, Mr. Roundhay, was something of an archaeologist, and as such Holmes had made his acquaintance. He was a middle-aged man, portly and affable, with a considerable fund of local lore. At his invitation we had taken tea at the vicarage and had come to know, also, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis, an independent gentleman, who increased the clergyman's scanty resources by taking rooms in his large, straggling house. The vicar, being a bachelor, was glad to come to such an arrangement, though he had little in common with his lodger, who was a thin, dark, spectacled man, with a stoop which gave the impression of actual, physical deformity. I remember that during our short visit we found the vicar garrulous, but his lodger strangely reticent, a sad-faced, introspective man, sitting with averted eyes, brooding apparently upon his own affairs. These were the two men who entered abruptly into our little sitting-room on Tuesday, March the 16th, shortly after our breakfast hour, as we were smoking together, preparatory to our daily excursion upon the moors. "Mr. Holmes," said the vicar in an agitated voice, "the most extraordinary and tragic affair has occurred during the night. It is the most unheard-of business. We can only regard it as a special Providence that you should chance to be here at the time, for in all England you are the one man we need." I glared at the intrusive vicar with no very friendly eyes; but Holmes took his pipe from his lips and sat up in his chair like an old hound who hears the view-halloa. He waved his hand to the sofa, and our palpitating visitor with his agitated companion sat side by side upon it. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis was more self-contained than the clergyman, but the twitching of his thin hands and the brightness of his dark eyes showed that they shared a common emotion. "Shall I speak or you?" he asked of the vicar. "Well, as you seem to have made the discovery, whatever it may be, and the vicar to have had it second-hand, perhaps you had better do the speaking," said Holmes. I glanced at the hastily clad clergyman, with the formally dressed lodger seated beside him, and was amused at the surprise which Holmes's simple deduction had brought to their faces. "Perhaps I had best say a few words first," said the vicar, "and then you can judge if you will listen to the details from Mr. Tregennis, or whether we should not hasten at once to the scene of this mysterious affair. I may explain, then, that our friend here spent last evening in the company of his two brothers, Owen and George, and of his sister Brenda, at their house of Tredannick Wartha, which is near the old stone cross upon the moor. He left them shortly after ten o'clock, playing cards round the dining-room table, in excellent health and spirits. This morning, being an early riser, he walked in that direction before breakfast and was overtaken by the carriage of Dr. Richards, who explained that he had just been sent for on a most urgent call to Tredannick Wartha. Mr. Mortimer Tregennis naturally went with him. When he arrived at Tredannick Wartha he found an extraordinary state of things. His two brothers and his sister were seated round the table exactly as he had left them, the cards still spread in front of them and the candles burned down to their sockets. The sister lay back stone-dead in her chair, while the two brothers sat on each side of her laughing, shouting, and singing, the senses stricken clean out of them. All three of them, the dead woman and the two demented men, retained upon their faces an expression of the utmost horror--a convulsion of terror which was dreadful to look upon. There was no sign of the presence of anyone in the house, except Mrs. Porter, the old cook and housekeeper, who declared that she had slept deeply and heard no sound during the night. Nothing had been stolen or disarranged, and there is absolutely no explanation of what the horror can be which has frightened a woman to death and two strong men out of their senses. There is the situation, Mr. Holmes, in a nutshell, and if you can help us to clear it up you will have done a great work." I had hoped that in some way I could coax my companion back into the quiet which had been the object of our journey; but one glance at his intense face and contracted eyebrows told me how vain was now the expectation. He sat for some little time in silence, absorbed in the strange drama which had broken in upon our peace. "I will look into this matter," he said at last. "On the face of it, it would appear to be a case of a very exceptional nature. Have you been there yourself, Mr. Roundhay?" "No, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tregennis brought back the account to the vicarage, and I at once hurried over with him to consult you." "How far is it to the house where this singular tragedy occurred?" "About a mile inland." "Then we shall walk over together. But before we start I must ask you a few questions, Mr. Mortimer Tregennis." The other had been silent all this time, but I had observed that his more controlled excitement was even greater than the obtrusive emotion of the clergyman. He sat with a pale, drawn face, his anxious gaze fixed upon Holmes, and his thin hands clasped convulsively together. His pale lips quivered as he listened to the dreadful experience which had befallen his family, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect something of the horror of the scene. "Ask what you like, Mr. Holmes," said he eagerly. "It is a bad thing to speak of, but I will answer you the truth." "Tell me about last night." "Well, Mr. Holmes, I supped there, as the vicar has said, and my elder brother George proposed a game of whist afterwards. We sat down about nine o'clock. It was a quarter-past ten when I moved to go. I left them all round the table, as merry as could be." "Who let you out?" "Mrs. Porter had gone to bed, so I let myself out. I shut the hall door behind me. The window of the room in which they sat was closed, but the blind was not drawn down. There was no change in door or window this morning, or any reason to think that any stranger had been to the house. Yet there they sat, driven clean mad with terror, and Brenda lying dead of fright, with her head hanging over the arm of the chair. I'll never get the sight of that room out of my mind so long as I live." "The facts, as you state them, are certainly most remarkable," said Holmes. "I take it that you have no theory yourself which can in any way account for them?" "It's devilish, Mr. Holmes, devilish!" cried Mortimer Tregennis. "It is not of this world. Something has come into that room which has dashed the light of reason from their minds. What human contrivance could do that?" "I fear," said Holmes, "that if the matter is beyond humanity it is certainly beyond me. Yet we must exhaust all natural explanations before we fall back upon such a theory as this. As to yourself, Mr. Tregennis, I take it you were divided in some way from your family, since they lived together and you had rooms apart?" "That is so, Mr. Holmes, though the matter is past and done with. We were a family of tin-miners at Redruth, but we sold our venture to a company, and so retired with enough to keep us. I won't deny that there was some feeling about the division of the money and it stood between us for a time, but it was all forgiven and forgotten, and we were the best of friends together." "Looking back at the evening which you spent together, does anything stand out in your memory as throwing any possible light upon the tragedy? Think carefully, Mr. Tregennis, for any clue which can help me." "There is nothing at all, sir." "Your people were in their usual spirits?" "Never better." "Were they nervous people? Did they ever show any apprehension of coming danger?" "Nothing of the kind." "You have nothing to add then, which could assist me?" Mortimer Tregennis considered earnestly for a moment. "There is one thing occurs to me," said he at last. "As we sat at the table my back was to the window, and my brother George, he being my partner at cards, was facing it. I saw him once look hard over my shoulder, so I turned round and looked also. The blind was up and the window shut, but I could just make out the bushes on the lawn, and it seemed to me for a moment that I saw something moving among them. I couldn't even say if it was man or animal, but I just thought there was something there. When I asked him what he was looking at, he told me that he had the same feeling. That is all that I can say." "Did you not investigate?" "No; the matter passed as unimportant." "You left them, then, without any premonition of evil?" "None at all." "I am not clear how you came to hear the news so early this morning." "I am an early riser and generally take a walk before breakfast. This morning I had hardly started when the doctor in his carriage overtook me. He told me that old Mrs. Porter had sent a boy down with an urgent message. I sprang in beside him and we drove on. When we got there we looked into that dreadful room. The candles and the fire must have burned out hours before, and they had been sitting there in the dark until dawn had broken. The doctor said Brenda must have been dead at least six hours. There were no signs of violence. She just lay across the arm of the chair with that look on her face. George and Owen were singing snatches of songs and gibbering like two great apes. Oh, it was awful to see! I couldn't stand it, and the doctor was as white as a sheet. Indeed, he fell into a chair in a sort of faint, and we nearly had him on our hands as well." "Remarkable--most remarkable!" said Holmes, rising and taking his hat. "I think, perhaps, we had better go down to Tredannick Wartha without further delay. I confess that I have seldom known a case which at first sight presented a more singular problem." Our proceedings of that first morning did little to advance the investigation. It was marked, however, at the outset by an incident which left the most sinister impression upon my mind. The approach to the spot at which the tragedy occurred is down a narrow, winding, country lane. While we made our way along it we heard the rattle of a carriage coming towards us and stood aside to let it pass. As it drove by us I caught a glimpse through the closed window of a horribly contorted, grinning face glaring out at us. Those staring eyes and gnashing teeth flashed past us like a dreadful vision. "My brothers!" cried Mortimer Tregennis, white to his lips. "They are taking them to Helston." We looked with horror after the black carriage, lumbering upon its way. Then we turned our steps towards this ill-omened house in which they had met their strange fate. It was a large and bright dwelling, rather a villa than a cottage, with a considerable garden which was already, in that Cornish air, well filled with spring flowers. Towards this garden the window of the sitting-room fronted, and from it, according to Mortimer Tregennis, must have come that thing of evil which had by sheer horror in a single instant blasted their minds. Holmes walked slowly and thoughtfully among the flower-plots and along the path before we entered the porch. So absorbed was he in his thoughts, I remember, that he stumbled over the watering-pot, upset its contents, and deluged both our feet and the garden path. Inside the house we were met by the elderly Cornish housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, who, with the aid of a young girl, looked after the wants of the family. She readily answered all Holmes's questions. She had heard nothing in the night. Her employers had all been in excellent spirits lately, and she had never known them more cheerful and prosperous. She had fainted with horror upon entering the room in the morning and seeing that dreadful company round the table. She had, when she recovered, thrown open the window to let the morning air in, and had run down to the lane, whence she sent a farm-lad for the doctor. The lady was on her bed upstairs if we cared to see her. It took four strong men to get the brothers into the asylum carriage. She would not herself stay in the house another day and was starting that very afternoon to rejoin her family at St. Ives. We ascended the stairs and viewed the body. Miss Brenda Tregennis had been a very beautiful girl, though now verging upon middle age. Her dark, clear-cut face was handsome, even in death, but there still lingered upon it something of that convulsion of horror which had been her last human emotion. From her bedroom we descended to the sitting-room, where this strange tragedy had actually occurred. The charred ashes of the overnight fire lay in the grate. On the table were the four guttered and burned-out candles, with the cards scattered over its surface. The chairs had been moved back against the walls, but all else was as it had been the night before. Holmes paced with light, swift steps about the room; he sat in the various chairs, drawing them up and reconstructing their positions. He tested how much of the garden was visible; he examined the floor, the ceiling, and the fireplace; but never once did I see that sudden brightening of his eyes and tightening of his lips which would have told me that he saw some gleam of light in this utter darkness. "Why a fire?" he asked once. "Had they always a fire in this small room on a spring evening?" Mortimer Tregennis explained that the night was cold and damp. For that reason, after his arrival, the fire was lit. "What are you going to do now, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. My friend smiled and laid his hand upon my arm. "I think, Watson, that I shall resume that course of tobacco-poisoning which you have so often and so justly condemned," said he. "With your permission, gentlemen, we will now return to our cottage, for I am not aware that any new factor is likely to come to our notice here. I will turn the facts over in my mid, Mr, Tregennis, and should anything occur to me I will certainly ommunicate with you and the vicar. In the meantime I wish you both good-morning." It was not until long after we were back in Poldhu Cottage that Holmes broke his complete and absorbed silence. He sat coiled in his armchair, his haggard and ascetic face hardly visible amid the blue swirl of his tobacco smoke, his black brows drawn down, his forehead contracted, his eyes vacant and far away. Finally he laid down his pipe and sprang to his feet. "It won't do, Watson!" said he with a laugh. "Let us walk along the cliffs together and search for flint arrows. We are more likely to find them than clues to this problem. To let the brain work without sufficient material is like racing an engine. It racks itself to pieces. The sea air, sunshine, and patience, Watson--all else will come. "Now, let us calmly define our position, Watson," he continued as we skirted the cliffs together. "Let us get a firm grip of the very little which we do know, so that when fresh facts arise we may be ready to fit them into their places. I take it, in the first place, that neither of us is prepared to admit diabolical intrusions into the affairs of men. Let us begin by ruling that entirely out of our minds. Very good. There remain three persons who have been grievously stricken by some conscious or unconscious human agency. That is firm ground. Now, when did this occur? Evidently, assuming his narrative to be true, it was immediately after Mr. Mortimer Tregennis had left the room. That is a very important point. The presumption is that it was within a few minutes afterwards. The cards still lay upon the table. It was already past their usual hour for bed. Yet they had not changed their position or pushed back their chairs. I repeat, then, that the occurrence was immediately after his departure, and not later than eleven o'clock last night. "Our next obvious step is to check, so far as we can, the movements of Mortimer Tregennis after he left the room. In this there is no difficulty, and they seem to be above suspicion. Knowing my methods as you do, you were, of course, conscious of the somewhat clumsy water-pot expedient by which I obtained a clearer impress of his foot than might otherwise have been possible. The wet, sandy path took it admirably. Last night was also wet, you will remember, and it was not difficult--having obtained a sample print--to pick out his track among others and to follow his movements. He appears to have walked away swiftly in the direction of the vicarage. "If, then, Mortimer Tregennis disappeared from the scene, and yet some outside person affected the card-players, how can we reconstruct that person, and how was such an impression of horror conveyed? Mrs. Porter may be eliminated. She is evidently harmless. Is there any evidence that someone crept up to the garden window and in some manner produced so terrific an effect that he drove those who saw it out of their senses? The only suggestion in this direction comes from Mortimer Tregennis himself, who says that his brother spoke about some movement in the garden. That is certainly remarkable, as the night was rainy, cloudy, and dark. Anyone who had the design to alarm these people would be compelled to place his very face against the glass before he could be seen. There is a three-foot flower-border outside this window, but no indication of a footmark. It is difficult to imagine, then, how an outsider could have made so terrible an impression upon the company, nor have we found any possible motive for so strange and elaborate an attempt. You perceive our difficulties, Watson?" "They are only too clear," I answered with conviction. "And yet, with a little more material, we may prove that they are not insurmountable," said Holmes. "I fancy that among your extensive archives, Watson, you may find some which were nearly as obscure. Meanwhile, we shall put the case aside until more accurate data are available, and devote the rest of our morning to the pursuit of neolithic man." I may have commented upon my friend's power of mental detachment, but never have I wondered at it more than upon that spring morning in Cornwall when for two hours he discoursed upon celts, arrowheads, and shards, as lightly as if no sinister mystery were waiting for his solution. It was not until we had returned in the afternoon to our cottage that we found a visitor awaiting us, who soon brought our minds back to the matter in hand. Neither of us needed to be told who that visitor was. The huge body, the craggy and deeply seamed face with the fierce eyes and hawk-like nose, the grizzled hair which nearly brushed our cottage ceiling, the beard--golden at the fringes and white near the lips, save for the nicotine stain from his perpetual cigar--all these were as well known in London as in Africa, and could only be associated with the tremendous personality of Dr. Leon Sterndale, the great lion-hunter and explorer. We had heard of his presence in the district and had once or twice caught sight of his tall figure upon the moorland paths. He made no advances to us, however, nor would we have dreamed of doing so to him, as it was well known that it was his love of seclusion which caused him to spend the greater part of the intervals between his journeys in a small bungalow buried in the lonely wood of Beauchamp Arriance. Here, amid his books and his maps, he lived an absolutely lonely life, attending to his own simple wants and paying little apparent heed to the affairs of his neighbours. It was a surprise to me, therefore, to hear him asking Holmes in an eager voice whether he had made any advance in his reconstruction of this mysterious episode. "The county police are utterly at fault," said he, "but perhaps your wider experience has suggested some conceivable explanation. My only claim to being taken into your confidence is that during my many residences here I have come to know this family of Tregennis very well--indeed, upon my Cornish mother's side I could call them cousins--and their strange fate has naturally been a great shock to me. I may tell you that I had got as far as Plymouth upon my way to Africa, but the news reached me this morning, and I came straight back again to help in the inquiry." Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Did you lose your boat through it?" "I will take the next." "Dear me! that is friendship indeed." "I tell you they were relatives." "Quite so--cousins of your mother. Was your baggage aboard the ship?" "Some of it, but the main part at the hotel." "I see. But surely this event could not have found its way into the Plymouth morning papers." "No, sir; I had a telegram." "Might I ask from whom?" A shadow passed over the gaunt face of the explorer. "You are very inquisitive, Mr. Holmes." "It is my business." With an effort Dr. Sterndale recovered his ruffled composure. "I have no objection to telling you," he said. "It was Mr. Roundhay, the vicar, who sent me the telegram which recalled me." "Thank you," said Holmes. "I may say in answer to your original question that I have not cleared my mind entirely on the subject of this case, but that I have every hope of reaching some conclusion. It would be premature to say more." "Perhaps you would not mind telling me if your suspicions point in any particular direction?" "No, I can hardly answer that." "Then I have wasted my time and need not prolong my visit." The famous doctor strode out of our cottage in considerable ill-humour, and within five minutes Holmes had followed him. I saw him no more until the evening, when he returned with a slow step and haggard face which assured me that he had made no great progress with his investigation. He glanced at a telegram which awaited him and threw it into the grate. "From the Plymouth hotel, Watson," he said. "I learned the name of it from the vicar, and I wired to make certain that Dr. Leon Sterndale's account was true. It appears that he did indeed spend last night there, and that he has actually allowed some of his baggage to go on to Africa, while he returned to be present at this investigation. What do you make of that, Watson?" "He is deeply interested." "Deeply interested--yes. There is a thread here which we had not yet grasped and which might lead us through the tangle. Cheer up, Watson, for I am very sure that our material has not yet all come to hand. When it does we may soon leave our difficulties behind us." Little did I think how soon the words of Holmes would be realized, or how strange and sinister would be that new development which opened up an entirely fresh line of investigation. I was shaving at my window in the morning when I heard the rattle of hoofs and, looking up, saw a dog-cart coming at a gallop down the road. It pulled up at our door, and our friend, the vicar, sprang from it and rushed up our garden path. Holmes was already dressed, and we hastened down to meet him. Our visitor was so excited that he could hardly articulate, but at last in gasps and bursts his tragic story came out of him. "We are devil-ridden, Mr. Holmes! My poor parish is devil-ridden!" he cried. "Satan himself is loose in it! We are given over into his hands!" He danced about in his agitation, a ludicrous object if it were not for his ashy face and startled eyes. Finally he shot out his terrible news. "Mr. Mortimer Tregennis died during the night, and with exactly the same symptoms as the rest of his family." Holmes sprang to his feet, all energy in an instant. "Can you fit us both into your dog-cart?" "Yes, I can." "Then, Watson, we will postpone our breakfast. Mr. Roundhay, we are entirely at your disposal. Hurry--hurry, before things get disarranged." The lodger occupied two rooms at the vicarage, which were in an angle by themselves, the one above the other. Below was a large sitting-room; above, his bedroom. They looked out upon a croquet lawn which came up to the windows. We had arrived before the doctor or the police, so that everything was absolutely undisturbed. Let me describe exactly the scene as we saw it upon that misty March morning. It has left an impression which can never be effaced from my mind. The atmosphere of the room was of a horrible and depressing stuffiness. The servant who had first entered had thrown up the window, or it would have been even more intolerable. This might partly be due to the fact that a lamp stood flaring and smoking on the centre table. Beside it sat the dead man, leaning back in his chair, his thin beard projecting, his spectacles pushed up on to his forehead, and his lean dark face turned towards the window and twisted into the same distortion of terror which had marked the features of his dead sister. His limbs were convulsed and his fingers contorted as though he had died in a very paroxysm of fear. He was fully clothed, though there were signs that his dressing had been done in a hurry. We had already learned that his bed had been slept in, and that the tragic end had come to him in the early morning. One realized the red-hot energy which underlay Holmes's phlegmatic exterior when one saw the sudden change which came over him from the moment that he entered the fatal apartment. In an instant he was tense and alert, his eyes shining, his face set, his limbs quivering with eager activity. He was out on the lawn, in through the window, round the room, and up into the bedroom, for all the world like a dashing foxhound drawing a cover. In the bedroom he made a rapid cast around and ended by throwing open the window, which appeared to give him some fresh cause for excitement, for he leaned out of it with loud ejaculations of interest and delight. Then he rushed down the stair, out through the open window, threw himself upon his face on the lawn, sprang up and into the room once more, all with the energy of the hunter who is at the very heels of his quarry. The lamp, which was an ordinary standard, he examined with minute care, making certain measurements upon its bowl. He carefully scrutinized with his lens the talc shield which covered the top of the chimney and scraped off some ashes which adhered to its upper surface, putting some of them into an envelope, which he placed in his pocketbook. Finally, just as the doctor and the official police put in an appearance, he beckoned to the vicar and we all three went out upon the lawn. "I am glad to say that my investigation has not been entirely barren," he remarked. "I cannot remain to discuss the matter with the police, but I should be exceedingly obliged, Mr. Roundhay, if you would give the inspector my compliments and direct his attention to the bedroom window and to the sitting-room lamp. Each is suggestive, and together they are almost conclusive. If the police would desire further information I shall be happy to see any of them at the cottage. And now, Watson, I think that, perhaps, we shall be better employed elsewhere." It may be that the police resented the intrusion of an amateur, or that they imagined themselves to be upon some hopeful line of investigation; but it is certain that we heard nothing from them for the next two days. During this time Holmes spent some of his time smoking and dreaming in the cottage; but a greater portion in country walks which he undertook alone, returning after many hours without remark as to where he had been. One experiment served to show me the line of his investigation. He had bought a lamp which was the duplicate of the one which had burned in the room of Mortimer Tregennis on the morning of the tragedy. This he filled with the same oil as that used at the vicarage, and he carefully timed the period which it would take to be exhausted. Another experiment which he made was of a more unpleasant nature, and one which I am not likely ever to forget. "You will remember, Watson," he remarked one afternoon, "that there is a single common point of resemblance in the varying reports which have reached us. This concerns the effect of the atmosphere of the room in each case upon those who had first entered it. You will recollect that Mortimer Tregennis, in describing the episode of his last visit to his brother's house, remarked that the doctor on entering the room fell into a chair? You had forgotten? Well I can answer for it that it was so. Now, you will remember also that Mrs. Porter, the housekeeper, told us that she herself fainted upon entering the room and had afterwards opened the window. In the second case--that of Mortimer Tregennis himself--you cannot have forgotten the horrible stuffiness of the room when we arrived, though the servant had thrown open the window. That servant, I found upon inquiry, was so ill that she had gone to her bed. You will admit, Watson, that these facts are very suggestive. In each case there is evidence of a poisonous atmosphere. In each case, also, there is combustion going on in the room--in the one case a fire, in the other a lamp. The fire was needed, but the lamp was lit--as a comparison of the oil consumed will show--long after it was broad daylight. Why? Surely because there is some connection between three things--the burning, the stuffy atmosphere, and, finally, the madness or death of those unfortunate people. That is clear, is it not?" "It would appear so." "At least we may accept it as a working hypothesis. We will suppose, then, that something was burned in each case which produced an atmosphere causing strange toxic effects. Very good. In the first instance--that of the Tregennis family--this substance was placed in the fire. Now the window was shut, but the fire would naturally carry fumes to some extent up the chimney. Hence one would expect the effects of the poison to be less than in the second case, where there was less escape for the vapour. The result seems to indicate that it was so, since in the first case only the woman, who had presumably the more sensitive organism, was killed, the others exhibiting that temporary or permanent lunacy which is evidently the first effect of the drug. In the second case the result was complete. The facts, therefore, seem to bear out the theory of a poison which worked by combustion. "With this train of reasoning in my head I naturally looked about in Mortimer Tregennis's room to find some remains of this substance. The obvious place to look was the talc shelf or smoke-guard of the lamp. There, sure enough, I perceived a number of flaky ashes, and round the edges a fringe of brownish powder, which had not yet been consumed. Half of this I took, as you saw, and I placed it in an envelope." "Why half, Holmes?" "It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments." They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone. "Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry." "You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you." He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?" "None whatever." "But the cause remains as obscure as before. Come into the arbour here and let us discuss it together. That villainous stuff seems still to linger round my throat. I think we must admit that all the evidence points to this man, Mortimer Tregennis, having been the criminal in the first tragedy, though he was the victim in the second one. We must remember, in the first place, that there is some story of a family quarrel, followed by a reconciliation. How bitter that quarrel may have been, or how hollow the reconciliation we cannot tell. When I think of Mortimer Tregennis, with the foxy face and the small shrewd, beady eyes behind the spectacles, he is not a man whom I should judge to be of a particularly forgiving disposition. Well, in the next place, you will remember that this idea of someone moving in the garden, which took our attention for a moment from the real cause of the tragedy, emanated from him. He had a motive in misleading us. Finally, if he did not throw the substance into the fire at the moment of leaving the room, who did do so? The affair happened immediately after his departure. Had anyone else come in, the family would certainly have risen from the table. Besides, in peaceful Cornwall, visitors did not arrive after ten o'clock at night. We may take it, then, that all the evidence points to Mortimer Tregennis as the culprit." "Then his own death was suicide!" "Well, Watson, it is on the face of it a not impossible supposition. The man who had the guilt upon his soul of having brought such a fate upon his own family might well be driven by remorse to inflict it upon himself. There are, however, some cogent reasons against it. Fortunately, there is one man in England who knows all about it, and I have made arrangements by which we shall hear the facts this afternoon from his own lips. Ah! he is a little before his time. Perhaps you would kindly step this way, Dr. Leon Sterndale. We have been conducing a chemical experiment indoors which has left our little room hardly fit for the reception of so distinguished a visitor." I had heard the click of the garden gate, and now the majestic figure of the great African explorer appeared upon the path. He turned in some surprise towards the rustic arbour in which we sat. "You sent for me, Mr. Holmes. I had your note about an hour ago, and I have come, though I really do not know why I should obey your summons." "Perhaps we can clear the point up before we separate," said Holmes. "Meanwhile, I am much obliged to you for your courteous acquiescence. You will excuse this informal reception in the open air, but my friend Watson and I have nearly furnished an additional chapter to what the papers call the Cornish Horror, and we prefer a clear atmosphere for the present. Perhaps, since the matters which we have to discuss will affect you personally in a very intimate fashion, it is as well that we should talk where there can be no eavesdropping." The explorer took his cigar from his lips and gazed sternly at my companion. "I am at a loss to know, sir," he said, "what you can have to speak about which affects me personally in a very intimate fashion." "The killing of Mortimer Tregennis," said Holmes. For a moment I wished that I were armed. Sterndale's fierce face turned to a dusky red, his eyes glared, and the knotted, passionate veins started out in his forehead, while he sprang forward with clenched hands towards my companion. Then he stopped, and with a violent effort he resumed a cold, rigid calmness, which was, perhaps, more suggestive of danger than his hot-headed outburst. "I have lived so long among savages and beyond the law," said he, "that I have got into the way of being a law to myself. You would do well, Mr. Holmes, not to forget it, for I have no desire to do you an injury." "Nor have I any desire to do you an injury, Dr. Sterndale. Surely the clearest proof of it is that, knowing what I know, I have sent for you and not for the police." Sterndale sat down with a gasp, overawed for, perhaps, the first time in his adventurous life. There was a calm assurance of power in Holmes's manner which could not be withstood. Our visitor stammered for a moment, his great hands opening and shutting in his agitation. "What do you mean?" he asked at last. "If this is bluff upon your part, Mr. Holmes, you have chosen a bad man for your experiment. Let us have no more beating about the bush. What do you mean?" "I will tell you," said Holmes, "and the reason why I tell you is that I hope frankness may beget frankness. What my next step may be will depend entirely upon the nature of your own defence." "My defence?" "Yes, sir." "My defence against what?" "Against the charge of killing Mortimer Tregennis." Sterndale mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Upon my word, you are getting on," said he. "Do all your successes depend upon this prodigious power of bluff?" "The bluff," said Holmes sternly, "is upon your side, Dr. Leon Sterndale, and not upon mine. As a proof I will tell you some of the facts upon which my conclusions are based. Of your return from Plymouth, allowing much of your property to go on to Africa, I will say nothing save that it first informed me that you were one of the factors which had to be taken into account in reconstructing this drama--" "I came back--" "I have heard your reasons and regard them as unconvincing and inadequate. We will pass that. You came down here to ask me whom I suspected. I refused to answer you. You then went to the vicarage, waited outside it for some time, and finally returned to your cottage." "How do you know that?" "I followed you." "I saw no one." "That is what you may expect to see when I follow you. You spent a restless night at your cottage, and you formed certain plans, which in the early morning you proceeded to put into execution. Leaving your door just as day was breaking, you filled your pocket with some reddish gravel that was lying heaped beside your gate." Sterndale gave a violent start and looked at Holmes in amazement. "You then walked swiftly for the mile which separated you from the vicarage. You were wearing, I may remark, the same pair of ribbed tennis shoes which are at the present moment upon your feet. At the vicarage you passed through the orchard and the side hedge, coming out under the window of the lodger Tregennis. It was now daylight, but the household was not yet stirring. You drew some of the gravel from your pocket, and you threw it up at the window above you." Sterndale sprang to his feet. "I believe that you are the devil himself!" he cried. Holmes smiled at the compliment. "It took two, or possibly three, handfuls before the lodger came to the window. You beckoned him to come down. He dressed hurriedly and descended to his sitting-room. You entered by the window. There was an interview--a short one--during which you walked up and down the room. Then you passed out and closed the window, standing on the lawn outside smoking a cigar and watching what occurred. Finally, after the death of Tregennis, you withdrew as you had come. Now, Dr. Sterndale, how do you justify such conduct, and what were the motives for your actions? If you prevaricate or trifle with me, I give you my assurance that the matter will pass out of my hands forever." Our visitor's face had turned ashen gray as he listened to the words of his accuser. Now he sat for some time in thought with his face sunk in his hands. Then with a sudden impulsive gesture he plucked a photograph from his breast-pocket and threw it on the rustic table before us. "That is why I have done it," said he. It showed the bust and face of a very beautiful woman. Holmes stooped over it. "Brenda Tregennis," said he. "Yes, Brenda Tregennis," repeated our visitor. "For years I have loved her. For years she has loved me. There is the secret of that Cornish seclusion which people have marvelled at. It has brought me close to the one thing on earth that was dear to me. I could not marry her, for I have a wife who has left me for years and yet whom, by the deplorable laws of England, I could not divorce. For years Brenda waited. For years I waited. And this is what we have waited for." A terrible sob shook his great frame, and he clutched his throat under his brindled beard. Then with an effort he mastered himself and spoke on: "The vicar knew. He was in our confidence. He would tell you that she was an angel upon earth. That was why he telegraphed to me and I returned. What was my baggage or Africa to me when I learned that such a fate had come upon my darling? There you have the missing clue to my action, Mr. Holmes." "Proceed," said my friend. Dr. Sterndale drew from his pocket a paper packet and laid it upon the table. On the outside was written "Radix pedis diaboli" with a red poison label beneath it. He pushed it towards me. "I understand that you are a doctor, sir. Have you ever heard of this preparation?" "Devil's-foot root! No, I have never heard of it." "It is no reflection upon your professional knowledge," said he, "for I believe that, save for one sample in a laboratory at Buda, there is no other specimen in Europe. It has not yet found its way either into the pharmacopoeia or into the literature of toxicology. The root is shaped like a foot, half human, half goatlike; hence the fanciful name given by a botanical missionary. It is used as an ordeal poison by the medicine-men in certain districts of West Africa and is kept as a secret among them. This particular specimen I obtained under very extraordinary circumstances in the Ubangi country." He opened the paper as he spoke and disclosed a heap of reddish-brown, snuff-like powder. "Well, sir?" asked Holmes sternly. "I am about to tell you, Mr. Holmes, all that actually occurred, for you already know so much that it is clearly to my interest that you should know all. I have already explained the relationship in which I stood to the Tregennis family. For the sake of the sister I was friendly with the brothers. There was a family quarrel about money which estranged this man Mortimer, but it was supposed to be made up, and I afterwards met him as I did the others. He was a sly, subtle, scheming man, and several things arose which gave me a suspicion of him, but I had no cause for any positive quarrel. "One day, only a couple of weeks ago, he came down to my cottage and I showed him some of my African curiosities. Among other things I exhibited this powder, and I told him of its strange properties, how it stimulates those brain centres which control the emotion of fear, and how either madness or death is the fate of the unhappy native who is subjected to the ordeal by the priest of his tribe. I told him also how powerless European science would be to detect it. How he took it I cannot say, for I never left the room, but there is no doubt that it was then, while I was opening cabinets and stooping to boxes, that he managed to abstract some of the devil's-foot root. I well remember how he plied me with questions as to the amount and the time that was needed for its effect, but I little dreamed that he could have a personal reason for asking. "I thought no more of the matter until the vicar's telegram reached me at Plymouth. This villain had thought that I would be at sea before the news could reach me, and that I should be lost for years in Africa. But I returned at once. Of course, I could not listen to the details without feeling assured that my poison had been used. I came round to see you on the chance that some other explanation had suggested itself to you. But there could be none. I was convinced that Mortimer Tregennis was the murderer; that for the sake of money, and with the idea, perhaps, that if the other members of his family were all insane he would be the sole guardian of their joint property, he had used the devil's-foot powder upon them, driven two of them out of their senses, and killed his sister Brenda, the one human being whom I have ever loved or who has ever loved me. There was his crime; what was to be his punishment? "Should I appeal to the law? Where were my proofs? I knew that the facts were true, but could I help to make a jury of countrymen believe so fantastic a story? I might or I might not. But I could not afford to fail. My soul cried out for revenge. I have said to you once before, Mr. Holmes, that I have spent much of my life outside the law, and that I have come at last to be a law to myself. So it was even now. I determined that the fate which he had given to others should be shared by himself. Either that or I would do justice upon him with my own hand. In all England there can be no man who sets less value upon his own life than I do at the present moment. "Now I have told you all. You have yourself supplied the rest. I did, as you say, after a restless night, set off early from my cottage. I foresaw the difficulty of arousing him, so I gathered some gravel from the pile which you have mentioned, and I used it to throw up to his window. He came down and admitted me through the window of the sitting-room. I laid his offence before him. I told him that I had come both as judge and executioner. The wretch sank into a chair, paralyzed at the sight of my revolver. I lit the lamp, put the powder above it, and stood outside the window, ready to carry out my threat to shoot him should he try to leave the room. In five minutes he died. My God! how he died! But my heart was flint, for he endured nothing which my innocent darling had not felt before him. There is my story, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, if you loved a woman, you would have done as much yourself. At any rate, I am in your hands. You can take what steps you like. As I have already said, there is no man living who can fear death less than I do." Holmes sat for some little time in silence. "What were your plans?" he asked at last. "I had intended to bury myself in central Africa. My work there is but half finished." "Go and do the other half," said Holmes. "I, at least, am not prepared to prevent you." Dr. Sterndale raised his giant figure, bowed gravely, and walked from the arbour. Holmes lit his pipe and handed me his pouch. "Some fumes which are not poisonous would be a welcome change," said he. "I think you must agree, Watson, that it is not a case in which we are called upon to interfere. Our investigation has been independent, and our action shall be so also. You would not denounce the man?" "Certainly not," I answered. "I have never loved, Watson, but if I did and if the woman I loved had met such an end, I might act even as our lawless lion-hunter has done. Who knows? Well, Watson, I will not offend your intelligence by explaining what is obvious. The gravel upon the window-sill was, of course, the starting-point of my research. It was unlike anything in the vicarage garden. Only when my attention had been drawn to Dr. Sterndale and his cottage did I find its counterpart. The lamp shining in broad daylight and the remains of powder upon the shield were successive links in a fairly obvious chain. And now, my dear Watson, I think we may dismiss the matter from our mind and go back with a clear conscience to the study of those Chaldean roots which are surely to be traced in the Cornish branch of the great Celtic speech." HIS LAST BOW An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August--the most terrible August in the history of the world. One might have thought already that God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west. Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay. The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk, with the long, low, heavily gabled house behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great chalk cliff in which Von Bork, like some wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. They stood with their heads close together, talking in low, confidential tones. From below the two glowing ends of their cigars might have been the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking down in the darkness. A remarkable man this Von Bork--a man who could hardly be matched among all the devoted agents of the Kaiser. It was his talents which had first recommended him for the English mission, the most important mission of all, but since he had taken it over those talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the world who were really in touch with the truth. One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London. "So far as I can judge the trend of events, you will probably be back in Berlin within the week," the secretary was saying. "When you get there, my dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised at the welcome you will receive. I happen to know what is thought in the highest quarters of your work in this country." He was a huge man, the secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavy fashion of speech which had been his main asset in his political career. Von Bork laughed. "They are not very hard to deceive," he remarked. "A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined." "I don't know about that," said the other thoughtfully. "They have strange limits and one must learn to observe them. It is that surface simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the stranger. One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. They have, for example, their insular conventions which simply must be observed." "Meaning 'good form' and that sort of thing?" Von Bork sighed as one who had suffered much. "Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations. As an example I may quote one of my own worst blunders--I can afford to talk of my blunders, for you know my work well enough to be aware of my successes. It was on my first arrival. I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet." Von Bork nodded. "I've been there," said he dryly. "Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a resume of the information to Berlin. Unfortunately our good chancellor is a little heavy-handed in these matters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that he was aware of what had been said. This, of course, took the trail straight up to me. You've no idea the harm that it did me. There was nothing soft about our British hosts on that occasion, I can assure you. I was two years living it down. Now you, with this sporting pose of yours--" "No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it." "Well, that makes it the more effective. You yacht against them, you hunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game, your four-in-hand takes the prize at Olympia. I have even heard that you go the length of boxing with the young officers. What is the result? Nobody takes you seriously. You are a 'good old sport,' 'quite a decent fellow for a German,' a hard-drinking, night-club, knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork--genius!" "You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?" The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. Von Bork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch of the electric light. He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest. "Some of my papers have gone," said he. "When my wife and the household left yesterday for Flushing they took the less important with them. I must, of course, claim the protection of the embassy for the others." "Your name has already been filed as one of the personal suite. There will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of course, it is just possible that we may not have to go. England may leave France to her fate. We are sure that there is no binding treaty between them." "And Belgium?" "Yes, and Belgium, too." Von Bork shook his head. "I don't see how that could be. There is a definite treaty there. She could never recover from such a humiliation." "She would at least have peace for the moment." "But her honor?" "Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is a mediaeval conception. Besides England is not ready. It is an inconceivable thing, but even our special war tax of fifty million, which one would think made our purpose as clear as if we had advertised it on the front page of the Times, has not roused these people from their slumbers. Here and there one hears a question. It is my business to find an answer. Here and there also there is an irritation. It is my business to soothe it. But I can assure you that so far as the essentials go--the storage of munitions, the preparation for submarine attack, the arrangements for making high explosives--nothing is prepared. How, then, can England come in, especially when we have stirred her up such a devil's brew of Irish civil war, window-breaking Furies, and God knows what to keep her thoughts at home." "She must think of her future." "Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we have our own very definite plans about England, and that your information will be very vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John Bull. If he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. If it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. I should think they would be wiser to fight with allies than without them, but that is their own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But you were speaking of your papers." He sat in the armchair with the light shining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar. The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in the future corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watch chain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavy door. "Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand. The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as "Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes," "Ireland," "Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Channel," "Rosythe," and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans. "Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands. "And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it." He pointed to a space over which "Naval Signals" was printed. "But you have a good dossier there already." "Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron--the worst setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and the good Altamont all will be well to-night." The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation of disappointment. "Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things are moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. Did Altamont name no hour?" Von Bork pushed over a telegram. Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. --Altamont. "Sparking plugs, eh?" "You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals." "From Portsmouth at midday," said the secretary, examining the superscription. "By the way, what do you give him?" "Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has a salary as well." "The greedy rouge. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudge them their blood money." "I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American." "Oh, an Irish-American?" "If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. Sometimes I assure you I can hardly understand him. He seems to have declared war on the King's English as well as on the English king. Must you really go? He may be here any moment." "No. I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shall expect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal book through the little door on the Duke of York's steps you can put a triumphant finis to your record in England. What! Tokay!" He indicated a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with two high glasses upon a salver. "May I offer you a glass before your journey?" "No, thanks. But it looks like revelry." "Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my Tokay. He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. I have to study him, I assure you." They had strolled out on to the terrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. "Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat. "How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be other lights within the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place! The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true. By the way, who is that?" Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood a lamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. "That is Martha, the only servant I have left." The secretary chuckled. "She might almost personify Britannia," said he, "with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, au revoir, Von Bork!" With a final wave of his hand he sprang into the car, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shot through the darkness. The secretary lay back in the cushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impending European tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung round the village street it nearly passed over a little Ford coming in the opposite direction. Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams of the motor lamps had faded into the distance. As he passed he observed that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired. It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. There was a good deal of tidying up to do inside his study and he set himself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat of the burning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table, and into this he began to pack very neatly and systematically the precious contents of his safe. He had hardly got started with the work, however, when his quick ears caught the sounds of a distant car. Instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out on to the terrace. He was just in time to see the lights of a small car come to a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang out of it and advanced swiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderly man with a gray moustache, settled down like one who resigns himself to a long vigil. "Well?" asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet his visitor. For answer the man waved a small brown-paper parcel triumphantly above his head. "You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister," he cried. "I'm bringing home the bacon at last." "The signals?" "Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi--a copy, mind you, not the original. That was too dangerous. But it's the real goods, and you can lay to that." He slapped the German upon the shoulder with a rough familiarity from which the other winced. "Come in," he said. "I'm all alone in the house. I was only waiting for this. Of course a copy is better than the original. If an original were missing they would change the whole thing. You think it's all safe about the copy?" The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it. "Making ready for a move?" he remarked as he looked round him. "Say, mister," he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from which the curtain was now removed, "you don't tell me you keep your papers in that?" "Why not?" "Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! And they reckon you to be some spy. Why, a Yankee crook would be into that with a can-opener. If I'd known that any letter of mine was goin' to lie loose in a thing like that I'd have been a mug to write to you at all." "It would puzzle any crook to force that safe," Von Bork answered. "You won't cut that metal with any tool." "But the lock?" "No, it's a double combination lock. You know what that is?" "Search me," said the American. "Well, you need a word as well as a set of figures before you can get the lock to work." He rose and showed a double-radiating disc round the keyhole. "This outer one is for the letters, the inner one for the figures." "Well, well, that's fine." "So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?" "It's beyond me." "Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are." The American's face showed his surprise and admiration. "My, but that was smart! You had it down to a fine thing." "Yes, a few of us even then could have guessed the date. Here it is, and I'm shutting down to-morrow morning." "Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm not staying is this gol-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less, from what I see, John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. I'd rather watch him from over the water." "But you're an American citizen?" "Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, but he's doing time in Portland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copper to tell him you're an American citizen. 'It's British law and order over here,' says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men." "What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply. "Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to see that they don't fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? There's James--" "It was James's own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed for the job." "James was a bonehead--I give you that. Then there was Hollis." "The man was mad." "Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. It's enough to make a man bug-house when he has to play a part from morning to night with a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. But now there is Steiner--" Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shade paler. "What about Steiner?" "Well, they've got him, that's all. They raided his store last night, and he and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. You'll go off and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets off with his life. That's why I want to get over the water as soon as you do." Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see that the news had shaken him. "How could they have got on to Steiner?" he muttered. "That's the worst blow yet." "Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are not far off me." "You don't mean that!" "Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way had some inquiries, and when I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things? Steiner is the fifth man you've lost since I signed on with you, and I know the name of the sixth if I don't get a move on. How do you explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men go down like this?" Von Bork flushed crimson. "How dare you speak in such a way!" "If I didn't dare things, mister, I wouldn't be in your service. But I'll tell you straight what is in my mind. I've heard that with you German politicians when an agent has done his work you are not sorry to see him put away." Von Bork sprang to his feet. "Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my own agents!" "I don't stand for that, mister, but there's a stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it's up to you to find out where it is. Anyhow I am taking no more chances. It's me for little Holland, and the sooner the better." Von Bork had mastered his anger. "We have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour of victory," he said. "You've done splendid work and taken risks, and I can't forget it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a boat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line will be safe a week from now. I'll take that book and pack it with the rest." The American held the small parcel in his hand, but made no motion to give it up. "What about the dough?" he asked. "The what?" "The boodle. The reward. The £500. The gunner turned damned nasty at the last, and I had to square him with an extra hundred dollars or it would have been nitsky for you and me. 'Nothin' doin'!' says he, and he meant it, too, but the last hundred did it. It's cost me two hundred pound from first to last, so it isn't likely I'd give it up without gettin' my wad." Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of my honour," said he, "you want the money before you give up the book." "Well, mister, it is a business proposition." "All right. Have your way." He sat down at the table and scribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrained from handing it to his companion. "After all, since we are to be on such terms, Mr. Altamont," said he, "I don't see why I should trust you any more than you trust me. Do you understand?" he added, looking back over his shoulder at the American. "There's the check upon the table. I claim the right to examine that parcel before you pick the money up." The American passed it over without a word. Von Bork undid a winding of string and two wrappers of paper. Then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face. "Another glass, Watson!" said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay. The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness. "It is a good wine, Holmes." "A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon the sofa has assured me that it is from Franz Josef's special cellar at the Schoenbrunn Palace. Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroform vapour does not help the palate." The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it was removing dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and then packing it neatly in Von Bork's valise. The German lay upon the sofa sleeping stertorously with a strap round his upper arms and another round his legs. "We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe from interruption. Would you mind touching the bell? There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration. I got her the situation here when first I took the matter up. Ah, Martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well." The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. She curtseyed with a smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at the figure upon the sofa. "It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at all." "I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to his lights he has been a kind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germany yesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir?" "No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in my mind. We waited some time for your signal to-night." "It was the secretary, sir." "I know. His car passed ours." "I thought he would never go. I knew that it would not suit your plans, sir, to find him here." "No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or so until I saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. You can report to me to-morrow in London, Martha, at Claridge's Hotel." "Very good, sir." "I suppose you have everything ready to leave." "Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have the addresses as usual." "Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Good-night. These papers," he continued as the old lady vanished, "are not of very great importance, for, of course, the information which they represent has been sent off long ago to the German government. These are the originals which cold not safely be got out of the country." "Then they are of no use." "I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will at least show our people what is known and what is not. I may say that a good many of these papers have come through me, and I need not add are thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my declining years to see a German cruiser navigating the Solent according to the mine-field plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson"--he stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders--"I've hardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever." "I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes--you have changed very little--save for that horrible goatee." "These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson," said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. "To-morrow it will be but a dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial changes I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt--I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled--before this American job came my way." "But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs." "Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen. "Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London." "But how did you get to work again?" "Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Minister alone I could have withstood, but when the Premier also deigned to visit my humble roof--! The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of some strong and secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man, you will realize that the matter was complex. Since then I have been honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I watched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope that you are none the worse!" The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and swore. "Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages," he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. "Hullo! Hullo!" he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "This should put another bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him. Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for." The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor. "I shall get level with you, Altamont," he said, speaking with slow deliberation. "If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!" "The old sweet song," said Holmes. "How often have I heard it in days gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs." "Curse you, you double traitor!" cried the German, straining against his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes. "No, no, it is not so bad as that," said Holmes, smiling. "As my speech surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence in fact. I used him and he is gone." "Then who are you?" "It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good deal of business in Germany in the past and my name is probably familiar to you." "I would wish to know it," said the Prussian grimly. "It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler and the late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the Imperial Envoy. It was I also who saved from murder, by the Nihilist Klopman, Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, who was your mother's elder brother. It was I--" Von Bork sat up in amazement. "There is only one man," he cried. "Exactly," said Holmes. Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. "And most of that information came through you," he cried. "What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!" "It is certainly a little untrustworthy," said Holmes. "It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster." Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair. "There are a good many other points of detail which will, no doubt, come to light in good time. But you have one quality which is very rare in a German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and you will bear me no ill-will when you realize that you, who have outwitted so many other people, have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you have done your best for your country, and I have done my best for mine, and what could be more natural? Besides," he added, not unkindly, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, "it is better than to fall before some ignoble foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. If you will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started for London at once." It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and a desperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked him very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with such proud confidence when he received the congratulations of the famous diplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final struggle he was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat of the little car. His precious valise was wedged in beside him. "I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit," said Holmes when the final arrangements were made. "Should I be guilty of a liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your lips?" But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German. "I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he, "that if your government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war." "What about your government and all this treatment?" said Holmes, tapping the valise. "You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my arrest. The whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous." "Absolutely," said Holmes. "Kidnapping a German subject." "And stealing his private papers." "Well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here. If I were to shout for help as we pass through the village--" "My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us 'The Dangling Prussian' as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend, Baron Von Herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place which he has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you, Watson, you are joining us with your old service, as I understand, so London won't be out of your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have." The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the car Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head. "There's an east wind coming, Watson." "I think not, Holmes. It is very warm." "Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it's time that we were on our way. I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can." ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/input.txt ================================================ First Citizen: Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. All: Speak, speak. First Citizen: You are all resolved rather to die than to famish? All: Resolved. resolved. First Citizen: First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people. All: We know't, we know't. First Citizen: Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price. Is't a verdict? All: No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away! Second Citizen: One word, good citizens. First Citizen: We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. What authority surfeits on would relieve us: if they would yield us but the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear: the leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularise their abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. Second Citizen: Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? All: Against him first: he's a very dog to the commonalty. Second Citizen: Consider you what services he has done for his country? First Citizen: Very well; and could be content to give him good report fort, but that he pays himself with being proud. Second Citizen: Nay, but speak not maliciously. First Citizen: I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did it to that end: though soft-conscienced men can be content to say it was for his country he did it to please his mother and to be partly proud; which he is, even till the altitude of his virtue. Second Citizen: What he cannot help in his nature, you account a vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous. First Citizen: If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. What shouts are these? The other side o' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All: Come, come. First Citizen: Soft! who comes here? Second Citizen: Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved the people. First Citizen: He's one honest enough: would all the rest were so! MENENIUS: What work's, my countrymen, in hand? where go you With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray you. First Citizen: Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths: they shall know we have strong arms too. MENENIUS: Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, Will you undo yourselves? First Citizen: We cannot, sir, we are undone already. MENENIUS: I tell you, friends, most charitable care Have the patricians of you. For your wants, Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them Against the Roman state, whose course will on The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs Of more strong link asunder than can ever Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, The gods, not the patricians, make it, and Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, You are transported by calamity Thither where more attends you, and you slander The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers, When you curse them as enemies. First Citizen: Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, and their store-houses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear us. MENENIUS: Either you must Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it; But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture To stale 't a little more. First Citizen: Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an 't please you, deliver. MENENIUS: There was a time when all the body's members Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And, mutually participate, did minister Unto the appetite and affection common Of the whole body. The belly answer'd-- First Citizen: Well, sir, what answer made the belly? MENENIUS: Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile, Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus-- For, look you, I may make the belly smile As well as speak--it tauntingly replied To the discontented members, the mutinous parts That envied his receipt; even so most fitly As you malign our senators for that They are not such as you. First Citizen: Your belly's answer? What! The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter. With other muniments and petty helps In this our fabric, if that they-- MENENIUS: What then? 'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then? First Citizen: Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the body,-- MENENIUS: Well, what then? First Citizen: The former agents, if they did complain, What could the belly answer? MENENIUS: I will tell you If you'll bestow a small--of what you have little-- Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen: Ye're long about it. MENENIUS: Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he, 'That I receive the general food at first, Which you do live upon; and fit it is, Because I am the store-house and the shop Of the whole body: but, if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood, Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain; And, through the cranks and offices of man, The strongest nerves and small inferior veins From me receive that natural competency Whereby they live: and though that all at once, You, my good friends,'--this says the belly, mark me,-- First Citizen: Ay, sir; well, well. MENENIUS: 'Though all at once cannot See what I do deliver out to each, Yet I can make my audit up, that all From me do back receive the flour of all, And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't? First Citizen: It was an answer: how apply you this? MENENIUS: The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members; for examine Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find No public benefit which you receive But it proceeds or comes from them to you And no way from yourselves. What do you think, You, the great toe of this assembly? First Citizen: I the great toe! why the great toe? MENENIUS: For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, Lead'st first to win some vantage. But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs: Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; The one side must have bale. Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS: Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues, That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, Make yourselves scabs? First Citizen: We have ever your good word. MARCIUS: He that will give good words to thee will flatter Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs, That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is To make him worthy whose offence subdues him And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust Ye? With every minute you do change a mind, And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter, That in these several places of the city You cry against the noble senate, who, Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? MENENIUS: For corn at their own rates; whereof, they say, The city is well stored. MARCIUS: Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise, Who thrives and who declines; side factions and give out Conjectural marriages; making parties strong And feebling such as stand not in their liking Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough! Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, And let me use my sword, I'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high As I could pick my lance. MENENIUS: Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded; For though abundantly they lack discretion, Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, What says the other troop? MARCIUS: They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs, That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not Corn for the rich men only: with these shreds They vented their complainings; which being answer'd, And a petition granted them, a strange one-- To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale--they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS: What is granted them? MARCIUS: Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms, Of their own choice: one's Junius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know not--'Sdeath! The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS: This is strange. MARCIUS: Go, get you home, you fragments! Messenger: Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS: Here: what's the matter? Messenger: The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS: I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. First Senator: Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS: They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS: You have fought together. MARCIUS: Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator: Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS: It is your former promise. MARCIUS: Sir, it is; And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. What, art thou stiff? stand'st out? TITUS: No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS: O, true-bred! First Senator: Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS: COMINIUS: Noble Marcius! First Senator: MARCIUS: Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. SICINIUS: Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS: He has no equal. SICINIUS: When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS: Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS: Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS: Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS: Be-mock the modest moon. BRUTUS: The present wars devour him: he is grown Too proud to be so valiant. SICINIUS: Such a nature, Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow Which he treads on at noon: but I do wonder His insolence can brook to be commanded Under Cominius. BRUTUS: Fame, at the which he aims, In whom already he's well graced, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS: Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS: Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed In aught he merit not. SICINIUS: Let's hence, and hear How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, More than his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS: Lets along. First Senator: So, your opinion is, Aufidius, That they of Rome are entered in our counsels And know how we proceed. AUFIDIUS: Is it not yours? What ever have been thought on in this state, That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think I have the letter here; yes, here it is. 'They have press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, These three lead on this preparation Whither 'tis bent: most likely 'tis for you: Consider of it.' First Senator: Our army's in the field We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready To answer us. AUFIDIUS: Nor did you think it folly To keep your great pretences veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was To take in many towns ere almost Rome Should know we were afoot. Second Senator: Noble Aufidius, Take your commission; hie you to your bands: Let us alone to guard Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring your army; but, I think, you'll find They've not prepared for us. AUFIDIUS: O, doubt not that; I speak from certainties. Nay, more, Some parcels of their power are forth already, And only hitherward. I leave your honours. If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike Till one can do no more. All: The gods assist you! AUFIDIUS: And keep your honours safe! First Senator: Farewell. Second Senator: Farewell. All: Farewell. VOLUMNIA: I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a more comfortable sort: if my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way, when for a day of kings' entreaties a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding, I, considering how honour would become such a person. that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man. VIRGILIA: But had he died in the business, madam; how then? VOLUMNIA: Then his good report should have been my son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. Gentlewoman: Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. VIRGILIA: Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. VOLUMNIA: Indeed, you shall not. Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum, See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair, As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him: Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: 'Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear, Though you were born in Rome:' his bloody brow With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow Or all or lose his hire. VIRGILIA: His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood! VOLUMNIA: Away, you fool! it more becomes a man Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba, When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria, We are fit to bid her welcome. VIRGILIA: Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! VOLUMNIA: He'll beat Aufidius 'head below his knee And tread upon his neck. VALERIA: My ladies both, good day to you. VOLUMNIA: Sweet madam. VIRGILIA: I am glad to see your ladyship. VALERIA: How do you both? you are manifest house-keepers. What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little son? VIRGILIA: I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. VOLUMNIA: He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his school-master. VALERIA: O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear,'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together: has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly: and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and again; catched it again; or whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it; O, I warrant it, how he mammocked it! VOLUMNIA: One on 's father's moods. VALERIA: Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. VIRGILIA: A crack, madam. VALERIA: Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle husewife with me this afternoon. VIRGILIA: No, good madam; I will not out of doors. VALERIA: Not out of doors! VOLUMNIA: She shall, she shall. VIRGILIA: Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold till my lord return from the wars. VALERIA: Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably: come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. VIRGILIA: I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. VOLUMNIA: Why, I pray you? VIRGILIA: 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. VALERIA: You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. VIRGILIA: No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. VALERIA: In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. VIRGILIA: O, good madam, there can be none yet. VALERIA: Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night. VIRGILIA: Indeed, madam? VALERIA: In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is: the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord and Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. VIRGILIA: Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. VOLUMNIA: Let her alone, lady: as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. VALERIA: In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door. and go along with us. VIRGILIA: No, at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. I wish you much mirth. VALERIA: Well, then, farewell. MARCIUS: Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS: My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS: 'Tis done. LARTIUS: Agreed. MARCIUS: Say, has our general met the enemy? Messenger: They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet. LARTIUS: So, the good horse is mine. MARCIUS: I'll buy him of you. LARTIUS: No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will For half a hundred years. Summon the town. MARCIUS: How far off lie these armies? Messenger: Within this mile and half. MARCIUS: Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, That we with smoking swords may march from hence, To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator: No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Hark! our drums Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls, Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, Which yet seem shut, we, have but pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS: O, they are at it! LARTIUS: Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! MARCIUS: They fear us not, but issue forth their city. Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus: They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows: He that retires I'll take him for a Volsce, And he shall feel mine edge. MARCIUS: All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--Boils and plagues Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen and one infect another Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home, Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe And make my wars on you: look to't: come on; If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, As they us to our trenches followed. So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds: 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like. First Soldier: Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier: Nor I. First Soldier: See, they have shut him in. All: To the pot, I warrant him. LARTIUS: What is become of Marcius? All: Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier: Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone, To answer all the city. LARTIUS: O noble fellow! Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. First Soldier: Look, sir. LARTIUS: O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. First Roman: This will I carry to Rome. Second Roman: And I this. Third Roman: A murrain on't! I took this for silver. MARCIUS: See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons, Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: down with them! And hark, what noise the general makes! To him! There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take Convenient numbers to make good the city; Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste To help Cominius. LARTIUS: Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; Thy exercise hath been too violent for A second course of fight. MARCIUS: Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd me: fare you well: The blood I drop is rather physical Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus I will appear, and fight. LARTIUS: Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, Prosperity be thy page! MARCIUS: Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS: Thou worthiest Marcius! Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the town, Where they shall know our mind: away! COMINIUS: Breathe you, my friends: well fought; we are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs, We shall be charged again. Whiles we have struck, By interims and conveying gusts we have heard The charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Thy news? Messenger: The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS: Though thou speak'st truth, Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? Messenger: Above an hour, my lord. COMINIUS: 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums: How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, And bring thy news so late? Messenger: Spies of the Volsces Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel Three or four miles about, else had I, sir, Half an hour since brought my report. COMINIUS: Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS: COMINIUS: The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. MARCIUS: Come I too late? COMINIUS: Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS: O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS: Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS: As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, To let him slip at will. COMINIUS: Where is that slave Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? Where is he? call him hither. MARCIUS: Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS: But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS: Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS: Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS: How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS: As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS: I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the vows We have made to endure friends, that you directly Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates; And that you not delay the present, but, Filling the air with swords advanced and darts, We prove this very hour. COMINIUS: Though I could wish You were conducted to a gentle bath And balms applied to, you, yet dare I never Deny your asking: take your choice of those That best can aid your action. MARCIUS: Those are they That most are willing. If any such be here-- As it were sin to doubt--that love this painting Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear Lesser his person than an ill report; If any think brave death outweighs bad life And that his country's dearer than himself; Let him alone, or so many so minded, Wave thus, to express his disposition, And follow Marcius. O, me alone! make you a sword of me? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Volsces? none of you but is Able to bear against the great Aufidius A shield as hard as his. A certain number, Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the rest Shall bear the business in some other fight, As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; And four shall quickly draw out my command, Which men are best inclined. COMINIUS: March on, my fellows: Make good this ostentation, and you shall Divide in all with us. LARTIUS: So, let the ports be guarded: keep your duties, As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch Those centuries to our aid: the rest will serve For a short holding: if we lose the field, We cannot keep the town. Lieutenant: Fear not our care, sir. LARTIUS: Hence, and shut your gates upon's. Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. MARCIUS: I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. AUFIDIUS: We hate alike: Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. MARCIUS: Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS: If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS: Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS: Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. COMINIUS: If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the dull tribunes, That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods Our Rome hath such a soldier.' Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast, Having fully dined before. LARTIUS: O general, Here is the steed, we the caparison: Hadst thou beheld-- MARCIUS: Pray now, no more: my mother, Who has a charter to extol her blood, When she does praise me grieves me. I have done As you have done; that's what I can; induced As you have been; that's for my country: He that has but effected his good will Hath overta'en mine act. COMINIUS: You shall not be The grave of your deserving; Rome must know The value of her own: 'twere a concealment Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, To hide your doings; and to silence that, Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you In sign of what you are, not to reward What you have done--before our army hear me. MARCIUS: I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. COMINIUS: Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all The treasure in this field achieved and city, We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth, Before the common distribution, at Your only choice. MARCIUS: I thank you, general; But cannot make my heart consent to take A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it; And stand upon my common part with those That have beheld the doing. MARCIUS: May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.-- Which, without note, here's many else have done,-- You shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I loved my little should be dieted In praises sauced with lies. COMINIUS: Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report than grateful To us that give you truly: by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you, Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles, Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland: in token of the which, My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging; and from this time, For what he did before Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! All: Caius Marcius Coriolanus! CORIOLANUS: I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you. I mean to stride your steed, and at all times To undercrest your good addition To the fairness of my power. COMINIUS: So, to our tent; Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their own good and ours. LARTIUS: I shall, my lord. CORIOLANUS: The gods begin to mock me. I, that now Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. COMINIUS: Take't; 'tis yours. What is't? CORIOLANUS: I sometime lay here in Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS: O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS: Marcius, his name? CORIOLANUS: By Jupiter! forgot. I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. Have we no wine here? COMINIUS: Go we to our tent: The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time It should be look'd to: come. AUFIDIUS: The town is ta'en! First Soldier: 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. AUFIDIUS: Condition! I would I were a Roman; for I cannot, Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition! What good condition can a treaty find I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee: so often hast thou beat me, And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat. By the elements, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, He's mine, or I am his: mine emulation Hath not that honour in't it had; for where I thought to crush him in an equal force, True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way Or wrath or craft may get him. First Soldier: He's the devil. AUFIDIUS: Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering stain by him; for him Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier: Will not you go? AUFIDIUS: I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier: I shall, sir. MENENIUS: The augurer tells me we shall have news to-night. BRUTUS: Good or bad? MENENIUS: Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS: Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS: Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS: The lamb. MENENIUS: Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS: He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS: He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both: Well, sir. MENENIUS: In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS: He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. SICINIUS: Especially in pride. BRUTUS: And topping all others in boasting. MENENIUS: This is strange now: do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right-hand file? do you? Both: Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS: Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both: Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS: Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS: We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS: I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS: What then, sir? MENENIUS: Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome. SICINIUS: Menenius, you are known well enough too. MENENIUS: I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning: what I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are--I cannot call you Lycurguses--if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS: Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS: You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. BRUTUS: Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. MENENIUS: Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA: Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS: Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA: Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS: Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA: Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA: Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS: I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA: Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS: A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA: O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA: O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS: So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA: On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS: Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? VOLUMNIA: Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Aufidius got off. MENENIUS: And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: an he had stayed by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed of this? VOLUMNIA: Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war: he hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly VALERIA: In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him. MENENIUS: Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. VIRGILIA: The gods grant them true! VOLUMNIA: True! pow, wow. MENENIUS: True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA: I' the shoulder and i' the left arm there will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. MENENIUS: One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA: He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS: Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA: These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. Herald: Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! All: Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! CORIOLANUS: No more of this; it does offend my heart: Pray now, no more. COMINIUS: Look, sir, your mother! CORIOLANUS: O, You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! VOLUMNIA: Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly named,-- What is it?--Coriolanus must I call thee?-- But O, thy wife! CORIOLANUS: My gracious silence, hail! Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, And mothers that lack sons. MENENIUS: Now, the gods crown thee! CORIOLANUS: And live you yet? O my sweet lady, pardon. VOLUMNIA: I know not where to turn: O, welcome home: And welcome, general: and ye're welcome all. MENENIUS: A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome. A curse begin at very root on's heart, That is not glad to see thee! You are three That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of men, We have some old crab-trees here at home that will not Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors: We call a nettle but a nettle and The faults of fools but folly. COMINIUS: Ever right. CORIOLANUS: Menenius ever, ever. Herald: Give way there, and go on! CORIOLANUS: VOLUMNIA: I have lived To see inherited my very wishes And the buildings of my fancy: only There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but Our Rome will cast upon thee. CORIOLANUS: Know, good mother, I had rather be their servant in my way, Than sway with them in theirs. COMINIUS: On, to the Capitol! BRUTUS: All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him: your prattling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry While she chats him: the kitchen malkin pins Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges horsed With variable complexions, all agreeing In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens Do press among the popular throngs and puff To win a vulgar station: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily crept into his human powers And gave him graceful posture. SICINIUS: On the sudden, I warrant him consul. BRUTUS: Then our office may, During his power, go sleep. SICINIUS: He cannot temperately transport his honours From where he should begin and end, but will Lose those he hath won. BRUTUS: In that there's comfort. SICINIUS: Doubt not The commoners, for whom we stand, but they Upon their ancient malice will forget With the least cause these his new honours, which That he will give them make I as little question As he is proud to do't. BRUTUS: I heard him swear, Were he to stand for consul, never would he Appear i' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the people, beg their stinking breaths. SICINIUS: 'Tis right. BRUTUS: It was his word: O, he would miss it rather Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him, And the desire of the nobles. SICINIUS: I wish no better Than have him hold that purpose and to put it In execution. BRUTUS: 'Tis most like he will. SICINIUS: It shall be to him then as our good wills, A sure destruction. BRUTUS: So it must fall out To him or our authorities. For an end, We must suggest the people in what hatred He still hath held them; that to's power he would Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders and Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them, In human action and capacity, Of no more soul nor fitness for the world Than camels in the war, who have their provand Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows For sinking under them. SICINIUS: This, as you say, suggested At some time when his soaring insolence Shall touch the people--which time shall not want, If he be put upon 't; and that's as easy As to set dogs on sheep--will be his fire To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze Shall darken him for ever. BRUTUS: What's the matter? Messenger: You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought That Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended, As to Jove's statue, and the commons made A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts: I never saw the like. BRUTUS: Let's to the Capitol; And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS: Have with you. First Officer: Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer: Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one Coriolanus will carry it. First Officer: That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people. Second Officer: Faith, there had been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground: therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition; and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see't. First Officer: If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm: but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than can render it him; and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. Second Officer: He hath deserved worthily of his country: and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an into their estimation and report: but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. First Officer: No more of him; he is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. MENENIUS: Having determined of the Volsces and To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, As the main point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his noble service that Hath thus stood for his country: therefore, please you, Most reverend and grave elders, to desire The present consul, and last general In our well-found successes, to report A little of that worthy work perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. First Senator: Speak, good Cominius: Leave nothing out for length, and make us think Rather our state's defective for requital Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the people, We do request your kindest ears, and after, Your loving motion toward the common body, To yield what passes here. SICINIUS: We are convented Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts Inclinable to honour and advance The theme of our assembly. BRUTUS: Which the rather We shall be blest to do, if he remember A kinder value of the people than He hath hereto prized them at. MENENIUS: That's off, that's off; I would you rather had been silent. Please you To hear Cominius speak? BRUTUS: Most willingly; But yet my caution was more pertinent Than the rebuke you give it. MENENIUS: He loves your people But tie him not to be their bedfellow. Worthy Cominius, speak. Nay, keep your place. First Senator: Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS: Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS: Sir, I hope My words disbench'd you not. CORIOLANUS: No, sir: yet oft, When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. You soothed not, therefore hurt not: but your people, I love them as they weigh. MENENIUS: Pray now, sit down. CORIOLANUS: I had rather have one scratch my head i' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. MENENIUS: Masters of the people, Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter-- That's thousand to one good one--when you now see He had rather venture all his limbs for honour Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius. COMINIUS: I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held That valour is the chiefest virtue, and Most dignifies the haver: if it be, The man I speak of cannot in the world Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years, When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator, Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, When with his Amazonian chin he drove The bristled lips before him: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the consul's view Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met, And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats, When he might act the woman in the scene, He proved best man i' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd And fell below his stem: his sword, death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli like a planet: now all's his: When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he; where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting. MENENIUS: Worthy man! First Senator: He cannot but with measure fit the honours Which we devise him. COMINIUS: Our spoils he kick'd at, And look'd upon things precious as they were The common muck of the world: he covets less Than misery itself would give; rewards His deeds with doing them, and is content To spend the time to end it. MENENIUS: He's right noble: Let him be call'd for. First Senator: Call Coriolanus. Officer: He doth appear. MENENIUS: The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased To make thee consul. CORIOLANUS: I do owe them still My life and services. MENENIUS: It then remains That you do speak to the people. CORIOLANUS: I do beseech you, Let me o'erleap that custom, for I cannot Put on the gown, stand naked and entreat them, For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: please you That I may pass this doing. SICINIUS: Sir, the people Must have their voices; neither will they bate One jot of ceremony. MENENIUS: Put them not to't: Pray you, go fit you to the custom and Take to you, as your predecessors have, Your honour with your form. CORIOLANUS: It is apart That I shall blush in acting, and might well Be taken from the people. BRUTUS: Mark you that? CORIOLANUS: To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus; Show them the unaching scars which I should hide, As if I had received them for the hire Of their breath only! MENENIUS: Do not stand upon't. We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, Our purpose to them: and to our noble consul Wish we all joy and honour. Senators: To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! BRUTUS: You see how he intends to use the people. SICINIUS: May they perceive's intent! He will require them, As if he did contemn what he requested Should be in them to give. BRUTUS: Come, we'll inform them Of our proceedings here: on the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. First Citizen: Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. Second Citizen: We may, sir, if we will. Third Citizen: We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude: of the which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. First Citizen: And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude. Third Citizen: We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o' the compass. Second Citizen: Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly? Third Citizen: Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will;'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head, but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. Second Citizen: Why that way? Third Citizen: To lose itself in a fog, where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife. Second Citizen: You are never without your tricks: you may, you may. Third Citizen: Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man. Here he comes, and in the gown of humility: mark his behavior. We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his requests by particulars; wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All: Content, content. MENENIUS: O sir, you are not right: have you not known The worthiest men have done't? CORIOLANUS: What must I say? 'I Pray, sir'--Plague upon't! I cannot bring My tongue to such a pace:--'Look, sir, my wounds! I got them in my country's service, when Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran From the noise of our own drums.' MENENIUS: O me, the gods! You must not speak of that: you must desire them To think upon you. CORIOLANUS: Think upon me! hang 'em! I would they would forget me, like the virtues Which our divines lose by 'em. MENENIUS: You'll mar all: I'll leave you: pray you, speak to 'em, I pray you, In wholesome manner. CORIOLANUS: Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace. You know the cause, air, of my standing here. Third Citizen: We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't. CORIOLANUS: Mine own desert. Second Citizen: Your own desert! CORIOLANUS: Ay, but not mine own desire. Third Citizen: How not your own desire? CORIOLANUS: No, sir,'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging. Third Citizen: You must think, if we give you any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS: Well then, I pray, your price o' the consulship? First Citizen: The price is to ask it kindly. CORIOLANUS: Kindly! Sir, I pray, let me ha't: I have wounds to show you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what say you? Second Citizen: You shall ha' it, worthy sir. CORIOLANUS: A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begged. I have your alms: adieu. Third Citizen: But this is something odd. Second Citizen: An 'twere to give again,--but 'tis no matter. CORIOLANUS: Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. Fourth Citizen: You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly. CORIOLANUS: Your enigma? Fourth Citizen: You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends; you have not indeed loved the common people. CORIOLANUS: You should account me the more virtuous that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a condition they account gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. Fifth Citizen: We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give you our voices heartily. Fourth Citizen: You have received many wounds for your country. CORIOLANUS: I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further. Both Citizens: The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! CORIOLANUS: Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't: What custom wills, in all things should we do't, The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heapt For truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it so, Let the high office and the honour go To one that would do thus. I am half through; The one part suffer'd, the other will I do. Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd for your voices; for Your voices bear Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six I have seen and heard of; for your voices have Done many things, some less, some more your voices: Indeed I would be consul. Sixth Citizen: He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man's voice. Seventh Citizen: Therefore let him be consul: the gods give him joy, and make him good friend to the people! All Citizens: Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! CORIOLANUS: Worthy voices! MENENIUS: You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes Endue you with the people's voice: remains That, in the official marks invested, you Anon do meet the senate. CORIOLANUS: Is this done? SICINIUS: The custom of request you have discharged: The people do admit you, and are summon'd To meet anon, upon your approbation. CORIOLANUS: Where? at the senate-house? SICINIUS: There, Coriolanus. CORIOLANUS: May I change these garments? SICINIUS: You may, sir. CORIOLANUS: That I'll straight do; and, knowing myself again, Repair to the senate-house. MENENIUS: I'll keep you company. Will you along? BRUTUS: We stay here for the people. SICINIUS: Fare you well. He has it now, and by his looks methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS: With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? SICINIUS: How now, my masters! have you chose this man? First Citizen: He has our voices, sir. BRUTUS: We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. Second Citizen: Amen, sir: to my poor unworthy notice, He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. Third Citizen: Certainly He flouted us downright. First Citizen: No,'tis his kind of speech: he did not mock us. Second Citizen: Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says He used us scornfully: he should have show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS: Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens: No, no; no man saw 'em. Third Citizen: He said he had wounds, which he could show in private; And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 'I would be consul,' says he: 'aged custom, But by your voices, will not so permit me; Your voices therefore.' When we granted that, Here was 'I thank you for your voices: thank you: Your most sweet voices: now you have left your voices, I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery? SICINIUS: Why either were you ignorant to see't, Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness To yield your voices? BRUTUS: Could you not have told him As you were lesson'd, when he had no power, But was a petty servant to the state, He was your enemy, ever spake against Your liberties and the charters that you bear I' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might Be curses to yourselves? You should have said That as his worthy deeds did claim no less Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature Would think upon you for your voices and Translate his malice towards you into love, Standing your friendly lord. SICINIUS: Thus to have said, As you were fore-advised, had touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd him unelected. BRUTUS: Did you perceive He did solicit you in free contempt When he did need your loves, and do you think That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies No heart among you? or had you tongues to cry Against the rectorship of judgment? SICINIUS: Have you Ere now denied the asker? and now again Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow Your sued-for tongues? Third Citizen: He's not confirm'd; we may deny him yet. Second Citizen: And will deny him: I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. First Citizen: I twice five hundred and their friends to piece 'em. BRUTUS: Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends, They have chose a consul that will from them take Their liberties; make them of no more voice Than dogs that are as often beat for barking As therefore kept to do so. SICINIUS: Let them assemble, And on a safer judgment all revoke Your ignorant election; enforce his pride, And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not With what contempt he wore the humble weed, How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The apprehension of his present portance, Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion After the inveterate hate he bears you. BRUTUS: Lay A fault on us, your tribunes; that we laboured, No impediment between, but that you must Cast your election on him. SICINIUS: Say, you chose him More after our commandment than as guided By your own true affections, and that your minds, Preoccupied with what you rather must do Than what you should, made you against the grain To voice him consul: lay the fault on us. BRUTUS: Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you. How youngly he began to serve his country, How long continued, and what stock he springs of, The noble house o' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And Twice being Was his great ancestor. SICINIUS: One thus descended, That hath beside well in his person wrought To be set high in place, we did commend To your remembrances: but you have found, Scaling his present bearing with his past, That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke Your sudden approbation. BRUTUS: Say, you ne'er had done't-- Harp on that still--but by our putting on; And presently, when you have drawn your number, Repair to the Capitol. All: We will so: almost all Repent in their election. BRUTUS: Let them go on; This mutiny were better put in hazard, Than stay, past doubt, for greater: If, as his nature is, he fall in rage With their refusal, both observe and answer The vantage of his anger. SICINIUS: To the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the people; And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, Which we have goaded onward. CORIOLANUS: Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? LARTIUS: He had, my lord; and that it was which caused Our swifter composition. CORIOLANUS: So then the Volsces stand but as at first, Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road. Upon's again. COMINIUS: They are worn, lord consul, so, That we shall hardly in our ages see Their banners wave again. CORIOLANUS: Saw you Aufidius? LARTIUS: On safe-guard he came to me; and did curse Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely Yielded the town: he is retired to Antium. CORIOLANUS: Spoke he of me? LARTIUS: He did, my lord. CORIOLANUS: How? what? LARTIUS: How often he had met you, sword to sword; That of all things upon the earth he hated Your person most, that he would pawn his fortunes To hopeless restitution, so he might Be call'd your vanquisher. CORIOLANUS: At Antium lives he? LARTIUS: At Antium. CORIOLANUS: I wish I had a cause to seek him there, To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, The tongues o' the common mouth: I do despise them; For they do prank them in authority, Against all noble sufferance. SICINIUS: Pass no further. CORIOLANUS: Ha! what is that? BRUTUS: It will be dangerous to go on: no further. CORIOLANUS: What makes this change? MENENIUS: The matter? COMINIUS: Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS: Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS: Have I had children's voices? First Senator: Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. BRUTUS: The people are incensed against him. SICINIUS: Stop, Or all will fall in broil. CORIOLANUS: Are these your herd? Must these have voices, that can yield them now And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? Have you not set them on? MENENIUS: Be calm, be calm. CORIOLANUS: It is a purposed thing, and grows by plot, To curb the will of the nobility: Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule Nor ever will be ruled. BRUTUS: Call't not a plot: The people cry you mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS: Why, this was known before. BRUTUS: Not to them all. CORIOLANUS: Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS: How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS: You are like to do such business. BRUTUS: Not unlike, Each way, to better yours. CORIOLANUS: Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me Your fellow tribune. SICINIUS: You show too much of that For which the people stir: if you will pass To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, Or never be so noble as a consul, Nor yoke with him for tribune. MENENIUS: Let's be calm. COMINIUS: The people are abused; set on. This paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the plain way of his merit. CORIOLANUS: Tell me of corn! This was my speech, and I will speak't again-- MENENIUS: Not now, not now. First Senator: Not in this heat, sir, now. CORIOLANUS: Now, as I live, I will. My nobler friends, I crave their pardons: For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them Regard me as I do not flatter, and Therein behold themselves: I say again, In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd number, Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that Which they have given to beggars. MENENIUS: Well, no more. First Senator: No more words, we beseech you. CORIOLANUS: How! no more! As for my country I have shed my blood, Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs Coin words till their decay against those measles, Which we disdain should tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS: You speak o' the people, As if you were a god to punish, not A man of their infirmity. SICINIUS: 'Twere well We let the people know't. MENENIUS: What, what? his choler? CORIOLANUS: Choler! Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, By Jove, 'twould be my mind! SICINIUS: It is a mind That shall remain a poison where it is, Not poison any further. CORIOLANUS: Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you His absolute 'shall'? COMINIUS: 'Twas from the canon. CORIOLANUS: 'Shall'! O good but most unwise patricians! why, You grave but reckless senators, have you thus Given Hydra here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the monster's, wants not spirit To say he'll turn your current in a ditch, And make your channel his? If he have power Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd, Be not as common fools; if you are not, Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, If they be senators: and they are no less, When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate, And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,' His popular 'shall' against a graver bench Than ever frown in Greece. By Jove himself! It makes the consuls base: and my soul aches To know, when two authorities are up, Neither supreme, how soon confusion May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take The one by the other. COMINIUS: Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS: Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas used Sometime in Greece,-- MENENIUS: Well, well, no more of that. CORIOLANUS: Though there the people had more absolute power, I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed The ruin of the state. BRUTUS: Why, shall the people give One that speaks thus their voice? CORIOLANUS: I'll give my reasons, More worthier than their voices. They know the corn Was not our recompense, resting well assured That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson multitude digest The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express What's like to be their words: 'we did request it; We are the greater poll, and in true fear They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase The nature of our seats and make the rabble Call our cares fears; which will in time Break ope the locks o' the senate and bring in The crows to peck the eagles. MENENIUS: Come, enough. BRUTUS: Enough, with over-measure. CORIOLANUS: No, take more: What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal! This double worship, Where one part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, wisdom, Cannot conclude but by the yea and no Of general ignorance,--it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd, it follows, Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you,-- You that will be less fearful than discreet, That love the fundamental part of state More than you doubt the change on't, that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That's sure of death without it, at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become't, Not having the power to do the good it would, For the in which doth control't. BRUTUS: Has said enough. SICINIUS: Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer As traitors do. CORIOLANUS: Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee! What should the people do with these bald tribunes? On whom depending, their obedience fails To the greater bench: in a rebellion, When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, Then were they chosen: in a better hour, Let what is meet be said it must be meet, And throw their power i' the dust. BRUTUS: Manifest treason! SICINIUS: This a consul? no. BRUTUS: The aediles, ho! Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS: Go, call the people: in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS: Hence, old goat! Senators, &C: We'll surety him. COMINIUS: Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS: Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS: Help, ye citizens! MENENIUS: On both sides more respect. SICINIUS: Here's he that would take from you all your power. BRUTUS: Seize him, AEdiles! Citizens: Down with him! down with him! Senators, &C: Weapons, weapons, weapons! 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' 'Peace, peace, peace!' 'Stay, hold, peace!' MENENIUS: What is about to be? I am out of breath; Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You, tribunes To the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS: Hear me, people; peace! Citizens: Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS: You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, Whom late you have named for consul. MENENIUS: Fie, fie, fie! This is the way to kindle, not to quench. First Senator: To unbuild the city and to lay all flat. SICINIUS: What is the city but the people? Citizens: True, The people are the city. BRUTUS: By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens: You so remain. MENENIUS: And so are like to do. COMINIUS: That is the way to lay the city flat; To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin. SICINIUS: This deserves death. BRUTUS: Or let us stand to our authority, Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, Upon the part o' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS: Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS: AEdiles, seize him! Citizens: Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS: Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile: Peace, peace! MENENIUS: BRUTUS: Sir, those cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him, And bear him to the rock. CORIOLANUS: No, I'll die here. There's some among you have beheld me fighting: Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. MENENIUS: Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile. BRUTUS: Lay hands upon him. COMINIUS: Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens: Down with him, down with him! MENENIUS: Go, get you to your house; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator: Get you gone. COMINIUS: Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS: Sham it be put to that? First Senator: The gods forbid! I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; Leave us to cure this cause. MENENIUS: For 'tis a sore upon us, You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS: Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS: I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS: Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS: On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS: I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters and o'erbear What they are used to bear. MENENIUS: Pray you, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS: Nay, come away. A Patrician: This man has marr'd his fortune. MENENIUS: His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death. Here's goodly work! Second Patrician: I would they were abed! MENENIUS: I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? SICINIUS: Where is this viper That would depopulate the city and Be every man himself? MENENIUS: You worthy tribunes,-- SICINIUS: He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power Which he so sets at nought. First Citizen: He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens: He shall, sure on't. MENENIUS: Sir, sir,-- SICINIUS: Peace! MENENIUS: Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant. SICINIUS: Sir, how comes't that you Have holp to make this rescue? MENENIUS: Hear me speak: As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults,-- SICINIUS: Consul! what consul? MENENIUS: The consul Coriolanus. BRUTUS: He consul! Citizens: No, no, no, no, no. MENENIUS: If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; The which shall turn you to no further harm Than so much loss of time. SICINIUS: Speak briefly then; For we are peremptory to dispatch This viperous traitor: to eject him hence Were but one danger, and to keep him here Our certain death: therefore it is decreed He dies to-night. MENENIUS: Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own! SICINIUS: He's a disease that must be cut away. MENENIUS: O, he's a limb that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome that's worthy death? Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost-- Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce--he dropp'd it for his country; And what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't and suffer it, A brand to the end o' the world. SICINIUS: This is clean kam. BRUTUS: Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd him. MENENIUS: The service of the foot Being once gangrened, is not then respected For what before it was. BRUTUS: We'll hear no more. Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence: Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further. MENENIUS: One word more, one word. This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process; Lest parties, as he is beloved, break out, And sack great Rome with Romans. BRUTUS: If it were so,-- SICINIUS: What do ye talk? Have we not had a taste of his obedience? Our aediles smote? ourselves resisted? Come. MENENIUS: Consider this: he has been bred i' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd In bolted language; meal and bran together He throws without distinction. Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, In peace, to his utmost peril. First Senator: Noble tribunes, It is the humane way: the other course Will prove too bloody, and the end of it Unknown to the beginning. SICINIUS: Noble Menenius, Be you then as the people's officer. Masters, lay down your weapons. BRUTUS: Go not home. SICINIUS: Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS: I'll bring him to you. Let me desire your company: he must come, Or what is worst will follow. First Senator: Pray you, let's to him. CORIOLANUS: Let them puff all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them. A Patrician: You do the nobler. CORIOLANUS: I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder, When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war. I talk of you: Why did you wish me milder? would you have me False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am. VOLUMNIA: O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out. CORIOLANUS: Let go. VOLUMNIA: You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so; lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS: Let them hang. A Patrician: Ay, and burn too. MENENIUS: Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; You must return and mend it. First Senator: There's no remedy; Unless, by not so doing, our good city Cleave in the midst, and perish. VOLUMNIA: Pray, be counsell'd: I have a heart as little apt as yours, But yet a brain that leads my use of anger To better vantage. MENENIUS: Well said, noble woman? Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear. CORIOLANUS: What must I do? MENENIUS: Return to the tribunes. CORIOLANUS: Well, what then? what then? MENENIUS: Repent what you have spoke. CORIOLANUS: For them! I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do't to them? VOLUMNIA: You are too absolute; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the other lose, That they combine not there. CORIOLANUS: Tush, tush! MENENIUS: A good demand. VOLUMNIA: If it be honour in your wars to seem The same you are not, which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war, since that to both It stands in like request? CORIOLANUS: Why force you this? VOLUMNIA: Because that now it lies you on to speak To the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but rooted in Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. Now, this no more dishonours you at all Than to take in a town with gentle words, Which else would put you to your fortune and The hazard of much blood. I would dissemble with my nature where My fortunes and my friends at stake required I should do so in honour: I am in this, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you will rather show our general louts How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard Of what that want might ruin. MENENIUS: Noble lady! Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the loss Of what is past. VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, my son, Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; And thus far having stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears--waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, Now humble as the ripest mulberry That will not hold the handling: or say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power and person. MENENIUS: This but done, Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free As words to little purpose. VOLUMNIA: Prithee now, Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. COMINIUS: I have been i' the market-place; and, sir,'tis fit You make strong party, or defend yourself By calmness or by absence: all's in anger. MENENIUS: Only fair speech. COMINIUS: I think 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit. VOLUMNIA: He must, and will Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. CORIOLANUS: Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce? Must I with base tongue give my noble heart A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't: Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the life. COMINIUS: Come, come, we'll prompt you. VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said My praises made thee first a soldier, so, To have my praise for this, perform a part Thou hast not done before. CORIOLANUS: Well, I must do't: Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot's spirit! my throat of war be turn'd, Which quired with my drum, into a pipe Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up The glasses of my sight! a beggar's tongue Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees, Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his That hath received an alms! I will not do't, Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth And by my body's action teach my mind A most inherent baseness. VOLUMNIA: At thy choice, then: To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me, But owe thy pride thyself. CORIOLANUS: Pray, be content: Mother, I am going to the market-place; Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul; Or never trust to what my tongue can do I' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA: Do your will. COMINIUS: Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself To answer mildly; for they are prepared With accusations, as I hear, more strong Than are upon you yet. CORIOLANUS: The word is 'mildly.' Pray you, let us go: Let them accuse me by invention, I Will answer in mine honour. MENENIUS: Ay, but mildly. CORIOLANUS: Well, mildly be it then. Mildly! BRUTUS: In this point charge him home, that he affects Tyrannical power: if he evade us there, Enforce him with his envy to the people, And that the spoil got on the Antiates Was ne'er distributed. What, will he come? AEdile: He's coming. BRUTUS: How accompanied? AEdile: With old Menenius, and those senators That always favour'd him. SICINIUS: Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the poll? AEdile: I have; 'tis ready. SICINIUS: Have you collected them by tribes? AEdile: I have. SICINIUS: Assemble presently the people hither; And when they bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the commons,' be it either For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them If I say fine, cry 'Fine;' if death, cry 'Death.' Insisting on the old prerogative And power i' the truth o' the cause. AEdile: I shall inform them. BRUTUS: And when such time they have begun to cry, Let them not cease, but with a din confused Enforce the present execution Of what we chance to sentence. AEdile: Very well. SICINIUS: Make them be strong and ready for this hint, When we shall hap to give 't them. BRUTUS: Go about it. Put him to choler straight: he hath been used Ever to conquer, and to have his worth Of contradiction: being once chafed, he cannot Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS: Well, here he comes. MENENIUS: Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS: Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd gods Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice Supplied with worthy men! plant love among 's! Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, And not our streets with war! First Senator: Amen, amen. MENENIUS: A noble wish. SICINIUS: Draw near, ye people. AEdile: List to your tribunes. Audience: peace, I say! CORIOLANUS: First, hear me speak. Both Tribunes: Well, say. Peace, ho! CORIOLANUS: Shall I be charged no further than this present? Must all determine here? SICINIUS: I do demand, If you submit you to the people's voices, Allow their officers and are content To suffer lawful censure for such faults As shall be proved upon you? CORIOLANUS: I am content. MENENIUS: Lo, citizens, he says he is content: The warlike service he has done, consider; think Upon the wounds his body bears, which show Like graves i' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS: Scratches with briers, Scars to move laughter only. MENENIUS: Consider further, That when he speaks not like a citizen, You find him like a soldier: do not take His rougher accents for malicious sounds, But, as I say, such as become a soldier, Rather than envy you. COMINIUS: Well, well, no more. CORIOLANUS: What is the matter That being pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd that the very hour You take it off again? SICINIUS: Answer to us. CORIOLANUS: Say, then: 'tis true, I ought so. SICINIUS: We charge you, that you have contrived to take From Rome all season'd office and to wind Yourself into a power tyrannical; For which you are a traitor to the people. CORIOLANUS: How! traitor! MENENIUS: Nay, temperately; your promise. CORIOLANUS: The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd as many millions, in Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say 'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free As I do pray the gods. SICINIUS: Mark you this, people? Citizens: To the rock, to the rock with him! SICINIUS: Peace! We need not put new matter to his charge: What you have seen him do and heard him speak, Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, Opposing laws with strokes and here defying Those whose great power must try him; even this, So criminal and in such capital kind, Deserves the extremest death. BRUTUS: But since he hath Served well for Rome,-- CORIOLANUS: What do you prate of service? BRUTUS: I talk of that, that know it. CORIOLANUS: You? MENENIUS: Is this the promise that you made your mother? COMINIUS: Know, I pray you,-- CORIOLANUS: I know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque my courage for what they can give, To have't with saying 'Good morrow.' SICINIUS: For that he has, As much as in him lies, from time to time Envied against the people, seeking means To pluck away their power, as now at last Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers That do distribute it; in the name o' the people And in the power of us the tribunes, we, Even from this instant, banish him our city, In peril of precipitation From off the rock Tarpeian never more To enter our Rome gates: i' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens: It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, and it shall be so. COMINIUS: Hear me, my masters, and my common friends,-- SICINIUS: He's sentenced; no more hearing. COMINIUS: Let me speak: I have been consul, and can show for Rome Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love My country's good with a respect more tender, More holy and profound, than mine own life, My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, And treasure of my loins; then if I would Speak that,-- SICINIUS: We know your drift: speak what? BRUTUS: There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens: It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS: You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, Fan you into despair! Have the power still To banish your defenders; till at length Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, Making not reservation of yourselves, Still your own foes, deliver you as most Abated captives to some nation That won you without blows! Despising, For you, the city, thus I turn my back: There is a world elsewhere. AEdile: The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens: Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! SICINIUS: Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, As he hath followed you, with all despite; Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard Attend us through the city. Citizens: Come, come; let's see him out at gates; come. The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. CORIOLANUS: Come, leave your tears: a brief farewell: the beast With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, Where is your ancient courage? you were used To say extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves A noble cunning: you were used to load me With precepts that would make invincible The heart that conn'd them. VIRGILIA: O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS: Nay! prithee, woman,-- VOLUMNIA: Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, And occupations perish! CORIOLANUS: What, what, what! I shall be loved when I am lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld have done, and saved Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother: I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general, I have seen thee stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad women 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well My hazards still have been your solace: and Believe't not lightly--though I go alone, Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. VOLUMNIA: My first son. Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius With thee awhile: determine on some course, More than a wild exposture to each chance That starts i' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS: O the gods! COMINIUS: I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us And we of thee: so if the time thrust forth A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send O'er the vast world to seek a single man, And lose advantage, which doth ever cool I' the absence of the needer. CORIOLANUS: Fare ye well: Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one That's yet unbruised: bring me but out at gate. Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. While I remain above the ground, you shall Hear from me still, and never of me aught But what is like me formerly. MENENIUS: That's worthily As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, I'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS: Give me thy hand: Come. SICINIUS: Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided In his behalf. BRUTUS: Now we have shown our power, Let us seem humbler after it is done Than when it was a-doing. SICINIUS: Bid them home: Say their great enemy is gone, and they Stand in their ancient strength. BRUTUS: Dismiss them home. Here comes his mother. SICINIUS: Let's not meet her. BRUTUS: Why? SICINIUS: They say she's mad. BRUTUS: They have ta'en note of us: keep on your way. VOLUMNIA: O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the gods Requite your love! MENENIUS: Peace, peace; be not so loud. VOLUMNIA: If that I could for weeping, you should hear,-- Nay, and you shall hear some. Will you be gone? VIRGILIA: SICINIUS: Are you mankind? VOLUMNIA: Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool. Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship To banish him that struck more blows for Rome Than thou hast spoken words? SICINIUS: O blessed heavens! VOLUMNIA: More noble blows than ever thou wise words; And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what; yet go: Nay, but thou shalt stay too: I would my son Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, His good sword in his hand. SICINIUS: What then? VIRGILIA: What then! He'ld make an end of thy posterity. VOLUMNIA: Bastards and all. Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! MENENIUS: Come, come, peace. SICINIUS: I would he had continued to his country As he began, and not unknit himself The noble knot he made. BRUTUS: I would he had. VOLUMNIA: 'I would he had'! 'Twas you incensed the rabble: Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth As I can of those mysteries which heaven Will not have earth to know. BRUTUS: Pray, let us go. VOLUMNIA: Now, pray, sir, get you gone: You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:-- As far as doth the Capitol exceed The meanest house in Rome, so far my son-- This lady's husband here, this, do you see-- Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS: Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS: Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA: Take my prayers with you. I would the gods had nothing else to do But to confirm my curses! Could I meet 'em But once a-day, it would unclog my heart Of what lies heavy to't. MENENIUS: You have told them home; And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? VOLUMNIA: Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go: Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. MENENIUS: Fie, fie, fie! Roman: I know you well, sir, and you know me: your name, I think, is Adrian. Volsce: It is so, sir: truly, I have forgot you. Roman: I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em: know you me yet? Volsce: Nicanor? no. Roman: The same, sir. Volsce: You had more beard when I last saw you; but your favour is well approved by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a note from the Volscian state, to find you out there: you have well saved me a day's journey. Roman: There hath been in Rome strange insurrections; the people against the senators, patricians, and nobles. Volsce: Hath been! is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so: they are in a most warlike preparation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of their division. Roman: The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make it flame again: for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the people and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking out. Volsce: Coriolanus banished! Roman: Banished, sir. Volsce: You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. Roman: The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country. Volsce: He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, thus accidentally to encounter you: you have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home. Roman: I shall, between this and supper, tell you most strange things from Rome; all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say you? Volsce: A most royal one; the centurions and their charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. Roman: I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company. Volsce: You take my part from me, sir; I have the most cause to be glad of yours. Roman: Well, let us go together. CORIOLANUS: A goodly city is this Antium. City, 'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars Have I heard groan and drop: then know me not, Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones In puny battle slay me. Save you, sir. Citizen: And you. CORIOLANUS: Direct me, if it be your will, Where great Aufidius lies: is he in Antium? Citizen: He is, and feasts the nobles of the state At his house this night. CORIOLANUS: Which is his house, beseech you? Citizen: This, here before you. CORIOLANUS: Thank you, sir: farewell. O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose house, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, shall within this hour, On a dissension of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends And interjoin their issues. So with me: My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon This enemy town. I'll enter: if he slay me, He does fair justice; if he give me way, I'll do his country service. First Servingman: Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Second Servingman: Where's Cotus? my master calls for him. Cotus! CORIOLANUS: A goodly house: the feast smells well; but I Appear not like a guest. First Servingman: What would you have, friend? whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray, go to the door. CORIOLANUS: I have deserved no better entertainment, In being Coriolanus. Second Servingman: Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head; that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray, get you out. CORIOLANUS: Away! Second Servingman: Away! get you away. CORIOLANUS: Now thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman: Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Third Servingman: What fellow's this? First Servingman: A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Third Servingman: What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. CORIOLANUS: Let me but stand; I will not hurt your hearth. Third Servingman: What are you? CORIOLANUS: A gentleman. Third Servingman: A marvellous poor one. CORIOLANUS: True, so I am. Third Servingman: Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station; here's no place for you; pray you, avoid: come. CORIOLANUS: Follow your function, go, and batten on cold bits. Third Servingman: What, you will not? Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here. Second Servingman: And I shall. Third Servingman: Where dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS: Under the canopy. Third Servingman: Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS: Ay. Third Servingman: Where's that? CORIOLANUS: I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman: I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest with daws too? CORIOLANUS: No, I serve not thy master. Third Servingman: How, sir! do you meddle with my master? CORIOLANUS: Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou pratest, and pratest; serve with thy trencher, hence! AUFIDIUS: Where is this fellow? Second Servingman: Here, sir: I'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. AUFIDIUS: Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS: If, Tullus, Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself. AUFIDIUS: What is thy name? CORIOLANUS: A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. AUFIDIUS: Say, what's thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn. Thou show'st a noble vessel: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS: Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st thou me yet? AUFIDIUS: I know thee not: thy name? CORIOLANUS: My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly and to all the Volsces Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus: the painful service, The extreme dangers and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country are requited But with that surname; a good memory, And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name remains; The cruelty and envy of the people, Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope-- Mistake me not--to save my life, for if I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite, To be full quit of those my banishers, Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, And make my misery serve thy turn: so use it That my revengeful services may prove As benefits to thee, for I will fight Against my canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest not this and that to prove more fortunes Thou'rt tired, then, in a word, I also am Longer to live most weary, and present My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless It be to do thee service. AUFIDIUS: O Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond cloud speak divine things, And say 'Tis true,' I'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married; never man Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, We have a power on foot; and I had purpose Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose mine arm fort: thou hast beat me out Twelve several times, and I have nightly since Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; We have been down together in my sleep, Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands; Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, Who am prepared against your territories, Though not for Rome itself. CORIOLANUS: You bless me, gods! AUFIDIUS: Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take The one half of my commission; and set down-- As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st Thy country's strength and weakness,--thine own ways; Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, Or rudely visit them in parts remote, To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e'er an enemy; Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! First Servingman: Here's a strange alteration! Second Servingman: By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him. First Servingman: What an arm he has! he turned me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top. Second Servingman: Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him: he had, sir, a kind of face, methought,--I cannot tell how to term it. First Servingman: He had so; looking as it were--would I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him than I could think. Second Servingman: So did I, I'll be sworn: he is simply the rarest man i' the world. First Servingman: I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. Second Servingman: Who, my master? First Servingman: Nay, it's no matter for that. Second Servingman: Worth six on him. First Servingman: Nay, not so neither: but I take him to be the greater soldier. Second Servingman: Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that: for the defence of a town, our general is excellent. First Servingman: Ay, and for an assault too. Third Servingman: O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman: What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman: I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman: Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman: Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. First Servingman: Why do you say 'thwack our general '? Third Servingman: I do not say 'thwack our general;' but he was always good enough for him. Second Servingman: Come, we are fellows and friends: he was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so himself. First Servingman: He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on't: before Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman: An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too. First Servingman: But, more of thy news? Third Servingman: Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' the table; no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him: our general himself makes a mistress of him: sanctifies himself with's hand and turns up the white o' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the middle and but one half of what he was yesterday; for the other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and sowl the porter of Rome gates by the ears: he will mow all down before him, and leave his passage polled. Second Servingman: And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine. Third Servingman: Do't! he will do't; for, look you, sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, show themselves, as we term it, his friends whilst he's in directitude. First Servingman: Directitude! what's that? Third Servingman: But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman: But when goes this forward? Third Servingman: To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. Second Servingman: Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. First Servingman: Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of men. Second Servingman: 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. First Servingman: Ay, and it makes men hate one another. Third Servingman: Reason; because they then less need one another. The wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising. All: In, in, in, in! SICINIUS: We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' the present peace And quietness of the people, which before Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends Blush that the world goes well, who rather had, Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold Dissentious numbers pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with in their shops and going About their functions friendly. BRUTUS: We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? SICINIUS: 'Tis he,'tis he: O, he is grown most kind of late. Both Tribunes: Hail sir! MENENIUS: Hail to you both! SICINIUS: Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, but with his friends: The commonwealth doth stand, and so would do, Were he more angry at it. MENENIUS: All's well; and might have been much better, if He could have temporized. SICINIUS: Where is he, hear you? MENENIUS: Nay, I hear nothing: his mother and his wife Hear nothing from him. Citizens: The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS: God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS: God-den to you all, god-den to you all. First Citizen: Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees, Are bound to pray for you both. SICINIUS: Live, and thrive! BRUTUS: Farewell, kind neighbours: we wish'd Coriolanus Had loved you as we did. Citizens: Now the gods keep you! Both Tribunes: Farewell, farewell. SICINIUS: This is a happier and more comely time Than when these fellows ran about the streets, Crying confusion. BRUTUS: Caius Marcius was A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, Self-loving,-- SICINIUS: And affecting one sole throne, Without assistance. MENENIUS: I think not so. SICINIUS: We should by this, to all our lamentation, If he had gone forth consul, found it so. BRUTUS: The gods have well prevented it, and Rome Sits safe and still without him. AEdile: Worthy tribunes, There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, Reports, the Volsces with two several powers Are enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS: 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS: Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS: Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be The Volsces dare break with us. MENENIUS: Cannot be! We have record that very well it can, And three examples of the like have been Within my age. But reason with the fellow, Before you punish him, where he heard this, Lest you shall chance to whip your information And beat the messenger who bids beware Of what is to be dreaded. SICINIUS: Tell not me: I know this cannot be. BRUTUS: Not possible. Messenger: The nobles in great earnestness are going All to the senate-house: some news is come That turns their countenances. SICINIUS: 'Tis this slave;-- Go whip him, 'fore the people's eyes:--his raising; Nothing but his report. Messenger: Yes, worthy sir, The slave's report is seconded; and more, More fearful, is deliver'd. SICINIUS: What more fearful? Messenger: It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, And vows revenge as spacious as between The young'st and oldest thing. SICINIUS: This is most likely! BRUTUS: Raised only, that the weaker sort may wish Good Marcius home again. SICINIUS: The very trick on't. MENENIUS: This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Second Messenger: You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, consumed with fire, and took What lay before them. COMINIUS: O, you have made good work! MENENIUS: What news? what news? COMINIUS: You have holp to ravish your own daughters and To melt the city leads upon your pates, To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses,-- MENENIUS: What's the news? what's the news? COMINIUS: Your temples burned in their cement, and Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined Into an auger's bore. MENENIUS: Pray now, your news? You have made fair work, I fear me.--Pray, your news?-- If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians,-- COMINIUS: If! He is their god: he leads them like a thing Made by some other deity than nature, That shapes man better; and they follow him, Against us brats, with no less confidence Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, Or butchers killing flies. MENENIUS: You have made good work, You and your apron-men; you that stood so up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS: He will shake Your Rome about your ears. MENENIUS: As Hercules Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work! BRUTUS: But is this true, sir? COMINIUS: Ay; and you'll look pale Before you find it other. All the regions Do smilingly revolt; and who resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS: We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS: Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd like enemies. MENENIUS: 'Tis true: If he were putting to my house the brand That should consume it, I have not the face To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands, You and your crafts! you have crafted fair! COMINIUS: You have brought A trembling upon Rome, such as was never So incapable of help. Both Tribunes: Say not we brought it. MENENIUS: How! Was it we? we loved him but, like beasts And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, Who did hoot him out o' the city. COMINIUS: But I fear They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, The second name of men, obeys his points As if he were his officer: desperation Is all the policy, strength and defence, That Rome can make against them. MENENIUS: Here come the clusters. And is Aufidius with him? You are they That made the air unwholesome, when you cast Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming; And not a hair upon a soldier's head Which will not prove a whip: as many coxcombs As you threw caps up will he tumble down, And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; if he could burn us all into one coal, We have deserved it. Citizens: Faith, we hear fearful news. First Citizen: For mine own part, When I said, banish him, I said 'twas pity. Second Citizen: And so did I. Third Citizen: And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us: that we did, we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will. COMINIUS: Ye re goodly things, you voices! MENENIUS: You have made Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol? COMINIUS: O, ay, what else? SICINIUS: Go, masters, get you home; be not dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen: The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong when we banished him. Second Citizen: So did we all. But, come, let's home. BRUTUS: I do not like this news. SICINIUS: Nor I. BRUTUS: Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth Would buy this for a lie! SICINIUS: Pray, let us go. AUFIDIUS: Do they still fly to the Roman? Lieutenant: I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; And you are darken'd in this action, sir, Even by your own. AUFIDIUS: I cannot help it now, Unless, by using means, I lame the foot Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, Even to my person, than I thought he would When first I did embrace him: yet his nature In that's no changeling; and I must excuse What cannot be amended. Lieutenant: Yet I wish, sir,-- I mean for your particular,--you had not Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS: I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant: Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS: All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature. First he was A noble servant to them; but he could not Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride, Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man; whether defect of judgment, To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of; or whether nature, Not to be other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To extol what it hath done. One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail. Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. MENENIUS: No, I'll not go: you hear what he hath said Which was sometime his general; who loved him In a most dear particular. He call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. COMINIUS: He would not seem to know me. MENENIUS: Do you hear? COMINIUS: Yet one time he did call me by my name: I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops That we have bled together. Coriolanus He would not answer to: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS: Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, To make coals cheap,--a noble memory! COMINIUS: I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon When it was less expected: he replied, It was a bare petition of a state To one whom they had punish'd. MENENIUS: Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS: I offer'd to awaken his regard For's private friends: his answer to me was, He could not stay to pick them in a pile Of noisome musty chaff: he said 'twas folly, For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, And still to nose the offence. MENENIUS: For one poor grain or two! I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child, And this brave fellow too, we are the grains: You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt Above the moon: we must be burnt for you. SICINIUS: Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid In this so never-needed help, yet do not Upbraid's with our distress. But, sure, if you Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, More than the instant army we can make, Might stop our countryman. MENENIUS: No, I'll not meddle. SICINIUS: Pray you, go to him. MENENIUS: What should I do? BRUTUS: Only make trial what your love can do For Rome, towards Marcius. MENENIUS: Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, Unheard; what then? But as a discontented friend, grief-shot With his unkindness? say't be so? SICINIUS: Yet your good will must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure As you intended well. MENENIUS: I'll undertake 't: I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. He was not taken well; he had not dined: The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him Till he be dieted to my request, And then I'll set upon him. BRUTUS: You know the very road into his kindness, And cannot lose your way. MENENIUS: Good faith, I'll prove him, Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge Of my success. COMINIUS: He'll never hear him. SICINIUS: Not? COMINIUS: I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd me Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do, He sent in writing after me; what he would not, Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions: So that all hope is vain. Unless his noble mother, and his wife; Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence, And with our fair entreaties haste them on. First Senator: Stay: whence are you? Second Senator: Stand, and go back. MENENIUS: You guard like men; 'tis well: but, by your leave, I am an officer of state, and come To speak with Coriolanus. First Senator: From whence? MENENIUS: From Rome. First Senator: You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator: You'll see your Rome embraced with fire before You'll speak with Coriolanus. MENENIUS: Good my friends, If you have heard your general talk of Rome, And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, My name hath touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator: Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS: I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply amplified; For I have ever verified my friends, Of whom he's chief, with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator: Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. MENENIUS: Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general. Second Senator: Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. MENENIUS: Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator: You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS: I am, as thy general is. First Senator: Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. MENENIUS: Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation. Second Senator: Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS: I mean, thy general. First Senator: My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go; lest I let forth your half-pint of blood; back,--that's the utmost of your having: back. MENENIUS: Nay, but, fellow, fellow,-- CORIOLANUS: What's the matter? MENENIUS: Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you: You shall know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus: guess, but by my entertainment with him, if thou standest not i' the state of hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here,--this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. CORIOLANUS: Away! MENENIUS: How! away! CORIOLANUS: Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs Are servanted to others: though I owe My revenge properly, my remission lies In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone. Mine ears against your suits are stronger than Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee, Take this along; I writ it for thy sake And would have rent it. Another word, Menenius, I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou behold'st! AUFIDIUS: You keep a constant temper. First Senator: Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator: 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator: Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator: What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS: I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another: let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, Away! First Senator: A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator: The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. CORIOLANUS: We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS: Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd your ears against The general suit of Rome; never admitted A private whisper, no, not with such friends That thought them sure of you. CORIOLANUS: This last old man, Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, Loved me above the measure of a father; Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge Was to send him; for whose old love I have, Though I show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd The first conditions, which they did refuse And cannot now accept; to grace him only That thought he could do more, a very little I have yielded to: fresh embassies and suits, Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this? Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection! All bond and privilege of nature, break! Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows; As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod: and my young boy Hath an aspect of intercession, which Great nature cries 'Deny not.' let the Volsces Plough Rome and harrow Italy: I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, As if a man were author of himself And knew no other kin. VIRGILIA: My lord and husband! CORIOLANUS: These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. VIRGILIA: The sorrow that delivers us thus changed Makes you think so. CORIOLANUS: Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, Forgive my tyranny; but do not say For that 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA: O, stand up blest! Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, I kneel before thee; and unproperly Show duty, as mistaken all this while Between the child and parent. CORIOLANUS: What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun; Murdering impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight work. VOLUMNIA: Thou art my warrior; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? CORIOLANUS: The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle That's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria! VOLUMNIA: This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time May show like all yourself. CORIOLANUS: The god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA: Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS: That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA: Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS: I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld ask, remember this before: The thing I have forsworn to grant may never Be held by you denials. Do not bid me Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA: O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; For we have nothing else to ask, but that Which you deny already: yet we will ask; That, if you fail in our request, the blame May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us. CORIOLANUS: Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request? VOLUMNIA: Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow; Making the mother, wife and child to see The son, the husband and the father tearing His country's bowels out. And to poor we Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy; for how can we, Alas, how can we for our country pray. Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, Our comfort in the country. We must find An evident calamity, though we had Our wish, which side should win: for either thou Must, as a foreign recreant, be led With manacles thorough our streets, or else triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, And bear the palm for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune till These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee Rather to show a noble grace to both parts Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country than to tread-- Trust to't, thou shalt not--on thy mother's womb, That brought thee to this world. VIRGILIA: Ay, and mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time. Young MARCIUS: A' shall not tread on me; I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. CORIOLANUS: Not of a woman's tenderness to be, Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. I have sat too long. VOLUMNIA: Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us, As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces May say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain, but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name, Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son: Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods; To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy: Perhaps thy childishness will move him more Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world More bound to 's mother; yet here he lets me prate Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home, Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, And spurn me back: but if it be not so, Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee, That thou restrain'st from me the duty which To a mother's part belongs. He turns away: Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride Than pity to our prayers. Down: an end; This is the last: so we will home to Rome, And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold 's: This boy, that cannot tell what he would have But kneels and holds up bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, And then I'll speak a little. CORIOLANUS: O mother, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome; But, for your son,--believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come. Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? AUFIDIUS: I was moved withal. CORIOLANUS: I dare be sworn you were: And, sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me: for my part, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife! AUFIDIUS: CORIOLANUS: Ay, by and by; But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve To have a temple built you: all the swords In Italy, and her confederate arms, Could not have made this peace. MENENIUS: See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond corner-stone? SICINIUS: Why, what of that? MENENIUS: If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't: our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution. SICINIUS: Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man! MENENIUS: There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing. SICINIUS: He loved his mother dearly. MENENIUS: So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in. SICINIUS: Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. MENENIUS: I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is long of you. SICINIUS: The gods be good unto us! MENENIUS: No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us. Messenger: Sir, if you'ld save your life, fly to your house: The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune And hale him up and down, all swearing, if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, They'll give him death by inches. SICINIUS: What's the news? Second Messenger: Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS: Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger: As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours and cymbals and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance. Hark you! MENENIUS: This is good news: I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A city full; of tribunes, such as you, A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! SICINIUS: First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, Accept my thankfulness. Second Messenger: Sir, we have all Great cause to give great thanks. SICINIUS: They are near the city? Second Messenger: Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS: We will meet them, And help the joy. First Senator: Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them: Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; Cry 'Welcome, ladies, welcome!' All: Welcome, ladies, Welcome! AUFIDIUS: Go tell the lords o' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; where I, Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse The city ports by this hath enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Most welcome! First Conspirator: How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS: Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator: Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you Of your great danger. AUFIDIUS: Sir, I cannot tell: We must proceed as we do find the people. Third Conspirator: The people will remain uncertain whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all. AUFIDIUS: I know it; And my pretext to strike at him admits A good construction. I raised him, and I pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd his nature, never known before But to be rough, unswayable and free. Third Conspirator: Sir, his stoutness When he did stand for consul, which he lost By lack of stooping,-- AUFIDIUS: That I would have spoke of: Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; served his designments In mine own person; holp to reap the fame Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, not partner, and He waged me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary. First Conspirator: So he did, my lord: The army marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS: There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action: therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! First Conspirator: Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home: but he returns, Splitting the air with noise. Second Conspirator: And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear With giving him glory. Third Conspirator: Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounced shall bury His reasons with his body. AUFIDIUS: Say no more: Here come the lords. All The Lords: You are most welcome home. AUFIDIUS: I have not deserved it. But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused What I have written to you? Lords: We have. First Lord: And grieve to hear't. What faults he made before the last, I think Might have found easy fines: but there to end Where he was to begin and give away The benefit of our levies, answering us With our own charge, making a treaty where There was a yielding,--this admits no excuse. AUFIDIUS: He approaches: you shall hear him. CORIOLANUS: Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier, No more infected with my country's love Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know That prosperously I have attempted and With bloody passage led your wars even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home Do more than counterpoise a full third part The charges of the action. We have made peace With no less honour to the Antiates Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS: Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS: Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS: Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS: Marcius! AUFIDIUS: Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd your business, and given up, For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, I say 'your city,' to his wife and mother; Breaking his oath and resolution like A twist of rotten silk, never admitting Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering each at other. CORIOLANUS: Hear'st thou, Mars? AUFIDIUS: Name not the god, thou boy of tears! CORIOLANUS: Ha! AUFIDIUS: No more. CORIOLANUS: Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion-- Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him; that Must bear my beating to his grave--shall join To thrust the lie unto him. First Lord: Peace, both, and hear me speak. CORIOLANUS: Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: Alone I did it. Boy! AUFIDIUS: Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears? All Conspirators: Let him die for't. All The People: 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd my son.' 'My daughter.' 'He killed my cousin Marcus.' 'He killed my father.' Second Lord: Peace, ho! no outrage: peace! The man is noble and his fame folds-in This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace. CORIOLANUS: O that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! AUFIDIUS: Insolent villain! All Conspirators: Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! Lords: Hold, hold, hold, hold! AUFIDIUS: My noble masters, hear me speak. First Lord: O Tullus,-- Second Lord: Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. Third Lord: Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords. AUFIDIUS: My lords, when you shall know--as in this rage, Provoked by him, you cannot--the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure. First Lord: Bear from hence his body; And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn. Second Lord: His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let's make the best of it. AUFIDIUS: My rage is gone; And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist. GLOUCESTER: Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE: His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER: Upon what cause? CLARENCE: Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER: Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE: Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER: Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE: By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER: Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY: I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER: Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY: With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER: Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY: What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER: Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY: I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE: We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER: We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE: I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER: Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE: I must perforce. Farewell. GLOUCESTER: Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? HASTINGS: Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER: As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS: With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER: No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS: More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER: What news abroad? HASTINGS: No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER: Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS: He is. GLOUCESTER: Go you before, and I will follow you. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. LADY ANNE: Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. GLOUCESTER: Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE: What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER: Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman: My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER: Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE: What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER: Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE: Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER: Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE: Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER: But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE: O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER: More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE: Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER: Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE: Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER: By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE: And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER: Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE: Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER: I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE: Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER: Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE: In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER: I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE: Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER: I grant ye. LADY ANNE: Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER: The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE: He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER: Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE: And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER: Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE: Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER: Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE: I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER: So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE: I hope so. GLOUCESTER: I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE: Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER: Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE: If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER: These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE: Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER: Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE: I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER: It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE: It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER: He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE: His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER: He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE: Name him. GLOUCESTER: Plantagenet. LADY ANNE: Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER: The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE: Where is he? GLOUCESTER: Here. Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE: Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER: Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE: Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER: Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE: Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER: I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE: Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER: Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE: I have already. GLOUCESTER: Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE: I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER: 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE: I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER: Then never man was true. LADY ANNE: Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER: Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE: That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER: But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE: All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER: Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE: To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER: Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE: What is it? GLOUCESTER: That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE: With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER: Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE: 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. GLOUCESTER: Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN: Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER: No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. RIVERS: Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY: In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH: If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS: No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH: The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY: The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS: Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH: It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. GREY: Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM: Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY: God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH: The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY: I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS: Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY: But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH: What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM: Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH: God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM: Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. GLOUCESTER: They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS: To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER: To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER: I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER: Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH: By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER: You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS: She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER: She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS: What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER: What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET: And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER: What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET: Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER: Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET: Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER: In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET: A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER: Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET: Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER: To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET: Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS: My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER: If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH: As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET: A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER: Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET: But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER: Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET: I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER: The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH: So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS: O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS: Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET: No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM: Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET: What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER: Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET: And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER: Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET: Richard! GLOUCESTER: Ha! QUEEN MARGARET: I call thee not. GLOUCESTER: I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET: Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER: 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET: Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS: False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET: Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS: Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET: To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET: Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET: Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER: Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET: It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER: Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET: And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM: Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET: Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM: Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET: O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM: Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET: I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER: What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM: Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET: What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! HASTINGS: My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS: And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER: I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH: I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER: But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS: A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER: So do I ever: being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. CATESBY: Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS: Madam, we will attend your grace. GLOUCESTER: I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer: We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER: Well thought upon; I have it here about me. When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer: Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER: Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer: We will, my noble lord. BRAKENBURY: Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE: O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY: What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE: Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY: Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE: Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY: Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE: O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY: No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE: O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY: I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. First Murderer: Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY: In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer: I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY: Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer: O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY: I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer: Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Second Murderer: What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer: No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer: When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer: Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer: The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer: What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer: Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer: I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer: So I am, to let him live. First Murderer: Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer: I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer: How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer: 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer: Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer: 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer: Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer: In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer: So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer: Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer: How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer: I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer: 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer: Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer: Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer: Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer: Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer: O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer: Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer: No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE: Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer: You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE: In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer: A man, as you are. CLARENCE: But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer: Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE: Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer: My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE: How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both: To, to, to-- CLARENCE: To murder me? Both: Ay, ay. CLARENCE: You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer: Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE: I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer: Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE: Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer: What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer: And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE: Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer: And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer: And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer: Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer: How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE: Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer: Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE: My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer: Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE: Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer: You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE: O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both: Ay, so we will. CLARENCE: Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer: Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE: O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer: Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE: It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer: Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer: Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE: Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer: What shall we do? CLARENCE: Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer: Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE: Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer: Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer: Take that, and that: if all this will not do, I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Second Murderer: A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! First Murderer: How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer: I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. First Murderer: So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. KING EDWARD IV: Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS: By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS: So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV: Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS: So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS: And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV: Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV: Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET: This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS: And so swear I, my lord KING EDWARD IV: Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM: Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV: A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM: And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. GLOUCESTER: Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV: Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER: A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH: A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER: Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS: Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH: All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM: Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET: Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV: Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER: But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! DORSET: A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV: I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET: I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV: Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET: The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV: Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! GLOUCESTER: This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM: We wait upon your grace. Boy: Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK: No, boy. Boy: Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl: Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK: My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy: Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl: And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK: Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy: Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK: Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy: Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK: Ay, boy. Boy: I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK: What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH: To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK: Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy: Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl: Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children: Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK: Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH: What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children: What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK: What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children: Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK: Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET: Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS: Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. GLOUCESTER: Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK: God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER: BUCKINGHAM: You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS: Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM: Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER: I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS: And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS: And so say I. GLOUCESTER: Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH: With all our harts. BUCKINGHAM: My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER: My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. First Citizen: Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen: I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen: Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen: Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Third Citizen: Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen: Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen: Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen: Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen: Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen: No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen: Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen: In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen: So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen: Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. First Citizen: Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother. Third Citizen: Better it were they all came by the father, Or by the father there were none at all; For emulation now, who shall be nearest, Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester! And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud: And were they to be ruled, and not to rule, This sickly land might solace as before. First Citizen: Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well. Third Citizen: When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. Second Citizen: Truly, the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear. Third Citizen: Before the times of change, still is it so: By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see The waters swell before a boisterous storm. But leave it all to God. whither away? Second Citizen: Marry, we were sent for to the justices. Third Citizen: And so was I: I'll bear you company. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton; At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night: To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. DUCHESS OF YORK: I long with all my heart to see the prince: I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But I hear, no; they say my son of York Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. YORK: Ay, mother; but I would not have it so. DUCHESS OF YORK: Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow. YORK: Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester, 'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:' And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste. DUCHESS OF YORK: Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee; He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, So long a-growing and so leisurely, That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is. DUCHESS OF YORK: I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt. YORK: Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd, I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. DUCHESS OF YORK: How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it. YORK: Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. DUCHESS OF YORK: I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this? YORK: Grandam, his nurse. DUCHESS OF YORK: His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born. YORK: If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. QUEEN ELIZABETH: A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Good madam, be not angry with the child. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Pitchers have ears. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Here comes a messenger. What news? Messenger: Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold. QUEEN ELIZABETH: How fares the prince? Messenger: Well, madam, and in health. DUCHESS OF YORK: What is thy news then? Messenger: Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret, With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. DUCHESS OF YORK: Who hath committed them? Messenger: The mighty dukes Gloucester and Buckingham. QUEEN ELIZABETH: For what offence? Messenger: The sum of all I can, I have disclosed; Why or for what these nobles were committed Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Ay me, I see the downfall of our house! The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind; Insulting tyranny begins to jet Upon the innocent and aweless throne: Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre! I see, as in a map, the end of all. DUCHESS OF YORK: Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes beheld! My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were toss'd, For me to joy and weep their gain and loss: And being seated, and domestic broils Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. Make war upon themselves; blood against blood, Self against self: O, preposterous And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen; Or let me die, to look on death no more! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary. Madam, farewell. DUCHESS OF YORK: I'll go along with you. QUEEN ELIZABETH: You have no cause. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: My gracious lady, go; And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I'll resign unto your grace The seal I keep: and so betide to me As well I tender you and all of yours! Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. BUCKINGHAM: Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber. GLOUCESTER: Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign The weary way hath made you melancholy. PRINCE EDWARD: No, uncle; but our crosses on the way Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy I want more uncles here to welcome me. GLOUCESTER: Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit Nor more can you distinguish of a man Than of his outward show; which, God he knows, Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles which you want were dangerous; Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : God keep you from them, and from such false friends! PRINCE EDWARD: God keep me from false friends! but they were none. GLOUCESTER: My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you. Lord Mayor: God bless your grace with health and happy days! PRINCE EDWARD: I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all. I thought my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not To tell us whether they will come or no! BUCKINGHAM: And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord. PRINCE EDWARD: Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come? HASTINGS: On what occasion, God he knows, not I, The queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld. BUCKINGHAM: Fie, what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York Unto his princely brother presently? If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. CARDINAL: My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory Can from his mother win the Duke of York, Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid We should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. BUCKINGHAM: You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord, Too ceremonious and traditional Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, You break not sanctuary in seizing him. The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserved the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place: This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it; And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: Then, taking him from thence that is not there, You break no privilege nor charter there. Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; But sanctuary children ne'er till now. CARDINAL: My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? HASTINGS: I go, my lord. PRINCE EDWARD: Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? GLOUCESTER: Where it seems best unto your royal self. If I may counsel you, some day or two Your highness shall repose you at the Tower: Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit For your best health and recreation. PRINCE EDWARD: I do not like the Tower, of any place. Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord? BUCKINGHAM: He did, my gracious lord, begin that place; Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. PRINCE EDWARD: Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it? BUCKINGHAM: Upon record, my gracious lord. PRINCE EDWARD: But say, my lord, it were not register'd, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day. GLOUCESTER: PRINCE EDWARD: What say you, uncle? GLOUCESTER: I say, without characters, fame lives long. Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word. PRINCE EDWARD: That Julius Caesar was a famous man; With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; For now he lives in fame, though not in life. I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,-- BUCKINGHAM: What, my gracious lord? PRINCE EDWARD: An if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I lived a king. GLOUCESTER: BUCKINGHAM: Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York. PRINCE EDWARD: Richard of York! how fares our loving brother? YORK: Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now. PRINCE EDWARD: Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours: Too late he died that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty. GLOUCESTER: How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York? YORK: I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. GLOUCESTER: He hath, my lord. YORK: And therefore is he idle? GLOUCESTER: O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. YORK: Then is he more beholding to you than I. GLOUCESTER: He may command me as my sovereign; But you have power in me as in a kinsman. YORK: I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. GLOUCESTER: My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. PRINCE EDWARD: A beggar, brother? YORK: Of my kind uncle, that I know will give; And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. GLOUCESTER: A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. YORK: A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it. GLOUCESTER: A gentle cousin, were it light enough. YORK: O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts; In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay. GLOUCESTER: It is too heavy for your grace to wear. YORK: I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. GLOUCESTER: What, would you have my weapon, little lord? YORK: I would, that I might thank you as you call me. GLOUCESTER: How? YORK: Little. PRINCE EDWARD: My Lord of York will still be cross in talk: Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. YORK: You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me: Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; Because that I am little, like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. BUCKINGHAM: With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself: So cunning and so young is wonderful. GLOUCESTER: My lord, will't please you pass along? Myself and my good cousin Buckingham Will to your mother, to entreat of her To meet you at the Tower and welcome you. YORK: What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord? PRINCE EDWARD: My lord protector needs will have it so. YORK: I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. GLOUCESTER: Why, what should you fear? YORK: Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost: My grandam told me he was murdered there. PRINCE EDWARD: I fear no uncles dead. GLOUCESTER: Nor none that live, I hope. PRINCE EDWARD: An if they live, I hope I need not fear. But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. BUCKINGHAM: Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? GLOUCESTER: No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy; Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. BUCKINGHAM: Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby. Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend As closely to conceal what we impart: Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way; What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle? CATESBY: He for his father's sake so loves the prince, That he will not be won to aught against him. BUCKINGHAM: What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? what will he? CATESBY: He will do all in all as Hastings doth. BUCKINGHAM: Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings, How doth he stand affected to our purpose; And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, To sit about the coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him, and show him all our reasons: If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling, Be thou so too; and so break off your talk, And give us notice of his inclination: For we to-morrow hold divided councils, Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. GLOUCESTER: Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby, His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle; And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. BUCKINGHAM: Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly. CATESBY: My good lords both, with all the heed I may. GLOUCESTER: Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? CATESBY: You shall, my lord. GLOUCESTER: At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both. BUCKINGHAM: Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? GLOUCESTER: Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do: And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd. BUCKINGHAM: I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands. GLOUCESTER: And look to have it yielded with all willingness. Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form. Messenger: What, ho! my lord! HASTINGS: Messenger: A messenger from the Lord Stanley. HASTINGS: What is't o'clock? Messenger: Upon the stroke of four. HASTINGS: Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights? Messenger: So it should seem by that I have to say. First, he commends him to your noble lordship. HASTINGS: And then? Messenger: And then he sends you word He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm: Besides, he says there are two councils held; And that may be determined at the one which may make you and him to rue at the other. Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, If presently you will take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines. HASTINGS: Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; Bid him not fear the separated councils His honour and myself are at the one, And at the other is my servant Catesby Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us Whereof I shall not have intelligence. Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance: And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers To fly the boar before the boar pursues, Were to incense the boar to follow us And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. Go, bid thy master rise and come to me And we will both together to the Tower, Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. Messenger: My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say. CATESBY: Many good morrows to my noble lord! HASTINGS: Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring What news, what news, in this our tottering state? CATESBY: It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord; And I believe twill never stand upright Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm. HASTINGS: How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown? CATESBY: Ay, my good lord. HASTINGS: I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? CATESBY: Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward Upon his party for the gain thereof: And thereupon he sends you this good news, That this same very day your enemies, The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. HASTINGS: Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still mine enemies: But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side, To bar my master's heirs in true descent, God knows I will not do it, to the death. CATESBY: God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! HASTINGS: But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence, That they who brought me in my master's hate I live to look upon their tragedy. I tell thee, Catesby-- CATESBY: What, my lord? HASTINGS: Ere a fortnight make me elder, I'll send some packing that yet think not on it. CATESBY: 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepared and look not for it. HASTINGS: O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do With some men else, who think themselves as safe As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear To princely Richard and to Buckingham. CATESBY: The princes both make high account of you; For they account his head upon the bridge. HASTINGS: I know they do; and I have well deserved it. Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man? Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? STANLEY: My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby: You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, I do not like these several councils, I. HASTINGS: My lord, I hold my life as dear as you do yours; And never in my life, I do protest, Was it more precious to me than 'tis now: Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am? STANLEY: The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London, Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure, And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast. This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt: Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward! What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. HASTINGS: Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord? To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded. LORD STANLEY: They, for their truth, might better wear their heads Than some that have accused them wear their hats. But come, my lord, let us away. HASTINGS: Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow. How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee? Pursuivant: The better that your lordship please to ask. HASTINGS: I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now Than when I met thee last where now we meet: Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, By the suggestion of the queen's allies; But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself-- This day those enemies are put to death, And I in better state than e'er I was. Pursuivant: God hold it, to your honour's good content! HASTINGS: Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me. Pursuivant: God save your lordship! Priest: Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour. HASTINGS: I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise; Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. BUCKINGHAM: What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain? Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. HASTINGS: Good faith, and when I met this holy man, Those men you talk of came into my mind. What, go you toward the Tower? BUCKINGHAM: I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay I shall return before your lordship thence. HASTINGS: 'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there. BUCKINGHAM: HASTINGS: I'll wait upon your lordship. RATCLIFF: Come, bring forth the prisoners. RIVERS: Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this: To-day shalt thou behold a subject die For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. GREY: God keep the prince from all the pack of you! A knot you are of damned blood-suckers! VAUGHAN: You live that shall cry woe for this after. RATCLIFF: Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out. RIVERS: O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Within the guilty closure of thy walls Richard the second here was hack'd to death; And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. GREY: Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads, For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. RIVERS: Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham, Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God To hear her prayers for them, as now for us And for my sister and her princely sons, Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. RATCLIFF: Make haste; the hour of death is expiate. RIVERS: Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace: And take our leave, until we meet in heaven. HASTINGS: My lords, at once: the cause why we are met Is, to determine of the coronation. In God's name, speak: when is the royal day? BUCKINGHAM: Are all things fitting for that royal time? DERBY: It is, and wants but nomination. BISHOP OF ELY: To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day. BUCKINGHAM: Who knows the lord protector's mind herein? Who is most inward with the royal duke? BISHOP OF ELY: Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind. BUCKINGHAM: Who, I, my lord I we know each other's faces, But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, Than I of yours; Nor I no more of his, than you of mine. Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. HASTINGS: I thank his grace, I know he loves me well; But, for his purpose in the coronation. I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd His gracious pleasure any way therein: But you, my noble lords, may name the time; And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. BISHOP OF ELY: Now in good time, here comes the duke himself. GLOUCESTER: My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow. I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope, My absence doth neglect no great designs, Which by my presence might have been concluded. BUCKINGHAM: Had not you come upon your cue, my lord William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,-- I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king. GLOUCESTER: Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder; His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. HASTINGS: I thank your grace. GLOUCESTER: My lord of Ely! BISHOP OF ELY: My lord? GLOUCESTER: When I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there I do beseech you send for some of them. BISHOP OF ELY: Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. GLOUCESTER: Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, And finds the testy gentleman so hot, As he will lose his head ere give consent His master's son, as worshipful as he terms it, Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. BUCKINGHAM: Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you. DERBY: We have not yet set down this day of triumph. To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden; For I myself am not so well provided As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. BISHOP OF ELY: Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these strawberries. HASTINGS: His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day; There's some conceit or other likes him well, When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit. I think there's never a man in Christendom That can less hide his love or hate than he; For by his face straight shall you know his heart. DERBY: What of his heart perceive you in his face By any likelihood he show'd to-day? HASTINGS: Marry, that with no man here he is offended; For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. DERBY: I pray God he be not, I say. GLOUCESTER: I pray you all, tell me what they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd Upon my body with their hellish charms? HASTINGS: The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noble presence To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be I say, my lord, they have deserved death. GLOUCESTER: Then be your eyes the witness of this ill: See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. HASTINGS: If they have done this thing, my gracious lord-- GLOUCESTER: If I thou protector of this damned strumpet-- Tellest thou me of 'ifs'? Thou art a traitor: Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same. Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done: The rest, that love me, rise and follow me. HASTINGS: Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me; For I, too fond, might have prevented this. Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm; But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly: Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. O, now I want the priest that spake to me: I now repent I told the pursuivant As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies, How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, And I myself secure in grace and favour. O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head! RATCLIFF: Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner: Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head. HASTINGS: O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. LOVEL: Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. HASTINGS: O bloody Richard! miserable England! I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head. They smile at me that shortly shall be dead. GLOUCESTER: Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour, Murder thy breath in the middle of a word, And then begin again, and stop again, As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror? BUCKINGHAM: Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks Are at my service, like enforced smiles; And both are ready in their offices, At any time, to grace my stratagems. But what, is Catesby gone? GLOUCESTER: He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. BUCKINGHAM: Lord mayor,-- GLOUCESTER: Look to the drawbridge there! BUCKINGHAM: Hark! a drum. GLOUCESTER: Catesby, o'erlook the walls. BUCKINGHAM: Lord mayor, the reason we have sent-- GLOUCESTER: Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. BUCKINGHAM: God and our innocency defend and guard us! GLOUCESTER: Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel. LOVEL: Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. GLOUCESTER: So dear I loved the man, that I must weep. I took him for the plainest harmless creature That breathed upon this earth a Christian; Made him my book wherein my soul recorded The history of all her secret thoughts: So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, That, his apparent open guilt omitted, I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, He lived from all attainder of suspect. BUCKINGHAM: Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor That ever lived. Would you imagine, or almost believe, Were't not that, by great preservation, We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor This day had plotted, in the council-house To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester? Lord Mayor: What, had he so? GLOUCESTER: What, think You we are Turks or infidels? Or that we would, against the form of law, Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death, But that the extreme peril of the case, The peace of England and our persons' safety, Enforced us to this execution? Lord Mayor: Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death; And you my good lords, both have well proceeded, To warn false traitors from the like attempts. I never look'd for better at his hands, After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. GLOUCESTER: Yet had not we determined he should die, Until your lordship came to see his death; Which now the loving haste of these our friends, Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented: Because, my lord, we would have had you heard The traitor speak, and timorously confess The manner and the purpose of his treason; That you might well have signified the same Unto the citizens, who haply may Misconstrue us in him and wail his death. Lord Mayor: But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve, As well as I had seen and heard him speak And doubt you not, right noble princes both, But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens With all your just proceedings in this cause. GLOUCESTER: And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here, To avoid the carping censures of the world. BUCKINGHAM: But since you come too late of our intents, Yet witness what you hear we did intend: And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. GLOUCESTER: Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post: There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying he would make his son Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house, Which, by the sign thereof was termed so. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury And bestial appetite in change of lust; Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives, Even where his lustful eye or savage heart, Without control, listed to make his prey. Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: Tell them, when that my mother went with child Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York My princely father then had wars in France And, by just computation of the time, Found that the issue was not his begot; Which well appeared in his lineaments, Being nothing like the noble duke my father: But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off, Because you know, my lord, my mother lives. BUCKINGHAM: Fear not, my lord, I'll play the orator As if the golden fee for which I plead Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. GLOUCESTER: If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle; Where you shall find me well accompanied With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops. BUCKINGHAM: I go: and towards three or four o'clock Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. GLOUCESTER: Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw; Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. Now will I in, to take some privy order, To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight; And to give notice, that no manner of person At any time have recourse unto the princes. Scrivener: This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, That it may be this day read over in Paul's. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me; The precedent was full as long a-doing: And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross, That seeth not this palpable device? Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not? Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, When such bad dealings must be seen in thought. GLOUCESTER: How now, my lord, what say the citizens? BUCKINGHAM: Now, by the holy mother of our Lord, The citizens are mum and speak not a word. GLOUCESTER: Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children? BUCKINGHAM: I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy, And his contract by deputy in France; The insatiate greediness of his desires, And his enforcement of the city wives; His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, As being got, your father then in France, His resemblance, being not like the duke; Withal I did infer your lineaments, Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind; Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility: Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse And when mine oratory grew to an end I bid them that did love their country's good Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal king!' GLOUCESTER: Ah! and did they so? BUCKINGHAM: No, so God help me, they spake not a word; But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale. Which when I saw, I reprehended them; And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence: His answer was, the people were not wont To be spoke to but by the recorder. Then he was urged to tell my tale again, 'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;' But nothing spake in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own, At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps, And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!' And thus I took the vantage of those few, 'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I; 'This general applause and loving shout Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:' And even here brake off, and came away. GLOUCESTER: What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak? BUCKINGHAM: No, by my troth, my lord. GLOUCESTER: Will not the mayor then and his brethren come? BUCKINGHAM: The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear; Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit: And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord; For on that ground I'll build a holy descant: And be not easily won to our request: Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. GLOUCESTER: I go; and if you plead as well for them As I can say nay to thee for myself, No doubt well bring it to a happy issue. BUCKINGHAM: Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks. Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here; I think the duke will not be spoke withal. Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby, What says he? CATESBY: My lord: he doth entreat your grace; To visit him to-morrow or next day: He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation; And no worldly suit would he be moved, To draw him from his holy exercise. BUCKINGHAM: Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again; Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens, In deep designs and matters of great moment, No less importing than our general good, Are come to have some conference with his grace. CATESBY: I'll tell him what you say, my lord. BUCKINGHAM: Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward! He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines; Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul: Happy were England, would this gracious prince Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. Lord Mayor: Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay! BUCKINGHAM: I fear he will. How now, Catesby, what says your lord? CATESBY: My lord, He wonders to what end you have assembled Such troops of citizens to speak with him, His grace not being warn'd thereof before: My lord, he fears you mean no good to him. BUCKINGHAM: Sorry I am my noble cousin should Suspect me, that I mean no good to him: By heaven, I come in perfect love to him; And so once more return and tell his grace. When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence, So sweet is zealous contemplation. Lord Mayor: See, where he stands between two clergymen! BUCKINGHAM: Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, To stay him from the fall of vanity: And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, True ornaments to know a holy man. Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favourable ears to our request; And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. GLOUCESTER: My lord, there needs no such apology: I rather do beseech you pardon me, Who, earnest in the service of my God, Neglect the visitation of my friends. But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? BUCKINGHAM: Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. GLOUCESTER: I do suspect I have done some offence That seems disgracious in the city's eyes, And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. BUCKINGHAM: You have, my lord: would it might please your grace, At our entreaties, to amend that fault! GLOUCESTER: Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land? BUCKINGHAM: Then know, it is your fault that you resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The scepter'd office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemished stock: Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, Which here we waken to our country's good, This noble isle doth want her proper limbs; Her face defaced with scars of infamy, Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion. Which to recure, we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge And kingly government of this your land, Not as protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another's gain; But as successively from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just suit come I to move your grace. GLOUCESTER: I know not whether to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. Best fitteth my degree or your condition If not to answer, you might haply think Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me; If to reprove you for this suit of yours, So season'd with your faithful love to me. Then, on the other side, I cheque'd my friends. Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first, And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, Definitively thus I answer you. Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert Unmeritable shuns your high request. First if all obstacles were cut away, And that my path were even to the crown, As my ripe revenue and due by birth Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me, And much I need to help you, if need were; The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty, And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay what you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars; Which God defend that I should wring from him! BUCKINGHAM: My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well considered. You say that Edward is your brother's son: So say we too, but not by Edward's wife; For first he was contract to Lady Lucy-- Your mother lives a witness to that vow-- And afterward by substitute betroth'd To Bona, sister to the King of France. These both put by a poor petitioner, A care-crazed mother of a many children, A beauty-waning and distressed widow, Even in the afternoon of her best days, Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye, Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts To base declension and loathed bigamy By her, in his unlawful bed, he got This Edward, whom our manners term the prince. More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffer'd benefit of dignity; If non to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing times, Unto a lineal true-derived course. Lord Mayor: Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you. BUCKINGHAM: Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. CATESBY: O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit! GLOUCESTER: Alas, why would you heap these cares on me? I am unfit for state and majesty; I do beseech you, take it not amiss; I cannot nor I will not yield to you. BUCKINGHAM: If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal, Loath to depose the child, Your brother's son; As well we know your tenderness of heart And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kin, And egally indeed to all estates,-- Yet whether you accept our suit or no, Your brother's son shall never reign our king; But we will plant some other in the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house: And in this resolution here we leave you.-- Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more. GLOUCESTER: O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. CATESBY: Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit. ANOTHER: Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it. GLOUCESTER: Would you enforce me to a world of care? Well, call them again. I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your. kind entreats, Albeit against my conscience and my soul. Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men, Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burthen, whether I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load: But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof; For God he knows, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire thereof. Lord Mayor: God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it. GLOUCESTER: In saying so, you shall but say the truth. BUCKINGHAM: Then I salute you with this kingly title: Long live Richard, England's royal king! Lord Mayor: Amen. BUCKINGHAM: To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd? GLOUCESTER: Even when you please, since you will have it so. BUCKINGHAM: To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace: And so most joyfully we take our leave. GLOUCESTER: Come, let us to our holy task again. Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends. DUCHESS OF YORK: Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower, On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes. Daughter, well met. LADY ANNE: God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day! QUEEN ELIZABETH: As much to you, good sister! Whither away? LADY ANNE: No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the gentle princes there. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together. And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How doth the prince, and my young son of York? BRAKENBURY: Right well, dear madam. By your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them; The king hath straitly charged the contrary. QUEEN ELIZABETH: The king! why, who's that? BRAKENBURY: I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector. QUEEN ELIZABETH: The Lord protect him from that kingly title! Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me? I am their mother; who should keep me from them? DUCHESS OF YORK: I am their fathers mother; I will see them. LADY ANNE: Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame And take thy office from thee, on my peril. BRAKENBURY: No, madam, no; I may not leave it so: I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. LORD STANLEY: Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker on, of two fair queens. Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. QUEEN ELIZABETH: O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon With this dead-killing news! LADY ANNE: Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! DORSET: Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace? QUEEN ELIZABETH: O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence! Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; Thy mother's name is ominous to children. If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the number of the dead; And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. LORD STANLEY: Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. Take all the swift advantage of the hours; You shall have letters from me to my son To meet you on the way, and welcome you. Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. DUCHESS OF YORK: O ill-dispersing wind of misery! O my accursed womb, the bed of death! A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous. LORD STANLEY: Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. LADY ANNE: And I in all unwillingness will go. I would to God that the inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! Anointed let me be with deadly venom, And die, ere men can say, God save the queen! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. LADY ANNE: No! why? When he that is my husband now Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse, When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands Which issued from my other angel husband And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd; O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, This was my wish: 'Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed, For making me, so young, so old a widow! And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; And be thy wife--if any be so mad-- As miserable by the life of thee As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death! Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, Even in so short a space, my woman's heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words And proved the subject of my own soul's curse, Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest; For never yet one hour in his bed Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep, But have been waked by his timorous dreams. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. LADY ANNE: No more than from my soul I mourn for yours. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! LADY ANNE: Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it! DUCHESS OF YORK: QUEEN ELIZABETH: Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower. Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes Whom envy hath immured within your walls! Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow For tender princes, use my babies well! So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. KING RICHARD III: Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham! BUCKINGHAM: My gracious sovereign? KING RICHARD III: Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice And thy assistance, is King Richard seated; But shall we wear these honours for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? BUCKINGHAM: Still live they and for ever may they last! KING RICHARD III: O Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed Young Edward lives: think now what I would say. BUCKINGHAM: Say on, my loving lord. KING RICHARD III: Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king, BUCKINGHAM: Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege. KING RICHARD III: Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives. BUCKINGHAM: True, noble prince. KING RICHARD III: O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!' Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull: Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief. BUCKINGHAM: Your grace may do your pleasure. KING RICHARD III: Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth: Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? BUCKINGHAM: Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord Before I positively herein: I will resolve your grace immediately. CATESBY: KING RICHARD III: I will converse with iron-witted fools And unrespective boys: none are for me That look into me with considerate eyes: High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Boy! Page: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a close exploit of death? Page: My lord, I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. KING RICHARD III: What is his name? Page: His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. KING RICHARD III: I partly know the man: go, call him hither. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel: Hath he so long held out with me untired, And stops he now for breath? How now! what news with you? STANLEY: My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea Where he abides. KING RICHARD III: Catesby! CATESBY: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Rumour it abroad That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die: I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out That Anne my wife is sick and like to die: About it; for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. I must be married to my brother's daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. Murder her brothers, and then marry her! Uncertain way of gain! But I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin: Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. Is thy name Tyrrel? TYRREL: James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. KING RICHARD III: Art thou, indeed? TYRREL: Prove me, my gracious sovereign. KING RICHARD III: Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? TYRREL: Ay, my lord; But I had rather kill two enemies. KING RICHARD III: Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies, Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers Are they that I would have thee deal upon: Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. TYRREL: Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. KING RICHARD III: Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear: There is no more but so: say it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee too. TYRREL: 'Tis done, my gracious lord. KING RICHARD III: Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep? TYRREL: Ye shall, my Lord. BUCKINGHAM: My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind The late demand that you did sound me in. KING RICHARD III: Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond. BUCKINGHAM: I hear that news, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it. BUCKINGHAM: My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford and the moveables The which you promised I should possess. KING RICHARD III: Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. BUCKINGHAM: What says your highness to my just demand? KING RICHARD III: As I remember, Henry the Sixth Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king, perhaps, perhaps,-- BUCKINGHAM: My lord! KING RICHARD III: How chance the prophet could not at that time Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? BUCKINGHAM: My lord, your promise for the earldom,-- KING RICHARD III: Richmond! When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond. BUCKINGHAM: My Lord! KING RICHARD III: Ay, what's o'clock? BUCKINGHAM: I am thus bold to put your grace in mind Of what you promised me. KING RICHARD III: Well, but what's o'clock? BUCKINGHAM: Upon the stroke of ten. KING RICHARD III: Well, let it strike. BUCKINGHAM: Why let it strike? KING RICHARD III: Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein to-day. BUCKINGHAM: Why, then resolve me whether you will or no. KING RICHARD III: Tut, tut, Thou troublest me; am not in the vein. BUCKINGHAM: Is it even so? rewards he my true service With such deep contempt made I him king for this? O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on! TYRREL: The tyrannous and bloody deed is done. The most arch of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this ruthless piece of butchery, Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and kind compassion Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories. 'Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:' 'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another Within their innocent alabaster arms: Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my mind; But O! the devil'--there the villain stopp'd Whilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e'er she framed.' Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse; They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bring this tidings to the bloody king. And here he comes. All hail, my sovereign liege! KING RICHARD III: Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news? TYRREL: If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done, my lord. KING RICHARD III: But didst thou see them dead? TYRREL: I did, my lord. KING RICHARD III: And buried, gentle Tyrrel? TYRREL: The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But how or in what place I do not know. KING RICHARD III: Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, And thou shalt tell the process of their death. Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell till soon. The son of Clarence have I pent up close; His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown, To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer. CATESBY: My lord! KING RICHARD III: Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly? CATESBY: Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. KING RICHARD III: Ely with Richmond troubles me more near Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army. Come, I have heard that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield; We must be brief when traitors brave the field. QUEEN MARGARET: So, now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, To watch the waning of mine adversaries. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings And hear your mother's lamentation! QUEEN MARGARET: Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. DUCHESS OF YORK: So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb, Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? QUEEN MARGARET: Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? QUEEN MARGARET: When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. DUCHESS OF YORK: Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost, Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood! QUEEN ELIZABETH: O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave As thou canst yield a melancholy seat! Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. O, who hath any cause to mourn but I? QUEEN MARGARET: If ancient sorrow be most reverend, Give mine the benefit of seniory, And let my woes frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society, Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him; DUCHESS OF YORK: I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. QUEEN MARGARET: Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God's handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! DUCHESS OF YORK: O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes! God witness with me, I have wept for thine. QUEEN MARGARET: Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward: Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss: Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward; And the beholders of this tragic play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer, Only reserved their factor, to buy souls And send them thither: but at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray. To have him suddenly convey'd away. Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey, That I may live to say, The dog is dead! QUEEN ELIZABETH: O, thou didst prophesy the time would come That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad! QUEEN MARGARET: I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen; The presentation of but what I was; The flattering index of a direful pageant; One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below; A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes; A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble, A sign of dignity, a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot, A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy? Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art: For happy wife, a most distressed widow; For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one; For one commanding all, obey'd of none. Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, And left thee but a very prey to time; Having no more but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke; From which even here I slip my weary neck, And leave the burthen of it all on thee. Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance: These English woes will make me smile in France. QUEEN ELIZABETH: O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies! QUEEN MARGARET: Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse: Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine! QUEEN MARGARET: Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. DUCHESS OF YORK: Why should calamity be full of words? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help not all, yet do they ease the heart. DUCHESS OF YORK: If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me. And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd. I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims. KING RICHARD III: Who intercepts my expedition? DUCHESS OF YORK: O, she that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be graven, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown, And the dire death of my two sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children? DUCHESS OF YORK: Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? KING RICHARD III: A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say! Either be patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations. DUCHESS OF YORK: Art thou my son? KING RICHARD III: Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself. DUCHESS OF YORK: Then patiently hear my impatience. KING RICHARD III: Madam, I have a touch of your condition, Which cannot brook the accent of reproof. DUCHESS OF YORK: O, let me speak! KING RICHARD III: Do then: but I'll not hear. DUCHESS OF YORK: I will be mild and gentle in my speech. KING RICHARD III: And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. DUCHESS OF YORK: Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee, God knows, in anguish, pain and agony. KING RICHARD III: And came I not at last to comfort you? DUCHESS OF YORK: No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well, Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burthen was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious, Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous, Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody, treacherous, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever graced me in thy company? KING RICHARD III: Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace To breakfast once forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your sight, Let me march on, and not offend your grace. Strike the drum. DUCHESS OF YORK: I prithee, hear me speak. KING RICHARD III: You speak too bitterly. DUCHESS OF YORK: Hear me a word; For I shall never speak to thee again. KING RICHARD III: So. DUCHESS OF YORK: Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance, Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish And never look upon thy face again. Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse; Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st! My prayers on the adverse party fight; And there the little souls of Edward's children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say amen to all. KING RICHARD III: Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you. QUEEN ELIZABETH: I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives. KING RICHARD III: You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. QUEEN ELIZABETH: And must she die for this? O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; Slander myself as false to Edward's bed; Throw over her the veil of infamy: So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. KING RICHARD III: Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood. QUEEN ELIZABETH: To save her life, I'll say she is not so. KING RICHARD III: Her life is only safest in her birth. QUEEN ELIZABETH: And only in that safety died her brothers. KING RICHARD III: Lo, at their births good stars were opposite. QUEEN ELIZABETH: No, to their lives bad friends were contrary. KING RICHARD III: All unavoided is the doom of destiny. QUEEN ELIZABETH: True, when avoided grace makes destiny: My babes were destined to a fairer death, If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. KING RICHARD III: You speak as if that I had slain my cousins. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; And I, in such a desperate bay of death, Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. KING RICHARD III: Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd! QUEEN ELIZABETH: What good is cover'd with the face of heaven, To be discover'd, that can do me good? KING RICHARD III: The advancement of your children, gentle lady. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads? KING RICHARD III: No, to the dignity and height of honour The high imperial type of this earth's glory. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine? KING RICHARD III: Even all I have; yea, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs Which thou supposest I have done to thee. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. KING RICHARD III: Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. KING RICHARD III: What do you think? QUEEN ELIZABETH: That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul: So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers; And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. KING RICHARD III: Be not so hasty to confound my meaning: I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And mean to make her queen of England. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king? KING RICHARD III: Even he that makes her queen who should be else? QUEEN ELIZABETH: What, thou? KING RICHARD III: I, even I: what think you of it, madam? QUEEN ELIZABETH: How canst thou woo her? KING RICHARD III: That would I learn of you, As one that are best acquainted with her humour. QUEEN ELIZABETH: And wilt thou learn of me? KING RICHARD III: Madam, with all my heart. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave Edward and York; then haply she will weep: Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,-- A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother's body And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith. If this inducement force her not to love, Send her a story of thy noble acts; Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake, Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. KING RICHARD III: Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way To win our daughter. QUEEN ELIZABETH: There is no other way Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this. KING RICHARD III: Say that I did all this for love of her. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. KING RICHARD III: Look, what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter A grandam's name is little less in love Than is the doting title of a mother; They are as children but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of an one pain, save for a night of groans Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, And by that loss your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity: The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife. Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother; Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repair'd with double riches of content. What! we have many goodly days to see: The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, Advantaging their loan with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness. Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys And when this arm of mine hath chastised The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I come And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; To whom I will retail my conquest won, And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar. QUEEN ELIZABETH: What were I best to say? her father's brother Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle? Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That God, the law, my honour and her love, Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? KING RICHARD III: Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Which she shall purchase with still lasting war. KING RICHARD III: Say that the king, which may command, entreats. QUEEN ELIZABETH: That at her hands which the king's King forbids. KING RICHARD III: Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen. QUEEN ELIZABETH: To wail the tide, as her mother doth. KING RICHARD III: Say, I will love her everlastingly. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But how long shall that title 'ever' last? KING RICHARD III: Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last? KING RICHARD III: So long as heaven and nature lengthens it. QUEEN ELIZABETH: So long as hell and Richard likes of it. KING RICHARD III: Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty. KING RICHARD III: Be eloquent in my behalf to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH: An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. KING RICHARD III: Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. KING RICHARD III: Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. QUEEN ELIZABETH: O no, my reasons are too deep and dead; Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave. KING RICHARD III: Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break. KING RICHARD III: Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd. KING RICHARD III: I swear-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: By nothing; for this is no oath: The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory. if something thou wilt swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. KING RICHARD III: Now, by the world-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. KING RICHARD III: My father's death-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thy life hath that dishonour'd. KING RICHARD III: Then, by myself-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thyself thyself misusest. KING RICHARD III: Why then, by God-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, The unity the king thy brother made Had not been broken, nor my brother slain: If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, The imperial metal, circling now thy brow, Had graced the tender temples of my child, And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender playfellows to dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now? KING RICHARD III: The time to come. QUEEN ELIZABETH: That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'd, Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast. KING RICHARD III: As I intend to prosper and repent, So thrive I in my dangerous attempt Of hostile arms! myself myself confound! Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! In her consists my happiness and thine; Without her, follows to this land and me, To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin and decay: It cannot be avoided but by this; It will not be avoided but by this. Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so-- Be the attorney of my love to her: Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish-fond in great designs. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? KING RICHARD III: Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Shall I forget myself to be myself? KING RICHARD III: Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But thou didst kill my children. KING RICHARD III: But in your daughter's womb I bury them: Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? KING RICHARD III: And be a happy mother by the deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH: I go. Write to me very shortly. And you shall understand from me her mind. KING RICHARD III: Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman! How now! what news? RATCLIFF: My gracious sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back: 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. KING RICHARD III: Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he? CATESBY: Here, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Fly to the duke: Post thou to Salisbury When thou comest thither-- Dull, unmindful villain, Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke? CATESBY: First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind, What from your grace I shall deliver to him. KING RICHARD III: O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me presently at Salisbury. CATESBY: I go. RATCLIFF: What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at Salisbury? KING RICHARD III: Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go? RATCLIFF: Your highness told me I should post before. KING RICHARD III: My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed. How now, what news with you? STANLEY: None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing; Nor none so bad, but it may well be told. KING RICHARD III: Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! Why dost thou run so many mile about, When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way? Once more, what news? STANLEY: Richmond is on the seas. KING RICHARD III: There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? STANLEY: I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. KING RICHARD III: Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess? STANLEY: Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, He makes for England, there to claim the crown. KING RICHARD III: Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd? What heir of York is there alive but we? And who is England's king but great York's heir? Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea? STANLEY: Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. KING RICHARD III: Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. STANLEY: No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not. KING RICHARD III: Where is thy power, then, to beat him back? Where are thy tenants and thy followers? Are they not now upon the western shore. Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships! STANLEY: No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. KING RICHARD III: Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north, When they should serve their sovereign in the west? STANLEY: They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign: Please it your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace Where and what time your majesty shall please. KING RICHARD III: Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond: I will not trust you, sir. STANLEY: Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful: I never was nor never will be false. KING RICHARD III: Well, Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm. Or else his head's assurance is but frail. STANLEY: So deal with him as I prove true to you. Messenger: My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate Bishop of Exeter, his brother there, With many more confederates, are in arms. Second Messenger: My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms; And every hour more competitors Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth. Third Messenger: My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham-- KING RICHARD III: Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death? Take that, until thou bring me better news. Third Messenger: The news I have to tell your majesty Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd; And he himself wander'd away alone, No man knows whither. KING RICHARD III: I cry thee mercy: There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in? Third Messenger: Such proclamation hath been made, my liege. Fourth Messenger: Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset, 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace, The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest: Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks If they were his assistants, yea or no; Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham. Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany. KING RICHARD III: March on, march on, since we are up in arms; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. CATESBY: My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken; That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. KING RICHARD III: Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. DERBY: Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: That in the sty of this most bloody boar My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold: If I revolt, off goes young George's head; The fear of that withholds my present aid. But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? CHRISTOPHER: At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales. DERBY: What men of name resort to him? CHRISTOPHER: Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas with a valiant crew; And many more of noble fame and worth: And towards London they do bend their course, If by the way they be not fought withal. DERBY: Return unto thy lord; commend me to him: Tell him the queen hath heartily consented He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. BUCKINGHAM: Will not King Richard let me speak with him? Sheriff: No, my good lord; therefore be patient. BUCKINGHAM: Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey, Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice, If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction! This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not? Sheriff: It is, my lord. BUCKINGHAM: Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday. This is the day that, in King Edward's time, I wish't might fall on me, when I was found False to his children or his wife's allies This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall By the false faith of him I trusted most; This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul Is the determined respite of my wrongs: That high All-Seer that I dallied with Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms: Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head; 'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess.' Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame; Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. RICHMOND: Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we march'd on without impediment; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine Lies now even in the centre of this isle, Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war. OXFORD: Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide. HERBERT: I doubt not but his friends will fly to us. BLUNT: He hath no friends but who are friends for fear. Which in his greatest need will shrink from him. RICHMOND: All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march: True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings: Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. KING RICHARD III: Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field. My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? SURREY: My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. KING RICHARD III: My Lord of Norfolk,-- NORFOLK: Here, most gracious liege. KING RICHARD III: Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not? NORFOLK: We must both give and take, my gracious lord. KING RICHARD III: Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight; But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. Who hath descried the number of the foe? NORFOLK: Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. KING RICHARD III: Why, our battalion trebles that account: Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, Which they upon the adverse party want. Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the field Call for some men of sound direction Let's want no discipline, make no delay, For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. RICHMOND: The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow. Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. Give me some ink and paper in my tent I'll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit each leader to his several charge, And part in just proportion our small strength. My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon, And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment: Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him And by the second hour in the morning Desire the earl to see me in my tent: Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st, Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know? BLUNT: Unless I have mista'en his colours much, Which well I am assured I have not done, His regiment lies half a mile at least South from the mighty power of the king. RICHMOND: If without peril it be possible, Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, And give him from me this most needful scroll. BLUNT: Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it; And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! RICHMOND: Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen, Let us consult upon to-morrow's business In to our tent; the air is raw and cold. KING RICHARD III: What is't o'clock? CATESBY: It's supper-time, my lord; It's nine o'clock. KING RICHARD III: I will not sup to-night. Give me some ink and paper. What, is my beaver easier than it was? And all my armour laid into my tent? CATESBY: If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness. KING RICHARD III: Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. NORFOLK: I go, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. NORFOLK: I warrant you, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Catesby! CATESBY: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Send out a pursuivant at arms To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power Before sunrising, lest his son George fall Into the blind cave of eternal night. Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliff! RATCLIFF: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? RATCLIFF: Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. KING RICHARD III: So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine: I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? RATCLIFF: It is, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Bid my guard watch; leave me. Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. DERBY: Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! RICHMOND: All comfort that the dark night can afford Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! Tell me, how fares our loving mother? DERBY: I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother Who prays continually for Richmond's good: So much for that. The silent hours steal on, And flaky darkness breaks within the east. In brief,--for so the season bids us be,-- Prepare thy battle early in the morning, And put thy fortune to the arbitrement Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,-- With best advantage will deceive the time, And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: But on thy side I may not be too forward Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his father's sight. Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon: God give us leisure for these rites of love! Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well! RICHMOND: Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap, Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, When I should mount with wings of victory: Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. O Thou, whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye; Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries! Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in the victory! To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes: Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! Ghost of Prince Edward: Ghost of King Henry VI: Ghost of CLARENCE: Ghost of RIVERS: Ghost of GREY: Ghost of VAUGHAN: All: Ghost of HASTINGS: Ghosts of young Princes: Ghost of LADY ANNE: Ghost of BUCKINGHAM: KING RICHARD III: Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? myself? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am: Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why: Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? Alack. I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no! alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself! I am a villain: yet I lie. I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty! I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me: Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself? Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd Came to my tent; and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. RATCLIFF: My lord! KING RICHARD III: 'Zounds! who is there? RATCLIFF: Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. KING RICHARD III: O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true? RATCLIFF: No doubt, my lord. KING RICHARD III: O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,-- RATCLIFF: Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. KING RICHARD III: By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To see if any mean to shrink from me. LORDS: Good morrow, Richmond! RICHMOND: Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. LORDS: How have you slept, my lord? RICHMOND: The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, Came to my tent, and cried on victory: I promise you, my soul is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords? LORDS: Upon the stroke of four. RICHMOND: Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this, God and our good cause fight upon our side; The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; Richard except, those whom we fight against Had rather have us win than him they follow: For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant and a homicide; One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him; Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God's enemy: Then, if you fight against God's enemy, God will in justice ward you as his soldiers; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; If you do fight against your country's foes, Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; If you do free your children from the sword, Your children's children quit it in your age. Then, in the name of God and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully; God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! KING RICHARD III: What said Northumberland as touching Richmond? RATCLIFF: That he was never trained up in arms. KING RICHARD III: He said the truth: and what said Surrey then? RATCLIFF: He smiled and said 'The better for our purpose.' KING RICHARD III: He was in the right; and so indeed it is. Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar. Who saw the sun to-day? RATCLIFF: Not I, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Then he disdains to shine; for by the book He should have braved the east an hour ago A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliff! RATCLIFF: My lord? KING RICHARD III: The sun will not be seen to-day; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. NORFOLK: Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. KING RICHARD III: Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse. Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be ordered: My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, Consisting equally of horse and foot; Our archers shall be placed in the midst John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. They thus directed, we will follow In the main battle, whose puissance on either side Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk? NORFOLK: A good direction, warlike sovereign. This found I on my tent this morning. KING RICHARD III: Messenger: My lord, he doth deny to come. KING RICHARD III: Off with his son George's head! NORFOLK: My lord, the enemy is past the marsh After the battle let George Stanley die. KING RICHARD III: A thousand hearts are great within my bosom: Advance our standards, set upon our foes Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! Upon them! victory sits on our helms. CATESBY: Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! The king enacts more wonders than a man, Daring an opposite to every danger: His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost! KING RICHARD III: A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! CATESBY: Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse. KING RICHARD III: Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think there be six Richmonds in the field; Five have I slain to-day instead of him. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! RICHMOND: God and your arms be praised, victorious friends, The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. DERBY: Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee. Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal: Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. RICHMOND: Great God of heaven, say Amen to all! But, tell me, is young George Stanley living? DERBY: He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town; Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. RICHMOND: What men of name are slain on either side? DERBY: John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. RICHMOND: Inter their bodies as becomes their births: Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled That in submission will return to us: And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, We will unite the white rose and the red: Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, That long have frown'd upon their enmity! What traitor hears me, and says not amen? England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire: All this divided York and Lancaster, Divided in their dire division, O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true succeeders of each royal house, By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so. Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace, With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days! Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again, And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen! KING RICHARD II: Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT: I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II: Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT: As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II: Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY: Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II: We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY: I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II: What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II: How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY: O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II: Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II: Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT: To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II: And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT: When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II: Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II: Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II: Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. KING RICHARD II: We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. JOHN OF GAUNT: Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS: Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT: God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS: Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT: To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS: Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT: Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS: Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Lord Marshal: My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal: The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. KING RICHARD II: Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal: In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY: My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! KING RICHARD II: Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal: What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal: On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal: The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II: We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT: God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY: However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II: Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal: Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald: Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal: Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II: Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II: Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY: A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II: It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II: Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY: And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY: No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. KING RICHARD II: Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT: I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II: Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT: But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II: Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT: Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II: Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal: My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT: Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT: What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT: Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT: The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT: All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT: Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. KING RICHARD II: We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE: I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II: And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II: What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE: 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II: He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN: Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II: We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Bushy, what news? BUSHY: Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II: Where lies he? BUSHY: At Ely House. KING RICHARD II: Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All: Amen. JOHN OF GAUNT: Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK: Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK: No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT: Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! DUKE OF YORK: The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN: How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II: What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT: O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II: Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT: No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II: Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT: No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II: Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II: I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT: Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II: A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. KING RICHARD II: And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK: I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II: Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. NORTHUMBERLAND: My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II: What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND: Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK: Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II: The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK: How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II: Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK: O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II: Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK: I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. KING RICHARD II: Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short NORTHUMBERLAND: Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS: And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND: Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS: My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND: Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY: Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS: No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND: Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS: The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY: And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND: Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS: The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY: The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND: Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS: He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND: His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS: We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND: Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS: Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND: Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS: To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. BUSHY: Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN: To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY: Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN: It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY: 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN: 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. GREEN: God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN: Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN: That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN: Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN: Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY: Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN: We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN: So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY: Despair not, madam. QUEEN: Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. GREEN: Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN: With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK: Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Servant: My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK: He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant: My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK: What is't, knave? Servant: An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK: God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. BUSHY: The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN: Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT: And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY: Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT: If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN: Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY: Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT: No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY: That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN: Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. BUSHY: Well, we may meet again. BAGOT: I fear me, never. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? NORTHUMBERLAND: Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire: These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome, And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But I bethink me what a weary way From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; And hope to joy is little less in joy Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Of much less value is my company Than your good words. But who comes here? NORTHUMBERLAND: It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle? HENRY PERCY: I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. NORTHUMBERLAND: Why, is he not with the queen? HENRY PERCY: No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office and dispersed The household of the king. NORTHUMBERLAND: What was his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together. HENRY PERCY: Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover What power the Duke of York had levied there; Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh. NORTHUMBERLAND: Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? HENRY PERCY: No, my good lord, for that is not forgot Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. NORTHUMBERLAND: Then learn to know him now; this is the duke. HENRY PERCY: My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw and young: Which elder days shall ripen and confirm To more approved service and desert. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul remembering my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. NORTHUMBERLAND: How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war? HENRY PERCY: There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour; None else of name and noble estimate. NORTHUMBERLAND: Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banish'd traitor: all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd Shall be your love and labour's recompense. LORD ROSS: Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. LORD WILLOUGHBY: And far surmounts our labour to attain it. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? NORTHUMBERLAND: It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. LORD BERKELEY: My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England; And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. LORD BERKELEY: Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning To raze one title of your honour out: To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, From the most gracious regent of this land, The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time And fright our native peace with self-born arms. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle! DUKE OF YORK: Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceiveable and false. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My gracious uncle-- DUKE OF YORK: Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.' In an ungracious mouth is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground? But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, Frighting her pale-faced villages with war And ostentation of despised arms? Comest thou because the anointed king is hence? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French, O, then how quickly should this arm of mine. Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee And minister correction to thy fault! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My gracious uncle, let me know my fault: On what condition stands it and wherein? DUKE OF YORK: Even in condition of the worst degree, In gross rebellion and detested treason: Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my father, for methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be King of England, It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, And yet my letters-patents give me leave: My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold, And these and all are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me; And therefore, personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent. NORTHUMBERLAND: The noble duke hath been too much abused. LORD ROSS: It stands your grace upon to do him right. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Base men by his endowments are made great. DUKE OF YORK: My lords of England, let me tell you this: I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs And laboured all I could to do him right; But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong, it may not be; And you that do abet him in this kind Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. NORTHUMBERLAND: The noble duke hath sworn his coming is But for his own; and for the right of that We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath! DUKE OF YORK: Well, well, I see the issue of these arms: I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak and all ill left: But if I could, by Him that gave me life, I would attach you all and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But since I cannot, be it known to you I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; Unless you please to enter in the castle And there repose you for this night. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: An offer, uncle, that we will accept: But we must win your grace to go with us To Bristol castle, which they say is held By Bushy, Bagot and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. DUKE OF YORK: It may be I will go with you: but yet I'll pause; For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress are now with me past care. Captain: My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king; Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. EARL OF SALISBURY: Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman: The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. Captain: 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap, The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war: These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assured Richard their king is dead. EARL OF SALISBURY: Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind I see thy glory like a shooting star Fall to the base earth from the firmament. Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest: Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Bring forth these men. Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-- Since presently your souls must part your bodies-- With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men I will unfold some causes of your deaths. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigured clean: You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, Broke the possession of a royal bed And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, Near to the king in blood, and near in love Till you did make him misinterpret me, Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment; Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign, Save men's opinions and my living blood, To show the world I am a gentleman. This and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over To execution and the hand of death. BUSHY: More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. GREEN: My comfort is that heaven will take our souls And plague injustice with the pains of hell. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. DUKE OF YORK: A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away. To fight with Glendower and his complices: Awhile to work, and after holiday. KING RICHARD II: Barkloughly castle call they this at hand? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air, After your late tossing on the breaking seas? KING RICHARD II: Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: As a long-parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee: Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords: This earth shall have a feeling and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embraced, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, The proffer'd means of succor and redress. DUKE OF AUMERLE: He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in power. KING RICHARD II: Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen In murders and in outrage, boldly here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revell'd in the night Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord: For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. Welcome, my lord how far off lies your power? EARL OF SALISBURY: Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state: For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale? KING RICHARD II: But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe fly from my side, For time hath set a blot upon my pride. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. KING RICHARD II: I had forgot myself; am I not king? Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. Is not the king's name twenty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king: are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him! KING RICHARD II: Mine ear is open and my heart prepared; The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so: Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God as well as us: Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay: The worst is death, and death will have his day. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolved to tears, So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown: The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. KING RICHARD II: Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it: I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. KING RICHARD II: O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence! SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Where is the duke my father with his power? KING RICHARD II: No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, Let's choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings; How some have been deposed; some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence: throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king? BISHOP OF CARLISLE: My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight: And fight and die is death destroying death; Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. DUKE OF AUMERLE: My father hath a power; inquire of him And learn to make a body of a limb. KING RICHARD II: Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come To change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague fit of fear is over-blown; An easy task it is to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day: So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke, And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party. KING RICHARD II: Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair! What say you now? what comfort have we now? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away; A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. That power I have, discharge; and let them go To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none: let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain. DUKE OF AUMERLE: My liege, one word. KING RICHARD II: He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: So that by this intelligence we learn The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed With some few private friends upon this coast. NORTHUMBERLAND: The news is very fair and good, my lord: Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. DUKE OF YORK: It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head. NORTHUMBERLAND: Your grace mistakes; only to be brief Left I his title out. DUKE OF YORK: The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, For taking so the head, your whole head's length. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. DUKE OF YORK: Take not, good cousin, further than you should. Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself Against their will. But who comes here? Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield? HENRY PERCY: The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Royally! Why, it contains no king? HENRY PERCY: Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king; King Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone: And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. NORTHUMBERLAND: O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Noble lords, Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: Henry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand And sends allegiance and true faith of heart To his most royal person, hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, Provided that my banishment repeal'd And lands restored again be freely granted: If not, I'll use the advantage of my power And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much, while here we march Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. Let's march without the noise of threatening drum, That from this castle's tatter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perused. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thundering shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain My waters; on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east, When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident. DUKE OF YORK: Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show! KING RICHARD II: We are amazed; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismissed us from our stewardship; For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think that all, as you have done, Have torn their souls by turning them from us, And we are barren and bereft of friends; Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands-- That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason: he is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face, Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation and bedew Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. NORTHUMBERLAND: The king of heaven forbid our lord the king Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand; And by the honourable tomb he swears, That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, And by the royalties of both your bloods, Currents that spring from one most gracious head, And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be sworn or said, His coming hither hath no further scope Than for his lineal royalties and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: Which on thy royal party granted once, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. KING RICHARD II: Northumberland, say thus the king returns: His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: With all the gracious utterance thou hast Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, To look so poorly and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die? DUKE OF AUMERLE: No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords. KING RICHARD II: O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of sooth! O that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been, Or not remember what I must be now! Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. KING RICHARD II: What must the king do now? must he submit? The king shall do it: must he be deposed? The king shall be contented: must he lose The name of king? o' God's name, let it go: I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, My subjects for a pair of carved saints And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave; Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; For on my heart they tread now whilst I live; And buried once, why not upon my head? Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! We'll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, And make some pretty match with shedding tears? As thus, to drop them still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you; may it please you to come down. KING RICHARD II: Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What says his majesty? NORTHUMBERLAND: Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man Yet he is come. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty. My gracious lord,-- KING RICHARD II: Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee To make the base earth proud with kissing it: Me rather had my heart might feel your love Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, although your knee be low. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. KING RICHARD II: Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. KING RICHARD II: Well you deserve: they well deserve to have, That know the strong'st and surest way to get. Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes; Tears show their love, but want their remedies. Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we must what force will have us do. Set on towards London, cousin, is it so? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Yea, my good lord. KING RICHARD II: Then I must not say no. QUEEN: What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care? Lady: Madam, we'll play at bowls. QUEEN: 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, And that my fortune rubs against the bias. Lady: Madam, we'll dance. QUEEN: My legs can keep no measure in delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. Lady: Madam, we'll tell tales. QUEEN: Of sorrow or of joy? Lady: Of either, madam. QUEEN: Of neither, girl: For of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow; Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have I need not to repeat; And what I want it boots not to complain. Lady: Madam, I'll sing. QUEEN: 'Tis well that thou hast cause But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. Lady: I could weep, madam, would it do you good. QUEEN: And I could sing, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. But stay, here come the gardeners: Let's step into the shadow of these trees. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They'll talk of state; for every one doth so Against a change; woe is forerun with woe. Gardener: Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Give some supportance to the bending twigs. Go thou, and like an executioner, Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government. You thus employ'd, I will go root away The noisome weeds, which without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. Servant: Why should we in the compass of a pale Keep law and form and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up, Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars? Gardener: Hold thy peace: He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke, I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. Servant: What, are they dead? Gardener: They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land As we this garden! We at time of year Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, With too much riches it confound itself: Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have lived to bear and he to taste Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. Servant: What, think you then the king shall be deposed? Gardener: Depress'd he is already, and deposed 'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's, That tell black tidings. QUEEN: O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking! Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee To make a second fall of cursed man? Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed? Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch. Gardener: Pardon me, madam: little joy have I To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd: In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, And some few vanities that make him light; But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Besides himself, are all the English peers, And with that odds he weighs King Richard down. Post you to London, and you will find it so; I speak no more than every one doth know. QUEEN: Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go, To meet at London London's king in woe. What, was I born to this, that my sad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? Gardener, for telling me these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow. GARDENER: Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse, I would my skill were subject to thy curse. Here did she fall a tear; here in this place I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace: Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, In the remembrance of a weeping queen. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Call forth Bagot. Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death, Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end. BAGOT: Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. BAGOT: My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted, I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English court As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?' Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal how blest this land would be In this your cousin's death. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Princes and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his slanderous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, And will maintain what thou hast said is false In thy heart-blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath moved me so. LORD FITZWATER: If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death. If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day. LORD FITZWATER: Now by my soul, I would it were this hour. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. HENRY PERCY: Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true In this appeal as thou art all unjust; And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest. DUKE OF AUMERLE: An if I do not, may my hands rot off And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe! Lord: I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all: I have a thousand spirits in one breast, To answer twenty thousand such as you. DUKE OF SURREY: My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. LORD FITZWATER: 'Tis very true: you were in presence then; And you can witness with me this is true. DUKE OF SURREY: As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. LORD FITZWATER: Surrey, thou liest. DUKE OF SURREY: Dishonourable boy! That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's skull: In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. LORD FITZWATER: How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction. As I intend to thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal: Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Some honest Christian trust me with a gage That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restored again To all his lands and signories: when he's return'd, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens: And toil'd with works of war, retired himself To Italy; and there at Venice gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? BISHOP OF CARLISLE: As surely as I live, my lord. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage Till we assign you to your days of trial. DUKE OF YORK: Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand: Ascend his throne, descending now from him; And long live Henry, fourth of that name! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: Marry. God forbid! Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them; And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy-elect, Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Be judged by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, That in a Christian climate souls refined Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king: My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: And if you crown him, let me prophesy: The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. O, if you raise this house against this house, It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursed earth. Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe! NORTHUMBERLAND: Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here. My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. DUKE OF YORK: I will be his conduct. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholding to your love, And little look'd for at your helping hands. KING RICHARD II: Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs: Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men: were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me? So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king! Will no man say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. God save the king! although I be not he; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. To do what service am I sent for hither? DUKE OF YORK: To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make thee offer, The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. KING RICHARD II: Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown; Here cousin: On this side my hand, and on that side yours. Now is this golden crown like a deep well That owes two buckets, filling one another, The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen and full of water: That bucket down and full of tears am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I thought you had been willing to resign. KING RICHARD II: My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine: You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Part of your cares you give me with your crown. KING RICHARD II: Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. My care is loss of care, by old care done; Your care is gain of care, by new care won: The cares I give I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Are you contented to resign the crown? KING RICHARD II: Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me, how I will undo myself; I give this heavy weight from off my head And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duty's rites: All pomp and majesty I do forswear; My manors, rents, revenues I forego; My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny: God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved, And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved! Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit! God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days! What more remains? NORTHUMBERLAND: No more, but that you read These accusations and these grievous crimes Committed by your person and your followers Against the state and profit of this land; That, by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily deposed. KING RICHARD II: Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, There shouldst thou find one heinous article, Containing the deposing of a king And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven: Nay, all of you that stand and look upon, Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles. KING RICHARD II: Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest; For I have given here my soul's consent To undeck the pompous body of a king; Made glory base and sovereignty a slave, Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord,-- KING RICHARD II: No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, No, not that name was given me at the font, But 'tis usurp'd: alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! O that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops! Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, An if my word be sterling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight, That it may show me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. NORTHUMBERLAND: Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. KING RICHARD II: Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND: The commons will not then be satisfied. KING RICHARD II: They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. Give me the glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face that faced so many follies, And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face: As brittle as the glory is the face; For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow or your face. KING RICHARD II: Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see: 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only givest Me cause to wail but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And then be gone and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Name it, fair cousin. KING RICHARD II: 'Fair cousin'? I am greater than a king: For when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Yet ask. KING RICHARD II: And shall I have? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: You shall. KING RICHARD II: Then give me leave to go. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Whither? KING RICHARD II: Whither you will, so I were from your sights. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. KING RICHARD II: O, good! convey? conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. Abbot: A woeful pageant have we here beheld. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: The woe's to come; the children yet unborn. Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. DUKE OF AUMERLE: You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? Abbot: My lord, Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury mine intents, but also to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise. I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears: Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay A plot shall show us all a merry day. QUEEN: This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke: Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold, That you in pity may dissolve to dew, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand, Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest? KING RICHARD II: Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awaked, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim Necessity, and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. QUEEN: What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion and a king of beasts? KING RICHARD II: A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: Think I am dead and that even here thou takest, As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid; And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs, Tell thou the lamentable tale of me And send the hearers weeping to their beds: For why, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue And in compassion weep the fire out; And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed: You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; With all swift speed you must away to France. KING RICHARD II: Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is ere foul sin gathering head Shalt break into corruption: thou shalt think, Though he divide the realm and give thee half, It is too little, helping him to all; And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne'er so little urged, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked men converts to fear; That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death. NORTHUMBERLAND: My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith. KING RICHARD II: Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. Part us, Northumberland; I toward the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. QUEEN: And must we be divided? must we part? KING RICHARD II: Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. QUEEN: Banish us both and send the king with me. NORTHUMBERLAND: That were some love but little policy. QUEEN: Then whither he goes, thither let me go. KING RICHARD II: So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. QUEEN: So longest way shall have the longest moans. KING RICHARD II: Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief; One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. QUEEN: Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. So, now I have mine own again, be gone, That I might strive to kill it with a groan. KING RICHARD II: We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. DUCHESS OF YORK: My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off, of our two cousins coming into London. DUKE OF YORK: Where did I leave? DUCHESS OF YORK: At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. DUKE OF YORK: Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!' You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage, and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once 'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!' Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:' And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. DUCHESS OF YORK: Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? DUKE OF YORK: As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!' No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head: Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow. DUCHESS OF YORK: Here comes my son Aumerle. DUKE OF YORK: Aumerle that was; But that is lost for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: I am in parliament pledge for his truth And lasting fealty to the new-made king. DUCHESS OF YORK: Welcome, my son: who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new come spring? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows I had as lief be none as one. DUKE OF YORK: Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs? DUKE OF AUMERLE: For aught I know, my lord, they do. DUKE OF YORK: You will be there, I know. DUKE OF AUMERLE: If God prevent not, I purpose so. DUKE OF YORK: What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. DUKE OF AUMERLE: My lord, 'tis nothing. DUKE OF YORK: No matter, then, who see it; I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. DUKE OF AUMERLE: I do beseech your grace to pardon me: It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. DUKE OF YORK: Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear,-- DUCHESS OF YORK: What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. DUKE OF YORK: Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing. DUKE OF AUMERLE: I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. DUKE OF YORK: I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! DUCHESS OF YORK: What is the matter, my lord? DUKE OF YORK: Ho! who is within there? Saddle my horse. God for his mercy, what treachery is here! DUCHESS OF YORK: Why, what is it, my lord? DUKE OF YORK: Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, I will appeach the villain. DUCHESS OF YORK: What is the matter? DUKE OF YORK: Peace, foolish woman. DUCHESS OF YORK: I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. DUCHESS OF YORK: Thy life answer! DUKE OF YORK: Bring me my boots: I will unto the king. DUCHESS OF YORK: Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed. Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. DUKE OF YORK: Give me my boots, I say. DUCHESS OF YORK: Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, And rob me of a happy mother's name? Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? DUKE OF YORK: Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the king at Oxford. DUCHESS OF YORK: He shall be none; We'll keep him here: then what is that to him? DUKE OF YORK: Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son, I would appeach him. DUCHESS OF YORK: Hadst thou groan'd for him As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed, And that he is a bastard, not thy son: Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: He is as like thee as a man may be, Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him. DUKE OF YORK: Make way, unruly woman! DUCHESS OF YORK: After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse; Spur post, and get before him to the king, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: And never will I rise up from the ground Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last; If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found: Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions, Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew. HENRY PERCY: My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: And what said the gallant? HENRY PERCY: His answer was, he would unto the stews, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: As dissolute as desperate; yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years May happily bring forth. But who comes here? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Where is the king? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What means our cousin, that he stares and looks So wildly? DUKE OF AUMERLE: God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty, To have some conference with your grace alone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. What is the matter with our cousin now? DUKE OF AUMERLE: For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Have thy desire. DUKE OF YORK: HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Villain, I'll make thee safe. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. DUKE OF YORK: HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. DUKE OF YORK: Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd: I do repent me; read not my name there My heart is not confederate with my hand. DUKE OF YORK: It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, From when this stream through muddy passages Hath held his current and defiled himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad, And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. DUKE OF YORK: So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies: Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. DUCHESS OF YORK: HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry? DUCHESS OF YORK: A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door. A beggar begs that never begg'd before. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.' My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. DUKE OF YORK: If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound. DUCHESS OF YORK: O king, believe not this hard-hearted man! Love loving not itself none other can. DUKE OF YORK: Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? DUCHESS OF YORK: Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Rise up, good aunt. DUCHESS OF YORK: Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I walk upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. DUKE OF YORK: Against them both my true joints bended be. Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! DUCHESS OF YORK: Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly and would be denied; We pray with heart and soul and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayer ought to have. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS OF YORK: Nay, do not say, 'stand up;' Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet. DUKE OF YORK: Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.' DUCHESS OF YORK: Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word! Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there; Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS OF YORK: I do not sue to stand; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. DUCHESS OF YORK: O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: With all my heart I pardon him. DUCHESS OF YORK: A god on earth thou art. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too, adieu: Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. DUCHESS OF YORK: Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new. EXTON: Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake, 'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' Was it not so? Servant: These were his very words. EXTON: 'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it twice, And urged it twice together, did he not? Servant: He did. EXTON: And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me, And who should say, 'I would thou wert the man' That would divorce this terror from my heart;' Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go: I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. KING RICHARD II: I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world: And for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd With scruples and do set the word itself Against the word: As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again, 'It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls, And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame, That many have and others must sit there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endured the like. Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing. Music do I hear? Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string; But for the concord of my state and time Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. This music mads me; let it sound no more; For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. Groom: Hail, royal prince! KING RICHARD II: Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? Groom: I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! KING RICHARD II: Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom: So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. KING RICHARD II: So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be awed by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burthen like an ass, Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke. Keeper: Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. KING RICHARD II: If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom: What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. Keeper: My lord, will't please you to fall to? KING RICHARD II: Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keeper: My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary. KING RICHARD II: The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Keeper: Help, help, help! KING RICHARD II: How now! what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. EXTON: As full of valour as of royal blood: Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. Welcome, my lord what is the news? NORTHUMBERLAND: First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. LORD FITZWATER: My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. HENRY PERCY: The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. EXTON: Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand Upon my head and all this famous land. EXTON: From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow: Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent: I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand: March sadly after; grace my mournings here; In weeping after this untimely bier. SAMPSON: Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY: No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON: I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY: Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON: I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY: But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON: A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY: To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON: A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY: That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON: True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY: The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON: 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY: The heads of the maids? SAMPSON: Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY: They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON: Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY: 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON: My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY: How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON: Fear me not. GREGORY: No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON: Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY: I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON: Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. ABRAHAM: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON: I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON: GREGORY: No. SAMPSON: No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY: Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM: Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON: If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM: No better. SAMPSON: Well, sir. GREGORY: Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON: Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM: You lie. SAMPSON: Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. BENVOLIO: Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. TYBALT: What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO: I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT: What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! First Citizen: Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! CAPULET: What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET: A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET: My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. MONTAGUE: Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE: Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. PRINCE: Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. MONTAGUE: Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO: Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE: O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO: Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE: Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO: My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE: I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO: Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE: Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. BENVOLIO: See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE: I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. BENVOLIO: Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO: Is the day so young? BENVOLIO: But new struck nine. ROMEO: Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO: It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO: Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO: In love? ROMEO: Out-- BENVOLIO: Of love? ROMEO: Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO: Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO: Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO: No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO: Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO: At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO: Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO: Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO: Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO: Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO: What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO: Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO: Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO: I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO: A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO: A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO: Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO: Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO: She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO: Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO: O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO: By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO: 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO: I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. CAPULET: But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS: Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET: But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS: Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET: And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Servant: Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. BENVOLIO: Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO: Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO: For what, I pray thee? ROMEO: For your broken shin. BENVOLIO: Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO: Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant: God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO: Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant: Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO: Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant: Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO: Stay, fellow; I can read. 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant: Up. ROMEO: Whither? Servant: To supper; to our house. ROMEO: Whose house? Servant: My master's. ROMEO: Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant: Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! BENVOLIO: At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO: When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO: Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO: I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. LADY CAPULET: Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse: Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! JULIET: How now! who calls? Nurse: Your mother. JULIET: Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET: This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse: Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET: She's not fourteen. Nurse: I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET: A fortnight and odd days. Nurse: Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET: Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse: Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET: And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse: Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET: Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET: It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse: An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET: Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse: A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET: Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse: Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET: What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse: No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET: Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET: I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Servant: Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET: We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays. Nurse: Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. ROMEO: What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO: The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO: Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO: Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO: Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO: You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO: I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO: And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO: Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO: A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO: Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO: Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO: I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO: And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO: Why, may one ask? ROMEO: I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO: And so did I. ROMEO: Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO: That dreamers often lie. ROMEO: In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO: O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO: Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO: True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO: This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO: I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO: Strike, drum. First Servant: Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant: When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant: Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant: Ay, boy, ready. First Servant: You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant: We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. CAPULET: Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet: By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET: What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet: 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET: Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO: Servant: I know not, sir. ROMEO: O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT: This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET: Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT: Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET: Young Romeo is it? TYBALT: 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET: Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT: It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET: He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT: Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET: Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT: Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. ROMEO: JULIET: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO: Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET: Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO: Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET: You kiss by the book. Nurse: Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO: What is her mother? Nurse: Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO: Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO: Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO: Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET: Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. JULIET: Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse: The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET: What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse: Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET: What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse: I know not. JULIET: Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse: His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET: My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse: What's this? what's this? JULIET: A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. Nurse: Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Chorus: Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. ROMEO: Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. BENVOLIO: Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO: He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO: He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO: Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO: And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO: This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO: Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO: If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO: Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. ROMEO: He jests at scars that never felt a wound. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET: Ay me! ROMEO: She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET: O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO: JULIET: 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO: I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET: What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO: By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO: Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET: How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO: With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET: If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET: I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO: I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET: By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO: By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET: Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET: O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO: What shall I swear by? JULIET: Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO: If my heart's dear love-- JULIET: Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET: What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO: The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO: Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET: But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. ROMEO: O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. JULIET: Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse: JULIET: I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse: JULIET: By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO: So thrive my soul-- JULIET: A thousand times good night! ROMEO: A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. JULIET: Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO: It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET: Romeo! ROMEO: My dear? JULIET: At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO: At the hour of nine. JULIET: I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO: Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET: I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO: And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET: 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO: I would I were thy bird. JULIET: Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. ROMEO: Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. FRIAR LAURENCE: The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. ROMEO: Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE: Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO: That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE: God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO: With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE: That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO: I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE: Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO: Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE: Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO: Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE: For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO: And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE: Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO: I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE: O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO: O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE: Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. MERCUTIO: Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO: Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO: Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO: Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO: A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO: Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO: Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO: Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO: Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO: Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO: More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO: The what? MERCUTIO: The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! BENVOLIO: Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO: Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO: Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO: The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO: Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO: That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO: Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO: Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO: A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO: Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO: Pink for flower. MERCUTIO: Right. ROMEO: Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO: Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO: O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO: Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO: Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO: Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO: Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO: I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO: Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO: Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO: And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO: O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO: I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO: Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO: Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO: Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO: Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO: O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO: Here's goodly gear! MERCUTIO: A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO: Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse: Peter! PETER: Anon! Nurse: My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO: Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse: God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO: God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse: Is it good den? MERCUTIO: 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse: Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO: One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse: By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO: I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse: You say well. MERCUTIO: Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse: if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO: She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO: A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO: What hast thou found? MERCUTIO: No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO: I will follow you. MERCUTIO: Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, 'lady, lady, lady.' Nurse: Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO: A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse: An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER: I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse: Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO: Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse: Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO: What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse: I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO: Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse: No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO: Go to; I say you shall. Nurse: This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO: And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse: Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO: What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse: Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO: I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE: Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO: Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse: Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO: Commend me to thy lady. Nurse: Ay, a thousand times. Peter! PETER: Anon! Nurse: Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. JULIET: The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse: Peter, stay at the gate. JULIET: Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse: I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET: I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse: Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET: How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse: Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET: No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse: Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET: I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse: Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET: Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse: O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET: Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse: Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET: I have. Nurse: Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET: Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. FRIAR LAURENCE: So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO: Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE: These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET: Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET: As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO: Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET: Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE: Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. BENVOLIO: I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO: Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO: Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO: Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO: And what to? MERCUTIO: Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO: An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO: The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO: By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO: By my heel, I care not. TYBALT: Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO: And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT: You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO: Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT: Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO: Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO: We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO: Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. TYBALT: Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO: But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT: Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO: Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT: Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO: I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO: O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT: What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO: Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT: I am for you. ROMEO: Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO: Come, sir, your passado. ROMEO: Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! MERCUTIO: I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO: What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO: Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. ROMEO: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO: I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO: Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! ROMEO: This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! BENVOLIO: O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO: This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO: Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO: Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT: Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO: This shall determine that. BENVOLIO: Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO: O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO: Why dost thou stay? First Citizen: Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO: There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen: Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. PRINCE: Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO: O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET: Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE: Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO: Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET: He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE: Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE: Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE: And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. JULIET: Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse: Ay, ay, the cords. JULIET: Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse: Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET: Can heaven be so envious? Nurse: Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET: What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse: I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET: O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse: O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET: What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse: Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET: O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse: It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET: O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse: There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET: Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse: Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET: Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse: Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET: Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse: Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET: O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. ROMEO: Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE: Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO: What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE: A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO: Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE: Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO: There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE: O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO: 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE: Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO: O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE: I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO: Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE: O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO: How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE: Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO: Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. FRIAR LAURENCE: Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO: Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse: FRIAR LAURENCE: Welcome, then. Nurse: O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE: There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse: O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO: Nurse! Nurse: Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO: Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse: O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO: As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse: O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO: Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse: Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. ROMEO: How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE: Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO: But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. CAPULET: Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS: These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET: I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET: Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS: Monday, my lord, CAPULET: Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS: My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET: Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. JULIET: Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO: It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET: Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO: Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET: It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO: More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Nurse: Madam! JULIET: Nurse? Nurse: Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. JULIET: Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO: Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. JULIET: Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO: Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET: O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO: I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET: O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO: And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! JULIET: O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET: JULIET: Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? LADY CAPULET: Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET: Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET: Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET: Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET: So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET: Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET: Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET: What villain madam? LADY CAPULET: That same villain, Romeo. JULIET: LADY CAPULET: That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET: Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET: We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET: Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET: Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET: And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET: Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET: Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET: Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET: Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET: Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. CAPULET: When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET: Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET: Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET: Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET: How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET: Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET: Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET: Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse: God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET: And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse: I speak no treason. CAPULET: O, God ye god-den. Nurse: May not one speak? CAPULET: Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET: You are too hot. CAPULET: God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. JULIET: Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET: Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. JULIET: O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse: Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET: Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse: And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET: Amen! Nurse: What? JULIET: Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse: Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. JULIET: Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. FRIAR LAURENCE: On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS: My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE: You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS: Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE: PARIS: Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET: That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS: That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET: What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE: That's a certain text. PARIS: Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET: To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS: Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET: I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS: So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET: If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS: Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET: The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS: Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET: That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS: Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET: It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE: My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS: God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. JULIET: O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE: Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET: Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET: O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET: Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET: Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! CAPULET: So many guests invite as here are writ. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant: You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET: How canst thou try them so? Second Servant: Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET: Go, be gone. We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse: Ay, forsooth. CAPULET: Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse: See where she comes from shrift with merry look. CAPULET: How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET: Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET: Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET: I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET: Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET: Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET: No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET: Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. LADY CAPULET: We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET: Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. JULIET: Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. LADY CAPULET: What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET: No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET: Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. JULIET: Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. LADY CAPULET: Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse: They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. CAPULET: Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse: Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET: No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET: Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. CAPULET: A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant: Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET: Make haste, make haste. Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant: I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. CAPULET: Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Nurse: Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! LADY CAPULET: What noise is here? Nurse: O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET: What is the matter? Nurse: Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET: O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. CAPULET: For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse: She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET: Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET: Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse: O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET: O woful time! CAPULET: Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. FRIAR LAURENCE: Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET: Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS: Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET: Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse: O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS: Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET: Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE: Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET: All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE: Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. First Musician: Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse: Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. First Musician: Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. PETER: Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician: Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER: O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician: Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER: You will not, then? First Musician: No. PETER: I will then give it you soundly. First Musician: What will you give us? PETER: No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician: Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER: Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician: An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician: Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER: Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician: Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER: Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician: I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER: Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician: Faith, I know not what to say. PETER: O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' First Musician: What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician: Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. ROMEO: If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR: Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO: Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR: I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO: Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR: No, my good lord. ROMEO: No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Apothecary: Who calls so loud? ROMEO: Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary: Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO: Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary: My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO: I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary: Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO: There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. FRIAR JOHN: Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! FRIAR LAURENCE: This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN: Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE: Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN: I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE: Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN: Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. FRIAR LAURENCE: Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! PARIS: Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE: PARIS: Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. ROMEO: Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR: I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO: So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR: ROMEO: Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! PARIS: This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO: I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS: I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO: Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! PAGE: O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. PARIS: O, I am slain! If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. ROMEO: In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. FRIAR LAURENCE: Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR: Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE: Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR: It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE: Who is it? BALTHASAR: Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE: How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR: Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE: Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR: I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE: Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR: As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo! Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET: O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE: I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, I dare no longer stay. JULIET: Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm. First Watchman: JULIET: Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die. PAGE: This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman: The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Second Watchman: Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman: Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Third Watchman: Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman: A great suspicion: stay the friar too. PRINCE: What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? CAPULET: What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET: The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE: What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman: Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE: Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman: Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET: O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET: O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. PRINCE: Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE: Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE: Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE: O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE: Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE: I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE: Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE: I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE: We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR: I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE: Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE: He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE: This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET: O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE: But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET: As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE: A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. WARWICK: I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK: While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD: Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE: And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD: Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. YORK: Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK: Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD: Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK: And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK: Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK: We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK: Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. WARWICK: And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK: The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD: Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK: The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK: Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK: Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. KING HENRY VI: My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND: If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD: The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND: What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI: Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD: Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND: Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI: Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER: But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI: Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK: I am thine. EXETER: For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK: 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER: Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK: Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD: Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK: True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI: And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK: It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK: Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND: He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK: And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND: Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND: Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD: Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK: Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK: Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI: What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK: Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI: The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD: You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD: Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE: Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD: Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK: Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI: Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK: Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI: Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK: Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI: Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK: 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI: YORK: What then? KING HENRY VI: An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK: He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK: Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER: No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI: Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER: His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK: Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER: My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI: NORTHUMBERLAND: Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK: Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND: Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD: King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI: O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK: Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK: Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. KING HENRY VI: My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK: Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI: I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD: What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK: What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND: Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD: How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND: I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND: Nor I. CLIFFORD: Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND: Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND: Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD: In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! WARWICK: Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER: They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI: Ah, Exeter! WARWICK: Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI: Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK: This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK: Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI: And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK: Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER: Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! YORK: Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK: And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK: And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE: And I unto the sea from whence I came. KING HENRY VI: And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. EXETER: Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI: Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET: Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI: Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET: Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD: Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI: Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET: Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI: Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET: Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI: Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD: When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET: Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. KING HENRY VI: Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER: And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 3 KING HENRY VI RICHARD: Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD: No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE: But I have reasons strong and forcible. YORK: Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD: No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK: About what? RICHARD: About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK: Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD: Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD: Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK: I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD: But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD: No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK: I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD: I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK: Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD: An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK: Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger: The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK: Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE: Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER: She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK: What, with five thousand men? RICHARD: Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? EDWARD: I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK: Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? 3 KING HENRY VI RUTLAND: Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! CLIFFORD: Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor: And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD: Soldiers, away with him! Tutor: Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! CLIFFORD: How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND: So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD: In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND: Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD: Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- RUTLAND: O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD: Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND: I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD: Thy father hath. RUTLAND: But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD: No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. RUTLAND: Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! CLIFFORD: Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 3 KING HENRY VI YORK: The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND: Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD: Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK: My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD: So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK: O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD: I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET: Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND: Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. CLIFFORD: Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND: So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK: So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND: What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET: Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD: That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET: Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK: She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND: Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK: That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND: Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET: What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD: Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. QUEEN MARGARET: And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. YORK: Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. QUEEN MARGARET: Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. 3 KING HENRY VI EDWARD: I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD: I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD: Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD: Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD: 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD: Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger: Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD: O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD: Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger: Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD: Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD: I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD: His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD: Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. WARWICK: How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD: Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD: O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK: Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD: Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK: Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD: 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK: Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD: I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK: Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD: Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD: Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK: No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD: Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD: Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! WARWICK: How now! what news? Messenger: The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK: Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. 3 KING HENRY VI QUEEN MARGARET: Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI: Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD: My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI: Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET: My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI: Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE: My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD: Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Messenger: Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD: I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI: Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND: Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD: My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' EDWARD: Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET: Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD: I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD: And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD: Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD: Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD: 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD: Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD: For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK: What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET: Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK: Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD: You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK: 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND: No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD: Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD: I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD: Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI: Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET: Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI: I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD: My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD: Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD: Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK: If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD: If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD: Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET: But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD: Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD: A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE: But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD: And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET: Stay, Edward. EDWARD: No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. EDWARD: Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK: How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? GEORGE: Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD: Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. RICHARD: Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK: Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD: O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD: Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK: Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE: Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. 3 KING HENRY VI RICHARD: Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD: Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! RICHARD: Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. 3 KING HENRY VI KING HENRY VI: This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Son: Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI: O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Father: Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI: Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son: How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father: How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI: How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son: Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father: Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI: Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son: I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Father: These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. KING HENRY VI: Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. PRINCE EDWARD: Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET: Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER: Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI: Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! 3 KING HENRY VI CLIFFORD: Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. EDWARD: Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK: No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. EDWARD: Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD: A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD: See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD: Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK: From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD: Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK: I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD: O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE: If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD: Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD: Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK: Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE: While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD: Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD: Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE: Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK: They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD: What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK: Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD: Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD: Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK: Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. 3 KING HENRY VI First Keeper: Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper: I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper: That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper: Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. KING HENRY VI: From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper: Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI: Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper: Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper: Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI: My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper: Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI: More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper: Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI: Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper: But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI: My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper: Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI: But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper: No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI: Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper: Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI: I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper: No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI: Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper: We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI: So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper: We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI: In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER: Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV: It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY: Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE: GLOUCESTER: LADY GREY: Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY: Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV: Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY: Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV: And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY: To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV: Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY: Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV: I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY: So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV: What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY: What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV: But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY: No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV: Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY: Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: LADY GREY: Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV: An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY: That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV: Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY: I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY: The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV: Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY: My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV: No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY: Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV: But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY: My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV: To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY: To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV: Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY: Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV: Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY: Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV: Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY: Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: KING EDWARD IV: LADY GREY: 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV: Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY: And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV: You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY: 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV: No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: KING EDWARD IV: Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER: The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV: You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE: To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV: Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER: That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE: That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER: By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV: Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Nobleman: My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV: See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. GLOUCESTER: Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. 3 KING HENRY VI KING LEWIS XI: Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit. QUEEN MARGARET: No, mighty King of France: now Margaret Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days: But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground; Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, And to my humble seat conform myself. KING LEWIS XI: Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair? QUEEN MARGARET: From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. KING LEWIS XI: Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And sit thee by our side: Yield not thy neck To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It shall be eased, if France can yield relief. QUEEN MARGARET: Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, That Henry, sole possessor of my love, Is of a king become a banish'd man, And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn; While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York Usurps the regal title and the seat Of England's true-anointed lawful king. This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; And if thou fail us, all our hope is done: Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; Our people and our peers are both misled, Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight, And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. KING LEWIS XI: Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm, While we bethink a means to break it off. QUEEN MARGARET: The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. KING LEWIS XI: The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee. QUEEN MARGARET: O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow. And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow! KING LEWIS XI: What's he approacheth boldly to our presence? QUEEN MARGARET: Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend. KING LEWIS XI: Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France? QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; For this is he that moves both wind and tide. WARWICK: From worthy Edward, King of Albion, My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, First, to do greetings to thy royal person; And then to crave a league of amity; And lastly, to confirm that amity With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, To England's king in lawful marriage. QUEEN MARGARET: WARWICK: QUEEN MARGARET: King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak, Before you answer Warwick. His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, But from deceit bred by necessity; For how can tyrants safely govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, That Henry liveth still: but were he dead, Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son. Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour; For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. WARWICK: Injurious Margaret! PRINCE EDWARD: And why not queen? WARWICK: Because thy father Henry did usurp; And thou no more are prince than she is queen. OXFORD: Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France: From these our Henry lineally descends. WARWICK: Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse, You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost All that which Henry Fifth had gotten? Methinks these peers of France should smile at that. But for the rest, you tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years; a silly time To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. OXFORD: Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, And not bewray thy treason with a blush? WARWICK: Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king. OXFORD: Call him my king by whose injurious doom My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, Was done to death? and more than so, my father, Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, When nature brought him to the door of death? No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. WARWICK: And I the house of York. KING LEWIS XI: Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford, Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, While I use further conference with Warwick. QUEEN MARGARET: Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not! KING LEWIS XI: Now Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, Is Edward your true king? for I were loath To link with him that were not lawful chosen. WARWICK: Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. KING LEWIS XI: But is he gracious in the people's eye? WARWICK: The more that Henry was unfortunate. KING LEWIS XI: Then further, all dissembling set aside, Tell me for truth the measure of his love Unto our sister Bona. WARWICK: Such it seems As may beseem a monarch like himself. Myself have often heard him say and swear That this his love was an eternal plant, Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. KING LEWIS XI: Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. BONA: Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine: Yet I confess that often ere this day, When I have heard your king's desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. KING LEWIS XI: Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's; And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Touching the jointure that your king must make, Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised. Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness That Bona shall be wife to the English king. PRINCE EDWARD: To Edward, but not to the English king. QUEEN MARGARET: Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device By this alliance to make void my suit: Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend. KING LEWIS XI: And still is friend to him and Margaret: But if your title to the crown be weak, As may appear by Edward's good success, Then 'tis but reason that I be released From giving aid which late I promised. Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand That your estate requires and mine can yield. WARWICK: Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease, Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, You have a father able to maintain you; And better 'twere you troubled him than France. QUEEN MARGARET: Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace, Proud setter up and puller down of kings! I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears, Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love; For both of you are birds of selfsame feather. KING LEWIS XI: Warwick, this is some post to us or thee. Post: OXFORD: I like it well that our fair queen and mistress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. PRINCE EDWARD: Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he were nettled: I hope all's for the best. KING LEWIS XI: Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen? QUEEN MARGARET: Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys. WARWICK: Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. KING LEWIS XI: What! has your king married the Lady Grey! And now, to soothe your forgery and his, Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? QUEEN MARGARET: I told your majesty as much before: This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. WARWICK: King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven, And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's, No more my king, for he dishonours me, But most himself, if he could see his shame. Did I forget that by the house of York My father came untimely to his death? Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? Did I impale him with the regal crown? Did I put Henry from his native right? And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? Shame on himself! for my desert is honour: And to repair my honour lost for him, I here renounce him and return to Henry. My noble queen, let former grudges pass, And henceforth I am thy true servitor: I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona, And replant Henry in his former state. QUEEN MARGARET: Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love; And I forgive and quite forget old faults, And joy that thou becomest King Henry's friend. WARWICK: So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, I'll undertake to land them on our coast And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him: And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, He's very likely now to fall from him, For matching more for wanton lust than honour, Or than for strength and safety of our country. BONA: Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged But by thy help to this distressed queen? QUEEN MARGARET: Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live, Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? BONA: My quarrel and this English queen's are one. WARWICK: And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. KING LEWIS XI: And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. Therefore at last I firmly am resolved You shall have aid. QUEEN MARGARET: Let me give humble thanks for all at once. KING LEWIS XI: Then, England's messenger, return in post, And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over masquers To revel it with him and his new bride: Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal. BONA: Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. QUEEN MARGARET: Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on. WARWICK: Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. There's thy reward: be gone. KING LEWIS XI: But, Warwick, Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle; And, as occasion serves, this noble queen And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt, What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? WARWICK: This shall assure my constant loyalty, That if our queen and this young prince agree, I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. QUEEN MARGARET: Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion. Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. PRINCE EDWARD: Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. KING LEWIS XI: Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied, And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral, Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet. I long till Edward fall by war's mischance, For mocking marriage with a dame of France. WARWICK: I came from Edward as ambassador, But I return his sworn and mortal foe: Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. I was the chief that raised him to the crown, And I'll be chief to bring him down again: Not that I pity Henry's misery, But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. 3 KING HENRY VI GLOUCESTER: Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? CLARENCE: Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France; How could he stay till Warwick made return? SOMERSET: My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king. GLOUCESTER: And his well-chosen bride. CLARENCE: I mind to tell him plainly what I think. KING EDWARD IV: Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice, That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? CLARENCE: As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick, Which are so weak of courage and in judgment That they'll take no offence at our abuse. KING EDWARD IV: Suppose they take offence without a cause, They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward, Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. GLOUCESTER: And shall have your will, because our king: Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. KING EDWARD IV: Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? GLOUCESTER: Not I: No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity To sunder them that yoke so well together. KING EDWARD IV: Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey Should not become my wife and England's queen. And you too, Somerset and Montague, Speak freely what you think. CLARENCE: Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis Becomes your enemy, for mocking him About the marriage of the Lady Bona. GLOUCESTER: And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. KING EDWARD IV: What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased By such invention as I can devise? MONTAGUE: Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage. HASTINGS: Why, knows not Montague that of itself England is safe, if true within itself? MONTAGUE: But the safer when 'tis back'd with France. HASTINGS: 'Tis better using France than trusting France: Let us be back'd with God and with the seas Which He hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves; In them and in ourselves our safety lies. CLARENCE: For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. KING EDWARD IV: Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant; And for this once my will shall stand for law. GLOUCESTER: And yet methinks your grace hath not done well, To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales Unto the brother of your loving bride; She better would have fitted me or Clarence: But in your bride you bury brotherhood. CLARENCE: Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. KING EDWARD IV: Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. CLARENCE: In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment, Which being shallow, you give me leave To play the broker in mine own behalf; And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. KING EDWARD IV: Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, And not be tied unto his brother's will. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My lords, before it pleased his majesty To raise my state to title of a queen, Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent; And meaner than myself have had like fortune. But as this title honours me and mine, So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing, Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. KING EDWARD IV: My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns: What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, So long as Edward is thy constant friend, And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, Unless they seek for hatred at my hands; Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Now, messenger, what letters or what news From France? Post: My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words, But such as I, without your special pardon, Dare not relate. KING EDWARD IV: Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief, Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters? Post: At my depart, these were his very words: 'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over masquers To revel it with him and his new bride.' KING EDWARD IV: Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry. But what said Lady Bona to my marriage? Post: These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain: 'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.' KING EDWARD IV: I blame not her, she could say little less; She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? For I have heard that she was there in place. Post: 'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds are done, And I am ready to put armour on.' KING EDWARD IV: Belike she minds to play the Amazon. But what said Warwick to these injuries? Post: He, more incensed against your majesty Than all the rest, discharged me with these words: 'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.' KING EDWARD IV: Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words? Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd: They shall have wars and pay for their presumption. But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? Post: Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. CLARENCE: Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger. Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage I may not prove inferior to yourself. You that love me and Warwick, follow me. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick! Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; And haste is needful in this desperate case. Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf Go levy men, and make prepare for war; They are already, or quickly will be landed: Myself in person will straight follow you. But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance: Tell me if you love Warwick more than me? If it be so, then both depart to him; I rather wish you foes than hollow friends: But if you mind to hold your true obedience, Give me assurance with some friendly vow, That I may never have you in suspect. MONTAGUE: So God help Montague as he proves true! HASTINGS: And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause! KING EDWARD IV: Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? GLOUCESTER: Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. KING EDWARD IV: Why, so! then am I sure of victory. Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour, Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us. But see where Somerset and Clarence come! Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? CLARENCE: Fear not that, my lord. WARWICK: Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. And now what rests but, in night's coverture, Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: That as Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward's guard And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort: For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! 3 KING HENRY VI First Watchman: Come on, my masters, each man take his stand: The king by this is set him down to sleep. Second Watchman: What, will he not to bed? First Watchman: Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow Never to lie and take his natural rest Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. Second Watchman: To-morrow then belike shall be the day, If Warwick be so near as men report. Third Watchman: But say, I pray, what nobleman is that That with the king here resteth in his tent? First Watchman: 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend. Third Watchman: O, is it so? But why commands the king That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keeps in the cold field? Second Watchman: 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. Third Watchman: Ay, but give me worship and quietness; I like it better than a dangerous honour. If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. First Watchman: Unless our halberds did shut up his passage. Second Watchman: Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent, But to defend his person from night-foes? WARWICK: This is his tent; and see where stand his guard. Courage, my masters! honour now or never! But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. First Watchman: Who goes there? Second Watchman: Stay, or thou diest! SOMERSET: What are they that fly there? WARWICK: Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is The duke. KING EDWARD IV: The duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted, Thou call'dst me king. WARWICK: Ay, but the case is alter'd: When you disgraced me in my embassade, Then I degraded you from being king, And come now to create you Duke of York. Alas! how should you govern any kingdom, That know not how to use ambassadors, Nor how to be contented with one wife, Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, Nor how to study for the people's welfare, Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? KING EDWARD IV: Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou here too? Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, Of thee thyself and all thy complices, Edward will always bear himself as king: Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. WARWICK: Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king: But Henry now shall wear the English crown, And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow. My Lord of Somerset, at my request, See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, I'll follow you, and tell what answer Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York. KING EDWARD IV: What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide. OXFORD: What now remains, my lords, for us to do But march to London with our soldiers? WARWICK: Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; To free King Henry from imprisonment And see him seated in the regal throne. 3 KING HENRY VI RIVERS: Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward? RIVERS: What! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick? QUEEN ELIZABETH: No, but the loss of his own royal person. RIVERS: Then is my sovereign slain? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner, Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard Or by his foe surprised at unawares: And, as I further have to understand, Is new committed to the Bishop of York, Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe. RIVERS: These news I must confess are full of grief; Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Till then fair hope must hinder life's decay. And I the rather wean me from despair For love of Edward's offspring in my womb: This is it that makes me bridle passion And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. RIVERS: But, madam, where is Warwick then become? QUEEN ELIZABETH: I am inform'd that he comes towards London, To set the crown once more on Henry's head: Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends must down, But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,-- For trust not him that hath once broken faith,-- I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, To save at least the heir of Edward's right: There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: If Warwick take us we are sure to die. 3 KING HENRY VI GLOUCESTER: Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley, Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, Into this chiefest thicket of the park. Thus stands the case: you know our king, my brother, Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands He hath good usage and great liberty, And, often but attended with weak guard, Comes hunting this way to disport himself. I have advertised him by secret means That if about this hour he make his way Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends with horse and men To set him free from his captivity. Huntsman: This way, my lord; for this way lies the game. KING EDWARD IV: Nay, this way, man: see where the huntsmen stand. Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer? GLOUCESTER: Brother, the time and case requireth haste: Your horse stands ready at the park-corner. KING EDWARD IV: But whither shall we then? HASTINGS: To Lynn, my lord, And ship from thence to Flanders. GLOUCESTER: Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. KING EDWARD IV: Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. GLOUCESTER: But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk. KING EDWARD IV: Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along? Huntsman: Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. GLOUCESTER: Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado. KING EDWARD IV: Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown; And pray that I may repossess the crown. 3 KING HENRY VI KING HENRY VI: Master lieutenant, now that God and friends Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, And turn'd my captive state to liberty, My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, At our enlargement what are thy due fees? Lieutenant: Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns; But if an humble prayer may prevail, I then crave pardon of your majesty. KING HENRY VI: For what, lieutenant? for well using me? Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness, For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure; Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds Conceive when after many moody thoughts At last by notes of household harmony They quite forget their loss of liberty. But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; He was the author, thou the instrument. Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me, And that the people of this blessed land May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, I here resign my government to thee, For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. WARWICK: Your grace hath still been famed for virtuous; And now may seem as wise as virtuous, By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, For few men rightly temper with the stars: Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, For choosing me when Clarence is in place. CLARENCE: No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, To whom the heavens in thy nativity Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown, As likely to be blest in peace and war; And therefore I yield thee my free consent. WARWICK: And I choose Clarence only for protector. KING HENRY VI: Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands: Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, That no dissension hinder government: I make you both protectors of this land, While I myself will lead a private life And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. WARWICK: What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will? CLARENCE: That he consents, if Warwick yield consent; For on thy fortune I repose myself. WARWICK: Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content: We'll yoke together, like a double shadow To Henry's body, and supply his place; I mean, in bearing weight of government, While he enjoys the honour and his ease. And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor, And all his lands and goods be confiscate. CLARENCE: What else? and that succession be determined. WARWICK: Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. KING HENRY VI: But, with the first of all your chief affairs, Let me entreat, for I command no more, That Margaret your queen and my son Edward Be sent for, to return from France with speed; For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear My joy of liberty is half eclipsed. CLARENCE: It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. KING HENRY VI: My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that, Of whom you seem to have so tender care? SOMERSET: My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond. KING HENRY VI: Come hither, England's hope. If secret powers Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. His looks are full of peaceful majesty, His head by nature framed to wear a crown, His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself Likely in time to bless a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords, for this is he Must help you more than you are hurt by me. WARWICK: What news, my friend? Post: That Edward is escaped from your brother, And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. WARWICK: Unsavoury news! but how made he escape? Post: He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester And the Lord Hastings, who attended him In secret ambush on the forest side And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; For hunting was his daily exercise. WARWICK: My brother was too careless of his charge. But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide A salve for any sore that may betide. SOMERSET: My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's; For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, And we shall have more wars before 't be long. As Henry's late presaging prophecy Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts What may befall him, to his harm and ours: Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany, Till storms be past of civil enmity. OXFORD: Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. SOMERSET: It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, And says that once more I shall interchange My waned state for Henry's regal crown. Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas And brought desired help from Burgundy: What then remains, we being thus arrived From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, But that we enter, as into our dukedom? GLOUCESTER: The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this; For many men that stumble at the threshold Are well foretold that danger lurks within. KING EDWARD IV: Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us: By fair or foul means we must enter in, For hither will our friends repair to us. HASTINGS: My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them. Mayor: My lords, we were forewarned of your coming, And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. KING EDWARD IV: But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. Mayor: True, my good lord; I know you for no less. KING EDWARD IV: Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, As being well content with that alone. GLOUCESTER: HASTINGS: Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt? Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends. Mayor: Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd. GLOUCESTER: A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded! HASTINGS: The good old man would fain that all were well, So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd, I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade Both him and all his brothers unto reason. KING EDWARD IV: So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut But in the night or in the time of war. What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; For Edward will defend the town and thee, And all those friends that deign to follow me. GLOUCESTER: Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived. KING EDWARD IV: Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms? MONTAGUE: To help King Edward in his time of storm, As every loyal subject ought to do. KING EDWARD IV: Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget Our title to the crown and only claim Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. MONTAGUE: Then fare you well, for I will hence again: I came to serve a king and not a duke. Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. KING EDWARD IV: Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we'll debate By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. MONTAGUE: What talk you of debating? in few words, If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone To keep them back that come to succor you: Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title? GLOUCESTER: Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points? KING EDWARD IV: When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim: Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. HASTINGS: Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule. GLOUCESTER: And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand: The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. KING EDWARD IV: Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem. MONTAGUE: Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself; And now will I be Edward's champion. HASTINGS: Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd: Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. Soldier: Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c. MONTAGUE: And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's right, By this I challenge him to single fight. All: Long live Edward the Fourth! KING EDWARD IV: Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks unto you all: If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York; And when the morning sun shall raise his car Above the border of this horizon, We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates; For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. Ah, froward Clarence! how evil it beseems thee To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother! Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick. Come on, brave soldiers: doubt not of the day, And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London; And many giddy people flock to him. KING HENRY VI: Let's levy men, and beat him back again. CLARENCE: A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. WARWICK: In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find Men well inclined to hear what thou command'st: And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. My sovereign, with the loving citizens, Like to his island girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, Shall rest in London till we come to him. Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. Farewell, my sovereign. KING HENRY VI: Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope. CLARENCE: In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand. KING HENRY VI: Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate! MONTAGUE: Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave. OXFORD: And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu. KING HENRY VI: Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, And all at once, once more a happy farewell. WARWICK: Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at Coventry. KING HENRY VI: Here at the palace I will rest awhile. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? Methinks the power that Edward hath in field Should not be able to encounter mine. EXETER: The doubt is that he will seduce the rest. KING HENRY VI: That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame: I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears; I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd: Then why should they love Edward more than me? No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, The lamb will never cease to follow him. EXETER: Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these? KING EDWARD IV: Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence; And once again proclaim us King of England. You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow: Now stops thy spring; my sea sha$l suck them dry, And swell so much the higher by their ebb. Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course Where peremptory Warwick now remains: The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay. GLOUCESTER: Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares: Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? First Messenger: By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. WARWICK: How far off is our brother Montague? Where is the post that came from Montague? Second Messenger: By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. WARWICK: Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? SOMERSET: At Southam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here some two hours hence. WARWICK: Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. SOMERSET: It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies: The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick. WARWICK: Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends. SOMERSET: They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. KING EDWARD IV: Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. GLOUCESTER: See how the surly Warwick mans the wall! WARWICK: O unbid spite! is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, That we could hear no news of his repair? KING EDWARD IV: Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee, Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy? And he shall pardon thee these outrages. WARWICK: Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own, Call Warwick patron and be penitent? And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. GLOUCESTER: I thought, at least, he would have said the king; Or did he make the jest against his will? WARWICK: Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? GLOUCESTER: Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give: I'll do thee service for so good a gift. WARWICK: 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother. KING EDWARD IV: Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift. WARWICK: Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight: And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. KING EDWARD IV: But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner: And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: What is the body when the head is off? GLOUCESTER: Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily finger'd from the deck! You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. EDWARD: 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. GLOUCESTER: Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down: Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. WARWICK: I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. KING EDWARD IV: Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend, This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, 'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.' WARWICK: O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes! OXFORD: Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! GLOUCESTER: The gates are open, let us enter too. KING EDWARD IV: So other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array; for they no doubt Will issue out again and bid us battle: If not, the city being but of small defence, We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. WARWICK: O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. MONTAGUE: Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! GLOUCESTER: Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. KING EDWARD IV: The harder match'd, the greater victory: My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. SOMERSET: Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! GLOUCESTER: Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the house of York; And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold. WARWICK: And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle; With whom an upright zeal to right prevails More than the nature of a brother's love! Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call. CLARENCE: Father of Warwick, know you what this means? Look here, I throw my infamy at thee I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war Against his brother and his lawful king? Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath: To keep that oath were more impiety Than Jephthah's, when he sacrificed his daughter. I am so sorry for my trespass made That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee-- As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad-- To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends: And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. KING EDWARD IV: Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. GLOUCESTER: Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike. WARWICK: O passing traitor, perjured and unjust! KING EDWARD IV: What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? WARWICK: Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence! I will away towards Barnet presently, And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest. KING EDWARD IV: Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way. Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory! 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear; For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. WARWICK: Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows. That I must yield my body to the earth And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, To search the secret treasons of the world: The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; For who lived king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. Even now forsake me, and of all my lands Is nothing left me but my body's length. Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must. SOMERSET: Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are. We might recover all our loss again; The queen from France hath brought a puissant power: Even now we heard the news: ah, could'st thou fly! WARWICK: Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand. And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile! Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood That glues my lips and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. SOMERSET: Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breathed his last; And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.' And more he would have said, and more he spoke, Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, That mought not be distinguished; but at last I well might hear, delivered with a groan, 'O, farewell, Warwick!' WARWICK: Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves; For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in heaven. OXFORD: Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are graced with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud, That will encounter with our glorious sun, Ere he attain his easeful western bed: I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. CLARENCE: A little gale will soon disperse that cloud And blow it to the source from whence it came: The very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm. GLOUCESTER: The queen is valued thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford fled to her: If she have time to breathe be well assured Her faction will be full as strong as ours. KING EDWARD IV: We are advertised by our loving friends That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury: We, having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away. 3 KING HENRY VI QUEEN MARGARET: Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much, Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have saved? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? And Montague our topmost; what of him? Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but ruthless sea? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while! Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish; that's a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. Why, courage then! what cannot be avoided 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. PRINCE EDWARD: Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this as doubting any here For did I but suspect a fearful man He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest in our need he might infect another And make him of like spirit to himself. If any such be here--as God forbid!-- Let him depart before we need his help. OXFORD: Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame. O brave young prince! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee: long mayst thou live To bear his image and renew his glories! SOMERSET: And he that will not fight for such a hope. Go home to bed, and like the owl by day, If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. QUEEN MARGARET: Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks. PRINCE EDWARD: And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else. Messenger: Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand. Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. OXFORD: I thought no less: it is his policy To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. SOMERSET: But he's deceived; we are in readiness. QUEEN MARGARET: This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness. OXFORD: Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. KING EDWARD IV: Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood, Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords! QUEEN MARGARET: Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent; And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords, Be valiant and give signal to the fight. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Now here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. OXFORD: For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. SOMERSET: Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. QUEEN MARGARET: So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. KING EDWARD IV: Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward Shall have a high reward, and he his life? GLOUCESTER: It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes! KING EDWARD IV: Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak. What! can so young a thorn begin to prick? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? PRINCE EDWARD: Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York! Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee, Which traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. QUEEN MARGARET: Ah, that thy father had been so resolved! GLOUCESTER: That you might still have worn the petticoat, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. PRINCE EDWARD: Let AEsop fable in a winter's night; His currish riddles sort not with this place. GLOUCESTER: By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word. QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. GLOUCESTER: For God's sake, take away this captive scold. PRINCE EDWARD: Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather. KING EDWARD IV: Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue. CLARENCE: Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. PRINCE EDWARD: I know my duty; you are all undutiful: Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are: And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. KING EDWARD IV: Take that, thou likeness of this railer here. GLOUCESTER: Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. CLARENCE: And there's for twitting me with perjury. QUEEN MARGARET: O, kill me too! GLOUCESTER: Marry, and shall. KING EDWARD IV: Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much. GLOUCESTER: Why should she live, to fill the world with words? KING EDWARD IV: What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery. GLOUCESTER: Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother; I'll hence to London on a serious matter: Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. CLARENCE: What? what? GLOUCESTER: The Tower, the Tower. QUEEN MARGARET: O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy! Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers! They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, If this foul deed were by to equal it: He was a man; this, in respect, a child: And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak: And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals! How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! You have no children, butchers! if you had, The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse: But if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince! KING EDWARD IV: Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce. QUEEN MARGARET: Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here, Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou. CLARENCE: By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. QUEEN MARGARET: Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. CLARENCE: Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it? QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. KING EDWARD IV: Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. QUEEN MARGARET: So come to you and yours, as to this Prince! KING EDWARD IV: Where's Richard gone? CLARENCE: To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower. KING EDWARD IV: He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence: discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let's away to London And see our gentle queen how well she fares: By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. 3 KING HENRY VI GLOUCESTER: Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? KING HENRY VI: Ay, my good lord:--my lord, I should say rather; 'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better: 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.' GLOUCESTER: Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. KING HENRY VI: So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? GLOUCESTER: Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer. KING HENRY VI: The bird that hath been limed in a bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye Where my poor young was limed, was caught and kill'd. GLOUCESTER: Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. KING HENRY VI: I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point Than can my ears that tragic history. But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? GLOUCESTER: Think'st thou I am an executioner? KING HENRY VI: A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner. GLOUCESTER: Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. KING HENRY VI: Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume, Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's, And many an orphan's water-standing eye-- Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, And orphans for their parents timeless death-- Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees; The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, To signify thou camest to bite the world: And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou camest-- GLOUCESTER: I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech: For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. KING HENRY VI: Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. God forgive my sins, and pardon thee! GLOUCESTER: What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! O, may such purple tears be alway shed From those that wish the downfall of our house! If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither: I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward: Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? The midwife wonder'd and the women cried 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' And so I was; which plainly signified That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which graybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another And not in me: I am myself alone. Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light: But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; For I will buz abroad such prophecies That Edward shall be fearful of his life, And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. King Henry and the prince his son are gone: Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, Counting myself but bad till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Re-purchased with the blood of enemies. What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride! Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd For hardy and undoubted champions; Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, And two Northumberlands; two braver men Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound; With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat And made our footstool of security. Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night, Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace; And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen; And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. CLARENCE: The duty that I owe unto your majesty I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks. GLOUCESTER: And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. KING EDWARD IV: Now am I seated as my soul delights, Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. CLARENCE: What will your grace have done with Margaret? Reignier, her father, to the king of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, And hither have they sent it for her ransom. KING EDWARD IV: Away with her, and waft her hence to France. And now what rests but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befits the pleasure of the court? Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. ARCHIDAMUS: If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. CAMILLO: I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. ARCHIDAMUS: Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed-- CAMILLO: Beseech you,-- ARCHIDAMUS: Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. CAMILLO: You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. ARCHIDAMUS: Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. CAMILLO: Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have seemed to be together, though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! ARCHIDAMUS: I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. CAMILLO: I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man. ARCHIDAMUS: Would they else be content to die? CAMILLO: Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. ARCHIDAMUS: If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. POLIXENES: Nine changes of the watery star hath been The shepherd's note since we have left our throne Without a burthen: time as long again Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks; And yet we should, for perpetuity, Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe That go before it. LEONTES: Stay your thanks a while; And pay them when you part. POLIXENES: Sir, that's to-morrow. I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance Or breed upon our absence; that may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty. LEONTES: We are tougher, brother, Than you can put us to't. POLIXENES: No longer stay. LEONTES: One seven-night longer. POLIXENES: Very sooth, to-morrow. LEONTES: We'll part the time between's then; and in that I'll no gainsaying. POLIXENES: Press me not, beseech you, so. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, So soon as yours could win me: so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder Were in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother. LEONTES: Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. HERMIONE: I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him, He's beat from his best ward. LEONTES: Well said, Hermione. HERMIONE: To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong: But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission To let him there a month behind the gest Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind What lady-she her lord. You'll stay? POLIXENES: No, madam. HERMIONE: Nay, but you will? POLIXENES: I may not, verily. HERMIONE: Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,' One of them you shall be. POLIXENES: Your guest, then, madam: To be your prisoner should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit Than you to punish. HERMIONE: Not your gaoler, then, But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys: You were pretty lordings then? POLIXENES: We were, fair queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. HERMIONE: Was not my lord The verier wag o' the two? POLIXENES: We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we changed Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd That any did. Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd Hereditary ours. HERMIONE: By this we gather You have tripp'd since. POLIXENES: O my most sacred lady! Temptations have since then been born to's; for In those unfledged days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow. HERMIONE: Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils: yet go on; The offences we have made you do we'll answer, If you first sinn'd with us and that with us You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. LEONTES: Is he won yet? HERMIONE: He'll stay my lord. LEONTES: At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest To better purpose. HERMIONE: Never? LEONTES: Never, but once. HERMIONE: What! have I twice said well? when was't before? I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: you may ride's With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay: What was my first? it has an elder sister, Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose: when? Nay, let me have't; I long. LEONTES: Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter 'I am yours for ever.' HERMIONE: 'Tis grace indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; The other for some while a friend. LEONTES: MAMILLIUS: Ay, my good lord. LEONTES: I' fecks! Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf! Art thou my calf? MAMILLIUS: Yes, if you will, my lord. LEONTES: Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, To be full like me: yet they say we are Almost as like as eggs; women say so, That will say anything but were they false As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain! Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?-- Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicatest with dreams;--how can this be?-- With what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing: then 'tis very credent Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost, And that beyond commission, and I find it, And that to the infection of my brains And hardening of my brows. POLIXENES: What means Sicilia? HERMIONE: He something seems unsettled. POLIXENES: How, my lord! What cheer? how is't with you, best brother? HERMIONE: You look as if you held a brow of much distraction Are you moved, my lord? LEONTES: No, in good earnest. How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous: How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money? MAMILLIUS: No, my lord, I'll fight. LEONTES: You will! why, happy man be's dole! My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince as we Do seem to be of ours? POLIXENES: If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy, My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all: He makes a July's day short as December, And with his varying childness cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. LEONTES: So stands this squire Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord, And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap: Next to thyself and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. HERMIONE: If you would seek us, We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there? LEONTES: To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky. I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to! How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband! Gone already! Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one! Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now; And many a man there is, even at this present, Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd, As mine, against their will. Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, From east, west, north and south: be it concluded, No barricado for a belly; know't; It will let in and out the enemy With bag and baggage: many thousand on's Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy! MAMILLIUS: I am like you, they say. LEONTES: Why that's some comfort. What, Camillo there? CAMILLO: Ay, my good lord. LEONTES: Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man. Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. CAMILLO: You had much ado to make his anchor hold: When you cast out, it still came home. LEONTES: Didst note it? CAMILLO: He would not stay at your petitions: made His business more material. LEONTES: Didst perceive it? They're here with me already, whispering, rounding 'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone, When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo, That he did stay? CAMILLO: At the good queen's entreaty. LEONTES: At the queen's be't: 'good' should be pertinent But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks: not noted, is't, But of the finer natures? by some severals Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes Perchance are to this business purblind? say. CAMILLO: Business, my lord! I think most understand Bohemia stays here longer. LEONTES: Ha! CAMILLO: Stays here longer. LEONTES: Ay, but why? CAMILLO: To satisfy your highness and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. LEONTES: Satisfy! The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy! Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been Deceived in thy integrity, deceived In that which seems so. CAMILLO: Be it forbid, my lord! LEONTES: To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or, If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward, Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining From course required; or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in my serious trust And therein negligent; or else a fool That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, And takest it all for jest. CAMILLO: My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish and fearful; In every one of these no man is free, But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Among the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilful-negligent, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, Where of the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord, Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty Is never free of. But, beseech your grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage: if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. LEONTES: Ha' not you seen, Camillo,-- But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,-- For to a vision so apparent rumour Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation Resides not in that man that does not think,-- My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, Or else be impudently negative, To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench that puts to Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't. CAMILLO: I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart, You never spoke what did become you less Than this; which to reiterate were sin As deep as that, though true. LEONTES: Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing. CAMILLO: Good my lord, be cured Of this diseased opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. LEONTES: Say it be, 'tis true. CAMILLO: No, no, my lord. LEONTES: It is; you lie, you lie: I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee, Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, Or else a hovering temporizer, that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. CAMILLO: Who does infect her? LEONTES: Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I Had servants true about me, that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as their profits, Their own particular thrifts, they would do that Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou, His cupbearer,--whom I from meaner form Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven, How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup, To give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. CAMILLO: Sir, my lord, I could do this, and that with no rash potion, But with a lingering dram that should not work Maliciously like poison: but I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honourable. I have loved thee,-- LEONTES: Make that thy question, and go rot! Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation, sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps, Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, Who I do think is mine and love as mine, Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? Could man so blench? CAMILLO: I must believe you, sir: I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; Provided that, when he's removed, your highness Will take again your queen as yours at first, Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. LEONTES: Thou dost advise me Even so as I mine own course have set down: I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. CAMILLO: My lord, Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia And with your queen. I am his cupbearer: If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant. LEONTES: This is all: Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. CAMILLO: I'll do't, my lord. LEONTES: I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me. CAMILLO: O miserable lady! But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master, one Who in rebellion with himself will have All that are his so too. To do this deed, Promotion follows. If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one, Let villany itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now! Here comes Bohemia. POLIXENES: This is strange: methinks My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? Good day, Camillo. CAMILLO: Hail, most royal sir! POLIXENES: What is the news i' the court? CAMILLO: None rare, my lord. POLIXENES: The king hath on him such a countenance As he had lost some province and a region Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him With customary compliment; when he, Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and So leaves me to consider what is breeding That changeth thus his manners. CAMILLO: I dare not know, my lord. POLIXENES: How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and dare not? Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must. And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your changed complexions are to me a mirror Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with 't. CAMILLO: There is a sickness Which puts some of us in distemper, but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well. POLIXENES: How! caught of me! Make me not sighted like the basilisk: I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,-- As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns Our gentry than our parents' noble names, In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my knowledge Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not In ignorant concealment. CAMILLO: I may not answer. POLIXENES: A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo, I conjure thee, by all the parts of man Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. CAMILLO: Sir, I will tell you; Since I am charged in honour and by him That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel, Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me Cry lost, and so good night! POLIXENES: On, good Camillo. CAMILLO: I am appointed him to murder you. POLIXENES: By whom, Camillo? CAMILLO: By the king. POLIXENES: For what? CAMILLO: He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, As he had seen't or been an instrument To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen Forbiddenly. POLIXENES: O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly and my name Be yoked with his that did betray the Best! Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard or read! CAMILLO: Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon As or by oath remove or counsel shake The fabric of his folly, whose foundation Is piled upon his faith and will continue The standing of his body. POLIXENES: How should this grow? CAMILLO: I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty, That lies enclosed in this trunk which you Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night! Your followers I will whisper to the business, And will by twos and threes at several posterns Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put My fortunes to your service, which are here By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; For, by the honour of my parents, I Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove, I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon His execution sworn. POLIXENES: I do believe thee: I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand: Be pilot to me and thy places shall Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago. This jealousy Is for a precious creature: as she's rare, Must it be great, and as his person's mighty, Must it be violent, and as he does conceive He is dishonour'd by a man which ever Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me: Good expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; I will respect thee as a father if Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid. CAMILLO: It is in mine authority to command The keys of all the posterns: please your highness To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. HERMIONE: Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, 'Tis past enduring. First Lady: Come, my gracious lord, Shall I be your playfellow? MAMILLIUS: No, I'll none of you. First Lady: Why, my sweet lord? MAMILLIUS: You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if I were a baby still. I love you better. Second Lady: And why so, my lord? MAMILLIUS: Not for because Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, Become some women best, so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semicircle Or a half-moon made with a pen. Second Lady: Who taught you this? MAMILLIUS: I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now What colour are your eyebrows? First Lady: Blue, my lord. MAMILLIUS: Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. First Lady: Hark ye; The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall Present our services to a fine new prince One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us, If we would have you. Second Lady: She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her! HERMIONE: What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now I am for you again: pray you, sit by us, And tell 's a tale. MAMILLIUS: Merry or sad shall't be? HERMIONE: As merry as you will. MAMILLIUS: A sad tale's best for winter: I have one Of sprites and goblins. HERMIONE: Let's have that, good sir. Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it. MAMILLIUS: There was a man-- HERMIONE: Nay, come, sit down; then on. MAMILLIUS: Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly; Yond crickets shall not hear it. HERMIONE: Come on, then, And give't me in mine ear. LEONTES: Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him? First Lord: Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them Even to their ships. LEONTES: How blest am I In my just censure, in my true opinion! Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed In being so blest! There may be in the cup A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge Is not infected: but if one present The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander: There is a plot against my life, my crown; All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him: He has discover'd my design, and I Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick For them to play at will. How came the posterns So easily open? First Lord: By his great authority; Which often hath no less prevail'd than so On your command. LEONTES: I know't too well. Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him: Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. HERMIONE: What is this? sport? LEONTES: Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her; Away with him! and let her sport herself With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. HERMIONE: But I'ld say he had not, And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to the nayward. LEONTES: You, my lords, Look on her, mark her well; be but about To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and The justice of your bearts will thereto add 'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:' Praise her but for this her without-door form, Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands That calumny doth use--O, I am out-- That mercy does, for calumny will sear Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's, When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be 't known, From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, She's an adulteress. HERMIONE: Should a villain say so, The most replenish'd villain in the world, He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Do but mistake. LEONTES: You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing! Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, Should a like language use to all degrees And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said She's an adulteress; I have said with whom: More, she's a traitor and Camillo is A federary with her, and one that knows What she should shame to know herself But with her most vile principal, that she's A bed-swerver, even as bad as those That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy To this their late escape. HERMIONE: No, by my life. Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, You scarce can right me throughly then to say You did mistake. LEONTES: No; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, The centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison! He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty But that he speaks. HERMIONE: There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are; the want of which vain dew Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have That honourable grief lodged here which burns Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords, With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so The king's will be perform'd! LEONTES: Shall I be heard? HERMIONE: Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness, My women may be with me; for you see My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress Has deserved prison, then abound in tears As I come out: this action I now go on Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord: I never wish'd to see you sorry; now I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave. LEONTES: Go, do our bidding; hence! First Lord: Beseech your highness, call the queen again. ANTIGONUS: Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son. First Lord: For her, my lord, I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir, Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean, In this which you accuse her. ANTIGONUS: If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her; For every inch of woman in the world, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be. LEONTES: Hold your peaces. First Lord: Good my lord,-- ANTIGONUS: It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: You are abused and by some putter-on That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain, I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd, I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven The second and the third, nine, and some five; If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine honour, I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see, To bring false generations: they are co-heirs; And I had rather glib myself than they Should not produce fair issue. LEONTES: Cease; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't As you feel doing thus; and see withal The instruments that feel. ANTIGONUS: If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty: There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. LEONTES: What! lack I credit? First Lord: I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, Upon this ground; and more it would content me To have her honour true than your suspicion, Be blamed for't how you might. LEONTES: Why, what need we Commune with you of this, but rather follow Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves We need no more of your advice: the matter, The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Properly ours. ANTIGONUS: And I wish, my liege, You had only in your silent judgment tried it, Without more overture. LEONTES: How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, Added to their familiarity, Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation But only seeing, all other circumstances Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding: Yet, for a greater confirmation, For in an act of this importance 'twere Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had, Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? First Lord: Well done, my lord. LEONTES: Though I am satisfied and need no more Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to the minds of others, such as he Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good From our free person she should be confined, Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; We are to speak in public; for this business Will raise us all. ANTIGONUS: PAULINA: The keeper of the prison, call to him; let him have knowledge who I am. Good lady, No court in Europe is too good for thee; What dost thou then in prison? Now, good sir, You know me, do you not? Gaoler: For a worthy lady And one whom much I honour. PAULINA: Pray you then, Conduct me to the queen. Gaoler: I may not, madam: To the contrary I have express commandment. PAULINA: Here's ado, To lock up honesty and honour from The access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, To see her women? any of them? Emilia? Gaoler: So please you, madam, To put apart these your attendants, I Shall bring Emilia forth. PAULINA: I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. Gaoler: And, madam, I must be present at your conference. PAULINA: Well, be't so, prithee. Here's such ado to make no stain a stain As passes colouring. Dear gentlewoman, How fares our gracious lady? EMILIA: As well as one so great and so forlorn May hold together: on her frights and griefs, Which never tender lady hath born greater, She is something before her time deliver'd. PAULINA: A boy? EMILIA: A daughter, and a goodly babe, Lusty and like to live: the queen receives Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, I am innocent as you.' PAULINA: I dare be sworn These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king, beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall: the office Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me: If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the queen: If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show't the king and undertake to be Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o' the child: The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails. EMILIA: Most worthy madam, Your honour and your goodness is so evident That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue: there is no lady living So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Lest she should be denied. PAULINA: Tell her, Emilia. I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from't As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted I shall do good. EMILIA: Now be you blest for it! I'll to the queen: please you, come something nearer. Gaoler: Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur to pass it, Having no warrant. PAULINA: You need not fear it, sir: This child was prisoner to the womb and is By law and process of great nature thence Freed and enfranchised, not a party to The anger of the king nor guilty of, If any be, the trespass of the queen. Gaoler: I do believe it. PAULINA: Do not you fear: upon mine honour, I will stand betwixt you and danger. LEONTES: Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause, She the adulteress; for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she I can hook to me: say that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again. Who's there? First Servant: My lord? LEONTES: How does the boy? First Servant: He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged. LEONTES: To see his nobleness! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply, Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go, See how he fares. Fie, fie! no thought of him: The thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty, And in his parties, his alliance; let him be Until a time may serve: for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow: They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor Shall she within my power. First Lord: You must not enter. PAULINA: Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me: Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul, More free than he is jealous. ANTIGONUS: That's enough. Second Servant: Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded None should come at him. PAULINA: Not so hot, good sir: I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, That creep like shadows by him and do sigh At each his needless heavings, such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as medicinal as true, Honest as either, to purge him of that humour That presses him from sleep. LEONTES: What noise there, ho? PAULINA: No noise, my lord; but needful conference About some gossips for your highness. LEONTES: How! Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, I charged thee that she should not come about me: I knew she would. ANTIGONUS: I told her so, my lord, On your displeasure's peril and on mine, She should not visit you. LEONTES: What, canst not rule her? PAULINA: From all dishonesty he can: in this, Unless he take the course that you have done, Commit me for committing honour, trust it, He shall not rule me. ANTIGONUS: La you now, you hear: When she will take the rein I let her run; But she'll not stumble. PAULINA: Good my liege, I come; And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare Less appear so in comforting your evils, Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come From your good queen. LEONTES: Good queen! PAULINA: Good queen, my lord, Good queen; I say good queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you. LEONTES: Force her hence. PAULINA: Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off; But first I'll do my errand. The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. LEONTES: Out! A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door: A most intelligencing bawd! PAULINA: Not so: I am as ignorant in that as you In so entitling me, and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. LEONTES: Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard; Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. PAULINA: For ever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Takest up the princess by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't! LEONTES: He dreads his wife. PAULINA: So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt You'ld call your children yours. LEONTES: A nest of traitors! ANTIGONUS: I am none, by this good light. PAULINA: Nor I, nor any But one that's here, and that's himself, for he The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not-- For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten As ever oak or stone was sound. LEONTES: A callat Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes: Hence with it, and together with the dam Commit them to the fire! PAULINA: It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip, The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, His smiles, The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's! LEONTES: A gross hag And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. ANTIGONUS: Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. LEONTES: Once more, take her hence. PAULINA: A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. LEONTES: I'll ha' thee burnt. PAULINA: I care not: It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; But this most cruel usage of your queen, Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. LEONTES: On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? she durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her! PAULINA: I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so: farewell; we are gone. LEONTES: Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence And see it instantly consumed with fire; Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight: Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life, With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou set'st on thy wife. ANTIGONUS: I did not, sir: These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. Lords: We can: my royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither. LEONTES: You're liars all. First Lord: Beseech your highness, give us better credit: We have always truly served you, and beseech you So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg, As recompense of our dear services Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, Which being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel. LEONTES: I am a feather for each wind that blows: Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel And call me father? better burn it now Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither; You that have been so tenderly officious With Lady Margery, your midwife there, To save this bastard's life,--for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's grey, --what will you adventure To save this brat's life? ANTIGONUS: Any thing, my lord, That my ability may undergo And nobleness impose: at least thus much: I'll pawn the little blood which I have left To save the innocent: any thing possible. LEONTES: It shall be possible. Swear by this sword Thou wilt perform my bidding. ANTIGONUS: I will, my lord. LEONTES: Mark and perform it, see'st thou! for the fail Of any point in't shall not only be Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife, Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence and that thou bear it To some remote and desert place quite out Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it, Without more mercy, to its own protection And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, That thou commend it strangely to some place Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. ANTIGONUS: I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe: Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say Casting their savageness aside have done Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed does require! And blessing Against this cruelty fight on thy side, Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! LEONTES: No, I'll not rear Another's issue. Servant: Please your highness, posts From those you sent to the oracle are come An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed, Hasting to the court. First Lord: So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. LEONTES: Twenty-three days They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath Been publicly accused, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me, And think upon my bidding. CLEOMENES: The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. DION: I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits, Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly It was i' the offering! CLEOMENES: But of all, the burst And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense. That I was nothing. DION: If the event o' the journey Prove as successful to the queen,--O be't so!-- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. CLEOMENES: Great Apollo Turn all to the best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. DION: The violent carriage of it Will clear or end the business: when the oracle, Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up, Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses! And gracious be the issue! LEONTES: This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce, Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party tried The daughter of a king, our wife, and one Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, Even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. Officer: It is his highness' pleasure that the queen Appear in person here in court. Silence! LEONTES: Read the indictment. Officer: HERMIONE: Since what I am to say must be but that Which contradicts my accusation and The testimony on my part no other But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, Be so received. But thus: if powers divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush and tyranny Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know, Who least will seem to do so, my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devised And play'd to take spectators. For behold me A fellow of the royal bed, which owe A moiety of the throne a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond The bound of honour, or in act or will That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry fie upon my grave! LEONTES: I ne'er heard yet That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did Than to perform it first. HERMIONE: That's true enough; Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. LEONTES: You will not own it. HERMIONE: More than mistress of Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accused, I do confess I loved him as in honour he required, With such a kind of love as might become A lady like me, with a love even such, So and no other, as yourself commanded: Which not to have done I think had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd For me to try how: all I know of it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. LEONTES: You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in's absence. HERMIONE: Sir, You speak a language that I understand not: My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. LEONTES: Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,-- Those of your fact are so--so past all truth: Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it,--which is, indeed, More criminal in thee than it,--so thou Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death. HERMIONE: Sir, spare your threats: The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me can life be no commodity: The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went. My second joy And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, Haled out to murder: myself on every post Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i' the open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive, That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed. But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge! First Lord: This your request Is altogether just: therefore bring forth, And in Apollos name, his oracle. HERMIONE: The Emperor of Russia was my father: O that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Officer: You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then, You have not dared to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in't. CLEOMENES: All this we swear. LEONTES: Break up the seals and read. Officer: Lords: Now blessed be the great Apollo! HERMIONE: Praised! LEONTES: Hast thou read truth? Officer: Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down. LEONTES: There is no truth at all i' the oracle: The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood. Servant: My lord the king, the king! LEONTES: What is the business? Servant: O sir, I shall be hated to report it! The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the queen's speed, is gone. LEONTES: How! gone! Servant: Is dead. LEONTES: Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. How now there! PAULINA: This news is mortal to the queen: look down And see what death is doing. LEONTES: Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover: I have too much believed mine own suspicion: Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle! I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison My friend Polixenes: which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the hazard Of all encertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour: how he glisters Thorough my rust! and how his pity Does my deeds make the blacker! PAULINA: Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too. First Lord: What fit is this, good lady? PAULINA: What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? In leads or oils? what old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine, O, think what they have done And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much, Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king: poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter To be or none or little; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire ere done't: Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts, Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no, Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords, When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen, The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance for't Not dropp'd down yet. First Lord: The higher powers forbid! PAULINA: I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. LEONTES: Go on, go on Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved All tongues to talk their bitterest. First Lord: Say no more: Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' the boldness of your speech. PAULINA: I am sorry for't: All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief: do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punish'd, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!-- I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I'll not remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too: take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. LEONTES: Thou didst speak but well When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son: One grave shall be for both: upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there Shall be my recreation: so long as nature Will bear up with this exercise, so long I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me Unto these sorrows. ANTIGONUS: Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia? Mariner: Ay, my lord: and fear We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown upon 's. ANTIGONUS: Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before I call upon thee. Mariner: Make your best haste, and go not Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. ANTIGONUS: Go thou away: I'll follow instantly. Mariner: I am glad at heart To be so rid o' the business. ANTIGONUS: Come, poor babe: I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o' the dead May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me, And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon Did this break-from her: 'Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with shrieks She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself and thought This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys: Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squared by this. I do believe Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, Either for life or death, upon the earth Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie, and there thy character: there these; Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch, That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have A lullaby too rough: I never saw The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard! This is the chase: I am gone for ever. Shepherd: I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some 'scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa! Clown: Hilloa, loa! Shepherd: What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailest thou, man? Clown: I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. Shepherd: Why, boy, how is it? Clown: I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. Shepherd: Name of mercy, when was this, boy? Clown: Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it now. Shepherd: Would I had been by, to have helped the old man! Clown: I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing. Shepherd: Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see: it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open't. What's within, boy? Clown: You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! Shepherd: This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with't, keep it close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next way home. Clown: Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury it. Shepherd: That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the sight of him. Clown: Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground. Shepherd: 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't. Time: I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my power To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was Or what is now received: I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To the freshest things now reigning and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass and give my scene such growing As you had slept between: Leontes leaving, The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving That he shuts up himself, imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia, and remember well, I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wondering: what of her ensues I list not prophecy; but let Time's news Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is the argument of Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. POLIXENES: I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to grant this. CAMILLO: It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES: As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered, as too much I cannot, to be more thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO: Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I have missingly noted, he is of late much retired from court and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES: I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO: I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES: That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO: I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES: My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. AUTOLYCUS: When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lyra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have served Prince Florizel and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service: But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may, give, And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Clown: Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn. what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS: Clown: I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun. AUTOLYCUS: O that ever I was born! Clown: I' the name of me-- AUTOLYCUS: O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! Clown: Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS: O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. Clown: Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS: I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. Clown: What, by a horseman, or a footman? AUTOLYCUS: A footman, sweet sir, a footman. Clown: Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. AUTOLYCUS: O, good sir, tenderly, O! Clown: Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS: O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out. Clown: How now! canst stand? AUTOLYCUS: Clown: Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS: No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. Clown: What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? AUTOLYCUS: A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court. Clown: His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS: Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus. Clown: Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS: Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. Clown: Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run. AUTOLYCUS: I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him. Clown: How do you now? AUTOLYCUS: Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. Clown: Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS: No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. Clown: Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS: Prosper you, sweet sir! Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I make not this cheat bring out another and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name put in the book of virtue! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. FLORIZEL: These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. PERDITA: Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts In every mess have folly and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired, sworn, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL: I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA: Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates! How would he look, to see his work so noble Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL: Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA: O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL: Thou dearest Perdita, With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's. For I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA: O lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL: See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shepherd: Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here, At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour and the thing she took to quench it, She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one and not The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes and present yourself That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA: POLIXENES: Shepherdess, A fair one are you--well you fit our ages With flowers of winter. PERDITA: Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES: Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA: For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES: Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean: so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature. PERDITA: So it is. POLIXENES: Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA: I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. You're very welcome. CAMILLO: I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA: Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bight Phoebus in his strength--a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend, To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL: What, like a corse? PERDITA: No, like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried, But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers: Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL: What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet. I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing, I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms, Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function: each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deed, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA: O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL: I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But come; our dance, I pray: Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, That never mean to part. PERDITA: I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES: This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO: He tells her something That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clown: Come on, strike up! DORCAS: Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA: Now, in good time! Clown: Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up! POLIXENES: Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? Shepherd: They call him Doricles; and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding: but I have it Upon his own report and I believe it; He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter: I think so too; for never gazed the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain. I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES: She dances featly. Shepherd: So she does any thing; though I report it, That should be silent: if young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Servant: O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabour and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's ears grew to his tunes. Clown: He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. Servant: He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES: This is a brave fellow. Clown: Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? Servant: He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. Clown: Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA: Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes. Clown: You have of these pedlars, that have more in them than you'ld think, sister. PERDITA: Ay, good brother, or go about to think. AUTOLYCUS: Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears: Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy. Clown: If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA: I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS: He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA: He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. Clown: Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA: I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves. Clown: Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS: And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clown: Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS: I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. Clown: What hast here? ballads? MOPSA: Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS: Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed. MOPSA: Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS: Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS: Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS: Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA: Pray you now, buy it. Clown: Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS: Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true. DORCAS: Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS: Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold. Clown: Lay it by too: another. AUTOLYCUS: This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA: Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS: Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA: We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS: We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS: I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation; have at it with you. AUTOLYCUS: Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS: Whither? MOPSA: O, whither? DORCAS: Whither? MOPSA: It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS: Me too, let me go thither. MOPSA: Or thou goest to the orange or mill. DORCAS: If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS: Neither. DORCAS: What, neither? AUTOLYCUS: Neither. DORCAS: Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA: Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then whither goest? say, whither? Clown: We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. AUTOLYCUS: And you shall pay well for 'em. Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a medler. That doth utter all men's ware-a. Servant: Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. Shepherd: Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES: You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. Servant: One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier. Shepherd: Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Servant: Why, they stay at door, sir. POLIXENES: O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance; you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL: Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By the northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES: What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out: But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL: Do, and be witness to 't. POLIXENES: And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL: And he, and more Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES: Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO: This shows a sound affection. Shepherd: But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA: I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. Shepherd: Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL: O, that must be I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But, come on, Contract us 'fore these witnesses. Shepherd: Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES: Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL: I have: but what of him? POLIXENES: Knows he of this? FLORIZEL: He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES: Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL: No, good sir; He has his health and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES: By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial: reason my son Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason The father, all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity, should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL: I yield all this; But for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES: Let him know't. FLORIZEL: He shall not. POLIXENES: Prithee, let him. FLORIZEL: No, he must not. Shepherd: Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL: Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES: Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou copest with,-- Shepherd: O, my heart! POLIXENES: I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words: Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment.-- Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too, That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. PERDITA: Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage but Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this: beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,-- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO: Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. Shepherd: I cannot speak, nor think Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir! You have undone a man of fourscore three, That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones: but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone! If I might die within this hour, I have lived To die when I desire. FLORIZEL: Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am; More straining on for plucking back, not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO: Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech, which I do guess You do not purpose to him; and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL: I not purpose it. I think, Camillo? CAMILLO: Even he, my lord. PERDITA: How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL: It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks: From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO: Be advised. FLORIZEL: I am, and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO: This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL: So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,--cast your good counsels Upon his passion; let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know And so deliver, I am put to sea With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; And most opportune to our need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO: O my lord! I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL: Hark, Perdita I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO: He's irremoveable, Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL: Now, good Camillo; I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO: Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services, i' the love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL: Very nobly Have you deserved: it is my father's music To speak your deeds, not little of his care To have them recompensed as thought on. CAMILLO: Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king And through him what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction: If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by-- As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her, And, with my best endeavours in your absence, Your discontenting father strive to qualify And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL: How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO: Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL: Not any yet: But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO: Then list to me: This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess, For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes: She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness, As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL: Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO: Sent by the king your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down: The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say; that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL: I am bound to you: There is some sap in this. CAMILLO: A cause more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA: One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO: Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL: My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' the rear our birth. CAMILLO: I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA: Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL: My prettiest Perdita! But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo, Preserver of my father, now of me, The medicine of our house, how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son, Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO: My lord, Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there: it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want, one word. AUTOLYCUS: Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO: Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL: And those that you'll procure from King Leontes-- CAMILLO: Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA: Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO: Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this, omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS: If they have overheard me now, why, hanging. CAMILLO: How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS: I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO: Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly, --thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and change garments with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. AUTOLYCUS: I am a poor fellow, sir. I know ye well enough. CAMILLO: Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already. AUTOLYCUS: Are you in earnest, sir? I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL: Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS: Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO: Unbuckle, unbuckle. Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may-- For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA: I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO: No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL: Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO: Nay, you shall have no hat. Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS: Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL: O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you, a word. CAMILLO: FLORIZEL: Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. CAMILLO: The swifter speed the better. AUTOLYCUS: I understand the business, I hear it: to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. Clown: See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the king she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. Shepherd: Nay, but hear me. Clown: Nay, but hear me. Shepherd: Go to, then. Clown: She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all but what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you. Shepherd: I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. Clown: Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS: Shepherd: Well, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS: Clown: Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS: Shepherd: To the palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS: Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. Clown: We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS: A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. Clown: Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. Shepherd: Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS: Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? receives not thy nose court-odor from me? reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to open thy affair. Shepherd: My business, sir, is to the king. AUTOLYCUS: What advocate hast thou to him? Shepherd: I know not, an't like you. Clown: Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you have none. Shepherd: None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS: How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. Clown: This cannot be but a great courtier. Shepherd: His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. Clown: He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS: The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? Wherefore that box? Shepherd: Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box, which none must know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him. AUTOLYCUS: Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Shepherd: Why, sir? AUTOLYCUS: The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must know the king is full of grief. Shepard: So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS: If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly: the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. Clown: Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS: Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. Clown: Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear. an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS: He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the king: being something gently considered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. Clown: He seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.' Shepherd: An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS: After I have done what I promised? Shepherd: Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS: Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? Clown: In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. AUTOLYCUS: O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him, he'll be made an example. Clown: Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the business is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS: I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right hand: I will but look upon the hedge and follow you. Clown: We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. Shepherd: Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good. AUTOLYCUS: If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore them again and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them: there may be matter in it. CLEOMENES: Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass: at the last, Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES: Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much, That heirless it hath made my kingdom and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA: True, too true, my lord: If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good, To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES: I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so: but thou strikest me Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought: now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES: Not at all, good lady: You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit and graced Your kindness better. PAULINA: You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION: If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA: There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenor of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir: great Alexander Left his to the worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES: Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O, that ever I Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips-- PAULINA: And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES: Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse, And better used, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin, 'Why to me?' PAULINA: Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES: She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA: I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'ld bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'ld shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES: Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA: Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES: Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA: Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES: You tempt him over-much. PAULINA: Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES: Good madam,-- PAULINA: I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry,--if you will, sir, No remedy, but you will,--give me the office To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES: My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA: That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Gentleman: One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access To your high presence. LEONTES: What with him? he comes not Like to his father's greatness: his approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced By need and accident. What train? Gentleman: But few, And those but mean. LEONTES: His princess, say you, with him? Gentleman: Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA: O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme, 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd;'--thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once: 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. Gentleman: Pardon, madam: The one I have almost forgot,--your pardon,-- The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA: How! not women? Gentleman: Women will love her, that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES: Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA: Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord: there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES: Prithee, no more; cease; thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you: were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you, His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess,--goddess!--O, alas! I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do: and then I lost-- All mine own folly--the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL: By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother: and, but infirmity Which waits upon worn times hath something seized His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measured to look upon you; whom he loves-- He bade me say so--more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES: O my brother, Good gentleman! the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me, and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither, As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less The adventure of her person? FLORIZEL: Good my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES: Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved? FLORIZEL: Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your highness: my best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES: The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman; against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin: For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Lord: Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has-- His dignity and duty both cast off-- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES: Where's Bohemia? speak. Lord: Here in your city; I now came from him: I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple, meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL: Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endured all weathers. Lord: Lay't so to his charge: He's with the king your father. LEONTES: Who? Camillo? Lord: Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak: Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA: O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES: You are married? FLORIZEL: We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES: My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL: She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES: That 'once' I see by your good father's speed Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL: Dear, look up: Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, power no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you owed no more to time Than I do now: with thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES: Would he do so, I'ld beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA: Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES: I thought of her, Even in these looks I made. But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father: Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you: upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore follow me And mark what way I make: come, good my lord. AUTOLYCUS: Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? First Gentleman: I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. AUTOLYCUS: I would most gladly know the issue of it. First Gentleman: I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more. The news, Rogero? Second Gentleman: Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? this news which is called true is so like an old tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion: has the king found his heir? Third Gentleman: Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance: that which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters of Antigonus found with it which they know to be his character, the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other evidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? Second Gentleman: No. Third Gentleman: Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenances of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. Second Gentleman: What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? Third Gentleman: Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. First Gentleman: What became of his bark and his followers? Third Gentleman: Wrecked the same instant of their master's death and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart that she might no more be in danger of losing. First Gentleman: The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. Third Gentleman: One of the prettiest touches of all and that which angled for mine eyes, caught the water though not the fish, was when, at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confessed and lamented by the king, how attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'Alas,' I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen 't, the woe had been universal. First Gentleman: Are they returned to the court? Third Gentleman: No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,--a piece many years in doing and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer: thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. Second Gentleman: I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither and with our company piece the rejoicing? First Gentleman: Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? every wink of an eye some new grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. AUTOLYCUS: Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince: told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what: but he at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter, so he then took her to be, who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder out of this secret, it would not have relished among my other discredits. Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. Shepherd: Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. Clown: You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these robes are not gentlemen born: give me the lie, do, and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS: I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. Clown: Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Shepherd: And so have I, boy. Clown: So you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the king's son took me by the hand, and called me brother; and then the two kings called my father brother; and then the prince my brother and the princess my sister called my father father; and so we wept, and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. Shepherd: We may live, son, to shed many more. Clown: Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS: I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship and to give me your good report to the prince my master. Shepherd: Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. Clown: Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS: Ay, an it like your good worship. Clown: Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. Shepherd: You may say it, but not swear it. Clown: Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. Shepherd: How if it be false, son? Clown: If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend: and I'll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I'll swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS: I will prove so, sir, to my power. Clown: Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy good masters. LEONTES: O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA: What, sovereign sir, I did not well I meant well. All my services You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES: O Paulina, We honour you with trouble: but we came To see the statue of our queen: your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA: As she lived peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well. I like your silence, it the more shows off Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege, Comes it not something near? LEONTES: Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding, for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES: O, not by much. PAULINA: So much the more our carver's excellence; Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she lived now. LEONTES: As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty, warm life, As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her! I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjured to remembrance and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee. PERDITA: And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition, that I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA: O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO: My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry; scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES: Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have power To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA: Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine-- I'ld not have show'd it. LEONTES: Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA: No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES: Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already-- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES: Masterly done: The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES: The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA: I'll draw the curtain: My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES: O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA: I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES: Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA: Good my lord, forbear: The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES: No, not these twenty years. PERDITA: So long could I Stand by, a looker on. PAULINA: Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend And take you by the hand; but then you'll think-- Which I protest against--I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES: What you can make her do, I am content to look on: what to speak, I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA: It is required You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; On: those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES: Proceed: No foot shall stir. PAULINA: Music, awake her; strike! 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, I'll fill your grave up: stir, nay, come away, Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs: Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES: O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES: She embraces him. CAMILLO: She hangs about his neck: If she pertain to life let her speak too. POLIXENES: Ay, and make't manifest where she has lived, Or how stolen from the dead. PAULINA: That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale: but it appears she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE: You gods, look down And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own. Where hast thou been preserved? where lived? how found Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved Myself to see the issue. PAULINA: There's time enough for that; Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES: O, peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife: this is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far-- For him, I partly know his mind--to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty Is richly noted and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother: both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law, And son unto the king, who, heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely Each one demand an answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd: hastily lead away. DUKE VINCENTIO: Escalus. ESCALUS: My lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; Since I am put to know that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice My strength can give you: then no more remains, But that to your sufficiency, as your Worth is able, And let them work. The nature of our people, Our city's institutions, and the terms For common justice, you're as pregnant in As art and practise hath enriched any That we remember. There is our commission, From which we would not have you warp. Call hither, I say, bid come before us Angelo. What figure of us think you he will bear? For you must know, we have with special soul Elected him our absence to supply, Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power: what think you of it? ESCALUS: If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and honour, It is Lord Angelo. DUKE VINCENTIO: Look where he comes. ANGELO: Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure. DUKE VINCENTIO: Angelo, There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech To one that can my part in him advertise; Hold therefore, Angelo:-- In our remove be thou at full ourself; Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus, Though first in question, is thy secondary. Take thy commission. ANGELO: Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it. DUKE VINCENTIO: No more evasion: We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, As time and our concernings shall importune, How it goes with us, and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well; To the hopeful execution do I leave you Of your commissions. ANGELO: Yet give leave, my lord, That we may bring you something on the way. DUKE VINCENTIO: My haste may not admit it; Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do With any scruple; your scope is as mine own So to enforce or qualify the laws As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand: I'll privily away. I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes: Through it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and Aves vehement; Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. ANGELO: The heavens give safety to your purposes! ESCALUS: Lead forth and bring you back in happiness! DUKE: I thank you. Fare you well. ESCALUS: I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place: A power I have, but of what strength and nature I am not yet instructed. ANGELO: 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together, And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. ESCALUS: I'll wait upon your honour. LUCIO: If the duke with the other dukes come not to composition with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the king. First Gentleman: Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of Hungary's! Second Gentleman: Amen. LUCIO: Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped one out of the table. Second Gentleman: 'Thou shalt not steal'? LUCIO: Ay, that he razed. First Gentleman: Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace. Second Gentleman: I never heard any soldier dislike it. LUCIO: I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was said. Second Gentleman: No? a dozen times at least. First Gentleman: What, in metre? LUCIO: In any proportion or in any language. First Gentleman: I think, or in any religion. LUCIO: Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. First Gentleman: Well, there went but a pair of shears between us. LUCIO: I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. First Gentleman: And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now? LUCIO: I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. First Gentleman: I think I have done myself wrong, have I not? Second Gentleman: Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free. LUCIO: Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to-- Second Gentleman: To what, I pray? LUCIO: Judge. Second Gentleman: To three thousand dolours a year. First Gentleman: Ay, and more. LUCIO: A French crown more. First Gentleman: Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou art full of error; I am sound. LUCIO: Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast of thee. First Gentleman: How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica? MISTRESS OVERDONE: Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried to prison was worth five thousand of you all. Second Gentleman: Who's that, I pray thee? MISTRESS OVERDONE: Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. First Gentleman: Claudio to prison? 'tis not so. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw him carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off. LUCIO: But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of this? MISTRESS OVERDONE: I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam Julietta with child. LUCIO: Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping. Second Gentleman: Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose. First Gentleman: But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation. LUCIO: Away! let's go learn the truth of it. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now! what's the news with you? POMPEY: Yonder man is carried to prison. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Well; what has he done? POMPEY: A woman. MISTRESS OVERDONE: But what's his offence? POMPEY: Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. MISTRESS OVERDONE: What, is there a maid with child by him? POMPEY: No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not heard of the proclamation, have you? MISTRESS OVERDONE: What proclamation, man? POMPEY: All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down. MISTRESS OVERDONE: And what shall become of those in the city? POMPEY: They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. MISTRESS OVERDONE: But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down? POMPEY: To the ground, mistress. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth! What shall become of me? POMPEY: Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no clients: though you change your place, you need not change your trade; I'll be your tapster still. Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. MISTRESS OVERDONE: What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw. POMPEY: Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison; and there's Madam Juliet. CLAUDIO: Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world? Bear me to prison, where I am committed. Provost: I do it not in evil disposition, But from Lord Angelo by special charge. CLAUDIO: Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offence by weight The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will; On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just. LUCIO: Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint? CLAUDIO: From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty: As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die. LUCIO: If could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy offence, Claudio? CLAUDIO: What but to speak of would offend again. LUCIO: What, is't murder? CLAUDIO: No. LUCIO: Lechery? CLAUDIO: Call it so. Provost: Away, sir! you must go. CLAUDIO: One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you. LUCIO: A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd after? CLAUDIO: Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract I got possession of Julietta's bed: You know the lady; she is fast my wife, Save that we do the denunciation lack Of outward order: this we came not to, Only for propagation of a dower Remaining in the coffer of her friends, From whom we thought it meet to hide our love Till time had made them for us. But it chances The stealth of our most mutual entertainment With character too gross is writ on Juliet. LUCIO: With child, perhaps? CLAUDIO: Unhappily, even so. And the new deputy now for the duke-- Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, Or whether that the body public be A horse whereon the governor doth ride, Who, newly in the seat, that it may know He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; Whether the tyranny be in his place, Or in his emmence that fills it up, I stagger in:--but this new governor Awakes me all the enrolled penalties Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round And none of them been worn; and, for a name, Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name. LUCIO: I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to him. CLAUDIO: I have done so, but he's not to be found. I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service: This day my sister should the cloister enter And there receive her approbation: Acquaint her with the danger of my state: Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him: I have great hope in that; for in her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and discourse, And well she can persuade. LUCIO: I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. CLAUDIO: I thank you, good friend Lucio. LUCIO: Within two hours. CLAUDIO: Come, officer, away! DUKE VINCENTIO: No, holy father; throw away that thought; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth. FRIAR THOMAS: May your grace speak of it? DUKE VINCENTIO: My holy sir, none better knows than you How I have ever loved the life removed And held in idle price to haunt assemblies Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, A man of stricture and firm abstinence, My absolute power and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, And so it is received. Now, pious sir, You will demand of me why I do this? FRIAR THOMAS: Gladly, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: We have strict statutes and most biting laws. The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, Which for this nineteen years we have let slip; Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch, Only to stick it in their children's sight For terror, not to use, in time the rod Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees, Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead; And liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum. FRIAR THOMAS: It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased: And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd Than in Lord Angelo. DUKE VINCENTIO: I do fear, too dreadful: Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permissive pass And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father, I have on Angelo imposed the office; Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight To do in slander. And to behold his sway, I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee, Supply me with the habit and instruct me How I may formally in person bear me Like a true friar. More reasons for this action At our more leisure shall I render you; Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise; Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses That his blood flows, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see, If power change purpose, what our seemers be. ISABELLA: And have you nuns no farther privileges? FRANCISCA: Are not these large enough? ISABELLA: Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more; But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Who's that which calls? FRANCISCA: It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him; You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn. When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men But in the presence of the prioress: Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again; I pray you, answer him. ISABELLA: Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls LUCIO: Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me As bring me to the sight of Isabella, A novice of this place and the fair sister To her unhappy brother Claudio? ISABELLA: Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask, The rather for I now must make you know I am that Isabella and his sister. LUCIO: Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you: Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. ISABELLA: Woe me! for what? LUCIO: For that which, if myself might be his judge, He should receive his punishment in thanks: He hath got his friend with child. ISABELLA: Sir, make me not your story. LUCIO: It is true. I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so: I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted. By your renouncement an immortal spirit, And to be talk'd with in sincerity, As with a saint. ISABELLA: You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. LUCIO: Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus: Your brother and his lover have embraced: As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time That from the seedness the bare fallow brings To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. ISABELLA: Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet? LUCIO: Is she your cousin? ISABELLA: Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names By vain though apt affection. LUCIO: She it is. ISABELLA: O, let him marry her. LUCIO: This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence; Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand and hope of action: but we do learn By those that know the very nerves of state, His givings-out were of an infinite distance From his true-meant design. Upon his place, And with full line of his authority, Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood Is very snow-broth; one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense, But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge With profits of the mind, study and fast. He--to give fear to use and liberty, Which have for long run by the hideous law, As mice by lions--hath pick'd out an act, Under whose heavy sense your brother's life Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it; And follows close the rigour of the statute, To make him an example. All hope is gone, Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business 'Twixt you and your poor brother. ISABELLA: Doth he so seek his life? LUCIO: Has censured him Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath A warrant for his execution. ISABELLA: Alas! what poor ability's in me To do him good? LUCIO: Assay the power you have. ISABELLA: My power? Alas, I doubt-- LUCIO: Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe them. ISABELLA: I'll see what I can do. LUCIO: But speedily. ISABELLA: I will about it straight; No longer staying but to give the mother Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you: Commend me to my brother: soon at night I'll send him certain word of my success. LUCIO: I take my leave of you. ISABELLA: Good sir, adieu. ANGELO: We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch and not their terror. ESCALUS: Ay, but yet Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman Whom I would save, had a most noble father! Let but your honour know, Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, That, in the working of your own affections, Had time cohered with place or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your blood Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, Whether you had not sometime in your life Err'd in this point which now you censure him, And pull'd the law upon you. ANGELO: 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. I not deny, The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice, That justice seizes: what know the laws That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant, The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't Because we see it; but what we do not see We tread upon, and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, When I, that censure him, do so offend, Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. ESCALUS: Be it as your wisdom will. ANGELO: Where is the provost? Provost: Here, if it like your honour. ANGELO: See that Claudio Be executed by nine to-morrow morning: Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared; For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. ESCALUS: ELBOW: Come, bring them away: if these be good people in a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law: bring them away. ANGELO: How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter? ELBOW: If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. ANGELO: Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are they not malefactors? ELBOW: If it? please your honour, I know not well what they are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. ESCALUS: This comes off well; here's a wise officer. ANGELO: Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow? POMPEY: He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. ANGELO: What are you, sir? ELBOW: He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too. ESCALUS: How know you that? ELBOW: My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,-- ESCALUS: How? thy wife? ELBOW: Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,-- ESCALUS: Dost thou detest her therefore? ELBOW: I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. ESCALUS: How dost thou know that, constable? ELBOW: Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. ESCALUS: By the woman's means? ELBOW: Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. POMPEY: Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. ELBOW: Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man; prove it. ESCALUS: Do you hear how he misplaces? POMPEY: Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes; sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes,-- ESCALUS: Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir. POMPEY: No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the right: but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you know, Master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again. FROTH: No, indeed. POMPEY: Very well: you being then, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes,-- FROTH: Ay, so I did indeed. POMPEY: Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be remembered, that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you,-- FROTH: All this is true. POMPEY: Why, very well, then,-- ESCALUS: Come, you are a tedious fool: to the purpose. What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. POMPEY: Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. ESCALUS: No, sir, nor I mean it not. POMPEY: Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir; a man of four-score pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas: was't not at Hallowmas, Master Froth? FROTH: All-hallond eve. POMPEY: Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not? FROTH: I have so; because it is an open room and good for winter. POMPEY: Why, very well, then; I hope here be truths. ANGELO: This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave. And leave you to the hearing of the cause; Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. ESCALUS: I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more? POMPEY: Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once. ELBOW: I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. POMPEY: I beseech your honour, ask me. ESCALUS: Well, sir; what did this gentleman to her? POMPEY: I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face? ESCALUS: Ay, sir, very well. POMPEY: Nay; I beseech you, mark it well. ESCALUS: Well, I do so. POMPEY: Doth your honour see any harm in his face? ESCALUS: Why, no. POMPEY: I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. Good, then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would know that of your honour. ESCALUS: He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it? ELBOW: First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman. POMPEY: By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. ELBOW: Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet! the time has yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child. POMPEY: Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. ESCALUS: Which is the wiser here? Justice or Iniquity? Is this true? ELBOW: O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. ESCALUS: If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your action of slander too. ELBOW: Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff? ESCALUS: Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. ELBOW: Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue. ESCALUS: Where were you born, friend? FROTH: Here in Vienna, sir. ESCALUS: Are you of fourscore pounds a year? FROTH: Yes, an't please you, sir. ESCALUS: So. What trade are you of, sir? POMPHEY: Tapster; a poor widow's tapster. ESCALUS: Your mistress' name? POMPHEY: Mistress Overdone. ESCALUS: Hath she had any more than one husband? POMPEY: Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. ESCALUS: Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you, Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. FROTH: I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into any room in a tap-house, but I am drawn in. ESCALUS: Well, no more of it, Master Froth: farewell. Come you hither to me, Master tapster. What's your name, Master tapster? POMPEY: Pompey. ESCALUS: What else? POMPEY: Bum, sir. ESCALUS: Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you. POMPEY: Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. ESCALUS: How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade? POMPEY: If the law would allow it, sir. ESCALUS: But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. POMPEY: Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of the city? ESCALUS: No, Pompey. POMPEY: Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. ESCALUS: There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging. POMPEY: If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it after three-pence a bay: if you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. ESCALUS: Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well. POMPEY: I thank your worship for your good counsel: but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade: The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade. ESCALUS: Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master constable. How long have you been in this place of constable? ELBOW: Seven year and a half, sir. ESCALUS: I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time. You say, seven years together? ELBOW: And a half, sir. ESCALUS: Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't: are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? ELBOW: Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all. ESCALUS: Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. ELBOW: To your worship's house, sir? ESCALUS: To my house. Fare you well. What's o'clock, think you? Justice: Eleven, sir. ESCALUS: I pray you home to dinner with me. Justice: I humbly thank you. ESCALUS: It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But there's no remedy. Justice: Lord Angelo is severe. ESCALUS: It is but needful: Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe: But yet,--poor Claudio! There is no remedy. Come, sir. Servant: He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight I'll tell him of you. Provost: Pray you, do. I'll know His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream! All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he To die for't! ANGELO: Now, what's the matter. Provost? Provost: Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow? ANGELO: Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order? Why dost thou ask again? Provost: Lest I might be too rash: Under your good correction, I have seen, When, after execution, judgment hath Repented o'er his doom. ANGELO: Go to; let that be mine: Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spared. Provost: I crave your honour's pardon. What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? She's very near her hour. ANGELO: Dispose of her To some more fitter place, and that with speed. Servant: Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you. ANGELO: Hath he a sister? Provost: Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. ANGELO: Well, let her be admitted. See you the fornicatress be removed: Let have needful, but not lavish, means; There shall be order for't. Provost: God save your honour! ANGELO: Stay a little while. You're welcome: what's your will? ISABELLA: I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. ANGELO: Well; what's your suit? ISABELLA: There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war 'twixt will and will not. ANGELO: Well; the matter? ISABELLA: I have a brother is condemn'd to die: I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. Provost: ANGELO: Condemn the fault and not the actor of it? Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done: Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. ISABELLA: O just but severe law! I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour! LUCIO: ISABELLA: Must he needs die? ANGELO: Maiden, no remedy. ISABELLA: Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. ANGELO: I will not do't. ISABELLA: But can you, if you would? ANGELO: Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. ISABELLA: But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him? ANGELO: He's sentenced; 'tis too late. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word. May call it back again. Well, believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does. If he had been as you and you as he, You would have slipt like him; but he, like you, Would not have been so stern. ANGELO: Pray you, be gone. ISABELLA: I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner. LUCIO: ANGELO: Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words. ISABELLA: Alas, alas! Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made. ANGELO: Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I condemn your brother: Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him: he must die tomorrow. ISABELLA: To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him! He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you; Who is it that hath died for this offence? There's many have committed it. LUCIO: ANGELO: The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: Those many had not dared to do that evil, If the first that did the edict infringe Had answer'd for his deed: now 'tis awake Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, Either new, or by remissness new-conceived, And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, Are now to have no successive degrees, But, ere they live, to end. ISABELLA: Yet show some pity. ANGELO: I show it most of all when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. ISABELLA: So you must be the first that gives this sentence, And he, that suffer's. O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder; Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven, Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal. LUCIO: Provost: ISABELLA: We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them, But in the less foul profanation. LUCIO: Thou'rt i' the right, girl; more o, that. ISABELLA: That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. LUCIO: ANGELO: Why do you put these sayings upon me? ISABELLA: Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know That's like my brother's fault: if it confess A natural guiltiness such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life. ANGELO: ISABELLA: Gentle my lord, turn back. ANGELO: I will bethink me: come again tomorrow. ISABELLA: Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn back. ANGELO: How! bribe me? ISABELLA: Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor As fancy values them; but with true prayers That shall be up at heaven and enter there Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls, From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. ANGELO: Well; come to me to-morrow. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Heaven keep your honour safe! ANGELO: ISABELLA: At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship? ANGELO: At any time 'fore noon. ISABELLA: 'Save your honour! ANGELO: From thee, even from thy virtue! What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine? The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie! What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? Dost thou desire her foully for those things That make her good? O, let her brother live! Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her, That I desire to hear her speak again, And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on? O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous Is that temptation that doth goad us on To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet, With all her double vigour, art and nature, Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid Subdues me quite. Even till now, When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how. DUKE VINCENTIO: Hail to you, provost! so I think you are. Provost: I am the provost. What's your will, good friar? DUKE VINCENTIO: Bound by my charity and my blest order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison. Do me the common right To let me see them and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may minister To them accordingly. Provost: I would do more than that, if more were needful. Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine, Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, Hath blister'd her report: she is with child; And he that got it, sentenced; a young man More fit to do another such offence Than die for this. DUKE VINCENTIO: When must he die? Provost: As I do think, to-morrow. I have provided for you: stay awhile, And you shall be conducted. DUKE VINCENTIO: Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? JULIET: I do; and bear the shame most patiently. DUKE VINCENTIO: I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And try your penitence, if it be sound, Or hollowly put on. JULIET: I'll gladly learn. DUKE VINCENTIO: Love you the man that wrong'd you? JULIET: Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. DUKE VINCENTIO: So then it seems your most offenceful act Was mutually committed? JULIET: Mutually. DUKE VINCENTIO: Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. JULIET: I do confess it, and repent it, father. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis meet so, daughter: but lest you do repent, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven, Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, But as we stand in fear,-- JULIET: I do repent me, as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy. DUKE VINCENTIO: There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, And I am going with instruction to him. Grace go with you, Benedicite! JULIET: Must die to-morrow! O injurious love, That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror! Provost: 'Tis pity of him. ANGELO: When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words; Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name; And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, Wherein--let no man hear me--I take pride, Could I with boot change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood: Let's write good angel on the devil's horn: 'Tis not the devil's crest. How now! who's there? Servant: One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. ANGELO: Teach her the way. O heavens! Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, Making both it unable for itself, And dispossessing all my other parts Of necessary fitness? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive: and even so The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence. How now, fair maid? ISABELLA: I am come to know your pleasure. ANGELO: That you might know it, would much better please me Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. ISABELLA: Even so. Heaven keep your honour! ANGELO: Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be, As long as you or I yet he must die. ISABELLA: Under your sentence? ANGELO: Yea. ISABELLA: When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted That his soul sicken not. ANGELO: Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made As to put metal in restrained means To make a false one. ISABELLA: 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. ANGELO: Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly. Which had you rather, that the most just law Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness As she that he hath stain'd? ISABELLA: Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my soul. ANGELO: I talk not of your soul: our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt. ISABELLA: How say you? ANGELO: Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this: I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: Might there not be a charity in sin To save this brother's life? ISABELLA: Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my soul, It is no sin at all, but charity. ANGELO: Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul, Were equal poise of sin and charity. ISABELLA: That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit, If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer. ANGELO: Nay, but hear me. Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so craftily; and that's not good. ISABELLA: Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better. ANGELO: Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me; To be received plain, I'll speak more gross: Your brother is to die. ISABELLA: So. ANGELO: And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain. ISABELLA: True. ANGELO: Admit no other way to save his life,-- As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister, Finding yourself desired of such a person, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-building law; and that there were No earthly mean to save him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; What would you do? ISABELLA: As much for my poor brother as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield My body up to shame. ANGELO: Then must your brother die. ISABELLA: And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever. ANGELO: Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so? ISABELLA: Ignomy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses: lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption. ANGELO: You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; And rather proved the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice. ISABELLA: O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love. ANGELO: We are all frail. ISABELLA: Else let my brother die, If not a feodary, but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness. ANGELO: Nay, women are frail too. ISABELLA: Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints. ANGELO: I think it well: And from this testimony of your own sex,-- Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold; I do arrest your words. Be that you are, That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; If you be one, as you are well express'd By all external warrants, show it now, By putting on the destined livery. ISABELLA: I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language. ANGELO: Plainly conceive, I love you. ISABELLA: My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for it. ANGELO: He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. ISABELLA: I know your virtue hath a licence in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. ANGELO: Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose. ISABELLA: Ha! little honour to be much believed, And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming! I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't: Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud What man thou art. ANGELO: Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the state, Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle in your own report And smell of calumny. I have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein: Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will; Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. ISABELLA: To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, Either of condemnation or approof; Bidding the law make court'sy to their will: Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother: Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour. That, had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up, Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr'd pollution. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: More than our brother is our chastity. I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. DUKE VINCENTIO: So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? CLAUDIO: The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I've hope to live, and am prepared to die. DUKE VINCENTIO: Be absolute for death; either death or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get, And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear's thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. CLAUDIO: I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. ISABELLA: Provost: Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. DUKE VINCENTIO: Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. CLAUDIO: Most holy sir, I thank you. ISABELLA: My business is a word or two with Claudio. Provost: And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. DUKE VINCENTIO: Provost, a word with you. Provost: As many as you please. DUKE VINCENTIO: Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed. CLAUDIO: Now, sister, what's the comfort? ISABELLA: Why, As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger: Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on. CLAUDIO: Is there no remedy? ISABELLA: None, but such remedy as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. CLAUDIO: But is there any? ISABELLA: Yes, brother, you may live: There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. CLAUDIO: Perpetual durance? ISABELLA: Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determined scope. CLAUDIO: But in what nature? ISABELLA: In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked. CLAUDIO: Let me know the point. ISABELLA: O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die? The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. CLAUDIO: Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms. ISABELLA: There spake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: Thou art too noble to conserve a life In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell. CLAUDIO: The prenzie Angelo! ISABELLA: O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio? If I would yield him my virginity, Thou mightst be freed. CLAUDIO: O heavens! it cannot be. ISABELLA: Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence, So to offend him still. This night's the time That I should do what I abhor to name, Or else thou diest to-morrow. CLAUDIO: Thou shalt not do't. ISABELLA: O, were it but my life, I'ld throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. CLAUDIO: Thanks, dear Isabel. ISABELLA: Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow. CLAUDIO: Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin, Or of the deadly seven, it is the least. ISABELLA: Which is the least? CLAUDIO: If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined? O Isabel! ISABELLA: What says my brother? CLAUDIO: Death is a fearful thing. ISABELLA: And shamed life a hateful. CLAUDIO: Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and incertain thought Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible! The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury and imprisonment Can lay on nature is a paradise To what we fear of death. ISABELLA: Alas, alas! CLAUDIO: Sweet sister, let me live: What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far That it becomes a virtue. ISABELLA: O you beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? Is't not a kind of incest, to take life From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! For such a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance! Die, perish! Might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. CLAUDIO: Nay, hear me, Isabel. ISABELLA: O, fie, fie, fie! Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 'Tis best thou diest quickly. CLAUDIO: O hear me, Isabella! DUKE VINCENTIO: Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. ISABELLA: What is your will? DUKE VINCENTIO: Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit. ISABELLA: I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. DUKE VINCENTIO: Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death: do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible: tomorrow you must die; go to your knees and make ready. CLAUDIO: Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid of it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Hold you there: farewell. Provost, a word with you! Provost: What's your will, father DUKE VINCENTIO: That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. Provost: In good time. DUKE VINCENTIO: The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother? ISABELLA: I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he return and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government. DUKE VINCENTIO: That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent duke, if peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this business. ISABELLA: Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. DUKE VINCENTIO: Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea? ISABELLA: I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. DUKE VINCENTIO: She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. ISABELLA: Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her? DUKE VINCENTIO: Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not. ISABELLA: What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail? DUKE VINCENTIO: It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it. ISABELLA: Show me how, good father. DUKE VINCENTIO: This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage, first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course,--and now follows all,--we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? ISABELLA: The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. DUKE VINCENTIO: It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. ISABELLA: I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. ELBOW: Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard. DUKE VINCENTIO: O heavens! what stuff is here POMPEY: 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing. ELBOW: Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good father friar. DUKE VINCENTIO: And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir? ELBOW: Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy. DUKE VINCENTIO: Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd! The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live. Do thou but think What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life, So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. POMPEY: Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove-- DUKE VINCENTIO: Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: Correction and instruction must both work Ere this rude beast will profit. ELBOW: He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. DUKE VINCENTIO: That we were all, as some would seem to be, From our faults, as faults from seeming, free! ELBOW: His neck will come to your waist,--a cord, sir. POMPEY: I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman and a friend of mine. LUCIO: How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is't not drowned i' the last rain, ha? What sayest thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The trick of it? DUKE VINCENTIO: Still thus, and thus; still worse! LUCIO: How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha? POMPEY: Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub. LUCIO: Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? POMPEY: Yes, faith, sir. LUCIO: Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how? ELBOW: For being a bawd, for being a bawd. LUCIO: Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house. POMPEY: I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. LUCIO: No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: If you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, friar. DUKE VINCENTIO: And you. LUCIO: Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? ELBOW: Come your ways, sir; come. POMPEY: You will not bail me, then, sir? LUCIO: Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news? ELBOW: Come your ways, sir; come. LUCIO: Go to kennel, Pompey; go. What news, friar, of the duke? DUKE VINCENTIO: I know none. Can you tell me of any? LUCIO: Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you? DUKE VINCENTIO: I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well. LUCIO: It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to 't. DUKE VINCENTIO: He does well in 't. LUCIO: A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. LUCIO: Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and woman after this downright way of creation: is it true, think you? DUKE VINCENTIO: How should he be made, then? LUCIO: Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a motion generative; that's infallible. DUKE VINCENTIO: You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. LUCIO: Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport: he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. DUKE VINCENTIO: I never heard the absent duke much detected for women; he was not inclined that way. LUCIO: O, sir, you are deceived. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis not possible. LUCIO: Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you. DUKE VINCENTIO: You do him wrong, surely. LUCIO: Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the duke: and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. DUKE VINCENTIO: What, I prithee, might be the cause? LUCIO: No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips: but this I can let you understand, the greater file of the subject held the duke to be wise. DUKE VINCENTIO: Wise! why, no question but he was. LUCIO: A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. DUKE VINCENTIO: Either this is the envy in you, folly, or mistaking: the very stream of his life and the business he hath helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully: or if your knowledge be more it is much darkened in your malice. LUCIO: Sir, I know him, and I love him. DUKE VINCENTIO: Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love. LUCIO: Come, sir, I know what I know. DUKE VINCENTIO: I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name? LUCIO: Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke. DUKE VINCENTIO: He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. LUCIO: I fear you not. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm; you'll forswear this again. LUCIO: I'll be hanged first: thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? DUKE VINCENTIO: Why should he die, sir? LUCIO: Why? For filling a bottle with a tundish. I would the duke we talk of were returned again: the ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to light: would he were returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not past it yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic: say that I said so. Farewell. DUKE VINCENTIO: No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? But who comes here? ESCALUS: Go; away with her to prison! MISTRESS OVERDONE: Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted a merciful man; good my lord. ESCALUS: Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. Provost: A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your honour. MISTRESS OVERDONE: My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the duke's time; he promised her marriage: his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me! ESCALUS: That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to; no more words. Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation. if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. Provost: So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. ESCALUS: Good even, good father. DUKE VINCENTIO: Bliss and goodness on you! ESCALUS: Of whence are you? DUKE VINCENTIO: Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time: I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See In special business from his holiness. ESCALUS: What news abroad i' the world? DUKE VINCENTIO: None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships accurst: much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke? ESCALUS: One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know himself. DUKE VINCENTIO: What pleasure was he given to? ESCALUS: Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand that you have lent him visitation. DUKE VINCENTIO: He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice: yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I by my good leisure have discredited to him, and now is he resolved to die. ESCALUS: You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty: but my brother justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice. DUKE VINCENTIO: If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. ESCALUS: I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well. DUKE VINCENTIO: Peace be with you! He who the sword of heaven will bear Should be as holy as severe; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go; More nor less to others paying Than by self-offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! How may likeness made in crimes, Making practise on the times, To draw with idle spiders' strings Most ponderous and substantial things! Craft against vice I must apply: With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed but despised; So disguise shall, by the disguised, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. MARIANA: Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away: Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish You had not found me here so musical: Let me excuse me, and believe me so, My mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. I pray, you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promised here to meet. MARIANA: You have not been inquired after: I have sat here all day. DUKE VINCENTIO: I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I shall crave your forbearance a little: may be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself. MARIANA: I am always bound to you. DUKE VINCENTIO: Very well met, and well come. What is the news from this good deputy? ISABELLA: He hath a garden circummured with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; And to that vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger key: This other doth command a little door Which from the vineyard to the garden leads; There have I made my promise Upon the heavy middle of the night To call upon him. DUKE VINCENTIO: But shall you on your knowledge find this way? ISABELLA: I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't: With whispering and most guilty diligence, In action all of precept, he did show me The way twice o'er. DUKE VINCENTIO: Are there no other tokens Between you 'greed concerning her observance? ISABELLA: No, none, but only a repair i' the dark; And that I have possess'd him my most stay Can be but brief; for I have made him know I have a servant comes with me along, That stays upon me, whose persuasion is I come about my brother. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis well borne up. I have not yet made known to Mariana A word of this. What, ho! within! come forth! I pray you, be acquainted with this maid; She comes to do you good. ISABELLA: I do desire the like. DUKE VINCENTIO: Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? MARIANA: Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Take, then, this your companion by the hand, Who hath a story ready for your ear. I shall attend your leisure: but make haste; The vaporous night approaches. MARIANA: Will't please you walk aside? DUKE VINCENTIO: O place and greatness! millions of false eyes Are stuck upon thee: volumes of report Run with these false and most contrarious quests Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dreams And rack thee in their fancies. Welcome, how agreed? ISABELLA: She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, If you advise it. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is not my consent, But my entreaty too. ISABELLA: Little have you to say When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 'Remember now my brother.' MARIANA: Fear me not. DUKE VINCENTIO: Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. He is your husband on a pre-contract: To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin, Sith that the justice of your title to him Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go: Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. Provost: Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head? POMPEY: If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut off a woman's head. Provost: Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of imprisonment and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a notorious bawd. POMPEY: Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow partner. Provost: What, ho! Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there? ABHORSON: Do you call, sir? Provost: Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd. ABHORSON: A bawd, sir? fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery. Provost: Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the scale. POMPEY: Pray, sir, by your good favour,--for surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging look,--do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery? ABHORSON: Ay, sir; a mystery POMPEY: Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery: but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. ABHORSON: Sir, it is a mystery. POMPEY: Proof? ABHORSON: Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's apparel fits your thief. Provost: Are you agreed? POMPEY: Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. Provost: You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow four o'clock. ABHORSON: Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow. POMPEY: I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn. Provost: Call hither Barnardine and Claudio: The one has my pity; not a jot the other, Being a murderer, though he were my brother. Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? CLAUDIO: As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones: He will not wake. Provost: Who can do good on him? Well, go, prepare yourself. But, hark, what noise? Heaven give your spirits comfort! By and by. I hope it is some pardon or reprieve For the most gentle Claudio. Welcome father. DUKE VINCENTIO: The best and wholesomest spirts of the night Envelope you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late? Provost: None, since the curfew rung. DUKE VINCENTIO: Not Isabel? Provost: No. DUKE VINCENTIO: They will, then, ere't be long. Provost: What comfort is for Claudio? DUKE VINCENTIO: There's some in hope. Provost: It is a bitter deputy. DUKE VINCENTIO: Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd Even with the stroke and line of his great justice: He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself which he spurs on his power To qualify in others: were he meal'd with that Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; But this being so, he's just. Now are they come. This is a gentle provost: seldom when The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. How now! what noise? That spirit's possessed with haste That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes. Provost: There he must stay until the officer Arise to let him in: he is call'd up. DUKE VINCENTIO: Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow? Provost: None, sir, none. DUKE VINCENTIO: As near the dawning, provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning. Provost: Happily You something know; yet I believe there comes No countermand; no such example have we: Besides, upon the very siege of justice Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Profess'd the contrary. This is his lordship's man. DUKE VINCENTIO: And here comes Claudio's pardon. Messenger: Provost: I shall obey him. DUKE VINCENTIO: Provost: I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before. DUKE VINCENTIO: Pray you, let's hear. Provost: DUKE VINCENTIO: What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in the afternoon? Provost: A Bohemian born, but here nursed un and bred; one that is a prisoner nine years old. DUKE VINCENTIO: How came it that the absent duke had not either delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so. Provost: His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is now apparent? Provost: Most manifest, and not denied by himself. DUKE VINCENTIO: Hath he born himself penitently in prison? how seems he to be touched? Provost: A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. DUKE VINCENTIO: He wants advice. Provost: He will hear none: he hath evermore had the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all. DUKE VINCENTIO: More of him anon. There is written in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenced him. To make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. Provost: Pray, sir, in what? DUKE VINCENTIO: In the delaying death. Provost: A lack, how may I do it, having the hour limited, and an express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. DUKE VINCENTIO: By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head born to Angelo. Provost: Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his death: you know the course is common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against it with my life. Provost: Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath. DUKE VINCENTIO: Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy? Provost: To him, and to his substitutes. DUKE VINCENTIO: You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing? Provost: But what likelihood is in that? DUKE VINCENTIO: Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the duke: you know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is not strange to you. Provost: I know them both. DUKE VINCENTIO: The contents of this is the return of the duke: you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you shall find, within these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor; perchance of the duke's death; perchance entering into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine's head: I will give him a present shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed; but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. POMPEY: I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of profession: one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.' ABHORSON: Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. POMPEY: Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged. Master Barnardine! ABHORSON: What, ho, Barnardine! BARNARDINE: POMPEY: Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. BARNARDINE: ABHORSON: Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too. POMPEY: Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards. ABHORSON: Go in to him, and fetch him out. POMPEY: He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. ABHORSON: Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? POMPEY: Very ready, sir. BARNARDINE: How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you? ABHORSON: Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come. BARNARDINE: You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not fitted for 't. POMPEY: O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day. ABHORSON: Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you? DUKE VINCENTIO: Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you and pray with you. BARNARDINE: Friar, not I I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not consent to die this day, that's certain. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you Look forward on the journey you shall go. BARNARDINE: I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion. DUKE VINCENTIO: But hear you. BARNARDINE: Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day. DUKE VINCENTIO: Unfit to live or die: O gravel heart! After him, fellows; bring him to the block. Provost: Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? DUKE VINCENTIO: A creature unprepared, unmeet for death; And to transport him in the mind he is Were damnable. Provost: Here in the prison, father, There died this morning of a cruel fever One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head Just of his colour. What if we do omit This reprobate till he were well inclined; And satisfy the deputy with the visage Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? DUKE VINCENTIO: O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides! Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on Prefix'd by Angelo: see this be done, And sent according to command; whiles I Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. Provost: This shall be done, good father, presently. But Barnardine must die this afternoon: And how shall we continue Claudio, To save me from the danger that might come If he were known alive? DUKE VINCENTIO: Let this be done. Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio: Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting To the under generation, you shall find Your safety manifested. Provost: I am your free dependant. DUKE VINCENTIO: Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo. Now will I write letters to Angelo,-- The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents Shall witness to him I am near at home, And that, by great injunctions, I am bound To enter publicly: him I'll desire To meet me at the consecrated fount A league below the city; and from thence, By cold gradation and well-balanced form, We shall proceed with Angelo. Provost: Here is the head; I'll carry it myself. DUKE VINCENTIO: Convenient is it. Make a swift return; For I would commune with you of such things That want no ear but yours. Provost: I'll make all speed. ISABELLA: DUKE VINCENTIO: The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: But I will keep her ignorant of her good, To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected. ISABELLA: Ho, by your leave! DUKE VINCENTIO: Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. ISABELLA: The better, given me by so holy a man. Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? DUKE VINCENTIO: He hath released him, Isabel, from the world: His head is off and sent to Angelo. ISABELLA: Nay, but it is not so. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter, In your close patience. ISABELLA: O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes! DUKE VINCENTIO: You shall not be admitted to his sight. ISABELLA: Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel! Injurious world! most damned Angelo! DUKE VINCENTIO: This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot; Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven. Mark what I say, which you shall find By every syllable a faithful verity: The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes; One of our convent, and his confessor, Gives me this instance: already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom In that good path that I would wish it go, And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, And general honour. ISABELLA: I am directed by you. DUKE VINCENTIO: This letter, then, to Friar Peter give; 'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return: Say, by this token, I desire his company At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, I am combined by a sacred vow And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter: Command these fretting waters from your eyes With a light heart; trust not my holy order, If I pervert your course. Who's here? LUCIO: Good even. Friar, where's the provost? DUKE VINCENTIO: Not within, sir. LUCIO: O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set me to 't. But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother: if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. DUKE VINCENTIO: Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports; but the best is, he lives not in them. LUCIO: Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do: he's a better woodman than thou takest him for. DUKE VINCENTIO: Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well. LUCIO: Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. DUKE VINCENTIO: You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough. LUCIO: I was once before him for getting a wench with child. DUKE VINCENTIO: Did you such a thing? LUCIO: Yes, marry, did I but I was fain to forswear it; they would else have married me to the rotten medlar. DUKE VINCENTIO: Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well. LUCIO: By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end: if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick. ESCALUS: Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other. ANGELO: In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there ESCALUS: I guess not. ANGELO: And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his entering, that if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street? ESCALUS: He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us. ANGELO: Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes i' the morn; I'll call you at your house: give notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet him. ESCALUS: I shall, sir. Fare you well. ANGELO: Good night. This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid! And by an eminent body that enforced The law against it! But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no; For my authority bears of a credent bulk, That no particular scandal once can touch But it confounds the breather. He should have lived, Save that riotous youth, with dangerous sense, Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, By so receiving a dishonour'd life With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived! A lack, when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not. DUKE VINCENTIO: These letters at fit time deliver me The provost knows our purpose and our plot. The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, And hold you ever to our special drift; Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house, And tell him where I stay: give the like notice To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; But send me Flavius first. FRIAR PETER: It shall be speeded well. DUKE VINCENTIO: I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste: Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. ISABELLA: To speak so indirectly I am loath: I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, That is your part: yet I am advised to do it; He says, to veil full purpose. MARIANA: Be ruled by him. ISABELLA: Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic That's bitter to sweet end. MARIANA: I would Friar Peter-- ISABELLA: O, peace! the friar is come. FRIAR PETER: Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, Where you may have such vantage on the duke, He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded; The generous and gravest citizens Have hent the gates, and very near upon The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away! DUKE VINCENTIO: My very worthy cousin, fairly met! Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. ANGELO: Happy return be to your royal grace! DUKE VINCENTIO: Many and hearty thankings to you both. We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Such goodness of your justice, that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital. ANGELO: You make my bonds still greater. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it, To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, When it deserves, with characters of brass, A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand, And let the subject see, to make them know That outward courtesies would fain proclaim Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus, You must walk by us on our other hand; And good supporters are you. FRIAR PETER: Now is your time: speak loud and kneel before him. ISABELLA: Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid! O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye By throwing it on any other object Till you have heard me in my true complaint And given me justice, justice, justice, justice! DUKE VINCENTIO: Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief. Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice: Reveal yourself to him. ISABELLA: O worthy duke, You bid me seek redemption of the devil: Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak Must either punish me, not being believed, Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here! ANGELO: My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: She hath been a suitor to me for her brother Cut off by course of justice,-- ISABELLA: By course of justice! ANGELO: And she will speak most bitterly and strange. ISABELLA: Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak: That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange? That Angelo's a murderer; is 't not strange? That Angelo is an adulterous thief, An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; Is it not strange and strange? DUKE VINCENTIO: Nay, it is ten times strange. ISABELLA: It is not truer he is Angelo Than this is all as true as it is strange: Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth To the end of reckoning. DUKE VINCENTIO: Away with her! Poor soul, She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. ISABELLA: O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion That I am touch'd with madness! Make not impossible That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute As Angelo; even so may Angelo, In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince: If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, Had I more name for badness. DUKE VINCENTIO: By mine honesty, If she be mad,--as I believe no other,-- Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e'er I heard in madness. ISABELLA: O gracious duke, Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason For inequality; but let your reason serve To make the truth appear where it seems hid, And hide the false seems true. DUKE VINCENTIO: Many that are not mad Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say? ISABELLA: I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo: I, in probation of a sisterhood, Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio As then the messenger,-- LUCIO: That's I, an't like your grace: I came to her from Claudio, and desired her To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo For her poor brother's pardon. ISABELLA: That's he indeed. DUKE VINCENTIO: You were not bid to speak. LUCIO: No, my good lord; Nor wish'd to hold my peace. DUKE VINCENTIO: I wish you now, then; Pray you, take note of it: and when you have A business for yourself, pray heaven you then Be perfect. LUCIO: I warrant your honour. DUKE VINCENTIO: The warrants for yourself; take heed to't. ISABELLA: This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,-- LUCIO: Right. DUKE VINCENTIO: It may be right; but you are i' the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed. ISABELLA: I went To this pernicious caitiff deputy,-- DUKE VINCENTIO: That's somewhat madly spoken. ISABELLA: Pardon it; The phrase is to the matter. DUKE VINCENTIO: Mended again. The matter; proceed. ISABELLA: In brief, to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd me, and how I replied,-- For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release my brother; and, after much debatement, My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes, His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother's head. DUKE VINCENTIO: This is most likely! ISABELLA: O, that it were as like as it is true! DUKE VINCENTIO: By heaven, fond wretch, thou knowist not what thou speak'st, Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour In hateful practise. First, his integrity Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on: Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Thou camest here to complain. ISABELLA: And is this all? Then, O you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from woe, As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! DUKE VINCENTIO: I know you'ld fain be gone. An officer! To prison with her! Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practise. Who knew of Your intent and coming hither? ISABELLA: One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. DUKE VINCENTIO: A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick? LUCIO: My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar; I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly. DUKE VINCENTIO: Words against me? this is a good friar, belike! And to set on this wretched woman here Against our substitute! Let this friar be found. LUCIO: But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, A very scurvy fellow. FRIAR PETER: Blessed be your royal grace! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman Most wrongfully accused your substitute, Who is as free from touch or soil with her As she from one ungot. DUKE VINCENTIO: We did believe no less. Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? FRIAR PETER: I know him for a man divine and holy; Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. LUCIO: My lord, most villanously; believe it. FRIAR PETER: Well, he in time may come to clear himself; But at this instant he is sick my lord, Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, Being come to knowledge that there was complaint Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither, To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true and false; and what he with his oath And all probation will make up full clear, Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman. To justify this worthy nobleman, So vulgarly and personally accused, Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, Till she herself confess it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Good friar, let's hear it. Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools! Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo; In this I'll be impartial; be you judge Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face, and after speak. MARIANA: Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face Until my husband bid me. DUKE VINCENTIO: What, are you married? MARIANA: No, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Are you a maid? MARIANA: No, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: A widow, then? MARIANA: Neither, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife? LUCIO: My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. DUKE VINCENTIO: Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause To prattle for himself. LUCIO: Well, my lord. MARIANA: My lord; I do confess I ne'er was married; And I confess besides I am no maid: I have known my husband; yet my husband Knows not that ever he knew me. LUCIO: He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better. DUKE VINCENTIO: For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too! LUCIO: Well, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: This is no witness for Lord Angelo. MARIANA: Now I come to't my lord She that accuses him of fornication, In self-same manner doth accuse my husband, And charges him my lord, with such a time When I'll depose I had him in mine arms With all the effect of love. ANGELO: Charges she more than me? MARIANA: Not that I know. DUKE VINCENTIO: No? you say your husband. MARIANA: Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. ANGELO: This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face. MARIANA: My husband bids me; now I will unmask. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on; This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body That took away the match from Isabel, And did supply thee at thy garden-house In her imagined person. DUKE VINCENTIO: Know you this woman? LUCIO: Carnally, she says. DUKE VINCENTIO: Sirrah, no more! LUCIO: Enough, my lord. ANGELO: My lord, I must confess I know this woman: And five years since there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, Partly for that her promised proportions Came short of composition, but in chief For that her reputation was disvalued In levity: since which time of five years I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, Upon my faith and honour. MARIANA: Noble prince, As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, I am affianced this man's wife as strongly As words could make up vows: and, my good lord, But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house He knew me as a wife. As this is true, Let me in safety raise me from my knees Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument! ANGELO: I did but smile till now: Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive These poor informal women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member That sets them on: let me have way, my lord, To find this practise out. DUKE VINCENTIO: Ay, with my heart And punish them to your height of pleasure. Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths, Though they would swear down each particular saint, Were testimonies against his worth and credit That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. There is another friar that set them on; Let him be sent for. FRIAR PETER: Would he were here, my lord! for he indeed Hath set the women on to this complaint: Your provost knows the place where he abides And he may fetch him. DUKE VINCENTIO: Go do it instantly. And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Do with your injuries as seems you best, In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you; But stir not you till you have well determined Upon these slanderers. ESCALUS: My lord, we'll do it throughly. Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person? LUCIO: 'Cucullus non facit monachum:' honest in nothing but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. ESCALUS: We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a notable fellow. LUCIO: As any in Vienna, on my word. ESCALUS: Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with her. Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall see how I'll handle her. LUCIO: Not better than he, by her own report. ESCALUS: Say you? LUCIO: Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly, she'll be ashamed. ESCALUS: I will go darkly to work with her. LUCIO: That's the way; for women are light at midnight. ESCALUS: Come on, mistress: here's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. LUCIO: My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with the provost. ESCALUS: In very good time: speak not you to him till we call upon you. LUCIO: Mum. ESCALUS: Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis false. ESCALUS: How! know you where you are? DUKE VINCENTIO: Respect to your great place! and let the devil Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne! Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak. ESCALUS: The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak: Look you speak justly. DUKE VINCENTIO: Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls, Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? Good night to your redress! Is the duke gone? Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, Thus to retort your manifest appeal, And put your trial in the villain's mouth Which here you come to accuse. LUCIO: This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of. ESCALUS: Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar, Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth And in the witness of his proper ear, To call him villain? and then to glance from him To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice? Take him hence; to the rack with him! We'll touse you Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. What 'unjust'! DUKE VINCENTIO: Be not so hot; the duke Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he Dare rack his own: his subject am I not, Nor here provincial. My business in this state Made me a looker on here in Vienna, Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults, But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, As much in mock as mark. ESCALUS: Slander to the state! Away with him to prison! ANGELO: What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio? Is this the man that you did tell us of? LUCIO: 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate: do you know me? DUKE VINCENTIO: I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke. LUCIO: O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke? DUKE VINCENTIO: Most notedly, sir. LUCIO: Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be? DUKE VINCENTIO: You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse. LUCIO: O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches? DUKE VINCENTIO: I protest I love the duke as I love myself. ANGELO: Hark, how the villain would close now, after his treasonable abuses! ESCALUS: Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with him to prison! Where is the provost? Away with him to prison! lay bolts enough upon him: let him speak no more. Away with those giglots too, and with the other confederate companion! DUKE VINCENTIO: ANGELO: What, resists he? Help him, Lucio. LUCIO: Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you! show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour! Will't not off? DUKE VINCENTIO: Thou art the first knave that e'er madest a duke. First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. LUCIO: This may prove worse than hanging. DUKE VINCENTIO: ANGELO: O my dread lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible, When I perceive your grace, like power divine, Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, No longer session hold upon my shame, But let my trial be mine own confession: Immediate sentence then and sequent death Is all the grace I beg. DUKE VINCENTIO: Come hither, Mariana. Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? ANGELO: I was, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Go take her hence, and marry her instantly. Do you the office, friar; which consummate, Return him here again. Go with him, provost. ESCALUS: My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour Than at the strangeness of it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now your prince: as I was then Advertising and holy to your business, Not changing heart with habit, I am still Attorney'd at your service. ISABELLA: O, give me pardon, That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd Your unknown sovereignty! DUKE VINCENTIO: You are pardon'd, Isabel: And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; And you may marvel why I obscured myself, Labouring to save his life, and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him! That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort, So happy is your brother. ISABELLA: I do, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: For this new-married man approaching here, Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother,-- Being criminal, in double violation Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,-- The very mercy of the law cries out Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!' Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE. Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested; Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage. We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. Away with him! MARIANA: O my most gracious lord, I hope you will not mock me with a husband. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is your husband mock'd you with a husband. Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life And choke your good to come; for his possessions, Although by confiscation they are ours, We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband. MARIANA: O my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man. DUKE VINCENTIO: Never crave him; we are definitive. MARIANA: Gentle my liege,-- DUKE VINCENTIO: You do but lose your labour. Away with him to death! Now, sir, to you. MARIANA: O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I'll lend you all my life to do you service. DUKE VINCENTIO: Against all sense you do importune her: Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror. MARIANA: Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad: so may my husband. O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? DUKE VINCENTIO: He dies for Claudio's death. ISABELLA: Most bounteous sir, Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, As if my brother lived: I partly think A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Till he did look on me: since it is so, Let him not die. My brother had but justice, In that he did the thing for which he died: For Angelo, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, And must be buried but as an intent That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects; Intents but merely thoughts. MARIANA: Merely, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say. I have bethought me of another fault. Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour? Provost: It was commanded so. DUKE VINCENTIO: Had you a special warrant for the deed? Provost: No, my good lord; it was by private message. DUKE VINCENTIO: For which I do discharge you of your office: Give up your keys. Provost: Pardon me, noble lord: I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; Yet did repent me, after more advice; For testimony whereof, one in the prison, That should by private order else have died, I have reserved alive. DUKE VINCENTIO: What's he? Provost: His name is Barnardine. DUKE VINCENTIO: I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. ESCALUS: I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood. And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. ANGELO: I am sorry that such sorrow I procure: And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Which is that Barnardine? Provost: This, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: There was a friar told me of this man. Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. That apprehends no further than this world, And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd: But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all; And pray thee take this mercy to provide For better times to come. Friar, advise him; I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that? Provost: This is another prisoner that I saved. Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; As like almost to Claudio as himself. DUKE VINCENTIO: LUCIO: 'Faith, my lord. I spoke it but according to the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would please you I might be whipt. DUKE VINCENTIO: Whipt first, sir, and hanged after. Proclaim it, provost, round about the city. Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow, As I have heard him swear himself there's one Whom he begot with child, let her appear, And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, Let him be whipt and hang'd. LUCIO: I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your highness said even now, I made you a duke: good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold. DUKE VINCENTIO: Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison; And see our pleasure herein executed. LUCIO: Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging. DUKE VINCENTIO: Slandering a prince deserves it. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo: I have confess'd her and I know her virtue. Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: There's more behind that is more gratulate. Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy: We shill employ thee in a worthier place. Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's: The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. SLY: I'll pheeze you, in faith. Hostess: A pair of stocks, you rogue! SLY: Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa! Hostess: You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? SLY: No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Hostess: I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third--borough. SLY: Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. Lord: Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd; And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach. Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. First Huntsman: Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Lord: Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well and look unto them all: To-morrow I intend to hunt again. First Huntsman: I will, my lord. Lord: What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? Second Huntsman: He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord: O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Would not the beggar then forget himself? First Huntsman: Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. Second Huntsman: It would seem strange unto him when he waked. Lord: Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. Then take him up and manage well the jest: Carry him gently to my fairest chamber And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: Procure me music ready when he wakes, To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; And if he chance to speak, be ready straight And with a low submissive reverence Say 'What is it your honour will command?' Let one attend him with a silver basin Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers, Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?' Some one be ready with a costly suit And ask him what apparel he will wear; Another tell him of his hounds and horse, And that his lady mourns at his disease: Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; And when he says he is, say that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs: It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty. First Huntsman: My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, As he shall think by our true diligence He is no less than what we say he is. Lord: Take him up gently and to bed with him; And each one to his office when he wakes. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: Belike, some noble gentleman that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here. How now! who is it? Servant: An't please your honour, players That offer service to your lordship. Lord: Bid them come near. Now, fellows, you are welcome. Players: We thank your honour. Lord: Do you intend to stay with me tonight? A Player: So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord: With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son: 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd. A Player: I think 'twas Soto that your honour means. Lord: 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. Well, you are come to me in a happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,-- For yet his honour never heard a play-- You break into some merry passion And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile he grows impatient. A Player: Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world. Lord: Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords. Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber; And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. Tell him from me, as he will win my love, He bear himself with honourable action, Such as he hath observed in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished: Such duty to the drunkard let him do With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, And say 'What is't your honour will command, Wherein your lady and your humble wife May show her duty and make known her love?' And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble lord restored to health, Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar: And if the boy have not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift, Which in a napkin being close convey'd Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst: Anon I'll give thee more instructions. I know the boy will well usurp the grace, Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman: I long to hear him call the drunkard husband, And how my men will stay themselves from laughter When they do homage to this simple peasant. I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen Which otherwise would grow into extremes. SLY: For God's sake, a pot of small ale. First Servant: Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? Second Servant: Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? Third Servant: What raiment will your honour wear to-day? SLY: I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather. Lord: Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such possessions and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit! SLY: What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught: here's-- Third Servant: O, this it is that makes your lady mourn! Second Servant: O, this is it that makes your servants droop! Lord: Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. Look how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, And twenty caged nightingales do sing: Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground: Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd, Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark or wilt thou hunt? Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. First Servant: Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. Second Servant: Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis painted by a running brook, And Cytherea all in sedges hid, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord: We'll show thee Io as she was a maid, And how she was beguiled and surprised, As lively painted as the deed was done. Third Servant: Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds, And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord: Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age. First Servant: And till the tears that she hath shed for thee Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world; And yet she is inferior to none. SLY: Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things: Upon my life, I am a lord indeed And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. Second Servant: Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands? O, how we joy to see your wit restored! O, that once more you knew but what you are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream; Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept. SLY: These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. But did I never speak of all that time? First Servant: O, yes, my lord, but very idle words: For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door; And rail upon the hostess of the house; And say you would present her at the leet, Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts: Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. SLY: Ay, the woman's maid of the house. Third Servant: Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid, Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, As Stephen Sly and did John Naps of Greece And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell And twenty more such names and men as these Which never were nor no man ever saw. SLY: Now Lord be thanked for my good amends! ALL: Amen. SLY: I thank thee: thou shalt not lose by it. Page: How fares my noble lord? SLY: Marry, I fare well for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife? Page: Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her? SLY: Are you my wife and will not call me husband? My men should call me 'lord:' I am your goodman. Page: My husband and my lord, my lord and husband; I am your wife in all obedience. SLY: I know it well. What must I call her? Lord: Madam. SLY: Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? Lord: 'Madam,' and nothing else: so lords call ladies. SLY: Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd And slept above some fifteen year or more. Page: Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. SLY: 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone. Madam, undress you and come now to bed. Page: Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you To pardon me yet for a night or two, Or, if not so, until the sun be set: For your physicians have expressly charged, In peril to incur your former malady, That I should yet absent me from your bed: I hope this reason stands for my excuse. SLY: Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the blood. Messenger: Your honour's players, heating your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy; For so your doctors hold it very meet, Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy: Therefore they thought it good you hear a play And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. SLY: Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a comondy a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick? Page: No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. SLY: What, household stuff? Page: It is a kind of history. SLY: Well, well see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger. LUCENTIO: Tranio, since for the great desire I had To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy, The pleasant garden of great Italy; And by my father's love and leave am arm'd With his good will and thy good company, My trusty servant, well approved in all, Here let us breathe and haply institute A course of learning and ingenious studies. Pisa renown'd for grave citizens Gave me my being and my father first, A merchant of great traffic through the world, Vincetino come of Bentivolii. Vincetino's son brought up in Florence It shall become to serve all hopes conceived, To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds: And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Virtue and that part of philosophy Will I apply that treats of happiness By virtue specially to be achieved. Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left And am to Padua come, as he that leaves A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. TRANIO: Mi perdonato, gentle master mine, I am in all affected as yourself; Glad that you thus continue your resolve To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. Only, good master, while we do admire This virtue and this moral discipline, Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray; Or so devote to Aristotle's cheques As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: Balk logic with acquaintance that you have And practise rhetoric in your common talk; Music and poesy use to quicken you; The mathematics and the metaphysics, Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you; No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en: In brief, sir, study what you most affect. LUCENTIO: Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, We could at once put us in readiness, And take a lodging fit to entertain Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. But stay a while: what company is this? TRANIO: Master, some show to welcome us to town. BAPTISTA: Gentlemen, importune me no farther, For how I firmly am resolved you know; That is, not bestow my youngest daughter Before I have a husband for the elder: If either of you both love Katharina, Because I know you well and love you well, Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. GREMIO: KATHARINA: I pray you, sir, is it your will To make a stale of me amongst these mates? HORTENSIO: Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. KATHARINA: I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear: I wis it is not half way to her heart; But if it were, doubt not her care should be To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool And paint your face and use you like a fool. HORTENSIA: From all such devils, good Lord deliver us! GREMIO: And me too, good Lord! TRANIO: Hush, master! here's some good pastime toward: That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. LUCENTIO: But in the other's silence do I see Maid's mild behavior and sobriety. Peace, Tranio! TRANIO: Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. BAPTISTA: Gentlemen, that I may soon make good What I have said, Bianca, get you in: And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. KATHARINA: A pretty peat! it is best Put finger in the eye, an she knew why. BIANCA: Sister, content you in my discontent. Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: My books and instruments shall be my company, On them to took and practise by myself. LUCENTIO: Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. HORTENSIO: Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? Sorry am I that our good will effects Bianca's grief. GREMIO: Why will you mew her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, And make her bear the penance of her tongue? BAPTISTA: Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolved: Go in, Bianca: And for I know she taketh most delight In music, instruments and poetry, Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such, Prefer them hither; for to cunning men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing up: And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay; For I have more to commune with Bianca. KATHARINA: Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What, shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave, ha? GREMIO: You may go to the devil's dam: your gifts are so good, here's none will hold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out: our cakes dough on both sides. Farewell: yet for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father. HORTENSIO: So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both, that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress and be happy rivals in Bianco's love, to labour and effect one thing specially. GREMIO: What's that, I pray? HORTENSIO: Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. GREMIO: A husband! a devil. HORTENSIO: I say, a husband. GREMIO: I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell? HORTENSIO: Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. GREMIO: I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition, to be whipped at the high cross every morning. HORTENSIO: Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten apples. But come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintained all by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't a fresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you, Signior Gremio? GREMIO: I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her and bed her and rid the house of her! Come on. TRANIO: I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible That love should of a sudden take such hold? LUCENTIO: O Tranio, till I found it to be true, I never thought it possible or likely; But see, while idly I stood looking on, I found the effect of love in idleness: And now in plainness do confess to thee, That art to me as secret and as dear As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest girl. Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. TRANIO: Master, it is no time to chide you now; Affection is not rated from the heart: If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, 'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.' LUCENTIO: Gramercies, lad, go forward; this contents: The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. TRANIO: Master, you look'd so longly on the maid, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. LUCENTIO: O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, Such as the daughter of Agenor had, That made great Jove to humble him to her hand. When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. TRANIO: Saw you no more? mark'd you not how her sister Began to scold and raise up such a storm That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? LUCENTIO: Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move And with her breath she did perfume the air: Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. TRANIO: Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance. I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid, Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands: Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd That till the father rid his hands of her, Master, your love must live a maid at home; And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. LUCENTIO: Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! But art thou not advised, he took some care To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? TRANIO: Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted. LUCENTIO: I have it, Tranio. TRANIO: Master, for my hand, Both our inventions meet and jump in one. LUCENTIO: Tell me thine first. TRANIO: You will be schoolmaster And undertake the teaching of the maid: That's your device. LUCENTIO: It is: may it be done? TRANIO: Not possible; for who shall bear your part, And be in Padua here Vincentio's son, Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends, Visit his countrymen and banquet them? LUCENTIO: Basta; content thee, for I have it full. We have not yet been seen in any house, Nor can we lie distinguish'd by our faces For man or master; then it follows thus; Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, Keep house and port and servants as I should: I will some other be, some Florentine, Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 'Tis hatch'd and shall be so: Tranio, at once Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak: When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. TRANIO: So had you need. In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, And I am tied to be obedient; For so your father charged me at our parting, 'Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he, Although I think 'twas in another sense; I am content to be Lucentio, Because so well I love Lucentio. LUCENTIO: Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been? BIONDELLO: Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes? Or you stolen his? or both? pray, what's the news? LUCENTIO: Sirrah, come hither: 'tis no time to jest, And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, Puts my apparel and my countenance on, And I for my escape have put on his; For in a quarrel since I came ashore I kill'd a man and fear I was descried: Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, While I make way from hence to save my life: You understand me? BIONDELLO: I, sir! ne'er a whit. LUCENTIO: And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth: Tranio is changed into Lucentio. BIONDELLO: The better for him: would I were so too! TRANIO: So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies: When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; But in all places else your master Lucentio. LUCENTIO: Tranio, let's go: one thing more rests, that thyself execute, to make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why, sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. First Servant: My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. SLY: Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely: comes there any more of it? Page: My lord, 'tis but begun. SLY: 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would 'twere done! PETRUCHIO: Verona, for a while I take my leave, To see my friends in Padua, but of all My best beloved and approved friend, Hortensio; and I trow this is his house. Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say. GRUMIO: Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there man has rebused your worship? PETRUCHIO: Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. GRUMIO: Knock you here, sir! why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir? PETRUCHIO: Villain, I say, knock me at this gate And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. GRUMIO: My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst. PETRUCHIO: Will it not be? Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it; I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. GRUMIO: Help, masters, help! my master is mad. PETRUCHIO: Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain! HORTENSIO: How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona? PETRUCHIO: Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? 'Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say. HORTENSIO: 'Alla nostra casa ben venuto, molto honorato signor mio Petruchio.' Rise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel. GRUMIO: Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. if this be not a lawful case for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so, being perhaps, for aught I see, two and thirty, a pip out? Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst. PETRUCHIO: A senseless villain! Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal knock upon your gate And could not get him for my heart to do it. GRUMIO: Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain, 'Sirrah, knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly'? And come you now with, 'knocking at the gate'? PETRUCHIO: Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge: Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you, Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? PETRUCHIO: Such wind as scatters young men through the world, To seek their fortunes farther than at home Where small experience grows. But in a few, Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: Antonio, my father, is deceased; And I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive and thrive as best I may: Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? Thou'ldst thank me but a little for my counsel: And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich And very rich: but thou'rt too much my friend, And I'll not wish thee to her. PETRUCHIO: Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse, She moves me not, or not removes, at least, Affection's edge in me, were she as rough As are the swelling Adriatic seas: I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; If wealthily, then happily in Padua. GRUMIO: Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: Why give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, I will continue that I broach'd in jest. I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife With wealth enough and young and beauteous, Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman: Her only fault, and that is faults enough, Is that she is intolerable curst And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure That, were my state far worser than it is, I would not wed her for a mine of gold. PETRUCHIO: Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect: Tell me her father's name and 'tis enough; For I will board her, though she chide as loud As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. HORTENSIO: Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous gentleman: Her name is Katharina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. PETRUCHIO: I know her father, though I know not her; And he knew my deceased father well. I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; And therefore let me be thus bold with you To give you over at this first encounter, Unless you will accompany me thither. GRUMIO: I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him: she may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so: why, that's nothing; an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what sir, an she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir. HORTENSIO: Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: He hath the jewel of my life in hold, His youngest daughter, beautiful Binaca, And her withholds from me and other more, Suitors to her and rivals in my love, Supposing it a thing impossible, For those defects I have before rehearsed, That ever Katharina will be woo'd; Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, That none shall have access unto Bianca Till Katharina the curst have got a husband. GRUMIO: Katharina the curst! A title for a maid of all titles the worst. HORTENSIO: Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me disguised in sober robes To old Baptista as a schoolmaster Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; That so I may, by this device, at least Have leave and leisure to make love to her And unsuspected court her by herself. GRUMIO: Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha? HORTENSIO: Peace, Grumio! it is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by a while. GRUMIO: A proper stripling and an amorous! GREMIO: O, very well; I have perused the note. Hark you, sir: I'll have them very fairly bound: All books of love, see that at any hand; And see you read no other lectures to her: You understand me: over and beside Signior Baptista's liberality, I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too, And let me have them very well perfumed For she is sweeter than perfume itself To whom they go to. What will you read to her? LUCENTIO: Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you As for my patron, stand you so assured, As firmly as yourself were still in place: Yea, and perhaps with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. GREMIO: O this learning, what a thing it is! GRUMIO: O this woodcock, what an ass it is! PETRUCHIO: Peace, sirrah! HORTENSIO: Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio. GREMIO: And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. I promised to inquire carefully About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca: And by good fortune I have lighted well On this young man, for learning and behavior Fit for her turn, well read in poetry And other books, good ones, I warrant ye. HORTENSIO: 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman Hath promised me to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress; So shall I no whit be behind in duty To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. GREMIO: Beloved of me; and that my deeds shall prove. GRUMIO: And that his bags shall prove. HORTENSIO: Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love: Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katharina, Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. GREMIO: So said, so done, is well. Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? PETRUCHIO: I know she is an irksome brawling scold: If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. GREMIO: No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? PETRUCHIO: Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: My father dead, my fortune lives for me; And I do hope good days and long to see. GREMIO: O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange! But if you have a stomach, to't i' God's name: You shall have me assisting you in all. But will you woo this wild-cat? PETRUCHIO: Will I live? GRUMIO: Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her. PETRUCHIO: Why came I hither but to that intent? Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, That gives not half so great a blow to hear As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire? Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs. GRUMIO: For he fears none. GREMIO: Hortensio, hark: This gentleman is happily arrived, My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. HORTENSIO: I promised we would be contributors And bear his charging of wooing, whatsoe'er. GREMIO: And so we will, provided that he win her. GRUMIO: I would I were as sure of a good dinner. TRANIO: Gentlemen, God save you. If I may be bold, Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? BIONDELLO: He that has the two fair daughters: is't he you mean? TRANIO: Even he, Biondello. GREMIO: Hark you, sir; you mean not her to-- TRANIO: Perhaps, him and her, sir: what have you to do? PETRUCHIO: Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. TRANIO: I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away. LUCENTIO: Well begun, Tranio. HORTENSIO: Sir, a word ere you go; Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? TRANIO: And if I be, sir, is it any offence? GREMIO: No; if without more words you will get you hence. TRANIO: Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me as for you? GREMIO: But so is not she. TRANIO: For what reason, I beseech you? GREMIO: For this reason, if you'll know, That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. HORTENSIO: That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio. TRANIO: Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen, Do me this right; hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, To whom my father is not all unknown; And were his daughter fairer than she is, She may more suitors have and me for one. Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one more may fair Bianca have: And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one, Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. GREMIO: What! this gentleman will out-talk us all. LUCENTIO: Sir, give him head: I know he'll prove a jade. PETRUCHIO: Hortensio, to what end are all these words? HORTENSIO: Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? TRANIO: No, sir; but hear I do that he hath two, The one as famous for a scolding tongue As is the other for beauteous modesty. PETRUCHIO: Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. GREMIO: Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. PETRUCHIO: Sir, understand you this of me in sooth: The youngest daughter whom you hearken for Her father keeps from all access of suitors, And will not promise her to any man Until the elder sister first be wed: The younger then is free and not before. TRANIO: If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all and me amongst the rest, And if you break the ice and do this feat, Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access, whose hap shall be to have her Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. HORTENSIO: Sir, you say well and well you do conceive; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholding. TRANIO: Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And quaff carouses to our mistress' health, And do as adversaries do in law, Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. GRUMIO: O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone. HORTENSIO: The motion's good indeed and be it so, Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. BIANCA: Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; That I disdain: but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders. KATHARINA: Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell Whom thou lovest best: see thou dissemble not. BIANCA: Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. KATHARINA: Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? BIANCA: If you affect him, sister, here I swear I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him. KATHARINA: O then, belike, you fancy riches more: You will have Gremio to keep you fair. BIANCA: Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive You have but jested with me all this while: I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. KATHARINA: If that be jest, then all the rest was so. BAPTISTA: Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence? Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps. Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. For shame, thou helding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? When did she cross thee with a bitter word? KATHARINA: Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged. BAPTISTA: What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. KATHARINA: What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day And for your love to her lead apes in hell. Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep Till I can find occasion of revenge. BAPTISTA: Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I? But who comes here? GREMIO: Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. BAPTISTA: Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen! PETRUCHIO: And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous? BAPTISTA: I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina. GREMIO: You are too blunt: go to it orderly. PETRUCHIO: You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave. I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, Her affability and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior, Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine, Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know she is not ignorant: Accept of him, or else you do me wrong: His name is Licio, born in Mantua. BAPTISTA: You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake. But for my daughter Katharina, this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. PETRUCHIO: I see you do not mean to part with her, Or else you like not of my company. BAPTISTA: Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name? PETRUCHIO: Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy. BAPTISTA: I know him well: you are welcome for his sake. GREMIO: Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: Baccare! you are marvellous forward. PETRUCHIO: O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing. GREMIO: I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar, that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray, accept his service. BAPTISTA: A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio. But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger: may I be so bold to know the cause of your coming? TRANIO: Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request, That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo And free access and favour as the rest: And, toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then their worth is great. BAPTISTA: Lucentio is your name; of whence, I pray? TRANIO: Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. BAPTISTA: A mighty man of Pisa; by report I know him well: you are very welcome, sir, Take you the lute, and you the set of books; You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within! Sirrah, lead these gentlemen To my daughters; and tell them both, These are their tutors: bid them use them well. We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. PETRUCHIO: Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have better'd rather than decreased: Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife? BAPTISTA: After my death the one half of my lands, And in possession twenty thousand crowns. PETRUCHIO: And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, In all my lands and leases whatsoever: Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. BAPTISTA: Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, That is, her love; for that is all in all. PETRUCHIO: Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her and so she yields to me; For I am rough and woo not like a babe. BAPTISTA: Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. PETRUCHIO: Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually. BAPTISTA: How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale? HORTENSIO: For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. BAPTISTA: What, will my daughter prove a good musician? HORTENSIO: I think she'll sooner prove a soldier Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. BAPTISTA: Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? HORTENSIO: Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 'Frets, call you these?' quoth she; 'I'll fume with them:' And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way; And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute; While she did call me rascal fiddler And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As had she studied to misuse me so. PETRUCHIO: Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her! BAPTISTA: Well, go with me and be not so discomfited: Proceed in practise with my younger daughter; She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns. Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? PETRUCHIO: I pray you do. I will attend her here, And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns and when be married. But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. KATHARINA: Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katharina that do talk of me. PETRUCHIO: You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife. KATHARINA: Moved! in good time: let him that moved you hither Remove you hence: I knew you at the first You were a moveable. PETRUCHIO: Why, what's a moveable? KATHARINA: A join'd-stool. PETRUCHIO: Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me. KATHARINA: Asses are made to bear, and so are you. PETRUCHIO: Women are made to bear, and so are you. KATHARINA: No such jade as you, if me you mean. PETRUCHIO: Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee; For, knowing thee to be but young and light-- KATHARINA: Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. PETRUCHIO: Should be! should--buzz! KATHARINA: Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. PETRUCHIO: O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee? KATHARINA: Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. PETRUCHIO: Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. KATHARINA: If I be waspish, best beware my sting. PETRUCHIO: My remedy is then, to pluck it out. KATHARINA: Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies, PETRUCHIO: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. KATHARINA: In his tongue. PETRUCHIO: Whose tongue? KATHARINA: Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell. PETRUCHIO: What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman. KATHARINA: That I'll try. PETRUCHIO: I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. KATHARINA: So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms. PETRUCHIO: A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! KATHARINA: What is your crest? a coxcomb? PETRUCHIO: A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. KATHARINA: No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven. PETRUCHIO: Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. KATHARINA: It is my fashion, when I see a crab. PETRUCHIO: Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. KATHARINA: There is, there is. PETRUCHIO: Then show it me. KATHARINA: Had I a glass, I would. PETRUCHIO: What, you mean my face? KATHARINA: Well aim'd of such a young one. PETRUCHIO: Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. KATHARINA: Yet you are wither'd. PETRUCHIO: 'Tis with cares. KATHARINA: I care not. PETRUCHIO: Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you scape not so. KATHARINA: I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go. PETRUCHIO: No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers: Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk, But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig Is straight and slender and as brown in hue As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt. KATHARINA: Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. PETRUCHIO: Did ever Dian so become a grove As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful! KATHARINA: Where did you study all this goodly speech? PETRUCHIO: It is extempore, from my mother-wit. KATHARINA: A witty mother! witless else her son. PETRUCHIO: Am I not wise? KATHARINA: Yes; keep you warm. PETRUCHIO: Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharina, in thy bed: And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on; And, Will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no man but me; For I am he am born to tame you Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Conformable as other household Kates. Here comes your father: never make denial; I must and will have Katharina to my wife. BAPTISTA: Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? PETRUCHIO: How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss. BAPTISTA: Why, how now, daughter Katharina! in your dumps? KATHARINA: Call you me daughter? now, I promise you You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. PETRUCHIO: Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world, That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her: If she be curst, it is for policy, For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience she will prove a second Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity: And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together, That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. KATHARINA: I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. GREMIO: Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first. TRANIO: Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part! PETRUCHIO: Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself: If she and I be pleased, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see, How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; I will be sure my Katharina shall be fine. BAPTISTA: I know not what to say: but give me your hands; God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match. GREMIO: Amen, say we: we will be witnesses. PETRUCHIO: Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace: We will have rings and things and fine array; And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday. GREMIO: Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? BAPTISTA: Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart. TRANIO: 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you: 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. BAPTISTA: The gain I seek is, quiet in the match. GREMIO: No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptists, to your younger daughter: Now is the day we long have looked for: I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. TRANIO: And I am one that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. GREMIO: Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. TRANIO: Graybeard, thy love doth freeze. GREMIO: But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back: 'tis age that nourisheth. TRANIO: But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. BAPTISTA: Content you, gentlemen: I will compound this strife: 'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both That can assure my daughter greatest dower Shall have my Bianca's love. Say, Signior Gremio, What can you assure her? GREMIO: First, as you know, my house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold; Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needlework, Pewter and brass and all things that belong To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And if I die to-morrow, this is hers, If whilst I live she will be only mine. TRANIO: That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me: I am my father's heir and only son: If I may have your daughter to my wife, I'll leave her houses three or four as good, Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; Besides two thousand ducats by the year Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio? GREMIO: Two thousand ducats by the year of land! My land amounts not to so much in all: That she shall have; besides an argosy That now is lying in Marseilles' road. What, have I choked you with an argosy? TRANIO: Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less Than three great argosies; besides two galliases, And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. GREMIO: Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have: If you like me, she shall have me and mine. TRANIO: Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise: Gremio is out-vied. BAPTISTA: I must confess your offer is the best; And, let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me, if you should die before him, where's her dower? TRANIO: That's but a cavil: he is old, I young. GREMIO: And may not young men die, as well as old? BAPTISTA: Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know My daughter Katharina is to be married: Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you this assurance; If not, Signior Gremio: And so, I take my leave, and thank you both. GREMIO: Adieu, good neighbour. Now I fear thee not: Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and in his waning age Set foot under thy table: tut, a toy! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. TRANIO: A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide! Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 'Tis in my head to do my master good: I see no reason but supposed Lucentio Must get a father, call'd 'supposed Vincentio;' And that's a wonder: fathers commonly Do get their children; but in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. LUCENTIO: Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal? HORTENSIO: But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony: Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in music we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. LUCENTIO: Preposterous ass, that never read so far To know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man After his studies or his usual pain? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And while I pause, serve in your harmony. HORTENSIO: Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. BIANCA: Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholar in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down: Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; His lecture will be done ere you have tuned. HORTENSIO: You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? LUCENTIO: That will be never: tune your instrument. BIANCA: Where left we last? LUCENTIO: Here, madam: 'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' BIANCA: Construe them. LUCENTIO: 'Hic ibat,' as I told you before, 'Simois,' I am Lucentio, 'hic est,' son unto Vincentio of Pisa, 'Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your love; 'Hic steterat,' and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,' bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might beguile the old pantaloon. HORTENSIO: Madam, my instrument's in tune. BIANCA: Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars. LUCENTIO: Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. BIANCA: Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois,' I know you not, 'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I trust you not; 'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed he hear us not, 'regia,' presume not, 'celsa senis,' despair not. HORTENSIO: Madam, 'tis now in tune. LUCENTIO: All but the base. HORTENSIO: The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. BIANCA: In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. LUCENTIO: Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. BIANCA: I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt: But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you: Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, That I have been thus pleasant with you both. HORTENSIO: You may go walk, and give me leave a while: My lessons make no music in three parts. LUCENTIO: Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, Our fine musician groweth amorous. HORTENSIO: Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art; To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, More pleasant, pithy and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. BIANCA: Why, I am past my gamut long ago. HORTENSIO: Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. BIANCA: Servant: Mistress, your father prays you leave your books And help to dress your sister's chamber up: You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. BIANCA: Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone. LUCENTIO: Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. HORTENSIO: But I have cause to pry into this pedant: Methinks he looks as though he were in love: Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. BAPTISTA: KATHARINA: No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced To give my hand opposed against my heart Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen; Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior: And, to be noted for a merry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. Now must the world point at poor Katharina, And say, 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please him come and marry her!' TRANIO: Patience, good Katharina, and Baptista too. Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word: Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. KATHARINA: Would Katharina had never seen him though! BAPTISTA: Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For such an injury would vex a very saint, Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. BIONDELLO: Master, master! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of! BAPTISTA: Is it new and old too? how may that be? BIONDELLO: Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming? BAPTISTA: Is he come? BIONDELLO: Why, no, sir. BAPTISTA: What then? BIONDELLO: He is coming. BAPTISTA: When will he be here? BIONDELLO: When he stands where I am and sees you there. TRANIO: But say, what to thine old news? BIONDELLO: Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced, an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his horse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth six time pieced and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. BAPTISTA: Who comes with him? BIONDELLO: O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat and 'the humour of forty fancies' pricked in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman's lackey. TRANIO: 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd. BAPTISTA: I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes. BIONDELLO: Why, sir, he comes not. BAPTISTA: Didst thou not say he comes? BIONDELLO: Who? that Petruchio came? BAPTISTA: Ay, that Petruchio came. BIONDELLO: No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back. BAPTISTA: Why, that's all one. BIONDELLO: Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many. PETRUCHIO: Come, where be these gallants? who's at home? BAPTISTA: You are welcome, sir. PETRUCHIO: And yet I come not well. BAPTISTA: And yet you halt not. TRANIO: Not so well apparell'd As I wish you were. PETRUCHIO: Were it better, I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown: And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet or unusual prodigy? BAPTISTA: Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival! TRANIO: And tells us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself? PETRUCHIO: Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, Though in some part enforced to digress; Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her: The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. TRANIO: See not your bride in these unreverent robes: Go to my chamber; Put on clothes of mine. PETRUCHIO: Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her. BAPTISTA: But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. PETRUCHIO: Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words: To me she's married, not unto my clothes: Could I repair what she will wear in me, As I can change these poor accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. But what a fool am I to chat with you, When I should bid good morrow to my bride, And seal the title with a lovely kiss! TRANIO: He hath some meaning in his mad attire: We will persuade him, be it possible, To put on better ere he go to church. BAPTISTA: I'll after him, and see the event of this. TRANIO: But to her love concerneth us to add Her father's liking: which to bring to pass, As I before unparted to your worship, I am to get a man,--whate'er he be, It skills not much. we'll fit him to our turn,-- And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; And make assurance here in Padua Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent. LUCENTIO: Were it not that my fellow-school-master Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. TRANIO: That by degrees we mean to look into, And watch our vantage in this business: We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola, The quaint musician, amorous Licio; All for my master's sake, Lucentio. Signior Gremio, came you from the church? GREMIO: As willingly as e'er I came from school. TRANIO: And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? GREMIO: A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. TRANIO: Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. GREMIO: Why he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. TRANIO: Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. GREMIO: Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him! I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Should ask, if Katharina should be his wife, 'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he; and swore so loud, That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book; And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff That down fell priest and book and book and priest: 'Now take them up,' quoth he, 'if any list.' TRANIO: What said the wench when he rose again? GREMIO: Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore, As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if He had been aboard, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel And threw the sops all in the sexton's face; Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack That at the parting all the church did echo: And I seeing this came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before: Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. PETRUCHIO: Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: I know you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepared great store of wedding cheer; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave. BAPTISTA: Is't possible you will away to-night? PETRUCHIO: I must away to-day, before night come: Make it no wonder; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife: Dine with my father, drink a health to me; For I must hence; and farewell to you all. TRANIO: Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. PETRUCHIO: It may not be. GREMIO: Let me entreat you. PETRUCHIO: It cannot be. KATHARINA: Let me entreat you. PETRUCHIO: I am content. KATHARINA: Are you content to stay? PETRUCHIO: I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. KATHARINA: Now, if you love me, stay. PETRUCHIO: Grumio, my horse. GRUMIO: Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten the horses. KATHARINA: Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself: 'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom, That take it on you at the first so roundly. PETRUCHIO: O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not angry. KATHARINA: I will be angry: what hast thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. GREMIO: Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. KATARINA: Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist. PETRUCHIO: They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. Obey the bride, you that attend on her; Go to the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves: But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; I'll bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate: I'll buckler thee against a million. BAPTISTA: Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. GREMIO: Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. TRANIO: Of all mad matches never was the like. LUCENTIO: Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? BIANCA: That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. GREMIO: I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. BAPTISTA: Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no junkets at the feast. Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place: And let Bianca take her sister's room. TRANIO: Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? BAPTISTA: She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go. GRUMIO: Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? was ever man so rayed? was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me: but I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis. CURTIS: Who is that calls so coldly? GRUMIO: A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire good Curtis. CURTIS: Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? GRUMIO: O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water. CURTIS: Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? GRUMIO: She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, thou knowest, winter tames man, woman and beast; for it hath tamed my old master and my new mistress and myself, fellow Curtis. CURTIS: Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. GRUMIO: Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand, she being now at hand, thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office? CURTIS: I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world? GRUMIO: A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire: do thy duty, and have thy duty; for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. CURTIS: There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news. GRUMIO: Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as much news as will thaw. CURTIS: Come, you are so full of cony-catching! GRUMIO: Why, therefore fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the serving-men in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid, and every thing in order? CURTIS: All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news. GRUMIO: First, know, my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out. CURTIS: How? GRUMIO: Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale. CURTIS: Let's ha't, good Grumio. GRUMIO: Lend thine ear. CURTIS: Here. GRUMIO: There. CURTIS: This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. GRUMIO: And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale: and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,-- CURTIS: Both of one horse? GRUMIO: What's that to thee? CURTIS: Why, a horse. GRUMIO: Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she prayed, that never prayed before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was burst, how I lost my crupper, with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. CURTIS: By this reckoning he is more shrew than she. GRUMIO: Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop and the rest: let their heads be sleekly combed their blue coats brushed and their garters of an indifferent knit: let them curtsy with their left legs and not presume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? CURTIS: They are. GRUMIO: Call them forth. CURTIS: Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master to countenance my mistress. GRUMIO: Why, she hath a face of her own. CURTIS: Who knows not that? GRUMIO: Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her. CURTIS: I call them forth to credit her. GRUMIO: Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. NATHANIEL: Welcome home, Grumio! PHILIP: How now, Grumio! JOSEPH: What, Grumio! NICHOLAS: Fellow Grumio! NATHANIEL: How now, old lad? GRUMIO: Welcome, you;--how now, you;-- what, you;--fellow, you;--and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? NATHANIEL: All things is ready. How near is our master? GRUMIO: E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not--Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master. PETRUCHIO: Where be these knaves? What, no man at door To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? ALL SERVING-MEN: Here, here, sir; here, sir. PETRUCHIO: Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? Where is the foolish knave I sent before? GRUMIO: Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. PETRUCHIO: You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge! Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? GRUMIO: Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing: There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. PETRUCHIO: Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. Where is the life that late I led-- Where are those--Sit down, Kate, and welcome.-- Sound, sound, sound, sound! Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when? It was the friar of orders grey, As he forth walked on his way:-- Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry: Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho! Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence, And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with. Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? KATHARINA: Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling. PETRUCHIO: A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I? What's this? mutton? First Servant: Ay. PETRUCHIO: Who brought it? PETER: I. PETRUCHIO: 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook? How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, And serve it thus to me that love it not? Theretake it to you, trenchers, cups, and all; You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. KATHARINA: I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet: The meat was well, if you were so contented. PETRUCHIO: I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away; And I expressly am forbid to touch it, For it engenders choler, planteth anger; And better 'twere that both of us did fast, Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended, And, for this night, we'll fast for company: Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. NATHANIEL: Peter, didst ever see the like? PETER: He kills her in her own humour. GRUMIO: Where is he? CURTIS: In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her; And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, And sits as one new-risen from a dream. Away, away! for he is coming hither. PETRUCHIO: Thus have I politicly begun my reign, And 'tis my hope to end successfully. My falcon now is sharp and passing empty; And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard, To make her come and know her keeper's call, That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites That bate and beat and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; As with the meat, some undeserved fault I'll find about the making of the bed; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, This way the coverlet, another way the sheets: Ay, and amid this hurly I intend That all is done in reverend care of her; And in conclusion she shall watch all night: And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl And with the clamour keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak: 'tis charity to show. TRANIO: Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. HORTENSIO: Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. LUCENTIO: Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? BIANCA: What, master, read you? first resolve me that. LUCENTIO: I read that I profess, the Art to Love. BIANCA: And may you prove, sir, master of your art! LUCENTIO: While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart! HORTENSIO: Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I pray, You that durst swear at your mistress Bianca Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio. TRANIO: O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. HORTENSIO: Mistake no more: I am not Licio, Nor a musician, as I seem to be; But one that scorn to live in this disguise, For such a one as leaves a gentleman, And makes a god of such a cullion: Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. TRANIO: Signior Hortensio, I have often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca; And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, I will with you, if you be so contented, Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. HORTENSIO: See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow Never to woo her no more, but do forswear her, As one unworthy all the former favours That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. TRANIO: And here I take the unfeigned oath, Never to marry with her though she would entreat: Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him! HORTENSIO: Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealthy widow, Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard. And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love: and so I take my leave, In resolution as I swore before. TRANIO: Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love, And have forsworn you with Hortensio. BIANCA: Tranio, you jest: but have you both forsworn me? TRANIO: Mistress, we have. LUCENTIO: Then we are rid of Licio. TRANIO: I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now, That shall be wood and wedded in a day. BIANCA: God give him joy! TRANIO: Ay, and he'll tame her. BIANCA: He says so, Tranio. TRANIO: Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. BIANCA: The taming-school! what, is there such a place? TRANIO: Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master; That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue. BIONDELLO: O master, master, I have watch'd so long That I am dog-weary: but at last I spied An ancient angel coming down the hill, Will serve the turn. TRANIO: What is he, Biondello? BIONDELLO: Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, I know not what; but format in apparel, In gait and countenance surely like a father. LUCENTIO: And what of him, Tranio? TRANIO: If he be credulous and trust my tale, I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio, And give assurance to Baptista Minola, As if he were the right Vincentio Take in your love, and then let me alone. Pedant: God save you, sir! TRANIO: And you, sir! you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? Pedant: Sir, at the farthest for a week or two: But then up farther, and as for as Rome; And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. TRANIO: What countryman, I pray? Pedant: Of Mantua. TRANIO: Of Mantua, sir? marry, God forbid! And come to Padua, careless of your life? Pedant: My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard. TRANIO: 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke, For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him, Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 'Tis, marvel, but that you are but newly come, You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. Pedant: Alas! sir, it is worse for me than so; For I have bills for money by exchange From Florence and must here deliver them. TRANIO: Well, sir, to do you courtesy, This will I do, and this I will advise you: First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? Pedant: Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, Pisa renowned for grave citizens. TRANIO: Among them know you one Vincentio? Pedant: I know him not, but I have heard of him; A merchant of incomparable wealth. TRANIO: He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. BIONDELLO: TRANIO: To save your life in this extremity, This favour will I do you for his sake; And think it not the worst of an your fortunes That you are like to Sir Vincentio. His name and credit shall you undertake, And in my house you shall be friendly lodged: Look that you take upon you as you should; You understand me, sir: so shall you stay Till you have done your business in the city: If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. Pedant: O sir, I do; and will repute you ever The patron of my life and liberty. TRANIO: Then go with me to make the matter good. This, by the way, I let you understand; my father is here look'd for every day, To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here: In all these circumstances I'll instruct you: Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. GRUMIO: No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. KATHARINA: The more my wrong, the more his spite appears: What, did he marry me to famish me? Beggars, that come unto my father's door, Upon entreaty have a present aims; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity: But I, who never knew how to entreat, Nor never needed that I should entreat, Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep, With oath kept waking and with brawling fed: And that which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love; As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. I prithee go and get me some repast; I care not what, so it be wholesome food. GRUMIO: What say you to a neat's foot? KATHARINA: 'Tis passing good: I prithee let me have it. GRUMIO: I fear it is too choleric a meat. How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd? KATHARINA: I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me. GRUMIO: I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? KATHARINA: A dish that I do love to feed upon. GRUMIO: Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. KATHARINA: Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest. GRUMIO: Nay then, I will not: you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio. KATHARINA: Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. GRUMIO: Why then, the mustard without the beef. KATHARINA: Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, That feed'st me with the very name of meat: Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you, That triumph thus upon my misery! Go, get thee gone, I say. PETRUCHIO: How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? HORTENSIO: Mistress, what cheer? KATHARINA: Faith, as cold as can be. PETRUCHIO: Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me. Here love; thou see'st how diligent I am To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee: I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word? Nay, then thou lovest it not; And all my pains is sorted to no proof. Here, take away this dish. KATHARINA: I pray you, let it stand. PETRUCHIO: The poorest service is repaid with thanks; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. KATHARINA: I thank you, sir. HORTENSIO: Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame. Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. PETRUCHIO: Haberdasher: Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. PETRUCHIO: Why, this was moulded on a porringer; A velvet dish: fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy: Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap: Away with it! come, let me have a bigger. KATHARINA: I'll have no bigger: this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these PETRUCHIO: When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then. HORTENSIO: KATHARINA: Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; And speak I will; I am no child, no babe: Your betters have endured me say my mind, And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, Or else my heart concealing it will break, And rather than it shall, I will be free Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. PETRUCHIO: Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap, A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie: I love thee well, in that thou likest it not. KATHARINA: Love me or love me not, I like the cap; And it I will have, or I will have none. PETRUCHIO: Thy gown? why, ay: come, tailor, let us see't. O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart? Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop: Why, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? HORTENSIO: Tailor: You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion and the time. PETRUCHIO: Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you shall hop without my custom, sir: I'll none of it: hence! make your best of it. KATHARINA: I never saw a better-fashion'd gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable: Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. PETRUCHIO: Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. Tailor: She says your worship means to make a puppet of her. PETRUCHIO: O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail! Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou! Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread? Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou livest! I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. Tailor: Your worship is deceived; the gown is made Just as my master had direction: Grumio gave order how it should be done. GRUMIO: I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. Tailor: But how did you desire it should be made? GRUMIO: Marry, sir, with needle and thread. Tailor: But did you not request to have it cut? GRUMIO: Thou hast faced many things. Tailor: I have. GRUMIO: Face not me: thou hast braved many men; brave not me; I will neither be faced nor braved. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest. Tailor: Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify PETRUCHIO: Read it. GRUMIO: The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so. Tailor: GRUMIO: Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread: I said a gown. PETRUCHIO: Proceed. Tailor: GRUMIO: I confess the cape. Tailor: GRUMIO: I confess two sleeves. Tailor: PETRUCHIO: Ay, there's the villany. GRUMIO: Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. I commanded the sleeves should be cut out and sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. Tailor: This is true that I say: an I had thee in place where, thou shouldst know it. GRUMIO: I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. HORTENSIO: God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds. PETRUCHIO: Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. GRUMIO: You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my mistress. PETRUCHIO: Go, take it up unto thy master's use. GRUMIO: Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress' gown for thy master's use! PETRUCHIO: Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? GRUMIO: O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for: Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use! O, fie, fie, fie! PETRUCHIO: HORTENSIO: Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow: Take no unkindness of his hasty words: Away! I say; commend me to thy master. PETRUCHIO: Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's Even in these honest mean habiliments: Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peereth in the meanest habit. What is the jay more precious than the lark, Because his fathers are more beautiful? Or is the adder better than the eel, Because his painted skin contents the eye? O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse For this poor furniture and mean array. if thou account'st it shame. lay it on me; And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith, To feast and sport us at thy father's house. Go, call my men, and let us straight to him; And bring our horses unto Long-lane end; There will we mount, and thither walk on foot Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, And well we may come there by dinner-time. KATHARINA: I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there. PETRUCHIO: It shall be seven ere I go to horse: Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, You are still crossing it. Sirs, let't alone: I will not go to-day; and ere I do, It shall be what o'clock I say it is. HORTENSIO: TRANIO: Sir, this is the house: please it you that I call? Pedant: Ay, what else? and but I be deceived Signior Baptista may remember me, Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. TRANIO: 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case, With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. Pedant: I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy; 'Twere good he were school'd. TRANIO: Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, Now do your duty throughly, I advise you: Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. BIONDELLO: Tut, fear not me. TRANIO: But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? BIONDELLO: I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. TRANIO: Thou'rt a tall fellow: hold thee that to drink. Here comes Baptista: set your countenance, sir. Signior Baptista, you are happily met. Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of: I pray you stand good father to me now, Give me Bianca for my patrimony. Pedant: Soft son! Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio Made me acquainted with a weighty cause Of love between your daughter and himself: And, for the good report I hear of you And for the love he beareth to your daughter And she to him, to stay him not too long, I am content, in a good father's care, To have him match'd; and if you please to like No worse than I, upon some agreement Me shall you find ready and willing With one consent to have her so bestow'd; For curious I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. BAPTISTA: Sir, pardon me in what I have to say: Your plainness and your shortness please me well. Right true it is, your son Lucentio here Doth love my daughter and she loveth him, Or both dissemble deeply their affections: And therefore, if you say no more than this, That like a father you will deal with him And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, The match is made, and all is done: Your son shall have my daughter with consent. TRANIO: I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best We be affied and such assurance ta'en As shall with either part's agreement stand? BAPTISTA: Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants: Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still; And happily we might be interrupted. TRANIO: Then at my lodging, an it like you: There doth my father lie; and there, this night, We'll pass the business privately and well. Send for your daughter by your servant here: My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. The worst is this, that, at so slender warning, You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. BAPTISTA: It likes me well. Biondello, hie you home, And bid Bianca make her ready straight; And, if you will, tell what hath happened, Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. BIONDELLO: I pray the gods she may with all my heart! TRANIO: Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa. BAPTISTA: I follow you. BIONDELLO: Cambio! LUCENTIO: What sayest thou, Biondello? BIONDELLO: You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? LUCENTIO: Biondello, what of that? BIONDELLO: Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. LUCENTIO: I pray thee, moralize them. BIONDELLO: Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. LUCENTIO: And what of him? BIONDELLO: His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. LUCENTIO: And then? BIONDELLO: The old priest of Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. LUCENTIO: And what of all this? BIONDELLO: I cannot tell; expect they are busied about a counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, 'cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum:' to the church; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses: If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. LUCENTIO: Hearest thou, Biondello? BIONDELLO: I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir: and so, adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix. LUCENTIO: I may, and will, if she be so contented: She will be pleased; then wherefore should I doubt? Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her: It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. PETRUCHIO: Come on, i' God's name; once more toward our father's. Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! KATHARINA: The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now. PETRUCHIO: I say it is the moon that shines so bright. KATHARINA: I know it is the sun that shines so bright. PETRUCHIO: Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or ere I journey to your father's house. Go on, and fetch our horses back again. Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd! HORTENSIO: Say as he says, or we shall never go. KATHARINA: Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please: An if you please to call it a rush-candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. PETRUCHIO: I say it is the moon. KATHARINA: I know it is the moon. PETRUCHIO: Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun. KATHARINA: Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun: But sun it is not, when you say it is not; And the moon changes even as your mind. What you will have it named, even that it is; And so it shall be so for Katharina. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. PETRUCHIO: Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against the bias. But, soft! company is coming here. Good morrow, gentle mistress: where away? Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Such war of white and red within her cheeks! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, As those two eyes become that heavenly face? Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. HORTENSIO: A' will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. KATHARINA: Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, Whither away, or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child; Happier the man, whom favourable stars Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow! PETRUCHIO: Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad: This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. KATHARINA: Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the sun That everything I look on seemeth green: Now I perceive thou art a reverend father; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. PETRUCHIO: Do, good old grandsire; and withal make known Which way thou travellest: if along with us, We shall be joyful of thy company. VINCENTIO: Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, That with your strange encounter much amazed me, My name is call'd Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa; And bound I am to Padua; there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen. PETRUCHIO: What is his name? VINCENTIO: Lucentio, gentle sir. PETRUCHIO: Happily we met; the happier for thy son. And now by law, as well as reverend age, I may entitle thee my loving father: The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, Nor be grieved: she is of good esteem, Her dowery wealthy, and of worthy birth; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio, And wander we to see thy honest son, Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. VINCENTIO: But is it true? or else is it your pleasure, Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest Upon the company you overtake? HORTENSIO: I do assure thee, father, so it is. PETRUCHIO: Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. HORTENSIO: Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. Have to my widow! and if she be froward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. BIONDELLO: Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready. LUCENTIO: I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee at home; therefore leave us. BIONDELLO: Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and then come back to my master's as soon as I can. GREMIO: I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. PETRUCHIO: Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house: My father's bears more toward the market-place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. VINCENTIO: You shall not choose but drink before you go: I think I shall command your welcome here, And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. GREMIO: They're busy within; you were best knock louder. Pedant: What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate? VINCENTIO: Is Signior Lucentio within, sir? Pedant: He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. VINCENTIO: What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to make merry withal? Pedant: Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none, so long as I live. PETRUCHIO: Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. Pedant: Thou liest: his father is come from Padua and here looking out at the window. VINCENTIO: Art thou his father? Pedant: Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. PETRUCHIO: Pedant: Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. BIONDELLO: I have seen them in the church together: God send 'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old master Vincentio! now we are undone and brought to nothing. VINCENTIO: BIONDELLO: Hope I may choose, sir. VINCENTIO: Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? BIONDELLO: Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. VINCENTIO: What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? BIONDELLO: What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir: see where he looks out of the window. VINCENTIO: Is't so, indeed. BIONDELLO: Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me. Pedant: Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! PETRUCHIO: Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of this controversy. TRANIO: Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant? VINCENTIO: What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! while I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. TRANIO: How now! what's the matter? BAPTISTA: What, is the man lunatic? TRANIO: Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. VINCENTIO: Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. BAPTISTA: You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his name? VINCENTIO: His name! as if I knew not his name: I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. Pedant: Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio. VINCENTIO: Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio? TRANIO: Call forth an officer. Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. VINCENTIO: Carry me to the gaol! GREMIO: Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison. BAPTISTA: Talk not, Signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison. GREMIO: Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. Pedant: Swear, if thou darest. GREMIO: Nay, I dare not swear it. TRANIO: Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio. GREMIO: Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. BAPTISTA: Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him! VINCENTIO: Thus strangers may be hailed and abused: O monstrous villain! BIONDELLO: O! we are spoiled and--yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. LUCENTIO: VINCENTIO: Lives my sweet son? BIANCA: Pardon, dear father. BAPTISTA: How hast thou offended? Where is Lucentio? LUCENTIO: Here's Lucentio, Right son to the right Vincentio; That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne. GREMIO: Here's packing, with a witness to deceive us all! VINCENTIO: Where is that damned villain Tranio, That faced and braved me in this matter so? BAPTISTA: Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? BIANCA: Cambio is changed into Lucentio. LUCENTIO: Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the town; And happily I have arrived at the last Unto the wished haven of my bliss. What Tranio did, myself enforced him to; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. VINCENTIO: I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the gaol. BAPTISTA: But do you hear, sir? have you married my daughter without asking my good will? VINCENTIO: Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be revenged for this villany. BAPTISTA: And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. LUCENTIO: Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. GREMIO: My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. KATHARINA: Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado. PETRUCHIO: First kiss me, Kate, and we will. KATHARINA: What, in the midst of the street? PETRUCHIO: What, art thou ashamed of me? KATHARINA: No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to kiss. PETRUCHIO: Why, then let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away. KATHARINA: Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay. PETRUCHIO: Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate: Better once than never, for never too late. LUCENTIO: At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And time it is, when raging war is done, To smile at scapes and perils overblown. My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina, And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, Feast with the best, and welcome to my house: My banquet is to close our stomachs up, After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; For now we sit to chat as well as eat. PETRUCHIO: Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! BAPTISTA: Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. PETRUCHIO: Padua affords nothing but what is kind. HORTENSIO: For both our sakes, I would that word were true. PETRUCHIO: Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Widow: Then never trust me, if I be afeard. PETRUCHIO: You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense: I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. Widow: He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. PETRUCHIO: Roundly replied. KATHARINA: Mistress, how mean you that? Widow: Thus I conceive by him. PETRUCHIO: Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that? HORTENSIO: My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. PETRUCHIO: Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. KATHARINA: 'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round:' I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. Widow: Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning, KATHARINA: A very mean meaning. Widow: Right, I mean you. KATHARINA: And I am mean indeed, respecting you. PETRUCHIO: To her, Kate! HORTENSIO: To her, widow! PETRUCHIO: A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. HORTENSIO: That's my office. PETRUCHIO: Spoke like an officer; ha' to thee, lad! BAPTISTA: How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? GREMIO: Believe me, sir, they butt together well. BIANCA: Head, and butt! an hasty-witted body Would say your head and butt were head and horn. VINCENTIO: Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? BIANCA: Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. PETRUCHIO: Nay, that you shall not: since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two! BIANCA: Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush; And then pursue me as you draw your bow. You are welcome all. PETRUCHIO: She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio. This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. TRANIO: O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, Which runs himself and catches for his master. PETRUCHIO: A good swift simile, but something currish. TRANIO: 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. BAPTISTA: O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. LUCENTIO: I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. HORTENSIO: Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? PETRUCHIO: A' has a little gall'd me, I confess; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. BAPTISTA: Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. PETRUCHIO: Well, I say no: and therefore for assurance Let's each one send unto his wife; And he whose wife is most obedient To come at first when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager which we will propose. HORTENSIO: Content. What is the wager? LUCENTIO: Twenty crowns. PETRUCHIO: Twenty crowns! I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound, But twenty times so much upon my wife. LUCENTIO: A hundred then. HORTENSIO: Content. PETRUCHIO: A match! 'tis done. HORTENSIO: Who shall begin? LUCENTIO: That will I. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. BIONDELLO: I go. BAPTISTA: Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes. LUCENTIO: I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself. How now! what news? BIONDELLO: Sir, my mistress sends you word That she is busy and she cannot come. PETRUCHIO: How! she is busy and she cannot come! Is that an answer? GREMIO: Ay, and a kind one too: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. PETRUCHIO: I hope better. HORTENSIO: Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. PETRUCHIO: O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. HORTENSIO: I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Now, where's my wife? BIONDELLO: She says you have some goodly jest in hand: She will not come: she bids you come to her. PETRUCHIO: Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile, Intolerable, not to be endured! Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; Say, I command her to come to me. HORTENSIO: I know her answer. PETRUCHIO: What? HORTENSIO: She will not. PETRUCHIO: The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. BAPTISTA: Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina! KATHARINA: What is your will, sir, that you send for me? PETRUCHIO: Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? KATHARINA: They sit conferring by the parlor fire. PETRUCHIO: Go fetch them hither: if they deny to come. Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. LUCENTIO: Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. HORTENSIO: And so it is: I wonder what it bodes. PETRUCHIO: Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life, And awful rule and right supremacy; And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy? BAPTISTA: Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio! The wager thou hast won; and I will add Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; Another dowry to another daughter, For she is changed, as she had never been. PETRUCHIO: Nay, I will win my wager better yet And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience. See where she comes and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not: Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot. Widow: Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! BIANCA: Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? LUCENTIO: I would your duty were as foolish too: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. BIANCA: The more fool you, for laying on my duty. PETRUCHIO: Katharina, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Widow: Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling. PETRUCHIO: Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Widow: She shall not. PETRUCHIO: I say she shall: and first begin with her. KATHARINA: Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord? I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway, When they are bound to serve, love and obey. Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason haply more, To bandy word for word and frown for frown; But now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, And place your hands below your husband's foot: In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready; may it do him ease. PETRUCHIO: Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate. LUCENTIO: Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't. VINCENTIO: 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward. LUCENTIO: But a harsh hearing when women are froward. PETRUCHIO: Come, Kate, we'll to bed. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; And, being a winner, God give you good night! HORTENSIO: Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew. LUCENTIO: 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so. Master: Boatswain! Boatswain: Here, master: what cheer? Master: Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. Boatswain: Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough! ALONSO: Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men. Boatswain: I pray now, keep below. ANTONIO: Where is the master, boatswain? Boatswain: Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. GONZALO: Nay, good, be patient. Boatswain: When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not. GONZALO: Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boatswain: None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out of our way, I say. GONZALO: I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. Boatswain: Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course. A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office. Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink? SEBASTIAN: A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! Boatswain: Work you then. ANTONIO: Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. GONZALO: I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an unstanched wench. Boatswain: Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to sea again; lay her off. Mariners: All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! Boatswain: What, must our mouths be cold? GONZALO: The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them, For our case is as theirs. SEBASTIAN: I'm out of patience. ANTONIO: We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards: This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning The washing of ten tides! GONZALO: He'll be hang'd yet, Though every drop of water swear against it And gape at widest to glut him. ANTONIO: Let's all sink with the king. SEBASTIAN: Let's take leave of him. GONZALO: Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. MIRANDA: If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her. PROSPERO: Be collected: No more amazement: tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. MIRANDA: O, woe the day! PROSPERO: No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. MIRANDA: More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. PROSPERO: 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So: Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul-- No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know farther. MIRANDA: You have often Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding 'Stay: not yet.' PROSPERO: The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old. MIRANDA: Certainly, sir, I can. PROSPERO: By what? by any other house or person? Of any thing the image tell me that Hath kept with thy remembrance. MIRANDA: 'Tis far off And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me? PROSPERO: Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here, How thou camest here thou mayst. MIRANDA: But that I do not. PROSPERO: Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan and A prince of power. MIRANDA: Sir, are not you my father? PROSPERO: Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir And princess no worse issued. MIRANDA: O the heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Or blessed was't we did? PROSPERO: Both, both, my girl: By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence, But blessedly holp hither. MIRANDA: O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther. PROSPERO: My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio-- I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself Of all the world I loved and to him put The manage of my state; as at that time Through all the signories it was the first And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-- Dost thou attend me? MIRANDA: Sir, most heedfully. PROSPERO: Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who to advance and who To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. MIRANDA: O, good sir, I do. PROSPERO: I pray thee, mark me. I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind With that which, but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awaked an evil nature; and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary as great As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact, like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution And executing the outward face of royalty, With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing-- Dost thou hear? MIRANDA: Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. PROSPERO: To have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates-- So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown and bend The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!-- To most ignoble stooping. MIRANDA: O the heavens! PROSPERO: Mark his condition and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother. MIRANDA: I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons. PROSPERO: Now the condition. The King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises Of homage and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan With all the honours on my brother: whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to the purpose did Antonio open The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Me and thy crying self. MIRANDA: Alack, for pity! I, not remembering how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't. PROSPERO: Hear a little further And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon's; without the which this story Were most impertinent. MIRANDA: Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us? PROSPERO: Well demanded, wench: My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, So dear the love my people bore me, nor set A mark so bloody on the business, but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh To the winds whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. MIRANDA: Alack, what trouble Was I then to you! PROSPERO: O, a cherubim Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile. Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. MIRANDA: How came we ashore? PROSPERO: By Providence divine. Some food we had and some fresh water that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, being then appointed Master of this design, did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. MIRANDA: Would I might But ever see that man! PROSPERO: Now I arise: Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arrived; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princesses can that have more time For vainer hours and tutors not so careful. MIRANDA: Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir, For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason For raising this sea-storm? PROSPERO: Know thus far forth. By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore; and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions: Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, And give it way: I know thou canst not choose. Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel, come. ARIEL: All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality. PROSPERO: Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? ARIEL: To every article. I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide, And burn in many places; on the topmast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake. PROSPERO: My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason? ARIEL: Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,-- Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty And all the devils are here.' PROSPERO: Why that's my spirit! But was not this nigh shore? ARIEL: Close by, my master. PROSPERO: But are they, Ariel, safe? ARIEL: Not a hair perish'd; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me, In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle. The king's son have I landed by himself; Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. PROSPERO: Of the king's ship The mariners say how thou hast disposed And all the rest o' the fleet. ARIEL: Safely in harbour Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: The mariners all under hatches stow'd; Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet Which I dispersed, they all have met again And are upon the Mediterranean flote, Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd And his great person perish. PROSPERO: Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work. What is the time o' the day? ARIEL: Past the mid season. PROSPERO: At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. ARIEL: Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, Which is not yet perform'd me. PROSPERO: How now? moody? What is't thou canst demand? ARIEL: My liberty. PROSPERO: Before the time be out? no more! ARIEL: I prithee, Remember I have done thee worthy service; Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise To bate me a full year. PROSPERO: Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? ARIEL: No. PROSPERO: Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep, To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' the earth When it is baked with frost. ARIEL: I do not, sir. PROSPERO: Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? ARIEL: No, sir. PROSPERO: Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me. ARIEL: Sir, in Argier. PROSPERO: O, was she so? I must Once in a month recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did They would not take her life. Is not this true? ARIEL: Ay, sir. PROSPERO: This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island-- Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with A human shape. ARIEL: Yes, Caliban her son. PROSPERO: Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in; thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts Of ever angry bears: it was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo: it was mine art, When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape The pine and let thee out. ARIEL: I thank thee, master. PROSPERO: If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee in his knotty entrails till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. ARIEL: Pardon, master; I will be correspondent to command And do my spiriting gently. PROSPERO: Do so, and after two days I will discharge thee. ARIEL: That's my noble master! What shall I do? say what; what shall I do? PROSPERO: Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject To no sight but thine and mine, invisible To every eyeball else. Go take this shape And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence! Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake! MIRANDA: The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. PROSPERO: Shake it off. Come on; We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. MIRANDA: 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. PROSPERO: But, as 'tis, We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, Fetch in our wood and serves in offices That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban! Thou earth, thou! speak. CALIBAN: PROSPERO: Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee: Come, thou tortoise! when? Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. ARIEL: My lord it shall be done. PROSPERO: Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! CALIBAN: As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye And blister you all o'er! PROSPERO: For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em. CALIBAN: I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first, Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me Water with berries in't, and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile: Cursed be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o' the island. PROSPERO: Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee, Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. CALIBAN: O ho, O ho! would't had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans. PROSPERO: Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness wilt not take, Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confined into this rock, Who hadst deserved more than a prison. CALIBAN: You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language! PROSPERO: Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar That beasts shall tremble at thy din. CALIBAN: No, pray thee. I must obey: his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, and make a vassal of him. PROSPERO: So, slave; hence! Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have and kiss'd The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! FERDINAND: Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth? It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell. FERDINAND: The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. PROSPERO: The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say what thou seest yond. MIRANDA: What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. PROSPERO: No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows And strays about to find 'em. MIRANDA: I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. PROSPERO: FERDINAND: Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer May know if you remain upon this island; And that you will some good instruction give How I may bear me here: my prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder! If you be maid or no? MIRANDA: No wonder, sir; But certainly a maid. FERDINAND: My language! heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. PROSPERO: How? the best? What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee? FERDINAND: A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; And that he does I weep: myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld The king my father wreck'd. MIRANDA: Alack, for mercy! FERDINAND: Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan And his brave son being twain. PROSPERO: MIRANDA: Why speaks my father so ungently? This Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father To be inclined my way! FERDINAND: O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The queen of Naples. PROSPERO: Soft, sir! one word more. They are both in either's powers; but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. One word more; I charge thee That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself Upon this island as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. FERDINAND: No, as I am a man. MIRANDA: There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. PROSPERO: Follow me. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come; I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. FERDINAND: No; I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power. MIRANDA: O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle and not fearful. PROSPERO: What? I say, My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, For I can here disarm thee with this stick And make thy weapon drop. MIRANDA: Beseech you, father. PROSPERO: Hence! hang not on my garments. MIRANDA: Sir, have pity; I'll be his surety. PROSPERO: Silence! one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! An advocate for an imposter! hush! Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! To the most of men this is a Caliban And they to him are angels. MIRANDA: My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. PROSPERO: Come on; obey: Thy nerves are in their infancy again And have no vigour in them. FERDINAND: So they are; My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. PROSPERO: MIRANDA: Be of comfort; My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted Which now came from him. PROSPERO: Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command. ARIEL: To the syllable. PROSPERO: Come, follow. Speak not for him. GONZALO: Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant and the merchant Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. ALONSO: Prithee, peace. SEBASTIAN: He receives comfort like cold porridge. ANTONIO: The visitor will not give him o'er so. SEBASTIAN: Look he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. GONZALO: Sir,-- SEBASTIAN: One: tell. GONZALO: When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer-- SEBASTIAN: A dollar. GONZALO: Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. SEBASTIAN: You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. GONZALO: Therefore, my lord,-- ANTONIO: Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! ALONSO: I prithee, spare. GONZALO: Well, I have done: but yet,-- SEBASTIAN: He will be talking. ANTONIO: Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? SEBASTIAN: The old cock. ANTONIO: The cockerel. SEBASTIAN: Done. The wager? ANTONIO: A laughter. SEBASTIAN: A match! ADRIAN: Though this island seem to be desert,-- SEBASTIAN: Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid. ADRIAN: Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,-- SEBASTIAN: Yet,-- ADRIAN: Yet,-- ANTONIO: He could not miss't. ADRIAN: It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance. ANTONIO: Temperance was a delicate wench. SEBASTIAN: Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. ADRIAN: The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. SEBASTIAN: As if it had lungs and rotten ones. ANTONIO: Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. GONZALO: Here is everything advantageous to life. ANTONIO: True; save means to live. SEBASTIAN: Of that there's none, or little. GONZALO: How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! ANTONIO: The ground indeed is tawny. SEBASTIAN: With an eye of green in't. ANTONIO: He misses not much. SEBASTIAN: No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. GONZALO: But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost beyond credit,-- SEBASTIAN: As many vouched rarities are. GONZALO: That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water. ANTONIO: If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies? SEBASTIAN: Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report GONZALO: Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. SEBASTIAN: 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. ADRIAN: Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen. GONZALO: Not since widow Dido's time. ANTONIO: Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in? widow Dido! SEBASTIAN: What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord, how you take it! ADRIAN: 'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. GONZALO: This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. ADRIAN: Carthage? GONZALO: I assure you, Carthage. SEBASTIAN: His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too. ANTONIO: What impossible matter will he make easy next? SEBASTIAN: I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple. ANTONIO: And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. GONZALO: Ay. ANTONIO: Why, in good time. GONZALO: Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. ANTONIO: And the rarest that e'er came there. SEBASTIAN: Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. ANTONIO: O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido. GONZALO: Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. ANTONIO: That sort was well fished for. GONZALO: When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? ALONSO: You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee? FRANCISCO: Sir, he may live: I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt He came alive to land. ALONSO: No, no, he's gone. SEBASTIAN: Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African; Where she at least is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. ALONSO: Prithee, peace. SEBASTIAN: You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise By all of us, and the fair soul herself Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making Than we bring men to comfort them: The fault's your own. ALONSO: So is the dear'st o' the loss. GONZALO: My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. SEBASTIAN: Very well. ANTONIO: And most chirurgeonly. GONZALO: It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. SEBASTIAN: Foul weather? ANTONIO: Very foul. GONZALO: Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-- ANTONIO: He'ld sow't with nettle-seed. SEBASTIAN: Or docks, or mallows. GONZALO: And were the king on't, what would I do? SEBASTIAN: 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. GONZALO: I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty;-- SEBASTIAN: Yet he would be king on't. ANTONIO: The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. GONZALO: All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people. SEBASTIAN: No marrying 'mong his subjects? ANTONIO: None, man; all idle: whores and knaves. GONZALO: I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. SEBASTIAN: God save his majesty! ANTONIO: Long live Gonzalo! GONZALO: And,--do you mark me, sir? ALONSO: Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. GONZALO: I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. ANTONIO: 'Twas you we laughed at. GONZALO: Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you: so you may continue and laugh at nothing still. ANTONIO: What a blow was there given! SEBASTIAN: An it had not fallen flat-long. GONZALO: You are gentlemen of brave metal; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. SEBASTIAN: We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. ANTONIO: Nay, good my lord, be not angry. GONZALO: No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? ANTONIO: Go sleep, and hear us. ALONSO: What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find They are inclined to do so. SEBASTIAN: Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. ANTONIO: We two, my lord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. ALONSO: Thank you. Wondrous heavy. SEBASTIAN: What a strange drowsiness possesses them! ANTONIO: It is the quality o' the climate. SEBASTIAN: Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not Myself disposed to sleep. ANTONIO: Nor I; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?--No more:-- And yet me thinks I see it in thy face, What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. SEBASTIAN: What, art thou waking? ANTONIO: Do you not hear me speak? SEBASTIAN: I do; and surely It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. ANTONIO: Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep--die, rather; wink'st Whiles thou art waking. ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/markov-model.py ================================================ # Simple n-gram (Markov chain) model for character-based text generation. # # Only tested with Python 3.6+ # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function from collections import defaultdict, Counter import random import sys # This is the length of the "state" the current character is predicted from. # For Markov chains with memory, this is the "order" of the chain. For n-grams, # the n is STATE_LEN+1 since it includes the predicted character as well. STATE_LEN = 4 def weighted_from_counter(c): total = sum(c.values()) idx = random.randrange(total) for elem, count in c.most_common(): idx -= count if idx < 0: return elem def main(): filename = sys.argv[1] with open(filename, 'r') as f: data = f.read() states = defaultdict(Counter) print('Learning model...') for i in range(len(data) - STATE_LEN - 1): state = data[i:i + STATE_LEN] next = data[i + STATE_LEN] states[state][next] += 1 print('Model has {0} states'.format(len(states))) j = 0 for k, v in states.items(): print(k, v) if j > 9: break j += 1 print('Sampling...') state = random.choice(list(states)) sys.stdout.write(state) for i in range(200): nextc = weighted_from_counter(states[state]) sys.stdout.write(nextc) state = state[1:] + nextc print() if __name__ == '__main__': main() ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/min-char-lstm.py ================================================ # Minimal character-based language model learning with an LSTM architecture. # # Overall code structure based on Andrej Karpathy's min-char-rnn model: # https://gist.github.com/karpathy/d4dee566867f8291f086 # # But the architecture is modified to be LSTM rather than vanilla RNN. # The companion blog post is: # https://eli.thegreenplace.net/2018/minimal-character-based-lstm-implementation/ # # Tested with Python 3.6 # # Eli Bendersky [https://eli.thegreenplace.net] # BSD License per original (@karpathy) from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import sys # Make it possible to provide input file as a command-line argument; input.txt # is still the default. if len(sys.argv) > 1: filename = sys.argv[1] else: filename = 'input.txt' with open(filename, 'r') as f: data = f.read() # All unique characters / entities in the data set. chars = list(set(data)) data_size = len(data) V = vocab_size = len(chars) print('data has %d characters, %d unique.' % (data_size, vocab_size)) # Each character in the vocabulary gets a unique integer index assigned, in the # half-open interval [0:N). These indices are useful to create one-hot encoded # vectors that represent characters in numerical computations. char_to_ix = {ch:i for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} ix_to_char = {i:ch for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} print('char_to_ix', char_to_ix) print('ix_to_char', ix_to_char) # Hyperparameters. # Size of hidden state vectors; applies to h and c. H = hidden_size = 100 seq_length = 16 # number of steps to unroll the LSTM for learning_rate = 0.1 # The input x is concatenated with state h, and the joined vector is used to # feed into most blocks within the LSTM cell. The combined height of the column # vector is HV. HV = H + V # Stop when processed this much data MAX_DATA = 1000000 # Model parameters/weights -- these are shared among all steps. Weights # initialized randomly; biases initialized to 0. # Inputs are characters one-hot encoded in a vocab-sized vector. # Dimensions: H = hidden_size, V = vocab_size, HV = hidden_size + vocab_size Wf = np.random.randn(H, HV) * 0.01 bf = np.zeros((H, 1)) Wi = np.random.randn(H, HV) * 0.01 bi = np.zeros((H, 1)) Wcc = np.random.randn(H, HV) * 0.01 bcc = np.zeros((H, 1)) Wo = np.random.randn(H, HV) * 0.01 bo = np.zeros((H, 1)) Wy = np.random.randn(V, H) * 0.01 by = np.zeros((V, 1)) def sigmoid(z): """Computes sigmoid function. z: array of input values. Returns array of outputs, sigmoid(z). """ # Note: this version of sigmoid tries to avoid overflows in the computation # of e^(-z), by using an alternative formulation when z is negative, to get # 0. e^z / (1+e^z) is equivalent to the definition of sigmoid, but we won't # get e^(-z) to overflow when z is very negative. # Since both the x and y arguments to np.where are evaluated by Python, we # may still get overflow warnings for large z elements; therefore we ignore # warnings during this computation. with np.errstate(over='ignore', invalid='ignore'): return np.where(z >= 0, 1 / (1 + np.exp(-z)), np.exp(z) / (1 + np.exp(z))) def lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev): """Runs forward and backward passes through the RNN. TODO: keep me updated! inputs, targets: Lists of integers. For some i, inputs[i] is the input character (encoded as an index into the ix_to_char map) and targets[i] is the corresponding next character in the training data (similarly encoded). hprev: Hx1 array of initial hidden state cprev: Hx1 array of initial hidden state returns: loss, gradients on model parameters, and last hidden states """ # Caches that keep values computed in the forward pass at each time step, to # be reused in the backward pass. xs, xhs, ys, ps, hs, cs, fgs, igs, ccs, ogs = ( {}, {}, {}, {}, {}, {}, {}, {}, {}, {}) # Initial incoming states. hs[-1] = np.copy(hprev) cs[-1] = np.copy(cprev) loss = 0 # Forward pass for t in range(len(inputs)): # Input at time step t is xs[t]. Prepare a one-hot encoded vector of # shape (V, 1). inputs[t] is the index where the 1 goes. xs[t] = np.zeros((V, 1)) xs[t][inputs[t]] = 1 # hprev and xs[t] are column vector; stack them together into a "taller" # column vector - first the elements of x, then h. xhs[t] = np.vstack((xs[t], hs[t-1])) # Gates f, i and o. fgs[t] = sigmoid(np.dot(Wf, xhs[t]) + bf) igs[t] = sigmoid(np.dot(Wi, xhs[t]) + bi) ogs[t] = sigmoid(np.dot(Wo, xhs[t]) + bo) # Candidate cc. ccs[t] = np.tanh(np.dot(Wcc, xhs[t]) + bcc) # This step's h and c. cs[t] = fgs[t] * cs[t-1] + igs[t] * ccs[t] hs[t] = np.tanh(cs[t]) * ogs[t] # Softmax for output. ys[t] = np.dot(Wy, hs[t]) + by ps[t] = np.exp(ys[t]) / np.sum(np.exp(ys[t])) # Cross-entropy loss. loss += -np.log(ps[t][targets[t], 0]) # Initialize gradients of all weights/biases to 0. dWf = np.zeros_like(Wf) dbf = np.zeros_like(bf) dWi = np.zeros_like(Wi) dbi = np.zeros_like(bi) dWcc = np.zeros_like(Wcc) dbcc = np.zeros_like(bcc) dWo = np.zeros_like(Wo) dbo = np.zeros_like(bo) dWy = np.zeros_like(Wy) dby = np.zeros_like(by) # Incoming gradients for h and c; for backwards loop step these represent # dh[t] and dc[t]; we do truncated BPTT, so assume they are 0 initially. dhnext = np.zeros_like(hs[0]) dcnext = np.zeros_like(cs[0]) # The backwards pass iterates over the input sequence backwards. for t in reversed(range(len(inputs))): # Backprop through the gradients of loss and softmax. dy = np.copy(ps[t]) dy[targets[t]] -= 1 # Compute gradients for the Wy and by parameters. dWy += np.dot(dy, hs[t].T) dby += dy # Backprop through the fully-connected layer (Wy, by) to h. Also add up # the incoming gradient for h from the next cell. dh = np.dot(Wy.T, dy) + dhnext # Backprop through multiplication with output gate; here "dtanh" means # the gradient at the output of tanh. dctanh = ogs[t] * dh # Backprop through the tanh function; since cs[t] branches in two # directions we add dcnext too. dc = dctanh * (1 - np.tanh(cs[t]) ** 2) + dcnext # Backprop through multiplication with the tanh; here "dhogs" means # the gradient at the output of the sigmoid of the output gate. Then # backprop through the sigmoid itself (ogs[t] is the sigmoid output). dhogs = dh * np.tanh(cs[t]) dho = dhogs * ogs[t] * (1 - ogs[t]) # Compute gradients for the output gate parameters. dWo += np.dot(dho, xhs[t].T) dbo += dho # Backprop dho to the xh input. dxh_from_o = np.dot(Wo.T, dho) # Backprop through the forget gate: sigmoid and elementwise mul. dhf = cs[t-1] * dc * fgs[t] * (1 - fgs[t]) dWf += np.dot(dhf, xhs[t].T) dbf += dhf dxh_from_f = np.dot(Wf.T, dhf) # Backprop through the input gate: sigmoid and elementwise mul. dhi = ccs[t] * dc * igs[t] * (1 - igs[t]) dWi += np.dot(dhi, xhs[t].T) dbi += dhi dxh_from_i = np.dot(Wi.T, dhi) dhcc = igs[t] * dc * (1 - ccs[t] ** 2) dWcc += np.dot(dhcc, xhs[t].T) dbcc += dhcc dxh_from_cc = np.dot(Wcc.T, dhcc) # Combine all contributions to dxh, and extract the gradient for the # h part to propagate backwards as dhnext. dxh = dxh_from_o + dxh_from_f + dxh_from_i + dxh_from_cc dhnext = dxh[V:, :] # dcnext from dc and the forget gate. dcnext = fgs[t] * dc # Gradient clipping to the range [-5, 5]. for dparam in [dWf, dbf, dWi, dbi, dWcc, dbcc, dWo, dbo, dWy, dby]: np.clip(dparam, -5, 5, out=dparam) return (loss, dWf, dbf, dWi, dbi, dWcc, dbcc, dWo, dbo, dWy, dby, hs[len(inputs)-1], cs[len(inputs)-1]) def sample(h, c, seed_ix, n): """Sample a sequence of integers from the model. Runs the LSTM in forward mode for n steps; seed_ix is the seed letter for the first time step, h and c are the memory state. Returns a sequence of letters produced by the model (indices). """ x = np.zeros((V, 1)) x[seed_ix] = 1 ixes = [] for t in range(n): # Run the forward pass only. xh = np.vstack((x, h)) fg = sigmoid(np.dot(Wf, xh) + bf) ig = sigmoid(np.dot(Wi, xh) + bi) og = sigmoid(np.dot(Wo, xh) + bo) cc = np.tanh(np.dot(Wcc, xh) + bcc) c = fg * c + ig * cc h = np.tanh(c) * og y = np.dot(Wy, h) + by p = np.exp(y) / np.sum(np.exp(y)) # Sample from the distribution produced by softmax. ix = np.random.choice(range(V), p=p.ravel()) x = np.zeros((V, 1)) x[ix] = 1 ixes.append(ix) return ixes def gradCheck(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev): global Wf, Wi, bf, bi, Wcc, bcc, Wo, bo, Wy, by num_checks, delta = 10, 1e-5 (_, dWf, dbf, dWi, dbi, dWcc, dbcc, dWo, dbo, dWy, dby, _, _) = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev) for param, dparam, name in zip( [Wf, bf, Wi, bi, Wcc, bcc, Wo, bo, Wy, by], [dWf, dbf, dWi, dbi, dWcc, dbcc, dWo, dbo, dWy, dby], ['Wf', 'bf', 'Wi', 'bi', 'Wcc', 'bcc', 'Wo', 'bo', 'Wy', 'by']): assert dparam.shape == param.shape print(name) for i in range(num_checks): ri = np.random.randint(0, param.size) old_val = param.flat[ri] param.flat[ri] = old_val + delta numloss0 = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev)[0] param.flat[ri] = old_val - delta numloss1 = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev)[0] param.flat[ri] = old_val # reset grad_analytic = dparam.flat[ri] grad_numerical = (numloss0 - numloss1) / (2 * delta) if grad_numerical + grad_analytic == 0: rel_error = 0 else: rel_error = (abs(grad_analytic - grad_numerical) / abs(grad_numerical + grad_analytic)) print('%s, %s => %e' % (grad_numerical, grad_analytic, rel_error)) def basicGradCheck(): inputs = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[:seq_length]] targets = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[1:seq_length+1]] hprev = np.random.randn(H, 1) cprev = np.random.randn(H, 1) gradCheck(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev) # Uncomment this to run gradient checking instead of training #basicGradCheck() #sys.exit() # n is the iteration counter; p is the input sequence pointer, at the beginning # of each step it points at the sequence in the input that will be used for # training this iteration. n, p = 0, 0 # Memory variables for Adagrad. mWf = np.zeros_like(Wf) mbf = np.zeros_like(bf) mWi = np.zeros_like(Wi) mbi = np.zeros_like(bi) mWcc = np.zeros_like(Wcc) mbcc = np.zeros_like(bcc) mWo = np.zeros_like(Wo) mbo = np.zeros_like(bo) mWy = np.zeros_like(Wy) mby = np.zeros_like(by) smooth_loss = -np.log(1.0/V) * seq_length while p < MAX_DATA: # Prepare inputs (we're sweeping from left to right in steps seq_length long) if p+seq_length+1 >= len(data) or n == 0: # Reset RNN memory hprev = np.zeros((H, 1)) cprev = np.zeros((H, 1)) p = 0 # go from start of data # In each step we unroll the RNN for seq_length cells, and present it with # seq_length inputs and seq_length target outputs to learn. inputs = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[p:p+seq_length]] targets = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[p+1:p+seq_length+1]] # Sample from the model now and then. if n % 1000 == 0: sample_ix = sample(hprev, cprev, inputs[0], 200) txt = ''.join(ix_to_char[ix] for ix in sample_ix) print('----\n %s \n----' % (txt,)) # Forward seq_length characters through the RNN and fetch gradient. (loss, dWf, dbf, dWi, dbi, dWcc, dbcc, dWo, dbo, dWy, dby, hprev, cprev) = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev, cprev) smooth_loss = smooth_loss * 0.999 + loss * 0.001 if n % 200 == 0: print('iter %d (p=%d), loss %f' % (n, p, smooth_loss)) # Perform parameter update with Adagrad. for param, dparam, mem in zip( [Wf, bf, Wi, bi, Wcc, bcc, Wo, bo, Wy, by], [dWf, dbf, dWi, dbi, dWcc, dbcc, dWo, dbo, dWy, dby], [mWf, mbf, mWi, mbi, mWcc, mbcc, mWo, mbo, mWy, mby]): mem += dparam * dparam param += -learning_rate * dparam / np.sqrt(mem + 1e-8) p += seq_length n += 1 ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/min-char-rnn.py ================================================ """ Minimal character-based language model learning with RNNs. Taken from Andrej Karpathy's min-char-rnn: https://gist.github.com/karpathy/d4dee566867f8291f086 The companion blog post is: https://eli.thegreenplace.net/2018/understanding-how-to-implement-a-character-based-rnn-language-model/. Modified in various ways for better introspection / customization, Python 3 compatibility and added comments. I tried to retain the overall structure of this code almost identical to the original. To run, learning a char-based language model from some text: $ python min-char-rnn.py ---- Original license/copyright blurb: Minimal character-level Vanilla RNN model. Written by Andrej Karpathy (@karpathy) BSD License """ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import sys # Make it possible to provide input file as a command-line argument; input.txt # is still the default. if len(sys.argv) > 1: filename = sys.argv[1] else: filename = 'input.txt' with open(filename, 'r') as f: data = f.read() # All unique characters / entities in the data set. chars = list(set(data)) data_size, vocab_size = len(data), len(chars) print('data has %d characters, %d unique.' % (data_size, vocab_size)) # Each character in the vocabulary gets a unique integer index assigned, in the # half-open interval [0:N). These indices are useful to create one-hot encoded # vectors that represent characters in numerical computations. char_to_ix = {ch:i for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} ix_to_char = {i:ch for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} print('char_to_ix', char_to_ix) print('ix_to_char', ix_to_char) # Hyperparameters hidden_size = 100 # size of hidden layer of neurons seq_length = 16 # number of steps to unroll the RNN for learning_rate = 1e-1 # Stop when processed this much data MAX_DATA = 1000000 # Model parameters/weights -- these are shared among all steps. Weights # initialized randomly; biases initialized to 0. # Inputs are characters one-hot encoded in a vocab-sized vector. # Dimensions: H = hidden_size, V = vocab_size Wxh = np.random.randn(hidden_size, vocab_size) * 0.01 # input to hidden Whh = np.random.randn(hidden_size, hidden_size) * 0.01 # hidden to hidden Why = np.random.randn(vocab_size, hidden_size) * 0.01 # hidden to output bh = np.zeros((hidden_size, 1)) # hidden bias by = np.zeros((vocab_size, 1)) # output bias def lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev): """Runs forward and backward passes through the RNN. inputs, targets: Lists of integers. For some i, inputs[i] is the input character (encoded as an index into the ix_to_char map) and targets[i] is the corresponding next character in the training data (similarly encoded). hprev: Hx1 array of initial hidden state returns: loss, gradients on model parameters, and last hidden state """ # Caches that keep values computed in the forward pass at each time step, to # be reused in the backward pass. xs, hs, ys, ps = {}, {}, {}, {} # Initial incoming state. hs[-1] = np.copy(hprev) loss = 0 # Forward pass for t in range(len(inputs)): # Input at time step t is xs[t]. Prepare a one-hot encoded vector of shape # (V, 1). inputs[t] is the index where the 1 goes. xs[t] = np.zeros((vocab_size,1)) # encode in 1-of-k representation xs[t][inputs[t]] = 1 # Compute h[t] from h[t-1] and x[t] hs[t] = np.tanh(np.dot(Wxh, xs[t]) + np.dot(Whh, hs[t-1]) + bh) # Compute ps[t] - softmax probabilities for output. ys[t] = np.dot(Why, hs[t]) + by ps[t] = np.exp(ys[t]) / np.sum(np.exp(ys[t])) # Cross-entropy loss for two probability distributions p and q is defined as # follows: # # xent(q, p) = -Sum q(k)log(p(k)) # k # # Where k goes over all the possible values of the random variable p and q # are defined for. # In our case taking q is the "real answer" which is 1-hot encoded; p is the # result of softmax (ps). targets[t] has the only index where q is not 0, # so the sum simply becomes log of ps at that index. loss += -np.log(ps[t][targets[t],0]) # Backward pass: compute gradients going backwards. # Gradients are initialized to 0s, and every time step contributes to them. dWxh, dWhh, dWhy = np.zeros_like(Wxh), np.zeros_like(Whh), np.zeros_like(Why) dbh, dby = np.zeros_like(bh), np.zeros_like(by) # Initialize the incoming gradient of h to zero; this is a safe assumption for # a sufficiently long unrolling. dhnext = np.zeros_like(hs[0]) # The backwards pass iterates over the input sequence backwards. for t in reversed(range(len(inputs))): # Backprop through the gradients of loss and softmax. dy = np.copy(ps[t]) dy[targets[t]] -= 1 # Compute gradients for the Why and by parameters. dWhy += np.dot(dy, hs[t].T) dby += dy # Backprop through the fully-connected layer (Why, by) to h. Also add up the # incoming gradient for h from the next cell. # Note: proper Jacobian matmul here would be dy.dot(Why), that would give # a [1,T] vector. Since we need [T,1] for h, we flip the dot (we could have # transposed after everything, too) dh = np.dot(Why.T, dy) + dhnext # Backprop through tanh. dhraw = (1 - hs[t] * hs[t]) * dh # Compute gradients for the dby, dWxh, Whh parameters. dbh += dhraw dWxh += np.dot(dhraw, xs[t].T) dWhh += np.dot(dhraw, hs[t-1].T) # Backprop the gradient to the incoming h, which will be used in the # previous time step. dhnext = np.dot(Whh.T, dhraw) # Gradient clipping to the range [-5, 5]. for dparam in [dWxh, dWhh, dWhy, dbh, dby]: np.clip(dparam, -5, 5, out=dparam) return loss, dWxh, dWhh, dWhy, dbh, dby, hs[len(inputs)-1] def sample(h, seed_ix, n): """Sample a sequence of integers from the model. Runs the RNN in forward mode for n steps; seed_ix is the seed letter for the first time step, and h is the memory state. Returns a sequence of letters produced by the model (indices). """ # Create a one-hot vector to represent the input. x = np.zeros((vocab_size, 1)) x[seed_ix] = 1 ixes = [] for t in range(n): # Run the forward pass only. h = np.tanh(np.dot(Wxh, x) + np.dot(Whh, h) + bh) y = np.dot(Why, h) + by p = np.exp(y) / np.sum(np.exp(y)) # Sample from the distribution produced by softmax. ix = np.random.choice(range(vocab_size), p=p.ravel()) # Prepare input for the next cell. x = np.zeros((vocab_size, 1)) x[ix] = 1 ixes.append(ix) return ixes # Gradient checking (from karpathy's own comment on the gist) from random import uniform def gradCheck(inputs, targets, hprev): global Wxh, Whh, Why, bh, by num_checks, delta = 10, 1e-5 _, dWxh, dWhh, dWhy, dbh, dby, _ = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev) for param,dparam,name in zip([Wxh, Whh, Why, bh, by], [dWxh, dWhh, dWhy, dbh, dby], ['Wxh', 'Whh', 'Why', 'bh', 'by']): s0 = dparam.shape s1 = param.shape assert s0 == s1, 'Error dims dont match: %s and %s.' % (s0, s1) print(name) for i in range(num_checks): ri = int(uniform(0,param.size)) # evaluate cost at [x + delta] and [x - delta] old_val = param.flat[ri] param.flat[ri] = old_val + delta cg0, _, _, _, _, _, _ = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev) param.flat[ri] = old_val - delta cg1, _, _, _, _, _, _ = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev) param.flat[ri] = old_val # reset old value for this parameter # fetch both numerical and analytic gradient grad_analytic = dparam.flat[ri] grad_numerical = (cg0 - cg1) / ( 2 * delta ) rel_error = abs(grad_analytic - grad_numerical) / abs(grad_numerical + grad_analytic) print('%f, %f => %e ' % (grad_numerical, grad_analytic, rel_error)) # rel_error should be on order of 1e-7 or less # This function invokes gradCheck with all the parameters properly set up. def basicGradCheck(): inputs = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[:seq_length]] targets = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[1:seq_length+1]] hprev = np.zeros((hidden_size,1)) # reset RNN memory gradCheck(inputs, targets, hprev) # Uncomment this to run a basic gradient check. #basicGradCheck() # n is the iteration counter; p is the input sequence pointer, at the beginning # of each step it points at the sequence in the input that will be used for # training this iteration. n, p = 0, 0 # Memory variables for Adagrad. mWxh, mWhh, mWhy = np.zeros_like(Wxh), np.zeros_like(Whh), np.zeros_like(Why) mbh, mby = np.zeros_like(bh), np.zeros_like(by) smooth_loss = -np.log(1.0/vocab_size)*seq_length while p < MAX_DATA: # Prepare inputs (we're sweeping from left to right in steps seq_length long) if p+seq_length+1 >= len(data) or n == 0: hprev = np.zeros((hidden_size, 1)) # reset RNN memory p = 0 # go from start of data # In each step we unroll the RNN for seq_length cells, and present it with # seq_length inputs and seq_length target outputs to learn. inputs = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[p:p+seq_length]] targets = [char_to_ix[ch] for ch in data[p+1:p+seq_length+1]] # Sample from the model now and then. if n % 1000 == 0: sample_ix = sample(hprev, inputs[0], 200) txt = ''.join(ix_to_char[ix] for ix in sample_ix) print('----\n %s \n----' % (txt, )) # Forward seq_length characters through the net and fetch gradient loss, dWxh, dWhh, dWhy, dbh, dby, hprev = lossFun(inputs, targets, hprev) smooth_loss = smooth_loss * 0.999 + loss * 0.001 if n % 200 == 0: print('iter %d (p=%d), loss: %f' % (n, p, smooth_loss)) # Perform parameter update with Adagrad for param, dparam, mem in zip([Wxh, Whh, Why, bh, by], [dWxh, dWhh, dWhy, dbh, dby], [mWxh, mWhh, mWhy, mbh, mby]): mem += dparam * dparam param += -learning_rate * dparam / np.sqrt(mem + 1e-8) p += seq_length n += 1 ================================================ FILE: min-char-rnn/preprocess-cnus.py ================================================ # Use Python 2... from __future__ import print_function import sys def clean_line(line): line = line.strip().lower() new_line = [] for c in line: i = ord(c) if i >= 32 and i <= 126: new_line.append(c) return ''.join(new_line) if __name__ == '__main__': filename = sys.argv[1] with open(filename, 'r') as f: for line in f: cl = clean_line(line) if cl: print(cl) ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/.python-version ================================================ 3.12 ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/README.md ================================================ From Andrej Karapathy's video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kCc8FmEb1nY His code: https://github.com/karpathy/ng-video-lecture Many changes here and many comments to massage it all into a form that makes more sense to me. ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/bigram.py ================================================ import torch import torch.nn as nn import torch.nn.functional as F # Hyper parameters batch_size = 32 block_size = 8 max_iters = 3000 eval_interval = 300 learning_rate = 1e-2 torch.manual_seed(1337) device = ( torch.accelerator.current_accelerator().type if torch.accelerator.is_available() else "cpu" ) print(f"Using {device} device") with open("input.txt", "r", encoding="utf-8") as f: text = f.read() # Our model is character-based; tokens are characters - all unique characters in # the dataset. chars = sorted(set(text)) vocab_size = len(chars) # create a mapping from characters to integers stoi = {ch: i for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} itos = {i: ch for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} encode = lambda s: [ stoi[c] for c in s ] # encoder: take a string, output a list of integers decode = lambda l: "".join( [itos[i] for i in l] ) # decoder: take a list of integers, output a string # Train and test splits data = torch.tensor(encode(text), dtype=torch.long) n = int(0.9 * len(data)) # first 90% will be train, rest val train_data = data[:n] val_data = data[n:] # data loading def get_batch(split): # generate a small batch of data of inputs x and targets y data = train_data if split == "train" else val_data ix = torch.randint(len(data) - block_size, (batch_size,)) x = torch.stack([data[i : i + block_size] for i in ix]) y = torch.stack([data[i + 1 : i + block_size + 1] for i in ix]) x, y = x.to(device), y.to(device) return x, y class BigramLanguageMode(nn.Module): def __init__(self, vocab_size): super().__init__() C = vocab_size # Embedding layer: a table (C, C). For each vocabulary token, it # stores a dense vector of size C. C also serves as the embedding # depth in this case, to avoid a separate unembedding layer at # the end. Each of the C elements in the dense vector represent # logics (un-normalized probabilities) of the corresponding character # being generated. self.token_embedding_table = nn.Embedding(vocab_size, vocab_size) def forward(self, idx, targets=None): # idx is (B, T) array of indices in the current context # This basically predicts the next token from the current token only # (bigram). logits = self.token_embedding_table(idx) # (B, T, C) if targets is None: loss = None else: B, T, C = logits.shape # Reshape logits and targets to a form cross_entropy likes. logits = logits.view(B * T, C) targets = targets.view(B * T) loss = F.cross_entropy(logits, targets) return logits, loss # Note: this function is written in a general way for educational purposes; # it doesn't actually use the history (sequence) to predict the next token, # all it uses is the last token. def generate(self, idx, max_new_tokens): # idx is (B, T) array of indices in the current context for _ in range(max_new_tokens): # get the logits (B, T, C) logits, _ = self(idx) # focus only on the last time step logits = logits[:, -1, :] # becomes (B, C) # apply softmax to get probabilities probs = F.softmax(logits, dim=-1) # (B, C) # sample from the distribution idx_next = torch.multinomial(probs, num_samples=1) # (B, 1) # append sampled index to the running sequence idx = torch.cat((idx, idx_next), dim=1) # (B, T+1) return idx xb, yb = get_batch("train") m = BigramLanguageMode(vocab_size) m = m.to(device) print("xb shape: ", xb.shape) print("yb shape: ", yb.shape) out, loss = m(xb, yb) print("out shape: ", out.shape) print("out: ", out) print("loss: ", loss) # Starting with a single zero token (newline) # Untrained model -- generates garbage idx = torch.zeros((1, 1), dtype=torch.long).to(device) toks = m.generate(idx, max_new_tokens=100)[0].tolist() print(decode(toks)) # Estimate loss on both the train and validation sets. The loss is averaged # over multiple batches to reduce noise. @torch.no_grad() def estimate_loss(): eval_iters = 200 out = {} m.eval() for split in ["train", "val"]: losses = torch.zeros(eval_iters) for k in range(eval_iters): X, Y = get_batch(split) logits, loss = m(X, Y) losses[k] = loss.item() out[split] = losses.mean() m.train() return out # create a PyTorch optimizer optimizer = torch.optim.AdamW(m.parameters(), lr=learning_rate) for iter in range(max_iters): # every once in a while evaluate the loss on train and val sets if iter % eval_interval == 0: losses = estimate_loss() print( f"step {iter}: train loss {losses['train']:.4f}, val loss {losses['val']:.4f}" ) # sample a batch of data xb, yb = get_batch("train") # evaluate the loss logits, loss = m(xb, yb) # clear old gradients optimizer.zero_grad(set_to_none=True) # compute new gradients from the loss loss.backward() # optimization step optimizer.step() # generate from the model context = torch.zeros((1, 1), dtype=torch.long, device=device) print(decode(m.generate(context, max_new_tokens=500)[0].tolist())) ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/explore-input.py ================================================ # This script explores the input data and prepares it for training a language # model. with open("input.txt", "r", encoding="utf-8") as f: text = f.read() print("length of dataset is", len(text)) print(text[:200]) # Our model is character-based; tokens are characters - all unique characters in # the dataset. chars = sorted(set(text)) vocab_size = len(chars) print("all unique characters:", "".join(chars)) print("vocab size:", vocab_size) # create a mapping from characters to integers stoi = {ch: i for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} itos = {i: ch for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} encode = lambda s: [ stoi[c] for c in s ] # encoder: take a string, output a list of integers decode = lambda l: "".join( [itos[i] for i in l] ) # decoder: take a list of integers, output a string print(encode("hii there")) print(decode(encode("hii there"))) # Encoode the entire text dataset into a torch.Tensor import torch device = ( torch.accelerator.current_accelerator().type if torch.accelerator.is_available() else "cpu" ) print(f"Using {device} device") data = torch.tensor(encode(text), dtype=torch.long) print(data.shape, data.dtype) print(data[:200]) # Split the data into train (90%) and validation (10%) sets n = int(0.9 * len(data)) train_data = data[:n] val_data = data[n:] print("shapes of train and val: ", train_data.shape, val_data.shape) # This is the sequence length used for training. # This snippet demonstrates the training examples taken from the single chunk # of block_size # It has multiple examples in it: predict the second character given the first, # predict the third character given the first and the second, and so on. block_size = 8 print(train_data[: block_size + 1]) x = train_data[:block_size] y = train_data[1 : block_size + 1] for t in range(block_size): context = x[: t + 1] target = y[t] print(f"when input is {context} the target is {target}") # For efficiency, training is done in batches. Each batch is a list of input # sequences and the corresponding targets. # target[b][i] is the target for input[b][:i + 1], as before. torch.manual_seed(1337) batch_size = 4 block_size = 8 def get_batch(split): data = train_data if split == "train" else val_data # random starting indices for the batch ix = torch.randint(len(data) - block_size, (batch_size,)) x = torch.stack([data[i : i + block_size] for i in ix]) y = torch.stack([data[i + 1 : i + block_size + 1] for i in ix]) return x.to(device), y.to(device) xb, yb = get_batch("train") print("input batch shape: ", xb.shape) print("inputs:\n", xb) print("target batch shape: ", yb.shape) print("targets:\n", yb) print("----") for b in range(batch_size): for t in range(block_size): context = xb[b, : t + 1] target = yb[b, t] print(f"when input is {context} the target is {target}") ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/gpt.py ================================================ import sys import torch import torch.nn as nn from torch.nn import functional as F # ----- hyperparameters batch_size = 64 # B: batch block_size = 256 # T: sequence / context length n_embd = 384 # C: embedding dimension n_head = 6 # number of attention heads. head_size will be n_embd // n_head n_layer = 6 dropout = 0.2 # dropout for training max_iters = 1000 # Note: this takes a while to run on a single GPU... eval_interval = 500 learning_rate = 3e-4 eval_iters = 200 # ----- torch.manual_seed(1337) device = ( torch.accelerator.current_accelerator().type if torch.accelerator.is_available() else "cpu" ) print(f"Using {device} device") with open("input.txt", "r", encoding="utf-8") as f: text = f.read() # Our model is character-based; tokens are characters - all unique characters in # the dataset. chars = sorted(list(set(text))) vocab_size = len(chars) # create a mapping from characters to integers stoi = {ch: i for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} itos = {i: ch for i, ch in enumerate(chars)} encode = lambda s: [ stoi[c] for c in s ] # encoder: take a string, output a list of integers decode = lambda l: "".join( [itos[i] for i in l] ) # decoder: take a list of integers, output a string # Train and validation splits; first 90% will be train, rest val data = torch.tensor(encode(text), dtype=torch.long) n = int(0.9 * len(data)) train_data = data[:n] val_data = data[n:] # Get a batch of data with the predicted output; both returned as (B,T) tensors, # where each item is an integer (the index of the character in the vocabulary). # # For each batch separately, the sequences work like this: # # [ ... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ... ] # ^ ^ # | <--- x --- > | # ^ ^ # | <--- y --- > | # # y is always shifted by one from x, because y[i] is the predicted output # to come after for context x[:i]. def get_batch(split): data = train_data if split == "train" else val_data ix = torch.randint(len(data) - block_size, (batch_size,)) x = torch.stack([data[i : i + block_size] for i in ix]) y = torch.stack([data[i + 1 : i + block_size + 1] for i in ix]) x, y = x.to(device), y.to(device) return x, y class Head(nn.Module): """one head of self-attention""" def __init__(self, head_size): super().__init__() self.key = nn.Linear(n_embd, head_size, bias=False) self.query = nn.Linear(n_embd, head_size, bias=False) self.value = nn.Linear(n_embd, head_size, bias=False) self.register_buffer("tril", torch.tril(torch.ones(block_size, block_size))) self.dropout = nn.Dropout(dropout) def forward(self, x): # input (B,T,C) # output (B,T,HS) B, T, C = x.shape k = self.key(x) # (B,T,HS) q = self.query(x) # (B,T,HS) # compute attention scores ("affinities") wei = ( q @ k.transpose(-2, -1) * k.shape[-1] ** -0.5 ) # (B, T, HS) @ (B, HS, T) -> (B, T, T) wei = wei.masked_fill(self.tril[:T, :T] == 0, float("-inf")) # (B, T, T) wei = F.softmax(wei, dim=-1) # (B, T, T) wei = self.dropout(wei) # perform the weighted aggregation of the values v = self.value(x) # (B,T,HS) out = wei @ v # (B, T, T) @ (B, T, HS) -> (B, T, HS) return out class MultiHeadAttention(nn.Module): """multiple heads of self-attention in parallel""" def __init__(self, num_heads, head_size): super().__init__() self.heads = nn.ModuleList([Head(head_size) for _ in range(num_heads)]) self.proj = nn.Linear(head_size * num_heads, n_embd) self.dropout = nn.Dropout(dropout) def forward(self, x): # input (B,T,C) # output (B,T,C) (where C is split to num_heads * head_size, and the # shape of each head's output is (B,T,HS)) out = torch.cat([h(x) for h in self.heads], dim=-1) out = self.dropout(self.proj(out)) return out class FeedFoward(nn.Module): """a simple linear layer followed by a non-linearity""" def __init__(self, n_embd): super().__init__() self.net = nn.Sequential( nn.Linear(n_embd, 4 * n_embd), nn.ReLU(), nn.Linear(4 * n_embd, n_embd), nn.Dropout(dropout), ) def forward(self, x): return self.net(x) class Block(nn.Module): """Transformer block: communication followed by computation""" def __init__(self, n_embd, n_head): # n_embd: embedding dimension, n_head: the number of heads we'd like super().__init__() head_size = n_embd // n_head self.sa = MultiHeadAttention(n_head, head_size) self.ffwd = FeedFoward(n_embd) self.ln1 = nn.LayerNorm(n_embd) self.ln2 = nn.LayerNorm(n_embd) def forward(self, x): x = x + self.sa(self.ln1(x)) x = x + self.ffwd(self.ln2(x)) return x class GPTLanguageModel(nn.Module): def __init__(self): super().__init__() self.token_embedding_table = nn.Embedding(vocab_size, n_embd) self.position_embedding_table = nn.Embedding(block_size, n_embd) self.blocks = nn.Sequential( *[Block(n_embd, n_head=n_head) for _ in range(n_layer)] ) self.ln_f = nn.LayerNorm(n_embd) # final layer norm # de-embedding layer, translates from n_embd back to vocab_size. self.demb = nn.Linear(n_embd, vocab_size) # better init, not covered in the original GPT video, but important, # will cover in followup video self.apply(self._init_weights) def _init_weights(self, module): if isinstance(module, nn.Linear): torch.nn.init.normal_(module.weight, mean=0.0, std=0.02) if module.bias is not None: torch.nn.init.zeros_(module.bias) elif isinstance(module, nn.Embedding): torch.nn.init.normal_(module.weight, mean=0.0, std=0.02) def forward(self, idx, targets=None): B, T = idx.shape # C is n_embd # idx and targets are both (B,T) tensor of integers tok_emb = self.token_embedding_table(idx) # (B,T,C) pos_emb = self.position_embedding_table(torch.arange(T, device=device)) # (T,C) x = tok_emb + pos_emb # (B,T,C) x = self.blocks(x) # (B,T,C) x = self.ln_f(x) # (B,T,C) # logits(b,t,v) are the un-normalized probabilities of character v # (out of [0, vocab_size)) being generated after token t in batch b. logits = self.demb(x) # (B,T,vocab_size) if targets is None: loss = None else: B, T, C = logits.shape # Reshape logits and targets to a form cross_entropy likes, and # calculate the xent for the entire batch and sequence at once. logits = logits.view(B * T, C) targets = targets.view(B * T) loss = F.cross_entropy(logits, targets) return logits, loss def generate(self, idx, max_new_tokens): # idx is (B, T) array of indices in the current context for _ in range(max_new_tokens): # crop idx to the last block_size tokens idx_cond = idx[:, -block_size:] # get the predictions logits, _ = self(idx_cond) # focus only on the last time step logits = logits[:, -1, :] # becomes (B, C) # apply softmax to get probabilities probs = F.softmax(logits, dim=-1) # (B, C) # sample from the distribution idx_next = torch.multinomial(probs, num_samples=1) # (B, 1) # append sampled index to the running sequence idx = torch.cat((idx, idx_next), dim=1) # (B, T+1) return idx model = GPTLanguageModel() m = model.to(device) # print the number of parameters in the model print(sum(p.numel() for p in m.parameters()) / 1e6, "M parameters") # create a PyTorch optimizer optimizer = torch.optim.AdamW(model.parameters(), lr=learning_rate) @torch.no_grad() def estimate_loss(): out = {} model.eval() for split in ["train", "val"]: losses = torch.zeros(eval_iters) for k in range(eval_iters): X, Y = get_batch(split) logits, loss = model(X, Y) losses[k] = loss.item() out[split] = losses.mean() model.train() return out for iter in range(max_iters): # every once in a while evaluate the loss on train and val sets if iter % eval_interval == 0 or iter == max_iters - 1: losses = estimate_loss() print( f"step {iter}: train loss {losses['train']:.4f}, val loss {losses['val']:.4f}" ) # sample a batch of data xb, yb = get_batch("train") # evaluate the loss logits, loss = model(xb, yb) optimizer.zero_grad(set_to_none=True) loss.backward() optimizer.step() # generate from the model, using batch 1 and starting with a single # context token of value 0 (newline). context = torch.zeros((1, 1), dtype=torch.long, device=device) print(decode(m.generate(context, max_new_tokens=500)[0].tolist())) ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/input.txt ================================================ First Citizen: Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. All: Speak, speak. First Citizen: You are all resolved rather to die than to famish? All: Resolved. resolved. First Citizen: First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people. All: We know't, we know't. First Citizen: Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our own price. Is't a verdict? All: No more talking on't; let it be done: away, away! Second Citizen: One word, good citizens. First Citizen: We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. What authority surfeits on would relieve us: if they would yield us but the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear: the leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularise their abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. Second Citizen: Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius? All: Against him first: he's a very dog to the commonalty. Second Citizen: Consider you what services he has done for his country? First Citizen: Very well; and could be content to give him good report fort, but that he pays himself with being proud. Second Citizen: Nay, but speak not maliciously. First Citizen: I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did it to that end: though soft-conscienced men can be content to say it was for his country he did it to please his mother and to be partly proud; which he is, even till the altitude of his virtue. Second Citizen: What he cannot help in his nature, you account a vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous. First Citizen: If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. What shouts are these? The other side o' the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol! All: Come, come. First Citizen: Soft! who comes here? Second Citizen: Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved the people. First Citizen: He's one honest enough: would all the rest were so! MENENIUS: What work's, my countrymen, in hand? where go you With bats and clubs? The matter? speak, I pray you. First Citizen: Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we'll show 'em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths: they shall know we have strong arms too. MENENIUS: Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, Will you undo yourselves? First Citizen: We cannot, sir, we are undone already. MENENIUS: I tell you, friends, most charitable care Have the patricians of you. For your wants, Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them Against the Roman state, whose course will on The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs Of more strong link asunder than can ever Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, The gods, not the patricians, make it, and Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, You are transported by calamity Thither where more attends you, and you slander The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers, When you curse them as enemies. First Citizen: Care for us! True, indeed! They ne'er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, and their store-houses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there's all the love they bear us. MENENIUS: Either you must Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it; But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture To stale 't a little more. First Citizen: Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale: but, an 't please you, deliver. MENENIUS: There was a time when all the body's members Rebell'd against the belly, thus accused it: That only like a gulf it did remain I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, And, mutually participate, did minister Unto the appetite and affection common Of the whole body. The belly answer'd-- First Citizen: Well, sir, what answer made the belly? MENENIUS: Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile, Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus-- For, look you, I may make the belly smile As well as speak--it tauntingly replied To the discontented members, the mutinous parts That envied his receipt; even so most fitly As you malign our senators for that They are not such as you. First Citizen: Your belly's answer? What! The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye, The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter. With other muniments and petty helps In this our fabric, if that they-- MENENIUS: What then? 'Fore me, this fellow speaks! What then? what then? First Citizen: Should by the cormorant belly be restrain'd, Who is the sink o' the body,-- MENENIUS: Well, what then? First Citizen: The former agents, if they did complain, What could the belly answer? MENENIUS: I will tell you If you'll bestow a small--of what you have little-- Patience awhile, you'll hear the belly's answer. First Citizen: Ye're long about it. MENENIUS: Note me this, good friend; Your most grave belly was deliberate, Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd: 'True is it, my incorporate friends,' quoth he, 'That I receive the general food at first, Which you do live upon; and fit it is, Because I am the store-house and the shop Of the whole body: but, if you do remember, I send it through the rivers of your blood, Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain; And, through the cranks and offices of man, The strongest nerves and small inferior veins From me receive that natural competency Whereby they live: and though that all at once, You, my good friends,'--this says the belly, mark me,-- First Citizen: Ay, sir; well, well. MENENIUS: 'Though all at once cannot See what I do deliver out to each, Yet I can make my audit up, that all From me do back receive the flour of all, And leave me but the bran.' What say you to't? First Citizen: It was an answer: how apply you this? MENENIUS: The senators of Rome are this good belly, And you the mutinous members; for examine Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly Touching the weal o' the common, you shall find No public benefit which you receive But it proceeds or comes from them to you And no way from yourselves. What do you think, You, the great toe of this assembly? First Citizen: I the great toe! why the great toe? MENENIUS: For that, being one o' the lowest, basest, poorest, Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost: Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, Lead'st first to win some vantage. But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs: Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; The one side must have bale. Hail, noble Marcius! MARCIUS: Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues, That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, Make yourselves scabs? First Citizen: We have ever your good word. MARCIUS: He that will give good words to thee will flatter Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs, That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you, The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no, Than is the coal of fire upon the ice, Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is To make him worthy whose offence subdues him And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate; and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours swims with fins of lead And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust Ye? With every minute you do change a mind, And call him noble that was now your hate, Him vile that was your garland. What's the matter, That in these several places of the city You cry against the noble senate, who, Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else Would feed on one another? What's their seeking? MENENIUS: For corn at their own rates; whereof, they say, The city is well stored. MARCIUS: Hang 'em! They say! They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know What's done i' the Capitol; who's like to rise, Who thrives and who declines; side factions and give out Conjectural marriages; making parties strong And feebling such as stand not in their liking Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain enough! Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, And let me use my sword, I'll make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high As I could pick my lance. MENENIUS: Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded; For though abundantly they lack discretion, Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you, What says the other troop? MARCIUS: They are dissolved: hang 'em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs, That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not Corn for the rich men only: with these shreds They vented their complainings; which being answer'd, And a petition granted them, a strange one-- To break the heart of generosity, And make bold power look pale--they threw their caps As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon, Shouting their emulation. MENENIUS: What is granted them? MARCIUS: Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms, Of their own choice: one's Junius Brutus, Sicinius Velutus, and I know not--'Sdeath! The rabble should have first unroof'd the city, Ere so prevail'd with me: it will in time Win upon power and throw forth greater themes For insurrection's arguing. MENENIUS: This is strange. MARCIUS: Go, get you home, you fragments! Messenger: Where's Caius Marcius? MARCIUS: Here: what's the matter? Messenger: The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS: I am glad on 't: then we shall ha' means to vent Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders. First Senator: Marcius, 'tis true that you have lately told us; The Volsces are in arms. MARCIUS: They have a leader, Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to 't. I sin in envying his nobility, And were I any thing but what I am, I would wish me only he. COMINIUS: You have fought together. MARCIUS: Were half to half the world by the ears and he. Upon my party, I'ld revolt to make Only my wars with him: he is a lion That I am proud to hunt. First Senator: Then, worthy Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars. COMINIUS: It is your former promise. MARCIUS: Sir, it is; And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus' face. What, art thou stiff? stand'st out? TITUS: No, Caius Marcius; I'll lean upon one crutch and fight with t'other, Ere stay behind this business. MENENIUS: O, true-bred! First Senator: Your company to the Capitol; where, I know, Our greatest friends attend us. TITUS: COMINIUS: Noble Marcius! First Senator: MARCIUS: Nay, let them follow: The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners, Your valour puts well forth: pray, follow. SICINIUS: Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius? BRUTUS: He has no equal. SICINIUS: When we were chosen tribunes for the people,-- BRUTUS: Mark'd you his lip and eyes? SICINIUS: Nay. but his taunts. BRUTUS: Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. SICINIUS: Be-mock the modest moon. BRUTUS: The present wars devour him: he is grown Too proud to be so valiant. SICINIUS: Such a nature, Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow Which he treads on at noon: but I do wonder His insolence can brook to be commanded Under Cominius. BRUTUS: Fame, at the which he aims, In whom already he's well graced, can not Better be held nor more attain'd than by A place below the first: for what miscarries Shall be the general's fault, though he perform To the utmost of a man, and giddy censure Will then cry out of Marcius 'O if he Had borne the business!' SICINIUS: Besides, if things go well, Opinion that so sticks on Marcius shall Of his demerits rob Cominius. BRUTUS: Come: Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius. Though Marcius earned them not, and all his faults To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed In aught he merit not. SICINIUS: Let's hence, and hear How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, More than his singularity, he goes Upon this present action. BRUTUS: Lets along. First Senator: So, your opinion is, Aufidius, That they of Rome are entered in our counsels And know how we proceed. AUFIDIUS: Is it not yours? What ever have been thought on in this state, That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think I have the letter here; yes, here it is. 'They have press'd a power, but it is not known Whether for east or west: the dearth is great; The people mutinous; and it is rumour'd, Cominius, Marcius your old enemy, Who is of Rome worse hated than of you, And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, These three lead on this preparation Whither 'tis bent: most likely 'tis for you: Consider of it.' First Senator: Our army's in the field We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready To answer us. AUFIDIUS: Nor did you think it folly To keep your great pretences veil'd till when They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching, It seem'd, appear'd to Rome. By the discovery. We shall be shorten'd in our aim, which was To take in many towns ere almost Rome Should know we were afoot. Second Senator: Noble Aufidius, Take your commission; hie you to your bands: Let us alone to guard Corioli: If they set down before 's, for the remove Bring your army; but, I think, you'll find They've not prepared for us. AUFIDIUS: O, doubt not that; I speak from certainties. Nay, more, Some parcels of their power are forth already, And only hitherward. I leave your honours. If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet, 'Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike Till one can do no more. All: The gods assist you! AUFIDIUS: And keep your honours safe! First Senator: Farewell. Second Senator: Farewell. All: Farewell. VOLUMNIA: I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a more comfortable sort: if my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way, when for a day of kings' entreaties a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding, I, considering how honour would become such a person. that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man. VIRGILIA: But had he died in the business, madam; how then? VOLUMNIA: Then his good report should have been my son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action. Gentlewoman: Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. VIRGILIA: Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. VOLUMNIA: Indeed, you shall not. Methinks I hear hither your husband's drum, See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair, As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him: Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus: 'Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear, Though you were born in Rome:' his bloody brow With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes, Like to a harvest-man that's task'd to mow Or all or lose his hire. VIRGILIA: His bloody brow! O Jupiter, no blood! VOLUMNIA: Away, you fool! it more becomes a man Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba, When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier Than Hector's forehead when it spit forth blood At Grecian sword, contemning. Tell Valeria, We are fit to bid her welcome. VIRGILIA: Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! VOLUMNIA: He'll beat Aufidius 'head below his knee And tread upon his neck. VALERIA: My ladies both, good day to you. VOLUMNIA: Sweet madam. VIRGILIA: I am glad to see your ladyship. VALERIA: How do you both? you are manifest house-keepers. What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little son? VIRGILIA: I thank your ladyship; well, good madam. VOLUMNIA: He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, than look upon his school-master. VALERIA: O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear,'tis a very pretty boy. O' my troth, I looked upon him o' Wednesday half an hour together: has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly: and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and again; catched it again; or whether his fall enraged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it; O, I warrant it, how he mammocked it! VOLUMNIA: One on 's father's moods. VALERIA: Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. VIRGILIA: A crack, madam. VALERIA: Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle husewife with me this afternoon. VIRGILIA: No, good madam; I will not out of doors. VALERIA: Not out of doors! VOLUMNIA: She shall, she shall. VIRGILIA: Indeed, no, by your patience; I'll not over the threshold till my lord return from the wars. VALERIA: Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably: come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. VIRGILIA: I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither. VOLUMNIA: Why, I pray you? VIRGILIA: 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. VALERIA: You would be another Penelope: yet, they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us. VIRGILIA: No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. VALERIA: In truth, la, go with me; and I'll tell you excellent news of your husband. VIRGILIA: O, good madam, there can be none yet. VALERIA: Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night. VIRGILIA: Indeed, madam? VALERIA: In earnest, it's true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is: the Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord and Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us. VIRGILIA: Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter. VOLUMNIA: Let her alone, lady: as she is now, she will but disease our better mirth. VALERIA: In troth, I think she would. Fare you well, then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o' door. and go along with us. VIRGILIA: No, at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. I wish you much mirth. VALERIA: Well, then, farewell. MARCIUS: Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. LARTIUS: My horse to yours, no. MARCIUS: 'Tis done. LARTIUS: Agreed. MARCIUS: Say, has our general met the enemy? Messenger: They lie in view; but have not spoke as yet. LARTIUS: So, the good horse is mine. MARCIUS: I'll buy him of you. LARTIUS: No, I'll nor sell nor give him: lend you him I will For half a hundred years. Summon the town. MARCIUS: How far off lie these armies? Messenger: Within this mile and half. MARCIUS: Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they ours. Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, That we with smoking swords may march from hence, To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast. Tutus Aufidius, is he within your walls? First Senator: No, nor a man that fears you less than he, That's lesser than a little. Hark! our drums Are bringing forth our youth. We'll break our walls, Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates, Which yet seem shut, we, have but pinn'd with rushes; They'll open of themselves. Hark you. far off! There is Aufidius; list, what work he makes Amongst your cloven army. MARCIUS: O, they are at it! LARTIUS: Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho! MARCIUS: They fear us not, but issue forth their city. Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus: They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows: He that retires I'll take him for a Volsce, And he shall feel mine edge. MARCIUS: All the contagion of the south light on you, You shames of Rome! you herd of--Boils and plagues Plaster you o'er, that you may be abhorr'd Further than seen and one infect another Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale With flight and agued fear! Mend and charge home, Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe And make my wars on you: look to't: come on; If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, As they us to our trenches followed. So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds: 'Tis for the followers fortune widens them, Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like. First Soldier: Fool-hardiness; not I. Second Soldier: Nor I. First Soldier: See, they have shut him in. All: To the pot, I warrant him. LARTIUS: What is become of Marcius? All: Slain, sir, doubtless. First Soldier: Following the fliers at the very heels, With them he enters; who, upon the sudden, Clapp'd to their gates: he is himself alone, To answer all the city. LARTIUS: O noble fellow! Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius: A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, Thou madst thine enemies shake, as if the world Were feverous and did tremble. First Soldier: Look, sir. LARTIUS: O,'tis Marcius! Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. First Roman: This will I carry to Rome. Second Roman: And I this. Third Roman: A murrain on't! I took this for silver. MARCIUS: See here these movers that do prize their hours At a crack'd drachm! Cushions, leaden spoons, Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: down with them! And hark, what noise the general makes! To him! There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take Convenient numbers to make good the city; Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste To help Cominius. LARTIUS: Worthy sir, thou bleed'st; Thy exercise hath been too violent for A second course of fight. MARCIUS: Sir, praise me not; My work hath yet not warm'd me: fare you well: The blood I drop is rather physical Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus I will appear, and fight. LARTIUS: Now the fair goddess, Fortune, Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms Misguide thy opposers' swords! Bold gentleman, Prosperity be thy page! MARCIUS: Thy friend no less Than those she placeth highest! So, farewell. LARTIUS: Thou worthiest Marcius! Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place; Call thither all the officers o' the town, Where they shall know our mind: away! COMINIUS: Breathe you, my friends: well fought; we are come off Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands, Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs, We shall be charged again. Whiles we have struck, By interims and conveying gusts we have heard The charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods! Lead their successes as we wish our own, That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering, May give you thankful sacrifice. Thy news? Messenger: The citizens of Corioli have issued, And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle: I saw our party to their trenches driven, And then I came away. COMINIUS: Though thou speak'st truth, Methinks thou speak'st not well. How long is't since? Messenger: Above an hour, my lord. COMINIUS: 'Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums: How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour, And bring thy news so late? Messenger: Spies of the Volsces Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel Three or four miles about, else had I, sir, Half an hour since brought my report. COMINIUS: Who's yonder, That does appear as he were flay'd? O gods He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have Before-time seen him thus. MARCIUS: COMINIUS: The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabour More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue From every meaner man. MARCIUS: Come I too late? COMINIUS: Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, But mantled in your own. MARCIUS: O, let me clip ye In arms as sound as when I woo'd, in heart As merry as when our nuptial day was done, And tapers burn'd to bedward! COMINIUS: Flower of warriors, How is it with Titus Lartius? MARCIUS: As with a man busied about decrees: Condemning some to death, and some to exile; Ransoming him, or pitying, threatening the other; Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, To let him slip at will. COMINIUS: Where is that slave Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? Where is he? call him hither. MARCIUS: Let him alone; He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen, The common file--a plague! tribunes for them!-- The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat as they did budge From rascals worse than they. COMINIUS: But how prevail'd you? MARCIUS: Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. Where is the enemy? are you lords o' the field? If not, why cease you till you are so? COMINIUS: Marcius, We have at disadvantage fought and did Retire to win our purpose. MARCIUS: How lies their battle? know you on which side They have placed their men of trust? COMINIUS: As I guess, Marcius, Their bands i' the vaward are the Antiates, Of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, Their very heart of hope. MARCIUS: I do beseech you, By all the battles wherein we have fought, By the blood we have shed together, by the vows We have made to endure friends, that you directly Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates; And that you not delay the present, but, Filling the air with swords advanced and darts, We prove this very hour. COMINIUS: Though I could wish You were conducted to a gentle bath And balms applied to, you, yet dare I never Deny your asking: take your choice of those That best can aid your action. MARCIUS: Those are they That most are willing. If any such be here-- As it were sin to doubt--that love this painting Wherein you see me smear'd; if any fear Lesser his person than an ill report; If any think brave death outweighs bad life And that his country's dearer than himself; Let him alone, or so many so minded, Wave thus, to express his disposition, And follow Marcius. O, me alone! make you a sword of me? If these shows be not outward, which of you But is four Volsces? none of you but is Able to bear against the great Aufidius A shield as hard as his. A certain number, Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the rest Shall bear the business in some other fight, As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march; And four shall quickly draw out my command, Which men are best inclined. COMINIUS: March on, my fellows: Make good this ostentation, and you shall Divide in all with us. LARTIUS: So, let the ports be guarded: keep your duties, As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch Those centuries to our aid: the rest will serve For a short holding: if we lose the field, We cannot keep the town. Lieutenant: Fear not our care, sir. LARTIUS: Hence, and shut your gates upon's. Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us. MARCIUS: I'll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee Worse than a promise-breaker. AUFIDIUS: We hate alike: Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. MARCIUS: Let the first budger die the other's slave, And the gods doom him after! AUFIDIUS: If I fly, Marcius, Holloa me like a hare. MARCIUS: Within these three hours, Tullus, Alone I fought in your Corioli walls, And made what work I pleased: 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest me mask'd; for thy revenge Wrench up thy power to the highest. AUFIDIUS: Wert thou the Hector That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny, Thou shouldst not scape me here. Officious, and not valiant, you have shamed me In your condemned seconds. COMINIUS: If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, Thou'ldst not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles, Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, I' the end admire, where ladies shall be frighted, And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the dull tribunes, That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours, Shall say against their hearts 'We thank the gods Our Rome hath such a soldier.' Yet camest thou to a morsel of this feast, Having fully dined before. LARTIUS: O general, Here is the steed, we the caparison: Hadst thou beheld-- MARCIUS: Pray now, no more: my mother, Who has a charter to extol her blood, When she does praise me grieves me. I have done As you have done; that's what I can; induced As you have been; that's for my country: He that has but effected his good will Hath overta'en mine act. COMINIUS: You shall not be The grave of your deserving; Rome must know The value of her own: 'twere a concealment Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, To hide your doings; and to silence that, Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch'd, Would seem but modest: therefore, I beseech you In sign of what you are, not to reward What you have done--before our army hear me. MARCIUS: I have some wounds upon me, and they smart To hear themselves remember'd. COMINIUS: Should they not, Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude, And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses, Whereof we have ta'en good and good store, of all The treasure in this field achieved and city, We render you the tenth, to be ta'en forth, Before the common distribution, at Your only choice. MARCIUS: I thank you, general; But cannot make my heart consent to take A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it; And stand upon my common part with those That have beheld the doing. MARCIUS: May these same instruments, which you profane, Never sound more! when drums and trumpets shall I' the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk, Let him be made a coverture for the wars! No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch.-- Which, without note, here's many else have done,-- You shout me forth In acclamations hyperbolical; As if I loved my little should be dieted In praises sauced with lies. COMINIUS: Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report than grateful To us that give you truly: by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you, Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles, Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland: in token of the which, My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging; and from this time, For what he did before Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, CAIUS MARCIUS CORIOLANUS! Bear The addition nobly ever! All: Caius Marcius Coriolanus! CORIOLANUS: I will go wash; And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush or no: howbeit, I thank you. I mean to stride your steed, and at all times To undercrest your good addition To the fairness of my power. COMINIUS: So, to our tent; Where, ere we do repose us, we will write To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius, Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome The best, with whom we may articulate, For their own good and ours. LARTIUS: I shall, my lord. CORIOLANUS: The gods begin to mock me. I, that now Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg Of my lord general. COMINIUS: Take't; 'tis yours. What is't? CORIOLANUS: I sometime lay here in Corioli At a poor man's house; he used me kindly: He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; But then Aufidius was within my view, And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity: I request you To give my poor host freedom. COMINIUS: O, well begg'd! Were he the butcher of my son, he should Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus. LARTIUS: Marcius, his name? CORIOLANUS: By Jupiter! forgot. I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. Have we no wine here? COMINIUS: Go we to our tent: The blood upon your visage dries; 'tis time It should be look'd to: come. AUFIDIUS: The town is ta'en! First Soldier: 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. AUFIDIUS: Condition! I would I were a Roman; for I cannot, Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition! What good condition can a treaty find I' the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius, I have fought with thee: so often hast thou beat me, And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter As often as we eat. By the elements, If e'er again I meet him beard to beard, He's mine, or I am his: mine emulation Hath not that honour in't it had; for where I thought to crush him in an equal force, True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way Or wrath or craft may get him. First Soldier: He's the devil. AUFIDIUS: Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour's poison'd With only suffering stain by him; for him Shall fly out of itself: nor sleep nor sanctuary, Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst My hate to Marcius: where I find him, were it At home, upon my brother's guard, even there, Against the hospitable canon, would I Wash my fierce hand in's heart. Go you to the city; Learn how 'tis held; and what they are that must Be hostages for Rome. First Soldier: Will not you go? AUFIDIUS: I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you-- 'Tis south the city mills--bring me word thither How the world goes, that to the pace of it I may spur on my journey. First Soldier: I shall, sir. MENENIUS: The augurer tells me we shall have news to-night. BRUTUS: Good or bad? MENENIUS: Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius. SICINIUS: Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. MENENIUS: Pray you, who does the wolf love? SICINIUS: The lamb. MENENIUS: Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius. BRUTUS: He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. MENENIUS: He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men: tell me one thing that I shall ask you. Both: Well, sir. MENENIUS: In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? BRUTUS: He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. SICINIUS: Especially in pride. BRUTUS: And topping all others in boasting. MENENIUS: This is strange now: do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o' the right-hand file? do you? Both: Why, how are we censured? MENENIUS: Because you talk of pride now,--will you not be angry? Both: Well, well, sir, well. MENENIUS: Why, 'tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud? BRUTUS: We do it not alone, sir. MENENIUS: I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O that you could turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves! O that you could! BRUTUS: What then, sir? MENENIUS: Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome. SICINIUS: Menenius, you are known well enough too. MENENIUS: I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in't; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning: what I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are--I cannot call you Lycurguses--if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I can't say your worships have delivered the matter well, when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables: and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? what barm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too? BRUTUS: Come, sir, come, we know you well enough. MENENIUS: You know neither me, yourselves nor any thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller; and then rejourn the controversy of three pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all patience; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones. BRUTUS: Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. MENENIUS: Our very priests must become mockers, if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's pack- saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is proud; who in a cheap estimation, is worth predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of 'em were hereditary hangmen. God-den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you. How now, my as fair as noble ladies,--and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,--whither do you follow your eyes so fast? VOLUMNIA: Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let's go. MENENIUS: Ha! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA: Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation. MENENIUS: Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home! VOLUMNIA: Nay,'tis true. VOLUMNIA: Look, here's a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's one at home for you. MENENIUS: I will make my very house reel tonight: a letter for me! VIRGILIA: Yes, certain, there's a letter for you; I saw't. MENENIUS: A letter for me! it gives me an estate of seven years' health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded. VIRGILIA: O, no, no, no. VOLUMNIA: O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for't. MENENIUS: So do I too, if it be not too much: brings a' victory in his pocket? the wounds become him. VOLUMNIA: On's brows: Menenius, he comes the third time home with the oaken garland. MENENIUS: Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? VOLUMNIA: Titus Lartius writes, they fought together, but Aufidius got off. MENENIUS: And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant him that: an he had stayed by him, I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed of this? VOLUMNIA: Good ladies, let's go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war: he hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly VALERIA: In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of him. MENENIUS: Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. VIRGILIA: The gods grant them true! VOLUMNIA: True! pow, wow. MENENIUS: True! I'll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded? VOLUMNIA: I' the shoulder and i' the left arm there will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the body. MENENIUS: One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's nine that I know. VOLUMNIA: He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. MENENIUS: Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave. Hark! the trumpets. VOLUMNIA: These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears: Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie; Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. Herald: Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight Within Corioli gates: where he hath won, With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these In honour follows Coriolanus. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! All: Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! CORIOLANUS: No more of this; it does offend my heart: Pray now, no more. COMINIUS: Look, sir, your mother! CORIOLANUS: O, You have, I know, petition'd all the gods For my prosperity! VOLUMNIA: Nay, my good soldier, up; My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and By deed-achieving honour newly named,-- What is it?--Coriolanus must I call thee?-- But O, thy wife! CORIOLANUS: My gracious silence, hail! Wouldst thou have laugh'd had I come coffin'd home, That weep'st to see me triumph? Ay, my dear, Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear, And mothers that lack sons. MENENIUS: Now, the gods crown thee! CORIOLANUS: And live you yet? O my sweet lady, pardon. VOLUMNIA: I know not where to turn: O, welcome home: And welcome, general: and ye're welcome all. MENENIUS: A hundred thousand welcomes. I could weep And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome. A curse begin at very root on's heart, That is not glad to see thee! You are three That Rome should dote on: yet, by the faith of men, We have some old crab-trees here at home that will not Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors: We call a nettle but a nettle and The faults of fools but folly. COMINIUS: Ever right. CORIOLANUS: Menenius ever, ever. Herald: Give way there, and go on! CORIOLANUS: VOLUMNIA: I have lived To see inherited my very wishes And the buildings of my fancy: only There's one thing wanting, which I doubt not but Our Rome will cast upon thee. CORIOLANUS: Know, good mother, I had rather be their servant in my way, Than sway with them in theirs. COMINIUS: On, to the Capitol! BRUTUS: All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights Are spectacled to see him: your prattling nurse Into a rapture lets her baby cry While she chats him: the kitchen malkin pins Her richest lockram 'bout her reechy neck, Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges horsed With variable complexions, all agreeing In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens Do press among the popular throngs and puff To win a vulgar station: or veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother As if that whatsoever god who leads him Were slily crept into his human powers And gave him graceful posture. SICINIUS: On the sudden, I warrant him consul. BRUTUS: Then our office may, During his power, go sleep. SICINIUS: He cannot temperately transport his honours From where he should begin and end, but will Lose those he hath won. BRUTUS: In that there's comfort. SICINIUS: Doubt not The commoners, for whom we stand, but they Upon their ancient malice will forget With the least cause these his new honours, which That he will give them make I as little question As he is proud to do't. BRUTUS: I heard him swear, Were he to stand for consul, never would he Appear i' the market-place nor on him put The napless vesture of humility; Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds To the people, beg their stinking breaths. SICINIUS: 'Tis right. BRUTUS: It was his word: O, he would miss it rather Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him, And the desire of the nobles. SICINIUS: I wish no better Than have him hold that purpose and to put it In execution. BRUTUS: 'Tis most like he will. SICINIUS: It shall be to him then as our good wills, A sure destruction. BRUTUS: So it must fall out To him or our authorities. For an end, We must suggest the people in what hatred He still hath held them; that to's power he would Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders and Dispropertied their freedoms, holding them, In human action and capacity, Of no more soul nor fitness for the world Than camels in the war, who have their provand Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows For sinking under them. SICINIUS: This, as you say, suggested At some time when his soaring insolence Shall touch the people--which time shall not want, If he be put upon 't; and that's as easy As to set dogs on sheep--will be his fire To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze Shall darken him for ever. BRUTUS: What's the matter? Messenger: You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis thought That Marcius shall be consul: I have seen the dumb men throng to see him and The blind to bear him speak: matrons flung gloves, Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers, Upon him as he pass'd: the nobles bended, As to Jove's statue, and the commons made A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts: I never saw the like. BRUTUS: Let's to the Capitol; And carry with us ears and eyes for the time, But hearts for the event. SICINIUS: Have with you. First Officer: Come, come, they are almost here. How many stand for consulships? Second Officer: Three, they say: but 'tis thought of every one Coriolanus will carry it. First Officer: That's a brave fellow; but he's vengeance proud, and loves not the common people. Second Officer: Faith, there had been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne'er loved them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground: therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition; and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see't. First Officer: If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing them neither good nor harm: but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than can render it him; and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. Second Officer: He hath deserved worthily of his country: and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at an into their estimation and report: but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. First Officer: No more of him; he is a worthy man: make way, they are coming. MENENIUS: Having determined of the Volsces and To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, As the main point of this our after-meeting, To gratify his noble service that Hath thus stood for his country: therefore, please you, Most reverend and grave elders, to desire The present consul, and last general In our well-found successes, to report A little of that worthy work perform'd By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom We met here both to thank and to remember With honours like himself. First Senator: Speak, good Cominius: Leave nothing out for length, and make us think Rather our state's defective for requital Than we to stretch it out. Masters o' the people, We do request your kindest ears, and after, Your loving motion toward the common body, To yield what passes here. SICINIUS: We are convented Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts Inclinable to honour and advance The theme of our assembly. BRUTUS: Which the rather We shall be blest to do, if he remember A kinder value of the people than He hath hereto prized them at. MENENIUS: That's off, that's off; I would you rather had been silent. Please you To hear Cominius speak? BRUTUS: Most willingly; But yet my caution was more pertinent Than the rebuke you give it. MENENIUS: He loves your people But tie him not to be their bedfellow. Worthy Cominius, speak. Nay, keep your place. First Senator: Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear What you have nobly done. CORIOLANUS: Your horror's pardon: I had rather have my wounds to heal again Than hear say how I got them. BRUTUS: Sir, I hope My words disbench'd you not. CORIOLANUS: No, sir: yet oft, When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. You soothed not, therefore hurt not: but your people, I love them as they weigh. MENENIUS: Pray now, sit down. CORIOLANUS: I had rather have one scratch my head i' the sun When the alarum were struck than idly sit To hear my nothings monster'd. MENENIUS: Masters of the people, Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter-- That's thousand to one good one--when you now see He had rather venture all his limbs for honour Than one on's ears to hear it? Proceed, Cominius. COMINIUS: I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus Should not be utter'd feebly. It is held That valour is the chiefest virtue, and Most dignifies the haver: if it be, The man I speak of cannot in the world Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years, When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought Beyond the mark of others: our then dictator, Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight, When with his Amazonian chin he drove The bristled lips before him: be bestrid An o'er-press'd Roman and i' the consul's view Slew three opposers: Tarquin's self he met, And struck him on his knee: in that day's feats, When he might act the woman in the scene, He proved best man i' the field, and for his meed Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea, And in the brunt of seventeen battles since He lurch'd all swords of the garland. For this last, Before and in Corioli, let me say, I cannot speak him home: he stopp'd the fliers; And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport: as weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obey'd And fell below his stem: his sword, death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was timed with dying cries: alone he enter'd The mortal gate of the city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off, And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioli like a planet: now all's his: When, by and by, the din of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Re-quicken'd what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he; where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 'Twere a perpetual spoil: and till we call'd Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting. MENENIUS: Worthy man! First Senator: He cannot but with measure fit the honours Which we devise him. COMINIUS: Our spoils he kick'd at, And look'd upon things precious as they were The common muck of the world: he covets less Than misery itself would give; rewards His deeds with doing them, and is content To spend the time to end it. MENENIUS: He's right noble: Let him be call'd for. First Senator: Call Coriolanus. Officer: He doth appear. MENENIUS: The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased To make thee consul. CORIOLANUS: I do owe them still My life and services. MENENIUS: It then remains That you do speak to the people. CORIOLANUS: I do beseech you, Let me o'erleap that custom, for I cannot Put on the gown, stand naked and entreat them, For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage: please you That I may pass this doing. SICINIUS: Sir, the people Must have their voices; neither will they bate One jot of ceremony. MENENIUS: Put them not to't: Pray you, go fit you to the custom and Take to you, as your predecessors have, Your honour with your form. CORIOLANUS: It is apart That I shall blush in acting, and might well Be taken from the people. BRUTUS: Mark you that? CORIOLANUS: To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus; Show them the unaching scars which I should hide, As if I had received them for the hire Of their breath only! MENENIUS: Do not stand upon't. We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, Our purpose to them: and to our noble consul Wish we all joy and honour. Senators: To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! BRUTUS: You see how he intends to use the people. SICINIUS: May they perceive's intent! He will require them, As if he did contemn what he requested Should be in them to give. BRUTUS: Come, we'll inform them Of our proceedings here: on the marketplace, I know, they do attend us. First Citizen: Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. Second Citizen: We may, sir, if we will. Third Citizen: We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful, were to make a monster of the multitude: of the which we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. First Citizen: And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude. Third Citizen: We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south, and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o' the compass. Second Citizen: Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly? Third Citizen: Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's will;'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head, but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward. Second Citizen: Why that way? Third Citizen: To lose itself in a fog, where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience sake, to help to get thee a wife. Second Citizen: You are never without your tricks: you may, you may. Third Citizen: Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man. Here he comes, and in the gown of humility: mark his behavior. We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He's to make his requests by particulars; wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I direct you how you shall go by him. All: Content, content. MENENIUS: O sir, you are not right: have you not known The worthiest men have done't? CORIOLANUS: What must I say? 'I Pray, sir'--Plague upon't! I cannot bring My tongue to such a pace:--'Look, sir, my wounds! I got them in my country's service, when Some certain of your brethren roar'd and ran From the noise of our own drums.' MENENIUS: O me, the gods! You must not speak of that: you must desire them To think upon you. CORIOLANUS: Think upon me! hang 'em! I would they would forget me, like the virtues Which our divines lose by 'em. MENENIUS: You'll mar all: I'll leave you: pray you, speak to 'em, I pray you, In wholesome manner. CORIOLANUS: Bid them wash their faces And keep their teeth clean. So, here comes a brace. You know the cause, air, of my standing here. Third Citizen: We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to't. CORIOLANUS: Mine own desert. Second Citizen: Your own desert! CORIOLANUS: Ay, but not mine own desire. Third Citizen: How not your own desire? CORIOLANUS: No, sir,'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging. Third Citizen: You must think, if we give you any thing, we hope to gain by you. CORIOLANUS: Well then, I pray, your price o' the consulship? First Citizen: The price is to ask it kindly. CORIOLANUS: Kindly! Sir, I pray, let me ha't: I have wounds to show you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what say you? Second Citizen: You shall ha' it, worthy sir. CORIOLANUS: A match, sir. There's in all two worthy voices begged. I have your alms: adieu. Third Citizen: But this is something odd. Second Citizen: An 'twere to give again,--but 'tis no matter. CORIOLANUS: Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown. Fourth Citizen: You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly. CORIOLANUS: Your enigma? Fourth Citizen: You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends; you have not indeed loved the common people. CORIOLANUS: You should account me the more virtuous that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; 'tis a condition they account gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod and be off to them most counterfeitly; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul. Fifth Citizen: We hope to find you our friend; and therefore give you our voices heartily. Fourth Citizen: You have received many wounds for your country. CORIOLANUS: I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further. Both Citizens: The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! CORIOLANUS: Most sweet voices! Better it is to die, better to starve, Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here, To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to't: What custom wills, in all things should we do't, The dust on antique time would lie unswept, And mountainous error be too highly heapt For truth to o'er-peer. Rather than fool it so, Let the high office and the honour go To one that would do thus. I am half through; The one part suffer'd, the other will I do. Here come more voices. Your voices: for your voices I have fought; Watch'd for your voices; for Your voices bear Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six I have seen and heard of; for your voices have Done many things, some less, some more your voices: Indeed I would be consul. Sixth Citizen: He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man's voice. Seventh Citizen: Therefore let him be consul: the gods give him joy, and make him good friend to the people! All Citizens: Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul! CORIOLANUS: Worthy voices! MENENIUS: You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes Endue you with the people's voice: remains That, in the official marks invested, you Anon do meet the senate. CORIOLANUS: Is this done? SICINIUS: The custom of request you have discharged: The people do admit you, and are summon'd To meet anon, upon your approbation. CORIOLANUS: Where? at the senate-house? SICINIUS: There, Coriolanus. CORIOLANUS: May I change these garments? SICINIUS: You may, sir. CORIOLANUS: That I'll straight do; and, knowing myself again, Repair to the senate-house. MENENIUS: I'll keep you company. Will you along? BRUTUS: We stay here for the people. SICINIUS: Fare you well. He has it now, and by his looks methink 'Tis warm at 's heart. BRUTUS: With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds. will you dismiss the people? SICINIUS: How now, my masters! have you chose this man? First Citizen: He has our voices, sir. BRUTUS: We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. Second Citizen: Amen, sir: to my poor unworthy notice, He mock'd us when he begg'd our voices. Third Citizen: Certainly He flouted us downright. First Citizen: No,'tis his kind of speech: he did not mock us. Second Citizen: Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says He used us scornfully: he should have show'd us His marks of merit, wounds received for's country. SICINIUS: Why, so he did, I am sure. Citizens: No, no; no man saw 'em. Third Citizen: He said he had wounds, which he could show in private; And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, 'I would be consul,' says he: 'aged custom, But by your voices, will not so permit me; Your voices therefore.' When we granted that, Here was 'I thank you for your voices: thank you: Your most sweet voices: now you have left your voices, I have no further with you.' Was not this mockery? SICINIUS: Why either were you ignorant to see't, Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness To yield your voices? BRUTUS: Could you not have told him As you were lesson'd, when he had no power, But was a petty servant to the state, He was your enemy, ever spake against Your liberties and the charters that you bear I' the body of the weal; and now, arriving A place of potency and sway o' the state, If he should still malignantly remain Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might Be curses to yourselves? You should have said That as his worthy deeds did claim no less Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature Would think upon you for your voices and Translate his malice towards you into love, Standing your friendly lord. SICINIUS: Thus to have said, As you were fore-advised, had touch'd his spirit And tried his inclination; from him pluck'd Either his gracious promise, which you might, As cause had call'd you up, have held him to Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature, Which easily endures not article Tying him to aught; so putting him to rage, You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler And pass'd him unelected. BRUTUS: Did you perceive He did solicit you in free contempt When he did need your loves, and do you think That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies No heart among you? or had you tongues to cry Against the rectorship of judgment? SICINIUS: Have you Ere now denied the asker? and now again Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow Your sued-for tongues? Third Citizen: He's not confirm'd; we may deny him yet. Second Citizen: And will deny him: I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. First Citizen: I twice five hundred and their friends to piece 'em. BRUTUS: Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends, They have chose a consul that will from them take Their liberties; make them of no more voice Than dogs that are as often beat for barking As therefore kept to do so. SICINIUS: Let them assemble, And on a safer judgment all revoke Your ignorant election; enforce his pride, And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not With what contempt he wore the humble weed, How in his suit he scorn'd you; but your loves, Thinking upon his services, took from you The apprehension of his present portance, Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion After the inveterate hate he bears you. BRUTUS: Lay A fault on us, your tribunes; that we laboured, No impediment between, but that you must Cast your election on him. SICINIUS: Say, you chose him More after our commandment than as guided By your own true affections, and that your minds, Preoccupied with what you rather must do Than what you should, made you against the grain To voice him consul: lay the fault on us. BRUTUS: Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you. How youngly he began to serve his country, How long continued, and what stock he springs of, The noble house o' the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, Who, after great Hostilius, here was king; Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, That our beat water brought by conduits hither; And Twice being Was his great ancestor. SICINIUS: One thus descended, That hath beside well in his person wrought To be set high in place, we did commend To your remembrances: but you have found, Scaling his present bearing with his past, That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke Your sudden approbation. BRUTUS: Say, you ne'er had done't-- Harp on that still--but by our putting on; And presently, when you have drawn your number, Repair to the Capitol. All: We will so: almost all Repent in their election. BRUTUS: Let them go on; This mutiny were better put in hazard, Than stay, past doubt, for greater: If, as his nature is, he fall in rage With their refusal, both observe and answer The vantage of his anger. SICINIUS: To the Capitol, come: We will be there before the stream o' the people; And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own, Which we have goaded onward. CORIOLANUS: Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? LARTIUS: He had, my lord; and that it was which caused Our swifter composition. CORIOLANUS: So then the Volsces stand but as at first, Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road. Upon's again. COMINIUS: They are worn, lord consul, so, That we shall hardly in our ages see Their banners wave again. CORIOLANUS: Saw you Aufidius? LARTIUS: On safe-guard he came to me; and did curse Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely Yielded the town: he is retired to Antium. CORIOLANUS: Spoke he of me? LARTIUS: He did, my lord. CORIOLANUS: How? what? LARTIUS: How often he had met you, sword to sword; That of all things upon the earth he hated Your person most, that he would pawn his fortunes To hopeless restitution, so he might Be call'd your vanquisher. CORIOLANUS: At Antium lives he? LARTIUS: At Antium. CORIOLANUS: I wish I had a cause to seek him there, To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, The tongues o' the common mouth: I do despise them; For they do prank them in authority, Against all noble sufferance. SICINIUS: Pass no further. CORIOLANUS: Ha! what is that? BRUTUS: It will be dangerous to go on: no further. CORIOLANUS: What makes this change? MENENIUS: The matter? COMINIUS: Hath he not pass'd the noble and the common? BRUTUS: Cominius, no. CORIOLANUS: Have I had children's voices? First Senator: Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place. BRUTUS: The people are incensed against him. SICINIUS: Stop, Or all will fall in broil. CORIOLANUS: Are these your herd? Must these have voices, that can yield them now And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? Have you not set them on? MENENIUS: Be calm, be calm. CORIOLANUS: It is a purposed thing, and grows by plot, To curb the will of the nobility: Suffer't, and live with such as cannot rule Nor ever will be ruled. BRUTUS: Call't not a plot: The people cry you mock'd them, and of late, When corn was given them gratis, you repined; Scandal'd the suppliants for the people, call'd them Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. CORIOLANUS: Why, this was known before. BRUTUS: Not to them all. CORIOLANUS: Have you inform'd them sithence? BRUTUS: How! I inform them! CORIOLANUS: You are like to do such business. BRUTUS: Not unlike, Each way, to better yours. CORIOLANUS: Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me Your fellow tribune. SICINIUS: You show too much of that For which the people stir: if you will pass To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, Or never be so noble as a consul, Nor yoke with him for tribune. MENENIUS: Let's be calm. COMINIUS: The people are abused; set on. This paltering Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus Deserved this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely I' the plain way of his merit. CORIOLANUS: Tell me of corn! This was my speech, and I will speak't again-- MENENIUS: Not now, not now. First Senator: Not in this heat, sir, now. CORIOLANUS: Now, as I live, I will. My nobler friends, I crave their pardons: For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them Regard me as I do not flatter, and Therein behold themselves: I say again, In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd, By mingling them with us, the honour'd number, Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that Which they have given to beggars. MENENIUS: Well, no more. First Senator: No more words, we beseech you. CORIOLANUS: How! no more! As for my country I have shed my blood, Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs Coin words till their decay against those measles, Which we disdain should tatter us, yet sought The very way to catch them. BRUTUS: You speak o' the people, As if you were a god to punish, not A man of their infirmity. SICINIUS: 'Twere well We let the people know't. MENENIUS: What, what? his choler? CORIOLANUS: Choler! Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, By Jove, 'twould be my mind! SICINIUS: It is a mind That shall remain a poison where it is, Not poison any further. CORIOLANUS: Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you His absolute 'shall'? COMINIUS: 'Twas from the canon. CORIOLANUS: 'Shall'! O good but most unwise patricians! why, You grave but reckless senators, have you thus Given Hydra here to choose an officer, That with his peremptory 'shall,' being but The horn and noise o' the monster's, wants not spirit To say he'll turn your current in a ditch, And make your channel his? If he have power Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake Your dangerous lenity. If you are learn'd, Be not as common fools; if you are not, Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, If they be senators: and they are no less, When, both your voices blended, the great'st taste Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate, And such a one as he, who puts his 'shall,' His popular 'shall' against a graver bench Than ever frown in Greece. By Jove himself! It makes the consuls base: and my soul aches To know, when two authorities are up, Neither supreme, how soon confusion May enter 'twixt the gap of both and take The one by the other. COMINIUS: Well, on to the market-place. CORIOLANUS: Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth The corn o' the storehouse gratis, as 'twas used Sometime in Greece,-- MENENIUS: Well, well, no more of that. CORIOLANUS: Though there the people had more absolute power, I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed The ruin of the state. BRUTUS: Why, shall the people give One that speaks thus their voice? CORIOLANUS: I'll give my reasons, More worthier than their voices. They know the corn Was not our recompense, resting well assured That ne'er did service for't: being press'd to the war, Even when the navel of the state was touch'd, They would not thread the gates. This kind of service Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i' the war Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd Most valour, spoke not for them: the accusation Which they have often made against the senate, All cause unborn, could never be the motive Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? How shall this bisson multitude digest The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express What's like to be their words: 'we did request it; We are the greater poll, and in true fear They gave us our demands.' Thus we debase The nature of our seats and make the rabble Call our cares fears; which will in time Break ope the locks o' the senate and bring in The crows to peck the eagles. MENENIUS: Come, enough. BRUTUS: Enough, with over-measure. CORIOLANUS: No, take more: What may be sworn by, both divine and human, Seal what I end withal! This double worship, Where one part does disdain with cause, the other Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, wisdom, Cannot conclude but by the yea and no Of general ignorance,--it must omit Real necessities, and give way the while To unstable slightness: purpose so barr'd, it follows, Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you,-- You that will be less fearful than discreet, That love the fundamental part of state More than you doubt the change on't, that prefer A noble life before a long, and wish To jump a body with a dangerous physic That's sure of death without it, at once pluck out The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick The sweet which is their poison: your dishonour Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state Of that integrity which should become't, Not having the power to do the good it would, For the in which doth control't. BRUTUS: Has said enough. SICINIUS: Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer As traitors do. CORIOLANUS: Thou wretch, despite o'erwhelm thee! What should the people do with these bald tribunes? On whom depending, their obedience fails To the greater bench: in a rebellion, When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, Then were they chosen: in a better hour, Let what is meet be said it must be meet, And throw their power i' the dust. BRUTUS: Manifest treason! SICINIUS: This a consul? no. BRUTUS: The aediles, ho! Let him be apprehended. SICINIUS: Go, call the people: in whose name myself Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee, And follow to thine answer. CORIOLANUS: Hence, old goat! Senators, &C: We'll surety him. COMINIUS: Aged sir, hands off. CORIOLANUS: Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones Out of thy garments. SICINIUS: Help, ye citizens! MENENIUS: On both sides more respect. SICINIUS: Here's he that would take from you all your power. BRUTUS: Seize him, AEdiles! Citizens: Down with him! down with him! Senators, &C: Weapons, weapons, weapons! 'Tribunes!' 'Patricians!' 'Citizens!' 'What, ho!' 'Sicinius!' 'Brutus!' 'Coriolanus!' 'Citizens!' 'Peace, peace, peace!' 'Stay, hold, peace!' MENENIUS: What is about to be? I am out of breath; Confusion's near; I cannot speak. You, tribunes To the people! Coriolanus, patience! Speak, good Sicinius. SICINIUS: Hear me, people; peace! Citizens: Let's hear our tribune: peace Speak, speak, speak. SICINIUS: You are at point to lose your liberties: Marcius would have all from you; Marcius, Whom late you have named for consul. MENENIUS: Fie, fie, fie! This is the way to kindle, not to quench. First Senator: To unbuild the city and to lay all flat. SICINIUS: What is the city but the people? Citizens: True, The people are the city. BRUTUS: By the consent of all, we were establish'd The people's magistrates. Citizens: You so remain. MENENIUS: And so are like to do. COMINIUS: That is the way to lay the city flat; To bring the roof to the foundation, And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges, In heaps and piles of ruin. SICINIUS: This deserves death. BRUTUS: Or let us stand to our authority, Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, Upon the part o' the people, in whose power We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy Of present death. SICINIUS: Therefore lay hold of him; Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence Into destruction cast him. BRUTUS: AEdiles, seize him! Citizens: Yield, Marcius, yield! MENENIUS: Hear me one word; Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. AEdile: Peace, peace! MENENIUS: BRUTUS: Sir, those cold ways, That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him, And bear him to the rock. CORIOLANUS: No, I'll die here. There's some among you have beheld me fighting: Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. MENENIUS: Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile. BRUTUS: Lay hands upon him. COMINIUS: Help Marcius, help, You that be noble; help him, young and old! Citizens: Down with him, down with him! MENENIUS: Go, get you to your house; be gone, away! All will be naught else. Second Senator: Get you gone. COMINIUS: Stand fast; We have as many friends as enemies. MENENIUS: Sham it be put to that? First Senator: The gods forbid! I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; Leave us to cure this cause. MENENIUS: For 'tis a sore upon us, You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you. COMINIUS: Come, sir, along with us. CORIOLANUS: I would they were barbarians--as they are, Though in Rome litter'd--not Romans--as they are not, Though calved i' the porch o' the Capitol-- MENENIUS: Be gone; Put not your worthy rage into your tongue; One time will owe another. CORIOLANUS: On fair ground I could beat forty of them. COMINIUS: I could myself Take up a brace o' the best of them; yea, the two tribunes: But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic; And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend Like interrupted waters and o'erbear What they are used to bear. MENENIUS: Pray you, be gone: I'll try whether my old wit be in request With those that have but little: this must be patch'd With cloth of any colour. COMINIUS: Nay, come away. A Patrician: This man has marr'd his fortune. MENENIUS: His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for's power to thunder. His heart's his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent; And, being angry, does forget that ever He heard the name of death. Here's goodly work! Second Patrician: I would they were abed! MENENIUS: I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance! Could he not speak 'em fair? SICINIUS: Where is this viper That would depopulate the city and Be every man himself? MENENIUS: You worthy tribunes,-- SICINIUS: He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law, And therefore law shall scorn him further trial Than the severity of the public power Which he so sets at nought. First Citizen: He shall well know The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, And we their hands. Citizens: He shall, sure on't. MENENIUS: Sir, sir,-- SICINIUS: Peace! MENENIUS: Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt With modest warrant. SICINIUS: Sir, how comes't that you Have holp to make this rescue? MENENIUS: Hear me speak: As I do know the consul's worthiness, So can I name his faults,-- SICINIUS: Consul! what consul? MENENIUS: The consul Coriolanus. BRUTUS: He consul! Citizens: No, no, no, no, no. MENENIUS: If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good people, I may be heard, I would crave a word or two; The which shall turn you to no further harm Than so much loss of time. SICINIUS: Speak briefly then; For we are peremptory to dispatch This viperous traitor: to eject him hence Were but one danger, and to keep him here Our certain death: therefore it is decreed He dies to-night. MENENIUS: Now the good gods forbid That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude Towards her deserved children is enroll'd In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam Should now eat up her own! SICINIUS: He's a disease that must be cut away. MENENIUS: O, he's a limb that has but a disease; Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. What has he done to Rome that's worthy death? Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost-- Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath, By many an ounce--he dropp'd it for his country; And what is left, to lose it by his country, Were to us all, that do't and suffer it, A brand to the end o' the world. SICINIUS: This is clean kam. BRUTUS: Merely awry: when he did love his country, It honour'd him. MENENIUS: The service of the foot Being once gangrened, is not then respected For what before it was. BRUTUS: We'll hear no more. Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence: Lest his infection, being of catching nature, Spread further. MENENIUS: One word more, one word. This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find The harm of unscann'd swiftness, will too late Tie leaden pounds to's heels. Proceed by process; Lest parties, as he is beloved, break out, And sack great Rome with Romans. BRUTUS: If it were so,-- SICINIUS: What do ye talk? Have we not had a taste of his obedience? Our aediles smote? ourselves resisted? Come. MENENIUS: Consider this: he has been bred i' the wars Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd In bolted language; meal and bran together He throws without distinction. Give me leave, I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, In peace, to his utmost peril. First Senator: Noble tribunes, It is the humane way: the other course Will prove too bloody, and the end of it Unknown to the beginning. SICINIUS: Noble Menenius, Be you then as the people's officer. Masters, lay down your weapons. BRUTUS: Go not home. SICINIUS: Meet on the market-place. We'll attend you there: Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed In our first way. MENENIUS: I'll bring him to you. Let me desire your company: he must come, Or what is worst will follow. First Senator: Pray you, let's to him. CORIOLANUS: Let them puff all about mine ears, present me Death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, That the precipitation might down stretch Below the beam of sight, yet will I still Be thus to them. A Patrician: You do the nobler. CORIOLANUS: I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen vassals, things created To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads In congregations, to yawn, be still and wonder, When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war. I talk of you: Why did you wish me milder? would you have me False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am. VOLUMNIA: O, sir, sir, sir, I would have had you put your power well on, Before you had worn it out. CORIOLANUS: Let go. VOLUMNIA: You might have been enough the man you are, With striving less to be so; lesser had been The thwartings of your dispositions, if You had not show'd them how ye were disposed Ere they lack'd power to cross you. CORIOLANUS: Let them hang. A Patrician: Ay, and burn too. MENENIUS: Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough; You must return and mend it. First Senator: There's no remedy; Unless, by not so doing, our good city Cleave in the midst, and perish. VOLUMNIA: Pray, be counsell'd: I have a heart as little apt as yours, But yet a brain that leads my use of anger To better vantage. MENENIUS: Well said, noble woman? Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that The violent fit o' the time craves it as physic For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, Which I can scarcely bear. CORIOLANUS: What must I do? MENENIUS: Return to the tribunes. CORIOLANUS: Well, what then? what then? MENENIUS: Repent what you have spoke. CORIOLANUS: For them! I cannot do it to the gods; Must I then do't to them? VOLUMNIA: You are too absolute; Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak. I have heard you say, Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, I' the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me, In peace what each of them by the other lose, That they combine not there. CORIOLANUS: Tush, tush! MENENIUS: A good demand. VOLUMNIA: If it be honour in your wars to seem The same you are not, which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war, since that to both It stands in like request? CORIOLANUS: Why force you this? VOLUMNIA: Because that now it lies you on to speak To the people; not by your own instruction, Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you, But with such words that are but rooted in Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables Of no allowance to your bosom's truth. Now, this no more dishonours you at all Than to take in a town with gentle words, Which else would put you to your fortune and The hazard of much blood. I would dissemble with my nature where My fortunes and my friends at stake required I should do so in honour: I am in this, Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; And you will rather show our general louts How you can frown than spend a fawn upon 'em, For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard Of what that want might ruin. MENENIUS: Noble lady! Come, go with us; speak fair: you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the loss Of what is past. VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, my son, Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand; And thus far having stretch'd it--here be with them-- Thy knee bussing the stones--for in such business Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant More learned than the ears--waving thy head, Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, Now humble as the ripest mulberry That will not hold the handling: or say to them, Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, Were fit for thee to use as they to claim, In asking their good loves, but thou wilt frame Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far As thou hast power and person. MENENIUS: This but done, Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free As words to little purpose. VOLUMNIA: Prithee now, Go, and be ruled: although I know thou hadst rather Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. COMINIUS: I have been i' the market-place; and, sir,'tis fit You make strong party, or defend yourself By calmness or by absence: all's in anger. MENENIUS: Only fair speech. COMINIUS: I think 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit. VOLUMNIA: He must, and will Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. CORIOLANUS: Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce? Must I with base tongue give my noble heart A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do't: Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it And throw't against the wind. To the market-place! You have put me now to such a part which never I shall discharge to the life. COMINIUS: Come, come, we'll prompt you. VOLUMNIA: I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said My praises made thee first a soldier, so, To have my praise for this, perform a part Thou hast not done before. CORIOLANUS: Well, I must do't: Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot's spirit! my throat of war be turn'd, Which quired with my drum, into a pipe Small as an eunuch, or the virgin voice That babies lulls asleep! the smiles of knaves Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys' tears take up The glasses of my sight! a beggar's tongue Make motion through my lips, and my arm'd knees, Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his That hath received an alms! I will not do't, Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth And by my body's action teach my mind A most inherent baseness. VOLUMNIA: At thy choice, then: To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me, But owe thy pride thyself. CORIOLANUS: Pray, be content: Mother, I am going to the market-place; Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves, Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going: Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul; Or never trust to what my tongue can do I' the way of flattery further. VOLUMNIA: Do your will. COMINIUS: Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself To answer mildly; for they are prepared With accusations, as I hear, more strong Than are upon you yet. CORIOLANUS: The word is 'mildly.' Pray you, let us go: Let them accuse me by invention, I Will answer in mine honour. MENENIUS: Ay, but mildly. CORIOLANUS: Well, mildly be it then. Mildly! BRUTUS: In this point charge him home, that he affects Tyrannical power: if he evade us there, Enforce him with his envy to the people, And that the spoil got on the Antiates Was ne'er distributed. What, will he come? AEdile: He's coming. BRUTUS: How accompanied? AEdile: With old Menenius, and those senators That always favour'd him. SICINIUS: Have you a catalogue Of all the voices that we have procured Set down by the poll? AEdile: I have; 'tis ready. SICINIUS: Have you collected them by tribes? AEdile: I have. SICINIUS: Assemble presently the people hither; And when they bear me say 'It shall be so I' the right and strength o' the commons,' be it either For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them If I say fine, cry 'Fine;' if death, cry 'Death.' Insisting on the old prerogative And power i' the truth o' the cause. AEdile: I shall inform them. BRUTUS: And when such time they have begun to cry, Let them not cease, but with a din confused Enforce the present execution Of what we chance to sentence. AEdile: Very well. SICINIUS: Make them be strong and ready for this hint, When we shall hap to give 't them. BRUTUS: Go about it. Put him to choler straight: he hath been used Ever to conquer, and to have his worth Of contradiction: being once chafed, he cannot Be rein'd again to temperance; then he speaks What's in his heart; and that is there which looks With us to break his neck. SICINIUS: Well, here he comes. MENENIUS: Calmly, I do beseech you. CORIOLANUS: Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour'd gods Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice Supplied with worthy men! plant love among 's! Throng our large temples with the shows of peace, And not our streets with war! First Senator: Amen, amen. MENENIUS: A noble wish. SICINIUS: Draw near, ye people. AEdile: List to your tribunes. Audience: peace, I say! CORIOLANUS: First, hear me speak. Both Tribunes: Well, say. Peace, ho! CORIOLANUS: Shall I be charged no further than this present? Must all determine here? SICINIUS: I do demand, If you submit you to the people's voices, Allow their officers and are content To suffer lawful censure for such faults As shall be proved upon you? CORIOLANUS: I am content. MENENIUS: Lo, citizens, he says he is content: The warlike service he has done, consider; think Upon the wounds his body bears, which show Like graves i' the holy churchyard. CORIOLANUS: Scratches with briers, Scars to move laughter only. MENENIUS: Consider further, That when he speaks not like a citizen, You find him like a soldier: do not take His rougher accents for malicious sounds, But, as I say, such as become a soldier, Rather than envy you. COMINIUS: Well, well, no more. CORIOLANUS: What is the matter That being pass'd for consul with full voice, I am so dishonour'd that the very hour You take it off again? SICINIUS: Answer to us. CORIOLANUS: Say, then: 'tis true, I ought so. SICINIUS: We charge you, that you have contrived to take From Rome all season'd office and to wind Yourself into a power tyrannical; For which you are a traitor to the people. CORIOLANUS: How! traitor! MENENIUS: Nay, temperately; your promise. CORIOLANUS: The fires i' the lowest hell fold-in the people! Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune! Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, In thy hand clutch'd as many millions, in Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say 'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free As I do pray the gods. SICINIUS: Mark you this, people? Citizens: To the rock, to the rock with him! SICINIUS: Peace! We need not put new matter to his charge: What you have seen him do and heard him speak, Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, Opposing laws with strokes and here defying Those whose great power must try him; even this, So criminal and in such capital kind, Deserves the extremest death. BRUTUS: But since he hath Served well for Rome,-- CORIOLANUS: What do you prate of service? BRUTUS: I talk of that, that know it. CORIOLANUS: You? MENENIUS: Is this the promise that you made your mother? COMINIUS: Know, I pray you,-- CORIOLANUS: I know no further: Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, Vagabond exile, raying, pent to linger But with a grain a day, I would not buy Their mercy at the price of one fair word; Nor cheque my courage for what they can give, To have't with saying 'Good morrow.' SICINIUS: For that he has, As much as in him lies, from time to time Envied against the people, seeking means To pluck away their power, as now at last Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers That do distribute it; in the name o' the people And in the power of us the tribunes, we, Even from this instant, banish him our city, In peril of precipitation From off the rock Tarpeian never more To enter our Rome gates: i' the people's name, I say it shall be so. Citizens: It shall be so, it shall be so; let him away: He's banish'd, and it shall be so. COMINIUS: Hear me, my masters, and my common friends,-- SICINIUS: He's sentenced; no more hearing. COMINIUS: Let me speak: I have been consul, and can show for Rome Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love My country's good with a respect more tender, More holy and profound, than mine own life, My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, And treasure of my loins; then if I would Speak that,-- SICINIUS: We know your drift: speak what? BRUTUS: There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd, As enemy to the people and his country: It shall be so. Citizens: It shall be so, it shall be so. CORIOLANUS: You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize As the dead carcasses of unburied men That do corrupt my air, I banish you; And here remain with your uncertainty! Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts! Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, Fan you into despair! Have the power still To banish your defenders; till at length Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels, Making not reservation of yourselves, Still your own foes, deliver you as most Abated captives to some nation That won you without blows! Despising, For you, the city, thus I turn my back: There is a world elsewhere. AEdile: The people's enemy is gone, is gone! Citizens: Our enemy is banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! SICINIUS: Go, see him out at gates, and follow him, As he hath followed you, with all despite; Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard Attend us through the city. Citizens: Come, come; let's see him out at gates; come. The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. CORIOLANUS: Come, leave your tears: a brief farewell: the beast With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, Where is your ancient courage? you were used To say extremity was the trier of spirits; That common chances common men could bear; That when the sea was calm all boats alike Show'd mastership in floating; fortune's blows, When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves A noble cunning: you were used to load me With precepts that would make invincible The heart that conn'd them. VIRGILIA: O heavens! O heavens! CORIOLANUS: Nay! prithee, woman,-- VOLUMNIA: Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, And occupations perish! CORIOLANUS: What, what, what! I shall be loved when I am lack'd. Nay, mother. Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say, If you had been the wife of Hercules, Six of his labours you'ld have done, and saved Your husband so much sweat. Cominius, Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife, my mother: I'll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius, Thy tears are salter than a younger man's, And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general, I have seen thee stem, and thou hast oft beheld Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad women 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, As 'tis to laugh at 'em. My mother, you wot well My hazards still have been your solace: and Believe't not lightly--though I go alone, Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen--your son Will or exceed the common or be caught With cautelous baits and practise. VOLUMNIA: My first son. Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius With thee awhile: determine on some course, More than a wild exposture to each chance That starts i' the way before thee. CORIOLANUS: O the gods! COMINIUS: I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us And we of thee: so if the time thrust forth A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send O'er the vast world to seek a single man, And lose advantage, which doth ever cool I' the absence of the needer. CORIOLANUS: Fare ye well: Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one That's yet unbruised: bring me but out at gate. Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and My friends of noble touch, when I am forth, Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. While I remain above the ground, you shall Hear from me still, and never of me aught But what is like me formerly. MENENIUS: That's worthily As any ear can hear. Come, let's not weep. If I could shake off but one seven years From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, I'ld with thee every foot. CORIOLANUS: Give me thy hand: Come. SICINIUS: Bid them all home; he's gone, and we'll no further. The nobility are vex'd, whom we see have sided In his behalf. BRUTUS: Now we have shown our power, Let us seem humbler after it is done Than when it was a-doing. SICINIUS: Bid them home: Say their great enemy is gone, and they Stand in their ancient strength. BRUTUS: Dismiss them home. Here comes his mother. SICINIUS: Let's not meet her. BRUTUS: Why? SICINIUS: They say she's mad. BRUTUS: They have ta'en note of us: keep on your way. VOLUMNIA: O, ye're well met: the hoarded plague o' the gods Requite your love! MENENIUS: Peace, peace; be not so loud. VOLUMNIA: If that I could for weeping, you should hear,-- Nay, and you shall hear some. Will you be gone? VIRGILIA: SICINIUS: Are you mankind? VOLUMNIA: Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool. Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship To banish him that struck more blows for Rome Than thou hast spoken words? SICINIUS: O blessed heavens! VOLUMNIA: More noble blows than ever thou wise words; And for Rome's good. I'll tell thee what; yet go: Nay, but thou shalt stay too: I would my son Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him, His good sword in his hand. SICINIUS: What then? VIRGILIA: What then! He'ld make an end of thy posterity. VOLUMNIA: Bastards and all. Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! MENENIUS: Come, come, peace. SICINIUS: I would he had continued to his country As he began, and not unknit himself The noble knot he made. BRUTUS: I would he had. VOLUMNIA: 'I would he had'! 'Twas you incensed the rabble: Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth As I can of those mysteries which heaven Will not have earth to know. BRUTUS: Pray, let us go. VOLUMNIA: Now, pray, sir, get you gone: You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:-- As far as doth the Capitol exceed The meanest house in Rome, so far my son-- This lady's husband here, this, do you see-- Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. BRUTUS: Well, well, we'll leave you. SICINIUS: Why stay we to be baited With one that wants her wits? VOLUMNIA: Take my prayers with you. I would the gods had nothing else to do But to confirm my curses! Could I meet 'em But once a-day, it would unclog my heart Of what lies heavy to't. MENENIUS: You have told them home; And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with me? VOLUMNIA: Anger's my meat; I sup upon myself, And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let's go: Leave this faint puling and lament as I do, In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. MENENIUS: Fie, fie, fie! Roman: I know you well, sir, and you know me: your name, I think, is Adrian. Volsce: It is so, sir: truly, I have forgot you. Roman: I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against 'em: know you me yet? Volsce: Nicanor? no. Roman: The same, sir. Volsce: You had more beard when I last saw you; but your favour is well approved by your tongue. What's the news in Rome? I have a note from the Volscian state, to find you out there: you have well saved me a day's journey. Roman: There hath been in Rome strange insurrections; the people against the senators, patricians, and nobles. Volsce: Hath been! is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so: they are in a most warlike preparation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of their division. Roman: The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make it flame again: for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the people and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking out. Volsce: Coriolanus banished! Roman: Banished, sir. Volsce: You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. Roman: The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man's wife is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country. Volsce: He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, thus accidentally to encounter you: you have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home. Roman: I shall, between this and supper, tell you most strange things from Rome; all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say you? Volsce: A most royal one; the centurions and their charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. Roman: I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company. Volsce: You take my part from me, sir; I have the most cause to be glad of yours. Roman: Well, let us go together. CORIOLANUS: A goodly city is this Antium. City, 'Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars Have I heard groan and drop: then know me not, Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones In puny battle slay me. Save you, sir. Citizen: And you. CORIOLANUS: Direct me, if it be your will, Where great Aufidius lies: is he in Antium? Citizen: He is, and feasts the nobles of the state At his house this night. CORIOLANUS: Which is his house, beseech you? Citizen: This, here before you. CORIOLANUS: Thank you, sir: farewell. O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, Whose house, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise, Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love Unseparable, shall within this hour, On a dissension of a doit, break out To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes, Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep, To take the one the other, by some chance, Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends And interjoin their issues. So with me: My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon This enemy town. I'll enter: if he slay me, He does fair justice; if he give me way, I'll do his country service. First Servingman: Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep. Second Servingman: Where's Cotus? my master calls for him. Cotus! CORIOLANUS: A goodly house: the feast smells well; but I Appear not like a guest. First Servingman: What would you have, friend? whence are you? Here's no place for you: pray, go to the door. CORIOLANUS: I have deserved no better entertainment, In being Coriolanus. Second Servingman: Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head; that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray, get you out. CORIOLANUS: Away! Second Servingman: Away! get you away. CORIOLANUS: Now thou'rt troublesome. Second Servingman: Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon. Third Servingman: What fellow's this? First Servingman: A strange one as ever I looked on: I cannot get him out of the house: prithee, call my master to him. Third Servingman: What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. CORIOLANUS: Let me but stand; I will not hurt your hearth. Third Servingman: What are you? CORIOLANUS: A gentleman. Third Servingman: A marvellous poor one. CORIOLANUS: True, so I am. Third Servingman: Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station; here's no place for you; pray you, avoid: come. CORIOLANUS: Follow your function, go, and batten on cold bits. Third Servingman: What, you will not? Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here. Second Servingman: And I shall. Third Servingman: Where dwellest thou? CORIOLANUS: Under the canopy. Third Servingman: Under the canopy! CORIOLANUS: Ay. Third Servingman: Where's that? CORIOLANUS: I' the city of kites and crows. Third Servingman: I' the city of kites and crows! What an ass it is! Then thou dwellest with daws too? CORIOLANUS: No, I serve not thy master. Third Servingman: How, sir! do you meddle with my master? CORIOLANUS: Ay; 'tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou pratest, and pratest; serve with thy trencher, hence! AUFIDIUS: Where is this fellow? Second Servingman: Here, sir: I'ld have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within. AUFIDIUS: Whence comest thou? what wouldst thou? thy name? Why speak'st not? speak, man: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS: If, Tullus, Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me name myself. AUFIDIUS: What is thy name? CORIOLANUS: A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears, And harsh in sound to thine. AUFIDIUS: Say, what's thy name? Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face Bears a command in't; though thy tackle's torn. Thou show'st a noble vessel: what's thy name? CORIOLANUS: Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st thou me yet? AUFIDIUS: I know thee not: thy name? CORIOLANUS: My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly and to all the Volsces Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus: the painful service, The extreme dangers and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country are requited But with that surname; a good memory, And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name remains; The cruelty and envy of the people, Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; And suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd out of Rome. Now this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope-- Mistake me not--to save my life, for if I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite, To be full quit of those my banishers, Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, And make my misery serve thy turn: so use it That my revengeful services may prove As benefits to thee, for I will fight Against my canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest not this and that to prove more fortunes Thou'rt tired, then, in a word, I also am Longer to live most weary, and present My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless It be to do thee service. AUFIDIUS: O Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond cloud speak divine things, And say 'Tis true,' I'ld not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke And scarr'd the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, I loved the maid I married; never man Sigh'd truer breath; but that I see thee here, Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart Than when I first my wedded mistress saw Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee, We have a power on foot; and I had purpose Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn, Or lose mine arm fort: thou hast beat me out Twelve several times, and I have nightly since Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me; We have been down together in my sleep, Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat, And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius, Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all From twelve to seventy, and pouring war Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, Like a bold flood o'er-bear. O, come, go in, And take our friendly senators by the hands; Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, Who am prepared against your territories, Though not for Rome itself. CORIOLANUS: You bless me, gods! AUFIDIUS: Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have The leading of thine own revenges, take The one half of my commission; and set down-- As best thou art experienced, since thou know'st Thy country's strength and weakness,--thine own ways; Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, Or rudely visit them in parts remote, To fright them, ere destroy. But come in: Let me commend thee first to those that shall Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! And more a friend than e'er an enemy; Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome! First Servingman: Here's a strange alteration! Second Servingman: By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him. First Servingman: What an arm he has! he turned me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top. Second Servingman: Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him: he had, sir, a kind of face, methought,--I cannot tell how to term it. First Servingman: He had so; looking as it were--would I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him than I could think. Second Servingman: So did I, I'll be sworn: he is simply the rarest man i' the world. First Servingman: I think he is: but a greater soldier than he you wot on. Second Servingman: Who, my master? First Servingman: Nay, it's no matter for that. Second Servingman: Worth six on him. First Servingman: Nay, not so neither: but I take him to be the greater soldier. Second Servingman: Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that: for the defence of a town, our general is excellent. First Servingman: Ay, and for an assault too. Third Servingman: O slaves, I can tell you news,-- news, you rascals! First Servingman: What, what, what? let's partake. Third Servingman: I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lieve be a condemned man. First Servingman: Wherefore? wherefore? Third Servingman: Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius. First Servingman: Why do you say 'thwack our general '? Third Servingman: I do not say 'thwack our general;' but he was always good enough for him. Second Servingman: Come, we are fellows and friends: he was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so himself. First Servingman: He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on't: before Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbon ado. Second Servingman: An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too. First Servingman: But, more of thy news? Third Servingman: Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars; set at upper end o' the table; no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him: our general himself makes a mistress of him: sanctifies himself with's hand and turns up the white o' the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is that our general is cut i' the middle and but one half of what he was yesterday; for the other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and sowl the porter of Rome gates by the ears: he will mow all down before him, and leave his passage polled. Second Servingman: And he's as like to do't as any man I can imagine. Third Servingman: Do't! he will do't; for, look you, sir, he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, show themselves, as we term it, his friends whilst he's in directitude. First Servingman: Directitude! what's that? Third Servingman: But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with him. First Servingman: But when goes this forward? Third Servingman: To-morrow; to-day; presently; you shall have the drum struck up this afternoon: 'tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips. Second Servingman: Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. First Servingman: Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of men. Second Servingman: 'Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. First Servingman: Ay, and it makes men hate one another. Third Servingman: Reason; because they then less need one another. The wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising. All: In, in, in, in! SICINIUS: We hear not of him, neither need we fear him; His remedies are tame i' the present peace And quietness of the people, which before Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends Blush that the world goes well, who rather had, Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold Dissentious numbers pestering streets than see Our tradesmen with in their shops and going About their functions friendly. BRUTUS: We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius? SICINIUS: 'Tis he,'tis he: O, he is grown most kind of late. Both Tribunes: Hail sir! MENENIUS: Hail to you both! SICINIUS: Your Coriolanus Is not much miss'd, but with his friends: The commonwealth doth stand, and so would do, Were he more angry at it. MENENIUS: All's well; and might have been much better, if He could have temporized. SICINIUS: Where is he, hear you? MENENIUS: Nay, I hear nothing: his mother and his wife Hear nothing from him. Citizens: The gods preserve you both! SICINIUS: God-den, our neighbours. BRUTUS: God-den to you all, god-den to you all. First Citizen: Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees, Are bound to pray for you both. SICINIUS: Live, and thrive! BRUTUS: Farewell, kind neighbours: we wish'd Coriolanus Had loved you as we did. Citizens: Now the gods keep you! Both Tribunes: Farewell, farewell. SICINIUS: This is a happier and more comely time Than when these fellows ran about the streets, Crying confusion. BRUTUS: Caius Marcius was A worthy officer i' the war; but insolent, O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, Self-loving,-- SICINIUS: And affecting one sole throne, Without assistance. MENENIUS: I think not so. SICINIUS: We should by this, to all our lamentation, If he had gone forth consul, found it so. BRUTUS: The gods have well prevented it, and Rome Sits safe and still without him. AEdile: Worthy tribunes, There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, Reports, the Volsces with two several powers Are enter'd in the Roman territories, And with the deepest malice of the war Destroy what lies before 'em. MENENIUS: 'Tis Aufidius, Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment, Thrusts forth his horns again into the world; Which were inshell'd when Marcius stood for Rome, And durst not once peep out. SICINIUS: Come, what talk you Of Marcius? BRUTUS: Go see this rumourer whipp'd. It cannot be The Volsces dare break with us. MENENIUS: Cannot be! We have record that very well it can, And three examples of the like have been Within my age. But reason with the fellow, Before you punish him, where he heard this, Lest you shall chance to whip your information And beat the messenger who bids beware Of what is to be dreaded. SICINIUS: Tell not me: I know this cannot be. BRUTUS: Not possible. Messenger: The nobles in great earnestness are going All to the senate-house: some news is come That turns their countenances. SICINIUS: 'Tis this slave;-- Go whip him, 'fore the people's eyes:--his raising; Nothing but his report. Messenger: Yes, worthy sir, The slave's report is seconded; and more, More fearful, is deliver'd. SICINIUS: What more fearful? Messenger: It is spoke freely out of many mouths-- How probable I do not know--that Marcius, Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome, And vows revenge as spacious as between The young'st and oldest thing. SICINIUS: This is most likely! BRUTUS: Raised only, that the weaker sort may wish Good Marcius home again. SICINIUS: The very trick on't. MENENIUS: This is unlikely: He and Aufidius can no more atone Than violentest contrariety. Second Messenger: You are sent for to the senate: A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius Associated with Aufidius, rages Upon our territories; and have already O'erborne their way, consumed with fire, and took What lay before them. COMINIUS: O, you have made good work! MENENIUS: What news? what news? COMINIUS: You have holp to ravish your own daughters and To melt the city leads upon your pates, To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses,-- MENENIUS: What's the news? what's the news? COMINIUS: Your temples burned in their cement, and Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined Into an auger's bore. MENENIUS: Pray now, your news? You have made fair work, I fear me.--Pray, your news?-- If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians,-- COMINIUS: If! He is their god: he leads them like a thing Made by some other deity than nature, That shapes man better; and they follow him, Against us brats, with no less confidence Than boys pursuing summer butterflies, Or butchers killing flies. MENENIUS: You have made good work, You and your apron-men; you that stood so up much on the voice of occupation and The breath of garlic-eaters! COMINIUS: He will shake Your Rome about your ears. MENENIUS: As Hercules Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work! BRUTUS: But is this true, sir? COMINIUS: Ay; and you'll look pale Before you find it other. All the regions Do smilingly revolt; and who resist Are mock'd for valiant ignorance, And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him? Your enemies and his find something in him. MENENIUS: We are all undone, unless The noble man have mercy. COMINIUS: Who shall ask it? The tribunes cannot do't for shame; the people Deserve such pity of him as the wolf Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they Should say 'Be good to Rome,' they charged him even As those should do that had deserved his hate, And therein show'd like enemies. MENENIUS: 'Tis true: If he were putting to my house the brand That should consume it, I have not the face To say 'Beseech you, cease.' You have made fair hands, You and your crafts! you have crafted fair! COMINIUS: You have brought A trembling upon Rome, such as was never So incapable of help. Both Tribunes: Say not we brought it. MENENIUS: How! Was it we? we loved him but, like beasts And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, Who did hoot him out o' the city. COMINIUS: But I fear They'll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, The second name of men, obeys his points As if he were his officer: desperation Is all the policy, strength and defence, That Rome can make against them. MENENIUS: Here come the clusters. And is Aufidius with him? You are they That made the air unwholesome, when you cast Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming; And not a hair upon a soldier's head Which will not prove a whip: as many coxcombs As you threw caps up will he tumble down, And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; if he could burn us all into one coal, We have deserved it. Citizens: Faith, we hear fearful news. First Citizen: For mine own part, When I said, banish him, I said 'twas pity. Second Citizen: And so did I. Third Citizen: And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us: that we did, we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will. COMINIUS: Ye re goodly things, you voices! MENENIUS: You have made Good work, you and your cry! Shall's to the Capitol? COMINIUS: O, ay, what else? SICINIUS: Go, masters, get you home; be not dismay'd: These are a side that would be glad to have This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, And show no sign of fear. First Citizen: The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let's home. I ever said we were i' the wrong when we banished him. Second Citizen: So did we all. But, come, let's home. BRUTUS: I do not like this news. SICINIUS: Nor I. BRUTUS: Let's to the Capitol. Would half my wealth Would buy this for a lie! SICINIUS: Pray, let us go. AUFIDIUS: Do they still fly to the Roman? Lieutenant: I do not know what witchcraft's in him, but Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat, Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; And you are darken'd in this action, sir, Even by your own. AUFIDIUS: I cannot help it now, Unless, by using means, I lame the foot Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, Even to my person, than I thought he would When first I did embrace him: yet his nature In that's no changeling; and I must excuse What cannot be amended. Lieutenant: Yet I wish, sir,-- I mean for your particular,--you had not Join'd in commission with him; but either Had borne the action of yourself, or else To him had left it solely. AUFIDIUS: I understand thee well; and be thou sure, when he shall come to his account, he knows not What I can urge against him. Although it seems, And so he thinks, and is no less apparent To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly. And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone That which shall break his neck or hazard mine, Whene'er we come to our account. Lieutenant: Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Rome? AUFIDIUS: All places yield to him ere he sits down; And the nobility of Rome are his: The senators and patricians love him too: The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty To expel him thence. I think he'll be to Rome As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature. First he was A noble servant to them; but he could not Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride, Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man; whether defect of judgment, To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of; or whether nature, Not to be other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controll'd the war; but one of these-- As he hath spices of them all, not all, For I dare so far free him--made him fear'd, So hated, and so banish'd: but he has a merit, To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues Lie in the interpretation of the time: And power, unto itself most commendable, Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair To extol what it hath done. One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail; Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail. Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, Thou art poor'st of all; then shortly art thou mine. MENENIUS: No, I'll not go: you hear what he hath said Which was sometime his general; who loved him In a most dear particular. He call'd me father: But what o' that? Go, you that banish'd him; A mile before his tent fall down, and knee The way into his mercy: nay, if he coy'd To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. COMINIUS: He would not seem to know me. MENENIUS: Do you hear? COMINIUS: Yet one time he did call me by my name: I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops That we have bled together. Coriolanus He would not answer to: forbad all names; He was a kind of nothing, titleless, Till he had forged himself a name o' the fire Of burning Rome. MENENIUS: Why, so: you have made good work! A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, To make coals cheap,--a noble memory! COMINIUS: I minded him how royal 'twas to pardon When it was less expected: he replied, It was a bare petition of a state To one whom they had punish'd. MENENIUS: Very well: Could he say less? COMINIUS: I offer'd to awaken his regard For's private friends: his answer to me was, He could not stay to pick them in a pile Of noisome musty chaff: he said 'twas folly, For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt, And still to nose the offence. MENENIUS: For one poor grain or two! I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child, And this brave fellow too, we are the grains: You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt Above the moon: we must be burnt for you. SICINIUS: Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid In this so never-needed help, yet do not Upbraid's with our distress. But, sure, if you Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue, More than the instant army we can make, Might stop our countryman. MENENIUS: No, I'll not meddle. SICINIUS: Pray you, go to him. MENENIUS: What should I do? BRUTUS: Only make trial what your love can do For Rome, towards Marcius. MENENIUS: Well, and say that Marcius Return me, as Cominius is return'd, Unheard; what then? But as a discontented friend, grief-shot With his unkindness? say't be so? SICINIUS: Yet your good will must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure As you intended well. MENENIUS: I'll undertake 't: I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. He was not taken well; he had not dined: The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him Till he be dieted to my request, And then I'll set upon him. BRUTUS: You know the very road into his kindness, And cannot lose your way. MENENIUS: Good faith, I'll prove him, Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge Of my success. COMINIUS: He'll never hear him. SICINIUS: Not? COMINIUS: I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye Red as 'twould burn Rome; and his injury The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him; 'Twas very faintly he said 'Rise;' dismiss'd me Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do, He sent in writing after me; what he would not, Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions: So that all hope is vain. Unless his noble mother, and his wife; Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence, And with our fair entreaties haste them on. First Senator: Stay: whence are you? Second Senator: Stand, and go back. MENENIUS: You guard like men; 'tis well: but, by your leave, I am an officer of state, and come To speak with Coriolanus. First Senator: From whence? MENENIUS: From Rome. First Senator: You may not pass, you must return: our general Will no more hear from thence. Second Senator: You'll see your Rome embraced with fire before You'll speak with Coriolanus. MENENIUS: Good my friends, If you have heard your general talk of Rome, And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks, My name hath touch'd your ears it is Menenius. First Senator: Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name Is not here passable. MENENIUS: I tell thee, fellow, The general is my lover: I have been The book of his good acts, whence men have read His name unparallel'd, haply amplified; For I have ever verified my friends, Of whom he's chief, with all the size that verity Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes, Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise Have almost stamp'd the leasing: therefore, fellow, I must have leave to pass. First Senator: Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. MENENIUS: Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general. Second Senator: Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. MENENIUS: Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner. First Senator: You are a Roman, are you? MENENIUS: I am, as thy general is. First Senator: Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. MENENIUS: Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation. Second Senator: Come, my captain knows you not. MENENIUS: I mean, thy general. First Senator: My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go; lest I let forth your half-pint of blood; back,--that's the utmost of your having: back. MENENIUS: Nay, but, fellow, fellow,-- CORIOLANUS: What's the matter? MENENIUS: Now, you companion, I'll say an errand for you: You shall know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus: guess, but by my entertainment with him, if thou standest not i' the state of hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here,--this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. CORIOLANUS: Away! MENENIUS: How! away! CORIOLANUS: Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs Are servanted to others: though I owe My revenge properly, my remission lies In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone. Mine ears against your suits are stronger than Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee, Take this along; I writ it for thy sake And would have rent it. Another word, Menenius, I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius, Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou behold'st! AUFIDIUS: You keep a constant temper. First Senator: Now, sir, is your name Menenius? Second Senator: 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: you know the way home again. First Senator: Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back? Second Senator: What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? MENENIUS: I neither care for the world nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another: let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, Away! First Senator: A noble fellow, I warrant him. Second Senator: The worthy fellow is our general: he's the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. CORIOLANUS: We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly I have borne this business. AUFIDIUS: Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd your ears against The general suit of Rome; never admitted A private whisper, no, not with such friends That thought them sure of you. CORIOLANUS: This last old man, Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, Loved me above the measure of a father; Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge Was to send him; for whose old love I have, Though I show'd sourly to him, once more offer'd The first conditions, which they did refuse And cannot now accept; to grace him only That thought he could do more, a very little I have yielded to: fresh embassies and suits, Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this? Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not. My wife comes foremost; then the honour'd mould Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection! All bond and privilege of nature, break! Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. What is that curt'sy worth? or those doves' eyes, Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows; As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod: and my young boy Hath an aspect of intercession, which Great nature cries 'Deny not.' let the Volsces Plough Rome and harrow Italy: I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand, As if a man were author of himself And knew no other kin. VIRGILIA: My lord and husband! CORIOLANUS: These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. VIRGILIA: The sorrow that delivers us thus changed Makes you think so. CORIOLANUS: Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part, and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, Forgive my tyranny; but do not say For that 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You gods! I prate, And the most noble mother of the world Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i' the earth; Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons. VOLUMNIA: O, stand up blest! Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint, I kneel before thee; and unproperly Show duty, as mistaken all this while Between the child and parent. CORIOLANUS: What is this? Your knees to me? to your corrected son? Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun; Murdering impossibility, to make What cannot be, slight work. VOLUMNIA: Thou art my warrior; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? CORIOLANUS: The noble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle That's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple: dear Valeria! VOLUMNIA: This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by the interpretation of full time May show like all yourself. CORIOLANUS: The god of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee! VOLUMNIA: Your knee, sirrah. CORIOLANUS: That's my brave boy! VOLUMNIA: Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you. CORIOLANUS: I beseech you, peace: Or, if you'ld ask, remember this before: The thing I have forsworn to grant may never Be held by you denials. Do not bid me Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not To ally my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons. VOLUMNIA: O, no more, no more! You have said you will not grant us any thing; For we have nothing else to ask, but that Which you deny already: yet we will ask; That, if you fail in our request, the blame May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us. CORIOLANUS: Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request? VOLUMNIA: Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow; Making the mother, wife and child to see The son, the husband and the father tearing His country's bowels out. And to poor we Thine enmity's most capital: thou barr'st us Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy; for how can we, Alas, how can we for our country pray. Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, Our comfort in the country. We must find An evident calamity, though we had Our wish, which side should win: for either thou Must, as a foreign recreant, be led With manacles thorough our streets, or else triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, And bear the palm for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune till These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee Rather to show a noble grace to both parts Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country than to tread-- Trust to't, thou shalt not--on thy mother's womb, That brought thee to this world. VIRGILIA: Ay, and mine, That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name Living to time. Young MARCIUS: A' shall not tread on me; I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. CORIOLANUS: Not of a woman's tenderness to be, Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. I have sat too long. VOLUMNIA: Nay, go not from us thus. If it were so that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us, As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces May say 'This mercy we have show'd;' the Romans, 'This we received;' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee and cry 'Be blest For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain, but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name, Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out; Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son: Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the gods; To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy: Perhaps thy childishness will move him more Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world More bound to 's mother; yet here he lets me prate Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars and safely home, Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, And spurn me back: but if it be not so, Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee, That thou restrain'st from me the duty which To a mother's part belongs. He turns away: Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees. To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride Than pity to our prayers. Down: an end; This is the last: so we will home to Rome, And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold 's: This boy, that cannot tell what he would have But kneels and holds up bands for fellowship, Does reason our petition with more strength Than thou hast to deny 't. Come, let us go: This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch: I am hush'd until our city be a-fire, And then I'll speak a little. CORIOLANUS: O mother, mother! What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome; But, for your son,--believe it, O, believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But, let it come. Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, would you have heard A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius? AUFIDIUS: I was moved withal. CORIOLANUS: I dare be sworn you were: And, sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me: for my part, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife! AUFIDIUS: CORIOLANUS: Ay, by and by; But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve To have a temple built you: all the swords In Italy, and her confederate arms, Could not have made this peace. MENENIUS: See you yond coign o' the Capitol, yond corner-stone? SICINIUS: Why, what of that? MENENIUS: If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't: our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution. SICINIUS: Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man! MENENIUS: There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he's more than a creeping thing. SICINIUS: He loved his mother dearly. MENENIUS: So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in. SICINIUS: Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. MENENIUS: I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is long of you. SICINIUS: The gods be good unto us! MENENIUS: No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us. Messenger: Sir, if you'ld save your life, fly to your house: The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune And hale him up and down, all swearing, if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, They'll give him death by inches. SICINIUS: What's the news? Second Messenger: Good news, good news; the ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone: A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins. SICINIUS: Friend, Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain? Second Messenger: As certain as I know the sun is fire: Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it? Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide, As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you! The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes, Tabours and cymbals and the shouting Romans, Make the sun dance. Hark you! MENENIUS: This is good news: I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians, A city full; of tribunes, such as you, A sea and land full. You have pray'd well to-day: This morning for ten thousand of your throats I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! SICINIUS: First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, Accept my thankfulness. Second Messenger: Sir, we have all Great cause to give great thanks. SICINIUS: They are near the city? Second Messenger: Almost at point to enter. SICINIUS: We will meet them, And help the joy. First Senator: Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them: Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, Repeal him with the welcome of his mother; Cry 'Welcome, ladies, welcome!' All: Welcome, ladies, Welcome! AUFIDIUS: Go tell the lords o' the city I am here: Deliver them this paper: having read it, Bid them repair to the market place; where I, Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse The city ports by this hath enter'd and Intends to appear before the people, hoping To purge herself with words: dispatch. Most welcome! First Conspirator: How is it with our general? AUFIDIUS: Even so As with a man by his own alms empoison'd, And with his charity slain. Second Conspirator: Most noble sir, If you do hold the same intent wherein You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you Of your great danger. AUFIDIUS: Sir, I cannot tell: We must proceed as we do find the people. Third Conspirator: The people will remain uncertain whilst 'Twixt you there's difference; but the fall of either Makes the survivor heir of all. AUFIDIUS: I know it; And my pretext to strike at him admits A good construction. I raised him, and I pawn'd Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten'd, He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery, Seducing so my friends; and, to this end, He bow'd his nature, never known before But to be rough, unswayable and free. Third Conspirator: Sir, his stoutness When he did stand for consul, which he lost By lack of stooping,-- AUFIDIUS: That I would have spoke of: Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth; Presented to my knife his throat: I took him; Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way In all his own desires; nay, let him choose Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, My best and freshest men; served his designments In mine own person; holp to reap the fame Which he did end all his; and took some pride To do myself this wrong: till, at the last, I seem'd his follower, not partner, and He waged me with his countenance, as if I had been mercenary. First Conspirator: So he did, my lord: The army marvell'd at it, and, in the last, When he had carried Rome and that we look'd For no less spoil than glory,-- AUFIDIUS: There was it: For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. At a few drops of women's rheum, which are As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour Of our great action: therefore shall he die, And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark! First Conspirator: Your native town you enter'd like a post, And had no welcomes home: but he returns, Splitting the air with noise. Second Conspirator: And patient fools, Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear With giving him glory. Third Conspirator: Therefore, at your vantage, Ere he express himself, or move the people With what he would say, let him feel your sword, Which we will second. When he lies along, After your way his tale pronounced shall bury His reasons with his body. AUFIDIUS: Say no more: Here come the lords. All The Lords: You are most welcome home. AUFIDIUS: I have not deserved it. But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused What I have written to you? Lords: We have. First Lord: And grieve to hear't. What faults he made before the last, I think Might have found easy fines: but there to end Where he was to begin and give away The benefit of our levies, answering us With our own charge, making a treaty where There was a yielding,--this admits no excuse. AUFIDIUS: He approaches: you shall hear him. CORIOLANUS: Hail, lords! I am return'd your soldier, No more infected with my country's love Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting Under your great command. You are to know That prosperously I have attempted and With bloody passage led your wars even to The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home Do more than counterpoise a full third part The charges of the action. We have made peace With no less honour to the Antiates Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver, Subscribed by the consuls and patricians, Together with the seal o' the senate, what We have compounded on. AUFIDIUS: Read it not, noble lords; But tell the traitor, in the high'st degree He hath abused your powers. CORIOLANUS: Traitor! how now! AUFIDIUS: Ay, traitor, Marcius! CORIOLANUS: Marcius! AUFIDIUS: Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name Coriolanus in Corioli? You lords and heads o' the state, perfidiously He has betray'd your business, and given up, For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, I say 'your city,' to his wife and mother; Breaking his oath and resolution like A twist of rotten silk, never admitting Counsel o' the war, but at his nurse's tears He whined and roar'd away your victory, That pages blush'd at him and men of heart Look'd wondering each at other. CORIOLANUS: Hear'st thou, Mars? AUFIDIUS: Name not the god, thou boy of tears! CORIOLANUS: Ha! AUFIDIUS: No more. CORIOLANUS: Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave! Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion-- Who wears my stripes impress'd upon him; that Must bear my beating to his grave--shall join To thrust the lie unto him. First Lord: Peace, both, and hear me speak. CORIOLANUS: Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads, Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false hound! If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there, That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: Alone I did it. Boy! AUFIDIUS: Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, 'Fore your own eyes and ears? All Conspirators: Let him die for't. All The People: 'Tear him to pieces.' 'Do it presently.' 'He kill'd my son.' 'My daughter.' 'He killed my cousin Marcus.' 'He killed my father.' Second Lord: Peace, ho! no outrage: peace! The man is noble and his fame folds-in This orb o' the earth. His last offences to us Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace. CORIOLANUS: O that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword! AUFIDIUS: Insolent villain! All Conspirators: Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! Lords: Hold, hold, hold, hold! AUFIDIUS: My noble masters, hear me speak. First Lord: O Tullus,-- Second Lord: Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. Third Lord: Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet; Put up your swords. AUFIDIUS: My lords, when you shall know--as in this rage, Provoked by him, you cannot--the great danger Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours To call me to your senate, I'll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure. First Lord: Bear from hence his body; And mourn you for him: let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn. Second Lord: His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let's make the best of it. AUFIDIUS: My rage is gone; And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully: Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist. GLOUCESTER: Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths; Our bruised arms hung up for monuments; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barded steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion, Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them; Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to spy my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity: And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, To set my brother Clarence and the king In deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just As I am subtle, false and treacherous, This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, About a prophecy, which says that 'G' Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here Clarence comes. Brother, good day; what means this armed guard That waits upon your grace? CLARENCE: His majesty Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed This conduct to convey me to the Tower. GLOUCESTER: Upon what cause? CLARENCE: Because my name is George. GLOUCESTER: Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours; He should, for that, commit your godfathers: O, belike his majesty hath some intent That you shall be new-christen'd in the Tower. But what's the matter, Clarence? may I know? CLARENCE: Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest As yet I do not: but, as I can learn, He hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G. And says a wizard told him that by G His issue disinherited should be; And, for my name of George begins with G, It follows in his thought that I am he. These, as I learn, and such like toys as these Have moved his highness to commit me now. GLOUCESTER: Why, this it is, when men are ruled by women: 'Tis not the king that sends you to the Tower: My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she That tempers him to this extremity. Was it not she and that good man of worship, Anthony Woodville, her brother there, That made him send Lord Hastings to the Tower, From whence this present day he is deliver'd? We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe. CLARENCE: By heaven, I think there's no man is secure But the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds That trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore. Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord hastings was to her for his delivery? GLOUCESTER: Humbly complaining to her deity Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. I'll tell you what; I think it is our way, If we will keep in favour with the king, To be her men and wear her livery: The jealous o'erworn widow and herself, Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen. Are mighty gossips in this monarchy. BRAKENBURY: I beseech your graces both to pardon me; His majesty hath straitly given in charge That no man shall have private conference, Of what degree soever, with his brother. GLOUCESTER: Even so; an't please your worship, Brakenbury, You may partake of any thing we say: We speak no treason, man: we say the king Is wise and virtuous, and his noble queen Well struck in years, fair, and not jealous; We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue; And that the queen's kindred are made gentle-folks: How say you sir? Can you deny all this? BRAKENBURY: With this, my lord, myself have nought to do. GLOUCESTER: Naught to do with mistress Shore! I tell thee, fellow, He that doth naught with her, excepting one, Were best he do it secretly, alone. BRAKENBURY: What one, my lord? GLOUCESTER: Her husband, knave: wouldst thou betray me? BRAKENBURY: I beseech your grace to pardon me, and withal Forbear your conference with the noble duke. CLARENCE: We know thy charge, Brakenbury, and will obey. GLOUCESTER: We are the queen's abjects, and must obey. Brother, farewell: I will unto the king; And whatsoever you will employ me in, Were it to call King Edward's widow sister, I will perform it to enfranchise you. Meantime, this deep disgrace in brotherhood Touches me deeper than you can imagine. CLARENCE: I know it pleaseth neither of us well. GLOUCESTER: Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; Meantime, have patience. CLARENCE: I must perforce. Farewell. GLOUCESTER: Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. Simple, plain Clarence! I do love thee so, That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, If heaven will take the present at our hands. But who comes here? the new-deliver'd Hastings? HASTINGS: Good time of day unto my gracious lord! GLOUCESTER: As much unto my good lord chamberlain! Well are you welcome to the open air. How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? HASTINGS: With patience, noble lord, as prisoners must: But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks That were the cause of my imprisonment. GLOUCESTER: No doubt, no doubt; and so shall Clarence too; For they that were your enemies are his, And have prevail'd as much on him as you. HASTINGS: More pity that the eagle should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty. GLOUCESTER: What news abroad? HASTINGS: No news so bad abroad as this at home; The King is sickly, weak and melancholy, And his physicians fear him mightily. GLOUCESTER: Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. O, he hath kept an evil diet long, And overmuch consumed his royal person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon. What, is he in his bed? HASTINGS: He is. GLOUCESTER: Go you before, and I will follow you. He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments; And, if I fall not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in! For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I kill'd her husband and her father? The readiest way to make the wench amends Is to become her husband and her father: The which will I; not all so much for love As for another secret close intent, By marrying her which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to market: Clarence still breathes; Edward still lives and reigns: When they are gone, then must I count my gains. LADY ANNE: Set down, set down your honourable load, If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. Poor key-cold figure of a holy king! Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster! Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood! Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, Stabb'd by the selfsame hand that made these wounds! Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes. Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes! Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it! Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence! More direful hap betide that hated wretch, That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads, Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives! If ever he have child, abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural aspect May fright the hopeful mother at the view; And that be heir to his unhappiness! If ever he have wife, let her he made A miserable by the death of him As I am made by my poor lord and thee! Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load, Taken from Paul's to be interred there; And still, as you are weary of the weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's corse. GLOUCESTER: Stay, you that bear the corse, and set it down. LADY ANNE: What black magician conjures up this fiend, To stop devoted charitable deeds? GLOUCESTER: Villains, set down the corse; or, by Saint Paul, I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. Gentleman: My lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. GLOUCESTER: Unmanner'd dog! stand thou, when I command: Advance thy halbert higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. LADY ANNE: What, do you tremble? are you all afraid? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell! Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, His soul thou canst not have; therefore be gone. GLOUCESTER: Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. LADY ANNE: Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry's wounds Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh! Blush, Blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God, which this blood madest, revenge his death! O earth, which this blood drink'st revenge his death! Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! GLOUCESTER: Lady, you know no rules of charity, Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. LADY ANNE: Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man: No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. GLOUCESTER: But I know none, and therefore am no beast. LADY ANNE: O wonderful, when devils tell the truth! GLOUCESTER: More wonderful, when angels are so angry. Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, Of these supposed-evils, to give me leave, By circumstance, but to acquit myself. LADY ANNE: Vouchsafe, defused infection of a man, For these known evils, but to give me leave, By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. GLOUCESTER: Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have Some patient leisure to excuse myself. LADY ANNE: Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst make No excuse current, but to hang thyself. GLOUCESTER: By such despair, I should accuse myself. LADY ANNE: And, by despairing, shouldst thou stand excused; For doing worthy vengeance on thyself, Which didst unworthy slaughter upon others. GLOUCESTER: Say that I slew them not? LADY ANNE: Why, then they are not dead: But dead they are, and devilish slave, by thee. GLOUCESTER: I did not kill your husband. LADY ANNE: Why, then he is alive. GLOUCESTER: Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand. LADY ANNE: In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Thy murderous falchion smoking in his blood; The which thou once didst bend against her breast, But that thy brothers beat aside the point. GLOUCESTER: I was provoked by her slanderous tongue, which laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. LADY ANNE: Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind. Which never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Didst thou not kill this king? GLOUCESTER: I grant ye. LADY ANNE: Dost grant me, hedgehog? then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damned for that wicked deed! O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous! GLOUCESTER: The fitter for the King of heaven, that hath him. LADY ANNE: He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come. GLOUCESTER: Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither; For he was fitter for that place than earth. LADY ANNE: And thou unfit for any place but hell. GLOUCESTER: Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it. LADY ANNE: Some dungeon. GLOUCESTER: Your bed-chamber. LADY ANNE: I'll rest betide the chamber where thou liest! GLOUCESTER: So will it, madam till I lie with you. LADY ANNE: I hope so. GLOUCESTER: I know so. But, gentle Lady Anne, To leave this keen encounter of our wits, And fall somewhat into a slower method, Is not the causer of the timeless deaths Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward, As blameful as the executioner? LADY ANNE: Thou art the cause, and most accursed effect. GLOUCESTER: Your beauty was the cause of that effect; Your beauty: which did haunt me in my sleep To undertake the death of all the world, So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom. LADY ANNE: If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks. GLOUCESTER: These eyes could never endure sweet beauty's wreck; You should not blemish it, if I stood by: As all the world is cheered by the sun, So I by that; it is my day, my life. LADY ANNE: Black night o'ershade thy day, and death thy life! GLOUCESTER: Curse not thyself, fair creature thou art both. LADY ANNE: I would I were, to be revenged on thee. GLOUCESTER: It is a quarrel most unnatural, To be revenged on him that loveth you. LADY ANNE: It is a quarrel just and reasonable, To be revenged on him that slew my husband. GLOUCESTER: He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband, Did it to help thee to a better husband. LADY ANNE: His better doth not breathe upon the earth. GLOUCESTER: He lives that loves thee better than he could. LADY ANNE: Name him. GLOUCESTER: Plantagenet. LADY ANNE: Why, that was he. GLOUCESTER: The selfsame name, but one of better nature. LADY ANNE: Where is he? GLOUCESTER: Here. Why dost thou spit at me? LADY ANNE: Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! GLOUCESTER: Never came poison from so sweet a place. LADY ANNE: Never hung poison on a fouler toad. Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes. GLOUCESTER: Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine. LADY ANNE: Would they were basilisks, to strike thee dead! GLOUCESTER: I would they were, that I might die at once; For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Shamed their aspect with store of childish drops: These eyes that never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep, That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain: in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to friend nor enemy; My tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word; But now thy beauty is proposed my fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword; Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom. And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee. Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward, But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. Take up the sword again, or take up me. LADY ANNE: Arise, dissembler: though I wish thy death, I will not be the executioner. GLOUCESTER: Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. LADY ANNE: I have already. GLOUCESTER: Tush, that was in thy rage: Speak it again, and, even with the word, That hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love; To both their deaths thou shalt be accessary. LADY ANNE: I would I knew thy heart. GLOUCESTER: 'Tis figured in my tongue. LADY ANNE: I fear me both are false. GLOUCESTER: Then never man was true. LADY ANNE: Well, well, put up your sword. GLOUCESTER: Say, then, my peace is made. LADY ANNE: That shall you know hereafter. GLOUCESTER: But shall I live in hope? LADY ANNE: All men, I hope, live so. GLOUCESTER: Vouchsafe to wear this ring. LADY ANNE: To take is not to give. GLOUCESTER: Look, how this ring encompasseth finger. Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart; Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted suppliant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. LADY ANNE: What is it? GLOUCESTER: That it would please thee leave these sad designs To him that hath more cause to be a mourner, And presently repair to Crosby Place; Where, after I have solemnly interr'd At Chertsey monastery this noble king, And wet his grave with my repentant tears, I will with all expedient duty see you: For divers unknown reasons. I beseech you, Grant me this boon. LADY ANNE: With all my heart; and much it joys me too, To see you are become so penitent. Tressel and Berkeley, go along with me. GLOUCESTER: Bid me farewell. LADY ANNE: 'Tis more than you deserve; But since you teach me how to flatter you, Imagine I have said farewell already. GLOUCESTER: Sirs, take up the corse. GENTLEMEN: Towards Chertsey, noble lord? GLOUCESTER: No, to White-Friars; there attend my coining. Was ever woman in this humour woo'd? Was ever woman in this humour won? I'll have her; but I will not keep her long. What! I, that kill'd her husband and his father, To take her in her heart's extremest hate, With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, The bleeding witness of her hatred by; Having God, her conscience, and these bars against me, And I nothing to back my suit at all, But the plain devil and dissembling looks, And yet to win her, all the world to nothing! Ha! Hath she forgot already that brave prince, Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury? A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, Framed in the prodigality of nature, Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, The spacious world cannot again afford And will she yet debase her eyes on me, That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince, And made her widow to a woful bed? On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? On me, that halt and am unshapen thus? My dukedom to a beggarly denier, I do mistake my person all this while: Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot, Myself to be a marvellous proper man. I'll be at charges for a looking-glass, And entertain some score or two of tailors, To study fashions to adorn my body: Since I am crept in favour with myself, Will maintain it with some little cost. But first I'll turn yon fellow in his grave; And then return lamenting to my love. Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass. RIVERS: Have patience, madam: there's no doubt his majesty Will soon recover his accustom'd health. GREY: In that you brook it in, it makes him worse: Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort, And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. QUEEN ELIZABETH: If he were dead, what would betide of me? RIVERS: No other harm but loss of such a lord. QUEEN ELIZABETH: The loss of such a lord includes all harm. GREY: The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly son, To be your comforter when he is gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Oh, he is young and his minority Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloucester, A man that loves not me, nor none of you. RIVERS: Is it concluded that he shall be protector? QUEEN ELIZABETH: It is determined, not concluded yet: But so it must be, if the king miscarry. GREY: Here come the lords of Buckingham and Derby. BUCKINGHAM: Good time of day unto your royal grace! DERBY: God make your majesty joyful as you have been! QUEEN ELIZABETH: The Countess Richmond, good my Lord of Derby. To your good prayers will scarcely say amen. Yet, Derby, notwithstanding she's your wife, And loves not me, be you, good lord, assured I hate not you for her proud arrogance. DERBY: I do beseech you, either not believe The envious slanders of her false accusers; Or, if she be accused in true report, Bear with her weakness, which, I think proceeds From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice. RIVERS: Saw you the king to-day, my Lord of Derby? DERBY: But now the Duke of Buckingham and I Are come from visiting his majesty. QUEEN ELIZABETH: What likelihood of his amendment, lords? BUCKINGHAM: Madam, good hope; his grace speaks cheerfully. QUEEN ELIZABETH: God grant him health! Did you confer with him? BUCKINGHAM: Madam, we did: he desires to make atonement Betwixt the Duke of Gloucester and your brothers, And betwixt them and my lord chamberlain; And sent to warn them to his royal presence. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Would all were well! but that will never be I fear our happiness is at the highest. GLOUCESTER: They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: Who are they that complain unto the king, That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly That fill his ears with such dissentious rumours. Because I cannot flatter and speak fair, Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive and cog, Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, I must be held a rancorous enemy. Cannot a plain man live and think no harm, But thus his simple truth must be abused By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? RIVERS: To whom in all this presence speaks your grace? GLOUCESTER: To thee, that hast nor honesty nor grace. When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? Or thee? or thee? or any of your faction? A plague upon you all! His royal person,-- Whom God preserve better than you would wish!-- Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Brother of Gloucester, you mistake the matter. The king, of his own royal disposition, And not provoked by any suitor else; Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, Which in your outward actions shows itself Against my kindred, brothers, and myself, Makes him to send; that thereby he may gather The ground of your ill-will, and so remove it. GLOUCESTER: I cannot tell: the world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch: Since every Jack became a gentleman There's many a gentle person made a Jack. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Come, come, we know your meaning, brother Gloucester; You envy my advancement and my friends': God grant we never may have need of you! GLOUCESTER: Meantime, God grants that we have need of you: Your brother is imprison'd by your means, Myself disgraced, and the nobility Held in contempt; whilst many fair promotions Are daily given to ennoble those That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble. QUEEN ELIZABETH: By Him that raised me to this careful height From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, I never did incense his majesty Against the Duke of Clarence, but have been An earnest advocate to plead for him. My lord, you do me shameful injury, Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. GLOUCESTER: You may deny that you were not the cause Of my Lord Hastings' late imprisonment. RIVERS: She may, my lord, for-- GLOUCESTER: She may, Lord Rivers! why, who knows not so? She may do more, sir, than denying that: She may help you to many fair preferments, And then deny her aiding hand therein, And lay those honours on your high deserts. What may she not? She may, yea, marry, may she-- RIVERS: What, marry, may she? GLOUCESTER: What, marry, may she! marry with a king, A bachelor, a handsome stripling too: I wis your grandam had a worser match. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My Lord of Gloucester, I have too long borne Your blunt upbraidings and your bitter scoffs: By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty With those gross taunts I often have endured. I had rather be a country servant-maid Than a great queen, with this condition, To be thus taunted, scorn'd, and baited at: Small joy have I in being England's queen. QUEEN MARGARET: And lessen'd be that small, God, I beseech thee! Thy honour, state and seat is due to me. GLOUCESTER: What! threat you me with telling of the king? Tell him, and spare not: look, what I have said I will avouch in presence of the king: I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 'Tis time to speak; my pains are quite forgot. QUEEN MARGARET: Out, devil! I remember them too well: Thou slewest my husband Henry in the Tower, And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. GLOUCESTER: Ere you were queen, yea, or your husband king, I was a pack-horse in his great affairs; A weeder-out of his proud adversaries, A liberal rewarder of his friends: To royalize his blood I spilt mine own. QUEEN MARGARET: Yea, and much better blood than his or thine. GLOUCESTER: In all which time you and your husband Grey Were factious for the house of Lancaster; And, Rivers, so were you. Was not your husband In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain? Let me put in your minds, if you forget, What you have been ere now, and what you are; Withal, what I have been, and what I am. QUEEN MARGARET: A murderous villain, and so still thou art. GLOUCESTER: Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; Yea, and forswore himself,--which Jesu pardon!-- QUEEN MARGARET: Which God revenge! GLOUCESTER: To fight on Edward's party for the crown; And for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up. I would to God my heart were flint, like Edward's; Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine I am too childish-foolish for this world. QUEEN MARGARET: Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave the world, Thou cacodemon! there thy kingdom is. RIVERS: My Lord of Gloucester, in those busy days Which here you urge to prove us enemies, We follow'd then our lord, our lawful king: So should we you, if you should be our king. GLOUCESTER: If I should be! I had rather be a pedlar: Far be it from my heart, the thought of it! QUEEN ELIZABETH: As little joy, my lord, as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's king, As little joy may you suppose in me. That I enjoy, being the queen thereof. QUEEN MARGARET: A little joy enjoys the queen thereof; For I am she, and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patient. Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out In sharing that which you have pill'd from me! Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that, I being queen, you bow like subjects, Yet that, by you deposed, you quake like rebels? O gentle villain, do not turn away! GLOUCESTER: Foul wrinkled witch, what makest thou in my sight? QUEEN MARGARET: But repetition of what thou hast marr'd; That will I make before I let thee go. GLOUCESTER: Wert thou not banished on pain of death? QUEEN MARGARET: I was; but I do find more pain in banishment Than death can yield me here by my abode. A husband and a son thou owest to me; And thou a kingdom; all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have, by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. GLOUCESTER: The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes, And then, to dry them, gavest the duke a clout Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland-- His curses, then from bitterness of soul Denounced against thee, are all fall'n upon thee; And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH: So just is God, to right the innocent. HASTINGS: O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that e'er was heard of! RIVERS: Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. DORSET: No man but prophesied revenge for it. BUCKINGHAM: Northumberland, then present, wept to see it. QUEEN MARGARET: What were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven? That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment, Could all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why, then, give way, dull clouds, to my quick curses! If not by war, by surfeit die your king, As ours by murder, to make him a king! Edward thy son, which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son, which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen, Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! Long mayst thou live to wail thy children's loss; And see another, as I see thee now, Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine! Long die thy happy days before thy death; And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen! Rivers and Dorset, you were standers by, And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my son Was stabb'd with bloody daggers: God, I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlook'd accident cut off! GLOUCESTER: Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd hag! QUEEN MARGARET: And leave out thee? stay, dog, for thou shalt hear me. If heaven have any grievous plague in store Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O, let them keep it till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace! The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul! Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou livest, And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends! No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, Unless it be whilst some tormenting dream Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell! Thou slander of thy mother's heavy womb! Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! Thou rag of honour! thou detested-- GLOUCESTER: Margaret. QUEEN MARGARET: Richard! GLOUCESTER: Ha! QUEEN MARGARET: I call thee not. GLOUCESTER: I cry thee mercy then, for I had thought That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names. QUEEN MARGARET: Why, so I did; but look'd for no reply. O, let me make the period to my curse! GLOUCESTER: 'Tis done by me, and ends in 'Margaret.' QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thus have you breathed your curse against yourself. QUEEN MARGARET: Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune! Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. The time will come when thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunchback'd toad. HASTINGS: False-boding woman, end thy frantic curse, Lest to thy harm thou move our patience. QUEEN MARGARET: Foul shame upon you! you have all moved mine. RIVERS: Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. QUEEN MARGARET: To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects: O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty! DORSET: Dispute not with her; she is lunatic. QUEEN MARGARET: Peace, master marquess, you are malapert: Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current. O, that your young nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable! They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. GLOUCESTER: Good counsel, marry: learn it, learn it, marquess. DORSET: It toucheth you, my lord, as much as me. GLOUCESTER: Yea, and much more: but I was born so high, Our aery buildeth in the cedar's top, And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun. QUEEN MARGARET: And turns the sun to shade; alas! alas! Witness my son, now in the shade of death; Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your aery buildeth in our aery's nest. O God, that seest it, do not suffer it! As it was won with blood, lost be it so! BUCKINGHAM: Have done! for shame, if not for charity. QUEEN MARGARET: Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. My charity is outrage, life my shame And in that shame still live my sorrow's rage. BUCKINGHAM: Have done, have done. QUEEN MARGARET: O princely Buckingham I'll kiss thy hand, In sign of league and amity with thee: Now fair befal thee and thy noble house! Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, Nor thou within the compass of my curse. BUCKINGHAM: Nor no one here; for curses never pass The lips of those that breathe them in the air. QUEEN MARGARET: I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look, when he fawns, he bites; and when he bites, His venom tooth will rankle to the death: Have not to do with him, beware of him; Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him, And all their ministers attend on him. GLOUCESTER: What doth she say, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM: Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. QUEEN MARGARET: What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle counsel? And soothe the devil that I warn thee from? O, but remember this another day, When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow, And say poor Margaret was a prophetess! Live each of you the subjects to his hate, And he to yours, and all of you to God's! HASTINGS: My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. RIVERS: And so doth mine: I muse why she's at liberty. GLOUCESTER: I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, She hath had too much wrong; and I repent My part thereof that I have done to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH: I never did her any, to my knowledge. GLOUCESTER: But you have all the vantage of her wrong. I was too hot to do somebody good, That is too cold in thinking of it now. Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid, He is frank'd up to fatting for his pains God pardon them that are the cause of it! RIVERS: A virtuous and a Christian-like conclusion, To pray for them that have done scathe to us. GLOUCESTER: So do I ever: being well-advised. For had I cursed now, I had cursed myself. CATESBY: Madam, his majesty doth call for you, And for your grace; and you, my noble lords. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Catesby, we come. Lords, will you go with us? RIVERS: Madam, we will attend your grace. GLOUCESTER: I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Clarence, whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness, I do beweep to many simple gulls Namely, to Hastings, Derby, Buckingham; And say it is the queen and her allies That stir the king against the duke my brother. Now, they believe it; and withal whet me To be revenged on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: But then I sigh; and, with a piece of scripture, Tell them that God bids us do good for evil: And thus I clothe my naked villany With old odd ends stolen out of holy writ; And seem a saint, when most I play the devil. But, soft! here come my executioners. How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates! Are you now going to dispatch this deed? First Murderer: We are, my lord; and come to have the warrant That we may be admitted where he is. GLOUCESTER: Well thought upon; I have it here about me. When you have done, repair to Crosby Place. But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead; For Clarence is well-spoken, and perhaps May move your hearts to pity if you mark him. First Murderer: Tush! Fear not, my lord, we will not stand to prate; Talkers are no good doers: be assured We come to use our hands and not our tongues. GLOUCESTER: Your eyes drop millstones, when fools' eyes drop tears: I like you, lads; about your business straight; Go, go, dispatch. First Murderer: We will, my noble lord. BRAKENBURY: Why looks your grace so heavily today? CLARENCE: O, I have pass'd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, So full of dismal terror was the time! BRAKENBURY: What was your dream? I long to hear you tell it. CLARENCE: Methoughts that I had broken from the Tower, And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy; And, in my company, my brother Gloucester; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches: thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand fearful times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befall'n us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloucester stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. Lord, Lord! methought, what pain it was to drown! What dreadful noise of waters in mine ears! What ugly sights of death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; Ten thousand men that fishes gnaw'd upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea: Some lay in dead men's skulls; and, in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, Which woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. BRAKENBURY: Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? CLARENCE: Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost: but still the envious flood Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To seek the empty, vast and wandering air; But smother'd it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. BRAKENBURY: Awaked you not with this sore agony? CLARENCE: O, no, my dream was lengthen'd after life; O, then began the tempest to my soul, Who pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, 'What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?' And so he vanish'd: then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and he squeak'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewksbury; Seize on him, Furies, take him to your torments!' With that, methoughts, a legion of foul fiends Environ'd me about, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I trembling waked, and for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell, Such terrible impression made the dream. BRAKENBURY: No marvel, my lord, though it affrighted you; I promise, I am afraid to hear you tell it. CLARENCE: O Brakenbury, I have done those things, Which now bear evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children! I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. BRAKENBURY: I will, my lord: God give your grace good rest! Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. Princes have but their tides for their glories, An outward honour for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imagination, They often feel a world of restless cares: So that, betwixt their tides and low names, There's nothing differs but the outward fame. First Murderer: Ho! who's here? BRAKENBURY: In God's name what are you, and how came you hither? First Murderer: I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. BRAKENBURY: Yea, are you so brief? Second Murderer: O sir, it is better to be brief than tedious. Show him our commission; talk no more. BRAKENBURY: I am, in this, commanded to deliver The noble Duke of Clarence to your hands: I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. Here are the keys, there sits the duke asleep: I'll to the king; and signify to him That thus I have resign'd my charge to you. First Murderer: Do so, it is a point of wisdom: fare you well. Second Murderer: What, shall we stab him as he sleeps? First Murderer: No; then he will say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes. Second Murderer: When he wakes! why, fool, he shall never wake till the judgment-day. First Murderer: Why, then he will say we stabbed him sleeping. Second Murderer: The urging of that word 'judgment' hath bred a kind of remorse in me. First Murderer: What, art thou afraid? Second Murderer: Not to kill him, having a warrant for it; but to be damned for killing him, from which no warrant can defend us. First Murderer: I thought thou hadst been resolute. Second Murderer: So I am, to let him live. First Murderer: Back to the Duke of Gloucester, tell him so. Second Murderer: I pray thee, stay a while: I hope my holy humour will change; 'twas wont to hold me but while one would tell twenty. First Murderer: How dost thou feel thyself now? Second Murderer: 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience are yet within me. First Murderer: Remember our reward, when the deed is done. Second Murderer: 'Zounds, he dies: I had forgot the reward. First Murderer: Where is thy conscience now? Second Murderer: In the Duke of Gloucester's purse. First Murderer: So when he opens his purse to give us our reward, thy conscience flies out. Second Murderer: Let it go; there's few or none will entertain it. First Murderer: How if it come to thee again? Second Murderer: I'll not meddle with it: it is a dangerous thing: it makes a man a coward: a man cannot steal, but it accuseth him; he cannot swear, but it cheques him; he cannot lie with his neighbour's wife, but it detects him: 'tis a blushing shamefast spirit that mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles: it made me once restore a purse of gold that I found; it beggars any man that keeps it: it is turned out of all towns and cities for a dangerous thing; and every man that means to live well endeavours to trust to himself and to live without it. First Murderer: 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, persuading me not to kill the duke. Second Murderer: Take the devil in thy mind, and relieve him not: he would insinuate with thee but to make thee sigh. First Murderer: Tut, I am strong-framed, he cannot prevail with me, I warrant thee. Second Murderer: Spoke like a tail fellow that respects his reputation. Come, shall we to this gear? First Murderer: Take him over the costard with the hilts of thy sword, and then we will chop him in the malmsey-butt in the next room. Second Murderer: O excellent devise! make a sop of him. First Murderer: Hark! he stirs: shall I strike? Second Murderer: No, first let's reason with him. CLARENCE: Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup of wine. Second murderer: You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. CLARENCE: In God's name, what art thou? Second Murderer: A man, as you are. CLARENCE: But not, as I am, royal. Second Murderer: Nor you, as we are, loyal. CLARENCE: Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are humble. Second Murderer: My voice is now the king's, my looks mine own. CLARENCE: How darkly and how deadly dost thou speak! Your eyes do menace me: why look you pale? Who sent you hither? Wherefore do you come? Both: To, to, to-- CLARENCE: To murder me? Both: Ay, ay. CLARENCE: You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so, And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. Wherein, my friends, have I offended you? First Murderer: Offended us you have not, but the king. CLARENCE: I shall be reconciled to him again. Second Murderer: Never, my lord; therefore prepare to die. CLARENCE: Are you call'd forth from out a world of men To slay the innocent? What is my offence? Where are the evidence that do accuse me? What lawful quest have given their verdict up Unto the frowning judge? or who pronounced The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? Before I be convict by course of law, To threaten me with death is most unlawful. I charge you, as you hope to have redemption By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins, That you depart and lay no hands on me The deed you undertake is damnable. First Murderer: What we will do, we do upon command. Second Murderer: And he that hath commanded is the king. CLARENCE: Erroneous vassal! the great King of kings Hath in the tables of his law commanded That thou shalt do no murder: and wilt thou, then, Spurn at his edict and fulfil a man's? Take heed; for he holds vengeance in his hands, To hurl upon their heads that break his law. Second Murderer: And that same vengeance doth he hurl on thee, For false forswearing and for murder too: Thou didst receive the holy sacrament, To fight in quarrel of the house of Lancaster. First Murderer: And, like a traitor to the name of God, Didst break that vow; and with thy treacherous blade Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. Second Murderer: Whom thou wert sworn to cherish and defend. First Murderer: How canst thou urge God's dreadful law to us, When thou hast broke it in so dear degree? CLARENCE: Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? For Edward, for my brother, for his sake: Why, sirs, He sends ye not to murder me for this For in this sin he is as deep as I. If God will be revenged for this deed. O, know you yet, he doth it publicly, Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm; He needs no indirect nor lawless course To cut off those that have offended him. First Murderer: Who made thee, then, a bloody minister, When gallant-springing brave Plantagenet, That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? CLARENCE: My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. First Murderer: Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy fault, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE: Oh, if you love my brother, hate not me; I am his brother, and I love him well. If you be hired for meed, go back again, And I will send you to my brother Gloucester, Who shall reward you better for my life Than Edward will for tidings of my death. Second Murderer: You are deceived, your brother Gloucester hates you. CLARENCE: O, no, he loves me, and he holds me dear: Go you to him from me. Both: Ay, so we will. CLARENCE: Tell him, when that our princely father York Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, And charged us from his soul to love each other, He little thought of this divided friendship: Bid Gloucester think of this, and he will weep. First Murderer: Ay, millstones; as be lesson'd us to weep. CLARENCE: O, do not slander him, for he is kind. First Murderer: Right, As snow in harvest. Thou deceivest thyself: 'Tis he that sent us hither now to slaughter thee. CLARENCE: It cannot be; for when I parted with him, He hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs, That he would labour my delivery. Second Murderer: Why, so he doth, now he delivers thee From this world's thraldom to the joys of heaven. First Murderer: Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. CLARENCE: Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, To counsel me to make my peace with God, And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind, That thou wilt war with God by murdering me? Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on To do this deed will hate you for the deed. Second Murderer: What shall we do? CLARENCE: Relent, and save your souls. First Murderer: Relent! 'tis cowardly and womanish. CLARENCE: Not to relent is beastly, savage, devilish. Which of you, if you were a prince's son, Being pent from liberty, as I am now, if two such murderers as yourselves came to you, Would not entreat for life? My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks: O, if thine eye be not a flatterer, Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, As you would beg, were you in my distress A begging prince what beggar pities not? Second Murderer: Look behind you, my lord. First Murderer: Take that, and that: if all this will not do, I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within. Second Murderer: A bloody deed, and desperately dispatch'd! How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous guilty murder done! First Murderer: How now! what mean'st thou, that thou help'st me not? By heavens, the duke shall know how slack thou art! Second Murderer: I would he knew that I had saved his brother! Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; For I repent me that the duke is slain. First Murderer: So do not I: go, coward as thou art. Now must I hide his body in some hole, Until the duke take order for his burial: And when I have my meed, I must away; For this will out, and here I must not stay. KING EDWARD IV: Why, so: now have I done a good day's work: You peers, continue this united league: I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence; And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven, Since I have set my friends at peace on earth. Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand; Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. RIVERS: By heaven, my heart is purged from grudging hate: And with my hand I seal my true heart's love. HASTINGS: So thrive I, as I truly swear the like! KING EDWARD IV: Take heed you dally not before your king; Lest he that is the supreme King of kings Confound your hidden falsehood, and award Either of you to be the other's end. HASTINGS: So prosper I, as I swear perfect love! RIVERS: And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! KING EDWARD IV: Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, Nor your son Dorset, Buckingham, nor you; You have been factious one against the other, Wife, love Lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand; And what you do, do it unfeignedly. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Here, Hastings; I will never more remember Our former hatred, so thrive I and mine! KING EDWARD IV: Dorset, embrace him; Hastings, love lord marquess. DORSET: This interchange of love, I here protest, Upon my part shall be unviolable. HASTINGS: And so swear I, my lord KING EDWARD IV: Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou this league With thy embracements to my wife's allies, And make me happy in your unity. BUCKINGHAM: Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate On you or yours, but with all duteous love Doth cherish you and yours, God punish me With hate in those where I expect most love! When I have most need to employ a friend, And most assured that he is a friend Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile, Be he unto me! this do I beg of God, When I am cold in zeal to yours. KING EDWARD IV: A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham, is this thy vow unto my sickly heart. There wanteth now our brother Gloucester here, To make the perfect period of this peace. BUCKINGHAM: And, in good time, here comes the noble duke. GLOUCESTER: Good morrow to my sovereign king and queen: And, princely peers, a happy time of day! KING EDWARD IV: Happy, indeed, as we have spent the day. Brother, we done deeds of charity; Made peace enmity, fair love of hate, Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. GLOUCESTER: A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege: Amongst this princely heap, if any here, By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, Hold me a foe; If I unwittingly, or in my rage, Have aught committed that is hardly borne By any in this presence, I desire To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 'Tis death to me to be at enmity; I hate it, and desire all good men's love. First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, Which I will purchase with my duteous service; Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, If ever any grudge were lodged between us; Of you, Lord Rivers, and, Lord Grey, of you; That without desert have frown'd on me; Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen; indeed, of all. I do not know that Englishman alive With whom my soul is any jot at odds More than the infant that is born to-night I thank my God for my humility. QUEEN ELIZABETH: A holy day shall this be kept hereafter: I would to God all strifes were well compounded. My sovereign liege, I do beseech your majesty To take our brother Clarence to your grace. GLOUCESTER: Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this To be so bouted in this royal presence? Who knows not that the noble duke is dead? You do him injury to scorn his corse. RIVERS: Who knows not he is dead! who knows he is? QUEEN ELIZABETH: All seeing heaven, what a world is this! BUCKINGHAM: Look I so pale, Lord Dorset, as the rest? DORSET: Ay, my good lord; and no one in this presence But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks. KING EDWARD IV: Is Clarence dead? the order was reversed. GLOUCESTER: But he, poor soul, by your first order died, And that a winged Mercury did bear: Some tardy cripple bore the countermand, That came too lag to see him buried. God grant that some, less noble and less loyal, Nearer in bloody thoughts, but not in blood, Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did, And yet go current from suspicion! DORSET: A boon, my sovereign, for my service done! KING EDWARD IV: I pray thee, peace: my soul is full of sorrow. DORSET: I will not rise, unless your highness grant. KING EDWARD IV: Then speak at once what is it thou demand'st. DORSET: The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life; Who slew to-day a righteous gentleman Lately attendant on the Duke of Norfolk. KING EDWARD IV: Have a tongue to doom my brother's death, And shall the same give pardon to a slave? My brother slew no man; his fault was thought, And yet his punishment was cruel death. Who sued to me for him? who, in my rage, Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advised Who spake of brotherhood? who spake of love? Who told me how the poor soul did forsake The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me? Who told me, in the field by Tewksbury When Oxford had me down, he rescued me, And said, 'Dear brother, live, and be a king'? Who told me, when we both lay in the field Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me Even in his own garments, and gave himself, All thin and naked, to the numb cold night? All this from my remembrance brutish wrath Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you Had so much grace to put it in my mind. But when your carters or your waiting-vassals Have done a drunken slaughter, and defaced The precious image of our dear Redeemer, You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon; And I unjustly too, must grant it you But for my brother not a man would speak, Nor I, ungracious, speak unto myself For him, poor soul. The proudest of you all Have been beholding to him in his life; Yet none of you would once plead for his life. O God, I fear thy justice will take hold On me, and you, and mine, and yours for this! Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. Oh, poor Clarence! GLOUCESTER: This is the fruit of rashness! Mark'd you not How that the guilty kindred of the queen Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? O, they did urge it still unto the king! God will revenge it. But come, let us in, To comfort Edward with our company. BUCKINGHAM: We wait upon your grace. Boy: Tell me, good grandam, is our father dead? DUCHESS OF YORK: No, boy. Boy: Why do you wring your hands, and beat your breast, And cry 'O Clarence, my unhappy son!' Girl: Why do you look on us, and shake your head, And call us wretches, orphans, castaways If that our noble father be alive? DUCHESS OF YORK: My pretty cousins, you mistake me much; I do lament the sickness of the king. As loath to lose him, not your father's death; It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Boy: Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. The king my uncle is to blame for this: God will revenge it; whom I will importune With daily prayers all to that effect. Girl: And so will I. DUCHESS OF YORK: Peace, children, peace! the king doth love you well: Incapable and shallow innocents, You cannot guess who caused your father's death. Boy: Grandam, we can; for my good uncle Gloucester Told me, the king, provoked by the queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him : And when my uncle told me so, he wept, And hugg'd me in his arm, and kindly kiss'd my cheek; Bade me rely on him as on my father, And he would love me dearly as his child. DUCHESS OF YORK: Oh, that deceit should steal such gentle shapes, And with a virtuous vizard hide foul guile! He is my son; yea, and therein my shame; Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. Boy: Think you my uncle did dissemble, grandam? DUCHESS OF YORK: Ay, boy. Boy: I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Oh, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, To chide my fortune, and torment myself? I'll join with black despair against my soul, And to myself become an enemy. DUCHESS OF YORK: What means this scene of rude impatience? QUEEN ELIZABETH: To make an act of tragic violence: Edward, my lord, your son, our king, is dead. Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd? Why wither not the leaves the sap being gone? If you will live, lament; if die, be brief, That our swift-winged souls may catch the king's; Or, like obedient subjects, follow him To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. DUCHESS OF YORK: Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow As I had title in thy noble husband! I have bewept a worthy husband's death, And lived by looking on his images: But now two mirrors of his princely semblance Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, And I for comfort have but one false glass, Which grieves me when I see my shame in him. Thou art a widow; yet thou art a mother, And hast the comfort of thy children left thee: But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble limbs, Edward and Clarence. O, what cause have I, Thine being but a moiety of my grief, To overgo thy plaints and drown thy cries! Boy: Good aunt, you wept not for our father's death; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Girl: Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd; Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Give me no help in lamentation; I am not barren to bring forth complaints All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I, being govern'd by the watery moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Oh for my husband, for my dear lord Edward! Children: Oh for our father, for our dear lord Clarence! DUCHESS OF YORK: Alas for both, both mine, Edward and Clarence! QUEEN ELIZABETH: What stay had I but Edward? and he's gone. Children: What stay had we but Clarence? and he's gone. DUCHESS OF YORK: What stays had I but they? and they are gone. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Was never widow had so dear a loss! Children: Were never orphans had so dear a loss! DUCHESS OF YORK: Was never mother had so dear a loss! Alas, I am the mother of these moans! Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I; I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she: These babes for Clarence weep and so do I; I for an Edward weep, so do not they: Alas, you three, on me, threefold distress'd, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, And I will pamper it with lamentations. DORSET: Comfort, dear mother: God is much displeased That you take with unthankfulness, his doing: In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful, With dull unwilligness to repay a debt Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent; Much more to be thus opposite with heaven, For it requires the royal debt it lent you. RIVERS: Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother, Of the young prince your son: send straight for him Let him be crown'd; in him your comfort lives: Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave, And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. GLOUCESTER: Madam, have comfort: all of us have cause To wail the dimming of our shining star; But none can cure their harms by wailing them. Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; I did not see your grace: humbly on my knee I crave your blessing. DUCHESS OF YORK: God bless thee; and put meekness in thy mind, Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! GLOUCESTER: BUCKINGHAM: You cloudy princes and heart-sorrowing peers, That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, Now cheer each other in each other's love Though we have spent our harvest of this king, We are to reap the harvest of his son. The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts, But lately splinter'd, knit, and join'd together, Must gently be preserved, cherish'd, and kept: Me seemeth good, that, with some little train, Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd Hither to London, to be crown'd our king. RIVERS: Why with some little train, my Lord of Buckingham? BUCKINGHAM: Marry, my lord, lest, by a multitude, The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out, Which would be so much the more dangerous By how much the estate is green and yet ungovern'd: Where every horse bears his commanding rein, And may direct his course as please himself, As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent, In my opinion, ought to be prevented. GLOUCESTER: I hope the king made peace with all of us And the compact is firm and true in me. RIVERS: And so in me; and so, I think, in all: Yet, since it is but green, it should be put To no apparent likelihood of breach, Which haply by much company might be urged: Therefore I say with noble Buckingham, That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. HASTINGS: And so say I. GLOUCESTER: Then be it so; and go we to determine Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow. Madam, and you, my mother, will you go To give your censures in this weighty business? QUEEN ELIZABETH: With all our harts. BUCKINGHAM: My lord, whoever journeys to the Prince, For God's sake, let not us two be behind; For, by the way, I'll sort occasion, As index to the story we late talk'd of, To part the queen's proud kindred from the king. GLOUCESTER: My other self, my counsel's consistory, My oracle, my prophet! My dear cousin, I, like a child, will go by thy direction. Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind. First Citizen: Neighbour, well met: whither away so fast? Second Citizen: I promise you, I scarcely know myself: Hear you the news abroad? First Citizen: Ay, that the king is dead. Second Citizen: Bad news, by'r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear 'twill prove a troublous world. Third Citizen: Neighbours, God speed! First Citizen: Give you good morrow, sir. Third Citizen: Doth this news hold of good King Edward's death? Second Citizen: Ay, sir, it is too true; God help the while! Third Citizen: Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. First Citizen: No, no; by God's good grace his son shall reign. Third Citizen: Woe to the land that's govern'd by a child! Second Citizen: In him there is a hope of government, That in his nonage council under him, And in his full and ripen'd years himself, No doubt, shall then and till then govern well. First Citizen: So stood the state when Henry the Sixth Was crown'd in Paris but at nine months old. Third Citizen: Stood the state so? No, no, good friends, God wot; For then this land was famously enrich'd With politic grave counsel; then the king Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. First Citizen: Why, so hath this, both by the father and mother. Third Citizen: Better it were they all came by the father, Or by the father there were none at all; For emulation now, who shall be nearest, Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. O, full of danger is the Duke of Gloucester! And the queen's sons and brothers haught and proud: And were they to be ruled, and not to rule, This sickly land might solace as before. First Citizen: Come, come, we fear the worst; all shall be well. Third Citizen: When clouds appear, wise men put on their cloaks; When great leaves fall, the winter is at hand; When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? Untimely storms make men expect a dearth. All may be well; but, if God sort it so, 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. Second Citizen: Truly, the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear. Third Citizen: Before the times of change, still is it so: By a divine instinct men's minds mistrust Ensuing dangers; as by proof, we see The waters swell before a boisterous storm. But leave it all to God. whither away? Second Citizen: Marry, we were sent for to the justices. Third Citizen: And so was I: I'll bear you company. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Last night, I hear, they lay at Northampton; At Stony-Stratford will they be to-night: To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. DUCHESS OF YORK: I long with all my heart to see the prince: I hope he is much grown since last I saw him. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But I hear, no; they say my son of York Hath almost overta'en him in his growth. YORK: Ay, mother; but I would not have it so. DUCHESS OF YORK: Why, my young cousin, it is good to grow. YORK: Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper, My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow More than my brother: 'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester, 'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace:' And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast, Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste. DUCHESS OF YORK: Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold In him that did object the same to thee; He was the wretched'st thing when he was young, So long a-growing and so leisurely, That, if this rule were true, he should be gracious. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Why, madam, so, no doubt, he is. DUCHESS OF YORK: I hope he is; but yet let mothers doubt. YORK: Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd, I could have given my uncle's grace a flout, To touch his growth nearer than he touch'd mine. DUCHESS OF YORK: How, my pretty York? I pray thee, let me hear it. YORK: Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. Grandam, this would have been a biting jest. DUCHESS OF YORK: I pray thee, pretty York, who told thee this? YORK: Grandam, his nurse. DUCHESS OF YORK: His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wert born. YORK: If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. QUEEN ELIZABETH: A parlous boy: go to, you are too shrewd. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Good madam, be not angry with the child. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Pitchers have ears. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: Here comes a messenger. What news? Messenger: Such news, my lord, as grieves me to unfold. QUEEN ELIZABETH: How fares the prince? Messenger: Well, madam, and in health. DUCHESS OF YORK: What is thy news then? Messenger: Lord Rivers and Lord Grey are sent to Pomfret, With them Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. DUCHESS OF YORK: Who hath committed them? Messenger: The mighty dukes Gloucester and Buckingham. QUEEN ELIZABETH: For what offence? Messenger: The sum of all I can, I have disclosed; Why or for what these nobles were committed Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Ay me, I see the downfall of our house! The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind; Insulting tyranny begins to jet Upon the innocent and aweless throne: Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre! I see, as in a map, the end of all. DUCHESS OF YORK: Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes beheld! My husband lost his life to get the crown; And often up and down my sons were toss'd, For me to joy and weep their gain and loss: And being seated, and domestic broils Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. Make war upon themselves; blood against blood, Self against self: O, preposterous And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen; Or let me die, to look on death no more! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Come, come, my boy; we will to sanctuary. Madam, farewell. DUCHESS OF YORK: I'll go along with you. QUEEN ELIZABETH: You have no cause. ARCHBISHOP OF YORK: My gracious lady, go; And thither bear your treasure and your goods. For my part, I'll resign unto your grace The seal I keep: and so betide to me As well I tender you and all of yours! Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. BUCKINGHAM: Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your chamber. GLOUCESTER: Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign The weary way hath made you melancholy. PRINCE EDWARD: No, uncle; but our crosses on the way Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy I want more uncles here to welcome me. GLOUCESTER: Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit Nor more can you distinguish of a man Than of his outward show; which, God he knows, Seldom or never jumpeth with the heart. Those uncles which you want were dangerous; Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, But look'd not on the poison of their hearts : God keep you from them, and from such false friends! PRINCE EDWARD: God keep me from false friends! but they were none. GLOUCESTER: My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet you. Lord Mayor: God bless your grace with health and happy days! PRINCE EDWARD: I thank you, good my lord; and thank you all. I thought my mother, and my brother York, Would long ere this have met us on the way Fie, what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not To tell us whether they will come or no! BUCKINGHAM: And, in good time, here comes the sweating lord. PRINCE EDWARD: Welcome, my lord: what, will our mother come? HASTINGS: On what occasion, God he knows, not I, The queen your mother, and your brother York, Have taken sanctuary: the tender prince Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, But by his mother was perforce withheld. BUCKINGHAM: Fie, what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers! Lord cardinal, will your grace Persuade the queen to send the Duke of York Unto his princely brother presently? If she deny, Lord Hastings, go with him, And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. CARDINAL: My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory Can from his mother win the Duke of York, Anon expect him here; but if she be obdurate To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid We should infringe the holy privilege Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. BUCKINGHAM: You are too senseless--obstinate, my lord, Too ceremonious and traditional Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, You break not sanctuary in seizing him. The benefit thereof is always granted To those whose dealings have deserved the place, And those who have the wit to claim the place: This prince hath neither claim'd it nor deserved it; And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it: Then, taking him from thence that is not there, You break no privilege nor charter there. Oft have I heard of sanctuary men; But sanctuary children ne'er till now. CARDINAL: My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. Come on, Lord Hastings, will you go with me? HASTINGS: I go, my lord. PRINCE EDWARD: Good lords, make all the speedy haste you may. Say, uncle Gloucester, if our brother come, Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? GLOUCESTER: Where it seems best unto your royal self. If I may counsel you, some day or two Your highness shall repose you at the Tower: Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit For your best health and recreation. PRINCE EDWARD: I do not like the Tower, of any place. Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord? BUCKINGHAM: He did, my gracious lord, begin that place; Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified. PRINCE EDWARD: Is it upon record, or else reported Successively from age to age, he built it? BUCKINGHAM: Upon record, my gracious lord. PRINCE EDWARD: But say, my lord, it were not register'd, Methinks the truth should live from age to age, As 'twere retail'd to all posterity, Even to the general all-ending day. GLOUCESTER: PRINCE EDWARD: What say you, uncle? GLOUCESTER: I say, without characters, fame lives long. Thus, like the formal vice, Iniquity, I moralize two meanings in one word. PRINCE EDWARD: That Julius Caesar was a famous man; With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; For now he lives in fame, though not in life. I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham,-- BUCKINGHAM: What, my gracious lord? PRINCE EDWARD: An if I live until I be a man, I'll win our ancient right in France again, Or die a soldier, as I lived a king. GLOUCESTER: BUCKINGHAM: Now, in good time, here comes the Duke of York. PRINCE EDWARD: Richard of York! how fares our loving brother? YORK: Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now. PRINCE EDWARD: Ay, brother, to our grief, as it is yours: Too late he died that might have kept that title, Which by his death hath lost much majesty. GLOUCESTER: How fares our cousin, noble Lord of York? YORK: I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord, You said that idle weeds are fast in growth The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. GLOUCESTER: He hath, my lord. YORK: And therefore is he idle? GLOUCESTER: O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. YORK: Then is he more beholding to you than I. GLOUCESTER: He may command me as my sovereign; But you have power in me as in a kinsman. YORK: I pray you, uncle, give me this dagger. GLOUCESTER: My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. PRINCE EDWARD: A beggar, brother? YORK: Of my kind uncle, that I know will give; And being but a toy, which is no grief to give. GLOUCESTER: A greater gift than that I'll give my cousin. YORK: A greater gift! O, that's the sword to it. GLOUCESTER: A gentle cousin, were it light enough. YORK: O, then, I see, you will part but with light gifts; In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay. GLOUCESTER: It is too heavy for your grace to wear. YORK: I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. GLOUCESTER: What, would you have my weapon, little lord? YORK: I would, that I might thank you as you call me. GLOUCESTER: How? YORK: Little. PRINCE EDWARD: My Lord of York will still be cross in talk: Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. YORK: You mean, to bear me, not to bear with me: Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; Because that I am little, like an ape, He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. BUCKINGHAM: With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons! To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, He prettily and aptly taunts himself: So cunning and so young is wonderful. GLOUCESTER: My lord, will't please you pass along? Myself and my good cousin Buckingham Will to your mother, to entreat of her To meet you at the Tower and welcome you. YORK: What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord? PRINCE EDWARD: My lord protector needs will have it so. YORK: I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. GLOUCESTER: Why, what should you fear? YORK: Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost: My grandam told me he was murdered there. PRINCE EDWARD: I fear no uncles dead. GLOUCESTER: Nor none that live, I hope. PRINCE EDWARD: An if they live, I hope I need not fear. But come, my lord; and with a heavy heart, Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower. BUCKINGHAM: Think you, my lord, this little prating York Was not incensed by his subtle mother To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously? GLOUCESTER: No doubt, no doubt; O, 'tis a parlous boy; Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. BUCKINGHAM: Well, let them rest. Come hither, Catesby. Thou art sworn as deeply to effect what we intend As closely to conceal what we impart: Thou know'st our reasons urged upon the way; What think'st thou? is it not an easy matter To make William Lord Hastings of our mind, For the instalment of this noble duke In the seat royal of this famous isle? CATESBY: He for his father's sake so loves the prince, That he will not be won to aught against him. BUCKINGHAM: What think'st thou, then, of Stanley? what will he? CATESBY: He will do all in all as Hastings doth. BUCKINGHAM: Well, then, no more but this: go, gentle Catesby, And, as it were far off sound thou Lord Hastings, How doth he stand affected to our purpose; And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, To sit about the coronation. If thou dost find him tractable to us, Encourage him, and show him all our reasons: If he be leaden, icy-cold, unwilling, Be thou so too; and so break off your talk, And give us notice of his inclination: For we to-morrow hold divided councils, Wherein thyself shalt highly be employ'd. GLOUCESTER: Commend me to Lord William: tell him, Catesby, His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle; And bid my friend, for joy of this good news, Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more. BUCKINGHAM: Good Catesby, go, effect this business soundly. CATESBY: My good lords both, with all the heed I may. GLOUCESTER: Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? CATESBY: You shall, my lord. GLOUCESTER: At Crosby Place, there shall you find us both. BUCKINGHAM: Now, my lord, what shall we do, if we perceive Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? GLOUCESTER: Chop off his head, man; somewhat we will do: And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me The earldom of Hereford, and the moveables Whereof the king my brother stood possess'd. BUCKINGHAM: I'll claim that promise at your grace's hands. GLOUCESTER: And look to have it yielded with all willingness. Come, let us sup betimes, that afterwards We may digest our complots in some form. Messenger: What, ho! my lord! HASTINGS: Messenger: A messenger from the Lord Stanley. HASTINGS: What is't o'clock? Messenger: Upon the stroke of four. HASTINGS: Cannot thy master sleep these tedious nights? Messenger: So it should seem by that I have to say. First, he commends him to your noble lordship. HASTINGS: And then? Messenger: And then he sends you word He dreamt to-night the boar had razed his helm: Besides, he says there are two councils held; And that may be determined at the one which may make you and him to rue at the other. Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, If presently you will take horse with him, And with all speed post with him toward the north, To shun the danger that his soul divines. HASTINGS: Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord; Bid him not fear the separated councils His honour and myself are at the one, And at the other is my servant Catesby Where nothing can proceed that toucheth us Whereof I shall not have intelligence. Tell him his fears are shallow, wanting instance: And for his dreams, I wonder he is so fond To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers To fly the boar before the boar pursues, Were to incense the boar to follow us And make pursuit where he did mean no chase. Go, bid thy master rise and come to me And we will both together to the Tower, Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. Messenger: My gracious lord, I'll tell him what you say. CATESBY: Many good morrows to my noble lord! HASTINGS: Good morrow, Catesby; you are early stirring What news, what news, in this our tottering state? CATESBY: It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord; And I believe twill never stand upright Tim Richard wear the garland of the realm. HASTINGS: How! wear the garland! dost thou mean the crown? CATESBY: Ay, my good lord. HASTINGS: I'll have this crown of mine cut from my shoulders Ere I will see the crown so foul misplaced. But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? CATESBY: Ay, on my life; and hopes to find forward Upon his party for the gain thereof: And thereupon he sends you this good news, That this same very day your enemies, The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. HASTINGS: Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still mine enemies: But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side, To bar my master's heirs in true descent, God knows I will not do it, to the death. CATESBY: God keep your lordship in that gracious mind! HASTINGS: But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month hence, That they who brought me in my master's hate I live to look upon their tragedy. I tell thee, Catesby-- CATESBY: What, my lord? HASTINGS: Ere a fortnight make me elder, I'll send some packing that yet think not on it. CATESBY: 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, When men are unprepared and look not for it. HASTINGS: O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do With some men else, who think themselves as safe As thou and I; who, as thou know'st, are dear To princely Richard and to Buckingham. CATESBY: The princes both make high account of you; For they account his head upon the bridge. HASTINGS: I know they do; and I have well deserved it. Come on, come on; where is your boar-spear, man? Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided? STANLEY: My lord, good morrow; good morrow, Catesby: You may jest on, but, by the holy rood, I do not like these several councils, I. HASTINGS: My lord, I hold my life as dear as you do yours; And never in my life, I do protest, Was it more precious to me than 'tis now: Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am? STANLEY: The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from London, Were jocund, and supposed their state was sure, And they indeed had no cause to mistrust; But yet, you see how soon the day o'ercast. This sudden stag of rancour I misdoubt: Pray God, I say, I prove a needless coward! What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. HASTINGS: Come, come, have with you. Wot you what, my lord? To-day the lords you talk of are beheaded. LORD STANLEY: They, for their truth, might better wear their heads Than some that have accused them wear their hats. But come, my lord, let us away. HASTINGS: Go on before; I'll talk with this good fellow. How now, sirrah! how goes the world with thee? Pursuivant: The better that your lordship please to ask. HASTINGS: I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now Than when I met thee last where now we meet: Then was I going prisoner to the Tower, By the suggestion of the queen's allies; But now, I tell thee--keep it to thyself-- This day those enemies are put to death, And I in better state than e'er I was. Pursuivant: God hold it, to your honour's good content! HASTINGS: Gramercy, fellow: there, drink that for me. Pursuivant: God save your lordship! Priest: Well met, my lord; I am glad to see your honour. HASTINGS: I thank thee, good Sir John, with all my heart. I am in your debt for your last exercise; Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you. BUCKINGHAM: What, talking with a priest, lord chamberlain? Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest; Your honour hath no shriving work in hand. HASTINGS: Good faith, and when I met this holy man, Those men you talk of came into my mind. What, go you toward the Tower? BUCKINGHAM: I do, my lord; but long I shall not stay I shall return before your lordship thence. HASTINGS: 'Tis like enough, for I stay dinner there. BUCKINGHAM: HASTINGS: I'll wait upon your lordship. RATCLIFF: Come, bring forth the prisoners. RIVERS: Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this: To-day shalt thou behold a subject die For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. GREY: God keep the prince from all the pack of you! A knot you are of damned blood-suckers! VAUGHAN: You live that shall cry woe for this after. RATCLIFF: Dispatch; the limit of your lives is out. RIVERS: O Pomfret, Pomfret! O thou bloody prison, Fatal and ominous to noble peers! Within the guilty closure of thy walls Richard the second here was hack'd to death; And, for more slander to thy dismal seat, We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink. GREY: Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our heads, For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. RIVERS: Then cursed she Hastings, then cursed she Buckingham, Then cursed she Richard. O, remember, God To hear her prayers for them, as now for us And for my sister and her princely sons, Be satisfied, dear God, with our true blood, Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt. RATCLIFF: Make haste; the hour of death is expiate. RIVERS: Come, Grey, come, Vaughan, let us all embrace: And take our leave, until we meet in heaven. HASTINGS: My lords, at once: the cause why we are met Is, to determine of the coronation. In God's name, speak: when is the royal day? BUCKINGHAM: Are all things fitting for that royal time? DERBY: It is, and wants but nomination. BISHOP OF ELY: To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day. BUCKINGHAM: Who knows the lord protector's mind herein? Who is most inward with the royal duke? BISHOP OF ELY: Your grace, we think, should soonest know his mind. BUCKINGHAM: Who, I, my lord I we know each other's faces, But for our hearts, he knows no more of mine, Than I of yours; Nor I no more of his, than you of mine. Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love. HASTINGS: I thank his grace, I know he loves me well; But, for his purpose in the coronation. I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd His gracious pleasure any way therein: But you, my noble lords, may name the time; And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice, Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part. BISHOP OF ELY: Now in good time, here comes the duke himself. GLOUCESTER: My noble lords and cousins all, good morrow. I have been long a sleeper; but, I hope, My absence doth neglect no great designs, Which by my presence might have been concluded. BUCKINGHAM: Had not you come upon your cue, my lord William Lord Hastings had pronounced your part,-- I mean, your voice,--for crowning of the king. GLOUCESTER: Than my Lord Hastings no man might be bolder; His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. HASTINGS: I thank your grace. GLOUCESTER: My lord of Ely! BISHOP OF ELY: My lord? GLOUCESTER: When I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there I do beseech you send for some of them. BISHOP OF ELY: Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. GLOUCESTER: Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business, And finds the testy gentleman so hot, As he will lose his head ere give consent His master's son, as worshipful as he terms it, Shall lose the royalty of England's throne. BUCKINGHAM: Withdraw you hence, my lord, I'll follow you. DERBY: We have not yet set down this day of triumph. To-morrow, in mine opinion, is too sudden; For I myself am not so well provided As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. BISHOP OF ELY: Where is my lord protector? I have sent for these strawberries. HASTINGS: His grace looks cheerfully and smooth to-day; There's some conceit or other likes him well, When he doth bid good morrow with such a spirit. I think there's never a man in Christendom That can less hide his love or hate than he; For by his face straight shall you know his heart. DERBY: What of his heart perceive you in his face By any likelihood he show'd to-day? HASTINGS: Marry, that with no man here he is offended; For, were he, he had shown it in his looks. DERBY: I pray God he be not, I say. GLOUCESTER: I pray you all, tell me what they deserve That do conspire my death with devilish plots Of damned witchcraft, and that have prevail'd Upon my body with their hellish charms? HASTINGS: The tender love I bear your grace, my lord, Makes me most forward in this noble presence To doom the offenders, whatsoever they be I say, my lord, they have deserved death. GLOUCESTER: Then be your eyes the witness of this ill: See how I am bewitch'd; behold mine arm Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up: And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, Consorted with that harlot strumpet Shore, That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. HASTINGS: If they have done this thing, my gracious lord-- GLOUCESTER: If I thou protector of this damned strumpet-- Tellest thou me of 'ifs'? Thou art a traitor: Off with his head! Now, by Saint Paul I swear, I will not dine until I see the same. Lovel and Ratcliff, look that it be done: The rest, that love me, rise and follow me. HASTINGS: Woe, woe for England! not a whit for me; For I, too fond, might have prevented this. Stanley did dream the boar did raze his helm; But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly: Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house. O, now I want the priest that spake to me: I now repent I told the pursuivant As 'twere triumphing at mine enemies, How they at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, And I myself secure in grace and favour. O Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head! RATCLIFF: Dispatch, my lord; the duke would be at dinner: Make a short shrift; he longs to see your head. HASTINGS: O momentary grace of mortal men, Which we more hunt for than the grace of God! Who builds his hopes in air of your good looks, Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready, with every nod, to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep. LOVEL: Come, come, dispatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. HASTINGS: O bloody Richard! miserable England! I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. Come, lead me to the block; bear him my head. They smile at me that shortly shall be dead. GLOUCESTER: Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change thy colour, Murder thy breath in the middle of a word, And then begin again, and stop again, As if thou wert distraught and mad with terror? BUCKINGHAM: Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian; Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion: ghastly looks Are at my service, like enforced smiles; And both are ready in their offices, At any time, to grace my stratagems. But what, is Catesby gone? GLOUCESTER: He is; and, see, he brings the mayor along. BUCKINGHAM: Lord mayor,-- GLOUCESTER: Look to the drawbridge there! BUCKINGHAM: Hark! a drum. GLOUCESTER: Catesby, o'erlook the walls. BUCKINGHAM: Lord mayor, the reason we have sent-- GLOUCESTER: Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. BUCKINGHAM: God and our innocency defend and guard us! GLOUCESTER: Be patient, they are friends, Ratcliff and Lovel. LOVEL: Here is the head of that ignoble traitor, The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. GLOUCESTER: So dear I loved the man, that I must weep. I took him for the plainest harmless creature That breathed upon this earth a Christian; Made him my book wherein my soul recorded The history of all her secret thoughts: So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue, That, his apparent open guilt omitted, I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, He lived from all attainder of suspect. BUCKINGHAM: Well, well, he was the covert'st shelter'd traitor That ever lived. Would you imagine, or almost believe, Were't not that, by great preservation, We live to tell it you, the subtle traitor This day had plotted, in the council-house To murder me and my good Lord of Gloucester? Lord Mayor: What, had he so? GLOUCESTER: What, think You we are Turks or infidels? Or that we would, against the form of law, Proceed thus rashly to the villain's death, But that the extreme peril of the case, The peace of England and our persons' safety, Enforced us to this execution? Lord Mayor: Now, fair befall you! he deserved his death; And you my good lords, both have well proceeded, To warn false traitors from the like attempts. I never look'd for better at his hands, After he once fell in with Mistress Shore. GLOUCESTER: Yet had not we determined he should die, Until your lordship came to see his death; Which now the loving haste of these our friends, Somewhat against our meaning, have prevented: Because, my lord, we would have had you heard The traitor speak, and timorously confess The manner and the purpose of his treason; That you might well have signified the same Unto the citizens, who haply may Misconstrue us in him and wail his death. Lord Mayor: But, my good lord, your grace's word shall serve, As well as I had seen and heard him speak And doubt you not, right noble princes both, But I'll acquaint our duteous citizens With all your just proceedings in this cause. GLOUCESTER: And to that end we wish'd your lord-ship here, To avoid the carping censures of the world. BUCKINGHAM: But since you come too late of our intents, Yet witness what you hear we did intend: And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. GLOUCESTER: Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham. The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post: There, at your meet'st advantage of the time, Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: Tell them how Edward put to death a citizen, Only for saying he would make his son Heir to the crown; meaning indeed his house, Which, by the sign thereof was termed so. Moreover, urge his hateful luxury And bestial appetite in change of lust; Which stretched to their servants, daughters, wives, Even where his lustful eye or savage heart, Without control, listed to make his prey. Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person: Tell them, when that my mother went with child Of that unsatiate Edward, noble York My princely father then had wars in France And, by just computation of the time, Found that the issue was not his begot; Which well appeared in his lineaments, Being nothing like the noble duke my father: But touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off, Because you know, my lord, my mother lives. BUCKINGHAM: Fear not, my lord, I'll play the orator As if the golden fee for which I plead Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu. GLOUCESTER: If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's Castle; Where you shall find me well accompanied With reverend fathers and well-learned bishops. BUCKINGHAM: I go: and towards three or four o'clock Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. GLOUCESTER: Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw; Go thou to Friar Penker; bid them both Meet me within this hour at Baynard's Castle. Now will I in, to take some privy order, To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight; And to give notice, that no manner of person At any time have recourse unto the princes. Scrivener: This is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings; Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd, That it may be this day read over in Paul's. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it brought me; The precedent was full as long a-doing: And yet within these five hours lived Lord Hastings, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty Here's a good world the while! Why who's so gross, That seeth not this palpable device? Yet who's so blind, but says he sees it not? Bad is the world; and all will come to nought, When such bad dealings must be seen in thought. GLOUCESTER: How now, my lord, what say the citizens? BUCKINGHAM: Now, by the holy mother of our Lord, The citizens are mum and speak not a word. GLOUCESTER: Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's children? BUCKINGHAM: I did; with his contract with Lady Lucy, And his contract by deputy in France; The insatiate greediness of his desires, And his enforcement of the city wives; His tyranny for trifles; his own bastardy, As being got, your father then in France, His resemblance, being not like the duke; Withal I did infer your lineaments, Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind; Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your dicipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility: Indeed, left nothing fitting for the purpose Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse And when mine oratory grew to an end I bid them that did love their country's good Cry 'God save Richard, England's royal king!' GLOUCESTER: Ah! and did they so? BUCKINGHAM: No, so God help me, they spake not a word; But, like dumb statues or breathing stones, Gazed each on other, and look'd deadly pale. Which when I saw, I reprehended them; And ask'd the mayor what meant this wilful silence: His answer was, the people were not wont To be spoke to but by the recorder. Then he was urged to tell my tale again, 'Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferr'd;' But nothing spake in warrant from himself. When he had done, some followers of mine own, At the lower end of the hall, hurl'd up their caps, And some ten voices cried 'God save King Richard!' And thus I took the vantage of those few, 'Thanks, gentle citizens and friends,' quoth I; 'This general applause and loving shout Argues your wisdoms and your love to Richard:' And even here brake off, and came away. GLOUCESTER: What tongueless blocks were they! would not they speak? BUCKINGHAM: No, by my troth, my lord. GLOUCESTER: Will not the mayor then and his brethren come? BUCKINGHAM: The mayor is here at hand: intend some fear; Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit: And look you get a prayer-book in your hand, And stand betwixt two churchmen, good my lord; For on that ground I'll build a holy descant: And be not easily won to our request: Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. GLOUCESTER: I go; and if you plead as well for them As I can say nay to thee for myself, No doubt well bring it to a happy issue. BUCKINGHAM: Go, go, up to the leads; the lord mayor knocks. Welcome my lord; I dance attendance here; I think the duke will not be spoke withal. Here comes his servant: how now, Catesby, What says he? CATESBY: My lord: he doth entreat your grace; To visit him to-morrow or next day: He is within, with two right reverend fathers, Divinely bent to meditation; And no worldly suit would he be moved, To draw him from his holy exercise. BUCKINGHAM: Return, good Catesby, to thy lord again; Tell him, myself, the mayor and citizens, In deep designs and matters of great moment, No less importing than our general good, Are come to have some conference with his grace. CATESBY: I'll tell him what you say, my lord. BUCKINGHAM: Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Edward! He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, But on his knees at meditation; Not dallying with a brace of courtezans, But meditating with two deep divines; Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul: Happy were England, would this gracious prince Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. Lord Mayor: Marry, God forbid his grace should say us nay! BUCKINGHAM: I fear he will. How now, Catesby, what says your lord? CATESBY: My lord, He wonders to what end you have assembled Such troops of citizens to speak with him, His grace not being warn'd thereof before: My lord, he fears you mean no good to him. BUCKINGHAM: Sorry I am my noble cousin should Suspect me, that I mean no good to him: By heaven, I come in perfect love to him; And so once more return and tell his grace. When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence, So sweet is zealous contemplation. Lord Mayor: See, where he stands between two clergymen! BUCKINGHAM: Two props of virtue for a Christian prince, To stay him from the fall of vanity: And, see, a book of prayer in his hand, True ornaments to know a holy man. Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince, Lend favourable ears to our request; And pardon us the interruption Of thy devotion and right Christian zeal. GLOUCESTER: My lord, there needs no such apology: I rather do beseech you pardon me, Who, earnest in the service of my God, Neglect the visitation of my friends. But, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure? BUCKINGHAM: Even that, I hope, which pleaseth God above, And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. GLOUCESTER: I do suspect I have done some offence That seems disgracious in the city's eyes, And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. BUCKINGHAM: You have, my lord: would it might please your grace, At our entreaties, to amend that fault! GLOUCESTER: Else wherefore breathe I in a Christian land? BUCKINGHAM: Then know, it is your fault that you resign The supreme seat, the throne majestical, The scepter'd office of your ancestors, Your state of fortune and your due of birth, The lineal glory of your royal house, To the corruption of a blemished stock: Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, Which here we waken to our country's good, This noble isle doth want her proper limbs; Her face defaced with scars of infamy, Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf Of blind forgetfulness and dark oblivion. Which to recure, we heartily solicit Your gracious self to take on you the charge And kingly government of this your land, Not as protector, steward, substitute, Or lowly factor for another's gain; But as successively from blood to blood, Your right of birth, your empery, your own. For this, consorted with the citizens, Your very worshipful and loving friends, And by their vehement instigation, In this just suit come I to move your grace. GLOUCESTER: I know not whether to depart in silence, Or bitterly to speak in your reproof. Best fitteth my degree or your condition If not to answer, you might haply think Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty, Which fondly you would here impose on me; If to reprove you for this suit of yours, So season'd with your faithful love to me. Then, on the other side, I cheque'd my friends. Therefore, to speak, and to avoid the first, And then, in speaking, not to incur the last, Definitively thus I answer you. Your love deserves my thanks; but my desert Unmeritable shuns your high request. First if all obstacles were cut away, And that my path were even to the crown, As my ripe revenue and due by birth Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But, God be thank'd, there's no need of me, And much I need to help you, if need were; The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, Which, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, Will well become the seat of majesty, And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. On him I lay what you would lay on me, The right and fortune of his happy stars; Which God defend that I should wring from him! BUCKINGHAM: My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; But the respects thereof are nice and trivial, All circumstances well considered. You say that Edward is your brother's son: So say we too, but not by Edward's wife; For first he was contract to Lady Lucy-- Your mother lives a witness to that vow-- And afterward by substitute betroth'd To Bona, sister to the King of France. These both put by a poor petitioner, A care-crazed mother of a many children, A beauty-waning and distressed widow, Even in the afternoon of her best days, Made prize and purchase of his lustful eye, Seduced the pitch and height of all his thoughts To base declension and loathed bigamy By her, in his unlawful bed, he got This Edward, whom our manners term the prince. More bitterly could I expostulate, Save that, for reverence to some alive, I give a sparing limit to my tongue. Then, good my lord, take to your royal self This proffer'd benefit of dignity; If non to bless us and the land withal, Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry From the corruption of abusing times, Unto a lineal true-derived course. Lord Mayor: Do, good my lord, your citizens entreat you. BUCKINGHAM: Refuse not, mighty lord, this proffer'd love. CATESBY: O, make them joyful, grant their lawful suit! GLOUCESTER: Alas, why would you heap these cares on me? I am unfit for state and majesty; I do beseech you, take it not amiss; I cannot nor I will not yield to you. BUCKINGHAM: If you refuse it,--as, in love and zeal, Loath to depose the child, Your brother's son; As well we know your tenderness of heart And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse, Which we have noted in you to your kin, And egally indeed to all estates,-- Yet whether you accept our suit or no, Your brother's son shall never reign our king; But we will plant some other in the throne, To the disgrace and downfall of your house: And in this resolution here we leave you.-- Come, citizens: 'zounds! I'll entreat no more. GLOUCESTER: O, do not swear, my lord of Buckingham. CATESBY: Call them again, my lord, and accept their suit. ANOTHER: Do, good my lord, lest all the land do rue it. GLOUCESTER: Would you enforce me to a world of care? Well, call them again. I am not made of stone, But penetrable to your. kind entreats, Albeit against my conscience and my soul. Cousin of Buckingham, and you sage, grave men, Since you will buckle fortune on my back, To bear her burthen, whether I will or no, I must have patience to endure the load: But if black scandal or foul-faced reproach Attend the sequel of your imposition, Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me From all the impure blots and stains thereof; For God he knows, and you may partly see, How far I am from the desire thereof. Lord Mayor: God bless your grace! we see it, and will say it. GLOUCESTER: In saying so, you shall but say the truth. BUCKINGHAM: Then I salute you with this kingly title: Long live Richard, England's royal king! Lord Mayor: Amen. BUCKINGHAM: To-morrow will it please you to be crown'd? GLOUCESTER: Even when you please, since you will have it so. BUCKINGHAM: To-morrow, then, we will attend your grace: And so most joyfully we take our leave. GLOUCESTER: Come, let us to our holy task again. Farewell, good cousin; farewell, gentle friends. DUCHESS OF YORK: Who meets us here? my niece Plantagenet Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloucester? Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower, On pure heart's love to greet the tender princes. Daughter, well met. LADY ANNE: God give your graces both A happy and a joyful time of day! QUEEN ELIZABETH: As much to you, good sister! Whither away? LADY ANNE: No farther than the Tower; and, as I guess, Upon the like devotion as yourselves, To gratulate the gentle princes there. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Kind sister, thanks: we'll enter all together. And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave, How doth the prince, and my young son of York? BRAKENBURY: Right well, dear madam. By your patience, I may not suffer you to visit them; The king hath straitly charged the contrary. QUEEN ELIZABETH: The king! why, who's that? BRAKENBURY: I cry you mercy: I mean the lord protector. QUEEN ELIZABETH: The Lord protect him from that kingly title! Hath he set bounds betwixt their love and me? I am their mother; who should keep me from them? DUCHESS OF YORK: I am their fathers mother; I will see them. LADY ANNE: Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother: Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame And take thy office from thee, on my peril. BRAKENBURY: No, madam, no; I may not leave it so: I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. LORD STANLEY: Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, And I'll salute your grace of York as mother, And reverend looker on, of two fair queens. Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster, There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. QUEEN ELIZABETH: O, cut my lace in sunder, that my pent heart May have some scope to beat, or else I swoon With this dead-killing news! LADY ANNE: Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! DORSET: Be of good cheer: mother, how fares your grace? QUEEN ELIZABETH: O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee hence! Death and destruction dog thee at the heels; Thy mother's name is ominous to children. If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, Lest thou increase the number of the dead; And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. LORD STANLEY: Full of wise care is this your counsel, madam. Take all the swift advantage of the hours; You shall have letters from me to my son To meet you on the way, and welcome you. Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay. DUCHESS OF YORK: O ill-dispersing wind of misery! O my accursed womb, the bed of death! A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world, Whose unavoided eye is murderous. LORD STANLEY: Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent. LADY ANNE: And I in all unwillingness will go. I would to God that the inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! Anointed let me be with deadly venom, And die, ere men can say, God save the queen! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm. LADY ANNE: No! why? When he that is my husband now Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse, When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands Which issued from my other angel husband And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd; O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face, This was my wish: 'Be thou,' quoth I, ' accursed, For making me, so young, so old a widow! And, when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed; And be thy wife--if any be so mad-- As miserable by the life of thee As thou hast made me by my dear lord's death! Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again, Even in so short a space, my woman's heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words And proved the subject of my own soul's curse, Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest; For never yet one hour in his bed Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep, But have been waked by his timorous dreams. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick; And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. LADY ANNE: No more than from my soul I mourn for yours. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory! LADY ANNE: Adieu, poor soul, that takest thy leave of it! DUCHESS OF YORK: QUEEN ELIZABETH: Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower. Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes Whom envy hath immured within your walls! Rough cradle for such little pretty ones! Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow For tender princes, use my babies well! So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. KING RICHARD III: Stand all apart Cousin of Buckingham! BUCKINGHAM: My gracious sovereign? KING RICHARD III: Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy advice And thy assistance, is King Richard seated; But shall we wear these honours for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them? BUCKINGHAM: Still live they and for ever may they last! KING RICHARD III: O Buckingham, now do I play the touch, To try if thou be current gold indeed Young Edward lives: think now what I would say. BUCKINGHAM: Say on, my loving lord. KING RICHARD III: Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king, BUCKINGHAM: Why, so you are, my thrice renowned liege. KING RICHARD III: Ha! am I king? 'tis so: but Edward lives. BUCKINGHAM: True, noble prince. KING RICHARD III: O bitter consequence, That Edward still should live! 'True, noble prince!' Cousin, thou wert not wont to be so dull: Shall I be plain? I wish the bastards dead; And I would have it suddenly perform'd. What sayest thou? speak suddenly; be brief. BUCKINGHAM: Your grace may do your pleasure. KING RICHARD III: Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness freezeth: Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? BUCKINGHAM: Give me some breath, some little pause, my lord Before I positively herein: I will resolve your grace immediately. CATESBY: KING RICHARD III: I will converse with iron-witted fools And unrespective boys: none are for me That look into me with considerate eyes: High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect. Boy! Page: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold Would tempt unto a close exploit of death? Page: My lord, I know a discontented gentleman, Whose humble means match not his haughty mind: Gold were as good as twenty orators, And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. KING RICHARD III: What is his name? Page: His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. KING RICHARD III: I partly know the man: go, call him hither. The deep-revolving witty Buckingham No more shall be the neighbour to my counsel: Hath he so long held out with me untired, And stops he now for breath? How now! what news with you? STANLEY: My lord, I hear the Marquis Dorset's fled To Richmond, in those parts beyond the sea Where he abides. KING RICHARD III: Catesby! CATESBY: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Rumour it abroad That Anne, my wife, is sick and like to die: I will take order for her keeping close. Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman, Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter: The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. Look, how thou dream'st! I say again, give out That Anne my wife is sick and like to die: About it; for it stands me much upon, To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me. I must be married to my brother's daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. Murder her brothers, and then marry her! Uncertain way of gain! But I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin: Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. Is thy name Tyrrel? TYRREL: James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. KING RICHARD III: Art thou, indeed? TYRREL: Prove me, my gracious sovereign. KING RICHARD III: Darest thou resolve to kill a friend of mine? TYRREL: Ay, my lord; But I had rather kill two enemies. KING RICHARD III: Why, there thou hast it: two deep enemies, Foes to my rest and my sweet sleep's disturbers Are they that I would have thee deal upon: Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. TYRREL: Let me have open means to come to them, And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. KING RICHARD III: Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel Go, by this token: rise, and lend thine ear: There is no more but so: say it is done, And I will love thee, and prefer thee too. TYRREL: 'Tis done, my gracious lord. KING RICHARD III: Shall we hear from thee, Tyrrel, ere we sleep? TYRREL: Ye shall, my Lord. BUCKINGHAM: My Lord, I have consider'd in my mind The late demand that you did sound me in. KING RICHARD III: Well, let that pass. Dorset is fled to Richmond. BUCKINGHAM: I hear that news, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Stanley, he is your wife's son well, look to it. BUCKINGHAM: My lord, I claim your gift, my due by promise, For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd; The earldom of Hereford and the moveables The which you promised I should possess. KING RICHARD III: Stanley, look to your wife; if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. BUCKINGHAM: What says your highness to my just demand? KING RICHARD III: As I remember, Henry the Sixth Did prophesy that Richmond should be king, When Richmond was a little peevish boy. A king, perhaps, perhaps,-- BUCKINGHAM: My lord! KING RICHARD III: How chance the prophet could not at that time Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? BUCKINGHAM: My lord, your promise for the earldom,-- KING RICHARD III: Richmond! When last I was at Exeter, The mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle, And call'd it Rougemont: at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond. BUCKINGHAM: My Lord! KING RICHARD III: Ay, what's o'clock? BUCKINGHAM: I am thus bold to put your grace in mind Of what you promised me. KING RICHARD III: Well, but what's o'clock? BUCKINGHAM: Upon the stroke of ten. KING RICHARD III: Well, let it strike. BUCKINGHAM: Why let it strike? KING RICHARD III: Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke Betwixt thy begging and my meditation. I am not in the giving vein to-day. BUCKINGHAM: Why, then resolve me whether you will or no. KING RICHARD III: Tut, tut, Thou troublest me; am not in the vein. BUCKINGHAM: Is it even so? rewards he my true service With such deep contempt made I him king for this? O, let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on! TYRREL: The tyrannous and bloody deed is done. The most arch of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this ruthless piece of butchery, Although they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs, Melting with tenderness and kind compassion Wept like two children in their deaths' sad stories. 'Lo, thus' quoth Dighton, 'lay those tender babes:' 'Thus, thus,' quoth Forrest, 'girdling one another Within their innocent alabaster arms: Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other. A book of prayers on their pillow lay; Which once,' quoth Forrest, 'almost changed my mind; But O! the devil'--there the villain stopp'd Whilst Dighton thus told on: 'We smothered The most replenished sweet work of nature, That from the prime creation e'er she framed.' Thus both are gone with conscience and remorse; They could not speak; and so I left them both, To bring this tidings to the bloody king. And here he comes. All hail, my sovereign liege! KING RICHARD III: Kind Tyrrel, am I happy in thy news? TYRREL: If to have done the thing you gave in charge Beget your happiness, be happy then, For it is done, my lord. KING RICHARD III: But didst thou see them dead? TYRREL: I did, my lord. KING RICHARD III: And buried, gentle Tyrrel? TYRREL: The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; But how or in what place I do not know. KING RICHARD III: Come to me, Tyrrel, soon at after supper, And thou shalt tell the process of their death. Meantime, but think how I may do thee good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell till soon. The son of Clarence have I pent up close; His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. Now, for I know the Breton Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter, And, by that knot, looks proudly o'er the crown, To her I go, a jolly thriving wooer. CATESBY: My lord! KING RICHARD III: Good news or bad, that thou comest in so bluntly? CATESBY: Bad news, my lord: Ely is fled to Richmond; And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. KING RICHARD III: Ely with Richmond troubles me more near Than Buckingham and his rash-levied army. Come, I have heard that fearful commenting Is leaden servitor to dull delay; Delay leads impotent and snail-paced beggary Then fiery expedition be my wing, Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king! Come, muster men: my counsel is my shield; We must be brief when traitors brave the field. QUEEN MARGARET: So, now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd, To watch the waning of mine adversaries. A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret: who comes here? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Ah, my young princes! ah, my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets! If yet your gentle souls fly in the air And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings And hear your mother's lamentation! QUEEN MARGARET: Hover about her; say, that right for right Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. DUCHESS OF YORK: So many miseries have crazed my voice, That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb, Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? QUEEN MARGARET: Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet. Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the wolf? When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? QUEEN MARGARET: When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. DUCHESS OF YORK: Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost, Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life usurp'd, Brief abstract and record of tedious days, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, Unlawfully made drunk with innocents' blood! QUEEN ELIZABETH: O, that thou wouldst as well afford a grave As thou canst yield a melancholy seat! Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here. O, who hath any cause to mourn but I? QUEEN MARGARET: If ancient sorrow be most reverend, Give mine the benefit of seniory, And let my woes frown on the upper hand. If sorrow can admit society, Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine: I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; I had a Harry, till a Richard kill'd him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him; DUCHESS OF YORK: I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill him; I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. QUEEN MARGARET: Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard kill'd him. From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept A hell-hound that doth hunt us all to death: That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood, That foul defacer of God's handiwork, That excellent grand tyrant of the earth, That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. O upright, just, and true-disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur Preys on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! DUCHESS OF YORK: O Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes! God witness with me, I have wept for thine. QUEEN MARGARET: Bear with me; I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloy me with beholding it. Thy Edward he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward: Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward; Young York he is but boot, because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss: Thy Clarence he is dead that kill'd my Edward; And the beholders of this tragic play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer, Only reserved their factor, to buy souls And send them thither: but at hand, at hand, Ensues his piteous and unpitied end: Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray. To have him suddenly convey'd away. Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I prey, That I may live to say, The dog is dead! QUEEN ELIZABETH: O, thou didst prophesy the time would come That I should wish for thee to help me curse That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad! QUEEN MARGARET: I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune; I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen; The presentation of but what I was; The flattering index of a direful pageant; One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below; A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes; A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble, A sign of dignity, a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot, A queen in jest, only to fill the scene. Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy? Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'? Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee? Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee? Decline all this, and see what now thou art: For happy wife, a most distressed widow; For joyful mother, one that wails the name; For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care; For one being sued to, one that humbly sues; For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me; For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one; For one commanding all, obey'd of none. Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, And left thee but a very prey to time; Having no more but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art. Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow? Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke; From which even here I slip my weary neck, And leave the burthen of it all on thee. Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance: These English woes will make me smile in France. QUEEN ELIZABETH: O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile, And teach me how to curse mine enemies! QUEEN MARGARET: Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, And he that slew them fouler than he is: Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse: Revolving this will teach thee how to curse. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My words are dull; O, quicken them with thine! QUEEN MARGARET: Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine. DUCHESS OF YORK: Why should calamity be full of words? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Windy attorneys to their client woes, Airy succeeders of intestate joys, Poor breathing orators of miseries! Let them have scope: though what they do impart Help not all, yet do they ease the heart. DUCHESS OF YORK: If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me. And in the breath of bitter words let's smother My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd. I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims. KING RICHARD III: Who intercepts my expedition? DUCHESS OF YORK: O, she that might have intercepted thee, By strangling thee in her accursed womb From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done! QUEEN ELIZABETH: Hidest thou that forehead with a golden crown, Where should be graven, if that right were right, The slaughter of the prince that owed that crown, And the dire death of my two sons and brothers? Tell me, thou villain slave, where are my children? DUCHESS OF YORK: Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother Clarence? And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Where is kind Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? KING RICHARD III: A flourish, trumpets! strike alarum, drums! Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women Rail on the Lord's enointed: strike, I say! Either be patient, and entreat me fair, Or with the clamorous report of war Thus will I drown your exclamations. DUCHESS OF YORK: Art thou my son? KING RICHARD III: Ay, I thank God, my father, and yourself. DUCHESS OF YORK: Then patiently hear my impatience. KING RICHARD III: Madam, I have a touch of your condition, Which cannot brook the accent of reproof. DUCHESS OF YORK: O, let me speak! KING RICHARD III: Do then: but I'll not hear. DUCHESS OF YORK: I will be mild and gentle in my speech. KING RICHARD III: And brief, good mother; for I am in haste. DUCHESS OF YORK: Art thou so hasty? I have stay'd for thee, God knows, in anguish, pain and agony. KING RICHARD III: And came I not at last to comfort you? DUCHESS OF YORK: No, by the holy rood, thou know'st it well, Thou camest on earth to make the earth my hell. A grievous burthen was thy birth to me; Tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; Thy school-days frightful, desperate, wild, and furious, Thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous, Thy age confirm'd, proud, subdued, bloody, treacherous, More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred: What comfortable hour canst thou name, That ever graced me in thy company? KING RICHARD III: Faith, none, but Humphrey Hour, that call'd your grace To breakfast once forth of my company. If I be so disgracious in your sight, Let me march on, and not offend your grace. Strike the drum. DUCHESS OF YORK: I prithee, hear me speak. KING RICHARD III: You speak too bitterly. DUCHESS OF YORK: Hear me a word; For I shall never speak to thee again. KING RICHARD III: So. DUCHESS OF YORK: Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordinance, Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror, Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish And never look upon thy face again. Therefore take with thee my most heavy curse; Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st! My prayers on the adverse party fight; And there the little souls of Edward's children Whisper the spirits of thine enemies And promise them success and victory. Bloody thou art, bloody will be thy end; Shame serves thy life and doth thy death attend. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Though far more cause, yet much less spirit to curse Abides in me; I say amen to all. KING RICHARD III: Stay, madam; I must speak a word with you. QUEEN ELIZABETH: I have no more sons of the royal blood For thee to murder: for my daughters, Richard, They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; And therefore level not to hit their lives. KING RICHARD III: You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth, Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious. QUEEN ELIZABETH: And must she die for this? O, let her live, And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty; Slander myself as false to Edward's bed; Throw over her the veil of infamy: So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter, I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. KING RICHARD III: Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood. QUEEN ELIZABETH: To save her life, I'll say she is not so. KING RICHARD III: Her life is only safest in her birth. QUEEN ELIZABETH: And only in that safety died her brothers. KING RICHARD III: Lo, at their births good stars were opposite. QUEEN ELIZABETH: No, to their lives bad friends were contrary. KING RICHARD III: All unavoided is the doom of destiny. QUEEN ELIZABETH: True, when avoided grace makes destiny: My babes were destined to a fairer death, If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life. KING RICHARD III: You speak as if that I had slain my cousins. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Whose hand soever lanced their tender hearts, Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart, To revel in the entrails of my lambs. But that still use of grief makes wild grief tame, My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes; And I, in such a desperate bay of death, Like a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft, Rush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom. KING RICHARD III: Madam, so thrive I in my enterprise And dangerous success of bloody wars, As I intend more good to you and yours, Than ever you or yours were by me wrong'd! QUEEN ELIZABETH: What good is cover'd with the face of heaven, To be discover'd, that can do me good? KING RICHARD III: The advancement of your children, gentle lady. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Up to some scaffold, there to lose their heads? KING RICHARD III: No, to the dignity and height of honour The high imperial type of this earth's glory. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Flatter my sorrows with report of it; Tell me what state, what dignity, what honour, Canst thou demise to any child of mine? KING RICHARD III: Even all I have; yea, and myself and all, Will I withal endow a child of thine; So in the Lethe of thy angry soul Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs Which thou supposest I have done to thee. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Be brief, lest that be process of thy kindness Last longer telling than thy kindness' date. KING RICHARD III: Then know, that from my soul I love thy daughter. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul. KING RICHARD III: What do you think? QUEEN ELIZABETH: That thou dost love my daughter from thy soul: So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers; And from my heart's love I do thank thee for it. KING RICHARD III: Be not so hasty to confound my meaning: I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter, And mean to make her queen of England. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Say then, who dost thou mean shall be her king? KING RICHARD III: Even he that makes her queen who should be else? QUEEN ELIZABETH: What, thou? KING RICHARD III: I, even I: what think you of it, madam? QUEEN ELIZABETH: How canst thou woo her? KING RICHARD III: That would I learn of you, As one that are best acquainted with her humour. QUEEN ELIZABETH: And wilt thou learn of me? KING RICHARD III: Madam, with all my heart. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Send to her, by the man that slew her brothers, A pair of bleeding-hearts; thereon engrave Edward and York; then haply she will weep: Therefore present to her--as sometime Margaret Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood,-- A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain The purple sap from her sweet brother's body And bid her dry her weeping eyes therewith. If this inducement force her not to love, Send her a story of thy noble acts; Tell her thou madest away her uncle Clarence, Her uncle Rivers; yea, and, for her sake, Madest quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne. KING RICHARD III: Come, come, you mock me; this is not the way To win our daughter. QUEEN ELIZABETH: There is no other way Unless thou couldst put on some other shape, And not be Richard that hath done all this. KING RICHARD III: Say that I did all this for love of her. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Nay, then indeed she cannot choose but hate thee, Having bought love with such a bloody spoil. KING RICHARD III: Look, what is done cannot be now amended: Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, Which after hours give leisure to repent. If I did take the kingdom from your sons, To make amends, Ill give it to your daughter. If I have kill'd the issue of your womb, To quicken your increase, I will beget Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter A grandam's name is little less in love Than is the doting title of a mother; They are as children but one step below, Even of your mettle, of your very blood; Of an one pain, save for a night of groans Endured of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. Your children were vexation to your youth, But mine shall be a comfort to your age. The loss you have is but a son being king, And by that loss your daughter is made queen. I cannot make you what amends I would, Therefore accept such kindness as I can. Dorset your son, that with a fearful soul Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, This fair alliance quickly shall call home To high promotions and great dignity: The king, that calls your beauteous daughter wife. Familiarly shall call thy Dorset brother; Again shall you be mother to a king, And all the ruins of distressful times Repair'd with double riches of content. What! we have many goodly days to see: The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, Advantaging their loan with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness. Go, then my mother, to thy daughter go Make bold her bashful years with your experience; Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame Of golden sovereignty; acquaint the princess With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys And when this arm of mine hath chastised The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, Bound with triumphant garlands will I come And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed; To whom I will retail my conquest won, And she shall be sole victress, Caesar's Caesar. QUEEN ELIZABETH: What were I best to say? her father's brother Would be her lord? or shall I say, her uncle? Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles? Under what title shall I woo for thee, That God, the law, my honour and her love, Can make seem pleasing to her tender years? KING RICHARD III: Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Which she shall purchase with still lasting war. KING RICHARD III: Say that the king, which may command, entreats. QUEEN ELIZABETH: That at her hands which the king's King forbids. KING RICHARD III: Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen. QUEEN ELIZABETH: To wail the tide, as her mother doth. KING RICHARD III: Say, I will love her everlastingly. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But how long shall that title 'ever' last? KING RICHARD III: Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But how long fairly shall her sweet lie last? KING RICHARD III: So long as heaven and nature lengthens it. QUEEN ELIZABETH: So long as hell and Richard likes of it. KING RICHARD III: Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject love. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But she, your subject, loathes such sovereignty. KING RICHARD III: Be eloquent in my behalf to her. QUEEN ELIZABETH: An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. KING RICHARD III: Then in plain terms tell her my loving tale. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Plain and not honest is too harsh a style. KING RICHARD III: Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. QUEEN ELIZABETH: O no, my reasons are too deep and dead; Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their grave. KING RICHARD III: Harp not on that string, madam; that is past. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Harp on it still shall I till heart-strings break. KING RICHARD III: Now, by my George, my garter, and my crown,-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: Profaned, dishonour'd, and the third usurp'd. KING RICHARD III: I swear-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: By nothing; for this is no oath: The George, profaned, hath lost his holy honour; The garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue; The crown, usurp'd, disgraced his kingly glory. if something thou wilt swear to be believed, Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'd. KING RICHARD III: Now, by the world-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. KING RICHARD III: My father's death-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thy life hath that dishonour'd. KING RICHARD III: Then, by myself-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thyself thyself misusest. KING RICHARD III: Why then, by God-- QUEEN ELIZABETH: God's wrong is most of all. If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, The unity the king thy brother made Had not been broken, nor my brother slain: If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by Him, The imperial metal, circling now thy brow, Had graced the tender temples of my child, And both the princes had been breathing here, Which now, two tender playfellows to dust, Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms. What canst thou swear by now? KING RICHARD III: The time to come. QUEEN ELIZABETH: That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast; For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past wrong'd by thee. The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'd, Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, Old wither'd plants, to wail it with their age. Swear not by time to come; for that thou hast Misused ere used, by time misused o'erpast. KING RICHARD III: As I intend to prosper and repent, So thrive I in my dangerous attempt Of hostile arms! myself myself confound! Heaven and fortune bar me happy hours! Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night, thy rest! Be opposite all planets of good luck To my proceedings, if, with pure heart's love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter! In her consists my happiness and thine; Without her, follows to this land and me, To thee, herself, and many a Christian soul, Death, desolation, ruin and decay: It cannot be avoided but by this; It will not be avoided but by this. Therefore, good mother,--I must can you so-- Be the attorney of my love to her: Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: Urge the necessity and state of times, And be not peevish-fond in great designs. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? KING RICHARD III: Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Shall I forget myself to be myself? KING RICHARD III: Ay, if yourself's remembrance wrong yourself. QUEEN ELIZABETH: But thou didst kill my children. KING RICHARD III: But in your daughter's womb I bury them: Where in that nest of spicery they shall breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? KING RICHARD III: And be a happy mother by the deed. QUEEN ELIZABETH: I go. Write to me very shortly. And you shall understand from me her mind. KING RICHARD III: Bear her my true love's kiss; and so, farewell. Relenting fool, and shallow, changing woman! How now! what news? RATCLIFF: My gracious sovereign, on the western coast Rideth a puissant navy; to the shore Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends, Unarm'd, and unresolved to beat them back: 'Tis thought that Richmond is their admiral; And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. KING RICHARD III: Some light-foot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliff, thyself, or Catesby; where is he? CATESBY: Here, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Fly to the duke: Post thou to Salisbury When thou comest thither-- Dull, unmindful villain, Why stand'st thou still, and go'st not to the duke? CATESBY: First, mighty sovereign, let me know your mind, What from your grace I shall deliver to him. KING RICHARD III: O, true, good Catesby: bid him levy straight The greatest strength and power he can make, And meet me presently at Salisbury. CATESBY: I go. RATCLIFF: What is't your highness' pleasure I shall do at Salisbury? KING RICHARD III: Why, what wouldst thou do there before I go? RATCLIFF: Your highness told me I should post before. KING RICHARD III: My mind is changed, sir, my mind is changed. How now, what news with you? STANLEY: None good, my lord, to please you with the hearing; Nor none so bad, but it may well be told. KING RICHARD III: Hoyday, a riddle! neither good nor bad! Why dost thou run so many mile about, When thou mayst tell thy tale a nearer way? Once more, what news? STANLEY: Richmond is on the seas. KING RICHARD III: There let him sink, and be the seas on him! White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there? STANLEY: I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. KING RICHARD III: Well, sir, as you guess, as you guess? STANLEY: Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Ely, He makes for England, there to claim the crown. KING RICHARD III: Is the chair empty? is the sword unsway'd? Is the king dead? the empire unpossess'd? What heir of York is there alive but we? And who is England's king but great York's heir? Then, tell me, what doth he upon the sea? STANLEY: Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. KING RICHARD III: Unless for that he comes to be your liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. STANLEY: No, mighty liege; therefore mistrust me not. KING RICHARD III: Where is thy power, then, to beat him back? Where are thy tenants and thy followers? Are they not now upon the western shore. Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships! STANLEY: No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. KING RICHARD III: Cold friends to Richard: what do they in the north, When they should serve their sovereign in the west? STANLEY: They have not been commanded, mighty sovereign: Please it your majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, and meet your grace Where and what time your majesty shall please. KING RICHARD III: Ay, ay. thou wouldst be gone to join with Richmond: I will not trust you, sir. STANLEY: Most mighty sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful: I never was nor never will be false. KING RICHARD III: Well, Go muster men; but, hear you, leave behind Your son, George Stanley: look your faith be firm. Or else his head's assurance is but frail. STANLEY: So deal with him as I prove true to you. Messenger: My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate Bishop of Exeter, his brother there, With many more confederates, are in arms. Second Messenger: My liege, in Kent the Guildfords are in arms; And every hour more competitors Flock to their aid, and still their power increaseth. Third Messenger: My lord, the army of the Duke of Buckingham-- KING RICHARD III: Out on you, owls! nothing but songs of death? Take that, until thou bring me better news. Third Messenger: The news I have to tell your majesty Is, that by sudden floods and fall of waters, Buckingham's army is dispersed and scatter'd; And he himself wander'd away alone, No man knows whither. KING RICHARD III: I cry thee mercy: There is my purse to cure that blow of thine. Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd Reward to him that brings the traitor in? Third Messenger: Such proclamation hath been made, my liege. Fourth Messenger: Sir Thomas Lovel and Lord Marquis Dorset, 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms. Yet this good comfort bring I to your grace, The Breton navy is dispersed by tempest: Richmond, in Yorkshire, sent out a boat Unto the shore, to ask those on the banks If they were his assistants, yea or no; Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham. Upon his party: he, mistrusting them, Hoisted sail and made away for Brittany. KING RICHARD III: March on, march on, since we are up in arms; If not to fight with foreign enemies, Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. CATESBY: My liege, the Duke of Buckingham is taken; That is the best news: that the Earl of Richmond Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, Is colder tidings, yet they must be told. KING RICHARD III: Away towards Salisbury! while we reason here, A royal battle might be won and lost Some one take order Buckingham be brought To Salisbury; the rest march on with me. DERBY: Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from me: That in the sty of this most bloody boar My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold: If I revolt, off goes young George's head; The fear of that withholds my present aid. But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now? CHRISTOPHER: At Pembroke, or at Harford-west, in Wales. DERBY: What men of name resort to him? CHRISTOPHER: Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier; Sir Gilbert Talbot, Sir William Stanley; Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, Sir James Blunt, And Rice ap Thomas with a valiant crew; And many more of noble fame and worth: And towards London they do bend their course, If by the way they be not fought withal. DERBY: Return unto thy lord; commend me to him: Tell him the queen hath heartily consented He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. These letters will resolve him of my mind. Farewell. BUCKINGHAM: Will not King Richard let me speak with him? Sheriff: No, my good lord; therefore be patient. BUCKINGHAM: Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers, Grey, Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward, Vaughan, and all that have miscarried By underhand corrupted foul injustice, If that your moody discontented souls Do through the clouds behold this present hour, Even for revenge mock my destruction! This is All-Souls' day, fellows, is it not? Sheriff: It is, my lord. BUCKINGHAM: Why, then All-Souls' day is my body's doomsday. This is the day that, in King Edward's time, I wish't might fall on me, when I was found False to his children or his wife's allies This is the day wherein I wish'd to fall By the false faith of him I trusted most; This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul Is the determined respite of my wrongs: That high All-Seer that I dallied with Hath turn'd my feigned prayer on my head And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms: Now Margaret's curse is fallen upon my head; 'When he,' quoth she, 'shall split thy heart with sorrow, Remember Margaret was a prophetess.' Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame; Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. RICHMOND: Fellows in arms, and my most loving friends, Bruised underneath the yoke of tyranny, Thus far into the bowels of the land Have we march'd on without impediment; And here receive we from our father Stanley Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful vines, Swills your warm blood like wash, and makes his trough In your embowell'd bosoms, this foul swine Lies now even in the centre of this isle, Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war. OXFORD: Every man's conscience is a thousand swords, To fight against that bloody homicide. HERBERT: I doubt not but his friends will fly to us. BLUNT: He hath no friends but who are friends for fear. Which in his greatest need will shrink from him. RICHMOND: All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, march: True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings: Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. KING RICHARD III: Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth field. My Lord of Surrey, why look you so sad? SURREY: My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. KING RICHARD III: My Lord of Norfolk,-- NORFOLK: Here, most gracious liege. KING RICHARD III: Norfolk, we must have knocks; ha! must we not? NORFOLK: We must both give and take, my gracious lord. KING RICHARD III: Up with my tent there! here will I lie tonight; But where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. Who hath descried the number of the foe? NORFOLK: Six or seven thousand is their utmost power. KING RICHARD III: Why, our battalion trebles that account: Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength, Which they upon the adverse party want. Up with my tent there! Valiant gentlemen, Let us survey the vantage of the field Call for some men of sound direction Let's want no discipline, make no delay, For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. RICHMOND: The weary sun hath made a golden set, And by the bright track of his fiery car, Gives signal, of a goodly day to-morrow. Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. Give me some ink and paper in my tent I'll draw the form and model of our battle, Limit each leader to his several charge, And part in just proportion our small strength. My Lord of Oxford, you, Sir William Brandon, And you, Sir Walter Herbert, stay with me. The Earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment: Good Captain Blunt, bear my good night to him And by the second hour in the morning Desire the earl to see me in my tent: Yet one thing more, good Blunt, before thou go'st, Where is Lord Stanley quarter'd, dost thou know? BLUNT: Unless I have mista'en his colours much, Which well I am assured I have not done, His regiment lies half a mile at least South from the mighty power of the king. RICHMOND: If without peril it be possible, Good Captain Blunt, bear my good-night to him, And give him from me this most needful scroll. BLUNT: Upon my life, my lord, I'll under-take it; And so, God give you quiet rest to-night! RICHMOND: Good night, good Captain Blunt. Come gentlemen, Let us consult upon to-morrow's business In to our tent; the air is raw and cold. KING RICHARD III: What is't o'clock? CATESBY: It's supper-time, my lord; It's nine o'clock. KING RICHARD III: I will not sup to-night. Give me some ink and paper. What, is my beaver easier than it was? And all my armour laid into my tent? CATESBY: If is, my liege; and all things are in readiness. KING RICHARD III: Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge; Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. NORFOLK: I go, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Norfolk. NORFOLK: I warrant you, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Catesby! CATESBY: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Send out a pursuivant at arms To Stanley's regiment; bid him bring his power Before sunrising, lest his son George fall Into the blind cave of eternal night. Fill me a bowl of wine. Give me a watch. Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. Ratcliff! RATCLIFF: My lord? KING RICHARD III: Saw'st thou the melancholy Lord Northumberland? RATCLIFF: Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers. KING RICHARD III: So, I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine: I have not that alacrity of spirit, Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. Set it down. Is ink and paper ready? RATCLIFF: It is, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Bid my guard watch; leave me. Ratcliff, about the mid of night come to my tent And help to arm me. Leave me, I say. DERBY: Fortune and victory sit on thy helm! RICHMOND: All comfort that the dark night can afford Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! Tell me, how fares our loving mother? DERBY: I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother Who prays continually for Richmond's good: So much for that. The silent hours steal on, And flaky darkness breaks within the east. In brief,--for so the season bids us be,-- Prepare thy battle early in the morning, And put thy fortune to the arbitrement Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. I, as I may--that which I would I cannot,-- With best advantage will deceive the time, And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: But on thy side I may not be too forward Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, Be executed in his father's sight. Farewell: the leisure and the fearful time Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love And ample interchange of sweet discourse, Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon: God give us leisure for these rites of love! Once more, adieu: be valiant, and speed well! RICHMOND: Good lords, conduct him to his regiment: I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap, Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow, When I should mount with wings of victory: Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. O Thou, whose captain I account myself, Look on my forces with a gracious eye; Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath, That they may crush down with a heavy fall The usurping helmets of our adversaries! Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in the victory! To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes: Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! Ghost of Prince Edward: Ghost of King Henry VI: Ghost of CLARENCE: Ghost of RIVERS: Ghost of GREY: Ghost of VAUGHAN: All: Ghost of HASTINGS: Ghosts of young Princes: Ghost of LADY ANNE: Ghost of BUCKINGHAM: KING RICHARD III: Give me another horse: bind up my wounds. Have mercy, Jesu!--Soft! I did but dream. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? myself? there's none else by: Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am: Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why: Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself? Alack. I love myself. Wherefore? for any good That I myself have done unto myself? O, no! alas, I rather hate myself For hateful deeds committed by myself! I am a villain: yet I lie. I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter. My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree Murder, stem murder, in the direst degree; All several sins, all used in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty! I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me: Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself? Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd Came to my tent; and every one did threat To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. RATCLIFF: My lord! KING RICHARD III: 'Zounds! who is there? RATCLIFF: Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village-cock Hath twice done salutation to the morn; Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour. KING RICHARD III: O Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful dream! What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true? RATCLIFF: No doubt, my lord. KING RICHARD III: O Ratcliff, I fear, I fear,-- RATCLIFF: Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. KING RICHARD III: By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond. It is not yet near day. Come, go with me; Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper, To see if any mean to shrink from me. LORDS: Good morrow, Richmond! RICHMOND: Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. LORDS: How have you slept, my lord? RICHMOND: The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, Have I since your departure had, my lords. Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murder'd, Came to my tent, and cried on victory: I promise you, my soul is very jocund In the remembrance of so fair a dream. How far into the morning is it, lords? LORDS: Upon the stroke of four. RICHMOND: Why, then 'tis time to arm and give direction. More than I have said, loving countrymen, The leisure and enforcement of the time Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this, God and our good cause fight upon our side; The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls, Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces; Richard except, those whom we fight against Had rather have us win than him they follow: For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen, A bloody tyrant and a homicide; One raised in blood, and one in blood establish'd; One that made means to come by what he hath, And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him; Abase foul stone, made precious by the foil Of England's chair, where he is falsely set; One that hath ever been God's enemy: Then, if you fight against God's enemy, God will in justice ward you as his soldiers; If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain; If you do fight against your country's foes, Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire; If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors; If you do free your children from the sword, Your children's children quit it in your age. Then, in the name of God and all these rights, Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. For me, the ransom of my bold attempt Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face; But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt The least of you shall share his part thereof. Sound drums and trumpets boldly and cheerfully; God and Saint George! Richmond and victory! KING RICHARD III: What said Northumberland as touching Richmond? RATCLIFF: That he was never trained up in arms. KING RICHARD III: He said the truth: and what said Surrey then? RATCLIFF: He smiled and said 'The better for our purpose.' KING RICHARD III: He was in the right; and so indeed it is. Ten the clock there. Give me a calendar. Who saw the sun to-day? RATCLIFF: Not I, my lord. KING RICHARD III: Then he disdains to shine; for by the book He should have braved the east an hour ago A black day will it be to somebody. Ratcliff! RATCLIFF: My lord? KING RICHARD III: The sun will not be seen to-day; The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Not shine to-day! Why, what is that to me More than to Richmond? for the selfsame heaven That frowns on me looks sadly upon him. NORFOLK: Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. KING RICHARD III: Come, bustle, bustle; caparison my horse. Call up Lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And thus my battle shall be ordered: My foreward shall be drawn out all in length, Consisting equally of horse and foot; Our archers shall be placed in the midst John Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Earl of Surrey, Shall have the leading of this foot and horse. They thus directed, we will follow In the main battle, whose puissance on either side Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. This, and Saint George to boot! What think'st thou, Norfolk? NORFOLK: A good direction, warlike sovereign. This found I on my tent this morning. KING RICHARD III: Messenger: My lord, he doth deny to come. KING RICHARD III: Off with his son George's head! NORFOLK: My lord, the enemy is past the marsh After the battle let George Stanley die. KING RICHARD III: A thousand hearts are great within my bosom: Advance our standards, set upon our foes Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons! Upon them! victory sits on our helms. CATESBY: Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue! The king enacts more wonders than a man, Daring an opposite to every danger: His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death. Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost! KING RICHARD III: A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! CATESBY: Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse. KING RICHARD III: Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die: I think there be six Richmonds in the field; Five have I slain to-day instead of him. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! RICHMOND: God and your arms be praised, victorious friends, The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. DERBY: Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit thee. Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty From the dead temples of this bloody wretch Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal: Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. RICHMOND: Great God of heaven, say Amen to all! But, tell me, is young George Stanley living? DERBY: He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town; Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. RICHMOND: What men of name are slain on either side? DERBY: John Duke of Norfolk, Walter Lord Ferrers, Sir Robert Brakenbury, and Sir William Brandon. RICHMOND: Inter their bodies as becomes their births: Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled That in submission will return to us: And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament, We will unite the white rose and the red: Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction, That long have frown'd upon their enmity! What traitor hears me, and says not amen? England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire: All this divided York and Lancaster, Divided in their dire division, O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth, The true succeeders of each royal house, By God's fair ordinance conjoin together! And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so. Enrich the time to come with smooth-faced peace, With smiling plenty and fair prosperous days! Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again, And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen! KING RICHARD II: Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son, Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? JOHN OF GAUNT: I have, my liege. KING RICHARD II: Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him, If he appeal the duke on ancient malice; Or worthily, as a good subject should, On some known ground of treachery in him? JOHN OF GAUNT: As near as I could sift him on that argument, On some apparent danger seen in him Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. KING RICHARD II: Then call them to our presence; face to face, And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear The accuser and the accused freely speak: High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire, In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Many years of happy days befal My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege! THOMAS MOWBRAY: Each day still better other's happiness; Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap, Add an immortal title to your crown! KING RICHARD II: We thank you both: yet one but flatters us, As well appeareth by the cause you come; Namely to appeal each other of high treason. Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object Against the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: First, heaven be the record to my speech! In the devotion of a subject's love, Tendering the precious safety of my prince, And free from other misbegotten hate, Come I appellant to this princely presence. Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee, And mark my greeting well; for what I speak My body shall make good upon this earth, Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. Thou art a traitor and a miscreant, Too good to be so and too bad to live, Since the more fair and crystal is the sky, The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. Once more, the more to aggravate the note, With a foul traitor's name stuff I thy throat; And wish, so please my sovereign, ere I move, What my tongue speaks my right drawn sword may prove. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal: 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war, The bitter clamour of two eager tongues, Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain; The blood is hot that must be cool'd for this: Yet can I not of such tame patience boast As to be hush'd and nought at all to say: First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me From giving reins and spurs to my free speech; Which else would post until it had return'd These terms of treason doubled down his throat. Setting aside his high blood's royalty, And let him be no kinsman to my liege, I do defy him, and I spit at him; Call him a slanderous coward and a villain: Which to maintain I would allow him odds, And meet him, were I tied to run afoot Even to the frozen ridges of the Alps, Or any other ground inhabitable, Where ever Englishman durst set his foot. Mean time let this defend my loyalty, By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Pale trembling coward, there I throw my gage, Disclaiming here the kindred of the king, And lay aside my high blood's royalty, Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except. If guilty dread have left thee so much strength As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop: By that and all the rites of knighthood else, Will I make good against thee, arm to arm, What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise. THOMAS MOWBRAY: I take it up; and by that sword I swear Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder, I'll answer thee in any fair degree, Or chivalrous design of knightly trial: And when I mount, alive may I not light, If I be traitor or unjustly fight! KING RICHARD II: What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's charge? It must be great that can inherit us So much as of a thought of ill in him. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Look, what I speak, my life shall prove it true; That Mowbray hath received eight thousand nobles In name of lendings for your highness' soldiers, The which he hath detain'd for lewd employments, Like a false traitor and injurious villain. Besides I say and will in battle prove, Or here or elsewhere to the furthest verge That ever was survey'd by English eye, That all the treasons for these eighteen years Complotted and contrived in this land Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Further I say and further will maintain Upon his bad life to make all this good, That he did plot the Duke of Gloucester's death, Suggest his soon-believing adversaries, And consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluiced out his innocent soul through streams of blood: Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries, Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth, To me for justice and rough chastisement; And, by the glorious worth of my descent, This arm shall do it, or this life be spent. KING RICHARD II: How high a pitch his resolution soars! Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this? THOMAS MOWBRAY: O, let my sovereign turn away his face And bid his ears a little while be deaf, Till I have told this slander of his blood, How God and good men hate so foul a liar. KING RICHARD II: Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears: Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir, As he is but my father's brother's son, Now, by my sceptre's awe, I make a vow, Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize The unstooping firmness of my upright soul: He is our subject, Mowbray; so art thou: Free speech and fearless I to thee allow. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest. Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais Disbursed I duly to his highness' soldiers; The other part reserved I by consent, For that my sovereign liege was in my debt Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Now swallow down that lie. For Gloucester's death, I slew him not; but to my own disgrace Neglected my sworn duty in that case. For you, my noble Lord of Lancaster, The honourable father to my foe Once did I lay an ambush for your life, A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul But ere I last received the sacrament I did confess it, and exactly begg'd Your grace's pardon, and I hope I had it. This is my fault: as for the rest appeall'd, It issues from the rancour of a villain, A recreant and most degenerate traitor Which in myself I boldly will defend; And interchangeably hurl down my gage Upon this overweening traitor's foot, To prove myself a loyal gentleman Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom. In haste whereof, most heartily I pray Your highness to assign our trial day. KING RICHARD II: Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Let's purge this choler without letting blood: This we prescribe, though no physician; Deep malice makes too deep incision; Forget, forgive; conclude and be agreed; Our doctors say this is no month to bleed. Good uncle, let this end where it begun; We'll calm the Duke of Norfolk, you your son. JOHN OF GAUNT: To be a make-peace shall become my age: Throw down, my son, the Duke of Norfolk's gage. KING RICHARD II: And, Norfolk, throw down his. JOHN OF GAUNT: When, Harry, when? Obedience bids I should not bid again. KING RICHARD II: Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame: The one my duty owes; but my fair name, Despite of death that lives upon my grave, To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. I am disgraced, impeach'd and baffled here, Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear, The which no balm can cure but his heart-blood Which breathed this poison. KING RICHARD II: Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage: lions make leopards tame. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Yea, but not change his spots: take but my shame. And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation: that away, Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done: Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try; In that I live and for that will I die. KING RICHARD II: Cousin, throw up your gage; do you begin. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O, God defend my soul from such deep sin! Shall I seem crest-fall'n in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height Before this out-dared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound my honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear, And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. KING RICHARD II: We were not born to sue, but to command; Which since we cannot do to make you friends, Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, At Coventry, upon Saint Lambert's day: There shall your swords and lances arbitrate The swelling difference of your settled hate: Since we can not atone you, we shall see Justice design the victor's chivalry. Lord marshal, command our officers at arms Be ready to direct these home alarms. JOHN OF GAUNT: Alas, the part I had in Woodstock's blood Doth more solicit me than your exclaims, To stir against the butchers of his life! But since correction lieth in those hands Which made the fault that we cannot correct, Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven; Who, when they see the hours ripe on earth, Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. DUCHESS: Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur? Hath love in thy old blood no living fire? Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one, Were as seven vials of his sacred blood, Or seven fair branches springing from one root: Some of those seven are dried by nature's course, Some of those branches by the Destinies cut; But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloucester, One vial full of Edward's sacred blood, One flourishing branch of his most royal root, Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt, Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded, By envy's hand and murder's bloody axe. Ah, Gaunt, his blood was thine! that bed, that womb, That metal, that self-mould, that fashion'd thee Made him a man; and though thou livest and breathest, Yet art thou slain in him: thou dost consent In some large measure to thy father's death, In that thou seest thy wretched brother die, Who was the model of thy father's life. Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd, Thou showest the naked pathway to thy life, Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee: That which in mean men we intitle patience Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. What shall I say? to safeguard thine own life, The best way is to venge my Gloucester's death. JOHN OF GAUNT: God's is the quarrel; for God's substitute, His deputy anointed in His sight, Hath caused his death: the which if wrongfully, Let heaven revenge; for I may never lift An angry arm against His minister. DUCHESS: Where then, alas, may I complain myself? JOHN OF GAUNT: To God, the widow's champion and defence. DUCHESS: Why, then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. Thou goest to Coventry, there to behold Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight: O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear, That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast! Or, if misfortune miss the first career, Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom, They may break his foaming courser's back, And throw the rider headlong in the lists, A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford! Farewell, old Gaunt: thy sometimes brother's wife With her companion grief must end her life. JOHN OF GAUNT: Sister, farewell; I must to Coventry: As much good stay with thee as go with me! DUCHESS: Yet one word more: grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight: I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to thy brother, Edmund York. Lo, this is all:--nay, yet depart not so; Though this be all, do not so quickly go; I shall remember more. Bid him--ah, what?-- With all good speed at Plashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones? And what hear there for welcome but my groans? Therefore commend me; let him not come there, To seek out sorrow that dwells every where. Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. Lord Marshal: My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Yea, at all points; and longs to enter in. Lord Marshal: The Duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold, Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Why, then, the champions are prepared, and stay For nothing but his majesty's approach. KING RICHARD II: Marshal, demand of yonder champion The cause of his arrival here in arms: Ask him his name and orderly proceed To swear him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal: In God's name and the king's, say who thou art And why thou comest thus knightly clad in arms, Against what man thou comest, and what thy quarrel: Speak truly, on thy knighthood and thy oath; As so defend thee heaven and thy valour! THOMAS MOWBRAY: My name is Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk; Who hither come engaged by my oath-- Which God defend a knight should violate!-- Both to defend my loyalty and truth To God, my king and my succeeding issue, Against the Duke of Hereford that appeals me And, by the grace of God and this mine arm, To prove him, in defending of myself, A traitor to my God, my king, and me: And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! KING RICHARD II: Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms, Both who he is and why he cometh hither Thus plated in habiliments of war, And formally, according to our law, Depose him in the justice of his cause. Lord Marshal: What is thy name? and wherefore comest thou hither, Before King Richard in his royal lists? Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel? Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby Am I; who ready here do stand in arms, To prove, by God's grace and my body's valour, In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, That he is a traitor, foul and dangerous, To God of heaven, King Richard and to me; And as I truly fight, defend me heaven! Lord Marshal: On pain of death, no person be so bold Or daring-hardy as to touch the lists, Except the marshal and such officers Appointed to direct these fair designs. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's hand, And bow my knee before his majesty: For Mowbray and myself are like two men That vow a long and weary pilgrimage; Then let us take a ceremonious leave And loving farewell of our several friends. Lord Marshal: The appellant in all duty greets your highness, And craves to kiss your hand and take his leave. KING RICHARD II: We will descend and fold him in our arms. Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, So be thy fortune in this royal fight! Farewell, my blood; which if to-day thou shed, Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O let no noble eye profane a tear For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear: As confident as is the falcon's flight Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight. My loving lord, I take my leave of you; Of you, my noble cousin, Lord Aumerle; Not sick, although I have to do with death, But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet: O thou, the earthly author of my blood, Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, Doth with a twofold vigour lift me up To reach at victory above my head, Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers; And with thy blessings steel my lance's point, That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat, And furbish new the name of John a Gaunt, Even in the lusty havior of his son. JOHN OF GAUNT: God in thy good cause make thee prosperous! Be swift like lightning in the execution; And let thy blows, doubly redoubled, Fall like amazing thunder on the casque Of thy adverse pernicious enemy: Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Mine innocency and Saint George to thrive! THOMAS MOWBRAY: However God or fortune cast my lot, There lives or dies, true to King Richard's throne, A loyal, just and upright gentleman: Never did captive with a freer heart Cast off his chains of bondage and embrace His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement, More than my dancing soul doth celebrate This feast of battle with mine adversary. Most mighty liege, and my companion peers, Take from my mouth the wish of happy years: As gentle and as jocund as to jest Go I to fight: truth hath a quiet breast. KING RICHARD II: Farewell, my lord: securely I espy Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. Order the trial, marshal, and begin. Lord Marshal: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Receive thy lance; and God defend the right! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Strong as a tower in hope, I cry amen. Lord Marshal: Go bear this lance to Thomas, Duke of Norfolk. First Herald: Harry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby, Stands here for God, his sovereign and himself, On pain to be found false and recreant, To prove the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, A traitor to his God, his king and him; And dares him to set forward to the fight. Second Herald: Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, On pain to be found false and recreant, Both to defend himself and to approve Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, To God, his sovereign and to him disloyal; Courageously and with a free desire Attending but the signal to begin. Lord Marshal: Sound, trumpets; and set forward, combatants. Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down. KING RICHARD II: Let them lay by their helmets and their spears, And both return back to their chairs again: Withdraw with us: and let the trumpets sound While we return these dukes what we decree. Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; And for we think the eagle-winged pride Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, With rival-hating envy, set on you To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep; Which so roused up with boisterous untuned drums, With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace And make us wade even in our kindred's blood, Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Your will be done: this must my comfort be, Sun that warms you here shall shine on me; And those his golden beams to you here lent Shall point on me and gild my banishment. KING RICHARD II: Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. THOMAS MOWBRAY: A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth: A dearer merit, not so deep a maim As to be cast forth in the common air, Have I deserved at your highness' hands. The language I have learn'd these forty years, My native English, now I must forego: And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony: Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue, Doubly portcullis'd with my teeth and lips; And dull unfeeling barren ignorance Is made my gaoler to attend on me. I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, Too far in years to be a pupil now: What is thy sentence then but speechless death, Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath? KING RICHARD II: It boots thee not to be compassionate: After our sentence plaining comes too late. THOMAS MOWBRAY: Then thus I turn me from my country's light, To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. KING RICHARD II: Return again, and take an oath with thee. Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands; Swear by the duty that you owe to God-- Our part therein we banish with yourselves-- To keep the oath that we administer: You never shall, so help you truth and God! Embrace each other's love in banishment; Nor never look upon each other's face; Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile This louring tempest of your home-bred hate; Nor never by advised purpose meet To plot, contrive, or complot any ill 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I swear. THOMAS MOWBRAY: And I, to keep all this. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy:-- By this time, had the king permitted us, One of our souls had wander'd in the air. Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, As now our flesh is banish'd from this land: Confess thy treasons ere thou fly the realm; Since thou hast far to go, bear not along The clogging burthen of a guilty soul. THOMAS MOWBRAY: No, Bolingbroke: if ever I were traitor, My name be blotted from the book of life, And I from heaven banish'd as from hence! But what thou art, God, thou, and I do know; And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. Farewell, my liege. Now no way can I stray; Save back to England, all the world's my way. KING RICHARD II: Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes I see thy grieved heart: thy sad aspect Hath from the number of his banish'd years Pluck'd four away. Six frozen winter spent, Return with welcome home from banishment. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: How long a time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton springs End in a word: such is the breath of kings. JOHN OF GAUNT: I thank my liege, that in regard of me He shortens four years of my son's exile: But little vantage shall I reap thereby; For, ere the six years that he hath to spend Can change their moons and bring their times about My oil-dried lamp and time-bewasted light Shall be extinct with age and endless night; My inch of taper will be burnt and done, And blindfold death not let me see my son. KING RICHARD II: Why uncle, thou hast many years to live. JOHN OF GAUNT: But not a minute, king, that thou canst give: Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow, And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow; Thou canst help time to furrow me with age, But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage; Thy word is current with him for my death, But dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. KING RICHARD II: Thy son is banish'd upon good advice, Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave: Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lour? JOHN OF GAUNT: Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour. You urged me as a judge; but I had rather You would have bid me argue like a father. O, had it been a stranger, not my child, To smooth his fault I should have been more mild: A partial slander sought I to avoid, And in the sentence my own life destroy'd. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say, I was too strict to make mine own away; But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue Against my will to do myself this wrong. KING RICHARD II: Cousin, farewell; and, uncle, bid him so: Six years we banish him, and he shall go. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Cousin, farewell: what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. Lord Marshal: My lord, no leave take I; for I will ride, As far as land will let me, by your side. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongue's office should be prodigal To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. JOHN OF GAUNT: Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Joy absent, grief is present for that time. JOHN OF GAUNT: What is six winters? they are quickly gone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: To men in joy; but grief makes one hour ten. JOHN OF GAUNT: Call it a travel that thou takest for pleasure. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My heart will sigh when I miscall it so, Which finds it an inforced pilgrimage. JOHN OF GAUNT: The sullen passage of thy weary steps Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set The precious jewel of thy home return. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make Will but remember me what a deal of world I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprenticehood To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else But that I was a journeyman to grief? JOHN OF GAUNT: All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour And not the king exiled thee; or suppose Devouring pestilence hangs in our air And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd, The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more Than a delightful measure or a dance; For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? O, no! the apprehension of the good Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore. JOHN OF GAUNT: Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy way: Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Then, England's ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu; My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet! Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Englishman. KING RICHARD II: We did observe. Cousin Aumerle, How far brought you high Hereford on his way? DUKE OF AUMERLE: I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, But to the next highway, and there I left him. KING RICHARD II: And say, what store of parting tears were shed? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, Awaked the sleeping rheum, and so by chance Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. KING RICHARD II: What said our cousin when you parted with him? DUKE OF AUMERLE: 'Farewell:' And, for my heart disdained that my tongue Should so profane the word, that taught me craft To counterfeit oppression of such grief That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave. Marry, would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours And added years to his short banishment, He should have had a volume of farewells; But since it would not, he had none of me. KING RICHARD II: He is our cousin, cousin; but 'tis doubt, When time shall call him home from banishment, Whether our kinsman come to see his friends. Ourself and Bushy, Bagot here and Green Observed his courtship to the common people; How he did seem to dive into their hearts With humble and familiar courtesy, What reverence he did throw away on slaves, Wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles And patient underbearing of his fortune, As 'twere to banish their affects with him. Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; A brace of draymen bid God speed him well And had the tribute of his supple knee, With 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends;' As were our England in reversion his, And he our subjects' next degree in hope. GREEN: Well, he is gone; and with him go these thoughts. Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland, Expedient manage must be made, my liege, Ere further leisure yield them further means For their advantage and your highness' loss. KING RICHARD II: We will ourself in person to this war: And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are inforced to farm our royal realm; The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand: if that come short, Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; Whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold And send them after to supply our wants; For we will make for Ireland presently. Bushy, what news? BUSHY: Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord, Suddenly taken; and hath sent post haste To entreat your majesty to visit him. KING RICHARD II: Where lies he? BUSHY: At Ely House. KING RICHARD II: Now put it, God, in the physician's mind To help him to his grave immediately! The lining of his coffers shall make coats To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him: Pray God we may make haste, and come too late! All: Amen. JOHN OF GAUNT: Will the king come, that I may breathe my last In wholesome counsel to his unstaid youth? DUKE OF YORK: Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your breath; For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain. He that no more must say is listen'd more Than they whom youth and ease have taught to glose; More are men's ends mark'd than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in remembrance more than things long past: Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. DUKE OF YORK: No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds, As praises, of whose taste the wise are fond, Lascivious metres, to whose venom sound The open ear of youth doth always listen; Report of fashions in proud Italy, Whose manners still our tardy apish nation Limps after in base imitation. Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity-- So it be new, there's no respect how vile-- That is not quickly buzzed into his ears? Then all too late comes counsel to be heard, Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. Direct not him whose way himself will choose: 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. JOHN OF GAUNT: Methinks I am a prophet new inspired And thus expiring do foretell of him: His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last, For violent fires soon burn out themselves; Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder: Light vanity, insatiate cormorant, Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands, This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry, Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it, Like to a tenement or pelting farm: England, bound in with the triumphant sea Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds: That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death! DUKE OF YORK: The king is come: deal mildly with his youth; For young hot colts being raged do rage the more. QUEEN: How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster? KING RICHARD II: What comfort, man? how is't with aged Gaunt? JOHN OF GAUNT: O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast; And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watch'd; Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon, Is my strict fast; I mean, my children's looks; And therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. KING RICHARD II: Can sick men play so nicely with their names? JOHN OF GAUNT: No, misery makes sport to mock itself: Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me, I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee. KING RICHARD II: Should dying men flatter with those that live? JOHN OF GAUNT: No, no, men living flatter those that die. KING RICHARD II: Thou, now a-dying, say'st thou flatterest me. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, no! thou diest, though I the sicker be. KING RICHARD II: I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. JOHN OF GAUNT: Now He that made me knows I see thee ill; Ill in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land Wherein thou liest in reputation sick; And thou, too careless patient as thou art, Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure Of those physicians that first wounded thee: A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head; And yet, incaged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land. O, had thy grandsire with a prophet's eye Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame, Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd, Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world, It were a shame to let this land by lease; But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not king: Thy state of law is bondslave to the law; And thou-- KING RICHARD II: A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an ague's privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chasing the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders. JOHN OF GAUNT: O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son; That blood already, like the pelican, Hast thou tapp'd out and drunkenly caroused: My brother Gloucester, plain well-meaning soul, Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls! May be a precedent and witness good That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: Join with the present sickness that I have; And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long wither'd flower. Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee! These words hereafter thy tormentors be! Convey me to my bed, then to my grave: Love they to live that love and honour have. KING RICHARD II: And let them die that age and sullens have; For both hast thou, and both become the grave. DUKE OF YORK: I do beseech your majesty, impute his words To wayward sickliness and age in him: He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear As Harry Duke of Hereford, were he here. KING RICHARD II: Right, you say true: as Hereford's love, so his; As theirs, so mine; and all be as it is. NORTHUMBERLAND: My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your majesty. KING RICHARD II: What says he? NORTHUMBERLAND: Nay, nothing; all is said His tongue is now a stringless instrument; Words, life and all, old Lancaster hath spent. DUKE OF YORK: Be York the next that must be bankrupt so! Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. KING RICHARD II: The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he; His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be. So much for that. Now for our Irish wars: We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns, Which live like venom where no venom else But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us The plate, corn, revenues and moveables, Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. DUKE OF YORK: How long shall I be patient? ah, how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Gloucester's death, nor Hereford's banishment Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father, Prince of Wales, was first: In war was never lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Than was that young and princely gentleman. His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours; But when he frown'd, it was against the French And not against his friends; his noble hand Did will what he did spend and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won; His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin. O Richard! York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. KING RICHARD II: Why, uncle, what's the matter? DUKE OF YORK: O my liege, Pardon me, if you please; if not, I, pleased Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. Seek you to seize and gripe into your hands The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford? Is not Gaunt dead, and doth not Hereford live? Was not Gaunt just, and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Hereford's rights away, and take from Time His charters and his customary rights; Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day; Be not thyself; for how art thou a king But by fair sequence and succession? Now, afore God--God forbid I say true!-- If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights, Call in the letters patent that he hath By his attorneys-general to sue His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts And prick my tender patience, to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think. KING RICHARD II: Think what you will, we seize into our hands His plate, his goods, his money and his lands. DUKE OF YORK: I'll not be by the while: my liege, farewell: What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell; But by bad courses may be understood That their events can never fall out good. KING RICHARD II: Go, Bushy, to the Earl of Wiltshire straight: Bid him repair to us to Ely House To see this business. To-morrow next We will for Ireland; and 'tis time, I trow: And we create, in absence of ourself, Our uncle York lord governor of England; For he is just and always loved us well. Come on, our queen: to-morrow must we part; Be merry, for our time of stay is short NORTHUMBERLAND: Well, lords, the Duke of Lancaster is dead. LORD ROSS: And living too; for now his son is duke. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Barely in title, not in revenue. NORTHUMBERLAND: Richly in both, if justice had her right. LORD ROSS: My heart is great; but it must break with silence, Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue. NORTHUMBERLAND: Nay, speak thy mind; and let him ne'er speak more That speaks thy words again to do thee harm! LORD WILLOUGHBY: Tends that thou wouldst speak to the Duke of Hereford? If it be so, out with it boldly, man; Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him. LORD ROSS: No good at all that I can do for him; Unless you call it good to pity him, Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. NORTHUMBERLAND: Now, afore God, 'tis shame such wrongs are borne In him, a royal prince, and many moe Of noble blood in this declining land. The king is not himself, but basely led By flatterers; and what they will inform, Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, That will the king severely prosecute 'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. LORD ROSS: The commons hath he pill'd with grievous taxes, And quite lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fined For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. LORD WILLOUGHBY: And daily new exactions are devised, As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what: But what, o' God's name, doth become of this? NORTHUMBERLAND: Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath not, But basely yielded upon compromise That which his noble ancestors achieved with blows: More hath he spent in peace than they in wars. LORD ROSS: The Earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. LORD WILLOUGHBY: The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken man. NORTHUMBERLAND: Reproach and dissolution hangeth over him. LORD ROSS: He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burthenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. NORTHUMBERLAND: His noble kinsman: most degenerate king! But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing, Yet see no shelter to avoid the storm; We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, And yet we strike not, but securely perish. LORD ROSS: We see the very wreck that we must suffer; And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck. NORTHUMBERLAND: Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering; but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours. LORD ROSS: Be confident to speak, Northumberland: We three are but thyself; and, speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold. NORTHUMBERLAND: Then thus: I have from Port le Blanc, a bay In Brittany, received intelligence That Harry Duke of Hereford, Rainold Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother, Archbishop late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham, Sir John Ramston, Sir John Norbery, Sir Robert Waterton and Francis Quoint, All these well furnish'd by the Duke of Bretagne With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war, Are making hither with all due expedience And shortly mean to touch our northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the king for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt And make high majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh; But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay and be secret, and myself will go. LORD ROSS: To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them that fear. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. BUSHY: Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promised, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness And entertain a cheerful disposition. QUEEN: To please the king I did; to please myself I cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard: yet again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at some thing it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. BUSHY: Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows, Which shows like grief itself, but is not so; For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire to many objects; Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty, Looking awry upon your lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail; Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, More than your lord's departure weep not: more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true weeps things imaginary. QUEEN: It may be so; but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: howe'er it be, I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad As, though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. BUSHY: 'Tis nothing but conceit, my gracious lady. QUEEN: 'Tis nothing less: conceit is still derived From some forefather grief; mine is not so, For nothing had begot my something grief; Or something hath the nothing that I grieve: 'Tis in reversion that I do possess; But what it is, that is not yet known; what I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. GREEN: God save your majesty! and well met, gentlemen: I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. QUEEN: Why hopest thou so? 'tis better hope he is; For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope: Then wherefore dost thou hope he is not shipp'd? GREEN: That he, our hope, might have retired his power, And driven into despair an enemy's hope, Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself, And with uplifted arms is safe arrived At Ravenspurgh. QUEEN: Now God in heaven forbid! GREEN: Ah, madam, 'tis too true: and that is worse, The Lord Northumberland, his son young Henry Percy, The Lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. BUSHY: Why have you not proclaim'd Northumberland And all the rest revolted faction traitors? GREEN: We have: whereupon the Earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants fled with him To Bolingbroke. QUEEN: So, Green, thou art the midwife to my woe, And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir: Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy, And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. BUSHY: Despair not, madam. QUEEN: Who shall hinder me? I will despair, and be at enmity With cozening hope: he is a flatterer, A parasite, a keeper back of death, Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, Which false hope lingers in extremity. GREEN: Here comes the Duke of York. QUEEN: With signs of war about his aged neck: O, full of careful business are his looks! Uncle, for God's sake, speak comfortable words. DUKE OF YORK: Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, cares and grief. Your husband, he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land, Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Servant: My lord, your son was gone before I came. DUKE OF YORK: He was? Why, so! go all which way it will! The nobles they are fled, the commons they are cold, And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. Sirrah, get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloucester; Bid her send me presently a thousand pound: Hold, take my ring. Servant: My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship, To-day, as I came by, I called there; But I shall grieve you to report the rest. DUKE OF YORK: What is't, knave? Servant: An hour before I came, the duchess died. DUKE OF YORK: God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do: I would to God, So my untruth had not provoked him to it, The king had cut off my head with my brother's. What, are there no posts dispatch'd for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come, sister,--cousin, I would say--pray, pardon me. Go, fellow, get thee home, provide some carts And bring away the armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you go muster men? If I know how or which way to order these affairs Thus thrust disorderly into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen: The one is my sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend; the other again Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd, Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. Well, somewhat we must do. Come, cousin, I'll Dispose of you. Gentlemen, go, muster up your men, And meet me presently at Berkeley. I should to Plashy too; But time will not permit: all is uneven, And every thing is left at six and seven. BUSHY: The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns. For us to levy power Proportionable to the enemy Is all unpossible. GREEN: Besides, our nearness to the king in love Is near the hate of those love not the king. BAGOT: And that's the wavering commons: for their love Lies in their purses, and whoso empties them By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. BUSHY: Wherein the king stands generally condemn'd. BAGOT: If judgement lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king. GREEN: Well, I will for refuge straight to Bristol castle: The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. BUSHY: Thither will I with you; for little office The hateful commons will perform for us, Except like curs to tear us all to pieces. Will you go along with us? BAGOT: No; I will to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here art that ne'er shall meet again. BUSHY: That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke. GREEN: Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is numbering sands and drinking oceans dry: Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. BUSHY: Well, we may meet again. BAGOT: I fear me, never. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: How far is it, my lord, to Berkeley now? NORTHUMBERLAND: Believe me, noble lord, I am a stranger here in Gloucestershire: These high wild hills and rough uneven ways Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome, And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable. But I bethink me what a weary way From Ravenspurgh to Cotswold will be found In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which, I protest, hath very much beguiled The tediousness and process of my travel: But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have The present benefit which I possess; And hope to joy is little less in joy Than hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done By sight of what I have, your noble company. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Of much less value is my company Than your good words. But who comes here? NORTHUMBERLAND: It is my son, young Harry Percy, Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. Harry, how fares your uncle? HENRY PERCY: I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his health of you. NORTHUMBERLAND: Why, is he not with the queen? HENRY PERCY: No, my good Lord; he hath forsook the court, Broken his staff of office and dispersed The household of the king. NORTHUMBERLAND: What was his reason? He was not so resolved when last we spake together. HENRY PERCY: Because your lordship was proclaimed traitor. But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurgh, To offer service to the Duke of Hereford, And sent me over by Berkeley, to discover What power the Duke of York had levied there; Then with directions to repair to Ravenspurgh. NORTHUMBERLAND: Have you forgot the Duke of Hereford, boy? HENRY PERCY: No, my good lord, for that is not forgot Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him. NORTHUMBERLAND: Then learn to know him now; this is the duke. HENRY PERCY: My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw and young: Which elder days shall ripen and confirm To more approved service and desert. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure I count myself in nothing else so happy As in a soul remembering my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it. NORTHUMBERLAND: How far is it to Berkeley? and what stir Keeps good old York there with his men of war? HENRY PERCY: There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard; And in it are the Lords of York, Berkeley, and Seymour; None else of name and noble estimate. NORTHUMBERLAND: Here come the Lords of Ross and Willoughby, Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Welcome, my lords. I wot your love pursues A banish'd traitor: all my treasury Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd Shall be your love and labour's recompense. LORD ROSS: Your presence makes us rich, most noble lord. LORD WILLOUGHBY: And far surmounts our labour to attain it. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the poor; Which, till my infant fortune comes to years, Stands for my bounty. But who comes here? NORTHUMBERLAND: It is my Lord of Berkeley, as I guess. LORD BERKELEY: My Lord of Hereford, my message is to you. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My lord, my answer is--to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England; And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I make reply to aught you say. LORD BERKELEY: Mistake me not, my lord; 'tis not my meaning To raze one title of your honour out: To you, my lord, I come, what lord you will, From the most gracious regent of this land, The Duke of York, to know what pricks you on To take advantage of the absent time And fright our native peace with self-born arms. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person. My noble uncle! DUKE OF YORK: Show me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, Whose duty is deceiveable and false. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My gracious uncle-- DUKE OF YORK: Tut, tut! Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle: I am no traitor's uncle; and that word 'grace.' In an ungracious mouth is but profane. Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground? But then more 'why?' why have they dared to march So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, Frighting her pale-faced villages with war And ostentation of despised arms? Comest thou because the anointed king is hence? Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind, And in my loyal bosom lies his power. Were I but now the lord of such hot youth As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, From forth the ranks of many thousand French, O, then how quickly should this arm of mine. Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee And minister correction to thy fault! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My gracious uncle, let me know my fault: On what condition stands it and wherein? DUKE OF YORK: Even in condition of the worst degree, In gross rebellion and detested treason: Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford; But as I come, I come for Lancaster. And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye: You are my father, for methinks in you I see old Gaunt alive; O, then, my father, Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd A wandering vagabond; my rights and royalties Pluck'd from my arms perforce and given away To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born? If that my cousin king be King of England, It must be granted I am Duke of Lancaster. You have a son, Aumerle, my noble cousin; Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father, To rouse his wrongs and chase them to the bay. I am denied to sue my livery here, And yet my letters-patents give me leave: My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold, And these and all are all amiss employ'd. What would you have me do? I am a subject, And I challenge law: attorneys are denied me; And therefore, personally I lay my claim To my inheritance of free descent. NORTHUMBERLAND: The noble duke hath been too much abused. LORD ROSS: It stands your grace upon to do him right. LORD WILLOUGHBY: Base men by his endowments are made great. DUKE OF YORK: My lords of England, let me tell you this: I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs And laboured all I could to do him right; But in this kind to come, in braving arms, Be his own carver and cut out his way, To find out right with wrong, it may not be; And you that do abet him in this kind Cherish rebellion and are rebels all. NORTHUMBERLAND: The noble duke hath sworn his coming is But for his own; and for the right of that We all have strongly sworn to give him aid; And let him ne'er see joy that breaks that oath! DUKE OF YORK: Well, well, I see the issue of these arms: I cannot mend it, I must needs confess, Because my power is weak and all ill left: But if I could, by Him that gave me life, I would attach you all and make you stoop Unto the sovereign mercy of the king; But since I cannot, be it known to you I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well; Unless you please to enter in the castle And there repose you for this night. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: An offer, uncle, that we will accept: But we must win your grace to go with us To Bristol castle, which they say is held By Bushy, Bagot and their complices, The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. DUKE OF YORK: It may be I will go with you: but yet I'll pause; For I am loath to break our country's laws. Nor friends nor foes, to me welcome you are: Things past redress are now with me past care. Captain: My lord of Salisbury, we have stay'd ten days, And hardly kept our countrymen together, And yet we hear no tidings from the king; Therefore we will disperse ourselves: farewell. EARL OF SALISBURY: Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman: The king reposeth all his confidence in thee. Captain: 'Tis thought the king is dead; we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad and ruffians dance and leap, The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war: These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. Farewell: our countrymen are gone and fled, As well assured Richard their king is dead. EARL OF SALISBURY: Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind I see thy glory like a shooting star Fall to the base earth from the firmament. Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, Witnessing storms to come, woe and unrest: Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes, And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Bring forth these men. Bushy and Green, I will not vex your souls-- Since presently your souls must part your bodies-- With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no charity; yet, to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men I will unfold some causes of your deaths. You have misled a prince, a royal king, A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, By you unhappied and disfigured clean: You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him, Broke the possession of a royal bed And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks With tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs. Myself, a prince by fortune of my birth, Near to the king in blood, and near in love Till you did make him misinterpret me, Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries, And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment; Whilst you have fed upon my signories, Dispark'd my parks and fell'd my forest woods, From my own windows torn my household coat, Razed out my imprese, leaving me no sign, Save men's opinions and my living blood, To show the world I am a gentleman. This and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death. See them deliver'd over To execution and the hand of death. BUSHY: More welcome is the stroke of death to me Than Bolingbroke to England. Lords, farewell. GREEN: My comfort is that heaven will take our souls And plague injustice with the pains of hell. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatch'd. Uncle, you say the queen is at your house; For God's sake, fairly let her be entreated: Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. DUKE OF YORK: A gentleman of mine I have dispatch'd With letters of your love to her at large. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Thank, gentle uncle. Come, lords, away. To fight with Glendower and his complices: Awhile to work, and after holiday. KING RICHARD II: Barkloughly castle call they this at hand? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Yea, my lord. How brooks your grace the air, After your late tossing on the breaking seas? KING RICHARD II: Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy To stand upon my kingdom once again. Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs: As a long-parted mother with her child Plays fondly with her tears and smiles in meeting, So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands. Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee: Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords: This earth shall have a feeling and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion's arms. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: Fear not, my lord: that Power that made you king Hath power to keep you king in spite of all. The means that heaven yields must be embraced, And not neglected; else, if heaven would, And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse, The proffer'd means of succor and redress. DUKE OF AUMERLE: He means, my lord, that we are too remiss; Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in power. KING RICHARD II: Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou not That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen In murders and in outrage, boldly here; But when from under this terrestrial ball He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons and detested sins, The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs, Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, Who all this while hath revell'd in the night Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, Shall see us rising in our throne, the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But self-affrighted tremble at his sin. Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm off from an anointed king; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The deputy elected by the Lord: For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. Welcome, my lord how far off lies your power? EARL OF SALISBURY: Nor near nor farther off, my gracious lord, Than this weak arm: discomfort guides my tongue And bids me speak of nothing but despair. One day too late, I fear me, noble lord, Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth: O, call back yesterday, bid time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men! To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune and thy state: For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispersed and fled. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Comfort, my liege; why looks your grace so pale? KING RICHARD II: But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled; And, till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale and dead? All souls that will be safe fly from my side, For time hath set a blot upon my pride. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Comfort, my liege; remember who you are. KING RICHARD II: I had forgot myself; am I not king? Awake, thou coward majesty! thou sleepest. Is not the king's name twenty thousand names? Arm, arm, my name! a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye favourites of a king: are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know my uncle York Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: More health and happiness betide my liege Than can my care-tuned tongue deliver him! KING RICHARD II: Mine ear is open and my heart prepared; The worst is worldly loss thou canst unfold. Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care And what loss is it to be rid of care? Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we? Greater he shall not be; if he serve God, We'll serve Him too and be his fellow so: Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend; They break their faith to God as well as us: Cry woe, destruction, ruin and decay: The worst is death, and death will have his day. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Glad am I that your highness is so arm'd To bear the tidings of calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, As if the world were all dissolved to tears, So high above his limits swells the rage Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land With hard bright steel and hearts harder than steel. White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices, Strive to speak big and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown: The very beadsmen learn to bend their bows Of double-fatal yew against thy state; Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills Against thy seat: both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. KING RICHARD II: Too well, too well thou tell'st a tale so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushy? where is Green? That they have let the dangerous enemy Measure our confines with such peaceful steps? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it: I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Peace have they made with him indeed, my lord. KING RICHARD II: O villains, vipers, damn'd without redemption! Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man! Snakes, in my heart-blood warm'd, that sting my heart! Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas! Would they make peace? terrible hell make war Upon their spotted souls for this offence! SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Sweet love, I see, changing his property, Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate: Again uncurse their souls; their peace is made With heads, and not with hands; those whom you curse Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Is Bushy, Green, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Ay, all of them at Bristol lost their heads. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Where is the duke my father with his power? KING RICHARD II: No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth, Let's choose executors and talk of wills: And yet not so, for what can we bequeath Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, And nothing can we call our own but death And that small model of the barren earth Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings; How some have been deposed; some slain in war, Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd; All murder'd: for within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp, Allowing him a breath, a little scene, To monarchize, be fear'd and kill with looks, Infusing him with self and vain conceit, As if this flesh which walls about our life, Were brass impregnable, and humour'd thus Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king! Cover your heads and mock not flesh and blood With solemn reverence: throw away respect, Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, For you have but mistook me all this while: I live with bread like you, feel want, Taste grief, need friends: subjected thus, How can you say to me, I am a king? BISHOP OF CARLISLE: My lord, wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, But presently prevent the ways to wail. To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, Gives in your weakness strength unto your foe, And so your follies fight against yourself. Fear and be slain; no worse can come to fight: And fight and die is death destroying death; Where fearing dying pays death servile breath. DUKE OF AUMERLE: My father hath a power; inquire of him And learn to make a body of a limb. KING RICHARD II: Thou chidest me well: proud Bolingbroke, I come To change blows with thee for our day of doom. This ague fit of fear is over-blown; An easy task it is to win our own. Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. SIR STEPHEN SCROOP: Men judge by the complexion of the sky The state and inclination of the day: So may you by my dull and heavy eye, My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say. I play the torturer, by small and small To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken: Your uncle York is join'd with Bolingbroke, And all your northern castles yielded up, And all your southern gentlemen in arms Upon his party. KING RICHARD II: Thou hast said enough. Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth Of that sweet way I was in to despair! What say you now? what comfort have we now? By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly That bids me be of comfort any more. Go to Flint castle: there I'll pine away; A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. That power I have, discharge; and let them go To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none: let no man speak again To alter this, for counsel is but vain. DUKE OF AUMERLE: My liege, one word. KING RICHARD II: He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. Discharge my followers: let them hence away, From Richard's night to Bolingbroke's fair day. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: So that by this intelligence we learn The Welshmen are dispersed, and Salisbury Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed With some few private friends upon this coast. NORTHUMBERLAND: The news is very fair and good, my lord: Richard not far from hence hath hid his head. DUKE OF YORK: It would beseem the Lord Northumberland To say 'King Richard:' alack the heavy day When such a sacred king should hide his head. NORTHUMBERLAND: Your grace mistakes; only to be brief Left I his title out. DUKE OF YORK: The time hath been, Would you have been so brief with him, he would Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, For taking so the head, your whole head's length. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Mistake not, uncle, further than you should. DUKE OF YORK: Take not, good cousin, further than you should. Lest you mistake the heavens are o'er our heads. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I know it, uncle, and oppose not myself Against their will. But who comes here? Welcome, Harry: what, will not this castle yield? HENRY PERCY: The castle royally is mann'd, my lord, Against thy entrance. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Royally! Why, it contains no king? HENRY PERCY: Yes, my good lord, It doth contain a king; King Richard lies Within the limits of yon lime and stone: And with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop, besides a clergyman Of holy reverence; who, I cannot learn. NORTHUMBERLAND: O, belike it is the Bishop of Carlisle. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Noble lords, Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle; Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parley Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver: Henry Bolingbroke On both his knees doth kiss King Richard's hand And sends allegiance and true faith of heart To his most royal person, hither come Even at his feet to lay my arms and power, Provided that my banishment repeal'd And lands restored again be freely granted: If not, I'll use the advantage of my power And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench The fresh green lap of fair King Richard's land, My stooping duty tenderly shall show. Go, signify as much, while here we march Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. Let's march without the noise of threatening drum, That from this castle's tatter'd battlements Our fair appointments may be well perused. Methinks King Richard and myself should meet With no less terror than the elements Of fire and water, when their thundering shock At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: The rage be his, whilst on the earth I rain My waters; on the earth, and not on him. March on, and mark King Richard how he looks. See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east, When he perceives the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory and to stain the track Of his bright passage to the occident. DUKE OF YORK: Yet looks he like a king: behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty: alack, alack, for woe, That any harm should stain so fair a show! KING RICHARD II: We are amazed; and thus long have we stood To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, Because we thought ourself thy lawful king: And if we be, how dare thy joints forget To pay their awful duty to our presence? If we be not, show us the hand of God That hath dismissed us from our stewardship; For well we know, no hand of blood and bone Can gripe the sacred handle of our sceptre, Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp. And though you think that all, as you have done, Have torn their souls by turning them from us, And we are barren and bereft of friends; Yet know, my master, God omnipotent, Is mustering in his clouds on our behalf Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike Your children yet unborn and unbegot, That lift your vassal hands against my head And threat the glory of my precious crown. Tell Bolingbroke--for yond methinks he stands-- That every stride he makes upon my land Is dangerous treason: he is come to open The purple testament of bleeding war; But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons Shall ill become the flower of England's face, Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace To scarlet indignation and bedew Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. NORTHUMBERLAND: The king of heaven forbid our lord the king Should so with civil and uncivil arms Be rush'd upon! Thy thrice noble cousin Harry Bolingbroke doth humbly kiss thy hand; And by the honourable tomb he swears, That stands upon your royal grandsire's bones, And by the royalties of both your bloods, Currents that spring from one most gracious head, And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, And by the worth and honour of himself, Comprising all that may be sworn or said, His coming hither hath no further scope Than for his lineal royalties and to beg Enfranchisement immediate on his knees: Which on thy royal party granted once, His glittering arms he will commend to rust, His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart To faithful service of your majesty. This swears he, as he is a prince, is just; And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. KING RICHARD II: Northumberland, say thus the king returns: His noble cousin is right welcome hither; And all the number of his fair demands Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction: With all the gracious utterance thou hast Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. We do debase ourselves, cousin, do we not, To look so poorly and to speak so fair? Shall we call back Northumberland, and send Defiance to the traitor, and so die? DUKE OF AUMERLE: No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words Till time lend friends and friends their helpful swords. KING RICHARD II: O God, O God! that e'er this tongue of mine, That laid the sentence of dread banishment On yon proud man, should take it off again With words of sooth! O that I were as great As is my grief, or lesser than my name! Or that I could forget what I have been, Or not remember what I must be now! Swell'st thou, proud heart? I'll give thee scope to beat, Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Northumberland comes back from Bolingbroke. KING RICHARD II: What must the king do now? must he submit? The king shall do it: must he be deposed? The king shall be contented: must he lose The name of king? o' God's name, let it go: I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an almsman's gown, My figured goblets for a dish of wood, My sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, My subjects for a pair of carved saints And my large kingdom for a little grave, A little little grave, an obscure grave; Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, Some way of common trade, where subjects' feet May hourly trample on their sovereign's head; For on my heart they tread now whilst I live; And buried once, why not upon my head? Aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! We'll make foul weather with despised tears; Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, And make a dearth in this revolting land. Or shall we play the wantons with our woes, And make some pretty match with shedding tears? As thus, to drop them still upon one place, Till they have fretted us a pair of graves Within the earth; and, therein laid,--there lies Two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes. Would not this ill do well? Well, well, I see I talk but idly, and you laugh at me. Most mighty prince, my Lord Northumberland, What says King Bolingbroke? will his majesty Give Richard leave to live till Richard die? You make a leg, and Bolingbroke says ay. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord, in the base court he doth attend To speak with you; may it please you to come down. KING RICHARD II: Down, down I come; like glistering Phaethon, Wanting the manage of unruly jades. In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. In the base court? Come down? Down, court! down, king! For night-owls shriek where mounting larks should sing. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What says his majesty? NORTHUMBERLAND: Sorrow and grief of heart Makes him speak fondly, like a frantic man Yet he is come. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Stand all apart, And show fair duty to his majesty. My gracious lord,-- KING RICHARD II: Fair cousin, you debase your princely knee To make the base earth proud with kissing it: Me rather had my heart might feel your love Than my unpleased eye see your courtesy. Up, cousin, up; your heart is up, I know, Thus high at least, although your knee be low. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: My gracious lord, I come but for mine own. KING RICHARD II: Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, As my true service shall deserve your love. KING RICHARD II: Well you deserve: they well deserve to have, That know the strong'st and surest way to get. Uncle, give me your hands: nay, dry your eyes; Tears show their love, but want their remedies. Cousin, I am too young to be your father, Though you are old enough to be my heir. What you will have, I'll give, and willing too; For do we must what force will have us do. Set on towards London, cousin, is it so? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Yea, my good lord. KING RICHARD II: Then I must not say no. QUEEN: What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care? Lady: Madam, we'll play at bowls. QUEEN: 'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, And that my fortune rubs against the bias. Lady: Madam, we'll dance. QUEEN: My legs can keep no measure in delight, When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: Therefore, no dancing, girl; some other sport. Lady: Madam, we'll tell tales. QUEEN: Of sorrow or of joy? Lady: Of either, madam. QUEEN: Of neither, girl: For of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow; Or if of grief, being altogether had, It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have I need not to repeat; And what I want it boots not to complain. Lady: Madam, I'll sing. QUEEN: 'Tis well that thou hast cause But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. Lady: I could weep, madam, would it do you good. QUEEN: And I could sing, would weeping do me good, And never borrow any tear of thee. But stay, here come the gardeners: Let's step into the shadow of these trees. My wretchedness unto a row of pins, They'll talk of state; for every one doth so Against a change; woe is forerun with woe. Gardener: Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight: Give some supportance to the bending twigs. Go thou, and like an executioner, Cut off the heads of too fast growing sprays, That look too lofty in our commonwealth: All must be even in our government. You thus employ'd, I will go root away The noisome weeds, which without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. Servant: Why should we in the compass of a pale Keep law and form and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate, When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up, Her fruit-trees all upturned, her hedges ruin'd, Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars? Gardener: Hold thy peace: He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter, That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke, I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. Servant: What, are they dead? Gardener: They are; and Bolingbroke Hath seized the wasteful king. O, what pity is it That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land As we this garden! We at time of year Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees, Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood, With too much riches it confound itself: Had he done so to great and growing men, They might have lived to bear and he to taste Their fruits of duty: superfluous branches We lop away, that bearing boughs may live: Had he done so, himself had borne the crown, Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down. Servant: What, think you then the king shall be deposed? Gardener: Depress'd he is already, and deposed 'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's, That tell black tidings. QUEEN: O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking! Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden, How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee To make a second fall of cursed man? Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed? Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth, Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how, Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch. Gardener: Pardon me, madam: little joy have I To breathe this news; yet what I say is true. King Richard, he is in the mighty hold Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weigh'd: In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, And some few vanities that make him light; But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, Besides himself, are all the English peers, And with that odds he weighs King Richard down. Post you to London, and you will find it so; I speak no more than every one doth know. QUEEN: Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot, Doth not thy embassage belong to me, And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st To serve me last, that I may longest keep Thy sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go, To meet at London London's king in woe. What, was I born to this, that my sad look Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? Gardener, for telling me these news of woe, Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow. GARDENER: Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse, I would my skill were subject to thy curse. Here did she fall a tear; here in this place I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace: Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen, In the remembrance of a weeping queen. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Call forth Bagot. Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind; What thou dost know of noble Gloucester's death, Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd The bloody office of his timeless end. BAGOT: Then set before my face the Lord Aumerle. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that man. BAGOT: My Lord Aumerle, I know your daring tongue Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd. In that dead time when Gloucester's death was plotted, I heard you say, 'Is not my arm of length, That reacheth from the restful English court As far as Calais, to mine uncle's head?' Amongst much other talk, that very time, I heard you say that you had rather refuse The offer of an hundred thousand crowns Than Bolingbroke's return to England; Adding withal how blest this land would be In this your cousin's death. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Princes and noble lords, What answer shall I make to this base man? Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, On equal terms to give him chastisement? Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd With the attainder of his slanderous lips. There is my gage, the manual seal of death, That marks thee out for hell: I say, thou liest, And will maintain what thou hast said is false In thy heart-blood, though being all too base To stain the temper of my knightly sword. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Bagot, forbear; thou shalt not take it up. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Excepting one, I would he were the best In all this presence that hath moved me so. LORD FITZWATER: If that thy valour stand on sympathy, There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine: By that fair sun which shows me where thou stand'st, I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spakest it That thou wert cause of noble Gloucester's death. If thou deny'st it twenty times, thou liest; And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, Where it was forged, with my rapier's point. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Thou darest not, coward, live to see that day. LORD FITZWATER: Now by my soul, I would it were this hour. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Fitzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. HENRY PERCY: Aumerle, thou liest; his honour is as true In this appeal as thou art all unjust; And that thou art so, there I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of mortal breathing: seize it, if thou darest. DUKE OF AUMERLE: An if I do not, may my hands rot off And never brandish more revengeful steel Over the glittering helmet of my foe! Lord: I task the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle; And spur thee on with full as many lies As may be holloa'd in thy treacherous ear From sun to sun: there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw at all: I have a thousand spirits in one breast, To answer twenty thousand such as you. DUKE OF SURREY: My Lord Fitzwater, I do remember well The very time Aumerle and you did talk. LORD FITZWATER: 'Tis very true: you were in presence then; And you can witness with me this is true. DUKE OF SURREY: As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. LORD FITZWATER: Surrey, thou liest. DUKE OF SURREY: Dishonourable boy! That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, That it shall render vengeance and revenge Till thou the lie-giver and that lie do lie In earth as quiet as thy father's skull: In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn; Engage it to the trial, if thou darest. LORD FITZWATER: How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse! If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, And spit upon him, whilst I say he lies, And lies, and lies: there is my bond of faith, To tie thee to my strong correction. As I intend to thrive in this new world, Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal: Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men To execute the noble duke at Calais. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Some honest Christian trust me with a gage That Norfolk lies: here do I throw down this, If he may be repeal'd, to try his honour. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: These differences shall all rest under gage Till Norfolk be repeal'd: repeal'd he shall be, And, though mine enemy, restored again To all his lands and signories: when he's return'd, Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field, Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens: And toil'd with works of war, retired himself To Italy; and there at Venice gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead? BISHOP OF CARLISLE: As surely as I live, my lord. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the bosom Of good old Abraham! Lords appellants, Your differences shall all rest under gage Till we assign you to your days of trial. DUKE OF YORK: Great Duke of Lancaster, I come to thee From plume-pluck'd Richard; who with willing soul Adopts thee heir, and his high sceptre yields To the possession of thy royal hand: Ascend his throne, descending now from him; And long live Henry, fourth of that name! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: Marry. God forbid! Worst in this royal presence may I speak, Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. Would God that any in this noble presence Were enough noble to be upright judge Of noble Richard! then true noblesse would Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. What subject can give sentence on his king? And who sits here that is not Richard's subject? Thieves are not judged but they are by to hear, Although apparent guilt be seen in them; And shall the figure of God's majesty, His captain, steward, deputy-elect, Anointed, crowned, planted many years, Be judged by subject and inferior breath, And he himself not present? O, forfend it, God, That in a Christian climate souls refined Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed! I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, Stirr'd up by God, thus boldly for his king: My Lord of Hereford here, whom you call king, Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: And if you crown him, let me prophesy: The blood of English shall manure the ground, And future ages groan for this foul act; Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, And in this seat of peace tumultuous wars Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound; Disorder, horror, fear and mutiny Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd The field of Golgotha and dead men's skulls. O, if you raise this house against this house, It will the woefullest division prove That ever fell upon this cursed earth. Prevent it, resist it, let it not be so, Lest child, child's children, cry against you woe! NORTHUMBERLAND: Well have you argued, sir; and, for your pains, Of capital treason we arrest you here. My Lord of Westminster, be it your charge To keep him safely till his day of trial. May it please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Fetch hither Richard, that in common view He may surrender; so we shall proceed Without suspicion. DUKE OF YORK: I will be his conduct. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Lords, you that here are under our arrest, Procure your sureties for your days of answer. Little are we beholding to your love, And little look'd for at your helping hands. KING RICHARD II: Alack, why am I sent for to a king, Before I have shook off the regal thoughts Wherewith I reign'd? I hardly yet have learn'd To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my limbs: Give sorrow leave awhile to tutor me To this submission. Yet I well remember The favours of these men: were they not mine? Did they not sometime cry, 'all hail!' to me? So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, Found truth in all but one: I, in twelve thousand, none. God save the king! Will no man say amen? Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. God save the king! although I be not he; And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. To do what service am I sent for hither? DUKE OF YORK: To do that office of thine own good will Which tired majesty did make thee offer, The resignation of thy state and crown To Henry Bolingbroke. KING RICHARD II: Give me the crown. Here, cousin, seize the crown; Here cousin: On this side my hand, and on that side yours. Now is this golden crown like a deep well That owes two buckets, filling one another, The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen and full of water: That bucket down and full of tears am I, Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I thought you had been willing to resign. KING RICHARD II: My crown I am; but still my griefs are mine: You may my glories and my state depose, But not my griefs; still am I king of those. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Part of your cares you give me with your crown. KING RICHARD II: Your cares set up do not pluck my cares down. My care is loss of care, by old care done; Your care is gain of care, by new care won: The cares I give I have, though given away; They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Are you contented to resign the crown? KING RICHARD II: Ay, no; no, ay; for I must nothing be; Therefore no no, for I resign to thee. Now mark me, how I will undo myself; I give this heavy weight from off my head And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand, The pride of kingly sway from out my heart; With mine own tears I wash away my balm, With mine own hands I give away my crown, With mine own tongue deny my sacred state, With mine own breath release all duty's rites: All pomp and majesty I do forswear; My manors, rents, revenues I forego; My acts, decrees, and statutes I deny: God pardon all oaths that are broke to me! God keep all vows unbroke that swear to thee! Make me, that nothing have, with nothing grieved, And thou with all pleased, that hast all achieved! Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit, And soon lie Richard in an earthly pit! God save King Harry, unking'd Richard says, And send him many years of sunshine days! What more remains? NORTHUMBERLAND: No more, but that you read These accusations and these grievous crimes Committed by your person and your followers Against the state and profit of this land; That, by confessing them, the souls of men May deem that you are worthily deposed. KING RICHARD II: Must I do so? and must I ravel out My weaved-up folly? Gentle Northumberland, If thy offences were upon record, Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop To read a lecture of them? If thou wouldst, There shouldst thou find one heinous article, Containing the deposing of a king And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven: Nay, all of you that stand and look upon, Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, Though some of you with Pilate wash your hands Showing an outward pity; yet you Pilates Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross, And water cannot wash away your sin. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord, dispatch; read o'er these articles. KING RICHARD II: Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: And yet salt water blinds them not so much But they can see a sort of traitors here. Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, I find myself a traitor with the rest; For I have given here my soul's consent To undeck the pompous body of a king; Made glory base and sovereignty a slave, Proud majesty a subject, state a peasant. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord,-- KING RICHARD II: No lord of thine, thou haught insulting man, Nor no man's lord; I have no name, no title, No, not that name was given me at the font, But 'tis usurp'd: alack the heavy day, That I have worn so many winters out, And know not now what name to call myself! O that I were a mockery king of snow, Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To melt myself away in water-drops! Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good, An if my word be sterling yet in England, Let it command a mirror hither straight, That it may show me what a face I have, Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Go some of you and fetch a looking-glass. NORTHUMBERLAND: Read o'er this paper while the glass doth come. KING RICHARD II: Fiend, thou torment'st me ere I come to hell! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Urge it no more, my Lord Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND: The commons will not then be satisfied. KING RICHARD II: They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough, When I do see the very book indeed Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. Give me the glass, and therein will I read. No deeper wrinkles yet? hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine, And made no deeper wounds? O flattering glass, Like to my followers in prosperity, Thou dost beguile me! Was this face the face That every day under his household roof Did keep ten thousand men? was this the face That, like the sun, did make beholders wink? Was this the face that faced so many follies, And was at last out-faced by Bolingbroke? A brittle glory shineth in this face: As brittle as the glory is the face; For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd The shadow or your face. KING RICHARD II: Say that again. The shadow of my sorrow! ha! let's see: 'Tis very true, my grief lies all within; And these external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul; There lies the substance: and I thank thee, king, For thy great bounty, that not only givest Me cause to wail but teachest me the way How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, And then be gone and trouble you no more. Shall I obtain it? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Name it, fair cousin. KING RICHARD II: 'Fair cousin'? I am greater than a king: For when I was a king, my flatterers Were then but subjects; being now a subject, I have a king here to my flatterer. Being so great, I have no need to beg. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Yet ask. KING RICHARD II: And shall I have? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: You shall. KING RICHARD II: Then give me leave to go. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Whither? KING RICHARD II: Whither you will, so I were from your sights. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Go, some of you convey him to the Tower. KING RICHARD II: O, good! convey? conveyers are you all, That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: On Wednesday next we solemnly set down Our coronation: lords, prepare yourselves. Abbot: A woeful pageant have we here beheld. BISHOP OF CARLISLE: The woe's to come; the children yet unborn. Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. DUKE OF AUMERLE: You holy clergymen, is there no plot To rid the realm of this pernicious blot? Abbot: My lord, Before I freely speak my mind herein, You shall not only take the sacrament To bury mine intents, but also to effect Whatever I shall happen to devise. I see your brows are full of discontent, Your hearts of sorrow and your eyes of tears: Come home with me to supper; and I'll lay A plot shall show us all a merry day. QUEEN: This way the king will come; this is the way To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower, To whose flint bosom my condemned lord Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke: Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth Have any resting for her true king's queen. But soft, but see, or rather do not see, My fair rose wither: yet look up, behold, That you in pity may dissolve to dew, And wash him fresh again with true-love tears. Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand, Thou map of honour, thou King Richard's tomb, And not King Richard; thou most beauteous inn, Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodged in thee, When triumph is become an alehouse guest? KING RICHARD II: Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden: learn, good soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awaked, the truth of what we are Shows us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim Necessity, and he and I Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France And cloister thee in some religious house: Our holy lives must win a new world's crown, Which our profane hours here have stricken down. QUEEN: What, is my Richard both in shape and mind Transform'd and weaken'd? hath Bolingbroke deposed Thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart? The lion dying thrusteth forth his paw, And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage To be o'erpower'd; and wilt thou, pupil-like, Take thy correction mildly, kiss the rod, And fawn on rage with base humility, Which art a lion and a king of beasts? KING RICHARD II: A king of beasts, indeed; if aught but beasts, I had been still a happy king of men. Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: Think I am dead and that even here thou takest, As from my death-bed, thy last living leave. In winter's tedious nights sit by the fire With good old folks and let them tell thee tales Of woeful ages long ago betid; And ere thou bid good night, to quit their griefs, Tell thou the lamentable tale of me And send the hearers weeping to their beds: For why, the senseless brands will sympathize The heavy accent of thy moving tongue And in compassion weep the fire out; And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black, For the deposing of a rightful king. NORTHUMBERLAND: My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed: You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower. And, madam, there is order ta'en for you; With all swift speed you must away to France. KING RICHARD II: Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, The time shall not be many hours of age More than it is ere foul sin gathering head Shalt break into corruption: thou shalt think, Though he divide the realm and give thee half, It is too little, helping him to all; And he shall think that thou, which know'st the way To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, Being ne'er so little urged, another way To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. The love of wicked men converts to fear; That fear to hate, and hate turns one or both To worthy danger and deserved death. NORTHUMBERLAND: My guilt be on my head, and there an end. Take leave and part; for you must part forthwith. KING RICHARD II: Doubly divorced! Bad men, you violate A twofold marriage, 'twixt my crown and me, And then betwixt me and my married wife. Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me; And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. Part us, Northumberland; I toward the north, Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime; My wife to France: from whence, set forth in pomp, She came adorned hither like sweet May, Sent back like Hallowmas or short'st of day. QUEEN: And must we be divided? must we part? KING RICHARD II: Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart from heart. QUEEN: Banish us both and send the king with me. NORTHUMBERLAND: That were some love but little policy. QUEEN: Then whither he goes, thither let me go. KING RICHARD II: So two, together weeping, make one woe. Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here; Better far off than near, be ne'er the near. Go, count thy way with sighs; I mine with groans. QUEEN: So longest way shall have the longest moans. KING RICHARD II: Twice for one step I'll groan, the way being short, And piece the way out with a heavy heart. Come, come, in wooing sorrow let's be brief, Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief; One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part; Thus give I mine, and thus take I thy heart. QUEEN: Give me mine own again; 'twere no good part To take on me to keep and kill thy heart. So, now I have mine own again, be gone, That I might strive to kill it with a groan. KING RICHARD II: We make woe wanton with this fond delay: Once more, adieu; the rest let sorrow say. DUCHESS OF YORK: My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off, of our two cousins coming into London. DUKE OF YORK: Where did I leave? DUCHESS OF YORK: At that sad stop, my lord, Where rude misgovern'd hands from windows' tops Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head. DUKE OF YORK: Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, With slow but stately pace kept on his course, Whilst all tongues cried 'God save thee, Bolingbroke!' You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage, and that all the walls With painted imagery had said at once 'Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke!' Whilst he, from the one side to the other turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus: 'I thank you, countrymen:' And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. DUCHESS OF YORK: Alack, poor Richard! where rode he the whilst? DUKE OF YORK: As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious; Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on gentle Richard; no man cried 'God save him!' No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home: But dust was thrown upon his sacred head: Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patience, That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted And barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose high will we bound our calm contents. To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now, Whose state and honour I for aye allow. DUCHESS OF YORK: Here comes my son Aumerle. DUKE OF YORK: Aumerle that was; But that is lost for being Richard's friend, And, madam, you must call him Rutland now: I am in parliament pledge for his truth And lasting fealty to the new-made king. DUCHESS OF YORK: Welcome, my son: who are the violets now That strew the green lap of the new come spring? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not: God knows I had as lief be none as one. DUKE OF YORK: Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? hold those justs and triumphs? DUKE OF AUMERLE: For aught I know, my lord, they do. DUKE OF YORK: You will be there, I know. DUKE OF AUMERLE: If God prevent not, I purpose so. DUKE OF YORK: What seal is that, that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing. DUKE OF AUMERLE: My lord, 'tis nothing. DUKE OF YORK: No matter, then, who see it; I will be satisfied; let me see the writing. DUKE OF AUMERLE: I do beseech your grace to pardon me: It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. DUKE OF YORK: Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see. I fear, I fear,-- DUCHESS OF YORK: What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into For gay apparel 'gainst the triumph day. DUKE OF YORK: Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the writing. DUKE OF AUMERLE: I do beseech you, pardon me; I may not show it. DUKE OF YORK: I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say. Treason! foul treason! Villain! traitor! slave! DUCHESS OF YORK: What is the matter, my lord? DUKE OF YORK: Ho! who is within there? Saddle my horse. God for his mercy, what treachery is here! DUCHESS OF YORK: Why, what is it, my lord? DUKE OF YORK: Give me my boots, I say; saddle my horse. Now, by mine honour, by my life, by my troth, I will appeach the villain. DUCHESS OF YORK: What is the matter? DUKE OF YORK: Peace, foolish woman. DUCHESS OF YORK: I will not peace. What is the matter, Aumerle. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Good mother, be content; it is no more Than my poor life must answer. DUCHESS OF YORK: Thy life answer! DUKE OF YORK: Bring me my boots: I will unto the king. DUCHESS OF YORK: Strike him, Aumerle. Poor boy, thou art amazed. Hence, villain! never more come in my sight. DUKE OF YORK: Give me my boots, I say. DUCHESS OF YORK: Why, York, what wilt thou do? Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own? Have we more sons? or are we like to have? Is not my teeming date drunk up with time? And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age, And rob me of a happy mother's name? Is he not like thee? is he not thine own? DUKE OF YORK: Thou fond mad woman, Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy? A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament, And interchangeably set down their hands, To kill the king at Oxford. DUCHESS OF YORK: He shall be none; We'll keep him here: then what is that to him? DUKE OF YORK: Away, fond woman! were he twenty times my son, I would appeach him. DUCHESS OF YORK: Hadst thou groan'd for him As I have done, thou wouldst be more pitiful. But now I know thy mind; thou dost suspect That I have been disloyal to thy bed, And that he is a bastard, not thy son: Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: He is as like thee as a man may be, Not like to me, or any of my kin, And yet I love him. DUKE OF YORK: Make way, unruly woman! DUCHESS OF YORK: After, Aumerle! mount thee upon his horse; Spur post, and get before him to the king, And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee. I'll not be long behind; though I be old, I doubt not but to ride as fast as York: And never will I rise up from the ground Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee. Away, be gone! HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Can no man tell me of my unthrifty son? 'Tis full three months since I did see him last; If any plague hang over us, 'tis he. I would to God, my lords, he might be found: Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there, For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, With unrestrained loose companions, Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, And beat our watch, and rob our passengers; Which he, young wanton and effeminate boy, Takes on the point of honour to support So dissolute a crew. HENRY PERCY: My lord, some two days since I saw the prince, And told him of those triumphs held at Oxford. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: And what said the gallant? HENRY PERCY: His answer was, he would unto the stews, And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, And wear it as a favour; and with that He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: As dissolute as desperate; yet through both I see some sparks of better hope, which elder years May happily bring forth. But who comes here? DUKE OF AUMERLE: Where is the king? HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What means our cousin, that he stares and looks So wildly? DUKE OF AUMERLE: God save your grace! I do beseech your majesty, To have some conference with your grace alone. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here alone. What is the matter with our cousin now? DUKE OF AUMERLE: For ever may my knees grow to the earth, My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Intended or committed was this fault? If on the first, how heinous e'er it be, To win thy after-love I pardon thee. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Have thy desire. DUKE OF YORK: HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Villain, I'll make thee safe. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Stay thy revengeful hand; thou hast no cause to fear. DUKE OF YORK: HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What is the matter, uncle? speak; Recover breath; tell us how near is danger, That we may arm us to encounter it. DUKE OF YORK: Peruse this writing here, and thou shalt know The treason that my haste forbids me show. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise pass'd: I do repent me; read not my name there My heart is not confederate with my hand. DUKE OF YORK: It was, villain, ere thy hand did set it down. I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king; Fear, and not love, begets his penitence: Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove A serpent that will sting thee to the heart. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: O heinous, strong and bold conspiracy! O loyal father of a treacherous son! Thou sheer, immaculate and silver fountain, From when this stream through muddy passages Hath held his current and defiled himself! Thy overflow of good converts to bad, And thy abundant goodness shall excuse This deadly blot in thy digressing son. DUKE OF YORK: So shall my virtue be his vice's bawd; And he shall spend mine honour with his shame, As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies: Thou kill'st me in his life; giving him breath, The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. DUCHESS OF YORK: HENRY BOLINGBROKE: What shrill-voiced suppliant makes this eager cry? DUCHESS OF YORK: A woman, and thy aunt, great king; 'tis I. Speak with me, pity me, open the door. A beggar begs that never begg'd before. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Our scene is alter'd from a serious thing, And now changed to 'The Beggar and the King.' My dangerous cousin, let your mother in: I know she is come to pray for your foul sin. DUKE OF YORK: If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, More sins for this forgiveness prosper may. This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rest sound; This let alone will all the rest confound. DUCHESS OF YORK: O king, believe not this hard-hearted man! Love loving not itself none other can. DUKE OF YORK: Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make here? Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear? DUCHESS OF YORK: Sweet York, be patient. Hear me, gentle liege. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Rise up, good aunt. DUCHESS OF YORK: Not yet, I thee beseech: For ever will I walk upon my knees, And never see day that the happy sees, Till thou give joy; until thou bid me joy, By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. DUKE OF AUMERLE: Unto my mother's prayers I bend my knee. DUKE OF YORK: Against them both my true joints bended be. Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace! DUCHESS OF YORK: Pleads he in earnest? look upon his face; His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest; His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: He prays but faintly and would be denied; We pray with heart and soul and all beside: His weary joints would gladly rise, I know; Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow: His prayers are full of false hypocrisy; Ours of true zeal and deep integrity. Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have That mercy which true prayer ought to have. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS OF YORK: Nay, do not say, 'stand up;' Say, 'pardon' first, and afterwards 'stand up.' And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach, 'Pardon' should be the first word of thy speech. I never long'd to hear a word till now; Say 'pardon,' king; let pity teach thee how: The word is short, but not so short as sweet; No word like 'pardon' for kings' mouths so meet. DUKE OF YORK: Speak it in French, king; say, 'pardonne moi.' DUCHESS OF YORK: Dost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy? Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, That set'st the word itself against the word! Speak 'pardon' as 'tis current in our land; The chopping French we do not understand. Thine eye begins to speak; set thy tongue there; Or in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear; That hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, Pity may move thee 'pardon' to rehearse. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Good aunt, stand up. DUCHESS OF YORK: I do not sue to stand; Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: I pardon him, as God shall pardon me. DUCHESS OF YORK: O happy vantage of a kneeling knee! Yet am I sick for fear: speak it again; Twice saying 'pardon' doth not pardon twain, But makes one pardon strong. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: With all my heart I pardon him. DUCHESS OF YORK: A god on earth thou art. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: But for our trusty brother-in-law and the abbot, With all the rest of that consorted crew, Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. Good uncle, help to order several powers To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are: They shall not live within this world, I swear, But I will have them, if I once know where. Uncle, farewell: and, cousin too, adieu: Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. DUCHESS OF YORK: Come, my old son: I pray God make thee new. EXTON: Didst thou not mark the king, what words he spake, 'Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?' Was it not so? Servant: These were his very words. EXTON: 'Have I no friend?' quoth he: he spake it twice, And urged it twice together, did he not? Servant: He did. EXTON: And speaking it, he wistly look'd on me, And who should say, 'I would thou wert the man' That would divorce this terror from my heart;' Meaning the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go: I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. KING RICHARD II: I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world: And for because the world is populous And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it; yet I'll hammer it out. My brain I'll prove the female to my soul, My soul the father; and these two beget A generation of still-breeding thoughts, And these same thoughts people this little world, In humours like the people of this world, For no thought is contented. The better sort, As thoughts of things divine, are intermix'd With scruples and do set the word itself Against the word: As thus, 'Come, little ones,' and then again, 'It is as hard to come as for a camel To thread the postern of a small needle's eye.' Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot Unlikely wonders; how these vain weak nails May tear a passage through the flinty ribs Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls, And, for they cannot, die in their own pride. Thoughts tending to content flatter themselves That they are not the first of fortune's slaves, Nor shall not be the last; like silly beggars Who sitting in the stocks refuge their shame, That many have and others must sit there; And in this thought they find a kind of ease, Bearing their own misfortunes on the back Of such as have before endured the like. Thus play I in one person many people, And none contented: sometimes am I king; Then treasons make me wish myself a beggar, And so I am: then crushing penury Persuades me I was better when a king; Then am I king'd again: and by and by Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke, And straight am nothing: but whate'er I be, Nor I nor any man that but man is With nothing shall be pleased, till he be eased With being nothing. Music do I hear? Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is, When time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. And here have I the daintiness of ear To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string; But for the concord of my state and time Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. I wasted time, and now doth time waste me; For now hath time made me his numbering clock: My thoughts are minutes; and with sighs they jar Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward watch, Whereto my finger, like a dial's point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is Are clamorous groans, which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell: so sighs and tears and groans Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy, While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. This music mads me; let it sound no more; For though it have holp madmen to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad. Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me! For 'tis a sign of love; and love to Richard Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world. Groom: Hail, royal prince! KING RICHARD II: Thanks, noble peer; The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou? and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes but that sad dog That brings me food to make misfortune live? Groom: I was a poor groom of thy stable, king, When thou wert king; who, travelling towards York, With much ado at length have gotten leave To look upon my sometimes royal master's face. O, how it yearn'd my heart when I beheld In London streets, that coronation-day, When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barbary, That horse that thou so often hast bestrid, That horse that I so carefully have dress'd! KING RICHARD II: Rode he on Barbary? Tell me, gentle friend, How went he under him? Groom: So proudly as if he disdain'd the ground. KING RICHARD II: So proud that Bolingbroke was on his back! That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand; This hand hath made him proud with clapping him. Would he not stumble? would he not fall down, Since pride must have a fall, and break the neck Of that proud man that did usurp his back? Forgiveness, horse! why do I rail on thee, Since thou, created to be awed by man, Wast born to bear? I was not made a horse; And yet I bear a burthen like an ass, Spurr'd, gall'd and tired by jouncing Bolingbroke. Keeper: Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay. KING RICHARD II: If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. Groom: What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. Keeper: My lord, will't please you to fall to? KING RICHARD II: Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keeper: My lord, I dare not: Sir Pierce of Exton, who lately came from the king, commands the contrary. KING RICHARD II: The devil take Henry of Lancaster and thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. Keeper: Help, help, help! KING RICHARD II: How now! what means death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument. Go thou, and fill another room in hell. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire That staggers thus my person. Exton, thy fierce hand Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. EXTON: As full of valour as of royal blood: Both have I spill'd; O would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead king to the living king I'll bear Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear Is that the rebels have consumed with fire Our town of Cicester in Gloucestershire; But whether they be ta'en or slain we hear not. Welcome, my lord what is the news? NORTHUMBERLAND: First, to thy sacred state wish I all happiness. The next news is, I have to London sent The heads of Oxford, Salisbury, Blunt, and Kent: The manner of their taking may appear At large discoursed in this paper here. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. LORD FITZWATER: My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely, Two of the dangerous consorted traitors That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot; Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. HENRY PERCY: The grand conspirator, Abbot of Westminster, With clog of conscience and sour melancholy Hath yielded up his body to the grave; But here is Carlisle living, to abide Thy kingly doom and sentence of his pride. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Carlisle, this is your doom: Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life; So as thou livest in peace, die free from strife: For though mine enemy thou hast ever been, High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. EXTON: Great king, within this coffin I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bordeaux, by me hither brought. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand Upon my head and all this famous land. EXTON: From your own mouth, my lord, did I this deed. HENRY BOLINGBROKE: They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee: though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through shades of night, And never show thy head by day nor light. Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow: Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent: I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land, To wash this blood off from my guilty hand: March sadly after; grace my mournings here; In weeping after this untimely bier. SAMPSON: Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORY: No, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSON: I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORY: Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSON: I strike quickly, being moved. GREGORY: But thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSON: A dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORY: To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSON: A dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORY: That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSON: True; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORY: The quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON: 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORY: The heads of the maids? SAMPSON: Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORY: They must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSON: Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY: 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSON: My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORY: How! turn thy back and run? SAMPSON: Fear me not. GREGORY: No, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSON: Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORY: I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSON: Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. ABRAHAM: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON: I do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAM: Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON: GREGORY: No. SAMPSON: No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORY: Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAM: Quarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSON: If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAM: No better. SAMPSON: Well, sir. GREGORY: Say 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSON: Yes, better, sir. ABRAHAM: You lie. SAMPSON: Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. BENVOLIO: Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. TYBALT: What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO: I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALT: What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! First Citizen: Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! CAPULET: What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULET: A crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULET: My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. MONTAGUE: Thou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUE: Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. PRINCE: Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me: And, Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. MONTAGUE: Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIO: Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUE: O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIO: Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, That most are busied when they're most alone, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUE: Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew. Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the furthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO: My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE: I neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIO: Have you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUE: Both by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know. BENVOLIO: See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUE: I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away. BENVOLIO: Good-morrow, cousin. ROMEO: Is the day so young? BENVOLIO: But new struck nine. ROMEO: Ay me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIO: It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEO: Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIO: In love? ROMEO: Out-- BENVOLIO: Of love? ROMEO: Out of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIO: Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEO: Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O any thing, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BENVOLIO: No, coz, I rather weep. ROMEO: Good heart, at what? BENVOLIO: At thy good heart's oppression. ROMEO: Why, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIO: Soft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEO: Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIO: Tell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEO: What, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIO: Groan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEO: Bid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIO: I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEO: A right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIO: A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEO: Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIO: Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEO: She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIO: Be ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEO: O, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIO: By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO: 'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIO: I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. CAPULET: But Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARIS: Of honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULET: But saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARIS: Younger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULET: And too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At my poor house look to behold this night Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: Such comfort as do lusty young men feel When well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about Through fair Verona; find those persons out Whose names are written there, and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. Servant: Find them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time. BENVOLIO: Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEO: Your plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIO: For what, I pray thee? ROMEO: For your broken shin. BENVOLIO: Why, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEO: Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. Servant: God gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEO: Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. Servant: Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEO: Ay, if I know the letters and the language. Servant: Ye say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEO: Stay, fellow; I can read. 'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? Servant: Up. ROMEO: Whither? Servant: To supper; to our house. ROMEO: Whose house? Servant: My master's. ROMEO: Indeed, I should have ask'd you that before. Servant: Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry! BENVOLIO: At this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEO: When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIO: Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best. ROMEO: I'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own. LADY CAPULET: Nurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. Nurse: Now, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet! JULIET: How now! who calls? Nurse: Your mother. JULIET: Madam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULET: This is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. Nurse: Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULET: She's not fourteen. Nurse: I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULET: A fortnight and odd days. Nurse: Even or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULET: Enough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. Nurse: Yes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIET: And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. Nurse: Peace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULET: Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIET: It is an honour that I dream not of. Nurse: An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULET: Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Nurse: A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULET: Verona's summer hath not such a flower. Nurse: Nay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULET: What say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, only lacks a cover: The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride For fair without the fair within to hide: That book in many's eyes doth share the glory, That in gold clasps locks in the golden story; So shall you share all that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. Nurse: No less! nay, bigger; women grow by men. LADY CAPULET: Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIET: I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. Servant: Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULET: We follow thee. Juliet, the county stays. Nurse: Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. ROMEO: What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIO: The date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEO: Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIO: Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEO: Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIO: You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEO: I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO: And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEO: Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO: If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIO: Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEO: A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO: Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO: Nay, that's not so. MERCUTIO: I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO: And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO: Why, may one ask? ROMEO: I dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIO: And so did I. ROMEO: Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO: That dreamers often lie. ROMEO: In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO: O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEO: Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIO: True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIO: This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEO: I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIO: Strike, drum. First Servant: Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second Servant: When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First Servant: Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second Servant: Ay, boy, ready. First Servant: You are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second Servant: We cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all. CAPULET: Welcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls. More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second Capulet: By'r lady, thirty years. CAPULET: What, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet: 'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULET: Will you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO: Servant: I know not, sir. ROMEO: O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALT: This, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULET: Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALT: Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET: Young Romeo is it? TYBALT: 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULET: Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALT: It fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULET: He shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALT: Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULET: Go to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALT: Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall. ROMEO: JULIET: Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEO: Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIET: Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEO: O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIET: Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEO: Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIET: Then have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEO: Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIET: You kiss by the book. Nurse: Madam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEO: What is her mother? Nurse: Marry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEO: Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIO: Away, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEO: Ay, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULET: Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest. JULIET: Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? Nurse: The son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIET: What's he that now is going out of door? Nurse: Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIET: What's he that follows there, that would not dance? Nurse: I know not. JULIET: Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. Nurse: His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIET: My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. Nurse: What's this? what's this? JULIET: A rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal. Nurse: Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone. Chorus: Now old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet. ROMEO: Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out. BENVOLIO: Romeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIO: He is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIO: He ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO: Nay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIO: And if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO: This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistress' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIO: Come, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIO: If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIO: Go, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found. ROMEO: He jests at scars that never felt a wound. But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIET: Ay me! ROMEO: She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIET: O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO: JULIET: 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEO: I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIET: What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEO: By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIET: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEO: Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIET: How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEO: With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIET: If they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEO: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIET: I would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEO: I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIET: By whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEO: By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIET: Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO: Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIET: O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEO: What shall I swear by? JULIET: Do not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEO: If my heart's dear love-- JULIET: Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEO: O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIET: What satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEO: The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIET: I gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEO: Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIET: But to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite. I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again. ROMEO: O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial. JULIET: Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse: JULIET: I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse: JULIET: By and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEO: So thrive my soul-- JULIET: A thousand times good night! ROMEO: A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. JULIET: Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEO: It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIET: Romeo! ROMEO: My dear? JULIET: At what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEO: At the hour of nine. JULIET: I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEO: Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET: I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEO: And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET: 'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEO: I would I were thy bird. JULIET: Sweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow. ROMEO: Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. FRIAR LAURENCE: The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. ROMEO: Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCE: Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEO: That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCE: God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEO: With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCE: That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEO: I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCE: Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEO: Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCE: Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEO: Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCE: For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEO: And bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCE: Not in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEO: I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCE: O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEO: O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCE: Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. MERCUTIO: Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIO: Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIO: Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIO: Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIO: A challenge, on my life. BENVOLIO: Romeo will answer it. MERCUTIO: Any man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIO: Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO: Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIO: Why, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIO: More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIO: The what? MERCUTIO: The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones! BENVOLIO: Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIO: Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEO: Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIO: The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEO: Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIO: That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEO: Meaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIO: Thou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEO: A most courteous exposition. MERCUTIO: Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEO: Pink for flower. MERCUTIO: Right. ROMEO: Why, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIO: Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEO: O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIO: Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO: Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIO: Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEO: Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIO: I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEO: Nay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIO: Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEO: And is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIO: O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEO: I stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIO: Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIO: Stop there, stop there. MERCUTIO: Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIO: Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIO: O, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEO: Here's goodly gear! MERCUTIO: A sail, a sail! BENVOLIO: Two, two; a shirt and a smock. Nurse: Peter! PETER: Anon! Nurse: My fan, Peter. MERCUTIO: Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. Nurse: God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO: God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. Nurse: Is it good den? MERCUTIO: 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. Nurse: Out upon you! what a man are you! ROMEO: One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. Nurse: By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEO: I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. Nurse: You say well. MERCUTIO: Yea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurse: if you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIO: She will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIO: A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEO: What hast thou found? MERCUTIO: No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEO: I will follow you. MERCUTIO: Farewell, ancient lady; farewell, 'lady, lady, lady.' Nurse: Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEO: A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Nurse: An a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETER: I saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. Nurse: Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEO: Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- Nurse: Good heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEO: What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. Nurse: I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEO: Bid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. Nurse: No truly sir; not a penny. ROMEO: Go to; I say you shall. Nurse: This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEO: And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. Nurse: Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEO: What say'st thou, my dear nurse? Nurse: Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO: I warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSE: Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEO: Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R. Nurse: Ah. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEO: Commend me to thy lady. Nurse: Ay, a thousand times. Peter! PETER: Anon! Nurse: Peter, take my fan, and go before and apace. JULIET: The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. Nurse: Peter, stay at the gate. JULIET: Now, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. Nurse: I am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIET: I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. Nurse: Jesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIET: How art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? Nurse: Well, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIET: No, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? Nurse: Lord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIET: I' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? Nurse: Your love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIET: Where is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' Nurse: O God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIET: Here's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? Nurse: Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIET: I have. Nurse: Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIET: Hie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell. FRIAR LAURENCE: So smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEO: Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCE: These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIET: Good even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIET: As much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEO: Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIET: Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCE: Come, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one. BENVOLIO: I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIO: Thou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIO: Am I like such a fellow? MERCUTIO: Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIO: And what to? MERCUTIO: Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIO: An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIO: The fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIO: By my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIO: By my heel, I care not. TYBALT: Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIO: And but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALT: You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIO: Could you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALT: Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIO: Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO: We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIO: Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. TYBALT: Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIO: But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALT: Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEO: Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALT: Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEO: I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIO: O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALT: What wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIO: Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALT: I am for you. ROMEO: Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO: Come, sir, your passado. ROMEO: Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio! MERCUTIO: I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO: What, art thou hurt? MERCUTIO: Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. ROMEO: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIO: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO: I thought all for the best. MERCUTIO: Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses! ROMEO: This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel! BENVOLIO: O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO: This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIO: Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEO: Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALT: Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEO: This shall determine that. BENVOLIO: Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEO: O, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIO: Why dost thou stay? First Citizen: Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIO: There lies that Tybalt. First Citizen: Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey. PRINCE: Where are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIO: O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULET: Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCE: Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIO: Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULET: He is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCE: Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE: Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCE: And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. JULIET: Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? Nurse: Ay, ay, the cords. JULIET: Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? Nurse: Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIET: Can heaven be so envious? Nurse: Romeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIET: What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. Nurse: I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIET: O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! Nurse: O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIET: What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? Nurse: Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIET: O God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? Nurse: It did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIET: O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! Nurse: There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIET: Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse: Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIET: Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? Nurse: Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIET: Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! Nurse: Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIET: O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell. FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity. ROMEO: Father, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCE: Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEO: What less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCE: A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEO: Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCE: Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEO: There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCE: O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO: 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCE: Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEO: O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCE: I'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEO: Yet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCE: O, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEO: How should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCE: Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEO: Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. FRIAR LAURENCE: Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO: Not I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up; Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come! Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse: FRIAR LAURENCE: Welcome, then. Nurse: O holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE: There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Nurse: O, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEO: Nurse! Nurse: Ah sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEO: Spakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? Nurse: O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO: As if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. Nurse: O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEO: Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse: Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. ROMEO: How well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCE: Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEO: But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell. CAPULET: Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARIS: These times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULET: I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULET: Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARIS: Monday, my lord, CAPULET: Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARIS: My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULET: Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night. JULIET: Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEO: It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIET: Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEO: Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIET: It is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEO: More light and light; more dark and dark our woes! Nurse: Madam! JULIET: Nurse? Nurse: Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. JULIET: Then, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEO: Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. JULIET: Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEO: Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIET: O think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEO: I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIET: O God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEO: And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! JULIET: O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET: JULIET: Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? LADY CAPULET: Why, how now, Juliet! JULIET: Madam, I am not well. LADY CAPULET: Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIET: Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET: So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIET: Feeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULET: Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIET: What villain madam? LADY CAPULET: That same villain, Romeo. JULIET: LADY CAPULET: That is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIET: Ay, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULET: We will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIET: Indeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULET: Find thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIET: And joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET: Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIET: Madam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULET: Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIET: Now, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULET: Here comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands. CAPULET: When the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULET: Ay, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULET: Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIET: Not proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULET: How now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULET: Fie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIET: Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULET: Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! Nurse: God in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULET: And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. Nurse: I speak no treason. CAPULET: O, God ye god-den. Nurse: May not one speak? CAPULET: Peace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULET: You are too hot. CAPULET: God's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn. JULIET: Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULET: Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee. JULIET: O God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. Nurse: Faith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIET: Speakest thou from thy heart? Nurse: And from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIET: Amen! Nurse: What? JULIET: Well, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. Nurse: Marry, I will; and this is wisely done. JULIET: Ancient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die. FRIAR LAURENCE: On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARIS: My father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCE: You say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARIS: Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE: PARIS: Happily met, my lady and my wife! JULIET: That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARIS: That may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIET: What must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCE: That's a certain text. PARIS: Come you to make confession to this father? JULIET: To answer that, I should confess to you. PARIS: Do not deny to him that you love me. JULIET: I will confess to you that I love him. PARIS: So will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIET: If I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARIS: Poor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIET: The tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARIS: Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIET: That is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARIS: Thy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIET: It may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCE: My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARIS: God shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss. JULIET: O shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCE: Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIET: Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIET: O, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIET: Give me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCE: Hold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIET: Love give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! CAPULET: So many guests invite as here are writ. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second Servant: You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULET: How canst thou try them so? Second Servant: Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULET: Go, be gone. We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? Nurse: Ay, forsooth. CAPULET: Well, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. Nurse: See where she comes from shrift with merry look. CAPULET: How now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIET: Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULET: Send for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIET: I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULET: Why, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIET: Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULET: No, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULET: Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow. LADY CAPULET: We shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULET: Tush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd. JULIET: Ay, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin. LADY CAPULET: What, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIET: No, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULET: Good night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need. JULIET: Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there. What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee. LADY CAPULET: Hold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. Nurse: They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. CAPULET: Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. Nurse: Go, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULET: No, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULET: Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now. CAPULET: A jealous hood, a jealous hood! Now, fellow, What's there? First Servant: Things for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULET: Make haste, make haste. Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second Servant: I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter. CAPULET: Mass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near. Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say! Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say. Nurse: Mistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady! LADY CAPULET: What noise is here? Nurse: O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET: What is the matter? Nurse: Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET: O me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help. CAPULET: For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. Nurse: She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULET: Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULET: Ha! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Nurse: O lamentable day! LADY CAPULET: O woful time! CAPULET: Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. FRIAR LAURENCE: Come, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULET: Ready to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARIS: Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULET: Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Nurse: O woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARIS: Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULET: Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCE: Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULET: All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCE: Sir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will. First Musician: Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. Nurse: Honest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case. First Musician: Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. PETER: Musicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First Musician: Why 'Heart's ease?' PETER: O, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First Musician: Not a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETER: You will not, then? First Musician: No. PETER: I will then give it you soundly. First Musician: What will you give us? PETER: No money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First Musician: Then I will give you the serving-creature. PETER: Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First Musician: An you re us and fa us, you note us. Second Musician: Pray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETER: Then have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? Musician: Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETER: Pretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second Musician: I say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETER: Pretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third Musician: Faith, I know not what to say. PETER: O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.' First Musician: What a pestilent knave is this same! Second Musician: Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner. ROMEO: If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy! News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASAR: Then she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEO: Is it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASAR: I do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEO: Tush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASAR: No, my good lord. ROMEO: No matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight. Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary! Apothecary: Who calls so loud? ROMEO: Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. Apothecary: Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEO: Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Apothecary: My poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEO: I pay thy poverty, and not thy will. Apothecary: Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEO: There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee. FRIAR JOHN: Holy Franciscan friar! brother, ho! FRIAR LAURENCE: This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHN: Going to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCE: Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHN: I could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCE: Unhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHN: Brother, I'll go and bring it thee. FRIAR LAURENCE: Now must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb! PARIS: Give me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE: PARIS: Sweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep. The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile. ROMEO: Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASAR: I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEO: So shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR: ROMEO: Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food! PARIS: This is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEO: I must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARIS: I do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEO: Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy! PAGE: O Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch. PARIS: O, I am slain! If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet. ROMEO: In faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd. How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die. FRIAR LAURENCE: Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASAR: Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCE: Bliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASAR: It doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCE: Who is it? BALTHASAR: Romeo. FRIAR LAURENCE: How long hath he been there? BALTHASAR: Full half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCE: Go with me to the vault. BALTHASAR: I dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCE: Stay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR: As I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCE: Romeo! Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace? Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs. JULIET: O comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCE: I hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet, I dare no longer stay. JULIET: Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm. First Watchman: JULIET: Yea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger! This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die. PAGE: This is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First Watchman: The ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry. Second Watchman: Here's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First Watchman: Hold him in safety, till the prince come hither. Third Watchman: Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First Watchman: A great suspicion: stay the friar too. PRINCE: What misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest? CAPULET: What should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULET: The people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE: What fear is this which startles in our ears? First Watchman: Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCE: Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First Watchman: Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULET: O heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULET: O me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre. PRINCE: Come, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUE: Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE: Look, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUE: O thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCE: Seal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCE: I am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCE: Then say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCE: I will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCE: We still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASAR: I brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCE: Give me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGE: He came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCE: This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULET: O brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUE: But I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULET: As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCE: A glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. WARWICK: I wonder how the king escaped our hands. YORK: While we pursued the horsemen of the north, He slily stole away and left his men: Whereat the great Lord of Northumberland, Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat, Cheer'd up the drooping army; and himself, Lord Clifford and Lord Stafford, all abreast, Charged our main battle's front, and breaking in Were by the swords of common soldiers slain. EDWARD: Lord Stafford's father, Duke of Buckingham, Is either slain or wounded dangerously; I cleft his beaver with a downright blow: That this is true, father, behold his blood. MONTAGUE: And, brother, here's the Earl of Wiltshire's blood, Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. RICHARD: Speak thou for me and tell them what I did. YORK: Richard hath best deserved of all my sons. But is your grace dead, my Lord of Somerset? NORFOLK: Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt! RICHARD: Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. WARWICK: And so do I. Victorious Prince of York, Before I see thee seated in that throne Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, I vow by heaven these eyes shall never close. This is the palace of the fearful king, And this the regal seat: possess it, York; For this is thine and not King Henry's heirs' YORK: Assist me, then, sweet Warwick, and I will; For hither we have broken in by force. NORFOLK: We'll all assist you; he that flies shall die. YORK: Thanks, gentle Norfolk: stay by me, my lords; And, soldiers, stay and lodge by me this night. WARWICK: And when the king comes, offer no violence, Unless he seek to thrust you out perforce. YORK: The queen this day here holds her parliament, But little thinks we shall be of her council: By words or blows here let us win our right. RICHARD: Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. WARWICK: The bloody parliament shall this be call'd, Unless Plantagenet, Duke of York, be king, And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. YORK: Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. WARWICK: Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. KING HENRY VI: My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, Even in the chair of state: belike he means, Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer, To aspire unto the crown and reign as king. Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father. And thine, Lord Clifford; and you both have vow'd revenge On him, his sons, his favourites and his friends. NORTHUMBERLAND: If I be not, heavens be revenged on me! CLIFFORD: The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn in steel. WESTMORELAND: What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him down: My heart for anger burns; I cannot brook it. KING HENRY VI: Be patient, gentle Earl of Westmoreland. CLIFFORD: Patience is for poltroons, such as he: He durst not sit there, had your father lived. My gracious lord, here in the parliament Let us assail the family of York. NORTHUMBERLAND: Well hast thou spoken, cousin: be it so. KING HENRY VI: Ah, know you not the city favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? EXETER: But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. KING HENRY VI: Far be the thought of this from Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament-house! Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words and threats Shall be the war that Henry means to use. Thou factious Duke of York, descend my throne, and kneel for grace and mercy at my feet; I am thy sovereign. YORK: I am thine. EXETER: For shame, come down: he made thee Duke of York. YORK: 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was. EXETER: Thy father was a traitor to the crown. WARWICK: Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown In following this usurping Henry. CLIFFORD: Whom should he follow but his natural king? WARWICK: True, Clifford; and that's Richard Duke of York. KING HENRY VI: And shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne? YORK: It must and shall be so: content thyself. WARWICK: Be Duke of Lancaster; let him be king. WESTMORELAND: He is both king and Duke of Lancaster; And that the Lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. WARWICK: And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those which chased you from the field And slew your fathers, and with colours spread March'd through the city to the palace gates. NORTHUMBERLAND: Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief; And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. WESTMORELAND: Plantagenet, of thee and these thy sons, Thy kinsman and thy friends, I'll have more lives Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. CLIFFORD: Urge it no more; lest that, instead of words, I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger As shall revenge his death before I stir. WARWICK: Poor Clifford! how I scorn his worthless threats! YORK: Will you we show our title to the crown? If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. KING HENRY VI: What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown? Thy father was, as thou art, Duke of York; Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, Earl of March: I am the son of Henry the Fifth, Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop And seized upon their towns and provinces. WARWICK: Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. KING HENRY VI: The lord protector lost it, and not I: When I was crown'd I was but nine months old. RICHARD: You are old enough now, and yet, methinks, you lose. Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. EDWARD: Sweet father, do so; set it on your head. MONTAGUE: Good brother, as thou lovest and honourest arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. RICHARD: Sound drums and trumpets, and the king will fly. YORK: Sons, peace! KING HENRY VI: Peace, thou! and give King Henry leave to speak. WARWICK: Plantagenet shall speak first: hear him, lords; And be you silent and attentive too, For he that interrupts him shall not live. KING HENRY VI: Think'st thou that I will leave my kingly throne, Wherein my grandsire and my father sat? No: first shall war unpeople this my realm; Ay, and their colours, often borne in France, And now in England to our heart's great sorrow, Shall be my winding-sheet. Why faint you, lords? My title's good, and better far than his. WARWICK: Prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king. KING HENRY VI: Henry the Fourth by conquest got the crown. YORK: 'Twas by rebellion against his king. KING HENRY VI: YORK: What then? KING HENRY VI: An if he may, then am I lawful king; For Richard, in the view of many lords, Resign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth, Whose heir my father was, and I am his. YORK: He rose against him, being his sovereign, And made him to resign his crown perforce. WARWICK: Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd, Think you 'twere prejudicial to his crown? EXETER: No; for he could not so resign his crown But that the next heir should succeed and reign. KING HENRY VI: Art thou against us, Duke of Exeter? EXETER: His is the right, and therefore pardon me. YORK: Why whisper you, my lords, and answer not? EXETER: My conscience tells me he is lawful king. KING HENRY VI: NORTHUMBERLAND: Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, Think not that Henry shall be so deposed. WARWICK: Deposed he shall be, in despite of all. NORTHUMBERLAND: Thou art deceived: 'tis not thy southern power, Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent, Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, Can set the duke up in despite of me. CLIFFORD: King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence: May that ground gape and swallow me alive, Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father! KING HENRY VI: O Clifford, how thy words revive my heart! YORK: Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown. What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? WARWICK: Do right unto this princely Duke of York, Or I will fill the house with armed men, And over the chair of state, where now he sits, Write up his title with usurping blood. KING HENRY VI: My Lord of Warwick, hear me but one word: Let me for this my life-time reign as king. YORK: Confirm the crown to me and to mine heirs, And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou livest. KING HENRY VI: I am content: Richard Plantagenet, Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. CLIFFORD: What wrong is this unto the prince your son! WARWICK: What good is this to England and himself! WESTMORELAND: Base, fearful and despairing Henry! CLIFFORD: How hast thou injured both thyself and us! WESTMORELAND: I cannot stay to hear these articles. NORTHUMBERLAND: Nor I. CLIFFORD: Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. WESTMORELAND: Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. NORTHUMBERLAND: Be thou a prey unto the house of York, And die in bands for this unmanly deed! CLIFFORD: In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome, Or live in peace abandon'd and despised! WARWICK: Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. EXETER: They seek revenge and therefore will not yield. KING HENRY VI: Ah, Exeter! WARWICK: Why should you sigh, my lord? KING HENRY VI: Not for myself, Lord Warwick, but my son, Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit. But be it as it may: I here entail The crown to thee and to thine heirs for ever; Conditionally, that here thou take an oath To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live, To honour me as thy king and sovereign, And neither by treason nor hostility To seek to put me down and reign thyself. YORK: This oath I willingly take and will perform. WARWICK: Long live King Henry! Plantagenet embrace him. KING HENRY VI: And long live thou and these thy forward sons! YORK: Now York and Lancaster are reconciled. EXETER: Accursed be he that seeks to make them foes! YORK: Farewell, my gracious lord; I'll to my castle. WARWICK: And I'll keep London with my soldiers. NORFOLK: And I to Norfolk with my followers. MONTAGUE: And I unto the sea from whence I came. KING HENRY VI: And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. EXETER: Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray her anger: I'll steal away. KING HENRY VI: Exeter, so will I. QUEEN MARGARET: Nay, go not from me; I will follow thee. KING HENRY VI: Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. QUEEN MARGARET: Who can be patient in such extremes? Ah, wretched man! would I had died a maid And never seen thee, never borne thee son, Seeing thou hast proved so unnatural a father Hath he deserved to lose his birthright thus? Hadst thou but loved him half so well as I, Or felt that pain which I did for him once, Or nourish'd him as I did with my blood, Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there, Rather than have that savage duke thine heir And disinherited thine only son. PRINCE EDWARD: Father, you cannot disinherit me: If you be king, why should not I succeed? KING HENRY VI: Pardon me, Margaret; pardon me, sweet son: The Earl of Warwick and the duke enforced me. QUEEN MARGARET: Enforced thee! art thou king, and wilt be forced? I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch! Thou hast undone thyself, thy son and me; And given unto the house of York such head As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. To entail him and his heirs unto the crown, What is it, but to make thy sepulchre And creep into it far before thy time? Warwick is chancellor and the lord of Calais; Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas; The duke is made protector of the realm; And yet shalt thou be safe? such safety finds The trembling lamb environed with wolves. Had I been there, which am a silly woman, The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes Before I would have granted to that act. But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour: And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed, Until that act of parliament be repeal'd Whereby my son is disinherited. The northern lords that have forsworn thy colours Will follow mine, if once they see them spread; And spread they shall be, to thy foul disgrace And utter ruin of the house of York. Thus do I leave thee. Come, son, let's away; Our army is ready; come, we'll after them. KING HENRY VI: Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET: Thou hast spoke too much already: get thee gone. KING HENRY VI: Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies. PRINCE EDWARD: When I return with victory from the field I'll see your grace: till then I'll follow her. QUEEN MARGARET: Come, son, away; we may not linger thus. KING HENRY VI: Poor queen! how love to me and to her son Hath made her break out into terms of rage! Revenged may she be on that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son! The loss of those three lords torments my heart: I'll write unto them and entreat them fair. Come, cousin you shall be the messenger. EXETER: And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all. 3 KING HENRY VI RICHARD: Brother, though I be youngest, give me leave. EDWARD: No, I can better play the orator. MONTAGUE: But I have reasons strong and forcible. YORK: Why, how now, sons and brother! at a strife? What is your quarrel? how began it first? EDWARD: No quarrel, but a slight contention. YORK: About what? RICHARD: About that which concerns your grace and us; The crown of England, father, which is yours. YORK: Mine boy? not till King Henry be dead. RICHARD: Your right depends not on his life or death. EDWARD: Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now: By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, It will outrun you, father, in the end. YORK: I took an oath that he should quietly reign. EDWARD: But for a kingdom any oath may be broken: I would break a thousand oaths to reign one year. RICHARD: No; God forbid your grace should be forsworn. YORK: I shall be, if I claim by open war. RICHARD: I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me speak. YORK: Thou canst not, son; it is impossible. RICHARD: An oath is of no moment, being not took Before a true and lawful magistrate, That hath authority over him that swears: Henry had none, but did usurp the place; Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. Therefore, to arms! And, father, do but think How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown; Within whose circuit is Elysium And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. Why do we finger thus? I cannot rest Until the white rose that I wear be dyed Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. YORK: Richard, enough; I will be king, or die. Brother, thou shalt to London presently, And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. Thou, Richard, shalt to the Duke of Norfolk, And tell him privily of our intent. You Edward, shall unto my Lord Cobham, With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise: In them I trust; for they are soldiers, Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. While you are thus employ'd, what resteth more, But that I seek occasion how to rise, And yet the king not privy to my drift, Nor any of the house of Lancaster? But, stay: what news? Why comest thou in such post? Messenger: The queen with all the northern earls and lords Intend here to besiege you in your castle: She is hard by with twenty thousand men; And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. YORK: Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou that we fear them? Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me; My brother Montague shall post to London: Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest, Whom we have left protectors of the king, With powerful policy strengthen themselves, And trust not simple Henry nor his oaths. MONTAGUE: Brother, I go; I'll win them, fear it not: And thus most humbly I do take my leave. Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer, mine uncles, You are come to Sandal in a happy hour; The army of the queen mean to besiege us. JOHN MORTIMER: She shall not need; we'll meet her in the field. YORK: What, with five thousand men? RICHARD: Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need: A woman's general; what should we fear? EDWARD: I hear their drums: let's set our men in order, And issue forth and bid them battle straight. YORK: Five men to twenty! though the odds be great, I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. Many a battle have I won in France, When as the enemy hath been ten to one: Why should I not now have the like success? 3 KING HENRY VI RUTLAND: Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? Ah, tutor, look where bloody Clifford comes! CLIFFORD: Chaplain, away! thy priesthood saves thy life. As for the brat of this accursed duke, Whose father slew my father, he shall die. Tutor: And I, my lord, will bear him company. CLIFFORD: Soldiers, away with him! Tutor: Ah, Clifford, murder not this innocent child, Lest thou be hated both of God and man! CLIFFORD: How now! is he dead already? or is it fear That makes him close his eyes? I'll open them. RUTLAND: So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch That trembles under his devouring paws; And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey, And so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder. Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, And not with such a cruel threatening look. Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die. I am too mean a subject for thy wrath: Be thou revenged on men, and let me live. CLIFFORD: In vain thou speak'st, poor boy; my father's blood Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should enter. RUTLAND: Then let my father's blood open it again: He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. CLIFFORD: Had thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me; No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. The sight of any of the house of York Is as a fury to torment my soul; And till I root out their accursed line And leave not one alive, I live in hell. Therefore-- RUTLAND: O, let me pray before I take my death! To thee I pray; sweet Clifford, pity me! CLIFFORD: Such pity as my rapier's point affords. RUTLAND: I never did thee harm: why wilt thou slay me? CLIFFORD: Thy father hath. RUTLAND: But 'twas ere I was born. Thou hast one son; for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, He be as miserably slain as I. Ah, let me live in prison all my days; And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. CLIFFORD: No cause! Thy father slew my father; therefore, die. RUTLAND: Di faciant laudis summa sit ista tuae! CLIFFORD: Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet! And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both. 3 KING HENRY VI YORK: The army of the queen hath got the field: My uncles both are slain in rescuing me; And all my followers to the eager foe Turn back and fly, like ships before the wind Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves. My sons, God knows what hath bechanced them: But this I know, they have demean'd themselves Like men born to renown by life or death. Three times did Richard make a lane to me. And thrice cried 'Courage, father! fight it out!' And full as oft came Edward to my side, With purple falchion, painted to the hilt In blood of those that had encounter'd him: And when the hardiest warriors did retire, Richard cried 'Charge! and give no foot of ground!' And cried 'A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre, or an earthly sepulchre!' With this, we charged again: but, out, alas! We bodged again; as I have seen a swan With bootless labour swim against the tide And spend her strength with over-matching waves. Ah, hark! the fatal followers do pursue; And I am faint and cannot fly their fury: And were I strong, I would not shun their fury: The sands are number'd that make up my life; Here must I stay, and here my life must end. Come, bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more rage: I am your butt, and I abide your shot. NORTHUMBERLAND: Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. CLIFFORD: Ay, to such mercy as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, show'd unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick. YORK: My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all: And in that hope I throw mine eyes to heaven, Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? CLIFFORD: So cowards fight when they can fly no further; So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons; So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. YORK: O Clifford, but bethink thee once again, And in thy thought o'er-run my former time; And, if though canst for blushing, view this face, And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this! CLIFFORD: I will not bandy with thee word for word, But buckle with thee blows, twice two for one. QUEEN MARGARET: Hold, valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes I would prolong awhile the traitor's life. Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland. NORTHUMBERLAND: Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away? It is war's prize to take all vantages; And ten to one is no impeach of valour. CLIFFORD: Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. NORTHUMBERLAND: So doth the cony struggle in the net. YORK: So triumph thieves upon their conquer'd booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o'ermatch'd. NORTHUMBERLAND: What would your grace have done unto him now? QUEEN MARGARET: Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, Come, make him stand upon this molehill here, That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, Yet parted but the shadow with his hand. What! was it you that would be England's king? Was't you that revell'd in our parliament, And made a preachment of your high descent? Where are your mess of sons to back you now? The wanton Edward, and the lusty George? And where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies? Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland? Look, York: I stain'd this napkin with the blood That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point, Made issue from the bosom of the boy; And if thine eyes can water for his death, I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. Alas poor York! but that I hate thee deadly, I should lament thy miserable state. I prithee, grieve, to make me merry, York. What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death? Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad; And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance. Thou wouldst be fee'd, I see, to make me sport: York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. A crown for York! and, lords, bow low to him: Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on. Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king! Ay, this is he that took King Henry's chair, And this is he was his adopted heir. But how is it that great Plantagenet Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath? As I bethink me, you should not be king Till our King Henry had shook hands with death. And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, And rob his temples of the diadem, Now in his life, against your holy oath? O, 'tis a fault too too unpardonable! Off with the crown, and with the crown his head; And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead. CLIFFORD: That is my office, for my father's sake. QUEEN MARGARET: Nay, stay; lets hear the orisons he makes. YORK: She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves of France, Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth! How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex To triumph, like an Amazonian trull, Upon their woes whom fortune captivates! But that thy face is, vizard-like, unchanging, Made impudent with use of evil deeds, I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush. To tell thee whence thou camest, of whom derived, Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not shameless. Thy father bears the type of King of Naples, Of both the Sicils and Jerusalem, Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman. Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen, Unless the adage must be verified, That beggars mounted run their horse to death. 'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; But, God he knows, thy share thereof is small: 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired; The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at: 'Tis government that makes them seem divine; The want thereof makes thee abominable: Thou art as opposite to every good As the Antipodes are unto us, Or as the south to the septentrion. O tiger's heart wrapt in a woman's hide! How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child, To bid the father wipe his eyes withal, And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless. Bids't thou me rage? why, now thou hast thy wish: Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will: For raging wind blows up incessant showers, And when the rage allays, the rain begins. These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies: And every drop cries vengeance for his death, 'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, and thee, false Frenchwoman. NORTHUMBERLAND: Beshrew me, but his passion moves me so That hardly can I cheque my eyes from tears. YORK: That face of his the hungry cannibals Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd with blood: But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, O, ten times more, than tigers of Hyrcania. See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears: This cloth thou dip'dst in blood of my sweet boy, And I with tears do wash the blood away. Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this: And if thou tell'st the heavy story right, Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears; Yea even my foes will shed fast-falling tears, And say 'Alas, it was a piteous deed!' There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse; And in thy need such comfort come to thee As now I reap at thy too cruel hand! Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world: My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! NORTHUMBERLAND: Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, I should not for my life but weep with him. To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. QUEEN MARGARET: What, weeping-ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. CLIFFORD: Here's for my oath, here's for my father's death. QUEEN MARGARET: And here's to right our gentle-hearted king. YORK: Open Thy gate of mercy, gracious God! My soul flies through these wounds to seek out Thee. QUEEN MARGARET: Off with his head, and set it on York gates; So York may overlook the town of York. 3 KING HENRY VI EDWARD: I wonder how our princely father 'scaped, Or whether he be 'scaped away or no From Clifford's and Northumberland's pursuit: Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news; Or had he 'scaped, methinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my brother? why is he so sad? RICHARD: I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant father is become. I saw him in the battle range about; And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop As doth a lion in a herd of neat; Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, Who having pinch'd a few and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our father with his enemies; So fled his enemies my warlike father: Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. See how the morning opes her golden gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious sun! How well resembles it the prime of youth, Trimm'd like a younker prancing to his love! EDWARD: Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns? RICHARD: Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun; Not separated with the racking clouds, But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. See, see! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vow'd some league inviolable: Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. In this the heaven figures some event. EDWARD: 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never heard of. I think it cites us, brother, to the field, That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our meeds, Should notwithstanding join our lights together And over-shine the earth as this the world. Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my target three fair-shining suns. RICHARD: Nay, bear three daughters: by your leave I speak it, You love the breeder better than the male. But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue? Messenger: Ah, one that was a woful looker-on When as the noble Duke of York was slain, Your princely father and my loving lord! EDWARD: O, speak no more, for I have heard too much. RICHARD: Say how he died, for I will hear it all. Messenger: Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. By many hands your father was subdued; But only slaughter'd by the ireful arm Of unrelenting Clifford and the queen, Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite, Laugh'd in his face; and when with grief he wept, The ruthless queen gave him to dry his cheeks A napkin steeped in the harmless blood Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain: And after many scorns, many foul taunts, They took his head, and on the gates of York They set the same; and there it doth remain, The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. EDWARD: Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon, Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay. O Clifford, boisterous Clifford! thou hast slain The flower of Europe for his chivalry; And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him, For hand to hand he would have vanquish'd thee. Now my soul's palace is become a prison: Ah, would she break from hence, that this my body Might in the ground be closed up in rest! For never henceforth shall I joy again, Never, O never shall I see more joy! RICHARD: I cannot weep; for all my body's moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart: Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burthen; For selfsame wind that I should speak withal Is kindling coals that fires all my breast, And burns me up with flames that tears would quench. To weep is to make less the depth of grief: Tears then for babes; blows and revenge for me Richard, I bear thy name; I'll venge thy death, Or die renowned by attempting it. EDWARD: His name that valiant duke hath left with thee; His dukedom and his chair with me is left. RICHARD: Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun: For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; Either that is thine, or else thou wert not his. WARWICK: How now, fair lords! What fare? what news abroad? RICHARD: Great Lord of Warwick, if we should recount Our baleful news, and at each word's deliverance Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told, The words would add more anguish than the wounds. O valiant lord, the Duke of York is slain! EDWARD: O Warwick, Warwick! that Plantagenet, Which held three dearly as his soul's redemption, Is by the stern Lord Clifford done to death. WARWICK: Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears; And now, to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things sith then befall'n. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run, Were brought me of your loss and his depart. I, then in London keeper of the king, Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends, And very well appointed, as I thought, March'd toward Saint Alban's to intercept the queen, Bearing the king in my behalf along; For by my scouts I was advertised That she was coming with a full intent To dash our late decree in parliament Touching King Henry's oath and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Alban's met Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: But whether 'twas the coldness of the king, Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, That robb'd my soldiers of their heated spleen; Or whether 'twas report of her success; Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captives blood and death, I cannot judge: but to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightning came and went; Our soldiers', like the night-owl's lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards: But all in vain; they had no heart to fight, And we in them no hope to win the day; So that we fled; the king unto the queen; Lord George your brother, Norfolk and myself, In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you: For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again. EDWARD: Where is the Duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick? And when came George from Burgundy to England? WARWICK: Some six miles off the duke is with the soldiers; And for your brother, he was lately sent From your kind aunt, Duchess of Burgundy, With aid of soldiers to this needful war. RICHARD: 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick fled: Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, But ne'er till now his scandal of retire. WARWICK: Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou hear; For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, And wring the awful sceptre from his fist, Were he as famous and as bold in war As he is famed for mildness, peace, and prayer. RICHARD: I know it well, Lord Warwick; blame me not: 'Tis love I bear thy glories makes me speak. But in this troublous time what's to be done? Shall we go throw away our coats of steel, And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, Numbering our Ave-Maries with our beads? Or shall we on the helmets of our foes Tell our devotion with revengeful arms? If for the last, say ay, and to it, lords. WARWICK: Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you out; And therefore comes my brother Montague. Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen, With Clifford and the haught Northumberland, And of their feather many more proud birds, Have wrought the easy-melting king like wax. He swore consent to your succession, His oath enrolled in the parliament; And now to London all the crew are gone, To frustrate both his oath and what beside May make against the house of Lancaster. Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong: Now, if the help of Norfolk and myself, With all the friends that thou, brave Earl of March, Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure, Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, Why, Via! to London will we march amain, And once again bestride our foaming steeds, And once again cry 'Charge upon our foes!' But never once again turn back and fly. RICHARD: Ay, now methinks I hear great Warwick speak: Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, That cries 'Retire,' if Warwick bid him stay. EDWARD: Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; And when thou fail'st--as God forbid the hour!-- Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forfend! WARWICK: No longer Earl of March, but Duke of York: The next degree is England's royal throne; For King of England shalt thou be proclaim'd In every borough as we pass along; And he that throws not up his cap for joy Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. King Edward, valiant Richard, Montague, Stay we no longer, dreaming of renown, But sound the trumpets, and about our task. RICHARD: Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds, I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine. EDWARD: Then strike up drums: God and Saint George for us! WARWICK: How now! what news? Messenger: The Duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, The queen is coming with a puissant host; And craves your company for speedy counsel. WARWICK: Why then it sorts, brave warriors, let's away. 3 KING HENRY VI QUEEN MARGARET: Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of York. Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy That sought to be encompass'd with your crown: Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? KING HENRY VI: Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their wreck: To see this sight, it irks my very soul. Withhold revenge, dear God! 'tis not my fault, Nor wittingly have I infringed my vow. CLIFFORD: My gracious liege, this too much lenity And harmful pity must be laid aside. To whom do lions cast their gentle looks? Not to the beast that would usurp their den. Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick? Not his that spoils her young before her face. Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? Not he that sets his foot upon her back. The smallest worm will turn being trodden on, And doves will peck in safeguard of their brood. Ambitious York doth level at thy crown, Thou smiling while he knit his angry brows: He, but a duke, would have his son a king, And raise his issue, like a loving sire; Thou, being a king, blest with a goodly son, Didst yield consent to disinherit him, Which argued thee a most unloving father. Unreasonable creatures feed their young; And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, Yet, in protection of their tender ones, Who hath not seen them, even with those wings Which sometime they have used with fearful flight, Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest, Offer their own lives in their young's defence? For shame, my liege, make them your precedent! Were it not pity that this goodly boy Should lose his birthright by his father's fault, And long hereafter say unto his child, 'What my great-grandfather and his grandsire got My careless father fondly gave away'? Ah, what a shame were this! Look on the boy; And let his manly face, which promiseth Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart To hold thine own and leave thine own with him. KING HENRY VI: Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator, Inferring arguments of mighty force. But, Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill-got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind; And would my father had left me no more! For all the rest is held at such a rate As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep Than in possession and jot of pleasure. Ah, cousin York! would thy best friends did know How it doth grieve me that thy head is here! QUEEN MARGARET: My lord, cheer up your spirits: our foes are nigh, And this soft courage makes your followers faint. You promised knighthood to our forward son: Unsheathe your sword, and dub him presently. Edward, kneel down. KING HENRY VI: Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight; And learn this lesson, draw thy sword in right. PRINCE: My gracious father, by your kingly leave, I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, And in that quarrel use it to the death. CLIFFORD: Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. Messenger: Royal commanders, be in readiness: For with a band of thirty thousand men Comes Warwick, backing of the Duke of York; And in the towns, as they do march along, Proclaims him king, and many fly to him: Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. CLIFFORD: I would your highness would depart the field: The queen hath best success when you are absent. QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our fortune. KING HENRY VI: Why, that's my fortune too; therefore I'll stay. NORTHUMBERLAND: Be it with resolution then to fight. PRINCE EDWARD: My royal father, cheer these noble lords And hearten those that fight in your defence: Unsheathe your sword, good father; cry 'Saint George!' EDWARD: Now, perjured Henry! wilt thou kneel for grace, And set thy diadem upon my head; Or bide the mortal fortune of the field? QUEEN MARGARET: Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy! Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms Before thy sovereign and thy lawful king? EDWARD: I am his king, and he should bow his knee; I was adopted heir by his consent: Since when, his oath is broke; for, as I hear, You, that are king, though he do wear the crown, Have caused him, by new act of parliament, To blot out me, and put his own son in. CLIFFORD: And reason too: Who should succeed the father but the son? RICHARD: Are you there, butcher? O, I cannot speak! CLIFFORD: Ay, crook-back, here I stand to answer thee, Or any he the proudest of thy sort. RICHARD: 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it not? CLIFFORD: Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied. RICHARD: For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. WARWICK: What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the crown? QUEEN MARGARET: Why, how now, long-tongued Warwick! dare you speak? When you and I met at Saint Alban's last, Your legs did better service than your hands. WARWICK: Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine. CLIFFORD: You said so much before, and yet you fled. WARWICK: 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me thence. NORTHUMBERLAND: No, nor your manhood that durst make you stay. RICHARD: Northumberland, I hold thee reverently. Break off the parley; for scarce I can refrain The execution of my big-swoln heart Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer. CLIFFORD: I slew thy father, call'st thou him a child? RICHARD: Ay, like a dastard and a treacherous coward, As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland; But ere sunset I'll make thee curse the deed. KING HENRY VI: Have done with words, my lords, and hear me speak. QUEEN MARGARET: Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. KING HENRY VI: I prithee, give no limits to my tongue: I am a king, and privileged to speak. CLIFFORD: My liege, the wound that bred this meeting here Cannot be cured by words; therefore be still. RICHARD: Then, executioner, unsheathe thy sword: By him that made us all, I am resolved that Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue. EDWARD: Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no? A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, That ne'er shall dine unless thou yield the crown. WARWICK: If thou deny, their blood upon thy head; For York in justice puts his armour on. PRINCE EDWARD: If that be right which Warwick says is right, There is no wrong, but every thing is right. RICHARD: Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands; For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. QUEEN MARGARET: But thou art neither like thy sire nor dam; But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatic, Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided, As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. RICHARD: Iron of Naples hid with English gilt, Whose father bears the title of a king,-- As if a channel should be call'd the sea,-- Shamest thou not, knowing whence thou art extraught, To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart? EDWARD: A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns, To make this shameless callet know herself. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, Although thy husband may be Menelaus; And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd By that false woman, as this king by thee. His father revell'd in the heart of France, And tamed the king, and made the dauphin stoop; And had he match'd according to his state, He might have kept that glory to this day; But when he took a beggar to his bed, And graced thy poor sire with his bridal-day, Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. For what hath broach'd this tumult but thy pride? Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept; And we, in pity of the gentle king, Had slipp'd our claim until another age. GEORGE: But when we saw our sunshine made thy spring, And that thy summer bred us no increase, We set the axe to thy usurping root; And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike, We'll never leave till we have hewn thee down, Or bathed thy growing with our heated bloods. EDWARD: And, in this resolution, I defy thee; Not willing any longer conference, Since thou deniest the gentle king to speak. Sound trumpets! let our bloody colours wave! And either victory, or else a grave. QUEEN MARGARET: Stay, Edward. EDWARD: No, wrangling woman, we'll no longer stay: These words will cost ten thousand lives this day. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: Forspent with toil, as runners with a race, I lay me down a little while to breathe; For strokes received, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, And spite of spite needs must I rest awhile. EDWARD: Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle death! For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. WARWICK: How now, my lord! what hap? what hope of good? GEORGE: Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair; Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us: What counsel give you? whither shall we fly? EDWARD: Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are and cannot shun pursuit. RICHARD: Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn thyself? Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance; And in the very pangs of death he cried, Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, 'Warwick, revenge! brother, revenge my death!' So, underneath the belly of their steeds, That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, The noble gentleman gave up the ghost. WARWICK: Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage; And look upon, as if the tragedy Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? Here on my knee I vow to God above, I'll never pause again, never stand still, Till either death hath closed these eyes of mine Or fortune given me measure of revenge. EDWARD: O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine; And in this vow do chain my soul to thine! And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee, Thou setter up and plucker down of kings, Beseeching thee, if with they will it stands That to my foes this body must be prey, Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where'er it be, in heaven or in earth. RICHARD: Brother, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms: I, that did never weep, now melt with woe That winter should cut off our spring-time so. WARWICK: Away, away! Once more, sweet lords farewell. GEORGE: Yet let us all together to our troops, And give them leave to fly that will not stay; And call them pillars that will stand to us; And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards As victors wear at the Olympian games: This may plant courage in their quailing breasts; For yet is hope of life and victory. Forslow no longer, make we hence amain. 3 KING HENRY VI RICHARD: Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone: Suppose this arm is for the Duke of York, And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. CLIFFORD: Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone: This is the hand that stabb'd thy father York; And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; And here's the heart that triumphs in their death And cheers these hands that slew thy sire and brother To execute the like upon thyself; And so, have at thee! RICHARD: Nay Warwick, single out some other chase; For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. 3 KING HENRY VI KING HENRY VI: This battle fares like to the morning's war, When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day nor night. Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea Forced by the tide to combat with the wind; Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea Forced to retire by fury of the wind: Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind; Now one the better, then another best; Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, Yet neither conqueror nor conquered: So is the equal of this fell war. Here on this molehill will I sit me down. To whom God will, there be the victory! For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, Have chid me from the battle; swearing both They prosper best of all when I am thence. Would I were dead! if God's good will were so; For what is in this world but grief and woe? O God! methinks it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run, How many make the hour full complete; How many hours bring about the day; How many days will finish up the year; How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: So many hours must I tend my flock; So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean: So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade To shepherds looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth. And to conclude, the shepherd's homely curds, His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle. His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, All which secure and sweetly he enjoys, Is far beyond a prince's delicates, His viands sparkling in a golden cup, His body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him. Son: Ill blows the wind that profits nobody. This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight, May be possessed with some store of crowns; And I, that haply take them from him now, May yet ere night yield both my life and them To some man else, as this dead man doth me. Who's this? O God! it is my father's face, Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. O heavy times, begetting such events! From London by the king was I press'd forth; My father, being the Earl of Warwick's man, Came on the part of York, press'd by his master; And I, who at his hands received my life, him Have by my hands of life bereaved him. Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did! And pardon, father, for I knew not thee! My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks; And no more words till they have flow'd their fill. KING HENRY VI: O piteous spectacle! O bloody times! Whiles lions war and battle for their dens, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear; And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war, Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharged with grief. Father: Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me, Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold: For I have bought it with an hundred blows. But let me see: is this our foeman's face? Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, Throw up thine eye! see, see what showers arise, Blown with the windy tempest of my heart, Upon thy words, that kill mine eye and heart! O, pity, God, this miserable age! What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly, Erroneous, mutinous and unnatural, This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, And hath bereft thee of thy life too late! KING HENRY VI: Woe above woe! grief more than common grief! O that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! The red rose and the white are on his face, The fatal colours of our striving houses: The one his purple blood right well resembles; The other his pale cheeks, methinks, presenteth: Wither one rose, and let the other flourish; If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Son: How will my mother for a father's death Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied! Father: How will my wife for slaughter of my son Shed seas of tears and ne'er be satisfied! KING HENRY VI: How will the country for these woful chances Misthink the king and not be satisfied! Son: Was ever son so rued a father's death? Father: Was ever father so bemoan'd his son? KING HENRY VI: Was ever king so grieved for subjects' woe? Much is your sorrow; mine ten times so much. Son: I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill. Father: These arms of mine shall be thy winding-sheet; My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go; My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; And so obsequious will thy father be, Even for the loss of thee, having no more, As Priam was for all his valiant sons. I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, For I have murdered where I should not kill. KING HENRY VI: Sad-hearted men, much overgone with care, Here sits a king more woful than you are. PRINCE EDWARD: Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, And Warwick rages like a chafed bull: Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. QUEEN MARGARET: Mount you, my lord; towards Berwick post amain: Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds Having the fearful flying hare in sight, With fiery eyes sparkling for very wrath, And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. EXETER: Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Or else come after: I'll away before. KING HENRY VI: Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter: Not that I fear to stay, but love to go Whither the queen intends. Forward; away! 3 KING HENRY VI CLIFFORD: Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies, Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light. O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow More than my body's parting with my soul! My love and fear glued many friends to thee; And, now I fall, thy tough commixture melts. Impairing Henry, strengthening misproud York, The common people swarm like summer flies; And whither fly the gnats but to the sun? And who shines now but Henry's enemies? O Phoebus, hadst thou never given consent That Phaethon should cheque thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace. For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air? And what makes robbers bold but too much lenity? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds; No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity; For at their hands I have deserved no pity. The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint. Come, York and Richard, Warwick and the rest; I stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. EDWARD: Now breathe we, lords: good fortune bids us pause, And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen, That led calm Henry, though he were a king, As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, Command an argosy to stem the waves. But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? WARWICK: No, 'tis impossible he should escape, For, though before his face I speak the words Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave: And wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. EDWARD: Whose soul is that which takes her heavy leave? RICHARD: A deadly groan, like life and death's departing. EDWARD: See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, If friend or foe, let him be gently used. RICHARD: Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, But set his murdering knife unto the root From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, I mean our princely father, Duke of York. WARWICK: From off the gates of York fetch down the head, Your father's head, which Clifford placed there; Instead whereof let this supply the room: Measure for measure must be answered. EDWARD: Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our house, That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. WARWICK: I think his understanding is bereft. Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee? Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, And he nor sees nor hears us what we say. RICHARD: O, would he did! and so perhaps he doth: 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, Because he would avoid such bitter taunts Which in the time of death he gave our father. GEORGE: If so thou think'st, vex him with eager words. RICHARD: Clifford, ask mercy and obtain no grace. EDWARD: Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. WARWICK: Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. GEORGE: While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. RICHARD: Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. EDWARD: Thou pitied'st Rutland; I will pity thee. GEORGE: Where's Captain Margaret, to fence you now? WARWICK: They mock thee, Clifford: swear as thou wast wont. RICHARD: What, not an oath? nay, then the world goes hard When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath. I know by that he's dead; and, by my soul, If this right hand would buy two hour's life, That I in all despite might rail at him, This hand should chop it off, and with the issuing blood Stifle the villain whose unstanched thirst York and young Rutland could not satisfy. WARWICK: Ay, but he's dead: off with the traitor's head, And rear it in the place your father's stands. And now to London with triumphant march, There to be crowned England's royal king: From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, And ask the Lady Bona for thy queen: So shalt thou sinew both these lands together; And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread The scatter'd foe that hopes to rise again; For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt, Yet look to have them buzz to offend thine ears. First will I see the coronation; And then to Brittany I'll cross the sea, To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. EDWARD: Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be; For in thy shoulder do I build my seat, And never will I undertake the thing Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. Richard, I will create thee Duke of Gloucester, And George, of Clarence: Warwick, as ourself, Shall do and undo as him pleaseth best. RICHARD: Let me be Duke of Clarence, George of Gloucester; For Gloucester's dukedom is too ominous. WARWICK: Tut, that's a foolish observation: Richard, be Duke of Gloucester. Now to London, To see these honours in possession. 3 KING HENRY VI First Keeper: Under this thick-grown brake we'll shroud ourselves; For through this laund anon the deer will come; And in this covert will we make our stand, Culling the principal of all the deer. Second Keeper: I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. First Keeper: That cannot be; the noise of thy cross-bow Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: And, for the time shall not seem tedious, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day In this self-place where now we mean to stand. Second Keeper: Here comes a man; let's stay till he be past. KING HENRY VI: From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight. No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine; Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed: No bending knee will call thee Caesar now, No humble suitors press to speak for right, No, not a man comes for redress of thee; For how can I help them, and not myself? First Keeper: Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's fee: This is the quondam king; let's seize upon him. KING HENRY VI: Let me embrace thee, sour adversity, For wise men say it is the wisest course. Second Keeper: Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him. First Keeper: Forbear awhile; we'll hear a little more. KING HENRY VI: My queen and son are gone to France for aid; And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister To wife for Edward: if this news be true, Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost; For Warwick is a subtle orator, And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. By this account then Margaret may win him; For she's a woman to be pitied much: Her sighs will make a battery in his breast; Her tears will pierce into a marble heart; The tiger will be mild whiles she doth mourn; And Nero will be tainted with remorse, To hear and see her plaints, her brinish tears. Ay, but she's come to beg, Warwick to give; She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward. She weeps, and says her Henry is deposed; He smiles, and says his Edward is install'd; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more; Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, Inferreth arguments of mighty strength, And in conclusion wins the king from her, With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support King Edward's place. O Margaret, thus 'twill be; and thou, poor soul, Art then forsaken, as thou went'st forlorn! Second Keeper: Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens? KING HENRY VI: More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I? Second Keeper: Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. KING HENRY VI: Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough. Second Keeper: But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? KING HENRY VI: My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy. Second Keeper: Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy. KING HENRY VI: But did you never swear, and break an oath? Second Keeper: No, never such an oath; nor will not now. KING HENRY VI: Where did you dwell when I was King of England? Second Keeper: Here in this country, where we now remain. KING HENRY VI: I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths? First Keeper: No; For we were subjects but while you were king. KING HENRY VI: Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man? Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men. But do not break your oaths; for of that sin My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; And be you kings, command, and I'll obey. First Keeper: We are true subjects to the king, King Edward. KING HENRY VI: So would you be again to Henry, If he were seated as King Edward is. First Keeper: We charge you, in God's name, and the king's, To go with us unto the officers. KING HENRY VI: In God's name, lead; your king's name be obey'd: And what God will, that let your king perform; And what he will, I humbly yield unto. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Brother of Gloucester, at Saint Alban's field This lady's husband, Sir Richard Grey, was slain, His lands then seized on by the conqueror: Her suit is now to repossess those lands; Which we in justice cannot well deny, Because in quarrel of the house of York The worthy gentleman did lose his life. GLOUCESTER: Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; It were dishonour to deny it her. KING EDWARD IV: It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time to know our mind. LADY GREY: Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay: May it please your highness to resolve me now; And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: How many children hast thou, widow? tell me. CLARENCE: GLOUCESTER: LADY GREY: Three, my most gracious lord. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: 'Twere pity they should lose their father's lands. LADY GREY: Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. KING EDWARD IV: Lords, give us leave: I'll try this widow's wit. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Now tell me, madam, do you love your children? LADY GREY: Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. KING EDWARD IV: And would you not do much to do them good? LADY GREY: To do them good, I would sustain some harm. KING EDWARD IV: Then get your husband's lands, to do them good. LADY GREY: Therefore I came unto your majesty. KING EDWARD IV: I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. LADY GREY: So shall you bind me to your highness' service. KING EDWARD IV: What service wilt thou do me, if I give them? LADY GREY: What you command, that rests in me to do. KING EDWARD IV: But you will take exceptions to my boon. LADY GREY: No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. KING EDWARD IV: Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. LADY GREY: Why, then I will do what your grace commands. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: LADY GREY: Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task? KING EDWARD IV: An easy task; 'tis but to love a king. LADY GREY: That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject. KING EDWARD IV: Why, then, thy husband's lands I freely give thee. LADY GREY: I take my leave with many thousand thanks. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I mean. LADY GREY: The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. KING EDWARD IV: Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? LADY GREY: My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers; That love which virtue begs and virtue grants. KING EDWARD IV: No, by my troth, I did not mean such love. LADY GREY: Why, then you mean not as I thought you did. KING EDWARD IV: But now you partly may perceive my mind. LADY GREY: My mind will never grant what I perceive Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. KING EDWARD IV: To tell thee plain, I aim to lie with thee. LADY GREY: To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison. KING EDWARD IV: Why, then thou shalt not have thy husband's lands. LADY GREY: Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower; For by that loss I will not purchase them. KING EDWARD IV: Therein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. LADY GREY: Herein your highness wrongs both them and me. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadness of my suit: Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.' KING EDWARD IV: Ay, if thou wilt say 'ay' to my request; No if thou dost say 'no' to my demand. LADY GREY: Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: KING EDWARD IV: LADY GREY: 'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord: I am a subject fit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a sovereign. KING EDWARD IV: Sweet widow, by my state I swear to thee I speak no more than what my soul intends; And that is, to enjoy thee for my love. LADY GREY: And that is more than I will yield unto: I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine. KING EDWARD IV: You cavil, widow: I did mean, my queen. LADY GREY: 'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father. KING EDWARD IV: No more than when my daughters call thee mother. Thou art a widow, and thou hast some children; And, by God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, Have other some: why, 'tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons. Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. GLOUCESTER: CLARENCE: KING EDWARD IV: Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. GLOUCESTER: The widow likes it not, for she looks very sad. KING EDWARD IV: You'll think it strange if I should marry her. CLARENCE: To whom, my lord? KING EDWARD IV: Why, Clarence, to myself. GLOUCESTER: That would be ten days' wonder at the least. CLARENCE: That's a day longer than a wonder lasts. GLOUCESTER: By so much is the wonder in extremes. KING EDWARD IV: Well, jest on, brothers: I can tell you both Her suit is granted for her husband's lands. Nobleman: My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, And brought your prisoner to your palace gate. KING EDWARD IV: See that he be convey'd unto the Tower: And go we, brothers, to the man that took him, To question of his apprehension. Widow, go you along. Lords, use her honourably. GLOUCESTER: Ay, Edward will use women honourably. Would he were wasted, marrow, bones and all, That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, To cross me from the golden time I look for! And yet, between my soul's desire and me-- The lustful Edward's title buried-- Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward, And all the unlook'd for issue of their bodies, To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: A cold premeditation for my purpose! Why, then, I do but dream on sovereignty; Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off; And so I chide the means that keeps me from it; And so I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities. My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be beloved? O monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, But to command, to cheque, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, Until my mis-shaped trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home: And I,--like one lost in a thorny wood, That rends the thorns and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way and straying from the way; Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out,-- Torment myself to catch the English crown: And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murder whiles I smile, And cry 'Content' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colours to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down. 3 KING HENRY VI KING LEWIS XI: Fair Queen of England, worthy Margaret, Sit down with us: it ill befits thy state And birth, that thou shouldst stand while Lewis doth sit. QUEEN MARGARET: No, mighty King of France: now Margaret Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve Where kings command. I was, I must confess, Great Albion's queen in former golden days: But now mischance hath trod my title down, And with dishonour laid me on the ground; Where I must take like seat unto my fortune, And to my humble seat conform myself. KING LEWIS XI: Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this deep despair? QUEEN MARGARET: From such a cause as fills mine eyes with tears And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares. KING LEWIS XI: Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, And sit thee by our side: Yield not thy neck To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind Still ride in triumph over all mischance. Be plain, Queen Margaret, and tell thy grief; It shall be eased, if France can yield relief. QUEEN MARGARET: Those gracious words revive my drooping thoughts And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, That Henry, sole possessor of my love, Is of a king become a banish'd man, And forced to live in Scotland a forlorn; While proud ambitious Edward Duke of York Usurps the regal title and the seat Of England's true-anointed lawful king. This is the cause that I, poor Margaret, With this my son, Prince Edward, Henry's heir, Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid; And if thou fail us, all our hope is done: Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help; Our people and our peers are both misled, Our treasures seized, our soldiers put to flight, And, as thou seest, ourselves in heavy plight. KING LEWIS XI: Renowned queen, with patience calm the storm, While we bethink a means to break it off. QUEEN MARGARET: The more we stay, the stronger grows our foe. KING LEWIS XI: The more I stay, the more I'll succor thee. QUEEN MARGARET: O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow. And see where comes the breeder of my sorrow! KING LEWIS XI: What's he approacheth boldly to our presence? QUEEN MARGARET: Our Earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest friend. KING LEWIS XI: Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings thee to France? QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, now begins a second storm to rise; For this is he that moves both wind and tide. WARWICK: From worthy Edward, King of Albion, My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, I come, in kindness and unfeigned love, First, to do greetings to thy royal person; And then to crave a league of amity; And lastly, to confirm that amity With a nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant That virtuous Lady Bona, thy fair sister, To England's king in lawful marriage. QUEEN MARGARET: WARWICK: QUEEN MARGARET: King Lewis and Lady Bona, hear me speak, Before you answer Warwick. His demand Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love, But from deceit bred by necessity; For how can tyrants safely govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance? To prove him tyrant this reason may suffice, That Henry liveth still: but were he dead, Yet here Prince Edward stands, King Henry's son. Look, therefore, Lewis, that by this league and marriage Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour; For though usurpers sway the rule awhile, Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. WARWICK: Injurious Margaret! PRINCE EDWARD: And why not queen? WARWICK: Because thy father Henry did usurp; And thou no more are prince than she is queen. OXFORD: Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt, Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain; And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest; And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, Who by his prowess conquered all France: From these our Henry lineally descends. WARWICK: Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse, You told not how Henry the Sixth hath lost All that which Henry Fifth had gotten? Methinks these peers of France should smile at that. But for the rest, you tell a pedigree Of threescore and two years; a silly time To make prescription for a kingdom's worth. OXFORD: Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy liege, Whom thou obeyed'st thirty and six years, And not bewray thy treason with a blush? WARWICK: Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right, Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? For shame! leave Henry, and call Edward king. OXFORD: Call him my king by whose injurious doom My elder brother, the Lord Aubrey Vere, Was done to death? and more than so, my father, Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, When nature brought him to the door of death? No, Warwick, no; while life upholds this arm, This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. WARWICK: And I the house of York. KING LEWIS XI: Queen Margaret, Prince Edward, and Oxford, Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, While I use further conference with Warwick. QUEEN MARGARET: Heavens grant that Warwick's words bewitch him not! KING LEWIS XI: Now Warwick, tell me, even upon thy conscience, Is Edward your true king? for I were loath To link with him that were not lawful chosen. WARWICK: Thereon I pawn my credit and mine honour. KING LEWIS XI: But is he gracious in the people's eye? WARWICK: The more that Henry was unfortunate. KING LEWIS XI: Then further, all dissembling set aside, Tell me for truth the measure of his love Unto our sister Bona. WARWICK: Such it seems As may beseem a monarch like himself. Myself have often heard him say and swear That this his love was an eternal plant, Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground, The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun, Exempt from envy, but not from disdain, Unless the Lady Bona quit his pain. KING LEWIS XI: Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. BONA: Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine: Yet I confess that often ere this day, When I have heard your king's desert recounted, Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. KING LEWIS XI: Then, Warwick, thus: our sister shall be Edward's; And now forthwith shall articles be drawn Touching the jointure that your king must make, Which with her dowry shall be counterpoised. Draw near, Queen Margaret, and be a witness That Bona shall be wife to the English king. PRINCE EDWARD: To Edward, but not to the English king. QUEEN MARGARET: Deceitful Warwick! it was thy device By this alliance to make void my suit: Before thy coming Lewis was Henry's friend. KING LEWIS XI: And still is friend to him and Margaret: But if your title to the crown be weak, As may appear by Edward's good success, Then 'tis but reason that I be released From giving aid which late I promised. Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand That your estate requires and mine can yield. WARWICK: Henry now lives in Scotland at his ease, Where having nothing, nothing can he lose. And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, You have a father able to maintain you; And better 'twere you troubled him than France. QUEEN MARGARET: Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, peace, Proud setter up and puller down of kings! I will not hence, till, with my talk and tears, Both full of truth, I make King Lewis behold Thy sly conveyance and thy lord's false love; For both of you are birds of selfsame feather. KING LEWIS XI: Warwick, this is some post to us or thee. Post: OXFORD: I like it well that our fair queen and mistress Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his. PRINCE EDWARD: Nay, mark how Lewis stamps, as he were nettled: I hope all's for the best. KING LEWIS XI: Warwick, what are thy news? and yours, fair queen? QUEEN MARGARET: Mine, such as fill my heart with unhoped joys. WARWICK: Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent. KING LEWIS XI: What! has your king married the Lady Grey! And now, to soothe your forgery and his, Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? Is this the alliance that he seeks with France? Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? QUEEN MARGARET: I told your majesty as much before: This proveth Edward's love and Warwick's honesty. WARWICK: King Lewis, I here protest, in sight of heaven, And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's, No more my king, for he dishonours me, But most himself, if he could see his shame. Did I forget that by the house of York My father came untimely to his death? Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece? Did I impale him with the regal crown? Did I put Henry from his native right? And am I guerdon'd at the last with shame? Shame on himself! for my desert is honour: And to repair my honour lost for him, I here renounce him and return to Henry. My noble queen, let former grudges pass, And henceforth I am thy true servitor: I will revenge his wrong to Lady Bona, And replant Henry in his former state. QUEEN MARGARET: Warwick, these words have turn'd my hate to love; And I forgive and quite forget old faults, And joy that thou becomest King Henry's friend. WARWICK: So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend, That, if King Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us With some few bands of chosen soldiers, I'll undertake to land them on our coast And force the tyrant from his seat by war. 'Tis not his new-made bride shall succor him: And as for Clarence, as my letters tell me, He's very likely now to fall from him, For matching more for wanton lust than honour, Or than for strength and safety of our country. BONA: Dear brother, how shall Bona be revenged But by thy help to this distressed queen? QUEEN MARGARET: Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry live, Unless thou rescue him from foul despair? BONA: My quarrel and this English queen's are one. WARWICK: And mine, fair lady Bona, joins with yours. KING LEWIS XI: And mine with hers, and thine, and Margaret's. Therefore at last I firmly am resolved You shall have aid. QUEEN MARGARET: Let me give humble thanks for all at once. KING LEWIS XI: Then, England's messenger, return in post, And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over masquers To revel it with him and his new bride: Thou seest what's past, go fear thy king withal. BONA: Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake. QUEEN MARGARET: Tell him, my mourning weeds are laid aside, And I am ready to put armour on. WARWICK: Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long. There's thy reward: be gone. KING LEWIS XI: But, Warwick, Thou and Oxford, with five thousand men, Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle; And, as occasion serves, this noble queen And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt, What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty? WARWICK: This shall assure my constant loyalty, That if our queen and this young prince agree, I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands. QUEEN MARGARET: Yes, I agree, and thank you for your motion. Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous, Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick; And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable, That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. PRINCE EDWARD: Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it; And here, to pledge my vow, I give my hand. KING LEWIS XI: Why stay we now? These soldiers shall be levied, And thou, Lord Bourbon, our high admiral, Shalt waft them over with our royal fleet. I long till Edward fall by war's mischance, For mocking marriage with a dame of France. WARWICK: I came from Edward as ambassador, But I return his sworn and mortal foe: Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me, But dreadful war shall answer his demand. Had he none else to make a stale but me? Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow. I was the chief that raised him to the crown, And I'll be chief to bring him down again: Not that I pity Henry's misery, But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. 3 KING HENRY VI GLOUCESTER: Now tell me, brother Clarence, what think you Of this new marriage with the Lady Grey? Hath not our brother made a worthy choice? CLARENCE: Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France; How could he stay till Warwick made return? SOMERSET: My lords, forbear this talk; here comes the king. GLOUCESTER: And his well-chosen bride. CLARENCE: I mind to tell him plainly what I think. KING EDWARD IV: Now, brother of Clarence, how like you our choice, That you stand pensive, as half malcontent? CLARENCE: As well as Lewis of France, or the Earl of Warwick, Which are so weak of courage and in judgment That they'll take no offence at our abuse. KING EDWARD IV: Suppose they take offence without a cause, They are but Lewis and Warwick: I am Edward, Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will. GLOUCESTER: And shall have your will, because our king: Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well. KING EDWARD IV: Yea, brother Richard, are you offended too? GLOUCESTER: Not I: No, God forbid that I should wish them sever'd Whom God hath join'd together; ay, and 'twere pity To sunder them that yoke so well together. KING EDWARD IV: Setting your scorns and your mislike aside, Tell me some reason why the Lady Grey Should not become my wife and England's queen. And you too, Somerset and Montague, Speak freely what you think. CLARENCE: Then this is mine opinion: that King Lewis Becomes your enemy, for mocking him About the marriage of the Lady Bona. GLOUCESTER: And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge, Is now dishonoured by this new marriage. KING EDWARD IV: What if both Lewis and Warwick be appeased By such invention as I can devise? MONTAGUE: Yet, to have join'd with France in such alliance Would more have strengthen'd this our commonwealth 'Gainst foreign storms than any home-bred marriage. HASTINGS: Why, knows not Montague that of itself England is safe, if true within itself? MONTAGUE: But the safer when 'tis back'd with France. HASTINGS: 'Tis better using France than trusting France: Let us be back'd with God and with the seas Which He hath given for fence impregnable, And with their helps only defend ourselves; In them and in ourselves our safety lies. CLARENCE: For this one speech Lord Hastings well deserves To have the heir of the Lord Hungerford. KING EDWARD IV: Ay, what of that? it was my will and grant; And for this once my will shall stand for law. GLOUCESTER: And yet methinks your grace hath not done well, To give the heir and daughter of Lord Scales Unto the brother of your loving bride; She better would have fitted me or Clarence: But in your bride you bury brotherhood. CLARENCE: Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir Of the Lord Bonville on your new wife's son, And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere. KING EDWARD IV: Alas, poor Clarence! is it for a wife That thou art malcontent? I will provide thee. CLARENCE: In choosing for yourself, you show'd your judgment, Which being shallow, you give me leave To play the broker in mine own behalf; And to that end I shortly mind to leave you. KING EDWARD IV: Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king, And not be tied unto his brother's will. QUEEN ELIZABETH: My lords, before it pleased his majesty To raise my state to title of a queen, Do me but right, and you must all confess That I was not ignoble of descent; And meaner than myself have had like fortune. But as this title honours me and mine, So your dislike, to whom I would be pleasing, Doth cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow. KING EDWARD IV: My love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns: What danger or what sorrow can befall thee, So long as Edward is thy constant friend, And their true sovereign, whom they must obey? Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, Unless they seek for hatred at my hands; Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe, And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Now, messenger, what letters or what news From France? Post: My sovereign liege, no letters; and few words, But such as I, without your special pardon, Dare not relate. KING EDWARD IV: Go to, we pardon thee: therefore, in brief, Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. What answer makes King Lewis unto our letters? Post: At my depart, these were his very words: 'Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, That Lewis of France is sending over masquers To revel it with him and his new bride.' KING EDWARD IV: Is Lewis so brave? belike he thinks me Henry. But what said Lady Bona to my marriage? Post: These were her words, utter'd with mad disdain: 'Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly, I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.' KING EDWARD IV: I blame not her, she could say little less; She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen? For I have heard that she was there in place. Post: 'Tell him,' quoth she, 'my mourning weeds are done, And I am ready to put armour on.' KING EDWARD IV: Belike she minds to play the Amazon. But what said Warwick to these injuries? Post: He, more incensed against your majesty Than all the rest, discharged me with these words: 'Tell him from me that he hath done me wrong, And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.' KING EDWARD IV: Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud words? Well I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd: They shall have wars and pay for their presumption. But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret? Post: Ay, gracious sovereign; they are so link'd in friendship That young Prince Edward marries Warwick's daughter. CLARENCE: Belike the elder; Clarence will have the younger. Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter; That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage I may not prove inferior to yourself. You that love me and Warwick, follow me. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Clarence and Somerset both gone to Warwick! Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen; And haste is needful in this desperate case. Pembroke and Stafford, you in our behalf Go levy men, and make prepare for war; They are already, or quickly will be landed: Myself in person will straight follow you. But, ere I go, Hastings and Montague, Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, Are near to Warwick by blood and by alliance: Tell me if you love Warwick more than me? If it be so, then both depart to him; I rather wish you foes than hollow friends: But if you mind to hold your true obedience, Give me assurance with some friendly vow, That I may never have you in suspect. MONTAGUE: So God help Montague as he proves true! HASTINGS: And Hastings as he favours Edward's cause! KING EDWARD IV: Now, brother Richard, will you stand by us? GLOUCESTER: Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you. KING EDWARD IV: Why, so! then am I sure of victory. Now therefore let us hence; and lose no hour, Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well; The common people by numbers swarm to us. But see where Somerset and Clarence come! Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends? CLARENCE: Fear not that, my lord. WARWICK: Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto Warwick; And welcome, Somerset: I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love; Else might I think that Clarence, Edward's brother, Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings: But welcome, sweet Clarence; my daughter shall be thine. And now what rests but, in night's coverture, Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, His soldiers lurking in the towns about, And but attended by a simple guard, We may surprise and take him at our pleasure? Our scouts have found the adventure very easy: That as Ulysses and stout Diomede With sleight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents, And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds, So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, At unawares may beat down Edward's guard And seize himself; I say not, slaughter him, For I intend but only to surprise him. You that will follow me to this attempt, Applaud the name of Henry with your leader. Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort: For Warwick and his friends, God and Saint George! 3 KING HENRY VI First Watchman: Come on, my masters, each man take his stand: The king by this is set him down to sleep. Second Watchman: What, will he not to bed? First Watchman: Why, no; for he hath made a solemn vow Never to lie and take his natural rest Till Warwick or himself be quite suppress'd. Second Watchman: To-morrow then belike shall be the day, If Warwick be so near as men report. Third Watchman: But say, I pray, what nobleman is that That with the king here resteth in his tent? First Watchman: 'Tis the Lord Hastings, the king's chiefest friend. Third Watchman: O, is it so? But why commands the king That his chief followers lodge in towns about him, While he himself keeps in the cold field? Second Watchman: 'Tis the more honour, because more dangerous. Third Watchman: Ay, but give me worship and quietness; I like it better than a dangerous honour. If Warwick knew in what estate he stands, 'Tis to be doubted he would waken him. First Watchman: Unless our halberds did shut up his passage. Second Watchman: Ay, wherefore else guard we his royal tent, But to defend his person from night-foes? WARWICK: This is his tent; and see where stand his guard. Courage, my masters! honour now or never! But follow me, and Edward shall be ours. First Watchman: Who goes there? Second Watchman: Stay, or thou diest! SOMERSET: What are they that fly there? WARWICK: Richard and Hastings: let them go; here is The duke. KING EDWARD IV: The duke! Why, Warwick, when we parted, Thou call'dst me king. WARWICK: Ay, but the case is alter'd: When you disgraced me in my embassade, Then I degraded you from being king, And come now to create you Duke of York. Alas! how should you govern any kingdom, That know not how to use ambassadors, Nor how to be contented with one wife, Nor how to use your brothers brotherly, Nor how to study for the people's welfare, Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies? KING EDWARD IV: Yea, brother of Clarence, are thou here too? Nay, then I see that Edward needs must down. Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance, Of thee thyself and all thy complices, Edward will always bear himself as king: Though fortune's malice overthrow my state, My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel. WARWICK: Then, for his mind, be Edward England's king: But Henry now shall wear the English crown, And be true king indeed, thou but the shadow. My Lord of Somerset, at my request, See that forthwith Duke Edward be convey'd Unto my brother, Archbishop of York. When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows, I'll follow you, and tell what answer Lewis and the Lady Bona send to him. Now, for a while farewell, good Duke of York. KING EDWARD IV: What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide. OXFORD: What now remains, my lords, for us to do But march to London with our soldiers? WARWICK: Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do; To free King Henry from imprisonment And see him seated in the regal throne. 3 KING HENRY VI RIVERS: Madam, what makes you in this sudden change? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Why brother Rivers, are you yet to learn What late misfortune is befall'n King Edward? RIVERS: What! loss of some pitch'd battle against Warwick? QUEEN ELIZABETH: No, but the loss of his own royal person. RIVERS: Then is my sovereign slain? QUEEN ELIZABETH: Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner, Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard Or by his foe surprised at unawares: And, as I further have to understand, Is new committed to the Bishop of York, Fell Warwick's brother and by that our foe. RIVERS: These news I must confess are full of grief; Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may: Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Till then fair hope must hinder life's decay. And I the rather wean me from despair For love of Edward's offspring in my womb: This is it that makes me bridle passion And bear with mildness my misfortune's cross; Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs, Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown. RIVERS: But, madam, where is Warwick then become? QUEEN ELIZABETH: I am inform'd that he comes towards London, To set the crown once more on Henry's head: Guess thou the rest; King Edward's friends must down, But, to prevent the tyrant's violence,-- For trust not him that hath once broken faith,-- I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary, To save at least the heir of Edward's right: There shall I rest secure from force and fraud. Come, therefore, let us fly while we may fly: If Warwick take us we are sure to die. 3 KING HENRY VI GLOUCESTER: Now, my Lord Hastings and Sir William Stanley, Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither, Into this chiefest thicket of the park. Thus stands the case: you know our king, my brother, Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands He hath good usage and great liberty, And, often but attended with weak guard, Comes hunting this way to disport himself. I have advertised him by secret means That if about this hour he make his way Under the colour of his usual game, He shall here find his friends with horse and men To set him free from his captivity. Huntsman: This way, my lord; for this way lies the game. KING EDWARD IV: Nay, this way, man: see where the huntsmen stand. Now, brother of Gloucester, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer? GLOUCESTER: Brother, the time and case requireth haste: Your horse stands ready at the park-corner. KING EDWARD IV: But whither shall we then? HASTINGS: To Lynn, my lord, And ship from thence to Flanders. GLOUCESTER: Well guess'd, believe me; for that was my meaning. KING EDWARD IV: Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness. GLOUCESTER: But wherefore stay we? 'tis no time to talk. KING EDWARD IV: Huntsman, what say'st thou? wilt thou go along? Huntsman: Better do so than tarry and be hang'd. GLOUCESTER: Come then, away; let's ha' no more ado. KING EDWARD IV: Bishop, farewell: shield thee from Warwick's frown; And pray that I may repossess the crown. 3 KING HENRY VI KING HENRY VI: Master lieutenant, now that God and friends Have shaken Edward from the regal seat, And turn'd my captive state to liberty, My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys, At our enlargement what are thy due fees? Lieutenant: Subjects may challenge nothing of their sovereigns; But if an humble prayer may prevail, I then crave pardon of your majesty. KING HENRY VI: For what, lieutenant? for well using me? Nay, be thou sure I'll well requite thy kindness, For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure; Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds Conceive when after many moody thoughts At last by notes of household harmony They quite forget their loss of liberty. But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free, And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee; He was the author, thou the instrument. Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me, And that the people of this blessed land May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars, Warwick, although my head still wear the crown, I here resign my government to thee, For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. WARWICK: Your grace hath still been famed for virtuous; And now may seem as wise as virtuous, By spying and avoiding fortune's malice, For few men rightly temper with the stars: Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace, For choosing me when Clarence is in place. CLARENCE: No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway, To whom the heavens in thy nativity Adjudged an olive branch and laurel crown, As likely to be blest in peace and war; And therefore I yield thee my free consent. WARWICK: And I choose Clarence only for protector. KING HENRY VI: Warwick and Clarence give me both your hands: Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts, That no dissension hinder government: I make you both protectors of this land, While I myself will lead a private life And in devotion spend my latter days, To sin's rebuke and my Creator's praise. WARWICK: What answers Clarence to his sovereign's will? CLARENCE: That he consents, if Warwick yield consent; For on thy fortune I repose myself. WARWICK: Why, then, though loath, yet must I be content: We'll yoke together, like a double shadow To Henry's body, and supply his place; I mean, in bearing weight of government, While he enjoys the honour and his ease. And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful Forthwith that Edward be pronounced a traitor, And all his lands and goods be confiscate. CLARENCE: What else? and that succession be determined. WARWICK: Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. KING HENRY VI: But, with the first of all your chief affairs, Let me entreat, for I command no more, That Margaret your queen and my son Edward Be sent for, to return from France with speed; For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear My joy of liberty is half eclipsed. CLARENCE: It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. KING HENRY VI: My Lord of Somerset, what youth is that, Of whom you seem to have so tender care? SOMERSET: My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Richmond. KING HENRY VI: Come hither, England's hope. If secret powers Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss. His looks are full of peaceful majesty, His head by nature framed to wear a crown, His hand to wield a sceptre, and himself Likely in time to bless a regal throne. Make much of him, my lords, for this is he Must help you more than you are hurt by me. WARWICK: What news, my friend? Post: That Edward is escaped from your brother, And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. WARWICK: Unsavoury news! but how made he escape? Post: He was convey'd by Richard Duke of Gloucester And the Lord Hastings, who attended him In secret ambush on the forest side And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him; For hunting was his daily exercise. WARWICK: My brother was too careless of his charge. But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide A salve for any sore that may betide. SOMERSET: My lord, I like not of this flight of Edward's; For doubtless Burgundy will yield him help, And we shall have more wars before 't be long. As Henry's late presaging prophecy Did glad my heart with hope of this young Richmond, So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts What may befall him, to his harm and ours: Therefore, Lord Oxford, to prevent the worst, Forthwith we'll send him hence to Brittany, Till storms be past of civil enmity. OXFORD: Ay, for if Edward repossess the crown, 'Tis like that Richmond with the rest shall down. SOMERSET: It shall be so; he shall to Brittany. Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Now, brother Richard, Lord Hastings, and the rest, Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, And says that once more I shall interchange My waned state for Henry's regal crown. Well have we pass'd and now repass'd the seas And brought desired help from Burgundy: What then remains, we being thus arrived From Ravenspurgh haven before the gates of York, But that we enter, as into our dukedom? GLOUCESTER: The gates made fast! Brother, I like not this; For many men that stumble at the threshold Are well foretold that danger lurks within. KING EDWARD IV: Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us: By fair or foul means we must enter in, For hither will our friends repair to us. HASTINGS: My liege, I'll knock once more to summon them. Mayor: My lords, we were forewarned of your coming, And shut the gates for safety of ourselves; For now we owe allegiance unto Henry. KING EDWARD IV: But, master mayor, if Henry be your king, Yet Edward at the least is Duke of York. Mayor: True, my good lord; I know you for no less. KING EDWARD IV: Why, and I challenge nothing but my dukedom, As being well content with that alone. GLOUCESTER: HASTINGS: Why, master mayor, why stand you in a doubt? Open the gates; we are King Henry's friends. Mayor: Ay, say you so? the gates shall then be open'd. GLOUCESTER: A wise stout captain, and soon persuaded! HASTINGS: The good old man would fain that all were well, So 'twere not 'long of him; but being enter'd, I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade Both him and all his brothers unto reason. KING EDWARD IV: So, master mayor: these gates must not be shut But in the night or in the time of war. What! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys; For Edward will defend the town and thee, And all those friends that deign to follow me. GLOUCESTER: Brother, this is Sir John Montgomery, Our trusty friend, unless I be deceived. KING EDWARD IV: Welcome, Sir John! But why come you in arms? MONTAGUE: To help King Edward in his time of storm, As every loyal subject ought to do. KING EDWARD IV: Thanks, good Montgomery; but we now forget Our title to the crown and only claim Our dukedom till God please to send the rest. MONTAGUE: Then fare you well, for I will hence again: I came to serve a king and not a duke. Drummer, strike up, and let us march away. KING EDWARD IV: Nay, stay, Sir John, awhile, and we'll debate By what safe means the crown may be recover'd. MONTAGUE: What talk you of debating? in few words, If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king, I'll leave you to your fortune and be gone To keep them back that come to succor you: Why shall we fight, if you pretend no title? GLOUCESTER: Why, brother, wherefore stand you on nice points? KING EDWARD IV: When we grow stronger, then we'll make our claim: Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning. HASTINGS: Away with scrupulous wit! now arms must rule. GLOUCESTER: And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns. Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand: The bruit thereof will bring you many friends. KING EDWARD IV: Then be it as you will; for 'tis my right, And Henry but usurps the diadem. MONTAGUE: Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like himself; And now will I be Edward's champion. HASTINGS: Sound trumpet; Edward shall be here proclaim'd: Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation. Soldier: Edward the Fourth, by the grace of God, king of England and France, and lord of Ireland, &c. MONTAGUE: And whosoe'er gainsays King Edward's right, By this I challenge him to single fight. All: Long live Edward the Fourth! KING EDWARD IV: Thanks, brave Montgomery; and thanks unto you all: If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness. Now, for this night, let's harbour here in York; And when the morning sun shall raise his car Above the border of this horizon, We'll forward towards Warwick and his mates; For well I wot that Henry is no soldier. Ah, froward Clarence! how evil it beseems thee To flatter Henry and forsake thy brother! Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick. Come on, brave soldiers: doubt not of the day, And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: What counsel, lords? Edward from Belgia, With hasty Germans and blunt Hollanders, Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas, And with his troops doth march amain to London; And many giddy people flock to him. KING HENRY VI: Let's levy men, and beat him back again. CLARENCE: A little fire is quickly trodden out; Which, being suffer'd, rivers cannot quench. WARWICK: In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends, Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war; Those will I muster up: and thou, son Clarence, Shalt stir up in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent, The knights and gentlemen to come with thee: Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham, Northampton and in Leicestershire, shalt find Men well inclined to hear what thou command'st: And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well beloved, In Oxfordshire shalt muster up thy friends. My sovereign, with the loving citizens, Like to his island girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian circled with her nymphs, Shall rest in London till we come to him. Fair lords, take leave and stand not to reply. Farewell, my sovereign. KING HENRY VI: Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's true hope. CLARENCE: In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand. KING HENRY VI: Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate! MONTAGUE: Comfort, my lord; and so I take my leave. OXFORD: And thus I seal my truth, and bid adieu. KING HENRY VI: Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague, And all at once, once more a happy farewell. WARWICK: Farewell, sweet lords: let's meet at Coventry. KING HENRY VI: Here at the palace I will rest awhile. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your lordship? Methinks the power that Edward hath in field Should not be able to encounter mine. EXETER: The doubt is that he will seduce the rest. KING HENRY VI: That's not my fear; my meed hath got me fame: I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears; I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies. Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd: Then why should they love Edward more than me? No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace: And when the lion fawns upon the lamb, The lamb will never cease to follow him. EXETER: Hark, hark, my lord! what shouts are these? KING EDWARD IV: Seize on the shame-faced Henry, bear him hence; And once again proclaim us King of England. You are the fount that makes small brooks to flow: Now stops thy spring; my sea sha$l suck them dry, And swell so much the higher by their ebb. Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course Where peremptory Warwick now remains: The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay. GLOUCESTER: Away betimes, before his forces join, And take the great-grown traitor unawares: Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry. 3 KING HENRY VI WARWICK: Where is the post that came from valiant Oxford? How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow? First Messenger: By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. WARWICK: How far off is our brother Montague? Where is the post that came from Montague? Second Messenger: By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. WARWICK: Say, Somerville, what says my loving son? And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? SOMERSET: At Southam I did leave him with his forces, And do expect him here some two hours hence. WARWICK: Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. SOMERSET: It is not his, my lord; here Southam lies: The drum your honour hears marcheth from Warwick. WARWICK: Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for friends. SOMERSET: They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. KING EDWARD IV: Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. GLOUCESTER: See how the surly Warwick mans the wall! WARWICK: O unbid spite! is sportful Edward come? Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduced, That we could hear no news of his repair? KING EDWARD IV: Now, Warwick, wilt thou ope the city gates, Speak gentle words and humbly bend thy knee, Call Edward king and at his hands beg mercy? And he shall pardon thee these outrages. WARWICK: Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence, Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee own, Call Warwick patron and be penitent? And thou shalt still remain the Duke of York. GLOUCESTER: I thought, at least, he would have said the king; Or did he make the jest against his will? WARWICK: Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? GLOUCESTER: Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give: I'll do thee service for so good a gift. WARWICK: 'Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother. KING EDWARD IV: Why then 'tis mine, if but by Warwick's gift. WARWICK: Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight: And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again; And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. KING EDWARD IV: But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner: And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this: What is the body when the head is off? GLOUCESTER: Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast, But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, The king was slily finger'd from the deck! You left poor Henry at the Bishop's palace, And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. EDWARD: 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still. GLOUCESTER: Come, Warwick, take the time; kneel down, kneel down: Nay, when? strike now, or else the iron cools. WARWICK: I had rather chop this hand off at a blow, And with the other fling it at thy face, Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. KING EDWARD IV: Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide thy friend, This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair Shall, whiles thy head is warm and new cut off, Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, 'Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.' WARWICK: O cheerful colours! see where Oxford comes! OXFORD: Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster! GLOUCESTER: The gates are open, let us enter too. KING EDWARD IV: So other foes may set upon our backs. Stand we in good array; for they no doubt Will issue out again and bid us battle: If not, the city being but of small defence, We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. WARWICK: O, welcome, Oxford! for we want thy help. MONTAGUE: Montague, Montague, for Lancaster! GLOUCESTER: Thou and thy brother both shall buy this treason Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear. KING EDWARD IV: The harder match'd, the greater victory: My mind presageth happy gain and conquest. SOMERSET: Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster! GLOUCESTER: Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset, Have sold their lives unto the house of York; And thou shalt be the third if this sword hold. WARWICK: And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps along, Of force enough to bid his brother battle; With whom an upright zeal to right prevails More than the nature of a brother's love! Come, Clarence, come; thou wilt, if Warwick call. CLARENCE: Father of Warwick, know you what this means? Look here, I throw my infamy at thee I will not ruinate my father's house, Who gave his blood to lime the stones together, And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick, That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt, unnatural, To bend the fatal instruments of war Against his brother and his lawful king? Perhaps thou wilt object my holy oath: To keep that oath were more impiety Than Jephthah's, when he sacrificed his daughter. I am so sorry for my trespass made That, to deserve well at my brother's hands, I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe, With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee-- As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad-- To plague thee for thy foul misleading me. And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee, And to my brother turn my blushing cheeks. Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends: And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults, For I will henceforth be no more unconstant. KING EDWARD IV: Now welcome more, and ten times more beloved, Than if thou never hadst deserved our hate. GLOUCESTER: Welcome, good Clarence; this is brotherlike. WARWICK: O passing traitor, perjured and unjust! KING EDWARD IV: What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the town and fight? Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears? WARWICK: Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence! I will away towards Barnet presently, And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou darest. KING EDWARD IV: Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads the way. Lords, to the field; Saint George and victory! 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: So, lie thou there: die thou, and die our fear; For Warwick was a bug that fear'd us all. Now, Montague, sit fast; I seek for thee, That Warwick's bones may keep thine company. WARWICK: Ah, who is nigh? come to me, friend or foe, And tell me who is victor, York or Warwick? Why ask I that? my mangled body shows, My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows. That I must yield my body to the earth And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge, Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle, Under whose shade the ramping lion slept, Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind. These eyes, that now are dimm'd with death's black veil, Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, To search the secret treasons of the world: The wrinkles in my brows, now filled with blood, Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres; For who lived king, but I could dig his grave? And who durst mine when Warwick bent his brow? Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood! My parks, my walks, my manors that I had. Even now forsake me, and of all my lands Is nothing left me but my body's length. Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? And, live we how we can, yet die we must. SOMERSET: Ah, Warwick, Warwick! wert thou as we are. We might recover all our loss again; The queen from France hath brought a puissant power: Even now we heard the news: ah, could'st thou fly! WARWICK: Why, then I would not fly. Ah, Montague, If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand. And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile! Thou lovest me not; for, brother, if thou didst, Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood That glues my lips and will not let me speak. Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead. SOMERSET: Ah, Warwick! Montague hath breathed his last; And to the latest gasp cried out for Warwick, And said 'Commend me to my valiant brother.' And more he would have said, and more he spoke, Which sounded like a clamour in a vault, That mought not be distinguished; but at last I well might hear, delivered with a groan, 'O, farewell, Warwick!' WARWICK: Sweet rest his soul! Fly, lords, and save yourselves; For Warwick bids you all farewell to meet in heaven. OXFORD: Away, away, to meet the queen's great power! 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, And we are graced with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious, threatening cloud, That will encounter with our glorious sun, Ere he attain his easeful western bed: I mean, my lords, those powers that the queen Hath raised in Gallia have arrived our coast And, as we hear, march on to fight with us. CLARENCE: A little gale will soon disperse that cloud And blow it to the source from whence it came: The very beams will dry those vapours up, For every cloud engenders not a storm. GLOUCESTER: The queen is valued thirty thousand strong, And Somerset, with Oxford fled to her: If she have time to breathe be well assured Her faction will be full as strong as ours. KING EDWARD IV: We are advertised by our loving friends That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury: We, having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither straight, for willingness rids way; And, as we march, our strength will be augmented In every county as we go along. Strike up the drum; cry 'Courage!' and away. 3 KING HENRY VI QUEEN MARGARET: Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he Should leave the helm and like a fearful lad With tearful eyes add water to the sea And give more strength to that which hath too much, Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock, Which industry and courage might have saved? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this! Say Warwick was our anchor; what of that? And Montague our topmost; what of him? Our slaughter'd friends the tackles; what of these? Why, is not Oxford here another anchor? And Somerset another goodly mast? The friends of France our shrouds and tacklings? And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge? We will not from the helm to sit and weep, But keep our course, though the rough wind say no, From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. As good to chide the waves as speak them fair. And what is Edward but ruthless sea? What Clarence but a quicksand of deceit? And Richard but a ragged fatal rock? All these the enemies to our poor bark. Say you can swim; alas, 'tis but a while! Tread on the sand; why, there you quickly sink: Bestride the rock; the tide will wash you off, Or else you famish; that's a threefold death. This speak I, lords, to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there's no hoped-for mercy with the brothers More than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. Why, courage then! what cannot be avoided 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear. PRINCE EDWARD: Methinks a woman of this valiant spirit Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his breast with magnanimity And make him, naked, foil a man at arms. I speak not this as doubting any here For did I but suspect a fearful man He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest in our need he might infect another And make him of like spirit to himself. If any such be here--as God forbid!-- Let him depart before we need his help. OXFORD: Women and children of so high a courage, And warriors faint! why, 'twere perpetual shame. O brave young prince! thy famous grandfather Doth live again in thee: long mayst thou live To bear his image and renew his glories! SOMERSET: And he that will not fight for such a hope. Go home to bed, and like the owl by day, If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. QUEEN MARGARET: Thanks, gentle Somerset; sweet Oxford, thanks. PRINCE EDWARD: And take his thanks that yet hath nothing else. Messenger: Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand. Ready to fight; therefore be resolute. OXFORD: I thought no less: it is his policy To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided. SOMERSET: But he's deceived; we are in readiness. QUEEN MARGARET: This cheers my heart, to see your forwardness. OXFORD: Here pitch our battle; hence we will not budge. KING EDWARD IV: Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny wood, Which, by the heavens' assistance and your strength, Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night. I need not add more fuel to your fire, For well I wot ye blaze to burn them out Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords! QUEEN MARGARET: Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I should say My tears gainsay; for every word I speak, Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes. Therefore, no more but this: Henry, your sovereign, Is prisoner to the foe; his state usurp'd, His realm a slaughter-house, his subjects slain, His statutes cancell'd and his treasure spent; And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil. You fight in justice: then, in God's name, lords, Be valiant and give signal to the fight. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Now here a period of tumultuous broils. Away with Oxford to Hames Castle straight: For Somerset, off with his guilty head. Go, bear them hence; I will not hear them speak. OXFORD: For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. SOMERSET: Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. QUEEN MARGARET: So part we sadly in this troublous world, To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. KING EDWARD IV: Is proclamation made, that who finds Edward Shall have a high reward, and he his life? GLOUCESTER: It is: and lo, where youthful Edward comes! KING EDWARD IV: Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him speak. What! can so young a thorn begin to prick? Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects, And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? PRINCE EDWARD: Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York! Suppose that I am now my father's mouth; Resign thy chair, and where I stand kneel thou, Whilst I propose the selfsame words to thee, Which traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to. QUEEN MARGARET: Ah, that thy father had been so resolved! GLOUCESTER: That you might still have worn the petticoat, And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. PRINCE EDWARD: Let AEsop fable in a winter's night; His currish riddles sort not with this place. GLOUCESTER: By heaven, brat, I'll plague ye for that word. QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, thou wast born to be a plague to men. GLOUCESTER: For God's sake, take away this captive scold. PRINCE EDWARD: Nay, take away this scolding crookback rather. KING EDWARD IV: Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your tongue. CLARENCE: Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert. PRINCE EDWARD: I know my duty; you are all undutiful: Lascivious Edward, and thou perjured George, And thou mis-shapen Dick, I tell ye all I am your better, traitors as ye are: And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. KING EDWARD IV: Take that, thou likeness of this railer here. GLOUCESTER: Sprawl'st thou? take that, to end thy agony. CLARENCE: And there's for twitting me with perjury. QUEEN MARGARET: O, kill me too! GLOUCESTER: Marry, and shall. KING EDWARD IV: Hold, Richard, hold; for we have done too much. GLOUCESTER: Why should she live, to fill the world with words? KING EDWARD IV: What, doth she swoon? use means for her recovery. GLOUCESTER: Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother; I'll hence to London on a serious matter: Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news. CLARENCE: What? what? GLOUCESTER: The Tower, the Tower. QUEEN MARGARET: O Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, boy! Canst thou not speak? O traitors! murderers! They that stabb'd Caesar shed no blood at all, Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, If this foul deed were by to equal it: He was a man; this, in respect, a child: And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. What's worse than murderer, that I may name it? No, no, my heart will burst, and if I speak: And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. Butchers and villains! bloody cannibals! How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd! You have no children, butchers! if you had, The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse: But if you ever chance to have a child, Look in his youth to have him so cut off As, deathmen, you have rid this sweet young prince! KING EDWARD IV: Away with her; go, bear her hence perforce. QUEEN MARGARET: Nay, never bear me hence, dispatch me here, Here sheathe thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death: What, wilt thou not? then, Clarence, do it thou. CLARENCE: By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. QUEEN MARGARET: Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do thou do it. CLARENCE: Didst thou not hear me swear I would not do it? QUEEN MARGARET: Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 'Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. What, wilt thou not? Where is that devil's butcher, Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? Thou art not here: murder is thy alms-deed; Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. KING EDWARD IV: Away, I say; I charge ye, bear her hence. QUEEN MARGARET: So come to you and yours, as to this Prince! KING EDWARD IV: Where's Richard gone? CLARENCE: To London, all in post; and, as I guess, To make a bloody supper in the Tower. KING EDWARD IV: He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. Now march we hence: discharge the common sort With pay and thanks, and let's away to London And see our gentle queen how well she fares: By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. 3 KING HENRY VI GLOUCESTER: Good day, my lord. What, at your book so hard? KING HENRY VI: Ay, my good lord:--my lord, I should say rather; 'Tis sin to flatter; 'good' was little better: 'Good Gloucester' and 'good devil' were alike, And both preposterous; therefore, not 'good lord.' GLOUCESTER: Sirrah, leave us to ourselves: we must confer. KING HENRY VI: So flies the reckless shepherd from the wolf; So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? GLOUCESTER: Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind; The thief doth fear each bush an officer. KING HENRY VI: The bird that hath been limed in a bush, With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush; And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, Have now the fatal object in my eye Where my poor young was limed, was caught and kill'd. GLOUCESTER: Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! An yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. KING HENRY VI: I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger's point Than can my ears that tragic history. But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life? GLOUCESTER: Think'st thou I am an executioner? KING HENRY VI: A persecutor, I am sure, thou art: If murdering innocents be executing, Why, then thou art an executioner. GLOUCESTER: Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. KING HENRY VI: Hadst thou been kill'd when first thou didst presume, Thou hadst not lived to kill a son of mine. And thus I prophesy, that many a thousand, Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear, And many an old man's sigh and many a widow's, And many an orphan's water-standing eye-- Men for their sons, wives for their husbands, And orphans for their parents timeless death-- Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. The owl shriek'd at thy birth,--an evil sign; The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time; Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempest shook down trees; The raven rook'd her on the chimney's top, And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, And, yet brought forth less than a mother's hope, To wit, an indigested and deformed lump, Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. Teeth hadst thou in thy head when thou wast born, To signify thou camest to bite the world: And, if the rest be true which I have heard, Thou camest-- GLOUCESTER: I'll hear no more: die, prophet in thy speech: For this amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. KING HENRY VI: Ay, and for much more slaughter after this. God forgive my sins, and pardon thee! GLOUCESTER: What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! O, may such purple tears be alway shed From those that wish the downfall of our house! If any spark of life be yet remaining, Down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither: I, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed, 'tis true that Henry told me of; For I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward: Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right? The midwife wonder'd and the women cried 'O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!' And so I was; which plainly signified That I should snarl and bite and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shaped my body so, Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; And this word 'love,' which graybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another And not in me: I am myself alone. Clarence, beware; thou keep'st me from the light: But I will sort a pitchy day for thee; For I will buz abroad such prophecies That Edward shall be fearful of his life, And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. King Henry and the prince his son are gone: Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, Counting myself but bad till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. 3 KING HENRY VI KING EDWARD IV: Once more we sit in England's royal throne, Re-purchased with the blood of enemies. What valiant foemen, like to autumn's corn, Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride! Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd For hardy and undoubted champions; Two Cliffords, as the father and the son, And two Northumberlands; two braver men Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound; With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Montague, That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat And made our footstool of security. Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy. Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles and myself Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night, Went all afoot in summer's scalding heat, That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace; And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. GLOUCESTER: KING EDWARD IV: Clarence and Gloucester, love my lovely queen; And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. CLARENCE: The duty that I owe unto your majesty I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. QUEEN ELIZABETH: Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother, thanks. GLOUCESTER: And, that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st, Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. KING EDWARD IV: Now am I seated as my soul delights, Having my country's peace and brothers' loves. CLARENCE: What will your grace have done with Margaret? Reignier, her father, to the king of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem, And hither have they sent it for her ransom. KING EDWARD IV: Away with her, and waft her hence to France. And now what rests but that we spend the time With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, Such as befits the pleasure of the court? Sound drums and trumpets! farewell sour annoy! For here, I hope, begins our lasting joy. ARCHIDAMUS: If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. CAMILLO: I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. ARCHIDAMUS: Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed-- CAMILLO: Beseech you,-- ARCHIDAMUS: Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence--in so rare--I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. CAMILLO: You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. ARCHIDAMUS: Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. CAMILLO: Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that they have seemed to be together, though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! ARCHIDAMUS: I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. CAMILLO: I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man. ARCHIDAMUS: Would they else be content to die? CAMILLO: Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. ARCHIDAMUS: If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. POLIXENES: Nine changes of the watery star hath been The shepherd's note since we have left our throne Without a burthen: time as long again Would be find up, my brother, with our thanks; And yet we should, for perpetuity, Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply With one 'We thank you' many thousands moe That go before it. LEONTES: Stay your thanks a while; And pay them when you part. POLIXENES: Sir, that's to-morrow. I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance Or breed upon our absence; that may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty. LEONTES: We are tougher, brother, Than you can put us to't. POLIXENES: No longer stay. LEONTES: One seven-night longer. POLIXENES: Very sooth, to-morrow. LEONTES: We'll part the time between's then; and in that I'll no gainsaying. POLIXENES: Press me not, beseech you, so. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, So soon as yours could win me: so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder Were in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother. LEONTES: Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. HERMIONE: I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him, He's beat from his best ward. LEONTES: Well said, Hermione. HERMIONE: To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong: But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission To let him there a month behind the gest Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind What lady-she her lord. You'll stay? POLIXENES: No, madam. HERMIONE: Nay, but you will? POLIXENES: I may not, verily. HERMIONE: Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say 'Sir, no going.' Verily, You shall not go: a lady's 'Verily' 's As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread 'Verily,' One of them you shall be. POLIXENES: Your guest, then, madam: To be your prisoner should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit Than you to punish. HERMIONE: Not your gaoler, then, But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys: You were pretty lordings then? POLIXENES: We were, fair queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. HERMIONE: Was not my lord The verier wag o' the two? POLIXENES: We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we changed Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd That any did. Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd Hereditary ours. HERMIONE: By this we gather You have tripp'd since. POLIXENES: O my most sacred lady! Temptations have since then been born to's; for In those unfledged days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow. HERMIONE: Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils: yet go on; The offences we have made you do we'll answer, If you first sinn'd with us and that with us You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. LEONTES: Is he won yet? HERMIONE: He'll stay my lord. LEONTES: At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest To better purpose. HERMIONE: Never? LEONTES: Never, but once. HERMIONE: What! have I twice said well? when was't before? I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: you may ride's With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we beat an acre. But to the goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay: What was my first? it has an elder sister, Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose: when? Nay, let me have't; I long. LEONTES: Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter 'I am yours for ever.' HERMIONE: 'Tis grace indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; The other for some while a friend. LEONTES: MAMILLIUS: Ay, my good lord. LEONTES: I' fecks! Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf Are all call'd neat.--Still virginalling Upon his palm!--How now, you wanton calf! Art thou my calf? MAMILLIUS: Yes, if you will, my lord. LEONTES: Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, To be full like me: yet they say we are Almost as like as eggs; women say so, That will say anything but were they false As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true To say this boy were like me. Come, sir page, Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain! Most dear'st! my collop! Can thy dam?--may't be?-- Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicatest with dreams;--how can this be?-- With what's unreal thou coactive art, And fellow'st nothing: then 'tis very credent Thou mayst co-join with something; and thou dost, And that beyond commission, and I find it, And that to the infection of my brains And hardening of my brows. POLIXENES: What means Sicilia? HERMIONE: He something seems unsettled. POLIXENES: How, my lord! What cheer? how is't with you, best brother? HERMIONE: You look as if you held a brow of much distraction Are you moved, my lord? LEONTES: No, in good earnest. How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous: How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money? MAMILLIUS: No, my lord, I'll fight. LEONTES: You will! why, happy man be's dole! My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince as we Do seem to be of ours? POLIXENES: If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, Now my sworn friend and then mine enemy, My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all: He makes a July's day short as December, And with his varying childness cures in me Thoughts that would thick my blood. LEONTES: So stands this squire Officed with me: we two will walk, my lord, And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap: Next to thyself and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. HERMIONE: If you would seek us, We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there? LEONTES: To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found, Be you beneath the sky. I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to! How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife To her allowing husband! Gone already! Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one! Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play. There have been, Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now; And many a man there is, even at this present, Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm, That little thinks she has been sluiced in's absence And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd, As mine, against their will. Should all despair That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it, From east, west, north and south: be it concluded, No barricado for a belly; know't; It will let in and out the enemy With bag and baggage: many thousand on's Have the disease, and feel't not. How now, boy! MAMILLIUS: I am like you, they say. LEONTES: Why that's some comfort. What, Camillo there? CAMILLO: Ay, my good lord. LEONTES: Go play, Mamillius; thou'rt an honest man. Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. CAMILLO: You had much ado to make his anchor hold: When you cast out, it still came home. LEONTES: Didst note it? CAMILLO: He would not stay at your petitions: made His business more material. LEONTES: Didst perceive it? They're here with me already, whispering, rounding 'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone, When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo, That he did stay? CAMILLO: At the good queen's entreaty. LEONTES: At the queen's be't: 'good' should be pertinent But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken By any understanding pate but thine? For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in More than the common blocks: not noted, is't, But of the finer natures? by some severals Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes Perchance are to this business purblind? say. CAMILLO: Business, my lord! I think most understand Bohemia stays here longer. LEONTES: Ha! CAMILLO: Stays here longer. LEONTES: Ay, but why? CAMILLO: To satisfy your highness and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress. LEONTES: Satisfy! The entreaties of your mistress! satisfy! Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleansed my bosom, I from thee departed Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been Deceived in thy integrity, deceived In that which seems so. CAMILLO: Be it forbid, my lord! LEONTES: To bide upon't, thou art not honest, or, If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward, Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining From course required; or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in my serious trust And therein negligent; or else a fool That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, And takest it all for jest. CAMILLO: My gracious lord, I may be negligent, foolish and fearful; In every one of these no man is free, But that his negligence, his folly, fear, Among the infinite doings of the world, Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilful-negligent, It was my folly; if industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, Where of the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord, Are such allow'd infirmities that honesty Is never free of. But, beseech your grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage: if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine. LEONTES: Ha' not you seen, Camillo,-- But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,--or heard,-- For to a vision so apparent rumour Cannot be mute,--or thought,--for cogitation Resides not in that man that does not think,-- My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, Or else be impudently negative, To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench that puts to Before her troth-plight: say't and justify't. CAMILLO: I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken: 'shrew my heart, You never spoke what did become you less Than this; which to reiterate were sin As deep as that, though true. LEONTES: Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career Of laughing with a sigh?--a note infallible Of breaking honesty--horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing. CAMILLO: Good my lord, be cured Of this diseased opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. LEONTES: Say it be, 'tis true. CAMILLO: No, no, my lord. LEONTES: It is; you lie, you lie: I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee, Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, Or else a hovering temporizer, that Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass. CAMILLO: Who does infect her? LEONTES: Why, he that wears her like a medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia: who, if I Had servants true about me, that bare eyes To see alike mine honour as their profits, Their own particular thrifts, they would do that Which should undo more doing: ay, and thou, His cupbearer,--whom I from meaner form Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven, How I am galled,--mightst bespice a cup, To give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial. CAMILLO: Sir, my lord, I could do this, and that with no rash potion, But with a lingering dram that should not work Maliciously like poison: but I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honourable. I have loved thee,-- LEONTES: Make that thy question, and go rot! Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation, sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps, Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, Who I do think is mine and love as mine, Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this? Could man so blench? CAMILLO: I must believe you, sir: I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; Provided that, when he's removed, your highness Will take again your queen as yours at first, Even for your son's sake; and thereby for sealing The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours. LEONTES: Thou dost advise me Even so as I mine own course have set down: I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. CAMILLO: My lord, Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia And with your queen. I am his cupbearer: If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant. LEONTES: This is all: Do't and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. CAMILLO: I'll do't, my lord. LEONTES: I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me. CAMILLO: O miserable lady! But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a master, one Who in rebellion with himself will have All that are his so too. To do this deed, Promotion follows. If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings And flourish'd after, I'ld not do't; but since Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one, Let villany itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now! Here comes Bohemia. POLIXENES: This is strange: methinks My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? Good day, Camillo. CAMILLO: Hail, most royal sir! POLIXENES: What is the news i' the court? CAMILLO: None rare, my lord. POLIXENES: The king hath on him such a countenance As he had lost some province and a region Loved as he loves himself: even now I met him With customary compliment; when he, Wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and So leaves me to consider what is breeding That changeth thus his manners. CAMILLO: I dare not know, my lord. POLIXENES: How! dare not! do not. Do you know, and dare not? Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts; For, to yourself, what you do know, you must. And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your changed complexions are to me a mirror Which shows me mine changed too; for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with 't. CAMILLO: There is a sickness Which puts some of us in distemper, but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well. POLIXENES: How! caught of me! Make me not sighted like the basilisk: I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,-- As you are certainly a gentleman, thereto Clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns Our gentry than our parents' noble names, In whose success we are gentle,--I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my knowledge Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not In ignorant concealment. CAMILLO: I may not answer. POLIXENES: A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo, I conjure thee, by all the parts of man Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. CAMILLO: Sir, I will tell you; Since I am charged in honour and by him That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel, Which must be even as swiftly follow'd as I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me Cry lost, and so good night! POLIXENES: On, good Camillo. CAMILLO: I am appointed him to murder you. POLIXENES: By whom, Camillo? CAMILLO: By the king. POLIXENES: For what? CAMILLO: He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears, As he had seen't or been an instrument To vice you to't, that you have touch'd his queen Forbiddenly. POLIXENES: O, then my best blood turn To an infected jelly and my name Be yoked with his that did betray the Best! Turn then my freshest reputation to A savour that may strike the dullest nostril Where I arrive, and my approach be shunn'd, Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection That e'er was heard or read! CAMILLO: Swear his thought over By each particular star in heaven and By all their influences, you may as well Forbid the sea for to obey the moon As or by oath remove or counsel shake The fabric of his folly, whose foundation Is piled upon his faith and will continue The standing of his body. POLIXENES: How should this grow? CAMILLO: I know not: but I am sure 'tis safer to Avoid what's grown than question how 'tis born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty, That lies enclosed in this trunk which you Shall bear along impawn'd, away to-night! Your followers I will whisper to the business, And will by twos and threes at several posterns Clear them o' the city. For myself, I'll put My fortunes to your service, which are here By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain; For, by the honour of my parents, I Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove, I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon His execution sworn. POLIXENES: I do believe thee: I saw his heart in 's face. Give me thy hand: Be pilot to me and thy places shall Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready and My people did expect my hence departure Two days ago. This jealousy Is for a precious creature: as she's rare, Must it be great, and as his person's mighty, Must it be violent, and as he does conceive He is dishonour'd by a man which ever Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me: Good expedition be my friend, and comfort The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing Of his ill-ta'en suspicion! Come, Camillo; I will respect thee as a father if Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid. CAMILLO: It is in mine authority to command The keys of all the posterns: please your highness To take the urgent hour. Come, sir, away. HERMIONE: Take the boy to you: he so troubles me, 'Tis past enduring. First Lady: Come, my gracious lord, Shall I be your playfellow? MAMILLIUS: No, I'll none of you. First Lady: Why, my sweet lord? MAMILLIUS: You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if I were a baby still. I love you better. Second Lady: And why so, my lord? MAMILLIUS: Not for because Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say, Become some women best, so that there be not Too much hair there, but in a semicircle Or a half-moon made with a pen. Second Lady: Who taught you this? MAMILLIUS: I learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now What colour are your eyebrows? First Lady: Blue, my lord. MAMILLIUS: Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose That has been blue, but not her eyebrows. First Lady: Hark ye; The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall Present our services to a fine new prince One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us, If we would have you. Second Lady: She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her! HERMIONE: What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now I am for you again: pray you, sit by us, And tell 's a tale. MAMILLIUS: Merry or sad shall't be? HERMIONE: As merry as you will. MAMILLIUS: A sad tale's best for winter: I have one Of sprites and goblins. HERMIONE: Let's have that, good sir. Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it. MAMILLIUS: There was a man-- HERMIONE: Nay, come, sit down; then on. MAMILLIUS: Dwelt by a churchyard: I will tell it softly; Yond crickets shall not hear it. HERMIONE: Come on, then, And give't me in mine ear. LEONTES: Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him? First Lord: Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never Saw I men scour so on their way: I eyed them Even to their ships. LEONTES: How blest am I In my just censure, in my true opinion! Alack, for lesser knowledge! how accursed In being so blest! There may be in the cup A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart, And yet partake no venom, for his knowledge Is not infected: but if one present The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides, With violent hefts. I have drunk, and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander: There is a plot against my life, my crown; All's true that is mistrusted: that false villain Whom I employ'd was pre-employ'd by him: He has discover'd my design, and I Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick For them to play at will. How came the posterns So easily open? First Lord: By his great authority; Which often hath no less prevail'd than so On your command. LEONTES: I know't too well. Give me the boy: I am glad you did not nurse him: Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you Have too much blood in him. HERMIONE: What is this? sport? LEONTES: Bear the boy hence; he shall not come about her; Away with him! and let her sport herself With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes Has made thee swell thus. HERMIONE: But I'ld say he had not, And I'll be sworn you would believe my saying, Howe'er you lean to the nayward. LEONTES: You, my lords, Look on her, mark her well; be but about To say 'she is a goodly lady,' and The justice of your bearts will thereto add 'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:' Praise her but for this her without-door form, Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight The shrug, the hum or ha, these petty brands That calumny doth use--O, I am out-- That mercy does, for calumny will sear Virtue itself: these shrugs, these hums and ha's, When you have said 'she's goodly,' come between Ere you can say 'she's honest:' but be 't known, From him that has most cause to grieve it should be, She's an adulteress. HERMIONE: Should a villain say so, The most replenish'd villain in the world, He were as much more villain: you, my lord, Do but mistake. LEONTES: You have mistook, my lady, Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing! Which I'll not call a creature of thy place, Lest barbarism, making me the precedent, Should a like language use to all degrees And mannerly distinguishment leave out Betwixt the prince and beggar: I have said She's an adulteress; I have said with whom: More, she's a traitor and Camillo is A federary with her, and one that knows What she should shame to know herself But with her most vile principal, that she's A bed-swerver, even as bad as those That vulgars give bold'st titles, ay, and privy To this their late escape. HERMIONE: No, by my life. Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that You thus have publish'd me! Gentle my lord, You scarce can right me throughly then to say You did mistake. LEONTES: No; if I mistake In those foundations which I build upon, The centre is not big enough to bear A school-boy's top. Away with her! to prison! He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty But that he speaks. HERMIONE: There's some ill planet reigns: I must be patient till the heavens look With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords, I am not prone to weeping, as our sex Commonly are; the want of which vain dew Perchance shall dry your pities: but I have That honourable grief lodged here which burns Worse than tears drown: beseech you all, my lords, With thoughts so qualified as your charities Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so The king's will be perform'd! LEONTES: Shall I be heard? HERMIONE: Who is't that goes with me? Beseech your highness, My women may be with me; for you see My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools; There is no cause: when you shall know your mistress Has deserved prison, then abound in tears As I come out: this action I now go on Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord: I never wish'd to see you sorry; now I trust I shall. My women, come; you have leave. LEONTES: Go, do our bidding; hence! First Lord: Beseech your highness, call the queen again. ANTIGONUS: Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer, Yourself, your queen, your son. First Lord: For her, my lord, I dare my life lay down and will do't, sir, Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless I' the eyes of heaven and to you; I mean, In this which you accuse her. ANTIGONUS: If it prove She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife; I'll go in couples with her; Than when I feel and see her no farther trust her; For every inch of woman in the world, Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false, If she be. LEONTES: Hold your peaces. First Lord: Good my lord,-- ANTIGONUS: It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: You are abused and by some putter-on That will be damn'd for't; would I knew the villain, I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flaw'd, I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven The second and the third, nine, and some five; If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine honour, I'll geld 'em all; fourteen they shall not see, To bring false generations: they are co-heirs; And I had rather glib myself than they Should not produce fair issue. LEONTES: Cease; no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't and feel't As you feel doing thus; and see withal The instruments that feel. ANTIGONUS: If it be so, We need no grave to bury honesty: There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten Of the whole dungy earth. LEONTES: What! lack I credit? First Lord: I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, Upon this ground; and more it would content me To have her honour true than your suspicion, Be blamed for't how you might. LEONTES: Why, what need we Commune with you of this, but rather follow Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness Imparts this; which if you, or stupefied Or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves We need no more of your advice: the matter, The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all Properly ours. ANTIGONUS: And I wish, my liege, You had only in your silent judgment tried it, Without more overture. LEONTES: How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age, Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight, Added to their familiarity, Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation But only seeing, all other circumstances Made up to the deed, doth push on this proceeding: Yet, for a greater confirmation, For in an act of this importance 'twere Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know Of stuff'd sufficiency: now from the oracle They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had, Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? First Lord: Well done, my lord. LEONTES: Though I am satisfied and need no more Than what I know, yet shall the oracle Give rest to the minds of others, such as he Whose ignorant credulity will not Come up to the truth. So have we thought it good From our free person she should be confined, Lest that the treachery of the two fled hence Be left her to perform. Come, follow us; We are to speak in public; for this business Will raise us all. ANTIGONUS: PAULINA: The keeper of the prison, call to him; let him have knowledge who I am. Good lady, No court in Europe is too good for thee; What dost thou then in prison? Now, good sir, You know me, do you not? Gaoler: For a worthy lady And one whom much I honour. PAULINA: Pray you then, Conduct me to the queen. Gaoler: I may not, madam: To the contrary I have express commandment. PAULINA: Here's ado, To lock up honesty and honour from The access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you, To see her women? any of them? Emilia? Gaoler: So please you, madam, To put apart these your attendants, I Shall bring Emilia forth. PAULINA: I pray now, call her. Withdraw yourselves. Gaoler: And, madam, I must be present at your conference. PAULINA: Well, be't so, prithee. Here's such ado to make no stain a stain As passes colouring. Dear gentlewoman, How fares our gracious lady? EMILIA: As well as one so great and so forlorn May hold together: on her frights and griefs, Which never tender lady hath born greater, She is something before her time deliver'd. PAULINA: A boy? EMILIA: A daughter, and a goodly babe, Lusty and like to live: the queen receives Much comfort in't; says 'My poor prisoner, I am innocent as you.' PAULINA: I dare be sworn These dangerous unsafe lunes i' the king, beshrew them! He must be told on't, and he shall: the office Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me: If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister And never to my red-look'd anger be The trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, Commend my best obedience to the queen: If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show't the king and undertake to be Her advocate to the loud'st. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o' the child: The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails. EMILIA: Most worthy madam, Your honour and your goodness is so evident That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue: there is no lady living So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship To visit the next room, I'll presently Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer; Who but to-day hammer'd of this design, But durst not tempt a minister of honour, Lest she should be denied. PAULINA: Tell her, Emilia. I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from't As boldness from my bosom, let 't not be doubted I shall do good. EMILIA: Now be you blest for it! I'll to the queen: please you, come something nearer. Gaoler: Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur to pass it, Having no warrant. PAULINA: You need not fear it, sir: This child was prisoner to the womb and is By law and process of great nature thence Freed and enfranchised, not a party to The anger of the king nor guilty of, If any be, the trespass of the queen. Gaoler: I do believe it. PAULINA: Do not you fear: upon mine honour, I will stand betwixt you and danger. LEONTES: Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause, She the adulteress; for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she I can hook to me: say that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again. Who's there? First Servant: My lord? LEONTES: How does the boy? First Servant: He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged. LEONTES: To see his nobleness! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply, Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go, See how he fares. Fie, fie! no thought of him: The thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty, And in his parties, his alliance; let him be Until a time may serve: for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow: They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor Shall she within my power. First Lord: You must not enter. PAULINA: Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me: Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul, More free than he is jealous. ANTIGONUS: That's enough. Second Servant: Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded None should come at him. PAULINA: Not so hot, good sir: I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, That creep like shadows by him and do sigh At each his needless heavings, such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as medicinal as true, Honest as either, to purge him of that humour That presses him from sleep. LEONTES: What noise there, ho? PAULINA: No noise, my lord; but needful conference About some gossips for your highness. LEONTES: How! Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, I charged thee that she should not come about me: I knew she would. ANTIGONUS: I told her so, my lord, On your displeasure's peril and on mine, She should not visit you. LEONTES: What, canst not rule her? PAULINA: From all dishonesty he can: in this, Unless he take the course that you have done, Commit me for committing honour, trust it, He shall not rule me. ANTIGONUS: La you now, you hear: When she will take the rein I let her run; But she'll not stumble. PAULINA: Good my liege, I come; And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare Less appear so in comforting your evils, Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come From your good queen. LEONTES: Good queen! PAULINA: Good queen, my lord, Good queen; I say good queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you. LEONTES: Force her hence. PAULINA: Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes First hand me: on mine own accord I'll off; But first I'll do my errand. The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. LEONTES: Out! A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door: A most intelligencing bawd! PAULINA: Not so: I am as ignorant in that as you In so entitling me, and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. LEONTES: Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard; Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. PAULINA: For ever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Takest up the princess by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't! LEONTES: He dreads his wife. PAULINA: So I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt You'ld call your children yours. LEONTES: A nest of traitors! ANTIGONUS: I am none, by this good light. PAULINA: Nor I, nor any But one that's here, and that's himself, for he The sacred honour of himself, his queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not-- For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell'd to't--once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten As ever oak or stone was sound. LEONTES: A callat Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes: Hence with it, and together with the dam Commit them to the fire! PAULINA: It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip, The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, His smiles, The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours No yellow in't, lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's! LEONTES: A gross hag And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. ANTIGONUS: Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. LEONTES: Once more, take her hence. PAULINA: A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. LEONTES: I'll ha' thee burnt. PAULINA: I care not: It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; But this most cruel usage of your queen, Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. LEONTES: On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? she durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her! PAULINA: I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so: farewell; we are gone. LEONTES: Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. My child? away with't! Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence And see it instantly consumed with fire; Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight: Within this hour bring me word 'tis done, And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life, With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou set'st on thy wife. ANTIGONUS: I did not, sir: These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. Lords: We can: my royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither. LEONTES: You're liars all. First Lord: Beseech your highness, give us better credit: We have always truly served you, and beseech you So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg, As recompense of our dear services Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, Which being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel. LEONTES: I am a feather for each wind that blows: Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel And call me father? better burn it now Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither; You that have been so tenderly officious With Lady Margery, your midwife there, To save this bastard's life,--for 'tis a bastard, So sure as this beard's grey, --what will you adventure To save this brat's life? ANTIGONUS: Any thing, my lord, That my ability may undergo And nobleness impose: at least thus much: I'll pawn the little blood which I have left To save the innocent: any thing possible. LEONTES: It shall be possible. Swear by this sword Thou wilt perform my bidding. ANTIGONUS: I will, my lord. LEONTES: Mark and perform it, see'st thou! for the fail Of any point in't shall not only be Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife, Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry This female bastard hence and that thou bear it To some remote and desert place quite out Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it, Without more mercy, to its own protection And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, That thou commend it strangely to some place Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. ANTIGONUS: I swear to do this, though a present death Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe: Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say Casting their savageness aside have done Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous In more than this deed does require! And blessing Against this cruelty fight on thy side, Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! LEONTES: No, I'll not rear Another's issue. Servant: Please your highness, posts From those you sent to the oracle are come An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed, Hasting to the court. First Lord: So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. LEONTES: Twenty-three days They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells The great Apollo suddenly will have The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; Summon a session, that we may arraign Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath Been publicly accused, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me, And think upon my bidding. CLEOMENES: The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing The common praise it bears. DION: I shall report, For most it caught me, the celestial habits, Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly It was i' the offering! CLEOMENES: But of all, the burst And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense. That I was nothing. DION: If the event o' the journey Prove as successful to the queen,--O be't so!-- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. CLEOMENES: Great Apollo Turn all to the best! These proclamations, So forcing faults upon Hermione, I little like. DION: The violent carriage of it Will clear or end the business: when the oracle, Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up, Shall the contents discover, something rare Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses! And gracious be the issue! LEONTES: This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce, Even pushes 'gainst our heart: the party tried The daughter of a king, our wife, and one Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear'd Of being tyrannous, since we so openly Proceed in justice, which shall have due course, Even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. Officer: It is his highness' pleasure that the queen Appear in person here in court. Silence! LEONTES: Read the indictment. Officer: HERMIONE: Since what I am to say must be but that Which contradicts my accusation and The testimony on my part no other But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me To say 'not guilty:' mine integrity Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, Be so received. But thus: if powers divine Behold our human actions, as they do, I doubt not then but innocence shall make False accusation blush and tyranny Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know, Who least will seem to do so, my past life Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, As I am now unhappy; which is more Than history can pattern, though devised And play'd to take spectators. For behold me A fellow of the royal bed, which owe A moiety of the throne a great king's daughter, The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be so; since he came, With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd to appear thus: if one jot beyond The bound of honour, or in act or will That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin Cry fie upon my grave! LEONTES: I ne'er heard yet That any of these bolder vices wanted Less impudence to gainsay what they did Than to perform it first. HERMIONE: That's true enough; Through 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. LEONTES: You will not own it. HERMIONE: More than mistress of Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, With whom I am accused, I do confess I loved him as in honour he required, With such a kind of love as might become A lady like me, with a love even such, So and no other, as yourself commanded: Which not to have done I think had been in me Both disobedience and ingratitude To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd For me to try how: all I know of it Is that Camillo was an honest man; And why he left your court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. LEONTES: You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in's absence. HERMIONE: Sir, You speak a language that I understand not: My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. LEONTES: Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it. As you were past all shame,-- Those of your fact are so--so past all truth: Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, No father owning it,--which is, indeed, More criminal in thee than it,--so thou Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage Look for no less than death. HERMIONE: Sir, spare your threats: The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me can life be no commodity: The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went. My second joy And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast, The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth, Haled out to murder: myself on every post Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried Here to this place, i' the open air, before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive, That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed. But yet hear this: mistake me not; no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you 'Tis rigor and not law. Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge! First Lord: This your request Is altogether just: therefore bring forth, And in Apollos name, his oracle. HERMIONE: The Emperor of Russia was my father: O that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Officer: You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought The seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then, You have not dared to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in't. CLEOMENES: All this we swear. LEONTES: Break up the seals and read. Officer: Lords: Now blessed be the great Apollo! HERMIONE: Praised! LEONTES: Hast thou read truth? Officer: Ay, my lord; even so As it is here set down. LEONTES: There is no truth at all i' the oracle: The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood. Servant: My lord the king, the king! LEONTES: What is the business? Servant: O sir, I shall be hated to report it! The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the queen's speed, is gone. LEONTES: How! gone! Servant: Is dead. LEONTES: Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. How now there! PAULINA: This news is mortal to the queen: look down And see what death is doing. LEONTES: Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover: I have too much believed mine own suspicion: Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle! I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo, Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy; For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison My friend Polixenes: which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the hazard Of all encertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour: how he glisters Thorough my rust! and how his pity Does my deeds make the blacker! PAULINA: Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too. First Lord: What fit is this, good lady? PAULINA: What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? In leads or oils? what old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine, O, think what they have done And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much, Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king: poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter To be or none or little; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire ere done't: Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts, Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no, Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords, When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen, The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance for't Not dropp'd down yet. First Lord: The higher powers forbid! PAULINA: I say she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor oath Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert. LEONTES: Go on, go on Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved All tongues to talk their bitterest. First Lord: Say no more: Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' the boldness of your speech. PAULINA: I am sorry for't: All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help Should be past grief: do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punish'd, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman: The love I bore your queen--lo, fool again!-- I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children; I'll not remember you of my own lord, Who is lost too: take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing. LEONTES: Thou didst speak but well When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen and son: One grave shall be for both: upon them shall The causes of their death appear, unto Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there Shall be my recreation: so long as nature Will bear up with this exercise, so long I daily vow to use it. Come and lead me Unto these sorrows. ANTIGONUS: Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon The deserts of Bohemia? Mariner: Ay, my lord: and fear We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown upon 's. ANTIGONUS: Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before I call upon thee. Mariner: Make your best haste, and go not Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon't. ANTIGONUS: Go thou away: I'll follow instantly. Mariner: I am glad at heart To be so rid o' the business. ANTIGONUS: Come, poor babe: I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o' the dead May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me, And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon Did this break-from her: 'Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost for ever, Perdita, I prithee, call't. For this ungentle business Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more.' And so, with shrieks She melted into air. Affrighted much, I did in time collect myself and thought This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys: Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously, I will be squared by this. I do believe Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that Apollo would, this being indeed the issue Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid, Either for life or death, upon the earth Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie, and there thy character: there these; Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins; poor wretch, That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! The day frowns more and more: thou'rt like to have A lullaby too rough: I never saw The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard! This is the chase: I am gone for ever. Shepherd: I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting--Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very pretty barne! A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: sure, some 'scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa! Clown: Hilloa, loa! Shepherd: What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailest thou, man? Clown: I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point. Shepherd: Why, boy, how is it? Clown: I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. Shepherd: Name of mercy, when was this, boy? Clown: Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at it now. Shepherd: Would I had been by, to have helped the old man! Clown: I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing. Shepherd: Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see: it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open't. What's within, boy? Clown: You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! Shepherd: This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with't, keep it close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next way home. Clown: Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury it. Shepherd: That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the sight of him. Clown: Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground. Shepherd: 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't. Time: I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap, since it is in my power To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass The same I am, ere ancient'st order was Or what is now received: I witness to The times that brought them in; so shall I do To the freshest things now reigning and make stale The glistering of this present, as my tale Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, I turn my glass and give my scene such growing As you had slept between: Leontes leaving, The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving That he shuts up himself, imagine me, Gentle spectators, that I now may be In fair Bohemia, and remember well, I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel I now name to you; and with speed so pace To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace Equal with wondering: what of her ensues I list not prophecy; but let Time's news Be known when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter, And what to her adheres, which follows after, Is the argument of Time. Of this allow, If ever you have spent time worse ere now; If never, yet that Time himself doth say He wishes earnestly you never may. POLIXENES: I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to grant this. CAMILLO: It is fifteen years since I saw my country: though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure. POLIXENES: As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of thee thine own goodness hath made; better not to have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered, as too much I cannot, to be more thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit therein the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, prithee speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou callest him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. CAMILLO: Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I have missingly noted, he is of late much retired from court and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. POLIXENES: I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removedness; from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate. CAMILLO: I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. POLIXENES: That's likewise part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Prithee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia. CAMILLO: I willingly obey your command. POLIXENES: My best Camillo! We must disguise ourselves. AUTOLYCUS: When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lyra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. I have served Prince Florizel and in my time wore three-pile; but now I am out of service: But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may, give, And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus; who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway: beating and hanging are terrors to me: for the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize! a prize! Clown: Let me see: every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn. what comes the wool to? AUTOLYCUS: Clown: I cannot do't without counters. Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice,--what will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for the shearers, three-man-song-men all, and very good ones; but they are most of them means and bases; but one puritan amongst them, and he sings psalms to horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden pies; mace; dates?--none, that's out of my note; nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun. AUTOLYCUS: O that ever I was born! Clown: I' the name of me-- AUTOLYCUS: O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags; and then, death, death! Clown: Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off. AUTOLYCUS: O sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me more than the stripes I have received, which are mighty ones and millions. Clown: Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter. AUTOLYCUS: I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me. Clown: What, by a horseman, or a footman? AUTOLYCUS: A footman, sweet sir, a footman. Clown: Indeed, he should be a footman by the garments he has left with thee: if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand. AUTOLYCUS: O, good sir, tenderly, O! Clown: Alas, poor soul! AUTOLYCUS: O, good sir, softly, good sir! I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade is out. Clown: How now! canst stand? AUTOLYCUS: Clown: Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee. AUTOLYCUS: No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or any thing I want: offer me no money, I pray you; that kills my heart. Clown: What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? AUTOLYCUS: A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames; I knew him once a servant of the prince: I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of the court. Clown: His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the court: they cherish it to make it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide. AUTOLYCUS: Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus. Clown: Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs and bear-baitings. AUTOLYCUS: Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into this apparel. Clown: Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia: if you had but looked big and spit at him, he'ld have run. AUTOLYCUS: I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him. Clown: How do you now? AUTOLYCUS: Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's. Clown: Shall I bring thee on the way? AUTOLYCUS: No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir. Clown: Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing. AUTOLYCUS: Prosper you, sweet sir! Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I make not this cheat bring out another and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name put in the book of virtue! Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a: A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a. FLORIZEL: These your unusual weeds to each part of you Do give a life: no shepherdess, but Flora Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing Is as a meeting of the petty gods, And you the queen on't. PERDITA: Sir, my gracious lord, To chide at your extremes it not becomes me: O, pardon, that I name them! Your high self, The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscured With a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts In every mess have folly and the feeders Digest it with a custom, I should blush To see you so attired, sworn, I think, To show myself a glass. FLORIZEL: I bless the time When my good falcon made her flight across Thy father's ground. PERDITA: Now Jove afford you cause! To me the difference forges dread; your greatness Hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble To think your father, by some accident, Should pass this way as you did: O, the Fates! How would he look, to see his work so noble Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold The sternness of his presence? FLORIZEL: Apprehend Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, Humbling their deities to love, have taken The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune A ram, and bleated; and the fire-robed god, Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, As I seem now. Their transformations Were never for a piece of beauty rarer, Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts Burn hotter than my faith. PERDITA: O, but, sir, Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis Opposed, as it must be, by the power of the king: One of these two must be necessities, Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose, Or I my life. FLORIZEL: Thou dearest Perdita, With these forced thoughts, I prithee, darken not The mirth o' the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, Or not my father's. For I cannot be Mine own, nor any thing to any, if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle; Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing That you behold the while. Your guests are coming: Lift up your countenance, as it were the day Of celebration of that nuptial which We two have sworn shall come. PERDITA: O lady Fortune, Stand you auspicious! FLORIZEL: See, your guests approach: Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, And let's be red with mirth. Shepherd: Fie, daughter! when my old wife lived, upon This day she was both pantler, butler, cook, Both dame and servant; welcomed all, served all; Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here, At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle; On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire With labour and the thing she took to quench it, She would to each one sip. You are retired, As if you were a feasted one and not The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid These unknown friends to's welcome; for it is A way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes and present yourself That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on, And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, As your good flock shall prosper. PERDITA: POLIXENES: Shepherdess, A fair one are you--well you fit our ages With flowers of winter. PERDITA: Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' the season Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not To get slips of them. POLIXENES: Wherefore, gentle maiden, Do you neglect them? PERDITA: For I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature. POLIXENES: Say there be; Yet nature is made better by no mean But nature makes that mean: so, over that art Which you say adds to nature, is an art That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry A gentler scion to the wildest stock, And make conceive a bark of baser kind By bud of nobler race: this is an art Which does mend nature, change it rather, but The art itself is nature. PERDITA: So it is. POLIXENES: Then make your garden rich in gillyvors, And do not call them bastards. PERDITA: I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. You're very welcome. CAMILLO: I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. PERDITA: Out, alas! You'd be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bight Phoebus in his strength--a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend, To strew him o'er and o'er! FLORIZEL: What, like a corse? PERDITA: No, like a bank for love to lie and play on; Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried, But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers: Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine Does change my disposition. FLORIZEL: What you do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet. I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing, I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms, Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function: each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deed, That all your acts are queens. PERDITA: O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, And the true blood which peepeth fairly through't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, You woo'd me the false way. FLORIZEL: I think you have As little skill to fear as I have purpose To put you to't. But come; our dance, I pray: Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, That never mean to part. PERDITA: I'll swear for 'em. POLIXENES: This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems But smacks of something greater than herself, Too noble for this place. CAMILLO: He tells her something That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is The queen of curds and cream. Clown: Come on, strike up! DORCAS: Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlic, To mend her kissing with! MOPSA: Now, in good time! Clown: Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up! POLIXENES: Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this Which dances with your daughter? Shepherd: They call him Doricles; and boasts himself To have a worthy feeding: but I have it Upon his own report and I believe it; He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter: I think so too; for never gazed the moon Upon the water as he'll stand and read As 'twere my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain. I think there is not half a kiss to choose Who loves another best. POLIXENES: She dances featly. Shepherd: So she does any thing; though I report it, That should be silent: if young Doricles Do light upon her, she shall bring him that Which he not dreams of. Servant: O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you would never dance again after a tabour and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he utters them as he had eaten ballads and all men's ears grew to his tunes. Clown: He could never come better; he shall come in. I love a ballad but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably. Servant: He hath songs for man or woman, of all sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate burthens of dildos and fadings, 'jump her and thump her;' and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, as it were, mean mischief and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man;' puts him off, slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.' POLIXENES: This is a brave fellow. Clown: Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? Servant: He hath ribbons of an the colours i' the rainbow; points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though they come to him by the gross: inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns: why, he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses; you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't. Clown: Prithee bring him in; and let him approach singing. PERDITA: Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in 's tunes. Clown: You have of these pedlars, that have more in them than you'ld think, sister. PERDITA: Ay, good brother, or go about to think. AUTOLYCUS: Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears: Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy. Clown: If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribbons and gloves. MOPSA: I was promised them against the feast; but they come not too late now. DORCAS: He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars. MOPSA: He hath paid you all he promised you; may be, he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again. Clown: Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispering: clamour your tongues, and not a word more. MOPSA: I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry-lace and a pair of sweet gloves. Clown: Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my money? AUTOLYCUS: And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary. Clown: Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here. AUTOLYCUS: I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge. Clown: What hast here? ballads? MOPSA: Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true. AUTOLYCUS: Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burthen and how she longed to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed. MOPSA: Is it true, think you? AUTOLYCUS: Very true, and but a month old. DORCAS: Bless me from marrying a usurer! AUTOLYCUS: Here's the midwife's name to't, one Mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? MOPSA: Pray you now, buy it. Clown: Come on, lay it by: and let's first see moe ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. AUTOLYCUS: Here's another ballad of a fish, that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the four-score of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought she was a woman and was turned into a cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved her: the ballad is very pitiful and as true. DORCAS: Is it true too, think you? AUTOLYCUS: Five justices' hands at it, and witnesses more than my pack will hold. Clown: Lay it by too: another. AUTOLYCUS: This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. MOPSA: Let's have some merry ones. AUTOLYCUS: Why, this is a passing merry one and goes to the tune of 'Two maids wooing a man:' there's scarce a maid westward but she sings it; 'tis in request, I can tell you. MOPSA: We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts. DORCAS: We had the tune on't a month ago. AUTOLYCUS: I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation; have at it with you. AUTOLYCUS: Get you hence, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. DORCAS: Whither? MOPSA: O, whither? DORCAS: Whither? MOPSA: It becomes thy oath full well, Thou to me thy secrets tell. DORCAS: Me too, let me go thither. MOPSA: Or thou goest to the orange or mill. DORCAS: If to either, thou dost ill. AUTOLYCUS: Neither. DORCAS: What, neither? AUTOLYCUS: Neither. DORCAS: Thou hast sworn my love to be. MOPSA: Thou hast sworn it more to me: Then whither goest? say, whither? Clown: We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: my father and the gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. AUTOLYCUS: And you shall pay well for 'em. Will you buy any tape, Or lace for your cape, My dainty duck, my dear-a? Any silk, any thread, Any toys for your head, Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a? Come to the pedlar; Money's a medler. That doth utter all men's ware-a. Servant: Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all men of hair, they call themselves Saltiers, and they have a dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the mind, if it be not too rough for some that know little but bowling, it will please plentifully. Shepherd: Away! we'll none on 't: here has been too much homely foolery already. I know, sir, we weary you. POLIXENES: You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four threes of herdsmen. Servant: One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half by the squier. Shepherd: Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly now. Servant: Why, they stay at door, sir. POLIXENES: O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. Is it not too far gone? 'Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. How now, fair shepherd! Your heart is full of something that does take Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young And handed love as you do, I was wont To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it To her acceptance; you have let him go And nothing marted with him. If your lass Interpretation should abuse and call this Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited For a reply, at least if you make a care Of happy holding her. FLORIZEL: Old sir, I know She prizes not such trifles as these are: The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd Up in my heart; which I have given already, But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, Hath sometime loved! I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as dove's down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted By the northern blasts twice o'er. POLIXENES: What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash The hand was fair before! I have put you out: But to your protestation; let me hear What you profess. FLORIZEL: Do, and be witness to 't. POLIXENES: And this my neighbour too? FLORIZEL: And he, and more Than he, and men, the earth, the heavens, and all: That, were I crown'd the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made eye swerve, had force and knowledge More than was ever man's, I would not prize them Without her love; for her employ them all; Commend them and condemn them to her service Or to their own perdition. POLIXENES: Fairly offer'd. CAMILLO: This shows a sound affection. Shepherd: But, my daughter, Say you the like to him? PERDITA: I cannot speak So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better: By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out The purity of his. Shepherd: Take hands, a bargain! And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to 't: I give my daughter to him, and will make Her portion equal his. FLORIZEL: O, that must be I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet; Enough then for your wonder. But, come on, Contract us 'fore these witnesses. Shepherd: Come, your hand; And, daughter, yours. POLIXENES: Soft, swain, awhile, beseech you; Have you a father? FLORIZEL: I have: but what of him? POLIXENES: Knows he of this? FLORIZEL: He neither does nor shall. POLIXENES: Methinks a father Is at the nuptial of his son a guest That best becomes the table. Pray you once more, Is not your father grown incapable Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid With age and altering rheums? can he speak? hear? Know man from man? dispute his own estate? Lies he not bed-rid? and again does nothing But what he did being childish? FLORIZEL: No, good sir; He has his health and ampler strength indeed Than most have of his age. POLIXENES: By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong Something unfilial: reason my son Should choose himself a wife, but as good reason The father, all whose joy is nothing else But fair posterity, should hold some counsel In such a business. FLORIZEL: I yield all this; But for some other reasons, my grave sir, Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint My father of this business. POLIXENES: Let him know't. FLORIZEL: He shall not. POLIXENES: Prithee, let him. FLORIZEL: No, he must not. Shepherd: Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve At knowing of thy choice. FLORIZEL: Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. POLIXENES: Mark your divorce, young sir, Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre's heir, That thus affect'st a sheep-hook! Thou old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know The royal fool thou copest with,-- Shepherd: O, my heart! POLIXENES: I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, If I may ever know thou dost but sigh That thou no more shalt see this knack, as never I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession; Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, Far than Deucalion off: mark thou my words: Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment.-- Worthy enough a herdsman: yea, him too, That makes himself, but for our honour therein, Unworthy thee,--if ever henceforth thou These rural latches to his entrance open, Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to't. PERDITA: Even here undone! I was not much afeard; for once or twice I was about to speak and tell him plainly, The selfsame sun that shines upon his court Hides not his visage from our cottage but Looks on alike. Will't please you, sir, be gone? I told you what would come of this: beseech you, Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,-- Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my ewes and weep. CAMILLO: Why, how now, father! Speak ere thou diest. Shepherd: I cannot speak, nor think Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir! You have undone a man of fourscore three, That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea, To die upon the bed my father died, To lie close by his honest bones: but now Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch, That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure To mingle faith with him! Undone! undone! If I might die within this hour, I have lived To die when I desire. FLORIZEL: Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, But nothing alter'd: what I was, I am; More straining on for plucking back, not following My leash unwillingly. CAMILLO: Gracious my lord, You know your father's temper: at this time He will allow no speech, which I do guess You do not purpose to him; and as hardly Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear: Then, till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. FLORIZEL: I not purpose it. I think, Camillo? CAMILLO: Even he, my lord. PERDITA: How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last But till 'twere known! FLORIZEL: It cannot fail but by The violation of my faith; and then Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks: From my succession wipe me, father; I Am heir to my affection. CAMILLO: Be advised. FLORIZEL: I am, and by my fancy: if my reason Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; If not, my senses, better pleased with madness, Do bid it welcome. CAMILLO: This is desperate, sir. FLORIZEL: So call it: but it does fulfil my vow; I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or The close earth wombs or the profound sea hides In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath To this my fair beloved: therefore, I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend, When he shall miss me,--as, in faith, I mean not To see him any more,--cast your good counsels Upon his passion; let myself and fortune Tug for the time to come. This you may know And so deliver, I am put to sea With her whom here I cannot hold on shore; And most opportune to our need I have A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared For this design. What course I mean to hold Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor Concern me the reporting. CAMILLO: O my lord! I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need. FLORIZEL: Hark, Perdita I'll hear you by and by. CAMILLO: He's irremoveable, Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if His going I could frame to serve my turn, Save him from danger, do him love and honour, Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia And that unhappy king, my master, whom I so much thirst to see. FLORIZEL: Now, good Camillo; I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. CAMILLO: Sir, I think You have heard of my poor services, i' the love That I have borne your father? FLORIZEL: Very nobly Have you deserved: it is my father's music To speak your deeds, not little of his care To have them recompensed as thought on. CAMILLO: Well, my lord, If you may please to think I love the king And through him what is nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction: If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by-- As heavens forefend!--your ruin; marry her, And, with my best endeavours in your absence, Your discontenting father strive to qualify And bring him up to liking. FLORIZEL: How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man And after that trust to thee. CAMILLO: Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go? FLORIZEL: Not any yet: But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do, so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance and flies Of every wind that blows. CAMILLO: Then list to me: This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight, make for Sicilia, And there present yourself and your fair princess, For so I see she must be, 'fore Leontes: She shall be habited as it becomes The partner of your bed. Methinks I see Leontes opening his free arms and weeping His welcomes forth; asks thee the son forgiveness, As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one He chides to hell and bids the other grow Faster than thought or time. FLORIZEL: Worthy Camillo, What colour for my visitation shall I Hold up before him? CAMILLO: Sent by the king your father To greet him and to give him comforts. Sir, The manner of your bearing towards him, with What you as from your father shall deliver, Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down: The which shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say; that he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. FLORIZEL: I am bound to you: There is some sap in this. CAMILLO: A cause more promising Than a wild dedication of yourselves To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores, most certain To miseries enough; no hope to help you, But as you shake off one to take another; Nothing so certain as your anchors, who Do their best office, if they can but stay you Where you'll be loath to be: besides you know Prosperity's the very bond of love, Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together Affliction alters. PERDITA: One of these is true: I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. CAMILLO: Yea, say you so? There shall not at your father's house these seven years Be born another such. FLORIZEL: My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding as She is i' the rear our birth. CAMILLO: I cannot say 'tis pity She lacks instructions, for she seems a mistress To most that teach. PERDITA: Your pardon, sir; for this I'll blush you thanks. FLORIZEL: My prettiest Perdita! But O, the thorns we stand upon! Camillo, Preserver of my father, now of me, The medicine of our house, how shall we do? We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son, Nor shall appear in Sicilia. CAMILLO: My lord, Fear none of this: I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there: it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want, one word. AUTOLYCUS: Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting: they throng who should buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallowed and brought a benediction to the buyer: by which means I saw whose purse was best in picture; and what I saw, to my good use I remembered. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, grew so in love with the wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes till he had both tune and words; which so drew the rest of the herd to me that all their other senses stuck in ears: you might have pinched a placket, it was senseless; 'twas nothing to geld a codpiece of a purse; I could have filed keys off that hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses; and had not the old man come in with a whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the whole army. CAMILLO: Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. FLORIZEL: And those that you'll procure from King Leontes-- CAMILLO: Shall satisfy your father. PERDITA: Happy be you! All that you speak shows fair. CAMILLO: Who have we here? We'll make an instrument of this, omit Nothing may give us aid. AUTOLYCUS: If they have overheard me now, why, hanging. CAMILLO: How now, good fellow! why shakest thou so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee. AUTOLYCUS: I am a poor fellow, sir. CAMILLO: Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from thee: yet for the outside of thy poverty we must make an exchange; therefore discase thee instantly, --thou must think there's a necessity in't,--and change garments with this gentleman: though the pennyworth on his side be the worst, yet hold thee, there's some boot. AUTOLYCUS: I am a poor fellow, sir. I know ye well enough. CAMILLO: Nay, prithee, dispatch: the gentleman is half flayed already. AUTOLYCUS: Are you in earnest, sir? I smell the trick on't. FLORIZEL: Dispatch, I prithee. AUTOLYCUS: Indeed, I have had earnest: but I cannot with conscience take it. CAMILLO: Unbuckle, unbuckle. Fortunate mistress,--let my prophecy Come home to ye!--you must retire yourself Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat And pluck it o'er your brows, muffle your face, Dismantle you, and, as you can, disliken The truth of your own seeming; that you may-- For I do fear eyes over--to shipboard Get undescried. PERDITA: I see the play so lies That I must bear a part. CAMILLO: No remedy. Have you done there? FLORIZEL: Should I now meet my father, He would not call me son. CAMILLO: Nay, you shall have no hat. Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. AUTOLYCUS: Adieu, sir. FLORIZEL: O Perdita, what have we twain forgot! Pray you, a word. CAMILLO: FLORIZEL: Fortune speed us! Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side. CAMILLO: The swifter speed the better. AUTOLYCUS: I understand the business, I hear it: to have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot! What a boot is here with this exchange! Sure the gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, stealing away from his father with his clog at his heels: if I thought it were a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would not do't: I hold it the more knavery to conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession. Aside, aside; here is more matter for a hot brain: every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging, yields a careful man work. Clown: See, see; what a man you are now! There is no other way but to tell the king she's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. Shepherd: Nay, but hear me. Clown: Nay, but hear me. Shepherd: Go to, then. Clown: She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the king; and so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her, those secret things, all but what she has with her: this being done, let the law go whistle: I warrant you. Shepherd: I will tell the king all, every word, yea, and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to make me the king's brother-in-law. Clown: Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you could have been to him and then your blood had been the dearer by I know how much an ounce. AUTOLYCUS: Shepherd: Well, let us to the king: there is that in this fardel will make him scratch his beard. AUTOLYCUS: Clown: Pray heartily he be at palace. AUTOLYCUS: Shepherd: To the palace, an it like your worship. AUTOLYCUS: Your affairs there, what, with whom, the condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. Clown: We are but plain fellows, sir. AUTOLYCUS: A lie; you are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying: it becomes none but tradesmen, and they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore they do not give us the lie. Clown: Your worship had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner. Shepherd: Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS: Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Seest thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the court? receives not thy nose court-odor from me? reflect I not on thy baseness court-contempt? Thinkest thou, for that I insinuate, or toaze from thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier cap-a-pe; and one that will either push on or pluck back thy business there: whereupon I command thee to open thy affair. Shepherd: My business, sir, is to the king. AUTOLYCUS: What advocate hast thou to him? Shepherd: I know not, an't like you. Clown: Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant: say you have none. Shepherd: None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen. AUTOLYCUS: How blessed are we that are not simple men! Yet nature might have made me as these are, Therefore I will not disdain. Clown: This cannot be but a great courtier. Shepherd: His garments are rich, but he wears them not handsomely. Clown: He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical: a great man, I'll warrant; I know by the picking on's teeth. AUTOLYCUS: The fardel there? what's i' the fardel? Wherefore that box? Shepherd: Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box, which none must know but the king; and which he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him. AUTOLYCUS: Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Shepherd: Why, sir? AUTOLYCUS: The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a new ship to purge melancholy and air himself: for, if thou beest capable of things serious, thou must know the king is full of grief. Shepard: So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have married a shepherd's daughter. AUTOLYCUS: If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly: the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. Clown: Think you so, sir? AUTOLYCUS: Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman: which though it be great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into grace! Some say he shall be stoned; but that death is too soft for him, say I draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the sharpest too easy. Clown: Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear. an't like you, sir? AUTOLYCUS: He has a son, who shall be flayed alive; then 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's nest; then stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recovered again with aqua-vitae or some other hot infusion; then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall be be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking with a southward eye upon him, where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, what you have to the king: being something gently considered, I'll bring you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and if it be in man besides the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it. Clown: He seems to be of great authority: close with him, give him gold; and though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and no more ado. Remember 'stoned,' and 'flayed alive.' Shepherd: An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it as much more and leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you. AUTOLYCUS: After I have done what I promised? Shepherd: Ay, sir. AUTOLYCUS: Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? Clown: In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. AUTOLYCUS: O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: hang him, he'll be made an example. Clown: Comfort, good comfort! We must to the king and show our strange sights: he must know 'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does when the business is performed, and remain, as he says, your pawn till it be brought you. AUTOLYCUS: I will trust you. Walk before toward the sea-side; go on the right hand: I will but look upon the hedge and follow you. Clown: We are blest in this man, as I may say, even blest. Shepherd: Let's before as he bids us: he was provided to do us good. AUTOLYCUS: If I had a mind to be honest, I see Fortune would not suffer me: she drops booties in my mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion, gold and a means to do the prince my master good; which who knows how that may turn back to my advancement? I will bring these two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to shore them again and that the complaint they have to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far officious; for I am proof against that title and what shame else belongs to't. To him will I present them: there may be matter in it. CLEOMENES: Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down More penitence than done trespass: at the last, Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; With them forgive yourself. LEONTES: Whilst I remember Her and her virtues, I cannot forget My blemishes in them, and so still think of The wrong I did myself; which was so much, That heirless it hath made my kingdom and Destroy'd the sweet'st companion that e'er man Bred his hopes out of. PAULINA: True, too true, my lord: If, one by one, you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good, To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd Would be unparallel'd. LEONTES: I think so. Kill'd! She I kill'd! I did so: but thou strikest me Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter Upon thy tongue as in my thought: now, good now, Say so but seldom. CLEOMENES: Not at all, good lady: You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit and graced Your kindness better. PAULINA: You are one of those Would have him wed again. DION: If you would not so, You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Of his most sovereign name; consider little What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, May drop upon his kingdom and devour Incertain lookers on. What were more holy Than to rejoice the former queen is well? What holier than, for royalty's repair, For present comfort and for future good, To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to't? PAULINA: There is none worthy, Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes; For has not the divine Apollo said, Is't not the tenor of his oracle, That King Leontes shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? which that it shall, Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my Antigonus to break his grave And come again to me; who, on my life, Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel My lord should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. Care not for issue; The crown will find an heir: great Alexander Left his to the worthiest; so his successor Was like to be the best. LEONTES: Good Paulina, Who hast the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, O, that ever I Had squared me to thy counsel! then, even now, I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes, Have taken treasure from her lips-- PAULINA: And left them More rich for what they yielded. LEONTES: Thou speak'st truth. No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse, And better used, would make her sainted spirit Again possess her corpse, and on this stage, Where we're offenders now, appear soul-vex'd, And begin, 'Why to me?' PAULINA: Had she such power, She had just cause. LEONTES: She had; and would incense me To murder her I married. PAULINA: I should so. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'ld bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in't You chose her; then I'ld shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd Should be 'Remember mine.' LEONTES: Stars, stars, And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife; I'll have no wife, Paulina. PAULINA: Will you swear Never to marry but by my free leave? LEONTES: Never, Paulina; so be blest my spirit! PAULINA: Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath. CLEOMENES: You tempt him over-much. PAULINA: Unless another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. CLEOMENES: Good madam,-- PAULINA: I have done. Yet, if my lord will marry,--if you will, sir, No remedy, but you will,--give me the office To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young As was your former; but she shall be such As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy To see her in your arms. LEONTES: My true Paulina, We shall not marry till thou bid'st us. PAULINA: That Shall be when your first queen's again in breath; Never till then. Gentleman: One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his princess, she The fairest I have yet beheld, desires access To your high presence. LEONTES: What with him? he comes not Like to his father's greatness: his approach, So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us 'Tis not a visitation framed, but forced By need and accident. What train? Gentleman: But few, And those but mean. LEONTES: His princess, say you, with him? Gentleman: Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the sun shone bright on. PAULINA: O Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself Above a better gone, so must thy grave Give way to what's seen now! Sir, you yourself Have said and writ so, but your writing now Is colder than that theme, 'She had not been, Nor was not to be equall'd;'--thus your verse Flow'd with her beauty once: 'tis shrewdly ebb'd, To say you have seen a better. Gentleman: Pardon, madam: The one I have almost forgot,--your pardon,-- The other, when she has obtain'd your eye, Will have your tongue too. This is a creature, Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal Of all professors else, make proselytes Of who she but bid follow. PAULINA: How! not women? Gentleman: Women will love her, that she is a woman More worth than any man; men, that she is The rarest of all women. LEONTES: Go, Cleomenes; Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends, Bring them to our embracement. Still, 'tis strange He thus should steal upon us. PAULINA: Had our prince, Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this lord: there was not full a month Between their births. LEONTES: Prithee, no more; cease; thou know'st He dies to me again when talk'd of: sure, When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches Will bring me to consider that which may Unfurnish me of reason. They are come. Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince; For she did print your royal father off, Conceiving you: were I but twenty-one, Your father's image is so hit in you, His very air, that I should call you brother, As I did him, and speak of something wildly By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome! And your fair princess,--goddess!--O, alas! I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth Might thus have stood begetting wonder as You, gracious couple, do: and then I lost-- All mine own folly--the society, Amity too, of your brave father, whom, Though bearing misery, I desire my life Once more to look on him. FLORIZEL: By his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia and from him Give you all greetings that a king, at friend, Can send his brother: and, but infirmity Which waits upon worn times hath something seized His wish'd ability, he had himself The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Measured to look upon you; whom he loves-- He bade me say so--more than all the sceptres And those that bear them living. LEONTES: O my brother, Good gentleman! the wrongs I have done thee stir Afresh within me, and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand slackness. Welcome hither, As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too Exposed this paragon to the fearful usage, At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less The adventure of her person? FLORIZEL: Good my lord, She came from Libya. LEONTES: Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and loved? FLORIZEL: Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her: thence, A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd, To execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your highness: my best train I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd; Who for Bohemia bend, to signify Not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. LEONTES: The blessed gods Purge all infection from our air whilst you Do climate here! You have a holy father, A graceful gentleman; against whose person, So sacred as it is, I have done sin: For which the heavens, taking angry note, Have left me issueless; and your father's blest, As he from heaven merits it, with you Worthy his goodness. What might I have been, Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on, Such goodly things as you! Lord: Most noble sir, That which I shall report will bear no credit, Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir, Bohemia greets you from himself by me; Desires you to attach his son, who has-- His dignity and duty both cast off-- Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with A shepherd's daughter. LEONTES: Where's Bohemia? speak. Lord: Here in your city; I now came from him: I speak amazedly; and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court Whiles he was hastening, in the chase, it seems, Of this fair couple, meets he on the way The father of this seeming lady and Her brother, having both their country quitted With this young prince. FLORIZEL: Camillo has betray'd me; Whose honour and whose honesty till now Endured all weathers. Lord: Lay't so to his charge: He's with the king your father. LEONTES: Who? Camillo? Lord: Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth; Forswear themselves as often as they speak: Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them With divers deaths in death. PERDITA: O my poor father! The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have Our contract celebrated. LEONTES: You are married? FLORIZEL: We are not, sir, nor are we like to be; The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first: The odds for high and low's alike. LEONTES: My lord, Is this the daughter of a king? FLORIZEL: She is, When once she is my wife. LEONTES: That 'once' I see by your good father's speed Will come on very slowly. I am sorry, Most sorry, you have broken from his liking Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, That you might well enjoy her. FLORIZEL: Dear, look up: Though Fortune, visible an enemy, Should chase us with my father, power no jot Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir, Remember since you owed no more to time Than I do now: with thought of such affections, Step forth mine advocate; at your request My father will grant precious things as trifles. LEONTES: Would he do so, I'ld beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. PAULINA: Sir, my liege, Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month 'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. LEONTES: I thought of her, Even in these looks I made. But your petition Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father: Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, I am friend to them and you: upon which errand I now go toward him; therefore follow me And mark what way I make: come, good my lord. AUTOLYCUS: Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation? First Gentleman: I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the child. AUTOLYCUS: I would most gladly know the issue of it. First Gentleman: I make a broken delivery of the business; but the changes I perceived in the king and Camillo were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: a notable passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be. Here comes a gentleman that haply knows more. The news, Rogero? Second Gentleman: Nothing but bonfires: the oracle is fulfilled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour that ballad-makers cannot be able to express it. Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward: he can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? this news which is called true is so like an old tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion: has the king found his heir? Third Gentleman: Most true, if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance: that which you hear you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's, her jewel about the neck of it, the letters of Antigonus found with it which they know to be his character, the majesty of the creature in resemblance of the mother, the affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding, and many other evidences proclaim her with all certainty to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? Second Gentleman: No. Third Gentleman: Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so and in such manner that it seemed sorrow wept to take leave of them, for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenances of such distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy mother, thy mother!' then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter with clipping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and undoes description to do it. Second Gentleman: What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child? Third Gentleman: Like an old tale still, which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his innocence, which seems much, to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his that Paulina knows. First Gentleman: What became of his bark and his followers? Third Gentleman: Wrecked the same instant of their master's death and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found. But O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart that she might no more be in danger of losing. First Gentleman: The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. Third Gentleman: One of the prettiest touches of all and that which angled for mine eyes, caught the water though not the fish, was when, at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to't bravely confessed and lamented by the king, how attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an 'Alas,' I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen 't, the woe had been universal. First Gentleman: Are they returned to the court? Third Gentleman: No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,--a piece many years in doing and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer: thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup. Second Gentleman: I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither and with our company piece the rejoicing? First Gentleman: Who would be thence that has the benefit of access? every wink of an eye some new grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. AUTOLYCUS: Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince: told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I know not what: but he at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter, so he then took her to be, who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder out of this secret, it would not have relished among my other discredits. Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. Shepherd: Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. Clown: You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? say you see them not and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say these robes are not gentlemen born: give me the lie, do, and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. AUTOLYCUS: I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. Clown: Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Shepherd: And so have I, boy. Clown: So you have: but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the king's son took me by the hand, and called me brother; and then the two kings called my father brother; and then the prince my brother and the princess my sister called my father father; and so we wept, and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. Shepherd: We may live, son, to shed many more. Clown: Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. AUTOLYCUS: I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship and to give me your good report to the prince my master. Shepherd: Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. Clown: Thou wilt amend thy life? AUTOLYCUS: Ay, an it like your good worship. Clown: Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. Shepherd: You may say it, but not swear it. Clown: Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. Shepherd: How if it be false, son? Clown: If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend: and I'll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I'll swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. AUTOLYCUS: I will prove so, sir, to my power. Clown: Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy good masters. LEONTES: O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort That I have had of thee! PAULINA: What, sovereign sir, I did not well I meant well. All my services You have paid home: but that you have vouchsafed, With your crown'd brother and these your contracted Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. LEONTES: O Paulina, We honour you with trouble: but we came To see the statue of our queen: your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities; but we saw not That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. PAULINA: As she lived peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well. I like your silence, it the more shows off Your wonder: but yet speak; first, you, my liege, Comes it not something near? LEONTES: Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding, for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing So aged as this seems. POLIXENES: O, not by much. PAULINA: So much the more our carver's excellence; Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her As she lived now. LEONTES: As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty, warm life, As now it coldly stands, when first I woo'd her! I am ashamed: does not the stone rebuke me For being more stone than it? O royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty, which has My evils conjured to remembrance and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee. PERDITA: And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition, that I kneel and then implore her blessing. Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. PAULINA: O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. CAMILLO: My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry; scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow But kill'd itself much sooner. POLIXENES: Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have power To take off so much grief from you as he Will piece up in himself. PAULINA: Indeed, my lord, If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine-- I'ld not have show'd it. LEONTES: Do not draw the curtain. PAULINA: No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. LEONTES: Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already-- What was he that did make it? See, my lord, Would you not deem it breathed? and that those veins Did verily bear blood? POLIXENES: Masterly done: The very life seems warm upon her lip. LEONTES: The fixture of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. PAULINA: I'll draw the curtain: My lord's almost so far transported that He'll think anon it lives. LEONTES: O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone. PAULINA: I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but I could afflict you farther. LEONTES: Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. PAULINA: Good my lord, forbear: The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? LEONTES: No, not these twenty years. PERDITA: So long could I Stand by, a looker on. PAULINA: Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you For more amazement. If you can behold it, I'll make the statue move indeed, descend And take you by the hand; but then you'll think-- Which I protest against--I am assisted By wicked powers. LEONTES: What you can make her do, I am content to look on: what to speak, I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak as move. PAULINA: It is required You do awake your faith. Then all stand still; On: those that think it is unlawful business I am about, let them depart. LEONTES: Proceed: No foot shall stir. PAULINA: Music, awake her; strike! 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come, I'll fill your grave up: stir, nay, come away, Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs: Start not; her actions shall be holy as You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: When she was young you woo'd her; now in age Is she become the suitor? LEONTES: O, she's warm! If this be magic, let it be an art Lawful as eating. POLIXENES: She embraces him. CAMILLO: She hangs about his neck: If she pertain to life let her speak too. POLIXENES: Ay, and make't manifest where she has lived, Or how stolen from the dead. PAULINA: That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale: but it appears she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel And pray your mother's blessing. Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found. HERMIONE: You gods, look down And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own. Where hast thou been preserved? where lived? how found Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserved Myself to see the issue. PAULINA: There's time enough for that; Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough and there My mate, that's never to be found again, Lament till I am lost. LEONTES: O, peace, Paulina! Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife: this is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd; for I saw her, As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many A prayer upon her grave. I'll not seek far-- For him, I partly know his mind--to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty Is richly noted and here justified By us, a pair of kings. Let's from this place. What! look upon my brother: both your pardons, That e'er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This is your son-in-law, And son unto the king, who, heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely Each one demand an answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever'd: hastily lead away. DUKE VINCENTIO: Escalus. ESCALUS: My lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Of government the properties to unfold, Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse; Since I am put to know that your own science Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice My strength can give you: then no more remains, But that to your sufficiency, as your Worth is able, And let them work. The nature of our people, Our city's institutions, and the terms For common justice, you're as pregnant in As art and practise hath enriched any That we remember. There is our commission, From which we would not have you warp. Call hither, I say, bid come before us Angelo. What figure of us think you he will bear? For you must know, we have with special soul Elected him our absence to supply, Lent him our terror, dress'd him with our love, And given his deputation all the organs Of our own power: what think you of it? ESCALUS: If any in Vienna be of worth To undergo such ample grace and honour, It is Lord Angelo. DUKE VINCENTIO: Look where he comes. ANGELO: Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure. DUKE VINCENTIO: Angelo, There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech To one that can my part in him advertise; Hold therefore, Angelo:-- In our remove be thou at full ourself; Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart: old Escalus, Though first in question, is thy secondary. Take thy commission. ANGELO: Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it. DUKE VINCENTIO: No more evasion: We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours. Our haste from hence is of so quick condition That it prefers itself and leaves unquestion'd Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, As time and our concernings shall importune, How it goes with us, and do look to know What doth befall you here. So, fare you well; To the hopeful execution do I leave you Of your commissions. ANGELO: Yet give leave, my lord, That we may bring you something on the way. DUKE VINCENTIO: My haste may not admit it; Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do With any scruple; your scope is as mine own So to enforce or qualify the laws As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand: I'll privily away. I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes: Through it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and Aves vehement; Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. ANGELO: The heavens give safety to your purposes! ESCALUS: Lead forth and bring you back in happiness! DUKE: I thank you. Fare you well. ESCALUS: I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave To have free speech with you; and it concerns me To look into the bottom of my place: A power I have, but of what strength and nature I am not yet instructed. ANGELO: 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw together, And we may soon our satisfaction have Touching that point. ESCALUS: I'll wait upon your honour. LUCIO: If the duke with the other dukes come not to composition with the King of Hungary, why then all the dukes fall upon the king. First Gentleman: Heaven grant us its peace, but not the King of Hungary's! Second Gentleman: Amen. LUCIO: Thou concludest like the sanctimonious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten Commandments, but scraped one out of the table. Second Gentleman: 'Thou shalt not steal'? LUCIO: Ay, that he razed. First Gentleman: Why, 'twas a commandment to command the captain and all the rest from their functions: they put forth to steal. There's not a soldier of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat, do relish the petition well that prays for peace. Second Gentleman: I never heard any soldier dislike it. LUCIO: I believe thee; for I think thou never wast where grace was said. Second Gentleman: No? a dozen times at least. First Gentleman: What, in metre? LUCIO: In any proportion or in any language. First Gentleman: I think, or in any religion. LUCIO: Ay, why not? Grace is grace, despite of all controversy: as, for example, thou thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. First Gentleman: Well, there went but a pair of shears between us. LUCIO: I grant; as there may between the lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. First Gentleman: And thou the velvet: thou art good velvet; thou'rt a three-piled piece, I warrant thee: I had as lief be a list of an English kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a French velvet. Do I speak feelingly now? LUCIO: I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most painful feeling of thy speech: I will, out of thine own confession, learn to begin thy health; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after thee. First Gentleman: I think I have done myself wrong, have I not? Second Gentleman: Yes, that thou hast, whether thou art tainted or free. LUCIO: Behold, behold. where Madam Mitigation comes! I have purchased as many diseases under her roof as come to-- Second Gentleman: To what, I pray? LUCIO: Judge. Second Gentleman: To three thousand dolours a year. First Gentleman: Ay, and more. LUCIO: A French crown more. First Gentleman: Thou art always figuring diseases in me; but thou art full of error; I am sound. LUCIO: Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but so sound as things that are hollow: thy bones are hollow; impiety has made a feast of thee. First Gentleman: How now! which of your hips has the most profound sciatica? MISTRESS OVERDONE: Well, well; there's one yonder arrested and carried to prison was worth five thousand of you all. Second Gentleman: Who's that, I pray thee? MISTRESS OVERDONE: Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio. First Gentleman: Claudio to prison? 'tis not so. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Nay, but I know 'tis so: I saw him arrested, saw him carried away; and, which is more, within these three days his head to be chopped off. LUCIO: But, after all this fooling, I would not have it so. Art thou sure of this? MISTRESS OVERDONE: I am too sure of it: and it is for getting Madam Julietta with child. LUCIO: Believe me, this may be: he promised to meet me two hours since, and he was ever precise in promise-keeping. Second Gentleman: Besides, you know, it draws something near to the speech we had to such a purpose. First Gentleman: But, most of all, agreeing with the proclamation. LUCIO: Away! let's go learn the truth of it. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Thus, what with the war, what with the sweat, what with the gallows and what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. How now! what's the news with you? POMPEY: Yonder man is carried to prison. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Well; what has he done? POMPEY: A woman. MISTRESS OVERDONE: But what's his offence? POMPEY: Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. MISTRESS OVERDONE: What, is there a maid with child by him? POMPEY: No, but there's a woman with maid by him. You have not heard of the proclamation, have you? MISTRESS OVERDONE: What proclamation, man? POMPEY: All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down. MISTRESS OVERDONE: And what shall become of those in the city? POMPEY: They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. MISTRESS OVERDONE: But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down? POMPEY: To the ground, mistress. MISTRESS OVERDONE: Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth! What shall become of me? POMPEY: Come; fear you not: good counsellors lack no clients: though you change your place, you need not change your trade; I'll be your tapster still. Courage! there will be pity taken on you: you that have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you will be considered. MISTRESS OVERDONE: What's to do here, Thomas tapster? let's withdraw. POMPEY: Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the provost to prison; and there's Madam Juliet. CLAUDIO: Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world? Bear me to prison, where I am committed. Provost: I do it not in evil disposition, But from Lord Angelo by special charge. CLAUDIO: Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offence by weight The words of heaven; on whom it will, it will; On whom it will not, so; yet still 'tis just. LUCIO: Why, how now, Claudio! whence comes this restraint? CLAUDIO: From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty: As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, A thirsty evil; and when we drink we die. LUCIO: If could speak so wisely under an arrest, I would send for certain of my creditors: and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of freedom as the morality of imprisonment. What's thy offence, Claudio? CLAUDIO: What but to speak of would offend again. LUCIO: What, is't murder? CLAUDIO: No. LUCIO: Lechery? CLAUDIO: Call it so. Provost: Away, sir! you must go. CLAUDIO: One word, good friend. Lucio, a word with you. LUCIO: A hundred, if they'll do you any good. Is lechery so look'd after? CLAUDIO: Thus stands it with me: upon a true contract I got possession of Julietta's bed: You know the lady; she is fast my wife, Save that we do the denunciation lack Of outward order: this we came not to, Only for propagation of a dower Remaining in the coffer of her friends, From whom we thought it meet to hide our love Till time had made them for us. But it chances The stealth of our most mutual entertainment With character too gross is writ on Juliet. LUCIO: With child, perhaps? CLAUDIO: Unhappily, even so. And the new deputy now for the duke-- Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness, Or whether that the body public be A horse whereon the governor doth ride, Who, newly in the seat, that it may know He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; Whether the tyranny be in his place, Or in his emmence that fills it up, I stagger in:--but this new governor Awakes me all the enrolled penalties Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round And none of them been worn; and, for a name, Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me: 'tis surely for a name. LUCIO: I warrant it is: and thy head stands so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke and appeal to him. CLAUDIO: I have done so, but he's not to be found. I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service: This day my sister should the cloister enter And there receive her approbation: Acquaint her with the danger of my state: Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends To the strict deputy; bid herself assay him: I have great hope in that; for in her youth There is a prone and speechless dialect, Such as move men; beside, she hath prosperous art When she will play with reason and discourse, And well she can persuade. LUCIO: I pray she may; as well for the encouragement of the like, which else would stand under grievous imposition, as for the enjoying of thy life, who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick-tack. I'll to her. CLAUDIO: I thank you, good friend Lucio. LUCIO: Within two hours. CLAUDIO: Come, officer, away! DUKE VINCENTIO: No, holy father; throw away that thought; Believe not that the dribbling dart of love Can pierce a complete bosom. Why I desire thee To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends Of burning youth. FRIAR THOMAS: May your grace speak of it? DUKE VINCENTIO: My holy sir, none better knows than you How I have ever loved the life removed And held in idle price to haunt assemblies Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery keeps. I have deliver'd to Lord Angelo, A man of stricture and firm abstinence, My absolute power and place here in Vienna, And he supposes me travell'd to Poland; For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, And so it is received. Now, pious sir, You will demand of me why I do this? FRIAR THOMAS: Gladly, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: We have strict statutes and most biting laws. The needful bits and curbs to headstrong weeds, Which for this nineteen years we have let slip; Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch, Only to stick it in their children's sight For terror, not to use, in time the rod Becomes more mock'd than fear'd; so our decrees, Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead; And liberty plucks justice by the nose; The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart Goes all decorum. FRIAR THOMAS: It rested in your grace To unloose this tied-up justice when you pleased: And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd Than in Lord Angelo. DUKE VINCENTIO: I do fear, too dreadful: Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them For what I bid them do: for we bid this be done, When evil deeds have their permissive pass And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, my father, I have on Angelo imposed the office; Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home, And yet my nature never in the fight To do in slander. And to behold his sway, I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, Visit both prince and people: therefore, I prithee, Supply me with the habit and instruct me How I may formally in person bear me Like a true friar. More reasons for this action At our more leisure shall I render you; Only, this one: Lord Angelo is precise; Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses That his blood flows, or that his appetite Is more to bread than stone: hence shall we see, If power change purpose, what our seemers be. ISABELLA: And have you nuns no farther privileges? FRANCISCA: Are not these large enough? ISABELLA: Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more; But rather wishing a more strict restraint Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Who's that which calls? FRANCISCA: It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, Turn you the key, and know his business of him; You may, I may not; you are yet unsworn. When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men But in the presence of the prioress: Then, if you speak, you must not show your face, Or, if you show your face, you must not speak. He calls again; I pray you, answer him. ISABELLA: Peace and prosperity! Who is't that calls LUCIO: Hail, virgin, if you be, as those cheek-roses Proclaim you are no less! Can you so stead me As bring me to the sight of Isabella, A novice of this place and the fair sister To her unhappy brother Claudio? ISABELLA: Why 'her unhappy brother'? let me ask, The rather for I now must make you know I am that Isabella and his sister. LUCIO: Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets you: Not to be weary with you, he's in prison. ISABELLA: Woe me! for what? LUCIO: For that which, if myself might be his judge, He should receive his punishment in thanks: He hath got his friend with child. ISABELLA: Sir, make me not your story. LUCIO: It is true. I would not--though 'tis my familiar sin With maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, Tongue far from heart--play with all virgins so: I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted. By your renouncement an immortal spirit, And to be talk'd with in sincerity, As with a saint. ISABELLA: You do blaspheme the good in mocking me. LUCIO: Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus: Your brother and his lover have embraced: As those that feed grow full, as blossoming time That from the seedness the bare fallow brings To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb Expresseth his full tilth and husbandry. ISABELLA: Some one with child by him? My cousin Juliet? LUCIO: Is she your cousin? ISABELLA: Adoptedly; as school-maids change their names By vain though apt affection. LUCIO: She it is. ISABELLA: O, let him marry her. LUCIO: This is the point. The duke is very strangely gone from hence; Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, In hand and hope of action: but we do learn By those that know the very nerves of state, His givings-out were of an infinite distance From his true-meant design. Upon his place, And with full line of his authority, Governs Lord Angelo; a man whose blood Is very snow-broth; one who never feels The wanton stings and motions of the sense, But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge With profits of the mind, study and fast. He--to give fear to use and liberty, Which have for long run by the hideous law, As mice by lions--hath pick'd out an act, Under whose heavy sense your brother's life Falls into forfeit: he arrests him on it; And follows close the rigour of the statute, To make him an example. All hope is gone, Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer To soften Angelo: and that's my pith of business 'Twixt you and your poor brother. ISABELLA: Doth he so seek his life? LUCIO: Has censured him Already; and, as I hear, the provost hath A warrant for his execution. ISABELLA: Alas! what poor ability's in me To do him good? LUCIO: Assay the power you have. ISABELLA: My power? Alas, I doubt-- LUCIO: Our doubts are traitors And make us lose the good we oft might win By fearing to attempt. Go to Lord Angelo, And let him learn to know, when maidens sue, Men give like gods; but when they weep and kneel, All their petitions are as freely theirs As they themselves would owe them. ISABELLA: I'll see what I can do. LUCIO: But speedily. ISABELLA: I will about it straight; No longer staying but to give the mother Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you: Commend me to my brother: soon at night I'll send him certain word of my success. LUCIO: I take my leave of you. ISABELLA: Good sir, adieu. ANGELO: We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch and not their terror. ESCALUS: Ay, but yet Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gentleman Whom I would save, had a most noble father! Let but your honour know, Whom I believe to be most strait in virtue, That, in the working of your own affections, Had time cohered with place or place with wishing, Or that the resolute acting of your blood Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose, Whether you had not sometime in your life Err'd in this point which now you censure him, And pull'd the law upon you. ANGELO: 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall. I not deny, The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two Guiltier than him they try. What's open made to justice, That justice seizes: what know the laws That thieves do pass on thieves? 'Tis very pregnant, The jewel that we find, we stoop and take't Because we see it; but what we do not see We tread upon, and never think of it. You may not so extenuate his offence For I have had such faults; but rather tell me, When I, that censure him, do so offend, Let mine own judgment pattern out my death, And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. ESCALUS: Be it as your wisdom will. ANGELO: Where is the provost? Provost: Here, if it like your honour. ANGELO: See that Claudio Be executed by nine to-morrow morning: Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared; For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. ESCALUS: ELBOW: Come, bring them away: if these be good people in a commonweal that do nothing but use their abuses in common houses, I know no law: bring them away. ANGELO: How now, sir! What's your name? and what's the matter? ELBOW: If it Please your honour, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow: I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honour two notorious benefactors. ANGELO: Benefactors? Well; what benefactors are they? are they not malefactors? ELBOW: If it? please your honour, I know not well what they are: but precise villains they are, that I am sure of; and void of all profanation in the world that good Christians ought to have. ESCALUS: This comes off well; here's a wise officer. ANGELO: Go to: what quality are they of? Elbow is your name? why dost thou not speak, Elbow? POMPEY: He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. ANGELO: What are you, sir? ELBOW: He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel-bawd; one that serves a bad woman; whose house, sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the suburbs; and now she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very ill house too. ESCALUS: How know you that? ELBOW: My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven and your honour,-- ESCALUS: How? thy wife? ELBOW: Ay, sir; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest woman,-- ESCALUS: Dost thou detest her therefore? ELBOW: I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as well as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. ESCALUS: How dost thou know that, constable? ELBOW: Marry, sir, by my wife; who, if she had been a woman cardinally given, might have been accused in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. ESCALUS: By the woman's means? ELBOW: Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's means: but as she spit in his face, so she defied him. POMPEY: Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. ELBOW: Prove it before these varlets here, thou honourable man; prove it. ESCALUS: Do you hear how he misplaces? POMPEY: Sir, she came in great with child; and longing, saving your honour's reverence, for stewed prunes; sir, we had but two in the house, which at that very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some three-pence; your honours have seen such dishes; they are not China dishes, but very good dishes,-- ESCALUS: Go to, go to: no matter for the dish, sir. POMPEY: No, indeed, sir, not of a pin; you are therein in the right: but to the point. As I say, this Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being great-bellied, and longing, as I said, for prunes; and having but two in the dish, as I said, Master Froth here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, and, as I say, paying for them very honestly; for, as you know, Master Froth, I could not give you three-pence again. FROTH: No, indeed. POMPEY: Very well: you being then, if you be remembered, cracking the stones of the foresaid prunes,-- FROTH: Ay, so I did indeed. POMPEY: Why, very well; I telling you then, if you be remembered, that such a one and such a one were past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I told you,-- FROTH: All this is true. POMPEY: Why, very well, then,-- ESCALUS: Come, you are a tedious fool: to the purpose. What was done to Elbow's wife, that he hath cause to complain of? Come me to what was done to her. POMPEY: Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. ESCALUS: No, sir, nor I mean it not. POMPEY: Sir, but you shall come to it, by your honour's leave. And, I beseech you, look into Master Froth here, sir; a man of four-score pound a year; whose father died at Hallowmas: was't not at Hallowmas, Master Froth? FROTH: All-hallond eve. POMPEY: Why, very well; I hope here be truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower chair, sir; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not? FROTH: I have so; because it is an open room and good for winter. POMPEY: Why, very well, then; I hope here be truths. ANGELO: This will last out a night in Russia, When nights are longest there: I'll take my leave. And leave you to the hearing of the cause; Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them all. ESCALUS: I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship. Now, sir, come on: what was done to Elbow's wife, once more? POMPEY: Once, sir? there was nothing done to her once. ELBOW: I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife. POMPEY: I beseech your honour, ask me. ESCALUS: Well, sir; what did this gentleman to her? POMPEY: I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's face. Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face? ESCALUS: Ay, sir, very well. POMPEY: Nay; I beseech you, mark it well. ESCALUS: Well, I do so. POMPEY: Doth your honour see any harm in his face? ESCALUS: Why, no. POMPEY: I'll be supposed upon a book, his face is the worst thing about him. Good, then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the constable's wife any harm? I would know that of your honour. ESCALUS: He's in the right. Constable, what say you to it? ELBOW: First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman. POMPEY: By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all. ELBOW: Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicked varlet! the time has yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child. POMPEY: Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her. ESCALUS: Which is the wiser here? Justice or Iniquity? Is this true? ELBOW: O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor duke's officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have mine action of battery on thee. ESCALUS: If he took you a box o' the ear, you might have your action of slander too. ELBOW: Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is't your worship's pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff? ESCALUS: Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou knowest what they are. ELBOW: Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's come upon thee: thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue. ESCALUS: Where were you born, friend? FROTH: Here in Vienna, sir. ESCALUS: Are you of fourscore pounds a year? FROTH: Yes, an't please you, sir. ESCALUS: So. What trade are you of, sir? POMPHEY: Tapster; a poor widow's tapster. ESCALUS: Your mistress' name? POMPHEY: Mistress Overdone. ESCALUS: Hath she had any more than one husband? POMPEY: Nine, sir; Overdone by the last. ESCALUS: Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you, Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you. FROTH: I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into any room in a tap-house, but I am drawn in. ESCALUS: Well, no more of it, Master Froth: farewell. Come you hither to me, Master tapster. What's your name, Master tapster? POMPEY: Pompey. ESCALUS: What else? POMPEY: Bum, sir. ESCALUS: Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so that in the beastliest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster, are you not? come, tell me true: it shall be the better for you. POMPEY: Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live. ESCALUS: How would you live, Pompey? by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? is it a lawful trade? POMPEY: If the law would allow it, sir. ESCALUS: But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. POMPEY: Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of the city? ESCALUS: No, Pompey. POMPEY: Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. ESCALUS: There are pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: it is but heading and hanging. POMPEY: If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give out a commission for more heads: if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it after three-pence a bay: if you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told you so. ESCALUS: Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever; no, not for dwelling where you do: if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt: so, for this time, Pompey, fare you well. POMPEY: I thank your worship for your good counsel: but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine. Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade: The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade. ESCALUS: Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master constable. How long have you been in this place of constable? ELBOW: Seven year and a half, sir. ESCALUS: I thought, by your readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time. You say, seven years together? ELBOW: And a half, sir. ESCALUS: Alas, it hath been great pains to you. They do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't: are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it? ELBOW: Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters: as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all. ESCALUS: Look you bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. ELBOW: To your worship's house, sir? ESCALUS: To my house. Fare you well. What's o'clock, think you? Justice: Eleven, sir. ESCALUS: I pray you home to dinner with me. Justice: I humbly thank you. ESCALUS: It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But there's no remedy. Justice: Lord Angelo is severe. ESCALUS: It is but needful: Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe: But yet,--poor Claudio! There is no remedy. Come, sir. Servant: He's hearing of a cause; he will come straight I'll tell him of you. Provost: Pray you, do. I'll know His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream! All sects, all ages smack of this vice; and he To die for't! ANGELO: Now, what's the matter. Provost? Provost: Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow? ANGELO: Did not I tell thee yea? hadst thou not order? Why dost thou ask again? Provost: Lest I might be too rash: Under your good correction, I have seen, When, after execution, judgment hath Repented o'er his doom. ANGELO: Go to; let that be mine: Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spared. Provost: I crave your honour's pardon. What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet? She's very near her hour. ANGELO: Dispose of her To some more fitter place, and that with speed. Servant: Here is the sister of the man condemn'd Desires access to you. ANGELO: Hath he a sister? Provost: Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood, If not already. ANGELO: Well, let her be admitted. See you the fornicatress be removed: Let have needful, but not lavish, means; There shall be order for't. Provost: God save your honour! ANGELO: Stay a little while. You're welcome: what's your will? ISABELLA: I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me. ANGELO: Well; what's your suit? ISABELLA: There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war 'twixt will and will not. ANGELO: Well; the matter? ISABELLA: I have a brother is condemn'd to die: I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother. Provost: ANGELO: Condemn the fault and not the actor of it? Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done: Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor. ISABELLA: O just but severe law! I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour! LUCIO: ISABELLA: Must he needs die? ANGELO: Maiden, no remedy. ISABELLA: Yes; I do think that you might pardon him, And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy. ANGELO: I will not do't. ISABELLA: But can you, if you would? ANGELO: Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. ISABELLA: But might you do't, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse As mine is to him? ANGELO: He's sentenced; 'tis too late. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Too late? why, no; I, that do speak a word. May call it back again. Well, believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does. If he had been as you and you as he, You would have slipt like him; but he, like you, Would not have been so stern. ANGELO: Pray you, be gone. ISABELLA: I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! should it then be thus? No; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, And what a prisoner. LUCIO: ANGELO: Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words. ISABELLA: Alas, alas! Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be, If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made. ANGELO: Be you content, fair maid; It is the law, not I condemn your brother: Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him: he must die tomorrow. ISABELLA: To-morrow! O, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him! He's not prepared for death. Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season: shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you; Who is it that hath died for this offence? There's many have committed it. LUCIO: ANGELO: The law hath not been dead, though it hath slept: Those many had not dared to do that evil, If the first that did the edict infringe Had answer'd for his deed: now 'tis awake Takes note of what is done; and, like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, Either new, or by remissness new-conceived, And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, Are now to have no successive degrees, But, ere they live, to end. ISABELLA: Yet show some pity. ANGELO: I show it most of all when I show justice; For then I pity those I do not know, Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall; And do him right that, answering one foul wrong, Lives not to act another. Be satisfied; Your brother dies to-morrow; be content. ISABELLA: So you must be the first that gives this sentence, And he, that suffer's. O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder; Nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven, Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak Than the soft myrtle: but man, proud man, Drest in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal. LUCIO: Provost: ISABELLA: We cannot weigh our brother with ourself: Great men may jest with saints; 'tis wit in them, But in the less foul profanation. LUCIO: Thou'rt i' the right, girl; more o, that. ISABELLA: That in the captain's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. LUCIO: ANGELO: Why do you put these sayings upon me? ISABELLA: Because authority, though it err like others, Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom; Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know That's like my brother's fault: if it confess A natural guiltiness such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life. ANGELO: ISABELLA: Gentle my lord, turn back. ANGELO: I will bethink me: come again tomorrow. ISABELLA: Hark how I'll bribe you: good my lord, turn back. ANGELO: How! bribe me? ISABELLA: Ay, with such gifts that heaven shall share with you. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor As fancy values them; but with true prayers That shall be up at heaven and enter there Ere sun-rise, prayers from preserved souls, From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate To nothing temporal. ANGELO: Well; come to me to-morrow. LUCIO: ISABELLA: Heaven keep your honour safe! ANGELO: ISABELLA: At what hour to-morrow Shall I attend your lordship? ANGELO: At any time 'fore noon. ISABELLA: 'Save your honour! ANGELO: From thee, even from thy virtue! What's this, what's this? Is this her fault or mine? The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be That modesty may more betray our sense Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough, Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary And pitch our evils there? O, fie, fie, fie! What dost thou, or what art thou, Angelo? Dost thou desire her foully for those things That make her good? O, let her brother live! Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves. What, do I love her, That I desire to hear her speak again, And feast upon her eyes? What is't I dream on? O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, With saints dost bait thy hook! Most dangerous Is that temptation that doth goad us on To sin in loving virtue: never could the strumpet, With all her double vigour, art and nature, Once stir my temper; but this virtuous maid Subdues me quite. Even till now, When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd how. DUKE VINCENTIO: Hail to you, provost! so I think you are. Provost: I am the provost. What's your will, good friar? DUKE VINCENTIO: Bound by my charity and my blest order, I come to visit the afflicted spirits Here in the prison. Do me the common right To let me see them and to make me know The nature of their crimes, that I may minister To them accordingly. Provost: I would do more than that, if more were needful. Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman of mine, Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, Hath blister'd her report: she is with child; And he that got it, sentenced; a young man More fit to do another such offence Than die for this. DUKE VINCENTIO: When must he die? Provost: As I do think, to-morrow. I have provided for you: stay awhile, And you shall be conducted. DUKE VINCENTIO: Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? JULIET: I do; and bear the shame most patiently. DUKE VINCENTIO: I'll teach you how you shall arraign your conscience, And try your penitence, if it be sound, Or hollowly put on. JULIET: I'll gladly learn. DUKE VINCENTIO: Love you the man that wrong'd you? JULIET: Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him. DUKE VINCENTIO: So then it seems your most offenceful act Was mutually committed? JULIET: Mutually. DUKE VINCENTIO: Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. JULIET: I do confess it, and repent it, father. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis meet so, daughter: but lest you do repent, As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, not heaven, Showing we would not spare heaven as we love it, But as we stand in fear,-- JULIET: I do repent me, as it is an evil, And take the shame with joy. DUKE VINCENTIO: There rest. Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, And I am going with instruction to him. Grace go with you, Benedicite! JULIET: Must die to-morrow! O injurious love, That respites me a life, whose very comfort Is still a dying horror! Provost: 'Tis pity of him. ANGELO: When I would pray and think, I think and pray To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words; Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, Anchors on Isabel: Heaven in my mouth, As if I did but only chew his name; And in my heart the strong and swelling evil Of my conception. The state, whereon I studied Is like a good thing, being often read, Grown fear'd and tedious; yea, my gravity, Wherein--let no man hear me--I take pride, Could I with boot change for an idle plume, Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form, How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit, Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood: Let's write good angel on the devil's horn: 'Tis not the devil's crest. How now! who's there? Servant: One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you. ANGELO: Teach her the way. O heavens! Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, Making both it unable for itself, And dispossessing all my other parts Of necessary fitness? So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive: and even so The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offence. How now, fair maid? ISABELLA: I am come to know your pleasure. ANGELO: That you might know it, would much better please me Than to demand what 'tis. Your brother cannot live. ISABELLA: Even so. Heaven keep your honour! ANGELO: Yet may he live awhile; and, it may be, As long as you or I yet he must die. ISABELLA: Under your sentence? ANGELO: Yea. ISABELLA: When, I beseech you? that in his reprieve, Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted That his soul sicken not. ANGELO: Ha! fie, these filthy vices! It were as good To pardon him that hath from nature stolen A man already made, as to remit Their saucy sweetness that do coin heaven's image In stamps that are forbid: 'tis all as easy Falsely to take away a life true made As to put metal in restrained means To make a false one. ISABELLA: 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. ANGELO: Say you so? then I shall pose you quickly. Which had you rather, that the most just law Now took your brother's life; or, to redeem him, Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness As she that he hath stain'd? ISABELLA: Sir, believe this, I had rather give my body than my soul. ANGELO: I talk not of your soul: our compell'd sins Stand more for number than for accompt. ISABELLA: How say you? ANGELO: Nay, I'll not warrant that; for I can speak Against the thing I say. Answer to this: I, now the voice of the recorded law, Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life: Might there not be a charity in sin To save this brother's life? ISABELLA: Please you to do't, I'll take it as a peril to my soul, It is no sin at all, but charity. ANGELO: Pleased you to do't at peril of your soul, Were equal poise of sin and charity. ISABELLA: That I do beg his life, if it be sin, Heaven let me bear it! you granting of my suit, If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer To have it added to the faults of mine, And nothing of your answer. ANGELO: Nay, but hear me. Your sense pursues not mine: either you are ignorant, Or seem so craftily; and that's not good. ISABELLA: Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, But graciously to know I am no better. ANGELO: Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me; To be received plain, I'll speak more gross: Your brother is to die. ISABELLA: So. ANGELO: And his offence is so, as it appears, Accountant to the law upon that pain. ISABELLA: True. ANGELO: Admit no other way to save his life,-- As I subscribe not that, nor any other, But in the loss of question,--that you, his sister, Finding yourself desired of such a person, Whose credit with the judge, or own great place, Could fetch your brother from the manacles Of the all-building law; and that there were No earthly mean to save him, but that either You must lay down the treasures of your body To this supposed, or else to let him suffer; What would you do? ISABELLA: As much for my poor brother as myself: That is, were I under the terms of death, The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as rubies, And strip myself to death, as to a bed That longing have been sick for, ere I'ld yield My body up to shame. ANGELO: Then must your brother die. ISABELLA: And 'twere the cheaper way: Better it were a brother died at once, Than that a sister, by redeeming him, Should die for ever. ANGELO: Were not you then as cruel as the sentence That you have slander'd so? ISABELLA: Ignomy in ransom and free pardon Are of two houses: lawful mercy Is nothing kin to foul redemption. ANGELO: You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant; And rather proved the sliding of your brother A merriment than a vice. ISABELLA: O, pardon me, my lord; it oft falls out, To have what we would have, we speak not what we mean: I something do excuse the thing I hate, For his advantage that I dearly love. ANGELO: We are all frail. ISABELLA: Else let my brother die, If not a feodary, but only he Owe and succeed thy weakness. ANGELO: Nay, women are frail too. ISABELLA: Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves; Which are as easy broke as they make forms. Women! Help Heaven! men their creation mar In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail; For we are soft as our complexions are, And credulous to false prints. ANGELO: I think it well: And from this testimony of your own sex,-- Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger Than faults may shake our frames,--let me be bold; I do arrest your words. Be that you are, That is, a woman; if you be more, you're none; If you be one, as you are well express'd By all external warrants, show it now, By putting on the destined livery. ISABELLA: I have no tongue but one: gentle my lord, Let me entreat you speak the former language. ANGELO: Plainly conceive, I love you. ISABELLA: My brother did love Juliet, And you tell me that he shall die for it. ANGELO: He shall not, Isabel, if you give me love. ISABELLA: I know your virtue hath a licence in't, Which seems a little fouler than it is, To pluck on others. ANGELO: Believe me, on mine honour, My words express my purpose. ISABELLA: Ha! little honour to be much believed, And most pernicious purpose! Seeming, seeming! I will proclaim thee, Angelo; look for't: Sign me a present pardon for my brother, Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the world aloud What man thou art. ANGELO: Who will believe thee, Isabel? My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, My vouch against you, and my place i' the state, Will so your accusation overweigh, That you shall stifle in your own report And smell of calumny. I have begun, And now I give my sensual race the rein: Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite; Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes, That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother By yielding up thy body to my will; Or else he must not only die the death, But thy unkindness shall his death draw out To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow, Or, by the affection that now guides me most, I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you, Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true. ISABELLA: To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, Who would believe me? O perilous mouths, That bear in them one and the self-same tongue, Either of condemnation or approof; Bidding the law make court'sy to their will: Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite, To follow as it draws! I'll to my brother: Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood, Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour. That, had he twenty heads to tender down On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up, Before his sister should her body stoop To such abhorr'd pollution. Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die: More than our brother is our chastity. I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. DUKE VINCENTIO: So then you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo? CLAUDIO: The miserable have no other medicine But only hope: I've hope to live, and am prepared to die. DUKE VINCENTIO: Be absolute for death; either death or life Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life: If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool; For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble; For all the accommodations that thou bear'st Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep, And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself; For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get, And what thou hast, forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear's thy heavy riches but a journey, And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age, But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even. CLAUDIO: I humbly thank you. To sue to live, I find I seek to die; And, seeking death, find life: let it come on. ISABELLA: Provost: Who's there? come in: the wish deserves a welcome. DUKE VINCENTIO: Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again. CLAUDIO: Most holy sir, I thank you. ISABELLA: My business is a word or two with Claudio. Provost: And very welcome. Look, signior, here's your sister. DUKE VINCENTIO: Provost, a word with you. Provost: As many as you please. DUKE VINCENTIO: Bring me to hear them speak, where I may be concealed. CLAUDIO: Now, sister, what's the comfort? ISABELLA: Why, As all comforts are; most good, most good indeed. Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, Intends you for his swift ambassador, Where you shall be an everlasting leiger: Therefore your best appointment make with speed; To-morrow you set on. CLAUDIO: Is there no remedy? ISABELLA: None, but such remedy as, to save a head, To cleave a heart in twain. CLAUDIO: But is there any? ISABELLA: Yes, brother, you may live: There is a devilish mercy in the judge, If you'll implore it, that will free your life, But fetter you till death. CLAUDIO: Perpetual durance? ISABELLA: Ay, just; perpetual durance, a restraint, Though all the world's vastidity you had, To a determined scope. CLAUDIO: But in what nature? ISABELLA: In such a one as, you consenting to't, Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, And leave you naked. CLAUDIO: Let me know the point. ISABELLA: O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Darest thou die? The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. CLAUDIO: Why give you me this shame? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms. ISABELLA: There spake my brother; there my father's grave Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou must die: Thou art too noble to conserve a life In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i' the head and follies doth emmew As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil His filth within being cast, he would appear A pond as deep as hell. CLAUDIO: The prenzie Angelo! ISABELLA: O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, The damned'st body to invest and cover In prenzie guards! Dost thou think, Claudio? If I would yield him my virginity, Thou mightst be freed. CLAUDIO: O heavens! it cannot be. ISABELLA: Yes, he would give't thee, from this rank offence, So to offend him still. This night's the time That I should do what I abhor to name, Or else thou diest to-morrow. CLAUDIO: Thou shalt not do't. ISABELLA: O, were it but my life, I'ld throw it down for your deliverance As frankly as a pin. CLAUDIO: Thanks, dear Isabel. ISABELLA: Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow. CLAUDIO: Yes. Has he affections in him, That thus can make him bite the law by the nose, When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin, Or of the deadly seven, it is the least. ISABELLA: Which is the least? CLAUDIO: If it were damnable, he being so wise, Why would he for the momentary trick Be perdurably fined? O Isabel! ISABELLA: What says my brother? CLAUDIO: Death is a fearful thing. ISABELLA: And shamed life a hateful. CLAUDIO: Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those that lawless and incertain thought Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible! The weariest and most loathed worldly life That age, ache, penury and imprisonment Can lay on nature is a paradise To what we fear of death. ISABELLA: Alas, alas! CLAUDIO: Sweet sister, let me live: What sin you do to save a brother's life, Nature dispenses with the deed so far That it becomes a virtue. ISABELLA: O you beast! O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? Is't not a kind of incest, to take life From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? Heaven shield my mother play'd my father fair! For such a warped slip of wilderness Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance! Die, perish! Might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed: I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, No word to save thee. CLAUDIO: Nay, hear me, Isabel. ISABELLA: O, fie, fie, fie! Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd: 'Tis best thou diest quickly. CLAUDIO: O hear me, Isabella! DUKE VINCENTIO: Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word. ISABELLA: What is your will? DUKE VINCENTIO: Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit. ISABELLA: I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will attend you awhile. DUKE VINCENTIO: Son, I have overheard what hath passed between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an essay of her virtue to practise his judgment with the disposition of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive. I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death: do not satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible: tomorrow you must die; go to your knees and make ready. CLAUDIO: Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid of it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Hold you there: farewell. Provost, a word with you! Provost: What's your will, father DUKE VINCENTIO: That now you are come, you will be gone. Leave me awhile with the maid: my mind promises with my habit no loss shall touch her by my company. Provost: In good time. DUKE VINCENTIO: The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother? ISABELLA: I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother die by the law than my son should be unlawfully born. But, O, how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! If ever he return and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government. DUKE VINCENTIO: That shall not be much amiss: Yet, as the matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings: to the love I have in doing good a remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent duke, if peradventure he shall ever return to have hearing of this business. ISABELLA: Let me hear you speak farther. I have spirit to do anything that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit. DUKE VINCENTIO: Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana, the sister of Frederick the great soldier who miscarried at sea? ISABELLA: I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. DUKE VINCENTIO: She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo. ISABELLA: Can this be so? did Angelo so leave her? DUKE VINCENTIO: Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not. ISABELLA: What a merit were it in death to take this poor maid from the world! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live! But how out of this can she avail? DUKE VINCENTIO: It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it. ISABELLA: Show me how, good father. DUKE VINCENTIO: This forenamed maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection: his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage, first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience. This being granted in course,--and now follows all,--we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompense: and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? ISABELLA: The image of it gives me content already; and I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. DUKE VINCENTIO: It lies much in your holding up. Haste you speedily to Angelo: if for this night he entreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will presently to Saint Luke's: there, at the moated grange, resides this dejected Mariana. At that place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly. ISABELLA: I thank you for this comfort. Fare you well, good father. ELBOW: Nay, if there be no remedy for it, but that you will needs buy and sell men and women like beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and white bastard. DUKE VINCENTIO: O heavens! what stuff is here POMPEY: 'Twas never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; and furred with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for the facing. ELBOW: Come your way, sir. 'Bless you, good father friar. DUKE VINCENTIO: And you, good brother father. What offence hath this man made you, sir? ELBOW: Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: and, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for we have found upon him, sir, a strange picklock, which we have sent to the deputy. DUKE VINCENTIO: Fie, sirrah! a bawd, a wicked bawd! The evil that thou causest to be done, That is thy means to live. Do thou but think What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back From such a filthy vice: say to thyself, From their abominable and beastly touches I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. Canst thou believe thy living is a life, So stinkingly depending? Go mend, go mend. POMPEY: Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir; but yet, sir, I would prove-- DUKE VINCENTIO: Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for sin, Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer: Correction and instruction must both work Ere this rude beast will profit. ELBOW: He must before the deputy, sir; he has given him warning: the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he were as good go a mile on his errand. DUKE VINCENTIO: That we were all, as some would seem to be, From our faults, as faults from seeming, free! ELBOW: His neck will come to your waist,--a cord, sir. POMPEY: I spy comfort; I cry bail. Here's a gentleman and a friend of mine. LUCIO: How now, noble Pompey! What, at the wheels of Caesar? art thou led in triumph? What, is there none of Pygmalion's images, newly made woman, to be had now, for putting the hand in the pocket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply, ha? What sayest thou to this tune, matter and method? Is't not drowned i' the last rain, ha? What sayest thou, Trot? Is the world as it was, man? Which is the way? Is it sad, and few words? or how? The trick of it? DUKE VINCENTIO: Still thus, and thus; still worse! LUCIO: How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? Procures she still, ha? POMPEY: Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and she is herself in the tub. LUCIO: Why, 'tis good; it is the right of it; it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your powdered bawd: an unshunned consequence; it must be so. Art going to prison, Pompey? POMPEY: Yes, faith, sir. LUCIO: Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey. Farewell: go, say I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? or how? ELBOW: For being a bawd, for being a bawd. LUCIO: Well, then, imprison him: if imprisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right: bawd is he doubtless, and of antiquity too; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompey. Commend me to the prison, Pompey: you will turn good husband now, Pompey; you will keep the house. POMPEY: I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. LUCIO: No, indeed, will I not, Pompey; it is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your bondage: If you take it not patiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, friar. DUKE VINCENTIO: And you. LUCIO: Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, ha? ELBOW: Come your ways, sir; come. POMPEY: You will not bail me, then, sir? LUCIO: Then, Pompey, nor now. What news abroad, friar? what news? ELBOW: Come your ways, sir; come. LUCIO: Go to kennel, Pompey; go. What news, friar, of the duke? DUKE VINCENTIO: I know none. Can you tell me of any? LUCIO: Some say he is with the Emperor of Russia; other some, he is in Rome: but where is he, think you? DUKE VINCENTIO: I know not where; but wheresoever, I wish him well. LUCIO: It was a mad fantastical trick of him to steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his absence; he puts transgression to 't. DUKE VINCENTIO: He does well in 't. LUCIO: A little more lenity to lechery would do no harm in him: something too crabbed that way, friar. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is too general a vice, and severity must cure it. LUCIO: Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great kindred; it is well allied: but it is impossible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put down. They say this Angelo was not made by man and woman after this downright way of creation: is it true, think you? DUKE VINCENTIO: How should he be made, then? LUCIO: Some report a sea-maid spawned him; some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes. But it is certain that when he makes water his urine is congealed ice; that I know to be true: and he is a motion generative; that's infallible. DUKE VINCENTIO: You are pleasant, sir, and speak apace. LUCIO: Why, what a ruthless thing is this in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take away the life of a man! Would the duke that is absent have done this? Ere he would have hanged a man for the getting a hundred bastards, he would have paid for the nursing a thousand: he had some feeling of the sport: he knew the service, and that instructed him to mercy. DUKE VINCENTIO: I never heard the absent duke much detected for women; he was not inclined that way. LUCIO: O, sir, you are deceived. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis not possible. LUCIO: Who, not the duke? yes, your beggar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in her clack-dish: the duke had crotchets in him. He would be drunk too; that let me inform you. DUKE VINCENTIO: You do him wrong, surely. LUCIO: Sir, I was an inward of his. A shy fellow was the duke: and I believe I know the cause of his withdrawing. DUKE VINCENTIO: What, I prithee, might be the cause? LUCIO: No, pardon; 'tis a secret must be locked within the teeth and the lips: but this I can let you understand, the greater file of the subject held the duke to be wise. DUKE VINCENTIO: Wise! why, no question but he was. LUCIO: A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. DUKE VINCENTIO: Either this is the envy in you, folly, or mistaking: the very stream of his life and the business he hath helmed must upon a warranted need give him a better proclamation. Let him be but testimonied in his own bringings-forth, and he shall appear to the envious a scholar, a statesman and a soldier. Therefore you speak unskilfully: or if your knowledge be more it is much darkened in your malice. LUCIO: Sir, I know him, and I love him. DUKE VINCENTIO: Love talks with better knowledge, and knowledge with dearer love. LUCIO: Come, sir, I know what I know. DUKE VINCENTIO: I can hardly believe that, since you know not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, as our prayers are he may, let me desire you to make your answer before him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have courage to maintain it: I am bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name? LUCIO: Sir, my name is Lucio; well known to the duke. DUKE VINCENTIO: He shall know you better, sir, if I may live to report you. LUCIO: I fear you not. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, you hope the duke will return no more; or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm; you'll forswear this again. LUCIO: I'll be hanged first: thou art deceived in me, friar. But no more of this. Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or no? DUKE VINCENTIO: Why should he die, sir? LUCIO: Why? For filling a bottle with a tundish. I would the duke we talk of were returned again: the ungenitured agent will unpeople the province with continency; sparrows must not build in his house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke yet would have dark deeds darkly answered; he would never bring them to light: would he were returned! Marry, this Claudio is condemned for untrussing. Farewell, good friar: I prithee, pray for me. The duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's not past it yet, and I say to thee, he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and garlic: say that I said so. Farewell. DUKE VINCENTIO: No might nor greatness in mortality Can censure 'scape; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes. What king so strong Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? But who comes here? ESCALUS: Go; away with her to prison! MISTRESS OVERDONE: Good my lord, be good to me; your honour is accounted a merciful man; good my lord. ESCALUS: Double and treble admonition, and still forfeit in the same kind! This would make mercy swear and play the tyrant. Provost: A bawd of eleven years' continuance, may it please your honour. MISTRESS OVERDONE: My lord, this is one Lucio's information against me. Mistress Kate Keepdown was with child by him in the duke's time; he promised her marriage: his child is a year and a quarter old, come Philip and Jacob: I have kept it myself; and see how he goes about to abuse me! ESCALUS: That fellow is a fellow of much licence: let him be called before us. Away with her to prison! Go to; no more words. Provost, my brother Angelo will not be altered; Claudio must die to-morrow: let him be furnished with divines, and have all charitable preparation. if my brother wrought by my pity, it should not be so with him. Provost: So please you, this friar hath been with him, and advised him for the entertainment of death. ESCALUS: Good even, good father. DUKE VINCENTIO: Bliss and goodness on you! ESCALUS: Of whence are you? DUKE VINCENTIO: Not of this country, though my chance is now To use it for my time: I am a brother Of gracious order, late come from the See In special business from his holiness. ESCALUS: What news abroad i' the world? DUKE VINCENTIO: None, but that there is so great a fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure; but security enough to make fellowships accurst: much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke? ESCALUS: One that, above all other strifes, contended especially to know himself. DUKE VINCENTIO: What pleasure was he given to? ESCALUS: Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than merry at any thing which professed to make him rejoice: a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may prove prosperous; and let me desire to know how you find Claudio prepared. I am made to understand that you have lent him visitation. DUKE VINCENTIO: He professes to have received no sinister measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles himself to the determination of justice: yet had he framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, many deceiving promises of life; which I by my good leisure have discredited to him, and now is he resolved to die. ESCALUS: You have paid the heavens your function, and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I have laboured for the poor gentleman to the extremest shore of my modesty: but my brother justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed Justice. DUKE VINCENTIO: If his own life answer the straitness of his proceeding, it shall become him well; wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. ESCALUS: I am going to visit the prisoner. Fare you well. DUKE VINCENTIO: Peace be with you! He who the sword of heaven will bear Should be as holy as severe; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go; More nor less to others paying Than by self-offences weighing. Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking! Twice treble shame on Angelo, To weed my vice and let his grow! O, what may man within him hide, Though angel on the outward side! How may likeness made in crimes, Making practise on the times, To draw with idle spiders' strings Most ponderous and substantial things! Craft against vice I must apply: With Angelo to-night shall lie His old betrothed but despised; So disguise shall, by the disguised, Pay with falsehood false exacting, And perform an old contracting. MARIANA: Break off thy song, and haste thee quick away: Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often still'd my brawling discontent. I cry you mercy, sir; and well could wish You had not found me here so musical: Let me excuse me, and believe me so, My mirth it much displeased, but pleased my woe. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis good; though music oft hath such a charm To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. I pray, you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me here to-day? much upon this time have I promised here to meet. MARIANA: You have not been inquired after: I have sat here all day. DUKE VINCENTIO: I do constantly believe you. The time is come even now. I shall crave your forbearance a little: may be I will call upon you anon, for some advantage to yourself. MARIANA: I am always bound to you. DUKE VINCENTIO: Very well met, and well come. What is the news from this good deputy? ISABELLA: He hath a garden circummured with brick, Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd; And to that vineyard is a planched gate, That makes his opening with this bigger key: This other doth command a little door Which from the vineyard to the garden leads; There have I made my promise Upon the heavy middle of the night To call upon him. DUKE VINCENTIO: But shall you on your knowledge find this way? ISABELLA: I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't: With whispering and most guilty diligence, In action all of precept, he did show me The way twice o'er. DUKE VINCENTIO: Are there no other tokens Between you 'greed concerning her observance? ISABELLA: No, none, but only a repair i' the dark; And that I have possess'd him my most stay Can be but brief; for I have made him know I have a servant comes with me along, That stays upon me, whose persuasion is I come about my brother. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis well borne up. I have not yet made known to Mariana A word of this. What, ho! within! come forth! I pray you, be acquainted with this maid; She comes to do you good. ISABELLA: I do desire the like. DUKE VINCENTIO: Do you persuade yourself that I respect you? MARIANA: Good friar, I know you do, and have found it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Take, then, this your companion by the hand, Who hath a story ready for your ear. I shall attend your leisure: but make haste; The vaporous night approaches. MARIANA: Will't please you walk aside? DUKE VINCENTIO: O place and greatness! millions of false eyes Are stuck upon thee: volumes of report Run with these false and most contrarious quests Upon thy doings: thousand escapes of wit Make thee the father of their idle dreams And rack thee in their fancies. Welcome, how agreed? ISABELLA: She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, If you advise it. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is not my consent, But my entreaty too. ISABELLA: Little have you to say When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 'Remember now my brother.' MARIANA: Fear me not. DUKE VINCENTIO: Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all. He is your husband on a pre-contract: To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin, Sith that the justice of your title to him Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go: Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. Provost: Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut off a man's head? POMPEY: If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can; but if he be a married man, he's his wife's head, and I can never cut off a woman's head. Provost: Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. Here is in our prison a common executioner, who in his office lacks a helper: if you will take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem you from your gyves; if not, you shall have your full time of imprisonment and your deliverance with an unpitied whipping, for you have been a notorious bawd. POMPEY: Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd time out of mind; but yet I will be content to be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruction from my fellow partner. Provost: What, ho! Abhorson! Where's Abhorson, there? ABHORSON: Do you call, sir? Provost: Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-morrow in your execution. If you think it meet, compound with him by the year, and let him abide here with you; if not, use him for the present and dismiss him. He cannot plead his estimation with you; he hath been a bawd. ABHORSON: A bawd, sir? fie upon him! he will discredit our mystery. Provost: Go to, sir; you weigh equally; a feather will turn the scale. POMPEY: Pray, sir, by your good favour,--for surely, sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a hanging look,--do you call, sir, your occupation a mystery? ABHORSON: Ay, sir; a mystery POMPEY: Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery; and your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, using painting, do prove my occupation a mystery: but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I should be hanged, I cannot imagine. ABHORSON: Sir, it is a mystery. POMPEY: Proof? ABHORSON: Every true man's apparel fits your thief: if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks it big enough; if it be too big for your thief, your thief thinks it little enough: so every true man's apparel fits your thief. Provost: Are you agreed? POMPEY: Sir, I will serve him; for I do find your hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. Provost: You, sirrah, provide your block and your axe to-morrow four o'clock. ABHORSON: Come on, bawd; I will instruct thee in my trade; follow. POMPEY: I do desire to learn, sir: and I hope, if you have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall find me yare; for truly, sir, for your kindness I owe you a good turn. Provost: Call hither Barnardine and Claudio: The one has my pity; not a jot the other, Being a murderer, though he were my brother. Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death: 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine? CLAUDIO: As fast lock'd up in sleep as guiltless labour When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones: He will not wake. Provost: Who can do good on him? Well, go, prepare yourself. But, hark, what noise? Heaven give your spirits comfort! By and by. I hope it is some pardon or reprieve For the most gentle Claudio. Welcome father. DUKE VINCENTIO: The best and wholesomest spirts of the night Envelope you, good Provost! Who call'd here of late? Provost: None, since the curfew rung. DUKE VINCENTIO: Not Isabel? Provost: No. DUKE VINCENTIO: They will, then, ere't be long. Provost: What comfort is for Claudio? DUKE VINCENTIO: There's some in hope. Provost: It is a bitter deputy. DUKE VINCENTIO: Not so, not so; his life is parallel'd Even with the stroke and line of his great justice: He doth with holy abstinence subdue That in himself which he spurs on his power To qualify in others: were he meal'd with that Which he corrects, then were he tyrannous; But this being so, he's just. Now are they come. This is a gentle provost: seldom when The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. How now! what noise? That spirit's possessed with haste That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes. Provost: There he must stay until the officer Arise to let him in: he is call'd up. DUKE VINCENTIO: Have you no countermand for Claudio yet, But he must die to-morrow? Provost: None, sir, none. DUKE VINCENTIO: As near the dawning, provost, as it is, You shall hear more ere morning. Provost: Happily You something know; yet I believe there comes No countermand; no such example have we: Besides, upon the very siege of justice Lord Angelo hath to the public ear Profess'd the contrary. This is his lordship's man. DUKE VINCENTIO: And here comes Claudio's pardon. Messenger: Provost: I shall obey him. DUKE VINCENTIO: Provost: I told you. Lord Angelo, belike thinking me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this unwonted putting-on; methinks strangely, for he hath not used it before. DUKE VINCENTIO: Pray you, let's hear. Provost: DUKE VINCENTIO: What is that Barnardine who is to be executed in the afternoon? Provost: A Bohemian born, but here nursed un and bred; one that is a prisoner nine years old. DUKE VINCENTIO: How came it that the absent duke had not either delivered him to his liberty or executed him? I have heard it was ever his manner to do so. Provost: His friends still wrought reprieves for him: and, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of Lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is now apparent? Provost: Most manifest, and not denied by himself. DUKE VINCENTIO: Hath he born himself penitently in prison? how seems he to be touched? Provost: A man that apprehends death no more dreadfully but as a drunken sleep; careless, reckless, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come; insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. DUKE VINCENTIO: He wants advice. Provost: He will hear none: he hath evermore had the liberty of the prison; give him leave to escape hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and showed him a seeming warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all. DUKE VINCENTIO: More of him anon. There is written in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: if I read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me; but, in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, whom here you have warrant to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath sentenced him. To make you understand this in a manifested effect, I crave but four days' respite; for the which you are to do me both a present and a dangerous courtesy. Provost: Pray, sir, in what? DUKE VINCENTIO: In the delaying death. Provost: A lack, how may I do it, having the hour limited, and an express command, under penalty, to deliver his head in the view of Angelo? I may make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. DUKE VINCENTIO: By the vow of mine order I warrant you, if my instructions may be your guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head born to Angelo. Provost: Angelo hath seen them both, and will discover the favour. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, death's a great disguiser; and you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard; and say it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared before his death: you know the course is common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I will plead against it with my life. Provost: Pardon me, good father; it is against my oath. DUKE VINCENTIO: Were you sworn to the duke, or to the deputy? Provost: To him, and to his substitutes. DUKE VINCENTIO: You will think you have made no offence, if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing? Provost: But what likelihood is in that? DUKE VINCENTIO: Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease attempt you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of the duke: you know the character, I doubt not; and the signet is not strange to you. Provost: I know them both. DUKE VINCENTIO: The contents of this is the return of the duke: you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure; where you shall find, within these two days he will be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not; for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor; perchance of the duke's death; perchance entering into some monastery; but, by chance, nothing of what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the shepherd. Put not yourself into amazement how these things should be: all difficulties are but easy when they are known. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine's head: I will give him a present shrift and advise him for a better place. Yet you are amazed; but this shall absolutely resolve you. Come away; it is almost clear dawn. POMPEY: I am as well acquainted here as I was in our house of profession: one would think it were Mistress Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old customers. First, here's young Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds; of which he made five marks, ready money: marry, then ginger was not much in request, for the old women were all dead. Then is there here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile the mercer, for some four suits of peach-coloured satin, which now peaches him a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and young Master Deep-vow, and Master Copperspur, and Master Starve-lackey the rapier and dagger man, and young Drop-heir that killed lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the tilter, and brave Master Shooty the great traveller, and wild Half-can that stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more; all great doers in our trade, and are now 'for the Lord's sake.' ABHORSON: Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. POMPEY: Master Barnardine! you must rise and be hanged. Master Barnardine! ABHORSON: What, ho, Barnardine! BARNARDINE: POMPEY: Your friends, sir; the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. BARNARDINE: ABHORSON: Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too. POMPEY: Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards. ABHORSON: Go in to him, and fetch him out. POMPEY: He is coming, sir, he is coming; I hear his straw rustle. ABHORSON: Is the axe upon the block, sirrah? POMPEY: Very ready, sir. BARNARDINE: How now, Abhorson? what's the news with you? ABHORSON: Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for, look you, the warrant's come. BARNARDINE: You rogue, I have been drinking all night; I am not fitted for 't. POMPEY: O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day. ABHORSON: Look you, sir; here comes your ghostly father: do we jest now, think you? DUKE VINCENTIO: Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you and pray with you. BARNARDINE: Friar, not I I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets: I will not consent to die this day, that's certain. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, sir, you must: and therefore I beseech you Look forward on the journey you shall go. BARNARDINE: I swear I will not die to-day for any man's persuasion. DUKE VINCENTIO: But hear you. BARNARDINE: Not a word: if you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I to-day. DUKE VINCENTIO: Unfit to live or die: O gravel heart! After him, fellows; bring him to the block. Provost: Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner? DUKE VINCENTIO: A creature unprepared, unmeet for death; And to transport him in the mind he is Were damnable. Provost: Here in the prison, father, There died this morning of a cruel fever One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, A man of Claudio's years; his beard and head Just of his colour. What if we do omit This reprobate till he were well inclined; And satisfy the deputy with the visage Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio? DUKE VINCENTIO: O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides! Dispatch it presently; the hour draws on Prefix'd by Angelo: see this be done, And sent according to command; whiles I Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. Provost: This shall be done, good father, presently. But Barnardine must die this afternoon: And how shall we continue Claudio, To save me from the danger that might come If he were known alive? DUKE VINCENTIO: Let this be done. Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and Claudio: Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greeting To the under generation, you shall find Your safety manifested. Provost: I am your free dependant. DUKE VINCENTIO: Quick, dispatch, and send the head to Angelo. Now will I write letters to Angelo,-- The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents Shall witness to him I am near at home, And that, by great injunctions, I am bound To enter publicly: him I'll desire To meet me at the consecrated fount A league below the city; and from thence, By cold gradation and well-balanced form, We shall proceed with Angelo. Provost: Here is the head; I'll carry it myself. DUKE VINCENTIO: Convenient is it. Make a swift return; For I would commune with you of such things That want no ear but yours. Provost: I'll make all speed. ISABELLA: DUKE VINCENTIO: The tongue of Isabel. She's come to know If yet her brother's pardon be come hither: But I will keep her ignorant of her good, To make her heavenly comforts of despair, When it is least expected. ISABELLA: Ho, by your leave! DUKE VINCENTIO: Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter. ISABELLA: The better, given me by so holy a man. Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon? DUKE VINCENTIO: He hath released him, Isabel, from the world: His head is off and sent to Angelo. ISABELLA: Nay, but it is not so. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is no other: show your wisdom, daughter, In your close patience. ISABELLA: O, I will to him and pluck out his eyes! DUKE VINCENTIO: You shall not be admitted to his sight. ISABELLA: Unhappy Claudio! wretched Isabel! Injurious world! most damned Angelo! DUKE VINCENTIO: This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot; Forbear it therefore; give your cause to heaven. Mark what I say, which you shall find By every syllable a faithful verity: The duke comes home to-morrow; nay, dry your eyes; One of our convent, and his confessor, Gives me this instance: already he hath carried Notice to Escalus and Angelo, Who do prepare to meet him at the gates, There to give up their power. If you can, pace your wisdom In that good path that I would wish it go, And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, And general honour. ISABELLA: I am directed by you. DUKE VINCENTIO: This letter, then, to Friar Peter give; 'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return: Say, by this token, I desire his company At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and yours I'll perfect him withal, and he shall bring you Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, I am combined by a sacred vow And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter: Command these fretting waters from your eyes With a light heart; trust not my holy order, If I pervert your course. Who's here? LUCIO: Good even. Friar, where's the provost? DUKE VINCENTIO: Not within, sir. LUCIO: O pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart to see thine eyes so red: thou must be patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water and bran; I dare not for my head fill my belly; one fruitful meal would set me to 't. But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother: if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been at home, he had lived. DUKE VINCENTIO: Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholding to your reports; but the best is, he lives not in them. LUCIO: Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as I do: he's a better woodman than thou takest him for. DUKE VINCENTIO: Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare ye well. LUCIO: Nay, tarry; I'll go along with thee I can tell thee pretty tales of the duke. DUKE VINCENTIO: You have told me too many of him already, sir, if they be true; if not true, none were enough. LUCIO: I was once before him for getting a wench with child. DUKE VINCENTIO: Did you such a thing? LUCIO: Yes, marry, did I but I was fain to forswear it; they would else have married me to the rotten medlar. DUKE VINCENTIO: Sir, your company is fairer than honest. Rest you well. LUCIO: By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end: if bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr; I shall stick. ESCALUS: Every letter he hath writ hath disvouched other. ANGELO: In most uneven and distracted manner. His actions show much like to madness: pray heaven his wisdom be not tainted! And why meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there ESCALUS: I guess not. ANGELO: And why should we proclaim it in an hour before his entering, that if any crave redress of injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street? ESCALUS: He shows his reason for that: to have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver us from devices hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand against us. ANGELO: Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaimed betimes i' the morn; I'll call you at your house: give notice to such men of sort and suit as are to meet him. ESCALUS: I shall, sir. Fare you well. ANGELO: Good night. This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid! And by an eminent body that enforced The law against it! But that her tender shame Will not proclaim against her maiden loss, How might she tongue me! Yet reason dares her no; For my authority bears of a credent bulk, That no particular scandal once can touch But it confounds the breather. He should have lived, Save that riotous youth, with dangerous sense, Might in the times to come have ta'en revenge, By so receiving a dishonour'd life With ransom of such shame. Would yet he had lived! A lack, when once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right: we would, and we would not. DUKE VINCENTIO: These letters at fit time deliver me The provost knows our purpose and our plot. The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, And hold you ever to our special drift; Though sometimes you do blench from this to that, As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavius' house, And tell him where I stay: give the like notice To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate; But send me Flavius first. FRIAR PETER: It shall be speeded well. DUKE VINCENTIO: I thank thee, Varrius; thou hast made good haste: Come, we will walk. There's other of our friends Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. ISABELLA: To speak so indirectly I am loath: I would say the truth; but to accuse him so, That is your part: yet I am advised to do it; He says, to veil full purpose. MARIANA: Be ruled by him. ISABELLA: Besides, he tells me that, if peradventure He speak against me on the adverse side, I should not think it strange; for 'tis a physic That's bitter to sweet end. MARIANA: I would Friar Peter-- ISABELLA: O, peace! the friar is come. FRIAR PETER: Come, I have found you out a stand most fit, Where you may have such vantage on the duke, He shall not pass you. Twice have the trumpets sounded; The generous and gravest citizens Have hent the gates, and very near upon The duke is entering: therefore, hence, away! DUKE VINCENTIO: My very worthy cousin, fairly met! Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. ANGELO: Happy return be to your royal grace! DUKE VINCENTIO: Many and hearty thankings to you both. We have made inquiry of you; and we hear Such goodness of your justice, that our soul Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, Forerunning more requital. ANGELO: You make my bonds still greater. DUKE VINCENTIO: O, your desert speaks loud; and I should wrong it, To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, When it deserves, with characters of brass, A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand, And let the subject see, to make them know That outward courtesies would fain proclaim Favours that keep within. Come, Escalus, You must walk by us on our other hand; And good supporters are you. FRIAR PETER: Now is your time: speak loud and kneel before him. ISABELLA: Justice, O royal duke! Vail your regard Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a maid! O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye By throwing it on any other object Till you have heard me in my true complaint And given me justice, justice, justice, justice! DUKE VINCENTIO: Relate your wrongs; in what? by whom? be brief. Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice: Reveal yourself to him. ISABELLA: O worthy duke, You bid me seek redemption of the devil: Hear me yourself; for that which I must speak Must either punish me, not being believed, Or wring redress from you. Hear me, O hear me, here! ANGELO: My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm: She hath been a suitor to me for her brother Cut off by course of justice,-- ISABELLA: By course of justice! ANGELO: And she will speak most bitterly and strange. ISABELLA: Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak: That Angelo's forsworn; is it not strange? That Angelo's a murderer; is 't not strange? That Angelo is an adulterous thief, An hypocrite, a virgin-violator; Is it not strange and strange? DUKE VINCENTIO: Nay, it is ten times strange. ISABELLA: It is not truer he is Angelo Than this is all as true as it is strange: Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truth To the end of reckoning. DUKE VINCENTIO: Away with her! Poor soul, She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. ISABELLA: O prince, I conjure thee, as thou believest There is another comfort than this world, That thou neglect me not, with that opinion That I am touch'd with madness! Make not impossible That which but seems unlike: 'tis not impossible But one, the wicked'st caitiff on the ground, May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute As Angelo; even so may Angelo, In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms, Be an arch-villain; believe it, royal prince: If he be less, he's nothing; but he's more, Had I more name for badness. DUKE VINCENTIO: By mine honesty, If she be mad,--as I believe no other,-- Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense, Such a dependency of thing on thing, As e'er I heard in madness. ISABELLA: O gracious duke, Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason For inequality; but let your reason serve To make the truth appear where it seems hid, And hide the false seems true. DUKE VINCENTIO: Many that are not mad Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would you say? ISABELLA: I am the sister of one Claudio, Condemn'd upon the act of fornication To lose his head; condemn'd by Angelo: I, in probation of a sisterhood, Was sent to by my brother; one Lucio As then the messenger,-- LUCIO: That's I, an't like your grace: I came to her from Claudio, and desired her To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo For her poor brother's pardon. ISABELLA: That's he indeed. DUKE VINCENTIO: You were not bid to speak. LUCIO: No, my good lord; Nor wish'd to hold my peace. DUKE VINCENTIO: I wish you now, then; Pray you, take note of it: and when you have A business for yourself, pray heaven you then Be perfect. LUCIO: I warrant your honour. DUKE VINCENTIO: The warrants for yourself; take heed to't. ISABELLA: This gentleman told somewhat of my tale,-- LUCIO: Right. DUKE VINCENTIO: It may be right; but you are i' the wrong To speak before your time. Proceed. ISABELLA: I went To this pernicious caitiff deputy,-- DUKE VINCENTIO: That's somewhat madly spoken. ISABELLA: Pardon it; The phrase is to the matter. DUKE VINCENTIO: Mended again. The matter; proceed. ISABELLA: In brief, to set the needless process by, How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, How he refell'd me, and how I replied,-- For this was of much length,--the vile conclusion I now begin with grief and shame to utter: He would not, but by gift of my chaste body To his concupiscible intemperate lust, Release my brother; and, after much debatement, My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour, And I did yield to him: but the next morn betimes, His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant For my poor brother's head. DUKE VINCENTIO: This is most likely! ISABELLA: O, that it were as like as it is true! DUKE VINCENTIO: By heaven, fond wretch, thou knowist not what thou speak'st, Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour In hateful practise. First, his integrity Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no reason That with such vehemency he should pursue Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended, He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself And not have cut him off. Some one hath set you on: Confess the truth, and say by whose advice Thou camest here to complain. ISABELLA: And is this all? Then, O you blessed ministers above, Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up In countenance! Heaven shield your grace from woe, As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go! DUKE VINCENTIO: I know you'ld fain be gone. An officer! To prison with her! Shall we thus permit A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall On him so near us? This needs must be a practise. Who knew of Your intent and coming hither? ISABELLA: One that I would were here, Friar Lodowick. DUKE VINCENTIO: A ghostly father, belike. Who knows that Lodowick? LUCIO: My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar; I do not like the man: had he been lay, my lord For certain words he spake against your grace In your retirement, I had swinged him soundly. DUKE VINCENTIO: Words against me? this is a good friar, belike! And to set on this wretched woman here Against our substitute! Let this friar be found. LUCIO: But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar, I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, A very scurvy fellow. FRIAR PETER: Blessed be your royal grace! I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman Most wrongfully accused your substitute, Who is as free from touch or soil with her As she from one ungot. DUKE VINCENTIO: We did believe no less. Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks of? FRIAR PETER: I know him for a man divine and holy; Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, As he's reported by this gentleman; And, on my trust, a man that never yet Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. LUCIO: My lord, most villanously; believe it. FRIAR PETER: Well, he in time may come to clear himself; But at this instant he is sick my lord, Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request, Being come to knowledge that there was complaint Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither, To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know Is true and false; and what he with his oath And all probation will make up full clear, Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman. To justify this worthy nobleman, So vulgarly and personally accused, Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, Till she herself confess it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Good friar, let's hear it. Do you not smile at this, Lord Angelo? O heaven, the vanity of wretched fools! Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo; In this I'll be impartial; be you judge Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar? First, let her show her face, and after speak. MARIANA: Pardon, my lord; I will not show my face Until my husband bid me. DUKE VINCENTIO: What, are you married? MARIANA: No, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Are you a maid? MARIANA: No, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: A widow, then? MARIANA: Neither, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Why, you are nothing then: neither maid, widow, nor wife? LUCIO: My lord, she may be a punk; for many of them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. DUKE VINCENTIO: Silence that fellow: I would he had some cause To prattle for himself. LUCIO: Well, my lord. MARIANA: My lord; I do confess I ne'er was married; And I confess besides I am no maid: I have known my husband; yet my husband Knows not that ever he knew me. LUCIO: He was drunk then, my lord: it can be no better. DUKE VINCENTIO: For the benefit of silence, would thou wert so too! LUCIO: Well, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: This is no witness for Lord Angelo. MARIANA: Now I come to't my lord She that accuses him of fornication, In self-same manner doth accuse my husband, And charges him my lord, with such a time When I'll depose I had him in mine arms With all the effect of love. ANGELO: Charges she more than me? MARIANA: Not that I know. DUKE VINCENTIO: No? you say your husband. MARIANA: Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, Who thinks he knows that he ne'er knew my body, But knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. ANGELO: This is a strange abuse. Let's see thy face. MARIANA: My husband bids me; now I will unmask. This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, Which once thou sworest was worth the looking on; This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, Was fast belock'd in thine; this is the body That took away the match from Isabel, And did supply thee at thy garden-house In her imagined person. DUKE VINCENTIO: Know you this woman? LUCIO: Carnally, she says. DUKE VINCENTIO: Sirrah, no more! LUCIO: Enough, my lord. ANGELO: My lord, I must confess I know this woman: And five years since there was some speech of marriage Betwixt myself and her; which was broke off, Partly for that her promised proportions Came short of composition, but in chief For that her reputation was disvalued In levity: since which time of five years I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her, Upon my faith and honour. MARIANA: Noble prince, As there comes light from heaven and words from breath, As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, I am affianced this man's wife as strongly As words could make up vows: and, my good lord, But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house He knew me as a wife. As this is true, Let me in safety raise me from my knees Or else for ever be confixed here, A marble monument! ANGELO: I did but smile till now: Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice My patience here is touch'd. I do perceive These poor informal women are no more But instruments of some more mightier member That sets them on: let me have way, my lord, To find this practise out. DUKE VINCENTIO: Ay, with my heart And punish them to your height of pleasure. Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou thy oaths, Though they would swear down each particular saint, Were testimonies against his worth and credit That's seal'd in approbation? You, Lord Escalus, Sit with my cousin; lend him your kind pains To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. There is another friar that set them on; Let him be sent for. FRIAR PETER: Would he were here, my lord! for he indeed Hath set the women on to this complaint: Your provost knows the place where he abides And he may fetch him. DUKE VINCENTIO: Go do it instantly. And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth, Do with your injuries as seems you best, In any chastisement: I for a while will leave you; But stir not you till you have well determined Upon these slanderers. ESCALUS: My lord, we'll do it throughly. Signior Lucio, did not you say you knew that Friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person? LUCIO: 'Cucullus non facit monachum:' honest in nothing but in his clothes; and one that hath spoke most villanous speeches of the duke. ESCALUS: We shall entreat you to abide here till he come and enforce them against him: we shall find this friar a notable fellow. LUCIO: As any in Vienna, on my word. ESCALUS: Call that same Isabel here once again; I would speak with her. Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall see how I'll handle her. LUCIO: Not better than he, by her own report. ESCALUS: Say you? LUCIO: Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her privately, she would sooner confess: perchance, publicly, she'll be ashamed. ESCALUS: I will go darkly to work with her. LUCIO: That's the way; for women are light at midnight. ESCALUS: Come on, mistress: here's a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. LUCIO: My lord, here comes the rascal I spoke of; here with the provost. ESCALUS: In very good time: speak not you to him till we call upon you. LUCIO: Mum. ESCALUS: Come, sir: did you set these women on to slander Lord Angelo? they have confessed you did. DUKE VINCENTIO: 'Tis false. ESCALUS: How! know you where you are? DUKE VINCENTIO: Respect to your great place! and let the devil Be sometime honour'd for his burning throne! Where is the duke? 'tis he should hear me speak. ESCALUS: The duke's in us; and we will hear you speak: Look you speak justly. DUKE VINCENTIO: Boldly, at least. But, O, poor souls, Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox? Good night to your redress! Is the duke gone? Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust, Thus to retort your manifest appeal, And put your trial in the villain's mouth Which here you come to accuse. LUCIO: This is the rascal; this is he I spoke of. ESCALUS: Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar, Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these women To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth And in the witness of his proper ear, To call him villain? and then to glance from him To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice? Take him hence; to the rack with him! We'll touse you Joint by joint, but we will know his purpose. What 'unjust'! DUKE VINCENTIO: Be not so hot; the duke Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he Dare rack his own: his subject am I not, Nor here provincial. My business in this state Made me a looker on here in Vienna, Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble Till it o'er-run the stew; laws for all faults, But faults so countenanced, that the strong statutes Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, As much in mock as mark. ESCALUS: Slander to the state! Away with him to prison! ANGELO: What can you vouch against him, Signior Lucio? Is this the man that you did tell us of? LUCIO: 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, goodman baldpate: do you know me? DUKE VINCENTIO: I remember you, sir, by the sound of your voice: I met you at the prison, in the absence of the duke. LUCIO: O, did you so? And do you remember what you said of the duke? DUKE VINCENTIO: Most notedly, sir. LUCIO: Do you so, sir? And was the duke a fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported him to be? DUKE VINCENTIO: You must, sir, change persons with me, ere you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of him; and much more, much worse. LUCIO: O thou damnable fellow! Did not I pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches? DUKE VINCENTIO: I protest I love the duke as I love myself. ANGELO: Hark, how the villain would close now, after his treasonable abuses! ESCALUS: Such a fellow is not to be talked withal. Away with him to prison! Where is the provost? Away with him to prison! lay bolts enough upon him: let him speak no more. Away with those giglots too, and with the other confederate companion! DUKE VINCENTIO: ANGELO: What, resists he? Help him, Lucio. LUCIO: Come, sir; come, sir; come, sir; foh, sir! Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal, you must be hooded, must you? Show your knave's visage, with a pox to you! show your sheep-biting face, and be hanged an hour! Will't not off? DUKE VINCENTIO: Thou art the first knave that e'er madest a duke. First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. Sneak not away, sir; for the friar and you Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. LUCIO: This may prove worse than hanging. DUKE VINCENTIO: ANGELO: O my dread lord, I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible, When I perceive your grace, like power divine, Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good prince, No longer session hold upon my shame, But let my trial be mine own confession: Immediate sentence then and sequent death Is all the grace I beg. DUKE VINCENTIO: Come hither, Mariana. Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? ANGELO: I was, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Go take her hence, and marry her instantly. Do you the office, friar; which consummate, Return him here again. Go with him, provost. ESCALUS: My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour Than at the strangeness of it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Come hither, Isabel. Your friar is now your prince: as I was then Advertising and holy to your business, Not changing heart with habit, I am still Attorney'd at your service. ISABELLA: O, give me pardon, That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd Your unknown sovereignty! DUKE VINCENTIO: You are pardon'd, Isabel: And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart; And you may marvel why I obscured myself, Labouring to save his life, and would not rather Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power Than let him so be lost. O most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain'd my purpose. But, peace be with him! That life is better life, past fearing death, Than that which lives to fear: make it your comfort, So happy is your brother. ISABELLA: I do, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: For this new-married man approaching here, Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd Your well defended honour, you must pardon For Mariana's sake: but as he adjudged your brother,-- Being criminal, in double violation Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,-- The very mercy of the law cries out Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!' Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure; Like doth quit like, and MEASURE still FOR MEASURE. Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested; Which, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee vantage. We do condemn thee to the very block Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste. Away with him! MARIANA: O my most gracious lord, I hope you will not mock me with a husband. DUKE VINCENTIO: It is your husband mock'd you with a husband. Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, I thought your marriage fit; else imputation, For that he knew you, might reproach your life And choke your good to come; for his possessions, Although by confiscation they are ours, We do instate and widow you withal, To buy you a better husband. MARIANA: O my dear lord, I crave no other, nor no better man. DUKE VINCENTIO: Never crave him; we are definitive. MARIANA: Gentle my liege,-- DUKE VINCENTIO: You do but lose your labour. Away with him to death! Now, sir, to you. MARIANA: O my good lord! Sweet Isabel, take my part; Lend me your knees, and all my life to come I'll lend you all my life to do you service. DUKE VINCENTIO: Against all sense you do importune her: Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, And take her hence in horror. MARIANA: Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me; Hold up your hands, say nothing; I'll speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults; And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad: so may my husband. O Isabel, will you not lend a knee? DUKE VINCENTIO: He dies for Claudio's death. ISABELLA: Most bounteous sir, Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, As if my brother lived: I partly think A due sincerity govern'd his deeds, Till he did look on me: since it is so, Let him not die. My brother had but justice, In that he did the thing for which he died: For Angelo, His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, And must be buried but as an intent That perish'd by the way: thoughts are no subjects; Intents but merely thoughts. MARIANA: Merely, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: Your suit's unprofitable; stand up, I say. I have bethought me of another fault. Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded At an unusual hour? Provost: It was commanded so. DUKE VINCENTIO: Had you a special warrant for the deed? Provost: No, my good lord; it was by private message. DUKE VINCENTIO: For which I do discharge you of your office: Give up your keys. Provost: Pardon me, noble lord: I thought it was a fault, but knew it not; Yet did repent me, after more advice; For testimony whereof, one in the prison, That should by private order else have died, I have reserved alive. DUKE VINCENTIO: What's he? Provost: His name is Barnardine. DUKE VINCENTIO: I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. Go fetch him hither; let me look upon him. ESCALUS: I am sorry, one so learned and so wise As you, Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood. And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. ANGELO: I am sorry that such sorrow I procure: And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart That I crave death more willingly than mercy; 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. DUKE VINCENTIO: Which is that Barnardine? Provost: This, my lord. DUKE VINCENTIO: There was a friar told me of this man. Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. That apprehends no further than this world, And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt condemn'd: But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all; And pray thee take this mercy to provide For better times to come. Friar, advise him; I leave him to your hand. What muffled fellow's that? Provost: This is another prisoner that I saved. Who should have died when Claudio lost his head; As like almost to Claudio as himself. DUKE VINCENTIO: LUCIO: 'Faith, my lord. I spoke it but according to the trick. If you will hang me for it, you may; but I had rather it would please you I might be whipt. DUKE VINCENTIO: Whipt first, sir, and hanged after. Proclaim it, provost, round about the city. Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow, As I have heard him swear himself there's one Whom he begot with child, let her appear, And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, Let him be whipt and hang'd. LUCIO: I beseech your highness, do not marry me to a whore. Your highness said even now, I made you a duke: good my lord, do not recompense me in making me a cuckold. DUKE VINCENTIO: Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. Thy slanders I forgive; and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison; And see our pleasure herein executed. LUCIO: Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to death, whipping, and hanging. DUKE VINCENTIO: Slandering a prince deserves it. She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. Joy to you, Mariana! Love her, Angelo: I have confess'd her and I know her virtue. Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: There's more behind that is more gratulate. Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy: We shill employ thee in a worthier place. Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home The head of Ragozine for Claudio's: The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good; Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine. So, bring us to our palace; where we'll show What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know. SLY: I'll pheeze you, in faith. Hostess: A pair of stocks, you rogue! SLY: Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa! Hostess: You will not pay for the glasses you have burst? SLY: No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. Hostess: I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third--borough. SLY: Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. Lord: Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds: Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd; And couple Clowder with the deep--mouth'd brach. Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault? I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. First Huntsman: Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord; He cried upon it at the merest loss And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent: Trust me, I take him for the better dog. Lord: Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet, I would esteem him worth a dozen such. But sup them well and look unto them all: To-morrow I intend to hunt again. First Huntsman: I will, my lord. Lord: What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe? Second Huntsman: He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale, This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. Lord: O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies! Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image! Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, A most delicious banquet by his bed, And brave attendants near him when he wakes, Would not the beggar then forget himself? First Huntsman: Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choose. Second Huntsman: It would seem strange unto him when he waked. Lord: Even as a flattering dream or worthless fancy. Then take him up and manage well the jest: Carry him gently to my fairest chamber And hang it round with all my wanton pictures: Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet: Procure me music ready when he wakes, To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound; And if he chance to speak, be ready straight And with a low submissive reverence Say 'What is it your honour will command?' Let one attend him with a silver basin Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers, Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper, And say 'Will't please your lordship cool your hands?' Some one be ready with a costly suit And ask him what apparel he will wear; Another tell him of his hounds and horse, And that his lady mourns at his disease: Persuade him that he hath been lunatic; And when he says he is, say that he dreams, For he is nothing but a mighty lord. This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs: It will be pastime passing excellent, If it be husbanded with modesty. First Huntsman: My lord, I warrant you we will play our part, As he shall think by our true diligence He is no less than what we say he is. Lord: Take him up gently and to bed with him; And each one to his office when he wakes. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: Belike, some noble gentleman that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here. How now! who is it? Servant: An't please your honour, players That offer service to your lordship. Lord: Bid them come near. Now, fellows, you are welcome. Players: We thank your honour. Lord: Do you intend to stay with me tonight? A Player: So please your lordship to accept our duty. Lord: With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son: 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well: I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd. A Player: I think 'twas Soto that your honour means. Lord: 'Tis very true: thou didst it excellent. Well, you are come to me in a happy time; The rather for I have some sport in hand Wherein your cunning can assist me much. There is a lord will hear you play to-night: But I am doubtful of your modesties; Lest over-eyeing of his odd behavior,-- For yet his honour never heard a play-- You break into some merry passion And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs, If you should smile he grows impatient. A Player: Fear not, my lord: we can contain ourselves, Were he the veriest antic in the world. Lord: Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, And give them friendly welcome every one: Let them want nothing that my house affords. Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady: That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber; And call him 'madam,' do him obeisance. Tell him from me, as he will win my love, He bear himself with honourable action, Such as he hath observed in noble ladies Unto their lords, by them accomplished: Such duty to the drunkard let him do With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy, And say 'What is't your honour will command, Wherein your lady and your humble wife May show her duty and make known her love?' And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses, And with declining head into his bosom, Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd To see her noble lord restored to health, Who for this seven years hath esteem'd him No better than a poor and loathsome beggar: And if the boy have not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift, Which in a napkin being close convey'd Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst: Anon I'll give thee more instructions. I know the boy will well usurp the grace, Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman: I long to hear him call the drunkard husband, And how my men will stay themselves from laughter When they do homage to this simple peasant. I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen Which otherwise would grow into extremes. SLY: For God's sake, a pot of small ale. First Servant: Will't please your lordship drink a cup of sack? Second Servant: Will't please your honour taste of these conserves? Third Servant: What raiment will your honour wear to-day? SLY: I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor 'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometimes more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather. Lord: Heaven cease this idle humour in your honour! O, that a mighty man of such descent, Of such possessions and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit! SLY: What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught: here's-- Third Servant: O, this it is that makes your lady mourn! Second Servant: O, this is it that makes your servants droop! Lord: Hence comes it that your kindred shuns your house, As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth, Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. Look how thy servants do attend on thee, Each in his office ready at thy beck. Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays, And twenty caged nightingales do sing: Or wilt thou sleep? we'll have thee to a couch Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground: Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd, Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar Above the morning lark or wilt thou hunt? Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. First Servant: Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds are as swift As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. Second Servant: Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis painted by a running brook, And Cytherea all in sedges hid, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. Lord: We'll show thee Io as she was a maid, And how she was beguiled and surprised, As lively painted as the deed was done. Third Servant: Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds, And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn. Lord: Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: Thou hast a lady far more beautiful Than any woman in this waning age. First Servant: And till the tears that she hath shed for thee Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face, She was the fairest creature in the world; And yet she is inferior to none. SLY: Am I a lord? and have I such a lady? Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now? I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak; I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things: Upon my life, I am a lord indeed And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. Well, bring our lady hither to our sight; And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. Second Servant: Will't please your mightiness to wash your hands? O, how we joy to see your wit restored! O, that once more you knew but what you are! These fifteen years you have been in a dream; Or when you waked, so waked as if you slept. SLY: These fifteen years! by my fay, a goodly nap. But did I never speak of all that time? First Servant: O, yes, my lord, but very idle words: For though you lay here in this goodly chamber, Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door; And rail upon the hostess of the house; And say you would present her at the leet, Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts: Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. SLY: Ay, the woman's maid of the house. Third Servant: Why, sir, you know no house nor no such maid, Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up, As Stephen Sly and did John Naps of Greece And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell And twenty more such names and men as these Which never were nor no man ever saw. SLY: Now Lord be thanked for my good amends! ALL: Amen. SLY: I thank thee: thou shalt not lose by it. Page: How fares my noble lord? SLY: Marry, I fare well for here is cheer enough. Where is my wife? Page: Here, noble lord: what is thy will with her? SLY: Are you my wife and will not call me husband? My men should call me 'lord:' I am your goodman. Page: My husband and my lord, my lord and husband; I am your wife in all obedience. SLY: I know it well. What must I call her? Lord: Madam. SLY: Al'ce madam, or Joan madam? Lord: 'Madam,' and nothing else: so lords call ladies. SLY: Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd And slept above some fifteen year or more. Page: Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me, Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. SLY: 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and her alone. Madam, undress you and come now to bed. Page: Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you To pardon me yet for a night or two, Or, if not so, until the sun be set: For your physicians have expressly charged, In peril to incur your former malady, That I should yet absent me from your bed: I hope this reason stands for my excuse. SLY: Ay, it stands so that I may hardly tarry so long. But I would be loath to fall into my dreams again: I will therefore tarry in despite of the flesh and the blood. Messenger: Your honour's players, heating your amendment, Are come to play a pleasant comedy; For so your doctors hold it very meet, Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy: Therefore they thought it good you hear a play And frame your mind to mirth and merriment, Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens life. SLY: Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not a comondy a Christmas gambold or a tumbling-trick? Page: No, my good lord; it is more pleasing stuff. SLY: What, household stuff? Page: It is a kind of history. SLY: Well, well see't. Come, madam wife, sit by my side and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger. LUCENTIO: Tranio, since for the great desire I had To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy, The pleasant garden of great Italy; And by my father's love and leave am arm'd With his good will and thy good company, My trusty servant, well approved in all, Here let us breathe and haply institute A course of learning and ingenious studies. Pisa renown'd for grave citizens Gave me my being and my father first, A merchant of great traffic through the world, Vincetino come of Bentivolii. Vincetino's son brought up in Florence It shall become to serve all hopes conceived, To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds: And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study, Virtue and that part of philosophy Will I apply that treats of happiness By virtue specially to be achieved. Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left And am to Padua come, as he that leaves A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. TRANIO: Mi perdonato, gentle master mine, I am in all affected as yourself; Glad that you thus continue your resolve To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. Only, good master, while we do admire This virtue and this moral discipline, Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray; Or so devote to Aristotle's cheques As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: Balk logic with acquaintance that you have And practise rhetoric in your common talk; Music and poesy use to quicken you; The mathematics and the metaphysics, Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you; No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en: In brief, sir, study what you most affect. LUCENTIO: Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, We could at once put us in readiness, And take a lodging fit to entertain Such friends as time in Padua shall beget. But stay a while: what company is this? TRANIO: Master, some show to welcome us to town. BAPTISTA: Gentlemen, importune me no farther, For how I firmly am resolved you know; That is, not bestow my youngest daughter Before I have a husband for the elder: If either of you both love Katharina, Because I know you well and love you well, Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. GREMIO: KATHARINA: I pray you, sir, is it your will To make a stale of me amongst these mates? HORTENSIO: Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. KATHARINA: I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear: I wis it is not half way to her heart; But if it were, doubt not her care should be To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool And paint your face and use you like a fool. HORTENSIA: From all such devils, good Lord deliver us! GREMIO: And me too, good Lord! TRANIO: Hush, master! here's some good pastime toward: That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward. LUCENTIO: But in the other's silence do I see Maid's mild behavior and sobriety. Peace, Tranio! TRANIO: Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill. BAPTISTA: Gentlemen, that I may soon make good What I have said, Bianca, get you in: And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. KATHARINA: A pretty peat! it is best Put finger in the eye, an she knew why. BIANCA: Sister, content you in my discontent. Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe: My books and instruments shall be my company, On them to took and practise by myself. LUCENTIO: Hark, Tranio! thou may'st hear Minerva speak. HORTENSIO: Signior Baptista, will you be so strange? Sorry am I that our good will effects Bianca's grief. GREMIO: Why will you mew her up, Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell, And make her bear the penance of her tongue? BAPTISTA: Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolved: Go in, Bianca: And for I know she taketh most delight In music, instruments and poetry, Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, Or Signior Gremio, you, know any such, Prefer them hither; for to cunning men I will be very kind, and liberal To mine own children in good bringing up: And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay; For I have more to commune with Bianca. KATHARINA: Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not? What, shall I be appointed hours; as though, belike, I knew not what to take and what to leave, ha? GREMIO: You may go to the devil's dam: your gifts are so good, here's none will hold you. Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it fairly out: our cakes dough on both sides. Farewell: yet for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit man to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to her father. HORTENSIO: So will I, Signior Gremio: but a word, I pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth us both, that we may yet again have access to our fair mistress and be happy rivals in Bianco's love, to labour and effect one thing specially. GREMIO: What's that, I pray? HORTENSIO: Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. GREMIO: A husband! a devil. HORTENSIO: I say, a husband. GREMIO: I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hortensio, though her father be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to hell? HORTENSIO: Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience and mine to endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all faults, and money enough. GREMIO: I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with this condition, to be whipped at the high cross every morning. HORTENSIO: Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten apples. But come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly maintained all by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest free for a husband, and then have to't a fresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy man be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you, Signior Gremio? GREMIO: I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed her and bed her and rid the house of her! Come on. TRANIO: I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible That love should of a sudden take such hold? LUCENTIO: O Tranio, till I found it to be true, I never thought it possible or likely; But see, while idly I stood looking on, I found the effect of love in idleness: And now in plainness do confess to thee, That art to me as secret and as dear As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, If I achieve not this young modest girl. Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst; Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. TRANIO: Master, it is no time to chide you now; Affection is not rated from the heart: If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, 'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.' LUCENTIO: Gramercies, lad, go forward; this contents: The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. TRANIO: Master, you look'd so longly on the maid, Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all. LUCENTIO: O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face, Such as the daughter of Agenor had, That made great Jove to humble him to her hand. When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. TRANIO: Saw you no more? mark'd you not how her sister Began to scold and raise up such a storm That mortal ears might hardly endure the din? LUCENTIO: Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move And with her breath she did perfume the air: Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. TRANIO: Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance. I pray, awake, sir: if you love the maid, Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands: Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd That till the father rid his hands of her, Master, your love must live a maid at home; And therefore has he closely mew'd her up, Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. LUCENTIO: Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! But art thou not advised, he took some care To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? TRANIO: Ay, marry, am I, sir; and now 'tis plotted. LUCENTIO: I have it, Tranio. TRANIO: Master, for my hand, Both our inventions meet and jump in one. LUCENTIO: Tell me thine first. TRANIO: You will be schoolmaster And undertake the teaching of the maid: That's your device. LUCENTIO: It is: may it be done? TRANIO: Not possible; for who shall bear your part, And be in Padua here Vincentio's son, Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends, Visit his countrymen and banquet them? LUCENTIO: Basta; content thee, for I have it full. We have not yet been seen in any house, Nor can we lie distinguish'd by our faces For man or master; then it follows thus; Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, Keep house and port and servants as I should: I will some other be, some Florentine, Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 'Tis hatch'd and shall be so: Tranio, at once Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak: When Biondello comes, he waits on thee; But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. TRANIO: So had you need. In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, And I am tied to be obedient; For so your father charged me at our parting, 'Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he, Although I think 'twas in another sense; I am content to be Lucentio, Because so well I love Lucentio. LUCENTIO: Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been? BIONDELLO: Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you? Master, has my fellow Tranio stolen your clothes? Or you stolen his? or both? pray, what's the news? LUCENTIO: Sirrah, come hither: 'tis no time to jest, And therefore frame your manners to the time. Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, Puts my apparel and my countenance on, And I for my escape have put on his; For in a quarrel since I came ashore I kill'd a man and fear I was descried: Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, While I make way from hence to save my life: You understand me? BIONDELLO: I, sir! ne'er a whit. LUCENTIO: And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth: Tranio is changed into Lucentio. BIONDELLO: The better for him: would I were so too! TRANIO: So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after, That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter. But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your master's, I advise You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies: When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio; But in all places else your master Lucentio. LUCENTIO: Tranio, let's go: one thing more rests, that thyself execute, to make one among these wooers: if thou ask me why, sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty. First Servant: My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play. SLY: Yes, by Saint Anne, do I. A good matter, surely: comes there any more of it? Page: My lord, 'tis but begun. SLY: 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady: would 'twere done! PETRUCHIO: Verona, for a while I take my leave, To see my friends in Padua, but of all My best beloved and approved friend, Hortensio; and I trow this is his house. Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say. GRUMIO: Knock, sir! whom should I knock? is there man has rebused your worship? PETRUCHIO: Villain, I say, knock me here soundly. GRUMIO: Knock you here, sir! why, sir, what am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir? PETRUCHIO: Villain, I say, knock me at this gate And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate. GRUMIO: My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you first, And then I know after who comes by the worst. PETRUCHIO: Will it not be? Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll ring it; I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. GRUMIO: Help, masters, help! my master is mad. PETRUCHIO: Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah villain! HORTENSIO: How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio! and my good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona? PETRUCHIO: Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray? 'Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say. HORTENSIO: 'Alla nostra casa ben venuto, molto honorato signor mio Petruchio.' Rise, Grumio, rise: we will compound this quarrel. GRUMIO: Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. if this be not a lawful case for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir: well, was it fit for a servant to use his master so, being perhaps, for aught I see, two and thirty, a pip out? Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first, Then had not Grumio come by the worst. PETRUCHIO: A senseless villain! Good Hortensio, I bade the rascal knock upon your gate And could not get him for my heart to do it. GRUMIO: Knock at the gate! O heavens! Spake you not these words plain, 'Sirrah, knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly'? And come you now with, 'knocking at the gate'? PETRUCHIO: Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge: Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you, Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale Blows you to Padua here from old Verona? PETRUCHIO: Such wind as scatters young men through the world, To seek their fortunes farther than at home Where small experience grows. But in a few, Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me: Antonio, my father, is deceased; And I have thrust myself into this maze, Haply to wive and thrive as best I may: Crowns in my purse I have and goods at home, And so am come abroad to see the world. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife? Thou'ldst thank me but a little for my counsel: And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich And very rich: but thou'rt too much my friend, And I'll not wish thee to her. PETRUCHIO: Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse, She moves me not, or not removes, at least, Affection's edge in me, were she as rough As are the swelling Adriatic seas: I come to wive it wealthily in Padua; If wealthily, then happily in Padua. GRUMIO: Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind is: Why give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby; or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses: why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in, I will continue that I broach'd in jest. I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife With wealth enough and young and beauteous, Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman: Her only fault, and that is faults enough, Is that she is intolerable curst And shrewd and froward, so beyond all measure That, were my state far worser than it is, I would not wed her for a mine of gold. PETRUCHIO: Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect: Tell me her father's name and 'tis enough; For I will board her, though she chide as loud As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. HORTENSIO: Her father is Baptista Minola, An affable and courteous gentleman: Her name is Katharina Minola, Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. PETRUCHIO: I know her father, though I know not her; And he knew my deceased father well. I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her; And therefore let me be thus bold with you To give you over at this first encounter, Unless you will accompany me thither. GRUMIO: I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, she would think scolding would do little good upon him: she may perhaps call him half a score knaves or so: why, that's nothing; an he begin once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what sir, an she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face and so disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat. You know him not, sir. HORTENSIO: Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, For in Baptista's keep my treasure is: He hath the jewel of my life in hold, His youngest daughter, beautiful Binaca, And her withholds from me and other more, Suitors to her and rivals in my love, Supposing it a thing impossible, For those defects I have before rehearsed, That ever Katharina will be woo'd; Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en, That none shall have access unto Bianca Till Katharina the curst have got a husband. GRUMIO: Katharina the curst! A title for a maid of all titles the worst. HORTENSIO: Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace, And offer me disguised in sober robes To old Baptista as a schoolmaster Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca; That so I may, by this device, at least Have leave and leisure to make love to her And unsuspected court her by herself. GRUMIO: Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how the young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look about you: who goes there, ha? HORTENSIO: Peace, Grumio! it is the rival of my love. Petruchio, stand by a while. GRUMIO: A proper stripling and an amorous! GREMIO: O, very well; I have perused the note. Hark you, sir: I'll have them very fairly bound: All books of love, see that at any hand; And see you read no other lectures to her: You understand me: over and beside Signior Baptista's liberality, I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too, And let me have them very well perfumed For she is sweeter than perfume itself To whom they go to. What will you read to her? LUCENTIO: Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you As for my patron, stand you so assured, As firmly as yourself were still in place: Yea, and perhaps with more successful words Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. GREMIO: O this learning, what a thing it is! GRUMIO: O this woodcock, what an ass it is! PETRUCHIO: Peace, sirrah! HORTENSIO: Grumio, mum! God save you, Signior Gremio. GREMIO: And you are well met, Signior Hortensio. Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola. I promised to inquire carefully About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca: And by good fortune I have lighted well On this young man, for learning and behavior Fit for her turn, well read in poetry And other books, good ones, I warrant ye. HORTENSIO: 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman Hath promised me to help me to another, A fine musician to instruct our mistress; So shall I no whit be behind in duty To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. GREMIO: Beloved of me; and that my deeds shall prove. GRUMIO: And that his bags shall prove. HORTENSIO: Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love: Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met, Upon agreement from us to his liking, Will undertake to woo curst Katharina, Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. GREMIO: So said, so done, is well. Hortensio, have you told him all her faults? PETRUCHIO: I know she is an irksome brawling scold: If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. GREMIO: No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman? PETRUCHIO: Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: My father dead, my fortune lives for me; And I do hope good days and long to see. GREMIO: O sir, such a life, with such a wife, were strange! But if you have a stomach, to't i' God's name: You shall have me assisting you in all. But will you woo this wild-cat? PETRUCHIO: Will I live? GRUMIO: Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her. PETRUCHIO: Why came I hither but to that intent? Think you a little din can daunt mine ears? Have I not in my time heard lions roar? Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat? Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies? Have I not in a pitched battle heard Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang? And do you tell me of a woman's tongue, That gives not half so great a blow to hear As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire? Tush, tush! fear boys with bugs. GRUMIO: For he fears none. GREMIO: Hortensio, hark: This gentleman is happily arrived, My mind presumes, for his own good and ours. HORTENSIO: I promised we would be contributors And bear his charging of wooing, whatsoe'er. GREMIO: And so we will, provided that he win her. GRUMIO: I would I were as sure of a good dinner. TRANIO: Gentlemen, God save you. If I may be bold, Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? BIONDELLO: He that has the two fair daughters: is't he you mean? TRANIO: Even he, Biondello. GREMIO: Hark you, sir; you mean not her to-- TRANIO: Perhaps, him and her, sir: what have you to do? PETRUCHIO: Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. TRANIO: I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away. LUCENTIO: Well begun, Tranio. HORTENSIO: Sir, a word ere you go; Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no? TRANIO: And if I be, sir, is it any offence? GREMIO: No; if without more words you will get you hence. TRANIO: Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free For me as for you? GREMIO: But so is not she. TRANIO: For what reason, I beseech you? GREMIO: For this reason, if you'll know, That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. HORTENSIO: That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio. TRANIO: Softly, my masters! if you be gentlemen, Do me this right; hear me with patience. Baptista is a noble gentleman, To whom my father is not all unknown; And were his daughter fairer than she is, She may more suitors have and me for one. Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers; Then well one more may fair Bianca have: And so she shall; Lucentio shall make one, Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. GREMIO: What! this gentleman will out-talk us all. LUCENTIO: Sir, give him head: I know he'll prove a jade. PETRUCHIO: Hortensio, to what end are all these words? HORTENSIO: Sir, let me be so bold as ask you, Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter? TRANIO: No, sir; but hear I do that he hath two, The one as famous for a scolding tongue As is the other for beauteous modesty. PETRUCHIO: Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by. GREMIO: Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules; And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. PETRUCHIO: Sir, understand you this of me in sooth: The youngest daughter whom you hearken for Her father keeps from all access of suitors, And will not promise her to any man Until the elder sister first be wed: The younger then is free and not before. TRANIO: If it be so, sir, that you are the man Must stead us all and me amongst the rest, And if you break the ice and do this feat, Achieve the elder, set the younger free For our access, whose hap shall be to have her Will not so graceless be to be ingrate. HORTENSIO: Sir, you say well and well you do conceive; And since you do profess to be a suitor, You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, To whom we all rest generally beholding. TRANIO: Sir, I shall not be slack: in sign whereof, Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, And quaff carouses to our mistress' health, And do as adversaries do in law, Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends. GRUMIO: O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone. HORTENSIO: The motion's good indeed and be it so, Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. BIANCA: Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong yourself, To make a bondmaid and a slave of me; That I disdain: but for these other gawds, Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat; Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders. KATHARINA: Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell Whom thou lovest best: see thou dissemble not. BIANCA: Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. KATHARINA: Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hortensio? BIANCA: If you affect him, sister, here I swear I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him. KATHARINA: O then, belike, you fancy riches more: You will have Gremio to keep you fair. BIANCA: Is it for him you do envy me so? Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive You have but jested with me all this while: I prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. KATHARINA: If that be jest, then all the rest was so. BAPTISTA: Why, how now, dame! whence grows this insolence? Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl! she weeps. Go ply thy needle; meddle not with her. For shame, thou helding of a devilish spirit, Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? When did she cross thee with a bitter word? KATHARINA: Her silence flouts me, and I'll be revenged. BAPTISTA: What, in my sight? Bianca, get thee in. KATHARINA: What, will you not suffer me? Nay, now I see She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance bare-foot on her wedding day And for your love to her lead apes in hell. Talk not to me: I will go sit and weep Till I can find occasion of revenge. BAPTISTA: Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I? But who comes here? GREMIO: Good morrow, neighbour Baptista. BAPTISTA: Good morrow, neighbour Gremio. God save you, gentlemen! PETRUCHIO: And you, good sir! Pray, have you not a daughter Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous? BAPTISTA: I have a daughter, sir, called Katharina. GREMIO: You are too blunt: go to it orderly. PETRUCHIO: You wrong me, Signior Gremio: give me leave. I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, Her affability and bashful modesty, Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior, Am bold to show myself a forward guest Within your house, to make mine eye the witness Of that report which I so oft have heard. And, for an entrance to my entertainment, I do present you with a man of mine, Cunning in music and the mathematics, To instruct her fully in those sciences, Whereof I know she is not ignorant: Accept of him, or else you do me wrong: His name is Licio, born in Mantua. BAPTISTA: You're welcome, sir; and he, for your good sake. But for my daughter Katharina, this I know, She is not for your turn, the more my grief. PETRUCHIO: I see you do not mean to part with her, Or else you like not of my company. BAPTISTA: Mistake me not; I speak but as I find. Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name? PETRUCHIO: Petruchio is my name; Antonio's son, A man well known throughout all Italy. BAPTISTA: I know him well: you are welcome for his sake. GREMIO: Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: Baccare! you are marvellous forward. PETRUCHIO: O, pardon me, Signior Gremio; I would fain be doing. GREMIO: I doubt it not, sir; but you will curse your wooing. Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of it. To express the like kindness, myself, that have been more kindly beholding to you than any, freely give unto you this young scholar, that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in music and mathematics: his name is Cambio; pray, accept his service. BAPTISTA: A thousand thanks, Signior Gremio. Welcome, good Cambio. But, gentle sir, methinks you walk like a stranger: may I be so bold to know the cause of your coming? TRANIO: Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own, That, being a stranger in this city here, Do make myself a suitor to your daughter, Unto Bianca, fair and virtuous. Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me, In the preferment of the eldest sister. This liberty is all that I request, That, upon knowledge of my parentage, I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo And free access and favour as the rest: And, toward the education of your daughters, I here bestow a simple instrument, And this small packet of Greek and Latin books: If you accept them, then their worth is great. BAPTISTA: Lucentio is your name; of whence, I pray? TRANIO: Of Pisa, sir; son to Vincentio. BAPTISTA: A mighty man of Pisa; by report I know him well: you are very welcome, sir, Take you the lute, and you the set of books; You shall go see your pupils presently. Holla, within! Sirrah, lead these gentlemen To my daughters; and tell them both, These are their tutors: bid them use them well. We will go walk a little in the orchard, And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, And so I pray you all to think yourselves. PETRUCHIO: Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, And every day I cannot come to woo. You knew my father well, and in him me, Left solely heir to all his lands and goods, Which I have better'd rather than decreased: Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, What dowry shall I have with her to wife? BAPTISTA: After my death the one half of my lands, And in possession twenty thousand crowns. PETRUCHIO: And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, In all my lands and leases whatsoever: Let specialties be therefore drawn between us, That covenants may be kept on either hand. BAPTISTA: Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, That is, her love; for that is all in all. PETRUCHIO: Why, that is nothing: for I tell you, father, I am as peremptory as she proud-minded; And where two raging fires meet together They do consume the thing that feeds their fury: Though little fire grows great with little wind, Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all: So I to her and so she yields to me; For I am rough and woo not like a babe. BAPTISTA: Well mayst thou woo, and happy be thy speed! But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. PETRUCHIO: Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for winds, That shake not, though they blow perpetually. BAPTISTA: How now, my friend! why dost thou look so pale? HORTENSIO: For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. BAPTISTA: What, will my daughter prove a good musician? HORTENSIO: I think she'll sooner prove a soldier Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. BAPTISTA: Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? HORTENSIO: Why, no; for she hath broke the lute to me. I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering; When, with a most impatient devilish spirit, 'Frets, call you these?' quoth she; 'I'll fume with them:' And, with that word, she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way; And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a pillory, looking through the lute; While she did call me rascal fiddler And twangling Jack; with twenty such vile terms, As had she studied to misuse me so. PETRUCHIO: Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench; I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her! BAPTISTA: Well, go with me and be not so discomfited: Proceed in practise with my younger daughter; She's apt to learn and thankful for good turns. Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you? PETRUCHIO: I pray you do. I will attend her here, And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale: Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew: Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banns and when be married. But here she comes; and now, Petruchio, speak. Good morrow, Kate; for that's your name, I hear. KATHARINA: Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katharina that do talk of me. PETRUCHIO: You lie, in faith; for you are call'd plain Kate, And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife. KATHARINA: Moved! in good time: let him that moved you hither Remove you hence: I knew you at the first You were a moveable. PETRUCHIO: Why, what's a moveable? KATHARINA: A join'd-stool. PETRUCHIO: Thou hast hit it: come, sit on me. KATHARINA: Asses are made to bear, and so are you. PETRUCHIO: Women are made to bear, and so are you. KATHARINA: No such jade as you, if me you mean. PETRUCHIO: Alas! good Kate, I will not burden thee; For, knowing thee to be but young and light-- KATHARINA: Too light for such a swain as you to catch; And yet as heavy as my weight should be. PETRUCHIO: Should be! should--buzz! KATHARINA: Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. PETRUCHIO: O slow-wing'd turtle! shall a buzzard take thee? KATHARINA: Ay, for a turtle, as he takes a buzzard. PETRUCHIO: Come, come, you wasp; i' faith, you are too angry. KATHARINA: If I be waspish, best beware my sting. PETRUCHIO: My remedy is then, to pluck it out. KATHARINA: Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies, PETRUCHIO: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. KATHARINA: In his tongue. PETRUCHIO: Whose tongue? KATHARINA: Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell. PETRUCHIO: What, with my tongue in your tail? nay, come again, Good Kate; I am a gentleman. KATHARINA: That I'll try. PETRUCHIO: I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again. KATHARINA: So may you lose your arms: If you strike me, you are no gentleman; And if no gentleman, why then no arms. PETRUCHIO: A herald, Kate? O, put me in thy books! KATHARINA: What is your crest? a coxcomb? PETRUCHIO: A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen. KATHARINA: No cock of mine; you crow too like a craven. PETRUCHIO: Nay, come, Kate, come; you must not look so sour. KATHARINA: It is my fashion, when I see a crab. PETRUCHIO: Why, here's no crab; and therefore look not sour. KATHARINA: There is, there is. PETRUCHIO: Then show it me. KATHARINA: Had I a glass, I would. PETRUCHIO: What, you mean my face? KATHARINA: Well aim'd of such a young one. PETRUCHIO: Now, by Saint George, I am too young for you. KATHARINA: Yet you are wither'd. PETRUCHIO: 'Tis with cares. KATHARINA: I care not. PETRUCHIO: Nay, hear you, Kate: in sooth you scape not so. KATHARINA: I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go. PETRUCHIO: No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle. 'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen, And now I find report a very liar; For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers: Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk, But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers, With gentle conference, soft and affable. Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig Is straight and slender and as brown in hue As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels. O, let me see thee walk: thou dost not halt. KATHARINA: Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command. PETRUCHIO: Did ever Dian so become a grove As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate; And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful! KATHARINA: Where did you study all this goodly speech? PETRUCHIO: It is extempore, from my mother-wit. KATHARINA: A witty mother! witless else her son. PETRUCHIO: Am I not wise? KATHARINA: Yes; keep you warm. PETRUCHIO: Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharina, in thy bed: And therefore, setting all this chat aside, Thus in plain terms: your father hath consented That you shall be my wife; your dowry 'greed on; And, Will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn; For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty, Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well, Thou must be married to no man but me; For I am he am born to tame you Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Conformable as other household Kates. Here comes your father: never make denial; I must and will have Katharina to my wife. BAPTISTA: Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed you with my daughter? PETRUCHIO: How but well, sir? how but well? It were impossible I should speed amiss. BAPTISTA: Why, how now, daughter Katharina! in your dumps? KATHARINA: Call you me daughter? now, I promise you You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, To wish me wed to one half lunatic; A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. PETRUCHIO: Father, 'tis thus: yourself and all the world, That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her: If she be curst, it is for policy, For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; She is not hot, but temperate as the morn; For patience she will prove a second Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity: And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together, That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. KATHARINA: I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. GREMIO: Hark, Petruchio; she says she'll see thee hang'd first. TRANIO: Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night our part! PETRUCHIO: Be patient, gentlemen; I choose her for myself: If she and I be pleased, what's that to you? 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone, That she shall still be curst in company. I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe How much she loves me: O, the kindest Kate! She hung about my neck; and kiss on kiss She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, That in a twink she won me to her love. O, you are novices! 'tis a world to see, How tame, when men and women are alone, A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice, To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests; I will be sure my Katharina shall be fine. BAPTISTA: I know not what to say: but give me your hands; God send you joy, Petruchio! 'tis a match. GREMIO: Amen, say we: we will be witnesses. PETRUCHIO: Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu; I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace: We will have rings and things and fine array; And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o'Sunday. GREMIO: Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly? BAPTISTA: Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part, And venture madly on a desperate mart. TRANIO: 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you: 'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. BAPTISTA: The gain I seek is, quiet in the match. GREMIO: No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch. But now, Baptists, to your younger daughter: Now is the day we long have looked for: I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. TRANIO: And I am one that love Bianca more Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess. GREMIO: Youngling, thou canst not love so dear as I. TRANIO: Graybeard, thy love doth freeze. GREMIO: But thine doth fry. Skipper, stand back: 'tis age that nourisheth. TRANIO: But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth. BAPTISTA: Content you, gentlemen: I will compound this strife: 'Tis deeds must win the prize; and he of both That can assure my daughter greatest dower Shall have my Bianca's love. Say, Signior Gremio, What can you assure her? GREMIO: First, as you know, my house within the city Is richly furnished with plate and gold; Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands; My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry; In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents, and canopies, Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearl, Valance of Venice gold in needlework, Pewter and brass and all things that belong To house or housekeeping: then, at my farm I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail, Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls, And all things answerable to this portion. Myself am struck in years, I must confess; And if I die to-morrow, this is hers, If whilst I live she will be only mine. TRANIO: That 'only' came well in. Sir, list to me: I am my father's heir and only son: If I may have your daughter to my wife, I'll leave her houses three or four as good, Within rich Pisa walls, as any one Old Signior Gremio has in Padua; Besides two thousand ducats by the year Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio? GREMIO: Two thousand ducats by the year of land! My land amounts not to so much in all: That she shall have; besides an argosy That now is lying in Marseilles' road. What, have I choked you with an argosy? TRANIO: Gremio, 'tis known my father hath no less Than three great argosies; besides two galliases, And twelve tight galleys: these I will assure her, And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next. GREMIO: Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more; And she can have no more than all I have: If you like me, she shall have me and mine. TRANIO: Why, then the maid is mine from all the world, By your firm promise: Gremio is out-vied. BAPTISTA: I must confess your offer is the best; And, let your father make her the assurance, She is your own; else, you must pardon me, if you should die before him, where's her dower? TRANIO: That's but a cavil: he is old, I young. GREMIO: And may not young men die, as well as old? BAPTISTA: Well, gentlemen, I am thus resolved: on Sunday next you know My daughter Katharina is to be married: Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca Be bride to you, if you this assurance; If not, Signior Gremio: And so, I take my leave, and thank you both. GREMIO: Adieu, good neighbour. Now I fear thee not: Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool To give thee all, and in his waning age Set foot under thy table: tut, a toy! An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. TRANIO: A vengeance on your crafty wither'd hide! Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 'Tis in my head to do my master good: I see no reason but supposed Lucentio Must get a father, call'd 'supposed Vincentio;' And that's a wonder: fathers commonly Do get their children; but in this case of wooing, A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunning. LUCENTIO: Fiddler, forbear; you grow too forward, sir: Have you so soon forgot the entertainment Her sister Katharina welcomed you withal? HORTENSIO: But, wrangling pedant, this is The patroness of heavenly harmony: Then give me leave to have prerogative; And when in music we have spent an hour, Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. LUCENTIO: Preposterous ass, that never read so far To know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man After his studies or his usual pain? Then give me leave to read philosophy, And while I pause, serve in your harmony. HORTENSIO: Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine. BIANCA: Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong, To strive for that which resteth in my choice: I am no breeching scholar in the schools; I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, But learn my lessons as I please myself. And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down: Take you your instrument, play you the whiles; His lecture will be done ere you have tuned. HORTENSIO: You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune? LUCENTIO: That will be never: tune your instrument. BIANCA: Where left we last? LUCENTIO: Here, madam: 'Hic ibat Simois; hic est Sigeia tellus; Hic steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' BIANCA: Construe them. LUCENTIO: 'Hic ibat,' as I told you before, 'Simois,' I am Lucentio, 'hic est,' son unto Vincentio of Pisa, 'Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus to get your love; 'Hic steterat,' and that Lucentio that comes a-wooing, 'Priami,' is my man Tranio, 'regia,' bearing my port, 'celsa senis,' that we might beguile the old pantaloon. HORTENSIO: Madam, my instrument's in tune. BIANCA: Let's hear. O fie! the treble jars. LUCENTIO: Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. BIANCA: Now let me see if I can construe it: 'Hic ibat Simois,' I know you not, 'hic est Sigeia tellus,' I trust you not; 'Hic steterat Priami,' take heed he hear us not, 'regia,' presume not, 'celsa senis,' despair not. HORTENSIO: Madam, 'tis now in tune. LUCENTIO: All but the base. HORTENSIO: The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. How fiery and forward our pedant is! Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love: Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. BIANCA: In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. LUCENTIO: Mistrust it not: for, sure, AEacides Was Ajax, call'd so from his grandfather. BIANCA: I must believe my master; else, I promise you, I should be arguing still upon that doubt: But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you: Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, That I have been thus pleasant with you both. HORTENSIO: You may go walk, and give me leave a while: My lessons make no music in three parts. LUCENTIO: Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, And watch withal; for, but I be deceived, Our fine musician groweth amorous. HORTENSIO: Madam, before you touch the instrument, To learn the order of my fingering, I must begin with rudiments of art; To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, More pleasant, pithy and effectual, Than hath been taught by any of my trade: And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. BIANCA: Why, I am past my gamut long ago. HORTENSIO: Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. BIANCA: Servant: Mistress, your father prays you leave your books And help to dress your sister's chamber up: You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. BIANCA: Farewell, sweet masters both; I must be gone. LUCENTIO: Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to stay. HORTENSIO: But I have cause to pry into this pedant: Methinks he looks as though he were in love: Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, Seize thee that list: if once I find thee ranging, Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing. BAPTISTA: KATHARINA: No shame but mine: I must, forsooth, be forced To give my hand opposed against my heart Unto a mad-brain rudesby full of spleen; Who woo'd in haste and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior: And, to be noted for a merry man, He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the banns; Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. Now must the world point at poor Katharina, And say, 'Lo, there is mad Petruchio's wife, If it would please him come and marry her!' TRANIO: Patience, good Katharina, and Baptista too. Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, Whatever fortune stays him from his word: Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. KATHARINA: Would Katharina had never seen him though! BAPTISTA: Go, girl; I cannot blame thee now to weep; For such an injury would vex a very saint, Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. BIONDELLO: Master, master! news, old news, and such news as you never heard of! BAPTISTA: Is it new and old too? how may that be? BIONDELLO: Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's coming? BAPTISTA: Is he come? BIONDELLO: Why, no, sir. BAPTISTA: What then? BIONDELLO: He is coming. BAPTISTA: When will he be here? BIONDELLO: When he stands where I am and sees you there. TRANIO: But say, what to thine old news? BIONDELLO: Why, Petruchio is coming in a new hat and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches thrice turned, a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced, an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town-armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless; with two broken points: his horse hipped with an old mothy saddle and stirrups of no kindred; besides, possessed with the glanders and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wingdalls, sped with spavins, rayed with yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in the back and shoulder-shotten; near-legged before and with, a half-chequed bit and a head-stall of sheeps leather which, being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst and now repaired with knots; one girth six time pieced and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two letters for her name fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. BAPTISTA: Who comes with him? BIONDELLO: O, sir, his lackey, for all the world caparisoned like the horse; with a linen stock on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered with a red and blue list; an old hat and 'the humour of forty fancies' pricked in't for a feather: a monster, a very monster in apparel, and not like a Christian footboy or a gentleman's lackey. TRANIO: 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this fashion; Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd. BAPTISTA: I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he comes. BIONDELLO: Why, sir, he comes not. BAPTISTA: Didst thou not say he comes? BIONDELLO: Who? that Petruchio came? BAPTISTA: Ay, that Petruchio came. BIONDELLO: No, sir, I say his horse comes, with him on his back. BAPTISTA: Why, that's all one. BIONDELLO: Nay, by Saint Jamy, I hold you a penny, A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many. PETRUCHIO: Come, where be these gallants? who's at home? BAPTISTA: You are welcome, sir. PETRUCHIO: And yet I come not well. BAPTISTA: And yet you halt not. TRANIO: Not so well apparell'd As I wish you were. PETRUCHIO: Were it better, I should rush in thus. But where is Kate? where is my lovely bride? How does my father? Gentles, methinks you frown: And wherefore gaze this goodly company, As if they saw some wondrous monument, Some comet or unusual prodigy? BAPTISTA: Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day: First were we sad, fearing you would not come; Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, An eye-sore to our solemn festival! TRANIO: And tells us, what occasion of import Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, And sent you hither so unlike yourself? PETRUCHIO: Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear: Sufficeth I am come to keep my word, Though in some part enforced to digress; Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse As you shall well be satisfied withal. But where is Kate? I stay too long from her: The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church. TRANIO: See not your bride in these unreverent robes: Go to my chamber; Put on clothes of mine. PETRUCHIO: Not I, believe me: thus I'll visit her. BAPTISTA: But thus, I trust, you will not marry her. PETRUCHIO: Good sooth, even thus; therefore ha' done with words: To me she's married, not unto my clothes: Could I repair what she will wear in me, As I can change these poor accoutrements, 'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. But what a fool am I to chat with you, When I should bid good morrow to my bride, And seal the title with a lovely kiss! TRANIO: He hath some meaning in his mad attire: We will persuade him, be it possible, To put on better ere he go to church. BAPTISTA: I'll after him, and see the event of this. TRANIO: But to her love concerneth us to add Her father's liking: which to bring to pass, As I before unparted to your worship, I am to get a man,--whate'er he be, It skills not much. we'll fit him to our turn,-- And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa; And make assurance here in Padua Of greater sums than I have promised. So shall you quietly enjoy your hope, And marry sweet Bianca with consent. LUCENTIO: Were it not that my fellow-school-master Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; Which once perform'd, let all the world say no, I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. TRANIO: That by degrees we mean to look into, And watch our vantage in this business: We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, The narrow-prying father, Minola, The quaint musician, amorous Licio; All for my master's sake, Lucentio. Signior Gremio, came you from the church? GREMIO: As willingly as e'er I came from school. TRANIO: And is the bride and bridegroom coming home? GREMIO: A bridegroom say you? 'tis a groom indeed, A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. TRANIO: Curster than she? why, 'tis impossible. GREMIO: Why he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. TRANIO: Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam. GREMIO: Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him! I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio: when the priest Should ask, if Katharina should be his wife, 'Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he; and swore so loud, That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book; And, as he stoop'd again to take it up, The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cuff That down fell priest and book and book and priest: 'Now take them up,' quoth he, 'if any list.' TRANIO: What said the wench when he rose again? GREMIO: Trembled and shook; for why, he stamp'd and swore, As if the vicar meant to cozen him. But after many ceremonies done, He calls for wine: 'A health!' quoth he, as if He had been aboard, carousing to his mates After a storm; quaff'd off the muscadel And threw the sops all in the sexton's face; Having no other reason But that his beard grew thin and hungerly And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking. This done, he took the bride about the neck And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack That at the parting all the church did echo: And I seeing this came thence for very shame; And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before: Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play. PETRUCHIO: Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your pains: I know you think to dine with me to-day, And have prepared great store of wedding cheer; But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, And therefore here I mean to take my leave. BAPTISTA: Is't possible you will away to-night? PETRUCHIO: I must away to-day, before night come: Make it no wonder; if you knew my business, You would entreat me rather go than stay. And, honest company, I thank you all, That have beheld me give away myself To this most patient, sweet and virtuous wife: Dine with my father, drink a health to me; For I must hence; and farewell to you all. TRANIO: Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. PETRUCHIO: It may not be. GREMIO: Let me entreat you. PETRUCHIO: It cannot be. KATHARINA: Let me entreat you. PETRUCHIO: I am content. KATHARINA: Are you content to stay? PETRUCHIO: I am content you shall entreat me stay; But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. KATHARINA: Now, if you love me, stay. PETRUCHIO: Grumio, my horse. GRUMIO: Ay, sir, they be ready: the oats have eaten the horses. KATHARINA: Nay, then, Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day; No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. The door is open, sir; there lies your way; You may be jogging whiles your boots are green; For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself: 'Tis like you'll prove a jolly surly groom, That take it on you at the first so roundly. PETRUCHIO: O Kate, content thee; prithee, be not angry. KATHARINA: I will be angry: what hast thou to do? Father, be quiet; he shall stay my leisure. GREMIO: Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. KATARINA: Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: I see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist. PETRUCHIO: They shall go forward, Kate, at thy command. Obey the bride, you that attend on her; Go to the feast, revel and domineer, Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves: But for my bonny Kate, she must with me. Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret; I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing; And here she stands, touch her whoever dare; I'll bring mine action on the proudest he That stops my way in Padua. Grumio, Draw forth thy weapon, we are beset with thieves; Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee, Kate: I'll buckler thee against a million. BAPTISTA: Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. GREMIO: Went they not quickly, I should die with laughing. TRANIO: Of all mad matches never was the like. LUCENTIO: Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister? BIANCA: That, being mad herself, she's madly mated. GREMIO: I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. BAPTISTA: Neighbours and friends, though bride and bridegroom wants For to supply the places at the table, You know there wants no junkets at the feast. Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place: And let Bianca take her sister's room. TRANIO: Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? BAPTISTA: She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentlemen, let's go. GRUMIO: Fie, fie on all tired jades, on all mad masters, and all foul ways! Was ever man so beaten? was ever man so rayed? was ever man so weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they are coming after to warm them. Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth, my tongue to the roof of my mouth, my heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to thaw me: but I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man than I will take cold. Holla, ho! Curtis. CURTIS: Who is that calls so coldly? GRUMIO: A piece of ice: if thou doubt it, thou mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with no greater a run but my head and my neck. A fire good Curtis. CURTIS: Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio? GRUMIO: O, ay, Curtis, ay: and therefore fire, fire; cast on no water. CURTIS: Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? GRUMIO: She was, good Curtis, before this frost: but, thou knowest, winter tames man, woman and beast; for it hath tamed my old master and my new mistress and myself, fellow Curtis. CURTIS: Away, you three-inch fool! I am no beast. GRUMIO: Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a foot; and so long am I at the least. But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mistress, whose hand, she being now at hand, thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow in thy hot office? CURTIS: I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how goes the world? GRUMIO: A cold world, Curtis, in every office but thine; and therefore fire: do thy duty, and have thy duty; for my master and mistress are almost frozen to death. CURTIS: There's fire ready; and therefore, good Grumio, the news. GRUMIO: Why, 'Jack, boy! ho! boy!' and as much news as will thaw. CURTIS: Come, you are so full of cony-catching! GRUMIO: Why, therefore fire; for I have caught extreme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; the serving-men in their new fustian, their white stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on? Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the carpets laid, and every thing in order? CURTIS: All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news. GRUMIO: First, know, my horse is tired; my master and mistress fallen out. CURTIS: How? GRUMIO: Out of their saddles into the dirt; and thereby hangs a tale. CURTIS: Let's ha't, good Grumio. GRUMIO: Lend thine ear. CURTIS: Here. GRUMIO: There. CURTIS: This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. GRUMIO: And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale: and this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin: Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress,-- CURTIS: Both of one horse? GRUMIO: What's that to thee? CURTIS: Why, a horse. GRUMIO: Tell thou the tale: but hadst thou not crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse fell and she under her horse; thou shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how she was bemoiled, how he left her with the horse upon her, how he beat me because her horse stumbled, how she waded through the dirt to pluck him off me, how he swore, how she prayed, that never prayed before, how I cried, how the horses ran away, how her bridle was burst, how I lost my crupper, with many things of worthy memory, which now shall die in oblivion and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. CURTIS: By this reckoning he is more shrew than she. GRUMIO: Ay; and that thou and the proudest of you all shall find when he comes home. But what talk I of this? Call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop and the rest: let their heads be sleekly combed their blue coats brushed and their garters of an indifferent knit: let them curtsy with their left legs and not presume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail till they kiss their hands. Are they all ready? CURTIS: They are. GRUMIO: Call them forth. CURTIS: Do you hear, ho? you must meet my master to countenance my mistress. GRUMIO: Why, she hath a face of her own. CURTIS: Who knows not that? GRUMIO: Thou, it seems, that calls for company to countenance her. CURTIS: I call them forth to credit her. GRUMIO: Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them. NATHANIEL: Welcome home, Grumio! PHILIP: How now, Grumio! JOSEPH: What, Grumio! NICHOLAS: Fellow Grumio! NATHANIEL: How now, old lad? GRUMIO: Welcome, you;--how now, you;-- what, you;--fellow, you;--and thus much for greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all things neat? NATHANIEL: All things is ready. How near is our master? GRUMIO: E'en at hand, alighted by this; and therefore be not--Cock's passion, silence! I hear my master. PETRUCHIO: Where be these knaves? What, no man at door To hold my stirrup nor to take my horse! Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? ALL SERVING-MEN: Here, here, sir; here, sir. PETRUCHIO: Here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! here, sir! You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! What, no attendance? no regard? no duty? Where is the foolish knave I sent before? GRUMIO: Here, sir; as foolish as I was before. PETRUCHIO: You peasant swain! you whoreson malt-horse drudge! Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, And bring along these rascal knaves with thee? GRUMIO: Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the heel; There was no link to colour Peter's hat, And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing: There were none fine but Adam, Ralph, and Gregory; The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly; Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you. PETRUCHIO: Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. Where is the life that late I led-- Where are those--Sit down, Kate, and welcome.-- Sound, sound, sound, sound! Why, when, I say? Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. Off with my boots, you rogues! you villains, when? It was the friar of orders grey, As he forth walked on his way:-- Out, you rogue! you pluck my foot awry: Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. Be merry, Kate. Some water, here; what, ho! Where's my spaniel Troilus? Sirrah, get you hence, And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither: One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted with. Where are my slippers? Shall I have some water? Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily. You whoreson villain! will you let it fall? KATHARINA: Patience, I pray you; 'twas a fault unwilling. PETRUCHIO: A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave! Come, Kate, sit down; I know you have a stomach. Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I? What's this? mutton? First Servant: Ay. PETRUCHIO: Who brought it? PETER: I. PETRUCHIO: 'Tis burnt; and so is all the meat. What dogs are these! Where is the rascal cook? How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, And serve it thus to me that love it not? Theretake it to you, trenchers, cups, and all; You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd slaves! What, do you grumble? I'll be with you straight. KATHARINA: I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet: The meat was well, if you were so contented. PETRUCHIO: I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away; And I expressly am forbid to touch it, For it engenders choler, planteth anger; And better 'twere that both of us did fast, Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. Be patient; to-morrow 't shall be mended, And, for this night, we'll fast for company: Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. NATHANIEL: Peter, didst ever see the like? PETER: He kills her in her own humour. GRUMIO: Where is he? CURTIS: In her chamber, making a sermon of continency to her; And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, poor soul, Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak, And sits as one new-risen from a dream. Away, away! for he is coming hither. PETRUCHIO: Thus have I politicly begun my reign, And 'tis my hope to end successfully. My falcon now is sharp and passing empty; And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard, To make her come and know her keeper's call, That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites That bate and beat and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not; As with the meat, some undeserved fault I'll find about the making of the bed; And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster, This way the coverlet, another way the sheets: Ay, and amid this hurly I intend That all is done in reverend care of her; And in conclusion she shall watch all night: And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl And with the clamour keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness; And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak: 'tis charity to show. TRANIO: Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mistress Bianca Doth fancy any other but Lucentio? I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. HORTENSIO: Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, Stand by and mark the manner of his teaching. LUCENTIO: Now, mistress, profit you in what you read? BIANCA: What, master, read you? first resolve me that. LUCENTIO: I read that I profess, the Art to Love. BIANCA: And may you prove, sir, master of your art! LUCENTIO: While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my heart! HORTENSIO: Quick proceeders, marry! Now, tell me, I pray, You that durst swear at your mistress Bianca Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio. TRANIO: O despiteful love! unconstant womankind! I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. HORTENSIO: Mistake no more: I am not Licio, Nor a musician, as I seem to be; But one that scorn to live in this disguise, For such a one as leaves a gentleman, And makes a god of such a cullion: Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. TRANIO: Signior Hortensio, I have often heard Of your entire affection to Bianca; And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness, I will with you, if you be so contented, Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. HORTENSIO: See, how they kiss and court! Signior Lucentio, Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow Never to woo her no more, but do forswear her, As one unworthy all the former favours That I have fondly flatter'd her withal. TRANIO: And here I take the unfeigned oath, Never to marry with her though she would entreat: Fie on her! see, how beastly she doth court him! HORTENSIO: Would all the world but he had quite forsworn! For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, I will be married to a wealthy widow, Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved me As I have loved this proud disdainful haggard. And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love: and so I take my leave, In resolution as I swore before. TRANIO: Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love, And have forsworn you with Hortensio. BIANCA: Tranio, you jest: but have you both forsworn me? TRANIO: Mistress, we have. LUCENTIO: Then we are rid of Licio. TRANIO: I' faith, he'll have a lusty widow now, That shall be wood and wedded in a day. BIANCA: God give him joy! TRANIO: Ay, and he'll tame her. BIANCA: He says so, Tranio. TRANIO: Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school. BIANCA: The taming-school! what, is there such a place? TRANIO: Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master; That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, To tame a shrew and charm her chattering tongue. BIONDELLO: O master, master, I have watch'd so long That I am dog-weary: but at last I spied An ancient angel coming down the hill, Will serve the turn. TRANIO: What is he, Biondello? BIONDELLO: Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, I know not what; but format in apparel, In gait and countenance surely like a father. LUCENTIO: And what of him, Tranio? TRANIO: If he be credulous and trust my tale, I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio, And give assurance to Baptista Minola, As if he were the right Vincentio Take in your love, and then let me alone. Pedant: God save you, sir! TRANIO: And you, sir! you are welcome. Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest? Pedant: Sir, at the farthest for a week or two: But then up farther, and as for as Rome; And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. TRANIO: What countryman, I pray? Pedant: Of Mantua. TRANIO: Of Mantua, sir? marry, God forbid! And come to Padua, careless of your life? Pedant: My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard. TRANIO: 'Tis death for any one in Mantua To come to Padua. Know you not the cause? Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the duke, For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him, Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly: 'Tis, marvel, but that you are but newly come, You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. Pedant: Alas! sir, it is worse for me than so; For I have bills for money by exchange From Florence and must here deliver them. TRANIO: Well, sir, to do you courtesy, This will I do, and this I will advise you: First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa? Pedant: Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, Pisa renowned for grave citizens. TRANIO: Among them know you one Vincentio? Pedant: I know him not, but I have heard of him; A merchant of incomparable wealth. TRANIO: He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say, In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. BIONDELLO: TRANIO: To save your life in this extremity, This favour will I do you for his sake; And think it not the worst of an your fortunes That you are like to Sir Vincentio. His name and credit shall you undertake, And in my house you shall be friendly lodged: Look that you take upon you as you should; You understand me, sir: so shall you stay Till you have done your business in the city: If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. Pedant: O sir, I do; and will repute you ever The patron of my life and liberty. TRANIO: Then go with me to make the matter good. This, by the way, I let you understand; my father is here look'd for every day, To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here: In all these circumstances I'll instruct you: Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. GRUMIO: No, no, forsooth; I dare not for my life. KATHARINA: The more my wrong, the more his spite appears: What, did he marry me to famish me? Beggars, that come unto my father's door, Upon entreaty have a present aims; If not, elsewhere they meet with charity: But I, who never knew how to entreat, Nor never needed that I should entreat, Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep, With oath kept waking and with brawling fed: And that which spites me more than all these wants, He does it under name of perfect love; As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. I prithee go and get me some repast; I care not what, so it be wholesome food. GRUMIO: What say you to a neat's foot? KATHARINA: 'Tis passing good: I prithee let me have it. GRUMIO: I fear it is too choleric a meat. How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd? KATHARINA: I like it well: good Grumio, fetch it me. GRUMIO: I cannot tell; I fear 'tis choleric. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? KATHARINA: A dish that I do love to feed upon. GRUMIO: Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. KATHARINA: Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest. GRUMIO: Nay then, I will not: you shall have the mustard, Or else you get no beef of Grumio. KATHARINA: Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. GRUMIO: Why then, the mustard without the beef. KATHARINA: Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, That feed'st me with the very name of meat: Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you, That triumph thus upon my misery! Go, get thee gone, I say. PETRUCHIO: How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? HORTENSIO: Mistress, what cheer? KATHARINA: Faith, as cold as can be. PETRUCHIO: Pluck up thy spirits; look cheerfully upon me. Here love; thou see'st how diligent I am To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee: I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. What, not a word? Nay, then thou lovest it not; And all my pains is sorted to no proof. Here, take away this dish. KATHARINA: I pray you, let it stand. PETRUCHIO: The poorest service is repaid with thanks; And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. KATHARINA: I thank you, sir. HORTENSIO: Signior Petruchio, fie! you are to blame. Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. PETRUCHIO: Haberdasher: Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. PETRUCHIO: Why, this was moulded on a porringer; A velvet dish: fie, fie! 'tis lewd and filthy: Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap: Away with it! come, let me have a bigger. KATHARINA: I'll have no bigger: this doth fit the time, And gentlewomen wear such caps as these PETRUCHIO: When you are gentle, you shall have one too, And not till then. HORTENSIO: KATHARINA: Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to speak; And speak I will; I am no child, no babe: Your betters have endured me say my mind, And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, Or else my heart concealing it will break, And rather than it shall, I will be free Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. PETRUCHIO: Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap, A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie: I love thee well, in that thou likest it not. KATHARINA: Love me or love me not, I like the cap; And it I will have, or I will have none. PETRUCHIO: Thy gown? why, ay: come, tailor, let us see't. O mercy, God! what masquing stuff is here? What's this? a sleeve? 'tis like a demi-cannon: What, up and down, carved like an apple-tart? Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash, Like to a censer in a barber's shop: Why, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this? HORTENSIO: Tailor: You bid me make it orderly and well, According to the fashion and the time. PETRUCHIO: Marry, and did; but if you be remember'd, I did not bid you mar it to the time. Go, hop me over every kennel home, For you shall hop without my custom, sir: I'll none of it: hence! make your best of it. KATHARINA: I never saw a better-fashion'd gown, More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable: Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. PETRUCHIO: Why, true; he means to make a puppet of thee. Tailor: She says your worship means to make a puppet of her. PETRUCHIO: O monstrous arrogance! Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail! Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou! Braved in mine own house with a skein of thread? Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; Or I shall so be-mete thee with thy yard As thou shalt think on prating whilst thou livest! I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. Tailor: Your worship is deceived; the gown is made Just as my master had direction: Grumio gave order how it should be done. GRUMIO: I gave him no order; I gave him the stuff. Tailor: But how did you desire it should be made? GRUMIO: Marry, sir, with needle and thread. Tailor: But did you not request to have it cut? GRUMIO: Thou hast faced many things. Tailor: I have. GRUMIO: Face not me: thou hast braved many men; brave not me; I will neither be faced nor braved. I say unto thee, I bid thy master cut out the gown; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces: ergo, thou liest. Tailor: Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify PETRUCHIO: Read it. GRUMIO: The note lies in's throat, if he say I said so. Tailor: GRUMIO: Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a bottom of brown thread: I said a gown. PETRUCHIO: Proceed. Tailor: GRUMIO: I confess the cape. Tailor: GRUMIO: I confess two sleeves. Tailor: PETRUCHIO: Ay, there's the villany. GRUMIO: Error i' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. I commanded the sleeves should be cut out and sewed up again; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy little finger be armed in a thimble. Tailor: This is true that I say: an I had thee in place where, thou shouldst know it. GRUMIO: I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. HORTENSIO: God-a-mercy, Grumio! then he shall have no odds. PETRUCHIO: Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. GRUMIO: You are i' the right, sir: 'tis for my mistress. PETRUCHIO: Go, take it up unto thy master's use. GRUMIO: Villain, not for thy life: take up my mistress' gown for thy master's use! PETRUCHIO: Why, sir, what's your conceit in that? GRUMIO: O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for: Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use! O, fie, fie, fie! PETRUCHIO: HORTENSIO: Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown tomorrow: Take no unkindness of his hasty words: Away! I say; commend me to thy master. PETRUCHIO: Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father's Even in these honest mean habiliments: Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peereth in the meanest habit. What is the jay more precious than the lark, Because his fathers are more beautiful? Or is the adder better than the eel, Because his painted skin contents the eye? O, no, good Kate; neither art thou the worse For this poor furniture and mean array. if thou account'st it shame. lay it on me; And therefore frolic: we will hence forthwith, To feast and sport us at thy father's house. Go, call my men, and let us straight to him; And bring our horses unto Long-lane end; There will we mount, and thither walk on foot Let's see; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock, And well we may come there by dinner-time. KATHARINA: I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there. PETRUCHIO: It shall be seven ere I go to horse: Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, You are still crossing it. Sirs, let't alone: I will not go to-day; and ere I do, It shall be what o'clock I say it is. HORTENSIO: TRANIO: Sir, this is the house: please it you that I call? Pedant: Ay, what else? and but I be deceived Signior Baptista may remember me, Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. TRANIO: 'Tis well; and hold your own, in any case, With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. Pedant: I warrant you. But, sir, here comes your boy; 'Twere good he were school'd. TRANIO: Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondello, Now do your duty throughly, I advise you: Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. BIONDELLO: Tut, fear not me. TRANIO: But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista? BIONDELLO: I told him that your father was at Venice, And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. TRANIO: Thou'rt a tall fellow: hold thee that to drink. Here comes Baptista: set your countenance, sir. Signior Baptista, you are happily met. Sir, this is the gentleman I told you of: I pray you stand good father to me now, Give me Bianca for my patrimony. Pedant: Soft son! Sir, by your leave: having come to Padua To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio Made me acquainted with a weighty cause Of love between your daughter and himself: And, for the good report I hear of you And for the love he beareth to your daughter And she to him, to stay him not too long, I am content, in a good father's care, To have him match'd; and if you please to like No worse than I, upon some agreement Me shall you find ready and willing With one consent to have her so bestow'd; For curious I cannot be with you, Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. BAPTISTA: Sir, pardon me in what I have to say: Your plainness and your shortness please me well. Right true it is, your son Lucentio here Doth love my daughter and she loveth him, Or both dissemble deeply their affections: And therefore, if you say no more than this, That like a father you will deal with him And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, The match is made, and all is done: Your son shall have my daughter with consent. TRANIO: I thank you, sir. Where then do you know best We be affied and such assurance ta'en As shall with either part's agreement stand? BAPTISTA: Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants: Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still; And happily we might be interrupted. TRANIO: Then at my lodging, an it like you: There doth my father lie; and there, this night, We'll pass the business privately and well. Send for your daughter by your servant here: My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. The worst is this, that, at so slender warning, You are like to have a thin and slender pittance. BAPTISTA: It likes me well. Biondello, hie you home, And bid Bianca make her ready straight; And, if you will, tell what hath happened, Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. BIONDELLO: I pray the gods she may with all my heart! TRANIO: Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone. Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? Welcome! one mess is like to be your cheer: Come, sir; we will better it in Pisa. BAPTISTA: I follow you. BIONDELLO: Cambio! LUCENTIO: What sayest thou, Biondello? BIONDELLO: You saw my master wink and laugh upon you? LUCENTIO: Biondello, what of that? BIONDELLO: Faith, nothing; but has left me here behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs and tokens. LUCENTIO: I pray thee, moralize them. BIONDELLO: Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. LUCENTIO: And what of him? BIONDELLO: His daughter is to be brought by you to the supper. LUCENTIO: And then? BIONDELLO: The old priest of Saint Luke's church is at your command at all hours. LUCENTIO: And what of all this? BIONDELLO: I cannot tell; expect they are busied about a counterfeit assurance: take you assurance of her, 'cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum:' to the church; take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses: If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, But bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. LUCENTIO: Hearest thou, Biondello? BIONDELLO: I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to stuff a rabbit; and so may you, sir: and so, adieu, sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against you come with your appendix. LUCENTIO: I may, and will, if she be so contented: She will be pleased; then wherefore should I doubt? Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her: It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. PETRUCHIO: Come on, i' God's name; once more toward our father's. Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon! KATHARINA: The moon! the sun: it is not moonlight now. PETRUCHIO: I say it is the moon that shines so bright. KATHARINA: I know it is the sun that shines so bright. PETRUCHIO: Now, by my mother's son, and that's myself, It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or ere I journey to your father's house. Go on, and fetch our horses back again. Evermore cross'd and cross'd; nothing but cross'd! HORTENSIO: Say as he says, or we shall never go. KATHARINA: Forward, I pray, since we have come so far, And be it moon, or sun, or what you please: An if you please to call it a rush-candle, Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. PETRUCHIO: I say it is the moon. KATHARINA: I know it is the moon. PETRUCHIO: Nay, then you lie: it is the blessed sun. KATHARINA: Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed sun: But sun it is not, when you say it is not; And the moon changes even as your mind. What you will have it named, even that it is; And so it shall be so for Katharina. HORTENSIO: Petruchio, go thy ways; the field is won. PETRUCHIO: Well, forward, forward! thus the bowl should run, And not unluckily against the bias. But, soft! company is coming here. Good morrow, gentle mistress: where away? Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman? Such war of white and red within her cheeks! What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty, As those two eyes become that heavenly face? Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake. HORTENSIO: A' will make the man mad, to make a woman of him. KATHARINA: Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, Whither away, or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child; Happier the man, whom favourable stars Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow! PETRUCHIO: Why, how now, Kate! I hope thou art not mad: This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd, And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. KATHARINA: Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes, That have been so bedazzled with the sun That everything I look on seemeth green: Now I perceive thou art a reverend father; Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. PETRUCHIO: Do, good old grandsire; and withal make known Which way thou travellest: if along with us, We shall be joyful of thy company. VINCENTIO: Fair sir, and you my merry mistress, That with your strange encounter much amazed me, My name is call'd Vincentio; my dwelling Pisa; And bound I am to Padua; there to visit A son of mine, which long I have not seen. PETRUCHIO: What is his name? VINCENTIO: Lucentio, gentle sir. PETRUCHIO: Happily we met; the happier for thy son. And now by law, as well as reverend age, I may entitle thee my loving father: The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, Thy son by this hath married. Wonder not, Nor be grieved: she is of good esteem, Her dowery wealthy, and of worthy birth; Beside, so qualified as may beseem The spouse of any noble gentleman. Let me embrace with old Vincentio, And wander we to see thy honest son, Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. VINCENTIO: But is it true? or else is it your pleasure, Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest Upon the company you overtake? HORTENSIO: I do assure thee, father, so it is. PETRUCHIO: Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. HORTENSIO: Well, Petruchio, this has put me in heart. Have to my widow! and if she be froward, Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward. BIONDELLO: Softly and swiftly, sir; for the priest is ready. LUCENTIO: I fly, Biondello: but they may chance to need thee at home; therefore leave us. BIONDELLO: Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your back; and then come back to my master's as soon as I can. GREMIO: I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. PETRUCHIO: Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house: My father's bears more toward the market-place; Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. VINCENTIO: You shall not choose but drink before you go: I think I shall command your welcome here, And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. GREMIO: They're busy within; you were best knock louder. Pedant: What's he that knocks as he would beat down the gate? VINCENTIO: Is Signior Lucentio within, sir? Pedant: He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. VINCENTIO: What if a man bring him a hundred pound or two, to make merry withal? Pedant: Keep your hundred pounds to yourself: he shall need none, so long as I live. PETRUCHIO: Nay, I told you your son was well beloved in Padua. Do you hear, sir? To leave frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell Signior Lucentio that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with him. Pedant: Thou liest: his father is come from Padua and here looking out at the window. VINCENTIO: Art thou his father? Pedant: Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may believe her. PETRUCHIO: Pedant: Lay hands on the villain: I believe a' means to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. BIONDELLO: I have seen them in the church together: God send 'em good shipping! But who is here? mine old master Vincentio! now we are undone and brought to nothing. VINCENTIO: BIONDELLO: Hope I may choose, sir. VINCENTIO: Come hither, you rogue. What, have you forgot me? BIONDELLO: Forgot you! no, sir: I could not forget you, for I never saw you before in all my life. VINCENTIO: What, you notorious villain, didst thou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? BIONDELLO: What, my old worshipful old master? yes, marry, sir: see where he looks out of the window. VINCENTIO: Is't so, indeed. BIONDELLO: Help, help, help! here's a madman will murder me. Pedant: Help, son! help, Signior Baptista! PETRUCHIO: Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and see the end of this controversy. TRANIO: Sir, what are you that offer to beat my servant? VINCENTIO: What am I, sir! nay, what are you, sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A silken doublet! a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! O, I am undone! I am undone! while I play the good husband at home, my son and my servant spend all at the university. TRANIO: How now! what's the matter? BAPTISTA: What, is the man lunatic? TRANIO: Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by your habit, but your words show you a madman. Why, sir, what 'cerns it you if I wear pearl and gold? I thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. VINCENTIO: Thy father! O villain! he is a sailmaker in Bergamo. BAPTISTA: You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. Pray, what do you think is his name? VINCENTIO: His name! as if I knew not his name: I have brought him up ever since he was three years old, and his name is Tranio. Pedant: Away, away, mad ass! his name is Lucentio and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, Signior Vincentio. VINCENTIO: Lucentio! O, he hath murdered his master! Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's name. O, my son, my son! Tell me, thou villain, where is my son Lucentio? TRANIO: Call forth an officer. Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. VINCENTIO: Carry me to the gaol! GREMIO: Stay, officer: he shall not go to prison. BAPTISTA: Talk not, Signior Gremio: I say he shall go to prison. GREMIO: Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you be cony-catched in this business: I dare swear this is the right Vincentio. Pedant: Swear, if thou darest. GREMIO: Nay, I dare not swear it. TRANIO: Then thou wert best say that I am not Lucentio. GREMIO: Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lucentio. BAPTISTA: Away with the dotard! to the gaol with him! VINCENTIO: Thus strangers may be hailed and abused: O monstrous villain! BIONDELLO: O! we are spoiled and--yonder he is: deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. LUCENTIO: VINCENTIO: Lives my sweet son? BIANCA: Pardon, dear father. BAPTISTA: How hast thou offended? Where is Lucentio? LUCENTIO: Here's Lucentio, Right son to the right Vincentio; That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, While counterfeit supposes bleared thine eyne. GREMIO: Here's packing, with a witness to deceive us all! VINCENTIO: Where is that damned villain Tranio, That faced and braved me in this matter so? BAPTISTA: Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio? BIANCA: Cambio is changed into Lucentio. LUCENTIO: Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love Made me exchange my state with Tranio, While he did bear my countenance in the town; And happily I have arrived at the last Unto the wished haven of my bliss. What Tranio did, myself enforced him to; Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. VINCENTIO: I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have sent me to the gaol. BAPTISTA: But do you hear, sir? have you married my daughter without asking my good will? VINCENTIO: Fear not, Baptista; we will content you, go to: but I will in, to be revenged for this villany. BAPTISTA: And I, to sound the depth of this knavery. LUCENTIO: Look not pale, Bianca; thy father will not frown. GREMIO: My cake is dough; but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. KATHARINA: Husband, let's follow, to see the end of this ado. PETRUCHIO: First kiss me, Kate, and we will. KATHARINA: What, in the midst of the street? PETRUCHIO: What, art thou ashamed of me? KATHARINA: No, sir, God forbid; but ashamed to kiss. PETRUCHIO: Why, then let's home again. Come, sirrah, let's away. KATHARINA: Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now pray thee, love, stay. PETRUCHIO: Is not this well? Come, my sweet Kate: Better once than never, for never too late. LUCENTIO: At last, though long, our jarring notes agree: And time it is, when raging war is done, To smile at scapes and perils overblown. My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, While I with self-same kindness welcome thine. Brother Petruchio, sister Katharina, And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, Feast with the best, and welcome to my house: My banquet is to close our stomachs up, After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit down; For now we sit to chat as well as eat. PETRUCHIO: Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! BAPTISTA: Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. PETRUCHIO: Padua affords nothing but what is kind. HORTENSIO: For both our sakes, I would that word were true. PETRUCHIO: Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. Widow: Then never trust me, if I be afeard. PETRUCHIO: You are very sensible, and yet you miss my sense: I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. Widow: He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. PETRUCHIO: Roundly replied. KATHARINA: Mistress, how mean you that? Widow: Thus I conceive by him. PETRUCHIO: Conceives by me! How likes Hortensio that? HORTENSIO: My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. PETRUCHIO: Very well mended. Kiss him for that, good widow. KATHARINA: 'He that is giddy thinks the world turns round:' I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. Widow: Your husband, being troubled with a shrew, Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe: And now you know my meaning, KATHARINA: A very mean meaning. Widow: Right, I mean you. KATHARINA: And I am mean indeed, respecting you. PETRUCHIO: To her, Kate! HORTENSIO: To her, widow! PETRUCHIO: A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. HORTENSIO: That's my office. PETRUCHIO: Spoke like an officer; ha' to thee, lad! BAPTISTA: How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks? GREMIO: Believe me, sir, they butt together well. BIANCA: Head, and butt! an hasty-witted body Would say your head and butt were head and horn. VINCENTIO: Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? BIANCA: Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll sleep again. PETRUCHIO: Nay, that you shall not: since you have begun, Have at you for a bitter jest or two! BIANCA: Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush; And then pursue me as you draw your bow. You are welcome all. PETRUCHIO: She hath prevented me. Here, Signior Tranio. This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not; Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. TRANIO: O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his greyhound, Which runs himself and catches for his master. PETRUCHIO: A good swift simile, but something currish. TRANIO: 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself: 'Tis thought your deer does hold you at a bay. BAPTISTA: O ho, Petruchio! Tranio hits you now. LUCENTIO: I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. HORTENSIO: Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here? PETRUCHIO: A' has a little gall'd me, I confess; And, as the jest did glance away from me, 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. BAPTISTA: Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. PETRUCHIO: Well, I say no: and therefore for assurance Let's each one send unto his wife; And he whose wife is most obedient To come at first when he doth send for her, Shall win the wager which we will propose. HORTENSIO: Content. What is the wager? LUCENTIO: Twenty crowns. PETRUCHIO: Twenty crowns! I'll venture so much of my hawk or hound, But twenty times so much upon my wife. LUCENTIO: A hundred then. HORTENSIO: Content. PETRUCHIO: A match! 'tis done. HORTENSIO: Who shall begin? LUCENTIO: That will I. Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. BIONDELLO: I go. BAPTISTA: Son, I'll be your half, Bianca comes. LUCENTIO: I'll have no halves; I'll bear it all myself. How now! what news? BIONDELLO: Sir, my mistress sends you word That she is busy and she cannot come. PETRUCHIO: How! she is busy and she cannot come! Is that an answer? GREMIO: Ay, and a kind one too: Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. PETRUCHIO: I hope better. HORTENSIO: Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my wife To come to me forthwith. PETRUCHIO: O, ho! entreat her! Nay, then she must needs come. HORTENSIO: I am afraid, sir, Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. Now, where's my wife? BIONDELLO: She says you have some goodly jest in hand: She will not come: she bids you come to her. PETRUCHIO: Worse and worse; she will not come! O vile, Intolerable, not to be endured! Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress; Say, I command her to come to me. HORTENSIO: I know her answer. PETRUCHIO: What? HORTENSIO: She will not. PETRUCHIO: The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. BAPTISTA: Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina! KATHARINA: What is your will, sir, that you send for me? PETRUCHIO: Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife? KATHARINA: They sit conferring by the parlor fire. PETRUCHIO: Go fetch them hither: if they deny to come. Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands: Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. LUCENTIO: Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. HORTENSIO: And so it is: I wonder what it bodes. PETRUCHIO: Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life, And awful rule and right supremacy; And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy? BAPTISTA: Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio! The wager thou hast won; and I will add Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns; Another dowry to another daughter, For she is changed, as she had never been. PETRUCHIO: Nay, I will win my wager better yet And show more sign of her obedience, Her new-built virtue and obedience. See where she comes and brings your froward wives As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not: Off with that bauble, throw it under-foot. Widow: Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, Till I be brought to such a silly pass! BIANCA: Fie! what a foolish duty call you this? LUCENTIO: I would your duty were as foolish too: The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. BIANCA: The more fool you, for laying on my duty. PETRUCHIO: Katharina, I charge thee, tell these headstrong women What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. Widow: Come, come, you're mocking: we will have no telling. PETRUCHIO: Come on, I say; and first begin with her. Widow: She shall not. PETRUCHIO: I say she shall: and first begin with her. KATHARINA: Fie, fie! unknit that threatening unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor: It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance commits his body To painful labour both by sea and land, To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks and true obedience; Too little payment for so great a debt. Such duty as the subject owes the prince Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she but a foul contending rebel And graceless traitor to her loving lord? I am ashamed that women are so simple To offer war where they should kneel for peace; Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway, When they are bound to serve, love and obey. Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! My mind hath been as big as one of yours, My heart as great, my reason haply more, To bandy word for word and frown for frown; But now I see our lances are but straws, Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, That seeming to be most which we indeed least are. Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, And place your hands below your husband's foot: In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready; may it do him ease. PETRUCHIO: Why, there's a wench! Come on, and kiss me, Kate. LUCENTIO: Well, go thy ways, old lad; for thou shalt ha't. VINCENTIO: 'Tis a good hearing when children are toward. LUCENTIO: But a harsh hearing when women are froward. PETRUCHIO: Come, Kate, we'll to bed. We three are married, but you two are sped. 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white; And, being a winner, God give you good night! HORTENSIO: Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew. LUCENTIO: 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so. Master: Boatswain! Boatswain: Here, master: what cheer? Master: Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. Boatswain: Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master's whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough! ALONSO: Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? Play the men. Boatswain: I pray now, keep below. ANTONIO: Where is the master, boatswain? Boatswain: Do you not hear him? You mar our labour: keep your cabins: you do assist the storm. GONZALO: Nay, good, be patient. Boatswain: When the sea is. Hence! What cares these roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble us not. GONZALO: Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Boatswain: None that I more love than myself. You are a counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence, and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts! Out of our way, I say. GONZALO: I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable. Boatswain: Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower! Bring her to try with main-course. A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather or our office. Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er and drown? Have you a mind to sink? SEBASTIAN: A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! Boatswain: Work you then. ANTONIO: Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noisemaker! We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. GONZALO: I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell and as leaky as an unstanched wench. Boatswain: Lay her a-hold, a-hold! set her two courses off to sea again; lay her off. Mariners: All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! Boatswain: What, must our mouths be cold? GONZALO: The king and prince at prayers! let's assist them, For our case is as theirs. SEBASTIAN: I'm out of patience. ANTONIO: We are merely cheated of our lives by drunkards: This wide-chapp'd rascal--would thou mightst lie drowning The washing of ten tides! GONZALO: He'll be hang'd yet, Though every drop of water swear against it And gape at widest to glut him. ANTONIO: Let's all sink with the king. SEBASTIAN: Let's take leave of him. GONZALO: Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. MIRANDA: If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek, Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd. Had I been any god of power, I would Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere It should the good ship so have swallow'd and The fraughting souls within her. PROSPERO: Be collected: No more amazement: tell your piteous heart There's no harm done. MIRANDA: O, woe the day! PROSPERO: No harm. I have done nothing but in care of thee, Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing Of whence I am, nor that I am more better Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, And thy no greater father. MIRANDA: More to know Did never meddle with my thoughts. PROSPERO: 'Tis time I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me. So: Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort. The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd The very virtue of compassion in thee, I have with such provision in mine art So safely ordered that there is no soul-- No, not so much perdition as an hair Betid to any creature in the vessel Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know farther. MIRANDA: You have often Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding 'Stay: not yet.' PROSPERO: The hour's now come; The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember A time before we came unto this cell? I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not Out three years old. MIRANDA: Certainly, sir, I can. PROSPERO: By what? by any other house or person? Of any thing the image tell me that Hath kept with thy remembrance. MIRANDA: 'Tis far off And rather like a dream than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once that tended me? PROSPERO: Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else In the dark backward and abysm of time? If thou remember'st aught ere thou camest here, How thou camest here thou mayst. MIRANDA: But that I do not. PROSPERO: Twelve year since, Miranda, twelve year since, Thy father was the Duke of Milan and A prince of power. MIRANDA: Sir, are not you my father? PROSPERO: Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter; and thy father Was Duke of Milan; and thou his only heir And princess no worse issued. MIRANDA: O the heavens! What foul play had we, that we came from thence? Or blessed was't we did? PROSPERO: Both, both, my girl: By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heaved thence, But blessedly holp hither. MIRANDA: O, my heart bleeds To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance! Please you, farther. PROSPERO: My brother and thy uncle, call'd Antonio-- I pray thee, mark me--that a brother should Be so perfidious!--he whom next thyself Of all the world I loved and to him put The manage of my state; as at that time Through all the signories it was the first And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle-- Dost thou attend me? MIRANDA: Sir, most heedfully. PROSPERO: Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, who to advance and who To trash for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed 'em, Or else new form'd 'em; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleased his ear; that now he was The ivy which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st not. MIRANDA: O, good sir, I do. PROSPERO: I pray thee, mark me. I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated To closeness and the bettering of my mind With that which, but by being so retired, O'er-prized all popular rate, in my false brother Awaked an evil nature; and my trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood in its contrary as great As my trust was; which had indeed no limit, A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, Not only with what my revenue yielded, But what my power might else exact, like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie, he did believe He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution And executing the outward face of royalty, With all prerogative: hence his ambition growing-- Dost thou hear? MIRANDA: Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. PROSPERO: To have no screen between this part he play'd And him he play'd it for, he needs will be Absolute Milan. Me, poor man, my library Was dukedom large enough: of temporal royalties He thinks me now incapable; confederates-- So dry he was for sway--wi' the King of Naples To give him annual tribute, do him homage, Subject his coronet to his crown and bend The dukedom yet unbow'd--alas, poor Milan!-- To most ignoble stooping. MIRANDA: O the heavens! PROSPERO: Mark his condition and the event; then tell me If this might be a brother. MIRANDA: I should sin To think but nobly of my grandmother: Good wombs have borne bad sons. PROSPERO: Now the condition. The King of Naples, being an enemy To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit; Which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises Of homage and I know not how much tribute, Should presently extirpate me and mine Out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan With all the honours on my brother: whereon, A treacherous army levied, one midnight Fated to the purpose did Antonio open The gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, The ministers for the purpose hurried thence Me and thy crying self. MIRANDA: Alack, for pity! I, not remembering how I cried out then, Will cry it o'er again: it is a hint That wrings mine eyes to't. PROSPERO: Hear a little further And then I'll bring thee to the present business Which now's upon's; without the which this story Were most impertinent. MIRANDA: Wherefore did they not That hour destroy us? PROSPERO: Well demanded, wench: My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not, So dear the love my people bore me, nor set A mark so bloody on the business, but With colours fairer painted their foul ends. In few, they hurried us aboard a bark, Bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us, To cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh To the winds whose pity, sighing back again, Did us but loving wrong. MIRANDA: Alack, what trouble Was I then to you! PROSPERO: O, a cherubim Thou wast that did preserve me. Thou didst smile. Infused with a fortitude from heaven, When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt, Under my burthen groan'd; which raised in me An undergoing stomach, to bear up Against what should ensue. MIRANDA: How came we ashore? PROSPERO: By Providence divine. Some food we had and some fresh water that A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, Out of his charity, being then appointed Master of this design, did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries, Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness, Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. MIRANDA: Would I might But ever see that man! PROSPERO: Now I arise: Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. Here in this island we arrived; and here Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit Than other princesses can that have more time For vainer hours and tutors not so careful. MIRANDA: Heavens thank you for't! And now, I pray you, sir, For still 'tis beating in my mind, your reason For raising this sea-storm? PROSPERO: Know thus far forth. By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune, Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies Brought to this shore; and by my prescience I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star, whose influence If now I court not but omit, my fortunes Will ever after droop. Here cease more questions: Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, And give it way: I know thou canst not choose. Come away, servant, come. I am ready now. Approach, my Ariel, come. ARIEL: All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality. PROSPERO: Hast thou, spirit, Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? ARIEL: To every article. I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flamed amazement: sometime I'ld divide, And burn in many places; on the topmast, The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly, Then meet and join. Jove's lightnings, the precursors O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary And sight-outrunning were not; the fire and cracks Of sulphurous roaring the most mighty Neptune Seem to besiege and make his bold waves tremble, Yea, his dread trident shake. PROSPERO: My brave spirit! Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil Would not infect his reason? ARIEL: Not a soul But felt a fever of the mad and play'd Some tricks of desperation. All but mariners Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel, Then all afire with me: the king's son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring,--then like reeds, not hair,-- Was the first man that leap'd; cried, 'Hell is empty And all the devils are here.' PROSPERO: Why that's my spirit! But was not this nigh shore? ARIEL: Close by, my master. PROSPERO: But are they, Ariel, safe? ARIEL: Not a hair perish'd; On their sustaining garments not a blemish, But fresher than before: and, as thou badest me, In troops I have dispersed them 'bout the isle. The king's son have I landed by himself; Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs In an odd angle of the isle and sitting, His arms in this sad knot. PROSPERO: Of the king's ship The mariners say how thou hast disposed And all the rest o' the fleet. ARIEL: Safely in harbour Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid: The mariners all under hatches stow'd; Who, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet Which I dispersed, they all have met again And are upon the Mediterranean flote, Bound sadly home for Naples, Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd And his great person perish. PROSPERO: Ariel, thy charge Exactly is perform'd: but there's more work. What is the time o' the day? ARIEL: Past the mid season. PROSPERO: At least two glasses. The time 'twixt six and now Must by us both be spent most preciously. ARIEL: Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promised, Which is not yet perform'd me. PROSPERO: How now? moody? What is't thou canst demand? ARIEL: My liberty. PROSPERO: Before the time be out? no more! ARIEL: I prithee, Remember I have done thee worthy service; Told thee no lies, made thee no mistakings, served Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise To bate me a full year. PROSPERO: Dost thou forget From what a torment I did free thee? ARIEL: No. PROSPERO: Thou dost, and think'st it much to tread the ooze Of the salt deep, To run upon the sharp wind of the north, To do me business in the veins o' the earth When it is baked with frost. ARIEL: I do not, sir. PROSPERO: Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who with age and envy Was grown into a hoop? hast thou forgot her? ARIEL: No, sir. PROSPERO: Thou hast. Where was she born? speak; tell me. ARIEL: Sir, in Argier. PROSPERO: O, was she so? I must Once in a month recount what thou hast been, Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch Sycorax, For mischiefs manifold and sorceries terrible To enter human hearing, from Argier, Thou know'st, was banish'd: for one thing she did They would not take her life. Is not this true? ARIEL: Ay, sir. PROSPERO: This blue-eyed hag was hither brought with child And here was left by the sailors. Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant; And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Refusing her grand hests, she did confine thee, By help of her more potent ministers And in her most unmitigable rage, Into a cloven pine; within which rift Imprison'd thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans As fast as mill-wheels strike. Then was this island-- Save for the son that she did litter here, A freckled whelp hag-born--not honour'd with A human shape. ARIEL: Yes, Caliban her son. PROSPERO: Dull thing, I say so; he, that Caliban Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st What torment I did find thee in; thy groans Did make wolves howl and penetrate the breasts Of ever angry bears: it was a torment To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax Could not again undo: it was mine art, When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape The pine and let thee out. ARIEL: I thank thee, master. PROSPERO: If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak And peg thee in his knotty entrails till Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. ARIEL: Pardon, master; I will be correspondent to command And do my spiriting gently. PROSPERO: Do so, and after two days I will discharge thee. ARIEL: That's my noble master! What shall I do? say what; what shall I do? PROSPERO: Go make thyself like a nymph o' the sea: be subject To no sight but thine and mine, invisible To every eyeball else. Go take this shape And hither come in't: go, hence with diligence! Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well; Awake! MIRANDA: The strangeness of your story put Heaviness in me. PROSPERO: Shake it off. Come on; We'll visit Caliban my slave, who never Yields us kind answer. MIRANDA: 'Tis a villain, sir, I do not love to look on. PROSPERO: But, as 'tis, We cannot miss him: he does make our fire, Fetch in our wood and serves in offices That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban! Thou earth, thou! speak. CALIBAN: PROSPERO: Come forth, I say! there's other business for thee: Come, thou tortoise! when? Fine apparition! My quaint Ariel, Hark in thine ear. ARIEL: My lord it shall be done. PROSPERO: Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, come forth! CALIBAN: As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd With raven's feather from unwholesome fen Drop on you both! a south-west blow on ye And blister you all o'er! PROSPERO: For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have cramps, Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up; urchins Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, All exercise on thee; thou shalt be pinch'd As thick as honeycomb, each pinch more stinging Than bees that made 'em. CALIBAN: I must eat my dinner. This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, Which thou takest from me. When thou camest first, Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me Water with berries in't, and teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle, The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile: Cursed be I that did so! All the charms Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! For I am all the subjects that you have, Which first was mine own king: and here you sty me In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me The rest o' the island. PROSPERO: Thou most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness! I have used thee, Filth as thou art, with human care, and lodged thee In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate The honour of my child. CALIBAN: O ho, O ho! would't had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else This isle with Calibans. PROSPERO: Abhorred slave, Which any print of goodness wilt not take, Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee, Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes With words that made them known. But thy vile race, Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou Deservedly confined into this rock, Who hadst deserved more than a prison. CALIBAN: You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language! PROSPERO: Hag-seed, hence! Fetch us in fuel; and be quick, thou'rt best, To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice? If thou neglect'st or dost unwillingly What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar That beasts shall tremble at thy din. CALIBAN: No, pray thee. I must obey: his art is of such power, It would control my dam's god, Setebos, and make a vassal of him. PROSPERO: So, slave; hence! Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have and kiss'd The wild waves whist, Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! FERDINAND: Where should this music be? i' the air or the earth? It sounds no more: and sure, it waits upon Some god o' the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather. But 'tis gone. No, it begins again. Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell Hark! now I hear them,--Ding-dong, bell. FERDINAND: The ditty does remember my drown'd father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound That the earth owes. I hear it now above me. PROSPERO: The fringed curtains of thine eye advance And say what thou seest yond. MIRANDA: What is't? a spirit? Lord, how it looks about! Believe me, sir, It carries a brave form. But 'tis a spirit. PROSPERO: No, wench; it eats and sleeps and hath such senses As we have, such. This gallant which thou seest Was in the wreck; and, but he's something stain'd With grief that's beauty's canker, thou mightst call him A goodly person: he hath lost his fellows And strays about to find 'em. MIRANDA: I might call him A thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble. PROSPERO: FERDINAND: Most sure, the goddess On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer May know if you remain upon this island; And that you will some good instruction give How I may bear me here: my prime request, Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder! If you be maid or no? MIRANDA: No wonder, sir; But certainly a maid. FERDINAND: My language! heavens! I am the best of them that speak this speech, Were I but where 'tis spoken. PROSPERO: How? the best? What wert thou, if the King of Naples heard thee? FERDINAND: A single thing, as I am now, that wonders To hear thee speak of Naples. He does hear me; And that he does I weep: myself am Naples, Who with mine eyes, never since at ebb, beheld The king my father wreck'd. MIRANDA: Alack, for mercy! FERDINAND: Yes, faith, and all his lords; the Duke of Milan And his brave son being twain. PROSPERO: MIRANDA: Why speaks my father so ungently? This Is the third man that e'er I saw, the first That e'er I sigh'd for: pity move my father To be inclined my way! FERDINAND: O, if a virgin, And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you The queen of Naples. PROSPERO: Soft, sir! one word more. They are both in either's powers; but this swift business I must uneasy make, lest too light winning Make the prize light. One word more; I charge thee That thou attend me: thou dost here usurp The name thou owest not; and hast put thyself Upon this island as a spy, to win it From me, the lord on't. FERDINAND: No, as I am a man. MIRANDA: There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple: If the ill spirit have so fair a house, Good things will strive to dwell with't. PROSPERO: Follow me. Speak not you for him; he's a traitor. Come; I'll manacle thy neck and feet together: Sea-water shalt thou drink; thy food shall be The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots and husks Wherein the acorn cradled. Follow. FERDINAND: No; I will resist such entertainment till Mine enemy has more power. MIRANDA: O dear father, Make not too rash a trial of him, for He's gentle and not fearful. PROSPERO: What? I say, My foot my tutor? Put thy sword up, traitor; Who makest a show but darest not strike, thy conscience Is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, For I can here disarm thee with this stick And make thy weapon drop. MIRANDA: Beseech you, father. PROSPERO: Hence! hang not on my garments. MIRANDA: Sir, have pity; I'll be his surety. PROSPERO: Silence! one word more Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! An advocate for an imposter! hush! Thou think'st there is no more such shapes as he, Having seen but him and Caliban: foolish wench! To the most of men this is a Caliban And they to him are angels. MIRANDA: My affections Are then most humble; I have no ambition To see a goodlier man. PROSPERO: Come on; obey: Thy nerves are in their infancy again And have no vigour in them. FERDINAND: So they are; My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. My father's loss, the weakness which I feel, The wreck of all my friends, nor this man's threats, To whom I am subdued, are but light to me, Might I but through my prison once a day Behold this maid: all corners else o' the earth Let liberty make use of; space enough Have I in such a prison. PROSPERO: MIRANDA: Be of comfort; My father's of a better nature, sir, Than he appears by speech: this is unwonted Which now came from him. PROSPERO: Thou shalt be free As mountain winds: but then exactly do All points of my command. ARIEL: To the syllable. PROSPERO: Come, follow. Speak not for him. GONZALO: Beseech you, sir, be merry; you have cause, So have we all, of joy; for our escape Is much beyond our loss. Our hint of woe Is common; every day some sailor's wife, The masters of some merchant and the merchant Have just our theme of woe; but for the miracle, I mean our preservation, few in millions Can speak like us: then wisely, good sir, weigh Our sorrow with our comfort. ALONSO: Prithee, peace. SEBASTIAN: He receives comfort like cold porridge. ANTONIO: The visitor will not give him o'er so. SEBASTIAN: Look he's winding up the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike. GONZALO: Sir,-- SEBASTIAN: One: tell. GONZALO: When every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, Comes to the entertainer-- SEBASTIAN: A dollar. GONZALO: Dolour comes to him, indeed: you have spoken truer than you purposed. SEBASTIAN: You have taken it wiselier than I meant you should. GONZALO: Therefore, my lord,-- ANTONIO: Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue! ALONSO: I prithee, spare. GONZALO: Well, I have done: but yet,-- SEBASTIAN: He will be talking. ANTONIO: Which, of he or Adrian, for a good wager, first begins to crow? SEBASTIAN: The old cock. ANTONIO: The cockerel. SEBASTIAN: Done. The wager? ANTONIO: A laughter. SEBASTIAN: A match! ADRIAN: Though this island seem to be desert,-- SEBASTIAN: Ha, ha, ha! So, you're paid. ADRIAN: Uninhabitable and almost inaccessible,-- SEBASTIAN: Yet,-- ADRIAN: Yet,-- ANTONIO: He could not miss't. ADRIAN: It must needs be of subtle, tender and delicate temperance. ANTONIO: Temperance was a delicate wench. SEBASTIAN: Ay, and a subtle; as he most learnedly delivered. ADRIAN: The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. SEBASTIAN: As if it had lungs and rotten ones. ANTONIO: Or as 'twere perfumed by a fen. GONZALO: Here is everything advantageous to life. ANTONIO: True; save means to live. SEBASTIAN: Of that there's none, or little. GONZALO: How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green! ANTONIO: The ground indeed is tawny. SEBASTIAN: With an eye of green in't. ANTONIO: He misses not much. SEBASTIAN: No; he doth but mistake the truth totally. GONZALO: But the rarity of it is,--which is indeed almost beyond credit,-- SEBASTIAN: As many vouched rarities are. GONZALO: That our garments, being, as they were, drenched in the sea, hold notwithstanding their freshness and glosses, being rather new-dyed than stained with salt water. ANTONIO: If but one of his pockets could speak, would it not say he lies? SEBASTIAN: Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report GONZALO: Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis. SEBASTIAN: 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well in our return. ADRIAN: Tunis was never graced before with such a paragon to their queen. GONZALO: Not since widow Dido's time. ANTONIO: Widow! a pox o' that! How came that widow in? widow Dido! SEBASTIAN: What if he had said 'widower AEneas' too? Good Lord, how you take it! ADRIAN: 'Widow Dido' said you? you make me study of that: she was of Carthage, not of Tunis. GONZALO: This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. ADRIAN: Carthage? GONZALO: I assure you, Carthage. SEBASTIAN: His word is more than the miraculous harp; he hath raised the wall and houses too. ANTONIO: What impossible matter will he make easy next? SEBASTIAN: I think he will carry this island home in his pocket and give it his son for an apple. ANTONIO: And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, bring forth more islands. GONZALO: Ay. ANTONIO: Why, in good time. GONZALO: Sir, we were talking that our garments seem now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the marriage of your daughter, who is now queen. ANTONIO: And the rarest that e'er came there. SEBASTIAN: Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. ANTONIO: O, widow Dido! ay, widow Dido. GONZALO: Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first day I wore it? I mean, in a sort. ANTONIO: That sort was well fished for. GONZALO: When I wore it at your daughter's marriage? ALONSO: You cram these words into mine ears against The stomach of my sense. Would I had never Married my daughter there! for, coming thence, My son is lost and, in my rate, she too, Who is so far from Italy removed I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish Hath made his meal on thee? FRANCISCO: Sir, he may live: I saw him beat the surges under him, And ride upon their backs; he trod the water, Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted The surge most swoln that met him; his bold head 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd, As stooping to relieve him: I not doubt He came alive to land. ALONSO: No, no, he's gone. SEBASTIAN: Sir, you may thank yourself for this great loss, That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, But rather lose her to an African; Where she at least is banish'd from your eye, Who hath cause to wet the grief on't. ALONSO: Prithee, peace. SEBASTIAN: You were kneel'd to and importuned otherwise By all of us, and the fair soul herself Weigh'd between loathness and obedience, at Which end o' the beam should bow. We have lost your son, I fear, for ever: Milan and Naples have More widows in them of this business' making Than we bring men to comfort them: The fault's your own. ALONSO: So is the dear'st o' the loss. GONZALO: My lord Sebastian, The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness And time to speak it in: you rub the sore, When you should bring the plaster. SEBASTIAN: Very well. ANTONIO: And most chirurgeonly. GONZALO: It is foul weather in us all, good sir, When you are cloudy. SEBASTIAN: Foul weather? ANTONIO: Very foul. GONZALO: Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,-- ANTONIO: He'ld sow't with nettle-seed. SEBASTIAN: Or docks, or mallows. GONZALO: And were the king on't, what would I do? SEBASTIAN: 'Scape being drunk for want of wine. GONZALO: I' the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure; No sovereignty;-- SEBASTIAN: Yet he would be king on't. ANTONIO: The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the beginning. GONZALO: All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people. SEBASTIAN: No marrying 'mong his subjects? ANTONIO: None, man; all idle: whores and knaves. GONZALO: I would with such perfection govern, sir, To excel the golden age. SEBASTIAN: God save his majesty! ANTONIO: Long live Gonzalo! GONZALO: And,--do you mark me, sir? ALONSO: Prithee, no more: thou dost talk nothing to me. GONZALO: I do well believe your highness; and did it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of such sensible and nimble lungs that they always use to laugh at nothing. ANTONIO: 'Twas you we laughed at. GONZALO: Who in this kind of merry fooling am nothing to you: so you may continue and laugh at nothing still. ANTONIO: What a blow was there given! SEBASTIAN: An it had not fallen flat-long. GONZALO: You are gentlemen of brave metal; you would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would continue in it five weeks without changing. SEBASTIAN: We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. ANTONIO: Nay, good my lord, be not angry. GONZALO: No, I warrant you; I will not adventure my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, for I am very heavy? ANTONIO: Go sleep, and hear us. ALONSO: What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyes Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find They are inclined to do so. SEBASTIAN: Please you, sir, Do not omit the heavy offer of it: It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth, It is a comforter. ANTONIO: We two, my lord, Will guard your person while you take your rest, And watch your safety. ALONSO: Thank you. Wondrous heavy. SEBASTIAN: What a strange drowsiness possesses them! ANTONIO: It is the quality o' the climate. SEBASTIAN: Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink? I find not Myself disposed to sleep. ANTONIO: Nor I; my spirits are nimble. They fell together all, as by consent; They dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, Worthy Sebastian? O, what might?--No more:-- And yet me thinks I see it in thy face, What thou shouldst be: the occasion speaks thee, and My strong imagination sees a crown Dropping upon thy head. SEBASTIAN: What, art thou waking? ANTONIO: Do you not hear me speak? SEBASTIAN: I do; and surely It is a sleepy language and thou speak'st Out of thy sleep. What is it thou didst say? This is a strange repose, to be asleep With eyes wide open; standing, speaking, moving, And yet so fast asleep. ANTONIO: Noble Sebastian, Thou let'st thy fortune sleep--die, rather; wink'st Whiles thou art waking. ================================================ FILE: nanogpt-lecture/pyproject.toml ================================================ [project] name = "nanogpt-lecture" version = "0.1.0" description = "Add your description here" readme = "README.md" requires-python = ">=3.12" dependencies = [ "numpy>=2.2.5", "torch>=2.7.0", ] ================================================ FILE: numpy-shapes-tutorial/.python-version ================================================ 3.12 ================================================ FILE: numpy-shapes-tutorial/hello.py ================================================ def main(): print("Hello from numpy-shapes-tutorial!") if __name__ == "__main__": main() ================================================ FILE: numpy-shapes-tutorial/pyproject.toml ================================================ [project] name = "numpy-shapes-tutorial" version = "0.1.0" description = "Add your description here" readme = "README.md" requires-python = ">=3.12" dependencies = [ "numpy>=2.2.2", ] ================================================ FILE: numpy-shapes-tutorial/shapes.py ================================================ import numpy as np # One-dimensional array will have ndim=1, and shape (5,) # Passing in the tuple (5,) is the same as passing in 5 aa1 = np.random.rand(5) print("aa1", aa1.ndim, aa1.shape, aa1) # Two-dimensional array will have ndim=2, and shape (3, 4) aa2 = np.random.rand(3, 4) print("aa2", aa2.ndim, aa2.shape, aa2) # The shape is always a tuple # A scalar is a zero-dimensional array, e.g. np.shape(1) will return () # Dimensions are also called "axes". This array has 3 axes, the first with # size 2, the second with size 3, and the third with size 4 aa3 = np.random.rand(2, 3, 4) print("aa3", aa3.ndim, aa3.shape, aa3) # When Numpy arrays are printed, they are shown with the last dimesion changing # # the fastest (and thus shown contiguous in the output). # This is only the physical layout/representation, though; logically it makes # no difference - we can consider all axes to be equivalent in this sense # (like in a cube representing a 3D array - we can look at it from any side). # # The concept of "rows" and "columns" is just a convention. Notice how aa2 is # printed out. the size of axis 0 is 3, the size of axis 1 is 4. So we see it # as having 3 "rows", each with 4 "columns". # Indexing order is the same as the shape order; this is the "last" element # in aa3 because it's last in every dimension print("last in aa3:", aa3[1, 2, 3]) # This will throw an error because the first index is out of bounds # print("last in aa3:", aa3[2, 2, 3]) # Dimensions of size 1 are valid, but the only valid addressing for them is # the 0th index. # aa14 = np.random.rand(1, 4) print("aa14", aa14.ndim, aa14.shape, aa14) aa41 = np.random.rand(4, 1) print("aa41", aa41.ndim, aa41.shape, aa41) # dot for 1d arrays is the same as inner product, we can use the dot method, # the dot function or the @ operator. bb1 = np.random.rand(5) print(np.dot(aa1, bb1)) print(aa1.dot(bb1)) print(aa1 @ bb1) # When the arrays are 2d, the dot function and @ operator do matrix # multiplication. If LHS has shape (m,n), then RHS must have shape (n,p) for # any p and the result is shape (m,p). bb2 = np.random.rand(4, 5) dotres = aa2 @ bb2 print("dotres:", dotres.shape, dotres) # Therefore, an outer product is achieved by multiplying a (n,1) array by # an (1,m) array. outer = np.random.randn(3, 1) @ np.random.randn(1, 2) print("outer:", outer.shape, outer) # Dot between a matrix and a vector will produce a 1d array ("row" vector) mat = np.ones((3, 4)) print("mat @ v:", mat @ np.arange(4)) # If we want a column vector, we have to explicitly reshape the RHS vector # to a column vector. print("mat @ v col:", mat @ np.arange(4).reshape(4, 1)) # LHS vector print("v @ mat:", np.arange(3) @ mat) ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/.python-version ================================================ 3.12 ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/README.md ================================================ ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/attention-head.py ================================================ import torch import torch.nn as nn from torch.nn import functional as F import os os.environ["CUDA_VISIBLE_DEVICES"] = "" device = ( torch.accelerator.current_accelerator().type if torch.accelerator.is_available() else "cpu" ) print(f"Using {device} device") block_size = 256 # what is the maximum context length for predictions? # Attention head taken from https://github.com/karpathy/ng-video-lecture/blob/master/gpt.py # with masking/dropout removed class Head(nn.Module): """one head of self-attention""" def __init__(self, C, head_size, do_mask=False): super().__init__() self.key = nn.Linear(C, head_size, bias=False) self.query = nn.Linear(C, head_size, bias=False) self.value = nn.Linear(C, head_size, bias=False) self.do_mask = do_mask self.register_buffer("tril", torch.tril(torch.ones(block_size, block_size))) # self.dropout = nn.Dropout(dropout) def forward(self, x): # input of size (batch, time-step, channels) # output of size (batch, time-step, head size) B, T, C = x.shape k = self.key(x) # (B,T,hs) q = self.query(x) # (B,T,hs) # compute attention scores ("affinities") wei = ( q @ k.transpose(-2, -1) * k.shape[-1] ** -0.5 ) # (B, T, hs) @ (B, hs, T) -> (B, T, T) if self.do_mask: wei = wei.masked_fill(self.tril[:T, :T] == 0, float("-inf")) # (B, T, T) wei = F.softmax(wei, dim=-1) # (B, T, T) # wei = self.dropout(wei) # perform the weighted aggregation of the values v = self.value(x) # (B,T,hs) out = wei @ v # (B, T, T) @ (B, T, hs) -> (B, T, hs) return out class MultiHeadAttention(nn.Module): """multiple heads of self-attention in parallel""" def __init__(self, C, num_heads, head_size, do_mask=False): super().__init__() self.heads = nn.ModuleList( [Head(C, head_size, do_mask) for _ in range(num_heads)] ) self.proj = nn.Linear(head_size * num_heads, C) # self.dropout = nn.Dropout(dropout) def forward(self, x): out = torch.cat([h(x) for h in self.heads], dim=-1) out = self.proj(out) # out = self.dropout(self.proj(out)) return out print("---- Single attention head, B=1 ----") B = 1 T = 6 C = 4 HS = 4 x = torch.linspace(0.1, 2.4, T * C).reshape(B, T, C) print(x) head = Head(C, HS) kseq = torch.linspace(0.1, 0.4, B * C * HS).view(head.key.weight.shape) qseq = torch.linspace(1.1, 1.4, B * C * HS).view(head.query.weight.shape) vseq = torch.linspace(2.1, 2.4, B * C * HS).view(head.value.weight.shape) with torch.no_grad(): head.key.weight.copy_(kseq) head.query.weight.copy_(qseq) head.value.weight.copy_(vseq) out = head(x) print(out.shape) print(out) print("---- Single attention head, B=3 ----") B = 3 T = 4 C = 2 HS = 2 x = torch.linspace(0.1, 5.4, B * T * C).reshape(B, T, C) print(x) bhead = Head(C, HS) kseq = torch.linspace(0.1, 0.8, C * HS).view(bhead.key.weight.shape) qseq = torch.linspace(1.1, 1.8, C * HS).view(bhead.query.weight.shape) vseq = torch.linspace(2.1, 2.8, C * HS).view(bhead.value.weight.shape) with torch.no_grad(): bhead.key.weight.copy_(kseq) bhead.query.weight.copy_(qseq) bhead.value.weight.copy_(vseq) out = bhead(x) print(out.shape) print(out) print("---- Multi-head attention, B=3 ----") B = 3 T = 4 C = 6 HS = 2 NH = 3 x = torch.linspace(0.1, 8.4, B * T * C).reshape(B, T, C) print(x) mhead = MultiHeadAttention(C, NH, HS, do_mask=False) # mhead = MultiHeadAttention(C, NH, HS, do_mask=True) kseqs = [ torch.linspace(i + 0.1, i + 0.8, C * HS).view(mhead.heads[0].key.weight.shape) for i in range(NH) ] qseqs = [ torch.linspace(i + 3.1, i + 3.8, C * HS).view(mhead.heads[0].key.weight.shape) for i in range(NH) ] vseqs = [ torch.linspace(i + 6.1, i + 6.8, C * HS).view(mhead.heads[0].key.weight.shape) for i in range(NH) ] pseq = torch.linspace(9.1, 9.8, C * HS * NH).view(mhead.proj.weight.shape) with torch.no_grad(): for i in range(NH): mhead.heads[i].key.weight.copy_(kseqs[i]) mhead.heads[i].query.weight.copy_(qseqs[i]) mhead.heads[i].value.weight.copy_(vseqs[i]) mhead.proj.weight.copy_(pseq) out = mhead(x) print(out.shape) print(out) ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/basic-device.py ================================================ import torch import torch.nn as nn device = torch.accelerator.current_accelerator().type if torch.accelerator.is_available() else "cpu" print(f"Using {device} device") # Simple model example class MyModel(nn.Module): def __init__(self): super().__init__() self.linear = nn.Linear(10, 5) def forward(self, x): return self.linear(x) model = MyModel() # Generate random input data (e.g., batch size 2, input dimension 10) x = torch.randn(2, 10) out = model(x) print(out) ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/cross-entropy.py ================================================ import torch import torch.nn.functional as F # Suppose we have 2 samples and 3 classes # logits can be any real numbers (raw, un-normalized scores) logits1 = torch.tensor([[2.0, 0.5, 0.1], [0.1, 0.2, 3.0]]) # sample 0 # sample 1 # target labels: each in {0,1,2}, shape (batch,) targets = torch.tensor([0, 2]) # compute loss (default reduction='mean') loss1 = F.cross_entropy(logits1, targets) print(f"Mean loss1: {loss1.item():.3f}") logits2 = torch.tensor([[1.0, 1.5, 1.1], [2.1, 2.2, 2.0]]) # sample 0 # sample 1 loss2 = F.cross_entropy(logits2, targets) print(f"Mean loss2: {loss2.item():.3f}") # If you want per-sample losses: loss_none = F.cross_entropy(logits1, targets, reduction="none") print(f"Per-sample losses: {loss_none.tolist()}") ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/linear-compare.py ================================================ import torch import torch.nn as nn # input shape is (M, N) # output shape is (M, K) M = 6 N = 4 K = 3 # Linear with in_features=N, out_features=K # This expects inputs that are (M, N) in shape, and then # multiplies (M, N) by (N, K) to get (M, K). # Internally, nn.Linear creates its tensor as (out_features, in_features), # so when we assign to its weights directly we have to use the same shape, # which is (K, N) in our case. layer = nn.Linear(N, K, bias=False) lseq = torch.tensor( [ [10.0, 100.0, 1000.0, 10000.0], [20.0, 200.0, 2000.0, 20000.0], [30.0, 300.0, 3000.0, 30000.0], ] ) with torch.no_grad(): layer.weight.copy_(lseq) x = torch.linspace(0.1, 2.4, M * N).reshape(M, N) out = layer(x) print(f"x:\n {x}") print(f"Linear out:\n {out}") # Reproducing the same thing with plain Numpy import numpy as np W = lseq.numpy() x_np = x.numpy() out_np = x_np @ W.T print(f"Linear out (Numpy):\n {out_np}") ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/moe.py ================================================ from dataclasses import dataclass from typing import List import torch import torch.nn as nn import torch.nn.functional as F @dataclass class ModelParams: dim: int hidden_dim: int num_experts: int topK: int MP = ModelParams( dim=512, hidden_dim=2048, num_experts=8, topK=2, ) # Feed-forward NN with ReLU activation and one hidden layer. class FF(nn.Module): def __init__(self): super().__init__() self.w1 = nn.Linear(MP.dim, MP.hidden_dim, bias=False) self.w2 = nn.Linear(MP.hidden_dim, MP.dim, bias=False) def forward(self, x): return self.w2(F.relu(self.w1(x))) class Moe(nn.Module): def __init__(self, experts: List[nn.Module], gate: nn.Module): super().__init__() self.experts = nn.ModuleList(experts) self.gate = gate def forward(self, x): # x is (B, N, dim) # Multiply by gate (dim, num_experts), to get (B, N, num_experts). For # each token, we get a score per expert. gate_scores = self.gate(x) # Select top K experts with the highest scores. top_scores is # (B, N, topK), and top_experts is the indices of the selected # experts (B, N, topK). top_scores, top_experts = torch.topk(gate_scores, MP.topK, sorted=False) # Apply softmax to the top scores to get weights that sum to 1. weights = F.softmax(top_scores, dim=-1) out = torch.zeros_like(x) # For each token in batch and sequence. for b in range(x.shape[0]): for n in range(x.shape[1]): # Select the top K experts and their corresponding weights for # this token. for expert_idx, weight in zip(top_experts[b, n], weights[b, n]): # Apply the expert to the input token and multiply by the # corresponding weight. out[b, n] += weight * self.experts[expert_idx](x[b, n]) return out experts = [FF() for _ in range(MP.num_experts)] gate = nn.Linear(MP.dim, MP.num_experts, bias=False) model = Moe(experts, gate) B = 16 N = 64 print(f"Model parameters: {MP}") x = torch.randn(B, N, MP.dim) out = model(x) print(f"Input shape: {x.shape}") print(f"Output shape: {out.shape}") ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/pyproject.toml ================================================ [project] name = "pytorch-samples" version = "0.1.0" description = "Add your description here" readme = "README.md" requires-python = ">=3.12" dependencies = [ "numpy>=2.2.3", "torch>=2.6.0", ] ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/topk.py ================================================ # Experimenting with Pytorch's topk function import torch import torch.nn as nn # New torch array with given values x = torch.tensor([10, 20, 11, 4, 8, 19, 71, 9, 15]) values, indices = torch.topk(x, 3) print(f"Top 3 values: {values}") print(f"Top 3 indices: {indices}") # Numpy equivalent import numpy as np def topk_np(x, k): # Using np.argpartition to get the indices of the top k elements: they # are not necessarily sorted. Can be sorted if needed. idx = np.argpartition(x, -k)[-k:] return x[idx], idx x_np = x.numpy() values_np, indices_np = topk_np(x_np, 3) print(f"Top 3 values (Numpy): {values_np}") print(f"Top 3 indices (Numpy): {indices_np}") ================================================ FILE: pytorch-samples/where.py ================================================ import torch x = torch.tensor( [ [10, 20, 11, 4, 8, 20, 19, 20], [20, 30, 31, 20, 9, 22, 15, 90], [5, 6, 31, 5, 9, 20, 15, 90], ] ) print(x.shape) a, b = torch.where(x == 20) print(a) print(b) ================================================ FILE: softmax/softmax.py ================================================ # Softmax function, its gradient, and combination with other layers. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np def softmax(z): """Computes softmax function. z: array of input values. Returns an array of outputs with the same shape as z.""" # For numerical stability: make the maximum of z's to be 0. shiftz = z - np.max(z) exps = np.exp(shiftz) return exps / np.sum(exps) def softmax_gradient(z): """Computes the gradient of the softmax function. z: (T, 1) array of input values where the gradient is computed. T is the number of output classes. Returns D (T, T) the Jacobian matrix of softmax(z) at the given z. D[i, j] is DjSi - the partial derivative of Si w.r.t. input j. """ Sz = softmax(z) # -SjSi can be computed using an outer product between Sz and itself. Then # we add back Si for the i=j cases by adding a diagonal matrix with the # values of Si on its diagonal. D = -np.outer(Sz, Sz) + np.diag(Sz.flatten()) return D def softmax_gradient_simple(z): """Unvectorized computation of the gradient of softmax. z: (T, 1) column array of input values. Returns D (T, T) the Jacobian matrix of softmax(z) at the given z. D[i, j] is DjSi - the partial derivative of Si w.r.t. input j. """ Sz = softmax(z) N = z.shape[0] D = np.zeros((N, N)) for i in range(N): for j in range(N): D[i, j] = Sz[i, 0] * (np.float32(i == j) - Sz[j, 0]) return D def fully_connected_gradient(x, W): """Computes the gradient of a fully connected layer w.r.t. the weights. x: (N, 1) input W: (T, N) weights A fully connected layer acting on the input x is: W.dot(x). This function computes the full Jacobian matrix of this formula. The W matrix is flattened in row-major order to rows of the Jacobian, such that DijFCt is the derivative of output t (the t'th row of W.dot(x)) w.r.t. W[i, j]. Returns D (T, N * T) """ N = x.shape[0] T = W.shape[0] D = np.zeros((T, N * T)) for t in range(T): for i in range(T): for j in range(N): # Computing gradient of the t'th output w.r.t. W[i, j]. Its # index in the D matrix is: (t, i*N + j) # The t'th output only depends on the t'th row in W. Otherwise # the derivative is zero. In the t'th row, each weight is # multiplied by the respective x. if t == i: D[t, i*N + j] = x[j] return D def softmax_layer(x, W): """Computes a "softmax layer" for input vector x and weight matrix W. A softmax layer is a fully connected layer followed by the softmax function. Mathematically it's softmax(W.dot(x)). x: (N, 1) input vector with N features. W: (T, N) matrix of weights for N features and T output classes. Returns s (T, 1) the result of applying softmax to W.dot(x) """ logits = W.dot(x) return softmax(logits) def softmax_layer_gradient(x, W): """Computes the gradient of a "softmax layer" for weight matrix W. x: (N, 1) input W: (T, N) weights A fully connected layer acting on the input x is: W.dot(x). This function computes the full Jacobian matrix of this formula. The W matrix is flattened in row-major order to rows of the Jacobian, such that DijFCt is the derivative of output t (the t'th row of W.dot(x)) w.r.t. W[i, j]. Returns D (T, N * T) """ logits = W.dot(x) return softmax_gradient(logits).dot(fully_connected_gradient(x, W)) def softmax_layer_gradient_direct(x, W): """Computes the gradient of a "softmax layer" for weight matrix W. Arguments and return value exactly the same as for softmax_layer_gradient. The difference is that this function computes the Jacobian "directly" by assigning each cell in the matrix, rather than explicitly computing the matrix multiplication of the two composed Jacobians. """ N = x.shape[0] T = W.shape[0] S = softmax_layer(x, W) D = np.zeros((T, N * T)) for t in range(T): for i in range(T): for j in range(N): DiSt = S[t, 0] * (np.float32(i == t) - S[i, 0]) D[t, i*N + j] = DiSt * x[j, 0] return D def cross_entropy_loss(p, y): """Cross-entropy loss between predicted and expected probabilities. p: vector of predicted probabilities. y: vector of expected probabilities. Has to be the same shape as p. Returns a scalar. """ assert(p.shape == y.shape) return -np.sum(y * np.log(p)) def cross_entropy_loss_gradient(p, y): """Gradient of the cross-entropy loss function for p and y. p: (T, 1) vector of predicted probabilities. y: (T, 1) vector of expected probabilities; must be one-hot -- one and only one element of y is 1; the rest are 0. Returns a (1, T) Jacobian for this function. """ assert(p.shape == y.shape and p.shape[1] == 1) # py is the value of p at the index where y == 1 (one and only one such # index is expected for a one-hot y). py = p[y == 1] assert(py.size == 1) # D is zeros everywhere except at the index where y == 1. The final D has # to be a row-vector. D = np.zeros_like(p) D[y == 1] = -1/py.flat[0] return D.flatten() def softmax_cross_entropy_loss_gradient(x, W, y): """Computes the gradient of a cross-entropy loss for a softmax layer. x: (N, 1) input W: (T, N) weights y: (T, 1) correct labels (one-hot vector with one element 1.0, others 0.0) Returns D (1, N * T) """ p = softmax_layer(x, W) return cross_entropy_loss_gradient(p, y).dot(softmax_layer_gradient(x, W)) def softmax_cross_entropy_loss_gradient_direct(x, W, y): """Computes the gradient of a cross-entropy loss for a softmax layer. Arguments and return value exactly the same as for softmax_cross_entropy_loss_gradient. The difference is that this function computes the Jacobian "directly" by assigning each cell in the matrix, rather than explicitly computing the matrix multiplication of the two composed Jacobians. """ N = x.shape[0] T = W.shape[0] S = softmax_layer(x, W) D = np.zeros(N * T) yindex = np.argwhere(y == 1)[0, 0] for i in range(T): for j in range(N): D[i*N + j] = (S[i, 0] - np.float32(i == yindex)) * x[j, 0] return D if __name__ == '__main__': #pa = [2945.0, 2945.5] #pa = np.array([[1000], [2000], [3000]]) #print(softmax(pa)) #print(stablesoftmax(pa)) W = np.array([ [2, 3, 4], [3, 5, -1]]) x = np.array([ [0.1], [-0.2], [0.3]]) print(softmax_layer(x, W)) ================================================ FILE: softmax/softmax_test.py ================================================ # Tests for softmax. # # Eli Bendersky (https://eli.thegreenplace.net) # This code is in the public domain from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import unittest from softmax import * def eval_numerical_gradient(f, x, verbose=False, h=1e-5): """A naive implementation of numerical gradient of f at x. Used for gradient checking. f: function taking a single array argument and returning a scalar. x: array starting point for evaluation. Based on http://cs231n.github.io/assignments2016/assignment1/, with a bit of cleanup. Also uses the centered formula described in http://cs231n.github.io/neural-networks-3/#gradcheck Returns a numerical gradient, same shape as x. """ grad = np.zeros_like(x) # iterate over all indexes in x it = np.nditer(x, flags=['multi_index'], op_flags=['readwrite']) while not it.finished: ix = it.multi_index oldval = x[ix] x[ix] = oldval + h fxph = f(x) # evalute f(x + h) x[ix] = oldval - h fxmh = f(x) # evaluate f(x - h) x[ix] = oldval # restore # compute the partial derivative with centered formula grad[ix] = (fxph - fxmh) / (2 * h) if verbose: print(ix, grad[ix]) it.iternext() return grad class TestSoftmaxGradient(unittest.TestCase): def checkSoftmaxGradientSimpleVsVec(self, z): dz_vec = softmax_gradient(z) dz_simple = softmax_gradient_simple(z) np.testing.assert_allclose(dz_vec, dz_simple) def test_simple_vs_numerical(self): z = np.array([ [0.2], [0.9], [-0.3], [-0.5]]) grad = softmax_gradient_simple(z) for i in range(z.shape[0]): # Compute numerical gradient for output Si w.r.t. all inputs # j=0...N-1; this computes one row of the jacobian. gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient(lambda z: softmax(z)[i, 0], z) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad[i, :].flatten(), gradnum.flatten(), rtol=1e-4) def test_simple_vs_vectorized_small(self): z = np.array([ [0.2], [0.9]]) self.checkSoftmaxGradientSimpleVsVec(z) def test_simple_vs_vectorized_larger(self): z = np.array([ [1.2], [0], [-0.01], [2.12], [-0.9]]) self.checkSoftmaxGradientSimpleVsVec(z) def test_simple_vs_vectorized_random(self): z = np.random.uniform(low=-2.0, high=2.0, size=(100,1)) self.checkSoftmaxGradientSimpleVsVec(z) class TestFullyConnectedGradient(unittest.TestCase): def test_small(self): W = np.array([ [2.0, 3.0, 4.0], [5.0, 6.0, 7.0]]) x = np.array([ [-2.0], [6.0], [1.6]]) grad = fully_connected_gradient(x, W) for t in range(W.shape[0]): # This computes the t'th row in the Jacobian gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient(lambda W: W.dot(x)[t, 0], W) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad[t, :], gradnum.flatten(order='C')) class TestSoftmaxLayerGradient(unittest.TestCase): def checkForData(self, x, W, rtol=1e-5, atol=1e-8): # Set custom rtol/atol to the ones used by numpy.isclose; by default # assert_allclose uses atol=0 which is problematic for values very close # to zero. grad = softmax_layer_gradient(x, W) grad_direct = softmax_layer_gradient_direct(x, W) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, grad_direct, rtol=rtol, atol=atol) for t in range(W.shape[0]): gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda W: softmax_layer(x, W)[t, 0], W) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad[t, :], gradnum.flatten(order='C'), rtol=rtol, atol=atol) def test_small(self): W = np.array([ [2.0, 3.0, 4.0], [5.0, 6.0, 7.0]]) x = np.array([ [-2.0], [2.0], [1.6]]) self.checkForData(x, W) def test_bigger(self): W = np.array([ [2.0, 3.0, 4.0, 1.0], [1.0, 1.0, 1.0, -0.1], [1.1, 2.1, 3.1, 2.3], [1.4, -3.3, -1.0, 1.1]]) x = np.array([ [-0.1], [0.3], [-0.2], [0.6]]) self.checkForData(x, W) def test_random_big(self): np.random.seed(42) N = 80 T = 10 W = np.random.uniform(low=-2.0, high=2.0, size=(T, N)) x = np.random.uniform(low=-1.0, high=1.0, size=(N, 1)) self.checkForData(x, W) class TestCrossEntropyLossAndGradient(unittest.TestCase): def test_cross_entropy_with_onehot_y(self): # Simple test of the cross_entropy_loss function with a one-hot y # typical in classification tasks. T = 5 p = np.vstack((1.2, 2.1, 3.1, 4.8, 0.75)) for i in range(T): y = np.zeros((T, 1)) y[i] = 1.0 xent = cross_entropy_loss(p, y) np.testing.assert_allclose(xent, -np.log(p[i])) grad = cross_entropy_loss_gradient(p, y) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda z: cross_entropy_loss(z, y), p) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum.flatten()) class TestSoftmaxCrossEntropyLossGradient(unittest.TestCase): def checkForData(self, x, W, y, rtol=1e-5, atol=1e-8): # Set custom rtol/atol to the ones used by numpy.isclose; by default # assert_allclose uses atol=0 which is problematic for values very close # to zero. grad = softmax_cross_entropy_loss_gradient(x, W, y) grad_direct = softmax_cross_entropy_loss_gradient_direct(x, W, y) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, grad_direct, rtol=rtol, atol=atol) gradnum = eval_numerical_gradient( lambda W: cross_entropy_loss(softmax_layer(x, W), y), W) np.testing.assert_allclose(grad, gradnum.flatten(order='C'), rtol=rtol, atol=atol) def test_small(self): W = np.array([ [2.0, 3.0, 4.0], [5.0, 6.0, 7.0]]) x = np.array([ [-2.0], [2.0], [1.6]]) y0 = np.array([ [1.0], [0.0]]) y1 = np.array([ [0.0], [1.0]]) self.checkForData(x, W, y0) self.checkForData(x, W, y1) def test_random_big(self): np.random.seed(42) N = 30 T = 10 W = np.random.uniform(low=-2.0, high=2.0, size=(T, N)) x = np.random.uniform(low=-1.0, high=1.0, size=(N, 1)) for i in range(T): y = np.zeros((T, 1)) y[i] = 1.0 self.checkForData(x, W, y) if __name__ == '__main__': unittest.main() ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-cnn-tutorial/.gitignore ================================================ *.keras *.png ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-cnn-tutorial/README.md ================================================ For installation, created a virtual env and ran: pip install tensorflow pip install matplotlib pip install tensorflow[and-cuda] Then, run `train.py`, it saves weights to a `.keras` file (which is not in Git). Then `predict.py` loads the weights from this file and runs predictions. ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-cnn-tutorial/predict.py ================================================ import time import tensorflow as tf from tensorflow.keras import datasets, layers, models import matplotlib.pyplot as plt # Info on the format of CIFAR10 data: # * https://keras.io/api/datasets/cifar10/ # * https://www.cs.toronto.edu/~kriz/cifar.html model = models.load_model("trained-weights.keras") (train_images, train_labels), (test_images, test_labels) = datasets.cifar10.load_data() # Normalize pixel values to be between 0 and 1 train_images, test_images = train_images / 255.0, test_images / 255.0 print(test_images.shape, test_labels.shape) label_classes = [ "airplane", "automobile", "bird", "cat", "deer", "dog", "frog", "horse", "ship", "truck", ] # for small predicts, calling the model object directly works # Alternatively, can call predict: # model.predict(test_images[:1]) # Doc: https://www.tensorflow.org/api_docs/python/tf/keras/Model # Predict the first num images; softmax converts them into probabilities, # and we use argmax to find the most likely class for each one. num = 20 # Do it in the loop one by one because we want to measure the prediction # latency for a single image after warmump (model cachedi in GPU, etc.) for i in range(num): time_start = time.time() prediction = model(test_images[i : i + 1]) probs = tf.nn.softmax(prediction) predindices = tf.argmax(probs, axis=1).numpy() time_end = time.time() predidx = predindices[0] testidx = test_labels[i][0] plt.imshow(test_images[i]) plt.savefig(f"test_image_{i}.png") print( f"{i:2d} Predicted: {label_classes[predidx]}, Actual: {label_classes[testidx]} (elapsed: {time_end - time_start:.6f} seconds)" ) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-cnn-tutorial/train.py ================================================ # Follows tutorial here: https://www.tensorflow.org/tutorials/quickstart/beginner # Adds the model.save call at the end to serialize the model weights. import tensorflow as tf from tensorflow.keras import datasets, layers, models import matplotlib.pyplot as plt (train_images, train_labels), (test_images, test_labels) = datasets.cifar10.load_data() # Normalize pixel values to be between 0 and 1 train_images, test_images = train_images / 255.0, test_images / 255.0 print(len(train_images)) print(len(train_labels)) model = models.Sequential() model.add(layers.Conv2D(32, (3, 3), activation="relu", input_shape=(32, 32, 3))) model.add(layers.MaxPooling2D((2, 2))) model.add(layers.Conv2D(64, (3, 3), activation="relu")) model.add(layers.MaxPooling2D((2, 2))) model.add(layers.Conv2D(64, (3, 3), activation="relu")) model.add(layers.Flatten()) model.add(layers.Dense(64, activation="relu")) model.add(layers.Dense(10)) print(model.summary()) model.compile( optimizer="adam", loss=tf.keras.losses.SparseCategoricalCrossentropy(from_logits=True), metrics=["accuracy"], ) history = model.fit( train_images, train_labels, epochs=50, validation_data=(test_images, test_labels) ) savefile = "trained-weights.keras" model.save(savefile) print(f"Model saved to {savefile}") ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/basic_operations.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import tensorflow as tf # Basic constant operations - added to the default global graph. # The value returned by the constructor represents the output # of the Constant op. a = tf.constant(2) b = tf.constant(3) # Launch the default graph. with tf.Session() as sess: print('a =', sess.run(a)) print('b =', sess.run(b)) print('a + b =', sess.run(a + b)) # Basic Operations with variable as graph input # The value returned by the constructor represents the output # of the Variable op. (define as input when running session) # tf Graph input a = tf.placeholder(tf.int16) b = tf.placeholder(tf.int16) add = tf.add(a, b) # Launch the default graph. with tf.Session() as sess: print('a + b [from placeholders]', sess.run(add, feed_dict={a: 2, b: 3})) # Define two constants and a matmul node on them, in a new default graph. graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Matmul of two constants. matrix1 = tf.constant([[1, 1, 1], [2, 2, 2]], dtype=tf.float32) matrix2 = tf.constant([[2], [3], [4]], dtype=tf.float32) product = tf.matmul(matrix1, matrix2) with tf.Session(graph=graph) as sess: # Ask product for its shape (using TF's shape inference) and also run the # graph. print('product shape =', product.get_shape()) print('product =', sess.run(product)) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/conv2d-numpy.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import numpy.testing as npt import unittest # Tensorflow is used to verify the results of numpy computations - you can # remove its usage if you don't need the testing. import tensorflow as tf def conv2d_single_channel(input, w): """Two-dimensional convolution of a single channel. Uses SAME padding with 0s, a stride of 1 and no dilation. input: input array with shape (height, width) w: filter array with shape (fd, fd) with odd fd. Returns a result with the same shape as input. """ assert w.shape[0] == w.shape[1] and w.shape[0] % 2 == 1 # SAME padding with zeros: creating a new padded array to simplify index # calculations and to avoid checking boundary conditions in the inner loop. # padded_input is like input, but padded on all sides with # half-the-filter-width of zeros. padded_input = np.pad(input, pad_width=w.shape[0] // 2, mode='constant', constant_values=0) output = np.zeros_like(input) for i in range(output.shape[0]): for j in range(output.shape[1]): # This inner double loop computes every output element, by # multiplying the corresponding window into the input with the # filter. for fi in range(w.shape[0]): for fj in range(w.shape[1]): output[i, j] += padded_input[i + fi, j + fj] * w[fi, fj] return output def conv2d_multi_channel(input, w): """Two-dimensional convolution with multiple channels. Uses SAME padding with 0s, a stride of 1 and no dilation. input: input array with shape (height, width, in_depth) w: filter array with shape (fd, fd, in_depth, out_depth) with odd fd. in_depth is the number of input channels, and has the be the same as input's in_depth; out_depth is the number of output channels. Returns a result with shape (height, width, out_depth). """ assert w.shape[0] == w.shape[1] and w.shape[0] % 2 == 1 padw = w.shape[0] // 2 padded_input = np.pad(input, pad_width=((padw, padw), (padw, padw), (0, 0)), mode='constant', constant_values=0) height, width, in_depth = input.shape assert in_depth == w.shape[2] out_depth = w.shape[3] output = np.zeros((height, width, out_depth)) for out_c in range(out_depth): # For each output channel, perform 2d convolution summed across all # input channels. for i in range(height): for j in range(width): # Now the inner loop also works across all input channels. for c in range(in_depth): for fi in range(w.shape[0]): for fj in range(w.shape[1]): w_element = w[fi, fj, c, out_c] output[i, j, out_c] += ( padded_input[i + fi, j + fj, c] * w_element) return output def tf_conv2d_single_channel(input, w): """Single-channel conv2d using TF. Params same as in conv2d_single_channel. """ # We only have one item in our "batch", one input channel and one output # channel; prepare the shapes TF expects for the conv2d op. input_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(input, dtype=tf.float32), [1, input.shape[0], input.shape[1], 1]) kernel_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(w, dtype=tf.float32), [w.shape[0], w.shape[1], 1, 1]) output = tf.nn.conv2d(input_4d, kernel_4d, strides=[1, 1, 1, 1], padding='SAME') with tf.Session() as sess: ans = sess.run(output) # Remove the degenerate batch dimension, since we use batch 1. return ans.reshape(input.shape) def tf_conv2d_multi_channel(input, w): """Multi-channel conv2d using TF. Params same as in conv2d_multi_channel. """ # Here the input we get already has the in_depth dimension; we just have to # set batch to 1. input_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(input, dtype=tf.float32), [1, input.shape[0], input.shape[1], input.shape[2]]) kernel_4d = tf.constant(w, dtype=tf.float32) output = tf.nn.conv2d(input_4d, kernel_4d, strides=[1, 1, 1, 1], padding='SAME') with tf.Session() as sess: ans = sess.run(output) # Remove the degenerate batch dimension, since we use batch 1. return ans.reshape((input.shape[0], input.shape[1], w.shape[3])) def depthwise_conv2d(input, w): """Two-dimensional depthwise convolution. Uses SAME padding with 0s, a stride of 1 and no dilation. A single output channel is used per input channel (channel_multiplier=1). input: input array with shape (height, width, in_depth) w: filter array with shape (fd, fd, in_depth) Returns a result with shape (height, width, in_depth). """ assert w.shape[0] == w.shape[1] and w.shape[0] % 2 == 1 padw = w.shape[0] // 2 padded_input = np.pad(input, pad_width=((padw, padw), (padw, padw), (0, 0)), mode='constant', constant_values=0) height, width, in_depth = input.shape assert in_depth == w.shape[2] output = np.zeros((height, width, in_depth)) for c in range(in_depth): # For each input channel separately, apply its corresponsing filter # to the input. for i in range(height): for j in range(width): for fi in range(w.shape[0]): for fj in range(w.shape[1]): w_element = w[fi, fj, c] output[i, j, c] += ( padded_input[i + fi, j + fj, c] * w_element) return output def separable_conv2d(input, w_depth, w_pointwise): """Depthwise separable convolution. Performs 2d depthwise convolution with w_depth, and then applies a pointwise 1x1 convolution with w_pointwise on the result. Uses SAME padding with 0s, a stride of 1 and no dilation. A single output channel is used per input channel (channel_multiplier=1) in w_depth. input: input array with shape (height, width, in_depth) w_depth: depthwise filter array with shape (fd, fd, in_depth) w_pointwise: pointwise filter array with shape (in_depth, out_depth) Returns a result with shape (height, width, out_depth). """ # First run the depthwise convolution. Its result has the same shape as # input. depthwise_result = depthwise_conv2d(input, w_depth) height, width, in_depth = depthwise_result.shape assert in_depth == w_pointwise.shape[0] out_depth = w_pointwise.shape[1] output = np.zeros((height, width, out_depth)) for out_c in range(out_depth): for i in range(height): for j in range(width): for c in range(in_depth): w_element = w_pointwise[c, out_c] output[i, j, out_c] += depthwise_result[i, j, c] * w_element return output def tf_depthwise_conv2d(input, w): """Two-dimensional depthwise convolution using TF. Params same as in depthwise_conv2d. """ input_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(input, dtype=tf.float32), [1, input.shape[0], input.shape[1], input.shape[2]]) # Set channel_multiplier dimension to 1 kernel_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(w, dtype=tf.float32), [w.shape[0], w.shape[1], w.shape[2], 1]) output = tf.nn.depthwise_conv2d(input_4d, kernel_4d, strides=[1, 1, 1, 1], padding='SAME') with tf.Session() as sess: ans = sess.run(output) # Remove the degenerate batch dimension, since we use batch 1. return ans.reshape(input.shape) def tf_separable_conv2d(input, w_depth, w_pointwise): """Depthwise separable convolution using TF. Params same as in separable_conv2d. """ input_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(input, dtype=tf.float32), [1, input.shape[0], input.shape[1], input.shape[2]]) # Set channel_multiplier dimension to 1 depth_kernel_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(w_depth, dtype=tf.float32), [w_depth.shape[0], w_depth.shape[1], w_depth.shape[2], 1]) pointwise_kernel_4d = tf.reshape(tf.constant(w_pointwise, dtype=tf.float32), [1, 1, w_pointwise.shape[0], w_pointwise.shape[1]]) output = tf.nn.separable_conv2d(input_4d, depth_kernel_4d, pointwise_kernel_4d, strides=[1, 1, 1, 1], padding='SAME') with tf.Session() as sess: ans = sess.run(output) # Remove the degenerate batch dimension, since we use batch 1. return ans.reshape(input.shape[0], input.shape[1], w_pointwise.shape[1]) class TestConvs(unittest.TestCase): def test_single_channel(self): inp = np.linspace(-5, 5, 36).reshape(6, 6) w = np.linspace(0, 8, 9)[::-1].reshape(3, 3) np_ans = conv2d_single_channel(inp, w) tf_ans = tf_conv2d_single_channel(inp, w) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) w = np.array([[1, -1, 1], [0, -1, 1], [1, -1, 0]]) np_ans = conv2d_single_channel(inp, w) tf_ans = tf_conv2d_single_channel(inp, w) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=4) def test_multi_channel(self): # input is 6x6, with 3 channels # filter is 3x3 with 3 input channels, 4 output channels inp = np.linspace(-5, 5, 6*6*3).reshape(6, 6, 3) w = np.linspace(0, 107, 108).reshape(3, 3, 3, 4) np_ans = conv2d_multi_channel(inp, w) tf_ans = tf_conv2d_multi_channel(inp, w) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) w = np.ones((3, 3, 3, 4)) w[0, 0, 0, 0] = -1 w[0, 0, 0, 1] = -1 w[0, 0, 0, 2] = -1 w[0, 0, 0, 3] = -1 np_ans = conv2d_multi_channel(inp, w) tf_ans = tf_conv2d_multi_channel(inp, w) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) def test_depthwise(self): # input is 6x6, with 3 channels # filter is 3x3 with 3 input channels inp = np.linspace(-6, 6, 6*6*3).reshape(6, 6, 3) w = np.linspace(0, 26, 27).reshape(3, 3, 3) np_ans = depthwise_conv2d(inp, w) tf_ans = tf_depthwise_conv2d(inp, w) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) w = np.ones((3, 3, 3)) w[0, 0, 0] = 2 w[0, 1, 0] = 2 w[1, 1, 0] = 1 w[1, 1, 1] = 3 w[0, 1, 2] = 5 np_ans = depthwise_conv2d(inp, w) tf_ans = tf_depthwise_conv2d(inp, w) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) def test_separable(self): # input is 6x6 with 3 channels # depth filter is 3x3 with 3 input channels # pointwise filter is 3x5 with 5 output channels inp = np.linspace(-8, 8, 8*8*3).reshape(8, 8, 3) w_depth = np.linspace(0, 26, 27).reshape(3, 3, 3) w_pointwise = np.linspace(-2, 2, 3*5).reshape(3, 5) np_ans = separable_conv2d(inp, w_depth, w_pointwise) tf_ans = tf_separable_conv2d(inp, w_depth, w_pointwise) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) w_depth = np.sin(np.linspace(0, 26, 27)).reshape(3, 3, 3) w_pointwise = np.zeros((3, 5)) for i in range(5): w_pointwise[0, i] = 1 + i w_pointwise[1, i] = 3 - i w_pointwise[2, i] = 0.2 + 0.6 * i np_ans = separable_conv2d(inp, w_depth, w_pointwise) tf_ans = tf_separable_conv2d(inp, w_depth, w_pointwise) npt.assert_almost_equal(np_ans, tf_ans, decimal=3) if __name__ == '__main__': unittest.main() # Comment out unittest.main() above to actually run this code... inp = np.ones((6, 6)) w = np.zeros((3, 3)) w[0, 0] = 1 w[1, 1] = 1 w[2, 2] = 1 out = conv2d_single_channel(inp, w) #print(out) inp = np.ones((6, 6, 3)) w = np.zeros((3, 3, 3, 5)) w[0, 0, 0, 1] = 1 w[0, 1, 0, 1] = 1 w[1, 1, 0, 1] = 1 w[1, 1, 1, 1] = 1 w[1, 1, 2, 1] = 1 w[1, 1, 2, 1] = 1 w[1, 1, 2, 0] = 1 out = conv2d_multi_channel(inp, w) print(out) outtf = tf_conv2d_multi_channel(inp, w) print(outtf) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/conv2d.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf in_channels = 3 # 3 for RGB, 32, 64, 128, ... out_channels = 6 # 128, 256, ... input = np.ones((5,5,in_channels)) # input is 3d, in_channels = 32 # filter must have 3d-shpae x number of filters = 4D weight_4d = np.ones((3,3,in_channels, out_channels)) strides_2d = [1, 1, 1, 1] in_3d = tf.constant(input, dtype=tf.float32) filter_4d = tf.constant(weight_4d, dtype=tf.float32) in_width = int(in_3d.shape[0]) in_height = int(in_3d.shape[1]) filter_width = int(filter_4d.shape[0]) filter_height = int(filter_4d.shape[1]) input_3d = tf.reshape(in_3d, [1, in_height, in_width, in_channels]) kernel_4d = tf.reshape(filter_4d, [filter_height, filter_width, in_channels, out_channels]) #output stacked shape is 3D = 2D x N matrix output_3d = tf.nn.conv2d(input_3d, kernel_4d, strides=strides_2d, padding='SAME') with tf.Session() as sess: print(sess.run(output_3d)) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/embedding_partitioned.py ================================================ # Explores a partitioned embedding. from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf # The vocabulary is partitioned to npartitions embedding tables using the 'div' # strategy. This means: # the first partition holds mappings for [0, vocab_per_partition), # the second holds [vocab_per_partition, 2 * vocab_per_partition), and so on. # Each partition is just a regular matrix, so indices have to be computed # properly. In the second partition, row 0 is the embedding mapping for ID # number 'vocab_per_partition', etc. vocab_size = 20 npartitions = 4 vocab_per_partition = vocab_size // npartitions embedding_dim = 3 batch_size = 16 dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size]) embeddings = [] for _ in range(npartitions): embeddings.append(tf.Variable(tf.random_uniform( [vocab_per_partition, embedding_dim], -1.0, 1.0))) embed_out = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(embeddings, dataset, partition_strategy='div', validate_indices=True) with tf.Session() as sess: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('dataset shape:', dataset.get_shape()) print('embeddings shapes:', ["{0}: {1}".format(i, embeddings[i].get_shape()) for i in range(npartitions)]) print('embed_out shape:', embed_out.get_shape()) indata = np.random.randint(0, vocab_size, size=(batch_size,)) print('indata:', indata) emb = [0] * npartitions emb[0], emb[1], emb[2], emb[3], embed_out = sess.run( fetches=[embeddings[0], embeddings[1], embeddings[2], embeddings[3], embed_out], feed_dict={dataset: indata}) for i in range(npartitions): print('embeddings[{0}]\n'.format(i), emb[i]) print('embed_out:\n', embed_out) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/embedding_shape.py ================================================ # Explores the shapes involved in the embedding_lookup op. from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf vocab_size = 10 embedding_dim = 5 batch_size = 16 # The data set is an array of integer values, each being an ID in the range # [0, vocab_size) dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size]) # embedding is a lookup table for IDs, mapping them into # embedding_dim-dimensional vectors. embedding = tf.Variable(tf.random_uniform( [vocab_size, embedding_dim], -1.0, 1.0)) embed_out = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(embedding, dataset) with tf.Session() as sess: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('dataset shape:', dataset.get_shape()) print('embedding shape:', embedding.get_shape()) print('embed_out shape:', embed_out.get_shape()) indata = np.random.randint(0, vocab_size, size=(batch_size,)) print('indata:', indata) embedding, embed_out = sess.run( fetches=[embedding, embed_out], feed_dict={dataset: indata}) print('embedding:\n', embedding) print('embed_out:\n', embed_out) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/embedding_shape_extra_dim.py ================================================ # Explores the shapes involved for embedding lookup in the presence of extra # dimensions. from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf vocab_size = 10 embedding_dim = 5 batch_size = 2 context_size = 4 # Each "sample" in a batch is a context of context_size words (think input to a # CBOW training for word2vec). So the shape of the dataset is # (batch_size, context_size), where each element of this array is an integer # value in the range [0, vocab_size) -- word ID. dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size, context_size]) # embedding is a lookup table for IDs, mapping them into # embedding_dim-dimensional vectors. embedding = tf.Variable(tf.random_uniform( [vocab_size, embedding_dim], -1.0, 1.0)) # The embedding_lookup is clever... the docs say: # "The returned tensor has shape shape(ids) + shape(params)[1:]." # By which they mean that the shape of embed_out will be the shape of dataset, # with an additional dimension appended on the right; and this additional # dimension is dimension "embedding_dim". So the result we expect will have # the shape (batch_size, context_size, embedding_dim). embed_out = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(embedding, dataset) with tf.Session() as sess: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('dataset shape:', dataset.get_shape()) print('embedding shape:', embedding.get_shape()) print('embed_out shape:', embed_out.get_shape()) indata = np.random.randint(0, vocab_size, size=(batch_size, context_size)) print('indata:', indata) embedding, embed_out = sess.run( fetches=[embedding, embed_out], feed_dict={dataset: indata}) print('embedding:\n', embedding) print('embed_out:\n', embed_out) ================================================ FILE: tensorflow-samples/reduce_sum.py ================================================ # Explore the shapes around tf.reduce_sum from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf batch_dim = 16 feature_dim = 3 init = np.random.uniform(0.0, 0.1, (batch_dim, feature_dim)) data = tf.constant(init) # reduce_sum along dimension 0, keeping dim 0 with size 1 reduced_along_0 = tf.reduce_sum(data, reduction_indices=0, keep_dims=True) # reduce_sum along dimension 1, keeping dim 1 with size 1 reduced_along_1 = tf.reduce_sum(data, reduction_indices=1, keep_dims=True) # reduce_sum along dimension 1, collapsing dim 1 reduced_along_1_nodim = tf.reduce_sum(data, reduction_indices=1, keep_dims=False) print('data:\n', init) with tf.Session() as sess: print('reduced_along_0:', reduced_along_0.get_shape(), '\n', sess.run(reduced_along_0)) print('reduced_along_1:\n', reduced_along_1.get_shape(), '\n', sess.run(reduced_along_1)) print('reduced_along_1_nodim:\n', reduced_along_1_nodim.get_shape(), '\n', sess.run(reduced_along_1_nodim)) ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/.python-version ================================================ 3.12 ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/README.md ================================================ Run `uv run pytest` to run all tests (auto-discovery). ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/experimental/position_enc_sin.py ================================================ import numpy as np import matplotlib.pyplot as plt # Sinusoidal position encoding, as in the Transformer model paper. # x is the inputs (N, D), each in a row. # The output has the same shape. def position_enc_sin_single(x): # PE(pos, 2i) = sin(pos / 10000^(2i/D)) # PE(pos, 2i+1) = cos(pos / 10000^(2i/D)) N, D = x.shape # pos is a column vector of shape (N, 1) with the position in the sequence. # i is a row vector of shape (1, D) with the dimension index. denom will # be the same shape as i. # pos / denom is a broadcast division of shape (N, D). pos = np.arange(N).reshape(-1, 1) i = np.arange(0, D, 2) denom = 10000 ** (2 * i / D) penc = np.zeros((N, D)) penc[:, 0::2] = np.sin(pos / denom) penc[:, 1::2] = np.cos(pos / denom) return x + penc # Batched version; x shape is (B, N, D). def position_enc_sin(x): B, N, D = x.shape # penc is exactly the same as in position_enc_sin_single, and the final # addition will properly broadcast it over the B axis. pos = np.arange(N).reshape(-1, 1) i = np.arange(0, D, 2) denom = 10000 ** (2 * i / D) penc = np.zeros((N, D)) penc[:, 0::2] = np.sin(pos / denom) penc[:, 1::2] = np.cos(pos / denom) return x + penc inp = np.zeros((3, 120, 48)) out = position_enc_sin(inp)[0, :, :].T fig, ax = plt.subplots(nrows=1, ncols=1, figsize=(8, 3)) pos = ax.imshow(out, extent=(1, out.shape[1] + 1, out.shape[0] + 1, 1)) fig.colorbar(pos, ax=ax) ax.set_xlabel("position in sequence") ax.set_ylabel("dimension") plt.show() ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/moe.py ================================================ from dataclasses import dataclass from typing import List import numpy as np from softmax import softmax_lastdim def feed_forward_relu(x, W1, W2): """Feed-forward layer with ReLU activation. Args: x: Input tensor (B, N, D). Wh: Weights for the hidden layer (D, DH). Wo: Weights for the output layer (DH, D). Returns: Output tensor (B, N, D). """ assert x.shape[-1] == W1.shape[0] == W2.shape[1] assert W1.shape[1] == W2.shape[0] x = x @ W1 # hidden layer (B, N, DH) x = np.maximum(0, x) # ReLU activation (B, N, DH) x = x @ W2 # output layer (B, N, D) return x def topk_lastdim(x, k): """Get the top k elements and their indices. x is an arbitrary array with at least two dimensions. The returned array has the same shape as x, but its elements are the top k elements across the last dimension. The indices of the top k elements are also returned. """ idx = np.argpartition(x, -k, axis=-1)[..., -k:] return np.take_along_axis(x, idx, axis=-1), idx # Parameters for a feed-forward layer with a fixed activation function. @dataclass class FFParams: Wh: np.ndarray Wo: np.ndarray # Parameters for a Mixture of Experts (MoE) layer. @dataclass class MoEParams: # Embedding dimension of each token (a.k.a. model dimension, Dmodel) D: int # Hidden dimension in FF layers DH: int # Total number of experts NEXP: int # K in the top-k selection of top experts per token TOPK: int # List of experts: each expert is a forward layer with FFParams. ff_weights: List[FFParams] # Router weights: a linear layer (D, NEXP) that maps input to expert scores. router_weights: np.ndarray def moe(x: np.ndarray, params: MoEParams): """Mixture of Experts (MoE) layer. Args: x: Input tensor (B, N, D). params: MoEParams. Returns: Output tensor (B, N, D). """ assert x.shape[-1] == params.D assert params.router_weights.shape == (params.D, params.NEXP) assert len(params.ff_weights) == params.NEXP for expert in params.ff_weights: assert expert.Wh.shape == (params.D, params.DH) assert expert.Wo.shape == (params.DH, params.D) # Run input through router to get expert scores for each token. expert_scores = x @ params.router_weights # (B, N, NEXP) # Select the top-k expert scores and their indices for each token. top_scores, top_experts = topk_lastdim(expert_scores, params.TOPK) # (B, N, TOPK) # Apply softmax to the top scores to get weights that sum to 1. weights = softmax_lastdim(top_scores) # (B, N, TOPK) out = np.zeros_like(x) for b in range(x.shape[0]): for n in range(x.shape[1]): # Unvectorized implementation: for each token in the batch and # sequence, select the top-k experts and apply them with the # calculated weights. for expert_idx, weight in zip(top_experts[b, n], weights[b, n]): expert = params.ff_weights[expert_idx] out[b, n] += weight * feed_forward_relu(x[b, n], expert.Wh, expert.Wo) return out if __name__ == "__main__": B = 4 N = 6 D = 8 DH = 16 NEXP = 4 TOPK = 2 params = MoEParams( D=D, DH=DH, NEXP=NEXP, TOPK=TOPK, ff_weights=[ FFParams(np.random.randn(D, DH), np.random.randn(DH, D)) for _ in range(NEXP) ], router_weights=np.random.randn(D, NEXP), ) x = np.linspace(0.1, 8.4, B * N * D).reshape(B, N, D) y = moe(x, params) print("Output shape:", y.shape) # Should be (B, N, D) print("Output:", y) ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/multiheadattention.py ================================================ import numpy as np from softmax import softmax_lastdim # x has shape (B, N, D) # In what follows: # NH = number of heads # HS = head size # NH * HS = D # W is expected to have shape (D, 3 * D), with all the weight matrices for # Qs, Ks, and Vs concatenated along the last dimension, in this order. # Wp is a weight matrix for the final linear projection, of shape (D, D). # The result is (B, N, D). # If do_mask is True, each attention head is masked from attending to future # tokens. def multihead_attention_vec(x, W, NH, Wp, do_mask=False): B, N, D = x.shape assert W.shape == (D, 3 * D) qkv = x @ W # (B, N, 3 * D) q, k, v = np.split(qkv, 3, axis=-1) # (B, N, D) each if do_mask: # mask is a lower-triangular (N, N) matrix, with zeros above # the diagonal and ones on the diagonal and below. mask = np.tril(np.ones((N, N))) HS = D // NH q = q.reshape(B, N, NH, HS).transpose(0, 2, 1, 3) # (B, NH, N, HS) k = k.reshape(B, N, NH, HS).transpose(0, 2, 1, 3) # (B, NH, N, HS) v = v.reshape(B, N, NH, HS).transpose(0, 2, 1, 3) # (B, NH, N, HS) kq = q @ k.swapaxes(-1, -2) / np.sqrt(k.shape[-1]) # (B, NH, N, N) # The last statement is equivalent to the following: # # kq = np.einsum("bhqd,bhkd->bhqk", q, k) / np.sqrt(k.shape[-1]) # # The transpose of k is implied in the dimension order of the einsum # subscript. b is the batch dimension, h is the head dimension, q and k # are the query and key dimensions, and d is the depth of the query/key # vectors. Even though in our case the query and key vectors have the same # depth, einsum needs to use distinct dimension labels for them. if do_mask: # Set the masked positions to -inf, to ensure that a token isn't # affected by tokens that come after it in the softmax. kq = np.where(mask == 0, -np.inf, kq) att = softmax_lastdim(kq) # (B, NH, N, N) out = att @ v # (B, NH, N, HS) return out.transpose(0, 2, 1, 3).reshape(B, N, D) @ Wp # (B, N, D) # x has shape (B, N, D) # In what follows: # NH = number of heads # HS = head size # Each W*s is a list of NH weight matrices of shape (D, HS). # Wp is a weight matrix for the final linear projection, of shape (NH * HS, D) # The result is (B, N, D) # If do_mask is True, each attention head is masked from attending to future # tokens. def multihead_attention_list(x, Wqs, Wks, Wvs, Wp, do_mask=False): # Check shapes. NH = len(Wks) HS = Wks[0].shape[1] assert len(Wks) == len(Wqs) == len(Wvs) for W in Wqs + Wks + Wvs: assert W.shape[1] == HS assert Wp.shape[0] == NH * HS # List of head outputs head_outs = [] if do_mask: # mask is a lower-triangular (N, N) matrix, with zeros above # the diagonal and ones on the diagonal and below. N = x.shape[1] mask = np.tril(np.ones((N, N))) for Wq, Wk, Wv in zip(Wqs, Wks, Wvs): # Calculate self attention for each head separately q = x @ Wq # (B, N, HS) k = x @ Wk # (B, N, HS) v = x @ Wv # (B, N, HS) kq = q @ k.swapaxes(-2, -1) / np.sqrt(k.shape[-1]) # (B, N, N) if do_mask: # Set the masked positions to -inf, to ensure that a token isn't # affected by tokens that come after it in the softmax. kq = np.where(mask == 0, -np.inf, kq) att = softmax_lastdim(kq) # (B, N, N) head_outs.append(att @ v) # (B, N, HS) # Concatenate the head outputs and apply the final linear projection all_heads = np.concatenate(head_outs, axis=-1) # (B, N, NH * HS) return all_heads @ Wp # (B, N, D) # Cross attention between two input sequences that can have different lengths. # xq has shape (B, Nq, D) # xv has shape (B, Nv, D) # In what follows: # NH = number of heads # HS = head size # Each W*s is a list of NH weight matrices of shape (D, HS). # Wp is a weight matrix for the final linear projection, of shape (NH * HS, D) # The result is (B, Nq, D) def multihead_cross_attention_list(xq, xv, Wqs, Wks, Wvs, Wp): # Check shapes. NH = len(Wks) HS = Wks[0].shape[1] assert len(Wks) == len(Wqs) == len(Wvs) for W in Wqs + Wks + Wvs: assert W.shape[1] == HS assert Wp.shape[0] == NH * HS # List of head outputs head_outs = [] for Wq, Wk, Wv in zip(Wks, Wqs, Wvs): q = xq @ Wq # (B, Nq, HS) k = xv @ Wk # (B, Nv, HS) v = xv @ Wv # (B, Nv, HS) kq = q @ k.swapaxes(-2, -1) / np.sqrt(k.shape[-1]) # (B, Nq, Nv) att = softmax_lastdim(kq) # (B, Nq, Nv) head_outs.append(att @ v) # (B, Nq, HS) # Concatenate the head outputs and apply the final linear projection all_heads = np.concatenate(head_outs, axis=-1) # (B, Nq, NH * HS) return all_heads @ Wp # (B, Nq, D) ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/pyproject.toml ================================================ [project] name = "transformer-attention" version = "0.1.0" description = "Add your description here" readme = "README.md" requires-python = ">=3.12" dependencies = [ "matplotlib>=3.10.0", "numpy>=2.2.3", ] [tool.pytest.ini_options] pythonpath = ["."] [dependency-groups] dev = [ "pytest>=8.3.4", ] ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/selfattention.py ================================================ import numpy as np from softmax import softmax_cols, softmax_lastdim # self_attention the way it happens in the Transformer model. No bias. # D = model dimension/depth (length of embedding) # N = input sequence length # HS = head size # # x is the input (N, D), each token in a row. # Each of W* is a weight matrix of shape (D, HS) # The result is (N, HS) def self_attention(x, Wk, Wq, Wv): # Each of these is (N, D) @ (D, HS) = (N, HS) q = x @ Wq k = x @ Wk v = x @ Wv # kq: (N, N) matrix of dot products between each pair of q and k vectors. # The division by sqrt(HS) is the scaling. kq = q @ k.T / np.sqrt(k.shape[1]) # att: (N, N) attention matrix. The rows become the weights that sum # to 1 for each output vector. att = softmax_lastdim(kq) return att @ v # (N, HS) # self_attention with inputs that have a batch dimension. # x has shape (B, N, D) # Each of W* has shape (D, HS) def self_attention_batched(x, Wk, Wq, Wv): q = x @ Wq # (B, N, HS) k = x @ Wk # (B, N, HS) v = x @ Wv # (B, N, HS) kq = q @ k.swapaxes(-2, -1) / np.sqrt(k.shape[-1]) # (B, N, N) att = softmax_lastdim(kq) # (B, N, N) return att @ v # (B, N, HS) # D = model dimension (length of embedding) # N = input sequence length # # x is the inputs (D, N) # Each of W* is a weight matrix of shape (D, D) # Each of B* is a vector of shape (D, 1) def self_attention_cols(x, Wk, Wq, Wv, Bk, Bq, Bv): q = Wq @ x + Bq k = Wk @ x + Bk v = Wv @ x + Bv kq = (k.T @ q) / np.sqrt(k.shape[0]) # att: (N, N) attention matrix. The columns become the weights that sum # to 1 for each output vector. att = softmax_cols(kq) return v @ att ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/softmax.py ================================================ import numpy as np def softmax_lastdim(x): """Compute softmax across last dimension of x. x is an arbitrary array with at least two dimensions. The returned array has the same shape as x, but its elements sum up to 1 across the last dimension. """ # Subtract the max for numerical stability ex = np.exp(x - np.max(x, axis=-1, keepdims=True)) # Divide by sums across last dimension return ex / np.sum(ex, axis=-1, keepdims=True) def softmax_cols(x): """Compute softmax for each column of x. The result has the same shape as x, with each column replaced by the softmax of that column. """ # Subtract the max for numerical stability ex = np.exp(x - np.max(x, axis=0, keepdims=True)) # Divide by column-wise sums return ex / np.sum(ex, axis=0, keepdims=True) ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/test_moe.py ================================================ import numpy as np from moe import topk_lastdim def test_topk_lastdim(): np.random.seed(12) B = 6 N = 4 D = 8 x = np.random.randn(B, N, D) k = 3 y, idx = topk_lastdim(x, k) assert y.shape == (B, N, k) assert idx.shape == (B, N, k) for i in range(B): for j in range(N): # Get the top k values and their indices top_k_values = np.partition(x[i, j], -k)[-k:] top_k_indices = np.argpartition(x[i, j], -k)[-k:] assert np.allclose(y[i, j], top_k_values) assert np.all(idx[i, j] == top_k_indices) ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/test_multiheadattention.py ================================================ import numpy as np from multiheadattention import ( multihead_attention_list, multihead_cross_attention_list, multihead_attention_vec, ) def test_values_vec(): D = 6 NH = 3 HS = 2 B = 3 N = 4 x = np.linspace(0.1, 8.4, B * N * D).reshape(B, N, D) Wqs = [np.linspace(i + 3.1, i + 3.8, D * HS).reshape(HS, D).T for i in range(NH)] Wks = [np.linspace(i + 0.1, i + 0.8, D * HS).reshape(HS, D).T for i in range(NH)] Wvs = [np.linspace(i + 6.1, i + 6.8, D * HS).reshape(HS, D).T for i in range(NH)] Wp = np.linspace(9.1, 9.8, NH * HS * D).reshape(D, NH * HS).T # concatenate all Ws: first Q, then K, then V Wq = np.concatenate(Wqs, axis=1) Wk = np.concatenate(Wks, axis=1) Wv = np.concatenate(Wvs, axis=1) W = np.concatenate([Wq, Wk, Wv], axis=1) assert W.shape == (D, 3 * D) y = multihead_attention_vec(x, W, NH, Wp) assert y.shape == (B, N, D) assert np.allclose(y, _multihead_want, rtol=1e-3) # Now test with masking y2 = multihead_attention_vec(x, W, NH, Wp, do_mask=True) assert np.allclose(y2, _multihead_masked_want, rtol=1e-3) def test_shapes(): # 4 heads (NH), each with depth 3 (H). Total H*NH=D=12 D = 12 N = 8 HS = 3 NH = 4 B = 2 x = np.random.randn(B, N, D) Wqs = [np.random.randn(D, HS) for _ in range(NH)] Wks = [np.random.randn(D, HS) for _ in range(NH)] Wvs = [np.random.randn(D, HS) for _ in range(NH)] Wp = np.random.randn(NH * HS, D) y = multihead_attention_list(x, Wqs, Wks, Wvs, Wp) assert y.shape == (B, N, D) def test_values(): D = 6 NH = 3 HS = 2 B = 3 N = 4 x = np.linspace(0.1, 8.4, B * N * D).reshape(B, N, D) # As before, we have to reshape these into the transposed form when filling # them in, then transpose. This is because PyTorch transposes the weight # matrix directly assigned to a layer. Wqs = [np.linspace(i + 3.1, i + 3.8, D * HS).reshape(HS, D).T for i in range(NH)] Wks = [np.linspace(i + 0.1, i + 0.8, D * HS).reshape(HS, D).T for i in range(NH)] Wvs = [np.linspace(i + 6.1, i + 6.8, D * HS).reshape(HS, D).T for i in range(NH)] Wp = np.linspace(9.1, 9.8, NH * HS * D).reshape(D, NH * HS).T y = multihead_attention_list(x, Wqs, Wks, Wvs, Wp) assert np.allclose(y, _multihead_want, rtol=1e-3) # Now test with masking y2 = multihead_attention_list(x, Wqs, Wks, Wvs, Wp, do_mask=True) assert np.allclose(y2, _multihead_masked_want, rtol=1e-3) def test_shapes_cross(): # def multihead_cross_attention(xq, xv, Wks, Wqs, Wvs, Wp): D = 12 Nq = 6 Nv = 8 HS = 3 NH = 4 B = 2 xq = np.random.randn(B, Nq, D) xv = np.random.randn(B, Nv, D) Wqs = [np.random.randn(D, HS) for _ in range(NH)] Wks = [np.random.randn(D, HS) for _ in range(NH)] Wvs = [np.random.randn(D, HS) for _ in range(NH)] Wp = np.random.randn(NH * HS, D) y = multihead_cross_attention_list(xq, xv, Wqs, Wks, Wvs, Wp) assert y.shape == (B, Nq, D) _multihead_want = np.array( [ [ [6136.3379, 6216.7163, 6297.3208, 6377.4688, 6458.0137, 6538.4683], [6136.3379, 6216.7163, 6297.3208, 6377.4688, 6458.0137, 6538.4683], [6136.3379, 6216.7163, 6297.3208, 6377.4688, 6458.0137, 6538.4683], [6136.3379, 6216.7163, 6297.3208, 6377.4688, 6458.0137, 6538.4683], ], [ [ 13024.3350, 13195.0098, 13365.9102, 13536.3564, 13707.1973, 13877.9473, ], [ 13024.3350, 13195.0098, 13365.9102, 13536.3564, 13707.1973, 13877.9473, ], [ 13024.3350, 13195.0098, 13365.9102, 13536.3564, 13707.1973, 13877.9473, ], [ 13024.3350, 13195.0098, 13365.9102, 13536.3564, 13707.1973, 13877.9473, ], ], [ [ 19912.3320, 20173.3027, 20434.5000, 20695.2402, 20956.3789, 21217.4258, ], [ 19912.3320, 20173.3027, 20434.5000, 20695.2402, 20956.3789, 21217.4258, ], [ 19912.3320, 20173.3027, 20434.5000, 20695.2402, 20956.3789, 21217.4258, ], [ 19912.3320, 20173.3027, 20434.5000, 20695.2402, 20956.3789, 21217.4258, ], ], ] ) _multihead_masked_want = np.array( [ [ [970.5113, 982.8517, 995.4508, 1008.5833, 1021.2378, 1033.4402], [2692.5103, 2727.4250, 2762.5979, 2798.3047, 2833.5334, 2868.3098], [4414.5088, 4471.9976, 4529.7451, 4588.0254, 4645.8281, 4703.1792], [6136.5073, 6216.5708, 6296.8916, 6377.7466, 6458.1230, 6538.0483], ], [ [7858.5068, 7961.1440, 8064.0391, 8167.4678, 8270.4189, 8372.9180], [9580.5049, 9705.7168, 9831.1865, 9957.1885, 10082.7139, 10207.7871], [ 11302.5049, 11450.2910, 11598.3350, 11746.9111, 11895.0098, 12042.6572, ], [ 13024.5049, 13194.8643, 13365.4814, 13536.6338, 13707.3066, 13877.5273, ], ], [ [ 14746.5029, 14939.4375, 15132.6289, 15326.3545, 15519.6016, 15712.3965, ], [ 16468.5039, 16684.0098, 16899.7754, 17116.0762, 17331.8965, 17547.2676, ], [ 18190.5020, 18428.5820, 18666.9238, 18905.7969, 19144.1934, 19382.1348, ], [ 19912.5020, 20173.1562, 20434.0703, 20695.5195, 20956.4883, 21217.0059, ], ], ] ) ================================================ FILE: transformer-attention/test_selfattention.py ================================================ import numpy as np from selfattention import self_attention, self_attention_batched, self_attention_cols def test_shapes_cols(): D = 8 N = 12 x = np.random.randn(D, N) Wk = np.random.randn(D, D) Wq = np.random.randn(D, D) Wv = np.random.randn(D, D) Bk = np.random.randn(D, 1) Bq = np.random.randn(D, 1) Bv = np.random.randn(D, 1) y = self_attention_cols(x, Wk, Wq, Wv, Bk, Bq, Bv) assert y.shape == (D, N) def test_shapes_rows(): D = 8 N = 12 x = np.random.randn(N, D) Wk = np.random.randn(D, D) Wq = np.random.randn(D, D) Wv = np.random.randn(D, D) y = self_attention(x, Wk, Wq, Wv) assert y.shape == (N, D) def test_rows_values(): # These expected values are taken from a Pytorch implementation of # self-attention. N = 6 D = 4 x = np.linspace(0.1, 2.4, N * D).reshape(N, D) # These have to be transposed to compare to torch because torch uses the # transposed weight matrix in a linear layer. Wk = np.linspace(0.1, 0.4, D * D).reshape((D, D)).T Wq = np.linspace(1.1, 1.4, D * D).reshape((D, D)).T Wv = np.linspace(2.1, 2.4, D * D).reshape((D, D)).T y = self_attention(x, Wk, Wq, Wv) want = np.array( [ [17.3399, 17.9907, 18.6416, 19.2925], [18.9277, 19.6382, 20.3487, 21.0592], [19.1339, 19.8521, 20.5704, 21.2887], [19.1712, 19.8908, 20.6105, 21.3302], [19.1783, 19.8982, 20.6182, 21.3381], [19.1797, 19.8997, 20.6196, 21.3396], ] ) assert np.allclose(y, want, atol=1e-3) def test_batched(): B = 3 N = 4 D = 2 # This is for testing shape x = np.random.randn(B, N, D) Wk = np.random.randn(D, D) Wq = np.random.randn(D, D) Wv = np.random.randn(D, D) y = self_attention_batched(x, Wk, Wq, Wv) assert y.shape == (B, N, D) # Testing values x = np.linspace(0.1, 5.4, B * N * D).reshape(B, N, D) Wk = np.linspace(0.1, 0.8, D * D).reshape((D, D)).T Wq = np.linspace(1.1, 1.8, D * D).reshape((D, D)).T Wv = np.linspace(2.1, 2.8, D * D).reshape((D, D)).T y = self_attention_batched(x, Wk, Wq, Wv) want = np.array( [ [[5.0515, 6.1093], [6.3565, 7.6890], [6.8308, 8.2633], [6.9991, 8.4669]], [ [15.2371, 18.4392], [15.2638, 18.4716], [15.2750, 18.4852], [15.2798, 18.4909], ], [ [23.4546, 28.3867], [23.4554, 28.3878], [23.4558, 28.3882], [23.4560, 28.3884], ], ] ) assert np.allclose(y, want, atol=1e-3) ================================================ FILE: ud730/.gitignore ================================================ *.gz notMNIST_* *.pickle text8.zip ================================================ FILE: ud730/.vimrc ================================================ " Force indentation styles for this directory autocmd FileType python set shiftwidth=4 autocmd FileType python set tabstop=4 autocmd FileType python set softtabstop=4 ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign1_train_logistic.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function from six.moves import cPickle as pickle from sklearn.linear_model import LogisticRegression from utils import show_image, shuffle_data_and_labels, Timer PICKLE_DATA = 'notMNIST.pickle' # Load data from the pickle data = pickle.load(open(PICKLE_DATA, 'r')) for key in data: print(key, ':', data[key].shape) def get_data_and_labels(dataset, labelset, nmax=None, shuffle=False): """Createa a dataset and labelset from pickled inputs. Reshapes the data from samples of 2D images (N, 28, 28) to linearized samples (N, 784). Also cuts a subset of the data/label-set when nmax is set. shuffle lets us reshuffle the set before cutting. """ if shuffle: d, l = shuffle_data_and_labels(dataset, labelset) else: d, l = dataset, labelset assert l.ndim == 1 and d.shape[0] == l.shape[0] if nmax is None: nmax = l.shape[0] # Assuming data comes in with shape (nsamples, M, N); we linearize each # sample to transform it to (nsamples, M*N). assert d.ndim == 3 d, l = d[:nmax, :].reshape(nmax, -1), l[:nmax] return d, l NTRAIN = 500 with Timer('preprocess'): traindata, trainlabels = get_data_and_labels(data['train_dataset'], data['train_labels'], nmax=NTRAIN, shuffle=False) #print(d50_data.shape, d50_labels.shape) #img7 = d50_data[17].reshape(28, 28) #print(chr(ord('A') + d50_labels[17])) #show_image(img7) reg = LogisticRegression(C=1) with Timer('fit'): reg.fit(traindata, trainlabels) testdata, testlabels = get_data_and_labels(data['test_dataset'], data['test_labels']) print('Test data shape:', testdata.shape) print('Test labels shape:', testlabels.shape) with Timer('score'): print(reg.score(testdata, testlabels)) ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign2_tf_sgd.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf from six.moves import cPickle as pickle from six.moves import range pickle_file = 'notMNIST.pickle' with open(pickle_file, 'rb') as f: save = pickle.load(f) train_dataset = save['train_dataset'] train_labels = save['train_labels'] valid_dataset = save['valid_dataset'] valid_labels = save['valid_labels'] test_dataset = save['test_dataset'] test_labels = save['test_labels'] del save # hint to help gc free up memory print('Training set', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation set', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Test set', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) image_size = 28 num_labels = 10 # Flatten the images to vectors of length 784 # Encode labels with 1-hot def reformat(dataset, labels): dataset = dataset.reshape((-1, image_size * image_size)).astype(np.float32) # Map 0 to [1.0, 0.0, 0.0 ...], 1 to [0.0, 1.0, 0.0 ...] labels = (np.arange(num_labels) == labels[:,None]).astype(np.float32) return dataset, labels train_dataset, train_labels = reformat(train_dataset, train_labels) valid_dataset, valid_labels = reformat(valid_dataset, valid_labels) test_dataset, test_labels = reformat(test_dataset, test_labels) print('Training set', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation set', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Test set', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) def accuracy(predictions, labels): return (100.0 * np.sum(np.argmax(predictions, 1) == np.argmax(labels, 1)) / predictions.shape[0]) def run_gradient_descent(): # The whole dataset (or its subset) is used as a TF constant node to compute # the gradient. # With gradient descent training, even this much data is prohibitive. # Subset the training data for faster turnaround. train_subset = 10000 graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. # Load the training, validation and test data into constants that are # attached to the graph. tf_train_dataset = tf.constant(train_dataset[:train_subset, :]) tf_train_labels = tf.constant(train_labels[:train_subset]) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # Variables. # These are the parameters that we are going to be training. The weight # matrix will be initialized using random values following a (truncated) # normal distribution. The biases get initialized to zero. weights = tf.Variable( tf.truncated_normal([image_size * image_size, num_labels])) biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([num_labels])) # Training computation. # We multiply the inputs with the weight matrix, and add biases. We compute # the softmax and cross-entropy (it's one operation in TensorFlow, because # it's very common, and it can be optimized). We take the average of this # cross-entropy across all training examples: that's our loss. logits = tf.matmul(tf_train_dataset, weights) + biases loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) # Optimizer. # We are going to find the minimum of this loss using gradient descent. optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(0.5).minimize(loss) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. # These are not part of training, but merely here so that we can report # accuracy figures as we train. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul(tf_valid_dataset, weights) + biases) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(tf.matmul(tf_test_dataset, weights) + biases) num_steps = 801 with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: # This is a one-time operation which ensures the parameters get initialized as # we described in the graph: random weights for the matrix, zeros for the # biases. tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('Initialized') for step in range(num_steps): # Run the computations. We tell .run() that we want to run the optimizer, # and get the loss value and the training predictions returned as numpy # arrays. _, l, predictions = session.run([optimizer, loss, train_prediction]) if (step % 100 == 0): print('Loss at step %d: %f' % (step, l)) print('Training accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy( predictions, train_labels[:train_subset, :])) # Calling .eval() on valid_prediction is basically like calling run(), but # just to get that one numpy array. Note that it recomputes all its graph # dependencies. print('Validation accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print('Test accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) def run_sgd(): # Run stochastic gradient descent, where training samples are fed as # minibatches into a TF placeholder at each iteration. batch_size = 128 graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. For the training data, we use a placeholder that will be fed # at run time with a training minibatch. tf_train_dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, image_size * image_size)) tf_train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, num_labels)) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # Variables. weights = tf.Variable( tf.truncated_normal([image_size * image_size, num_labels])) biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([num_labels])) # Training computation. logits = tf.matmul(tf_train_dataset, weights) + biases loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) # Optimizer. optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(0.5).minimize(loss) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul(tf_valid_dataset, weights) + biases) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(tf.matmul(tf_test_dataset, weights) + biases) num_steps = 3001 with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print("Initialized") for step in range(num_steps): # Pick an offset within the training data, which has been randomized. # Note: we could use better randomization across epochs. offset = (step * batch_size) % (train_labels.shape[0] - batch_size) # Generate a minibatch. batch_data = train_dataset[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] batch_labels = train_labels[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] # Prepare a dictionary telling the session where to feed the minibatch. # The key of the dictionary is the placeholder node of the graph to be fed, # and the value is the numpy array to feed to it. feed_dict = {tf_train_dataset : batch_data, tf_train_labels : batch_labels} _, l, predictions = session.run( [optimizer, loss, train_prediction], feed_dict=feed_dict) if (step % 500 == 0): print("Minibatch loss at step %d: %f" % (step, l)) print("Minibatch accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(predictions, batch_labels)) print("Validation accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print("Test accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) def run_sgd_with_hidden_layer(num_steps=3001): # The "problem" part of the assignment batch_size = 128 nfeatures = image_size * image_size nhidden = 1024 graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. For the training data, we use a placeholder that will be fed # at run time with a training minibatch. tf_train_dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, nfeatures)) tf_train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, num_labels)) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # Variables. # Input shape is batch_size x nfeatures # w1 is hidden layer: nfeatures x nhidden # b1 is: nhidden x 1 # w2 is output (softmax) layer: nhidden x num_labels # b2 is: num_labels x 1 w1 = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([nfeatures, nhidden])) b1 = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([nhidden])) w2 = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([nhidden, num_labels])) b2 = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([num_labels])) # Training computation. hidden_out = tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(tf_train_dataset, w1) + b1) logits = tf.matmul(hidden_out, w2) + b2 loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) # Optimizer. optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(0.5).minimize(loss) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul( tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(tf_valid_dataset, w1) + b1), w2) + b2) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul( tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(tf_test_dataset, w1) + b1), w2) + b2) with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: writer = tf.train.SummaryWriter("/tmp/tflogs", session.graph_def) tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print("Initialized") for step in range(num_steps): # Pick an offset within the training data, which has been randomized. # Note: we could use better randomization across epochs. offset = (step * batch_size) % (train_labels.shape[0] - batch_size) # Generate a minibatch. batch_data = train_dataset[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] batch_labels = train_labels[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] # Prepare a dictionary telling the session where to feed the minibatch. # The key of the dictionary is the placeholder node of the graph to be fed, # and the value is the numpy array to feed to it. feed_dict = {tf_train_dataset : batch_data, tf_train_labels : batch_labels} _, l, predictions = session.run( [optimizer, loss, train_prediction], feed_dict=feed_dict) if (step % 500 == 0): print("Minibatch loss at step %d: %f" % (step, l)) print("Minibatch accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(predictions, batch_labels)) print("Validation accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print("Test accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) if __name__ == '__main__': #run_sgd() # This emits logs for tensorboard. run_sgd_with_hidden_layer(701) ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign3_regularization.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf from six.moves import cPickle as pickle pickle_file = 'notMNIST.pickle' with open(pickle_file, 'rb') as f: save = pickle.load(f) train_dataset = save['train_dataset'] train_labels = save['train_labels'] valid_dataset = save['valid_dataset'] valid_labels = save['valid_labels'] test_dataset = save['test_dataset'] test_labels = save['test_labels'] del save # hint to help gc free up memory print('Training set', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation set', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Test set', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) image_size = 28 num_labels = 10 def reformat(dataset, labels): dataset = dataset.reshape((-1, image_size * image_size)).astype(np.float32) # Map 2 to [0.0, 1.0, 0.0 ...], 3 to [0.0, 0.0, 1.0 ...] labels = (np.arange(num_labels) == labels[:,None]).astype(np.float32) return dataset, labels train_dataset, train_labels = reformat(train_dataset, train_labels) valid_dataset, valid_labels = reformat(valid_dataset, valid_labels) test_dataset, test_labels = reformat(test_dataset, test_labels) print('Training set', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation set', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Test set', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) def accuracy(predictions, labels): return (100.0 * np.sum(np.argmax(predictions, 1) == np.argmax(labels, 1)) / predictions.shape[0]) def run_sgd_with_reg(): # Run stochastic gradient descent, where training samples are fed as # minibatches into a TF placeholder at each iteration. batch_size = 128 graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. For the training data, we use a placeholder that will be fed # at run time with a training minibatch. tf_train_dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, image_size * image_size)) tf_train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, num_labels)) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # Regularization factor. 0.01 improves the test set accuracy. 0.005 # improves it even a bit more. # 0.1 makes it worse than no-regularization, so it must be too large # (underfitting). beta = tf.constant(0.005) # Variables. weights = tf.Variable( tf.truncated_normal([image_size * image_size, num_labels])) biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([num_labels])) # Training computation. logits = tf.matmul(tf_train_dataset, weights) + biases loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) reg_loss = loss + beta * tf.nn.l2_loss(weights) # Optimizer. optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(0.5).minimize(reg_loss) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul(tf_valid_dataset, weights) + biases) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul(tf_test_dataset, weights) + biases) num_steps = 3001 with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print("Initialized") for step in range(num_steps): # Pick an offset within the training data, which has been randomized. # Note: we could use better randomization across epochs. offset = (step * batch_size) % (train_labels.shape[0] - batch_size) # Generate a minibatch. batch_data = train_dataset[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] batch_labels = train_labels[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] # Prepare a dictionary telling the session where to feed the minibatch. # The key of the dictionary is the placeholder node of the graph to be fed, # and the value is the numpy array to feed to it. feed_dict = {tf_train_dataset : batch_data, tf_train_labels : batch_labels} _, l, predictions = session.run( [optimizer, reg_loss, train_prediction], feed_dict=feed_dict) if (step % 500 == 0): print("Minibatch loss at step %d: %f" % (step, l)) print("Minibatch accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(predictions, batch_labels)) print("Validation accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print("Test accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) def run_sgd_with_hidden_layer_with_reg(num_steps=3001, learning_rate=0.1, l2_reg_beta=0.0, dropout_keep_prob=0.5): """Run SGD with a hidden layer and regularization. num_steps: Number of steps to run SGD minibatch training. In each step a new minibatch is fed through the network. learning_rate: SGD learning rate, passed direction to GradientDescentOptimizer. l2_reg_beta: The loss is regularized with L2 loss on all weights. This is the regularization coefficient. Setting it to 0 means no L2 loss regularization. Otherwise, small values work well. dropout_keep_prob: Dropout "keep" probability for outputs of the hidden layer. Set to 1 to avoid dropout altogether. """ # The "problem" part of the assignment batch_size = 128 nfeatures = image_size * image_size nhidden = 1024 graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. For the training data, we use a placeholder that will be fed # at run time with a training minibatch. tf_train_dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, nfeatures)) tf_train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, num_labels)) tf_dropout_keep_prob = tf.placeholder(tf.float32) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # setting beta=0 means no L2-loss regularization beta = tf.constant(l2_reg_beta) # Variables. # Input shape is batch_size x nfeatures # w1 is hidden layer: nfeatures x nhidden # b1 is: nhidden x 1 # w2 is output (softmax) layer: nhidden x num_labels # b2 is: num_labels x 1 w1 = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([nfeatures, nhidden])) b1 = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([nhidden])) w2 = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([nhidden, num_labels])) b2 = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([num_labels])) # Training computation. Adding dropout to hidden layer output. hidden_out = tf.nn.dropout( tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(tf_train_dataset, w1) + b1), keep_prob=tf_dropout_keep_prob) logits = tf.matmul(hidden_out, w2) + b2 loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) reg_loss = loss + beta * tf.nn.l2_loss(w1) + beta * tf.nn.l2_loss(w2) # Optimizer. global_step = tf.Variable(0) # count the number of steps taken. learning_rate = tf.train.exponential_decay( learning_rate=learning_rate, global_step=global_step, decay_steps=1000, decay_rate=0.96) optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer( learning_rate).minimize(reg_loss, global_step=global_step) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul( tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(tf_valid_dataset, w1) + b1), w2) + b2) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax( tf.matmul( tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(tf_test_dataset, w1) + b1), w2) + b2) with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: # Enable this to emit logs for TensorBoard. #writer = tf.train.SummaryWriter("/tmp/tflogs", session.graph_def) tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print("Initialized") for step in range(num_steps): # Pick an offset within the training data, which has been randomized. # Note: we could use better randomization across epochs. offset = (step * batch_size) % (train_labels.shape[0] - batch_size) # Generate a minibatch. batch_data = train_dataset[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] batch_labels = train_labels[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] # Prepare a dictionary telling the session where to feed the minibatch. # The key of the dictionary is the placeholder node of the graph to be fed, # and the value is the numpy array to feed to it. feed_dict = { tf_train_dataset: batch_data, tf_train_labels: batch_labels, tf_dropout_keep_prob: dropout_keep_prob} _, l, predictions = session.run( [optimizer, reg_loss, train_prediction], feed_dict=feed_dict) if (step % 100 == 0): print("Minibatch loss at step %d: %f" % (step, l)) print("Minibatch accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(predictions, batch_labels)) print("Validation accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print("Test accuracy: %.1f%%" % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) if __name__ == '__main__': #run_sgd_with_reg() run_sgd_with_hidden_layer_with_reg( num_steps=3711, learning_rate=0.01, l2_reg_beta=0.005, dropout_keep_prob=0.8) ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign4_conv.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import tensorflow as tf from six.moves import cPickle as pickle pickle_file = 'notMNIST.pickle' with open(pickle_file, 'rb') as f: save = pickle.load(f) train_dataset = save['train_dataset'] train_labels = save['train_labels'] valid_dataset = save['valid_dataset'] valid_labels = save['valid_labels'] test_dataset = save['test_dataset'] test_labels = save['test_labels'] del save # hint to help gc free up memory print('Training set', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation set', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Test set', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) image_size = 28 num_labels = 10 num_channels = 1 # grayscale def reformat(dataset, labels): dataset = dataset.reshape( (-1, image_size, image_size, num_channels)).astype(np.float32) labels = (np.arange(num_labels) == labels[:,None]).astype(np.float32) return dataset, labels train_dataset, train_labels = reformat(train_dataset, train_labels) valid_dataset, valid_labels = reformat(valid_dataset, valid_labels) test_dataset, test_labels = reformat(test_dataset, test_labels) print('Training set', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation set', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Test set', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) def accuracy(predictions, labels): return (100.0 * np.sum(np.argmax(predictions, 1) == np.argmax(labels, 1)) / predictions.shape[0]) batch_size = 16 patch_size = 5 depth = 16 num_hidden = 64 def conv_with_stride(num_steps=1001): """Two conv layers using strides of 2 to downsample the input.""" graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. tf_train_dataset = tf.placeholder( tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, image_size, image_size, num_channels)) tf_train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, num_labels)) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # Variables. # The filter size for the conv layer is patch x patch x nchannels x depth, # where depth is the output depth of the layer. layer1_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [patch_size, patch_size, num_channels, depth], stddev=0.1)) layer1_biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([depth])) # Another conv layer, this time patch x patch x depth x depth, since its # input is the output of conv layer 1; output has same depth. layer2_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [patch_size, patch_size, depth, depth], stddev=0.1)) layer2_biases = tf.Variable(tf.constant(1.0, shape=[depth])) # Each of the conv layers has stride 2 in the space dimensions, so overall the # size of the output from the second conv layer is [height/4, width/4]. Then # there's also the depth. layer3_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [image_size // 4 * image_size // 4 * depth, num_hidden], stddev=0.1)) layer3_biases = tf.Variable(tf.constant(1.0, shape=[num_hidden])) layer4_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [num_hidden, num_labels], stddev=0.1)) layer4_biases = tf.Variable(tf.constant(1.0, shape=[num_labels])) # Model. def model(data): conv = tf.nn.conv2d(data, layer1_weights, [1, 2, 2, 1], padding='SAME') hidden = tf.nn.relu(conv + layer1_biases) conv = tf.nn.conv2d(hidden, layer2_weights, [1, 2, 2, 1], padding='SAME') hidden = tf.nn.relu(conv + layer2_biases) shape = hidden.get_shape().as_list() print('hidden shape is', shape) reshape = tf.reshape(hidden, [shape[0], shape[1] * shape[2] * shape[3]]) hidden = tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(reshape, layer3_weights) + layer3_biases) return tf.matmul(hidden, layer4_weights) + layer4_biases # Training computation. logits = model(tf_train_dataset) loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) # Optimizer. optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(0.05).minimize(loss) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(model(tf_valid_dataset)) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(model(tf_test_dataset)) with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('Initialized') for step in range(num_steps): offset = (step * batch_size) % (train_labels.shape[0] - batch_size) batch_data = train_dataset[offset:(offset + batch_size), :, :, :] batch_labels = train_labels[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] feed_dict = {tf_train_dataset : batch_data, tf_train_labels : batch_labels} _, l, predictions = session.run( [optimizer, loss, train_prediction], feed_dict=feed_dict) if (step % 50 == 0): print('Minibatch loss at step %d: %f' % (step, l)) print('Minibatch accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy(predictions, batch_labels)) print('Validation accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print('Test accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) def conv_with_pooling(num_steps=1001, learning_rate=0.1): """Two conv layers using max-pooling layers to downsample the input.""" graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Input data. tf_train_dataset = tf.placeholder( tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, image_size, image_size, num_channels)) tf_train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=(batch_size, num_labels)) tf_valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_dataset) tf_test_dataset = tf.constant(test_dataset) # Variables. # The filter size for the conv layer is patch x patch x nchannels x depth, # where depth is the output depth of the layer. layer1_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [patch_size, patch_size, num_channels, depth], stddev=0.1)) layer1_biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([depth])) # Another conv layer, this time patch x patch x depth x depth, since its # input is the output of conv layer 1; output has same depth. layer2_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [patch_size, patch_size, depth, depth], stddev=0.1)) layer2_biases = tf.Variable(tf.constant(1.0, shape=[depth])) # Each of the conv layers has a 2x2 pooling layer stride 2 in the space # dimensions, so overall the size of the output from the second conv layer # is [height/4, width/4]. Then there's also the depth. layer3_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [image_size // 4 * image_size // 4 * depth, num_hidden], stddev=0.1)) layer3_biases = tf.Variable(tf.constant(1.0, shape=[num_hidden])) layer4_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [num_hidden, num_labels], stddev=0.1)) layer4_biases = tf.Variable(tf.constant(1.0, shape=[num_labels])) # Model. def model(data): conv = tf.nn.conv2d(data, layer1_weights, [1, 1, 1, 1], padding='SAME') pooled_conv1 = tf.nn.max_pool(conv, ksize=[1, 2, 2, 1], strides=[1, 2, 2, 1], padding='SAME') hidden = tf.nn.relu(pooled_conv1 + layer1_biases) conv = tf.nn.conv2d(hidden, layer2_weights, [1, 1, 1, 1], padding='SAME') pooled_conv2 = tf.nn.max_pool(conv, ksize=[1, 2, 2, 1], strides=[1, 2, 2, 1], padding='SAME') hidden = tf.nn.relu(pooled_conv2 + layer2_biases) shape = hidden.get_shape().as_list() print('hidden shape is', shape) reshape = tf.reshape(hidden, [shape[0], shape[1] * shape[2] * shape[3]]) hidden = tf.nn.relu(tf.matmul(reshape, layer3_weights) + layer3_biases) return tf.matmul(hidden, layer4_weights) + layer4_biases # Training computation. logits = model(tf_train_dataset) loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits(logits, tf_train_labels)) # Optimizer, with learning rate decay. global_step = tf.Variable(0) # count the number of steps taken. learning_rate = tf.train.exponential_decay( learning_rate=learning_rate, global_step=global_step, decay_steps=1000, decay_rate=0.96) optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(learning_rate).minimize( loss, global_step=global_step) # Predictions for the training, validation, and test data. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) valid_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(model(tf_valid_dataset)) test_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(model(tf_test_dataset)) with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('Initialized') for step in range(num_steps): offset = (step * batch_size) % (train_labels.shape[0] - batch_size) batch_data = train_dataset[offset:(offset + batch_size), :, :, :] batch_labels = train_labels[offset:(offset + batch_size), :] feed_dict = {tf_train_dataset : batch_data, tf_train_labels : batch_labels} _, l, predictions = session.run( [optimizer, loss, train_prediction], feed_dict=feed_dict) if (step % 50 == 0): print('Minibatch loss at step %d: %f' % (step, l)) print('Minibatch accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy(predictions, batch_labels)) print('Validation accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy( valid_prediction.eval(), valid_labels)) print('Test accuracy: %.1f%%' % accuracy(test_prediction.eval(), test_labels)) if __name__ == '__main__': #conv_with_stride(877) conv_with_pooling(877) ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign5_cbow.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import itertools import math import numpy as np import os import random import tensorflow as tf from six.moves import cPickle as pickle from timer import Timer from word_utils import read_data, build_dataset, report_words_distance def generate_batch_cbow(data, batch_size, context_size): """ Args: data: List of IDs - the input sequence. batch_size: Number of samples to generate. context_size: How many words to consider around the target word, left and right. With context_size=2, in the sentence above for "consider" as the target word, the context will be [words, to, around, the]. Yields: Pairs of (context, label) where context is an array with shape (batch_size, context_size * 2) and label is an array with shape (batch_size,). For each context vector, a single label is matched (target ID). """ data_index = 0 window_size = 2 * context_size + 1 while True: context = np.zeros((batch_size, context_size * 2), dtype=np.int32) label = np.zeros((batch_size, 1), dtype=np.int32) for b in range(batch_size): window_end = (data_index + window_size) % len(data) window = data[data_index:window_end] context[b, 0:context_size] = window[:context_size] context[b, context_size:] = window[context_size + 1:] label[b, 0] = window[context_size] data_index = (data_index + 1) % len(data) yield (context, label) pickle_filename = 'textdata.pickle' # Only the vocabulary_size most common words are retained in the dictionary. # All others are mapped to UNK. vocabulary_size = 50000 try: with Timer('Loading pickle...'): with open(pickle_filename, 'rb') as pickle_file: save = pickle.load(pickle_file) data = save['data'] count = save['count'] dictionary = save['dictionary'] reverse_dictionary = save['reverse_dictionary'] except: print('No pickle... recomputing data.') filename = 'text8.zip' with Timer('read_data'): words = read_data(filename) with Timer('build_dataset'): data, count, dictionary, reverse_dictionary = build_dataset(words) save = { 'data': data, 'count': count, 'dictionary': dictionary, 'reverse_dictionary': reverse_dictionary, } with open(pickle_filename, 'wb') as pickle_file: pickle.dump(save, pickle_file, pickle.HIGHEST_PROTOCOL) print('First words in data:') print(data[:50]) gen = generate_batch_cbow(data, 10, 2) for i in range(5): print(gen.next()) batch_size = 128 embedding_size = 128 # Dimension of the embedding vector. context_size = 2 # How many words to take for context, left and right # Number of input words to the network context_full_size = context_size * 2 # We pick a random validation set to sample nearest neighbors. here we limit the # validation samples to the words that have a low numeric ID, which by # construction are also the most frequent. valid_size = 16 # Random set of words to evaluate similarity on. valid_window = 100 # Only pick dev samples in the head of the distribution. valid_examples = np.array(random.sample(range(valid_window), valid_size)) num_sampled = 64 # Number of negative examples to sample. graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(), tf.device('/cpu:0'): # Input data. train_dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size, context_full_size]) train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size, 1]) valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_examples, dtype=tf.int32) # Variables. # The embeddings is a VxN matrix, where V is the vocabulary size and N # is the embedding dimensionality. embeddings = tf.Variable(tf.random_uniform([vocabulary_size, embedding_size ], -1.0, 1.0)) softmax_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [vocabulary_size, embedding_size], stddev=1.0 / math.sqrt(embedding_size))) softmax_biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([vocabulary_size])) # Model. # Look up embeddings for inputs, for each input... # The shape should be (batch_size, context_full_size, embedding_size). # We want to average all the context vectors within each batch, so we # reduce-mean along dimension 1. embed = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(embeddings, train_dataset) embed_mean = tf.reduce_mean(embed, reduction_indices=[1]) # Compute the softmax loss, using a sample of the negative labels each time. loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.sampled_softmax_loss(softmax_weights, softmax_biases, embed_mean, train_labels, num_sampled, vocabulary_size)) # Optimizer. # Note: The optimizer will optimize the softmax_weights AND the embeddings. # This is because the embeddings are defined as a variable quantity and the # optimizer's `minimize` method will by default modify all variable # quantities that contribute to the tensor it is passed. See docs on # `tf.train.Optimizer.minimize()` for more details. optimizer = tf.train.AdagradOptimizer(1.0).minimize(loss) # Compute the similarity between minibatch examples and all embeddings. # We use the cosine distance: norm = tf.sqrt(tf.reduce_sum(tf.square(embeddings), 1, keep_dims=True)) normalized_embeddings = embeddings / norm valid_embeddings = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(normalized_embeddings, valid_dataset) similarity = tf.matmul(valid_embeddings, tf.transpose(normalized_embeddings)) num_steps = 23001 with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('Initialized') print('embed shape:', embed.get_shape()) print('embed_mean shape:', embed_mean.get_shape()) initial_embeddings = embeddings.eval() #do_report_distances(initial_embeddings) average_loss = 0 batch_gen = generate_batch_cbow(data, batch_size, context_size) for step, batch in itertools.izip(range(num_steps), batch_gen): batch_data, batch_labels = batch feed_dict = {train_dataset: batch_data, train_labels: batch_labels} _, l = session.run([optimizer, loss], feed_dict=feed_dict) average_loss += l if step % 2000 == 0: if step > 0: average_loss = average_loss / 2000 # The average loss is an estimate of the loss over the last 2000 # batches. print('Average loss at step %d: %f' % (step, average_loss)) average_loss = 0 # note that this is expensive (~20% slowdown if computed every 500 # steps) if step % 10000 == 0: sim = similarity.eval() for i in range(valid_size): valid_word = reverse_dictionary[valid_examples[i]] top_k = 8 # number of nearest neighbors nearest = (-sim[i, :]).argsort()[1:top_k + 1] log = 'Nearest to %s:' % valid_word for k in range(top_k): close_word = reverse_dictionary[nearest[k]] log = '%s %s,' % (log, close_word) print(log) final_embeddings = normalized_embeddings.eval() print('final_embeddings shape:', final_embeddings.shape) ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign5_word2vec.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import collections import math import numpy as np import os import random import tensorflow as tf try: from matplotlib import pylab HAS_PYLAB = True except ImportError: HAS_PYLAB = False from six.moves import range from six.moves.urllib.request import urlretrieve try: from sklearn.manifold import TSNE HAS_SKLEARN = Trie except ImportError: HAS_SKLEARN = False from word_utils import read_data, build_dataset, report_words_distance filename = 'text8.zip' words = read_data(filename) # Only the vocabulary_size most common words are retained in the dictionary. All # others are mapped to UNK. vocabulary_size = 50000 data, count, dictionary, reverse_dictionary = build_dataset(words) print('Total # of words', len(words)) print('Most common words (+UNK)', count[:5]) print('Sample data', data[:10]) del words # Hint to reduce memory. # State for generate_batch_skipgram. data_index = 0 def generate_batch_skipgram(batch_size, num_skips, skip_window): """Generate a batch of data for training. Args: batch_size: Number of samples to generate in the batch. skip_window: How many words to consider around the target word, left and right. With skip_window=2, in the sentence above for "consider" we'll build the window [words, to, consider, around, the]. num_skips: For skip-gram, we map target word to adjacent words in the window around it. This parameter says how many adjacent word mappings to add to the batch for each target word. Naturally it can't be more than skip_window * 2. Returns: batch, labels - ndarrays with IDs. batch: Row vector of size batch_size containing target words. labels: Column vector of size batch_size containing a randomly selected adjacent word for every target word in 'batch'. """ global data_index assert batch_size % num_skips == 0 assert num_skips <= 2 * skip_window batch = np.ndarray(shape=(batch_size), dtype=np.int32) labels = np.ndarray(shape=(batch_size, 1), dtype=np.int32) span = 2 * skip_window + 1 # [ skip_window target skip_window ] # buffer is a sliding window through the 'data' list. We initially fill it # with the first 'span' IDs in 'data'. buffer = collections.deque(maxlen=span) for _ in range(span): buffer.append(data[data_index]) data_index = (data_index + 1) % len(data) # Generate the batch data in two nested loops. The outer loop takes the next # target word from 'data'; the inner loop picks random 'num_skips' adjacent # words to map from the target. for i in range(batch_size // num_skips): target = skip_window # target label at the center of the buffer targets_to_avoid = [skip_window] for j in range(num_skips): while target in targets_to_avoid: target = random.randint(0, span - 1) targets_to_avoid.append(target) batch[i * num_skips + j] = buffer[skip_window] labels[i * num_skips + j, 0] = buffer[target] buffer.append(data[data_index]) data_index = (data_index + 1) % len(data) return batch, labels print('data:', [reverse_dictionary[di] for di in data[:8]]) for num_skips, skip_window in [(2, 1), (4, 2)]: data_index = 0 batch, labels = generate_batch_skipgram( batch_size=8, num_skips=num_skips, skip_window=skip_window) print('\nwith num_skips = %d and skip_window = %d:' % (num_skips, skip_window)) print(' batch:', [reverse_dictionary[bi] for bi in batch]) print(' labels:', [reverse_dictionary[li] for li in labels.reshape(8)]) batch_size = 128 embedding_size = 128 # Dimension of the embedding vector. skip_window = 1 # How many words to consider left and right. num_skips = 2 # How many times to reuse an input to generate a label. # We pick a random validation set to sample nearest neighbors. here we limit the # validation samples to the words that have a low numeric ID, which by # construction are also the most frequent. valid_size = 16 # Random set of words to evaluate similarity on. valid_window = 100 # Only pick dev samples in the head of the distribution. valid_examples = np.array(random.sample(range(valid_window), valid_size)) num_sampled = 64 # Number of negative examples to sample. def do_report_distances(emb): report_words_distance('apple', 'banana', dictionary, emb) report_words_distance('apple', 'fruit', dictionary, emb) report_words_distance('apple', 'hebrew', dictionary, emb) report_words_distance('apple', 'help', dictionary, emb) report_words_distance('apple', 'seven', dictionary, emb) graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(), tf.device('/cpu:0'): # Input data. train_dataset = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size]) train_labels = tf.placeholder(tf.int32, shape=[batch_size, 1]) valid_dataset = tf.constant(valid_examples, dtype=tf.int32) # Variables. # The embeddings is a VxN matrix, where V is the vocabulary size and N # is the embedding dimensionality. embeddings = tf.Variable(tf.random_uniform([vocabulary_size, embedding_size ], -1.0, 1.0)) softmax_weights = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal( [vocabulary_size, embedding_size], stddev=1.0 / math.sqrt(embedding_size))) softmax_biases = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([vocabulary_size])) # Model. # Look up embeddings for inputs. embed = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(embeddings, train_dataset) # Compute the softmax loss, using a sample of the negative labels each time. loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.sampled_softmax_loss(softmax_weights, softmax_biases, embed, train_labels, num_sampled, vocabulary_size)) # Optimizer. # Note: The optimizer will optimize the softmax_weights AND the embeddings. # This is because the embeddings are defined as a variable quantity and the # optimizer's `minimize` method will by default modify all variable # quantities that contribute to the tensor it is passed. See docs on # `tf.train.Optimizer.minimize()` for more details. optimizer = tf.train.AdagradOptimizer(1.0).minimize(loss) # Compute the similarity between minibatch examples and all embeddings. # We use the cosine distance: norm = tf.sqrt(tf.reduce_sum(tf.square(embeddings), 1, keep_dims=True)) normalized_embeddings = embeddings / norm valid_embeddings = tf.nn.embedding_lookup(normalized_embeddings, valid_dataset) similarity = tf.matmul(valid_embeddings, tf.transpose(normalized_embeddings)) num_steps = 93001 with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('Initialized') initial_embeddings = embeddings.eval() do_report_distances(initial_embeddings) average_loss = 0 for step in range(num_steps): batch_data, batch_labels = generate_batch_skipgram(batch_size, num_skips, skip_window) feed_dict = {train_dataset: batch_data, train_labels: batch_labels} _, l = session.run([optimizer, loss], feed_dict=feed_dict) average_loss += l if step % 2000 == 0: if step > 0: average_loss = average_loss / 2000 # The average loss is an estimate of the loss over the last 2000 # batches. print('Average loss at step %d: %f' % (step, average_loss)) average_loss = 0 # note that this is expensive (~20% slowdown if computed every 500 # steps) if step % 10000 == 0: sim = similarity.eval() for i in range(valid_size): valid_word = reverse_dictionary[valid_examples[i]] top_k = 8 # number of nearest neighbors nearest = (-sim[i, :]).argsort()[1:top_k + 1] log = 'Nearest to %s:' % valid_word for k in range(top_k): close_word = reverse_dictionary[nearest[k]] log = '%s %s,' % (log, close_word) print(log) final_embeddings = normalized_embeddings.eval() print('final_embeddings shape:', final_embeddings.shape) print('Reporting after training') do_report_distances(final_embeddings) num_points = 50 if HAS_SKLEARN: tsne = TSNE(perplexity=30, n_components=2, init='pca', n_iter=5000) two_d_embeddings = tsne.fit_transform(final_embeddings[1:num_points+1, :]) def plot(embeddings, labels): assert embeddings.shape[0] >= len(labels), 'More labels than embeddings' pylab.figure(figsize=(15,15)) # in inches for i, label in enumerate(labels): x, y = embeddings[i,:] pylab.scatter(x, y) pylab.annotate(label, xy=(x, y), xytext=(5, 2), textcoords='offset points', ha='right', va='bottom') pylab.show() words = [reverse_dictionary[i] for i in range(1, num_points+1)] if HAS_PYLAB: plot(two_d_embeddings, words) ================================================ FILE: ud730/assign6.py ================================================ # These are all the modules we'll be using later. Make sure you can import them # before proceeding further. from __future__ import print_function import os import numpy as np import random import string import tensorflow as tf import zipfile from six.moves import range from timer import Timer from word_utils import read_data_asstring filename = 'text8.zip' with Timer('read_data'): text = read_data_asstring(filename) print('Data size %d' % len(text)) valid_size = 1000 valid_text = text[:valid_size] train_text = text[valid_size:] train_size = len(train_text) print(train_size, train_text[:64]) print(valid_size, valid_text[:64]) vocabulary_size = len(string.ascii_lowercase) + 1 # [a-z] + ' ' first_letter = ord(string.ascii_lowercase[0]) def char2id(char): if char in string.ascii_lowercase: return ord(char) - first_letter + 1 elif char == ' ': return 0 else: print('Unexpected character: %s' % char) return 0 def id2char(dictid): if dictid > 0: return chr(dictid + first_letter - 1) else: return ' ' print(char2id('a'), char2id('z'), char2id(' ')) print(id2char(1), id2char(26), id2char(0)) batch_size = 64 num_unrollings = 10 class BatchGenerator(object): def __init__(self, text, batch_size, num_unrollings): self._text = text self._text_size = len(text) self._batch_size = batch_size self._num_unrollings = num_unrollings segment = self._text_size // batch_size self._cursor = [offset * segment for offset in range(batch_size)] self._last_batch = self._next_batch() def _next_batch(self): """ Generate a single batch from the current cursor position in the data. A batch is a BatchSize x VocabSize matrix, mostly full of 0s. batch[b][v] == 1 if the b'th letter in the batch is vocabulary word #v. Note that letters within a single batch are not consecutive in the input text, but rather are spread out from the input text, at the distance of (text_size // batch_size) from each other. Consecutive batches will hold consecutive letters from the input text. """ batch = np.zeros(shape=(self._batch_size, vocabulary_size), dtype=np.float) for b in range(self._batch_size): batch[b, char2id(self._text[self._cursor[b]])] = 1.0 self._cursor[b] = (self._cursor[b] + 1) % self._text_size return batch def next(self): """ Generate the next array of batches from the data. The array consists of the last batch of the previous array, followed by num_unrollings new ones. """ batches = [self._last_batch] for step in range(self._num_unrollings): batches.append(self._next_batch()) self._last_batch = batches[-1] return batches def characters(probabilities): """ Turn a 1-hot encoding or a probability distribution over the possible characters back into its (most likely) character representation. """ return [id2char(c) for c in np.argmax(probabilities, 1)] def batches2string(batches): """ Convert a sequence of batches back into their (most likely) string representation. """ s = [''] * batches[0].shape[0] for b in batches: print('s is now', s) print('characters(b)', characters(b)) s = [''.join(x) for x in zip(s, characters(b))] return s train_batches = BatchGenerator(train_text, batch_size, num_unrollings) batch = train_batches.next() print('batch shape', [b.shape for b in batch]) print('chars in batch', [characters(b) for b in batch]) valid_batches = BatchGenerator(valid_text, 1, 1) print(batches2string(batch)) #print(batches2string(train_batches.next())) #print(batches2string(valid_batches.next())) #print(batches2string(valid_batches.next())) def logprob(predictions, labels): """Log-probability of the true labels in a predicted batch.""" predictions[predictions < 1e-10] = 1e-10 return np.sum(np.multiply(labels, -np.log(predictions))) / labels.shape[0] def sample_distribution(distribution): """Sample one element from a distribution assumed to be an array of normalized probabilities. """ r = random.uniform(0, 1) s = 0 for i in range(len(distribution)): s += distribution[i] if s >= r: return i return len(distribution) - 1 def sample(prediction): """Turn a (column) prediction into 1-hot encoded samples.""" p = np.zeros(shape=[1, vocabulary_size], dtype=np.float) p[0, sample_distribution(prediction[0])] = 1.0 return p def random_distribution(): """Generate a random column of probabilities.""" b = np.random.uniform(0.0, 1.0, size=[1, vocabulary_size]) return b/np.sum(b, 1)[:,None] num_nodes = 64 graph = tf.Graph() with graph.as_default(): # Parameters: # Input gate: input, previous output, and bias. ix = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([vocabulary_size, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) im = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([num_nodes, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) ib = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])) # Forget gate: input, previous output, and bias. fx = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([vocabulary_size, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) fm = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([num_nodes, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) fb = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])) # Memory cell: input, state and bias. cx = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([vocabulary_size, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) cm = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([num_nodes, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) cb = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])) # Output gate: input, previous output, and bias. ox = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([vocabulary_size, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) om = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([num_nodes, num_nodes], -0.1, 0.1)) ob = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])) # Variables saving state across unrollings. saved_output = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([batch_size, num_nodes]), trainable=False) saved_state = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([batch_size, num_nodes]), trainable=False) # Classifier weights and biases. w = tf.Variable(tf.truncated_normal([num_nodes, vocabulary_size], -0.1, 0.1)) b = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([vocabulary_size])) # Definition of the cell computation. def lstm_cell(i, o, state): """Create a LSTM cell. See e.g.: http://arxiv.org/pdf/1402.1128v1.pdf Note that in this formulation, we omit the various connections between the previous state and the gates.""" input_gate = tf.sigmoid(tf.matmul(i, ix) + tf.matmul(o, im) + ib) forget_gate = tf.sigmoid(tf.matmul(i, fx) + tf.matmul(o, fm) + fb) update = tf.matmul(i, cx) + tf.matmul(o, cm) + cb state = forget_gate * state + input_gate * tf.tanh(update) output_gate = tf.sigmoid(tf.matmul(i, ox) + tf.matmul(o, om) + ob) return output_gate * tf.tanh(state), state # Input data. train_data = list() for _ in range(num_unrollings + 1): train_data.append( tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=[batch_size,vocabulary_size])) train_inputs = train_data[:num_unrollings] train_labels = train_data[1:] # labels are inputs shifted by one time step. # Unrolled LSTM loop. outputs = list() output = saved_output state = saved_state for i in train_inputs: output, state = lstm_cell(i, output, state) outputs.append(output) # State saving across unrollings. with tf.control_dependencies([saved_output.assign(output), saved_state.assign(state)]): # Classifier. logits = tf.nn.xw_plus_b(tf.concat(0, outputs), w, b) loss = tf.reduce_mean( tf.nn.softmax_cross_entropy_with_logits( logits, tf.concat(0, train_labels))) # Optimizer. global_step = tf.Variable(0) learning_rate = tf.train.exponential_decay( 10.0, global_step, 5000, 0.1, staircase=True) optimizer = tf.train.GradientDescentOptimizer(learning_rate) gradients, v = zip(*optimizer.compute_gradients(loss)) gradients, _ = tf.clip_by_global_norm(gradients, 1.25) optimizer = optimizer.apply_gradients( zip(gradients, v), global_step=global_step) # Predictions. train_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(logits) # Sampling and validation eval: batch 1, no unrolling. sample_input = tf.placeholder(tf.float32, shape=[1, vocabulary_size]) saved_sample_output = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])) saved_sample_state = tf.Variable(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])) reset_sample_state = tf.group( saved_sample_output.assign(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes])), saved_sample_state.assign(tf.zeros([1, num_nodes]))) sample_output, sample_state = lstm_cell( sample_input, saved_sample_output, saved_sample_state) with tf.control_dependencies([saved_sample_output.assign(sample_output), saved_sample_state.assign(sample_state)]): sample_prediction = tf.nn.softmax(tf.nn.xw_plus_b(sample_output, w, b)) num_steps = 7001 summary_frequency = 100 with tf.Session(graph=graph) as session: tf.initialize_all_variables().run() print('Initialized') mean_loss = 0 for step in range(num_steps): batches = train_batches.next() feed_dict = dict() for i in range(num_unrollings + 1): feed_dict[train_data[i]] = batches[i] _, l, predictions, lr = session.run( [optimizer, loss, train_prediction, learning_rate], feed_dict=feed_dict) mean_loss += l if step % summary_frequency == 0: if step > 0: mean_loss = mean_loss / summary_frequency # The mean loss is an estimate of the loss over the last few batches. print( 'Average loss at step %d: %f learning rate: %f' % (step, mean_loss, lr)) mean_loss = 0 labels = np.concatenate(list(batches)[1:]) print('Minibatch perplexity: %.2f' % float( np.exp(logprob(predictions, labels)))) if step % (summary_frequency * 10) == 0: # Generate some samples. print('=' * 80) for _ in range(5): feed = sample(random_distribution()) sentence = characters(feed)[0] reset_sample_state.run() for _ in range(79): prediction = sample_prediction.eval({sample_input: feed}) feed = sample(prediction) sentence += characters(feed)[0] print(sentence) print('=' * 80) # Measure validation set perplexity. reset_sample_state.run() valid_logprob = 0 for _ in range(valid_size): b = valid_batches.next() predictions = sample_prediction.eval({sample_input: b[0]}) valid_logprob = valid_logprob + logprob(predictions, b[1]) print('Validation set perplexity: %.2f' % float(np.exp( valid_logprob / valid_size))) ================================================ FILE: ud730/check_images_dir.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import os, sys if len(sys.argv) < 2: print('expecting dir as argument') sys.exit(1) dirname = sys.argv[1] files = os.listdir(dirname) print(dirname, 'file count:', len(files)) totalsize = 0 for file in files: fullpath = os.path.join(dirname, file) size = os.stat(fullpath).st_size totalsize += size print('totalsize:', totalsize) ================================================ FILE: ud730/notmnist_prepare_data.py ================================================ # Prepare notMNIST data in a notMNIST.pickle file from __future__ import print_function import numpy as np import os import sys import tarfile from scipy import ndimage from sklearn.linear_model import LogisticRegression from six.moves.urllib.request import urlretrieve from six.moves import cPickle as pickle url = 'http://commondatastorage.googleapis.com/books1000/' last_percent_reported = None kNumClasses = 10 # Uncomment this for reproducible randoms #np.random.seed(133) def download_progress_hook(count, blockSize, totalSize): """A hook to report the progress of a download. This is mostly intended for users with slow internet connections. Reports every 1% change in download progress. """ global last_percent_reported percent = int(count * blockSize * 100 / totalSize) if last_percent_reported != percent: if percent % 5 == 0: sys.stdout.write("%s%%" % percent) sys.stdout.flush() else: sys.stdout.write(".") sys.stdout.flush() last_percent_reported = percent def maybe_download(filename, expected_bytes, force=False): """Download a file if not present, and make sure it's the right size.""" if force or not os.path.exists(filename): print('Attempting to download:', filename) filename, _ = urlretrieve(url + filename, filename, reporthook=download_progress_hook) print('\nDownload Complete!') statinfo = os.stat(filename) if statinfo.st_size == expected_bytes: print('Found and verified', filename) else: raise Exception( 'Failed to verify ' + filename + '. Can you get to it with a browser?') return filename train_filename = maybe_download('notMNIST_large.tar.gz', 247336696) test_filename = maybe_download('notMNIST_small.tar.gz', 8458043) def maybe_extract(filename, force=False): root = os.path.splitext(os.path.splitext(filename)[0])[0] # remove .tar.gz if os.path.isdir(root) and not force: # You may override by setting force=True. print('%s already present - Skipping extraction of %s.' % (root, filename)) else: print('Extracting data for %s. This may take a while. Please wait.' % root) tar = tarfile.open(filename) sys.stdout.flush() tar.extractall() tar.close() data_folders = [ os.path.join(root, d) for d in sorted(os.listdir(root)) if os.path.isdir(os.path.join(root, d))] if len(data_folders) != kNumClasses: raise Exception( 'Expected %d folders, one per class. Found %d instead.' % ( kNumClasses, len(data_folders))) print(data_folders) return data_folders train_folders = maybe_extract(train_filename) test_folders = maybe_extract(test_filename) image_size = 28 # Pixel width and height. pixel_depth = 255.0 # Number of levels per pixel. def load_letter(folder, min_num_images): """Load the data for a single letter label.""" image_files = os.listdir(folder) dataset = np.ndarray(shape=(len(image_files), image_size, image_size), dtype=np.float32) print(folder) num_images = 0 for image in image_files: image_file = os.path.join(folder, image) try: image_data = (ndimage.imread(image_file).astype(float) - pixel_depth / 2) / pixel_depth if image_data.shape != (image_size, image_size): raise Exception('Unexpected image shape: %s' % str(image_data.shape)) dataset[num_images, :, :] = image_data num_images = num_images + 1 except IOError as e: print('Could not read:', image_file, ':', e, '- it\'s ok, skipping.') dataset = dataset[0:num_images, :, :] if num_images < min_num_images: raise Exception('Many fewer images than expected: %d < %d' % (num_images, min_num_images)) print('Full dataset tensor:', dataset.shape) print('Mean:', np.mean(dataset)) print('Standard deviation:', np.std(dataset)) return dataset def maybe_pickle(data_folders, min_num_images_per_class, force=False): dataset_names = [] for folder in data_folders: set_filename = folder + '.pickle' dataset_names.append(set_filename) if os.path.exists(set_filename) and not force: # You may override by setting force=True. print('%s already present - Skipping pickling.' % set_filename) else: print('Pickling %s.' % set_filename) dataset = load_letter(folder, min_num_images_per_class) try: with open(set_filename, 'wb') as f: pickle.dump(dataset, f, pickle.HIGHEST_PROTOCOL) except Exception as e: print('Unable to save data to', set_filename, ':', e) return dataset_names train_datasets = maybe_pickle(train_folders, 45000) test_datasets = maybe_pickle(test_folders, 1800) def check_dataset_balance(datasets): for ds in datasets: with open(ds) as f: data = pickle.load(f) # Note: since most of these images are small (few hundred bytes), # the actual size on disk of the input PNGs is larger because the # minimal actual size occupied by each file is 4KB. print('Data size for %s is %d; bytesize=%d' % ( ds, len(data), data.nbytes)) #check_dataset_balance(train_datasets) #check_dataset_balance(test_datasets) def make_arrays(nb_rows, img_size): if nb_rows: dataset = np.ndarray((nb_rows, img_size, img_size), dtype=np.float32) labels = np.ndarray(nb_rows, dtype=np.int32) else: dataset, labels = None, None return dataset, labels def merge_datasets(pickle_files, train_size, valid_size=0): num_classes = len(pickle_files) valid_dataset, valid_labels = make_arrays(valid_size, image_size) train_dataset, train_labels = make_arrays(train_size, image_size) vsize_per_class = valid_size // num_classes tsize_per_class = train_size // num_classes start_v, start_t = 0, 0 end_v, end_t = vsize_per_class, tsize_per_class end_l = vsize_per_class+tsize_per_class for label, pickle_file in enumerate(pickle_files): try: with open(pickle_file, 'rb') as f: letter_set = pickle.load(f) # let's shuffle the letters to have random validation and training set np.random.shuffle(letter_set) if valid_dataset is not None: valid_letter = letter_set[:vsize_per_class, :, :] valid_dataset[start_v:end_v, :, :] = valid_letter valid_labels[start_v:end_v] = label start_v += vsize_per_class end_v += vsize_per_class train_letter = letter_set[vsize_per_class:end_l, :, :] train_dataset[start_t:end_t, :, :] = train_letter train_labels[start_t:end_t] = label start_t += tsize_per_class end_t += tsize_per_class except Exception as e: print('Unable to process data from', pickle_file, ':', e) raise return valid_dataset, valid_labels, train_dataset, train_labels train_size = 200000 valid_size = 10000 test_size = 10000 print('Merging data sets and creating validation set...') valid_dataset, valid_labels, train_dataset, train_labels = merge_datasets( train_datasets, train_size, valid_size) _, _, test_dataset, test_labels = merge_datasets(test_datasets, test_size) print('Training:', train_dataset.shape, train_labels.shape) print('Validation:', valid_dataset.shape, valid_labels.shape) print('Testing:', test_dataset.shape, test_labels.shape) def randomize(dataset, labels): permutation = np.random.permutation(labels.shape[0]) shuffled_dataset = dataset[permutation,:,:] shuffled_labels = labels[permutation] return shuffled_dataset, shuffled_labels train_dataset, train_labels = randomize(train_dataset, train_labels) test_dataset, test_labels = randomize(test_dataset, test_labels) valid_dataset, valid_labels = randomize(valid_dataset, valid_labels) # Save shuffled training/validation/test sets for reuse. pickle_file = 'notMNIST.pickle' try: f = open(pickle_file, 'wb') save = { 'train_dataset': train_dataset, 'train_labels': train_labels, 'valid_dataset': valid_dataset, 'valid_labels': valid_labels, 'test_dataset': test_dataset, 'test_labels': test_labels, } pickle.dump(save, f, pickle.HIGHEST_PROTOCOL) f.close() except Exception as e: print('Unable to save data to', pickle_file, ':', e) raise statinfo = os.stat(pickle_file) print('Compressed pickle size:', statinfo.st_size) ================================================ FILE: ud730/softmax.py ================================================ """Softmax.""" scores = [1.0, 2.0, 3.0] import numpy as np def softmax(x): """Compute softmax values for each set of scores in x.""" exps = np.exp(x) sumcols = np.sum(exps, axis=0) return exps / sumcols print(softmax(scores)) # Plot softmax curves #import matplotlib.pyplot as plt x = np.arange(-2.0, 6.0, 0.1) scores = np.vstack([x, np.ones_like(x), 0.2 * np.ones_like(x)]) scores = np.array([[1, 2, 3, 6], [2, 4, 5, 6], [3, 8, 7, 6]]) * 0.1 print(scores) print(softmax(scores)) #plt.plot(x, softmax(scores).T, linewidth=2) #plt.show() ================================================ FILE: ud730/timer.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import sys import time class Timer(object): def __init__(self, name=None): self.name = name def __enter__(self): self.tstart = time.time() if self.name: print('[%s] ' % self.name, end='') sys.stdout.flush() def __exit__(self, type, value, traceback): print('Elapsed: %s' % (time.time() - self.tstart)) ================================================ FILE: ud730/utils.py ================================================ from __future__ import print_function import time import matplotlib.pyplot as plt import numpy as np def show_image(imgarr): """Given a numpy 2D array for a sample image, show and describe it. """ print('Image type:', type(imgarr)) print('Image shape:', imgarr.shape, ' dtype:', imgarr.dtype) if imgarr.ndim != 2: raise ValueError('Expected ndim=2') print('Image data:') for row in imgarr: for v in row: print('%6.2f ' % v, end='') print() plt.imshow(imgarr, cmap='gray') plt.show() def shuffle_data_and_labels(dataset, labels): assert labels.ndim == 1 permutation = np.random.permutation(labels.shape[0]) shuffled_dataset = dataset[permutation, :] shuffled_labels = labels[permutation] return shuffled_dataset, shuffled_labels class Timer(object): def __init__(self, name=None): self.name = name def __enter__(self): self.tstart = time.time() def __exit__(self, type, value, traceback): if self.name: print('[%s] ' % self.name, end='') print('Elapsed: %s' % (time.time() - self.tstart)) ================================================ FILE: ud730/word_utils.py ================================================ # Utils for word2vec models from __future__ import print_function import os, sys import collections import scipy.spatial from six.moves.urllib.request import urlretrieve import tensorflow as tf import zipfile def maybe_download(filename, expected_bytes): """Download a file if not present, and make sure it's the right size.""" url = 'http://mattmahoney.net/dc/' if not os.path.exists(filename): filename, _ = urlretrieve(url + filename, filename) statinfo = os.stat(filename) if statinfo.st_size == expected_bytes: print('Found and verified %s' % filename) else: print(statinfo.st_size) raise Exception('Failed to verify ' + filename + '. Can you get to it with a browser?') return filename filename = maybe_download('text8.zip', 31344016) def read_data(filename): """Extract the first file enclosed in a zip file as a list of words""" with zipfile.ZipFile(filename) as f: data = tf.compat.as_str(f.read(f.namelist()[0])).split() return data def read_data_asstring(filename): """Extract the first file enclosed in a zip file as a string""" with zipfile.ZipFile(filename) as f: for name in f.namelist(): # weird to 'return' on the first iteration but this is copy-pasted # from assignment 6.... return tf.compat.as_str(f.read(name)) def build_dataset(words, vocabulary_size=50000): """Returns: data: list of the same length as words, with each word replaced by a unique numeric ID. count: counters for the vocabulary_size most common words in 'words'. dictionary: maps word->ID reverse_dictionary: maps ID->word. Note that if the Kth word in 'words' is WORD, and the Kth ID in 'data' is 42, then reverse_dictionary[42] is WORD. """ count = [['UNK', -1]] count.extend(collections.Counter(words).most_common(vocabulary_size - 1)) dictionary = dict() for word, _ in count: dictionary[word] = len(dictionary) data = list() unk_count = 0 for word in words: if word in dictionary: index = dictionary[word] else: index = 0 # dictionary['UNK'] unk_count = unk_count + 1 data.append(index) count[0][1] = unk_count reverse_dictionary = dict(zip(dictionary.values(), dictionary.keys())) return data, count, dictionary, reverse_dictionary def report_words_distance(w1, w2, dictionary, embeddings): id1 = dictionary[w1] id2 = dictionary[w2] v1 = embeddings[id1] v2 = embeddings[id2] assert v1.shape == v2.shape euc = scipy.spatial.distance.euclidean(v1, v2) cos = scipy.spatial.distance.cosine(v1, v2) print('Distance between %s and %s:' % (w1, w2)) print(' Euclidean:', euc) print(' Cosine:', cos) ================================================ FILE: understanding-deep-learning-book/nb-04-03-deep-networks.py ================================================ # Plots a function twice (second time after the first plot is closed) import numpy as np import matplotlib.pyplot as plt # Define the Rectified Linear Unit (ReLU) function def ReLU(preactivation): activation = preactivation.clip(0.0) return activation # Define a shallow neural network with, one input, one output, and three hidden units def shallow_1_1_3( x, activation_fn, phi_0, phi_1, phi_2, phi_3, theta_10, theta_11, theta_20, theta_21, theta_30, theta_31, ): # Initial lines pre_1 = theta_10 + theta_11 * x pre_2 = theta_20 + theta_21 * x pre_3 = theta_30 + theta_31 * x # Activation functions act_1 = activation_fn(pre_1) act_2 = activation_fn(pre_2) act_3 = activation_fn(pre_3) # Weight activations w_act_1 = phi_1 * act_1 w_act_2 = phi_2 * act_2 w_act_3 = phi_3 * act_3 # Combine weighted activation and add y offset y = phi_0 + w_act_1 + w_act_2 + w_act_3 # Return everything we have calculated return y, pre_1, pre_2, pre_3, act_1, act_2, act_3, w_act_1, w_act_2, w_act_3 def plot_neural(x, y): fig, ax = plt.subplots() ax.plot(x.T, y.T) ax.set_xlabel("Input") ax.set_ylabel("Output") ax.set_xlim([-1, 1]) ax.set_ylim([-1, 1]) ax.set_aspect(1.0) plt.show() # Now lets define some parameters and run the first neural network n1_theta_10 = 0.0 n1_theta_11 = -1.0 n1_theta_20 = 0 n1_theta_21 = 1.0 n1_theta_30 = -0.67 n1_theta_31 = 1.0 n1_phi_0 = 1.0 n1_phi_1 = -2.0 n1_phi_2 = -3.0 n1_phi_3 = 9.3 # Define a range of input values n1_in = np.arange(-1, 1, 0.01).reshape([1, -1]) # We run the neural network for each of these input values n1_out, *_ = shallow_1_1_3( n1_in, ReLU, n1_phi_0, n1_phi_1, n1_phi_2, n1_phi_3, n1_theta_10, n1_theta_11, n1_theta_20, n1_theta_21, n1_theta_30, n1_theta_31, ) # And then plot it plot_neural(n1_in, n1_out) # Now we'll define the same neural network, but this time, we will use matrix # form as in equation 4.15. When you get this right, it will draw the same plot # as above. beta_0 = np.zeros((3, 1)) Omega_0 = np.zeros((3, 1)) beta_1 = np.zeros((1, 1)) Omega_1 = np.zeros((1, 3)) beta_0[0, 0] = n1_theta_10 beta_0[1, 0] = n1_theta_20 beta_0[2, 0] = n1_theta_30 Omega_0[0, 0] = n1_theta_11 Omega_0[1, 0] = n1_theta_21 Omega_0[2, 0] = n1_theta_31 beta_1[0, 0] = n1_phi_0 Omega_1[0, 0] = n1_phi_1 Omega_1[0, 1] = n1_phi_2 Omega_1[0, 2] = n1_phi_3 # Make sure that input data matrix has different inputs in its columns n_data = n1_in.size n_dim_in = 1 n1_in_mat = np.reshape(n1_in, (n_dim_in, n_data)) # This runs the network for ALL of the inputs, x at once so we can draw graph h1 = ReLU(beta_0 + np.matmul(Omega_0, n1_in_mat)) n1_out = beta_1 + np.matmul(Omega_1, h1) # Draw the network and check that it looks the same as the non-matrix case plot_neural(n1_in, n1_out) ================================================ FILE: understanding-deep-learning-book/nb-10-01-1d-convolution.py ================================================ import numpy as np import matplotlib.pyplot as plt # Define a signal that we can apply convolution to x = np.array([5.2, 5.3, 5.4, 5.1, 10.1, 10.3, 9.9, 10.3, 3.2, 3.4, 3.3, 3.1]) # Draw the signal # fig, ax = plt.subplots() # ax.plot(x, "k-") # ax.set_xlim(0, 11) # ax.set_ylim(0, 12) # plt.show() # Now let's define a zero-padded convolution operation # with a convolution kernel size of 3, a stride of 1, and a dilation of 1 # as in figure 10.2a-c. Write it yourself, don't call a library routine! # Don't forget that Python arrays are indexed from zero, not from 1 as in the book figures def conv_3_1_1_zp(x_in, omega): x_out = np.zeros_like(x_in) # padded is x_in, with zeros on both ends padded = np.zeros(len(x_in) + 2) padded[1:-1] = x_in for i in range(len(x_out)): x_out[i] = np.sum(padded[i : i + 3] * omega) return x_out omega = np.array([0.33, 0.33, 0.33]) h = conv_3_1_1_zp(x, omega) # Check that you have computed this correctly print(f"Sum of output is {np.sum(h):3.3}, should be 71.1") # Draw the signal # fig, ax = plt.subplots() # ax.plot(x, "k-", label="before") # ax.plot(h, "r-", label="after") # ax.set_xlim(0, 11) # ax.set_ylim(0, 12) # ax.legend() # plt.show() # omega = np.array([-0.5, 0, 0.5]) # h2 = conv_3_1_1_zp(x, omega) # # Draw the signal # fig, ax = plt.subplots() # ax.plot(x, "k-", label="before") # ax.plot(h2, "r-", label="after") # ax.set_xlim(0, 11) # # ax.set_ylim(0, 12) # ax.legend() # plt.show() ================================================ FILE: understanding-deep-learning-book/nb-12-01-self-attention.py ================================================ # Based on the notebook # https://github.com/udlbook/udlbook/blob/main/Notebooks/Chap12/12_1_Self_Attention.ipynb import numpy as np import matplotlib.pyplot as plt # Seeds follow the order/values of the notebook (f) np.random.seed(3) # Number of inputs N = 3 # Number of dimensions of each input D = 4 # The self-attention mechanism maps N inputs x_n to N outputs x'_n. # Inputs and outputs are (D,1) arrays. all_x = [] for n in range(N): all_x.append(np.random.normal(size=(D, 1))) print(all_x) np.random.seed(0) # Attention parameters for Q,K,V: matrices are (D,D) arrays, with corresponding # biases that are (D,1) arrays. omega_q = np.random.normal(size=(D, D)) omega_k = np.random.normal(size=(D, D)) omega_v = np.random.normal(size=(D, D)) beta_q = np.random.normal(size=(D, 1)) beta_k = np.random.normal(size=(D, 1)) beta_v = np.random.normal(size=(D, 1)) # Compute Q,K,V for each input all_queries = [] all_keys = [] all_values = [] for x in all_x: # Shapes: (D, 1) = (D, D) @ (D, 1) + (D, 1) query = omega_q @ x + beta_q key = omega_k @ x + beta_k value = omega_v @ x + beta_v all_queries.append(query) all_keys.append(key) all_values.append(value) def softmax(x): """Compute the softmax of vector (or list) x.""" exps = np.exp(x) return exps / np.sum(exps) # Output all_x_prime = [] # For each output for n in range(N): # A list of dot products of query n with all keys. # all_km_qn[i] is the dot product of key i with query n. It's a list with # N elements. all_km_qn = [] for key in all_keys: dot_product = all_queries[n].T @ key all_km_qn.append(dot_product[0][0]) attention = softmax(all_km_qn) print(f"Attentions for output n={n}: {attention}") # Compute self-attention: a weighted sum of all values. x_prime = np.zeros((D, 1)) for i in range(len(all_values)): x_prime += attention[i] * all_values[i] all_x_prime.append(x_prime) # Print out true values to check you have it correct print("x_prime_0_calculated:", all_x_prime[0].transpose()) print("x_prime_0_true: [[ 0.94744244 -0.24348429 -0.91310441 -0.44522983]]") print("x_prime_1_calculated:", all_x_prime[1].transpose()) print("x_prime_1_true: [[ 1.64201168 -0.08470004 4.02764044 2.18690791]]") print("x_prime_2_calculated:", all_x_prime[2].transpose()) print("x_prime_2_true: [[ 1.61949281 -0.06641533 3.96863308 2.15858316]]") # Vector formulation def softmax_cols(data_in): # Exponentiate all of the values exp_values = np.exp(data_in) # Sum over columns denom = np.sum(exp_values, axis=0) # Replicate denominator to N rows denom = np.matmul(np.ones((data_in.shape[0], 1)), denom[np.newaxis, :]) # Compute softmax softmax = exp_values / denom # return the answer return softmax # X: (D,N) matrix of inputs # omega_v, omega_q, omega_k: (D,D) matrices # beta_v, beta_q, beta_k: (D,1) vectors def self_attention( X, omega_v, omega_q, omega_k, beta_v, beta_q, beta_k, is_scaled=False ): Q = omega_q @ X + beta_q K = omega_k @ X + beta_k V = omega_v @ X + beta_v KQ = K.T @ Q if is_scaled: KQ /= np.sqrt(K.shape[0]) att = softmax_cols(KQ) print("attention matrix:", att) X_prime = V @ att return X_prime # Represent all inputs as a (D,N) matrix. Each column is an input. X = np.column_stack(all_x) print(self_attention(X, omega_v, omega_q, omega_k, beta_v, beta_q, beta_k)) print( self_attention(X, omega_v, omega_q, omega_k, beta_v, beta_q, beta_k, is_scaled=True) ) ================================================ FILE: understanding-deep-learning-book/nb-12-02-multihead-attention.py ================================================ import numpy as np import matplotlib.pyplot as plt # Set seed so we get the same random numbers np.random.seed(3) # Number of inputs N = 6 # Number of dimensions of each input D = 8 X = np.random.normal(size=(D, N)) print("X=\n", X) # Number of heads H = 2 # QDV dimension H_D = int(D / H) # Set seed so we get the same random numbers np.random.seed(0) # Choose random values for the parameters for the first head omega_q1 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, D)) omega_k1 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, D)) omega_v1 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, D)) beta_q1 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, 1)) beta_k1 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, 1)) beta_v1 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, 1)) # Choose random values for the parameters for the second head omega_q2 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, D)) omega_k2 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, D)) omega_v2 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, D)) beta_q2 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, 1)) beta_k2 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, 1)) beta_v2 = np.random.normal(size=(H_D, 1)) # Choose random values for the final transform omega_c = np.random.normal(size=(D, D)) # Define softmax operation that works independently on each column def softmax_cols(data_in): # Exponentiate all of the values exp_values = np.exp(data_in) # Sum over columns denom = np.sum(exp_values, axis=0) # Compute softmax (numpy broadcasts denominator to all rows automatically) softmax = exp_values / denom # return the answer return softmax def multihead_scaled_self_attention( X, omega_v1, omega_q1, omega_k1, beta_v1, beta_q1, beta_k1, omega_v2, omega_q2, omega_k2, beta_v2, beta_q2, beta_k2, omega_c, ): # Calculate each of the heads separately. # # For each head, the dimensions of omega_* are D/H x D, beta_* is D/H x 1. # X is D x N, so te intermediate Q,K,V values are D/H x N. # The attention matrix is N x N, and the output of the head is D/H x N. Q1 = omega_q1 @ X + beta_q1 K1 = omega_k1 @ X + beta_k1 V1 = omega_v1 @ X + beta_v1 KQ1 = (K1.T @ Q1) / np.sqrt(K1.shape[0]) att1 = softmax_cols(KQ1) Q2 = omega_q2 @ X + beta_q2 K2 = omega_k2 @ X + beta_k2 V2 = omega_v2 @ X + beta_v2 KQ2 = (K2.T @ Q2) / np.sqrt(K2.shape[0]) att2 = softmax_cols(KQ2) # Shape of KQN is D/H x N. Vertically concatenate them into a single # matrix of shape D x N, and calculate the final transform. cc = np.concatenate((V1 @ att1, V2 @ att2), axis=0) X_prime = omega_c @ cc return X_prime # Run the self attention mechanism X_prime = multihead_scaled_self_attention( X, omega_v1, omega_q1, omega_k1, beta_v1, beta_q1, beta_k1, omega_v2, omega_q2, omega_k2, beta_v2, beta_q2, beta_k2, omega_c, ) # Print out the results np.set_printoptions(precision=3) print("Your answer:") print(X_prime) print("True values:") print("[[-21.207 -5.373 -20.933 -9.179 -11.319 -17.812]") print(" [ -1.995 7.906 -10.516 3.452 9.863 -7.24 ]") print(" [ 5.479 1.115 9.244 0.453 5.656 7.089]") print(" [ -7.413 -7.416 0.363 -5.573 -6.736 -0.848]") print(" [-11.261 -9.937 -4.848 -8.915 -13.378 -5.761]") print(" [ 3.548 10.036 -2.244 1.604 12.113 -2.557]") print(" [ 4.888 -5.814 2.407 3.228 -4.232 3.71 ]") print(" [ 1.248 18.894 -6.409 3.224 19.717 -5.629]]") ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/.gitignore ================================================ text8 *.gz *.pickle ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/.python-version ================================================ 3.12 ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/README.md ================================================ This is a reproduction of the classical word2vec embedding model using JAX. There are several steps to get a trained model we can use to query for embeddings. # 1. Download the training set Any training set of text will do, as long as it's properly cleaned up. For this project I'm using the same set used by the [original word2vec project](https://code.google.com/archive/p/word2vec/). The `download-dataset.sh` script should be run - it downloads a 100 MB text file named `text8`. This is just concatenated English text, all lowercase, space separated, with no punctuation. If you'd like to use a different dataset (such as Wikipedia dumps), make sure the input file has the same format as `text8`. # 2. Prepare data for training To prepare the data for training, we want to sub-sample the input (reducing the frequency of very common words), and compile a vocabulary of the N most common words (20,000 by default). After step 1 is completed, run: uv run make-train-data.py This creates a file named `train-data.pickle`, which can be directly loaded by subsequent steps. See the script's top-level comment for details on what this file contains. # 3. Train the model To train the model, run: uv run train.py This reads `train-data.pickle` and trains a CBOW word2ver model using JAX. The training process runs multiple epochs over the data set in shuffled batches, and saves a checkpoint every epoch. The checkpoint contains a dict with two arrays representing the model's layers. Of particular interest is the `projection` array, shaped (V, D) where V is our vocabulary size and D our embedding model depth. This is the embedding table, mapping word index to the word's learned embedding. # 4. Query embeddings for similar words and analogies Once the model has trained sufficiently for 15-25 epochs (the loss should go down), the latest checkpoint can be used to query the embeddings for word similarities and analogies. Here are some examples: # Find the most similar words to "paris" uv run similar-words.py -word paris -checkpoint checkpoint.pickle -traindata train-data.pickle # Find the best analogies for "berlin is to germany as tokyo is to ??" uv run similar-words.py -analogy berlin,germany,tokyo -checkpoint checkpoint.pickle -traindata train-data.pickle ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/download-dataset.sh ================================================ #!/bin/bash # Downloads the text8 datased. set -eu set -o pipefail if [ ! -e text8 ]; then wget http://mattmahoney.net/dc/text8.zip -O text8.gz gzip -d text8.gz -f fi ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/make-train-data.py ================================================ # Takes the raw dataset (text8) and creates training data from it, by # subsampling frequent words and creating a vocabulary. The training data is # saved to a pickle file as the dict # { # "train_data": list of words, # "vocab": dict from word to ID # } # from collections import Counter import random import math import pickle def read_words_from_file(file_path): """Reads whitespace-separated words from a file. Returns a list of words. """ with open(file_path, "r") as file: return file.read().split() def subsample(words, threshold=1e-4): """Subsample frequent words, return a new list of words. Follows the subsampling procedure described in the paper "Distributed Representations of Words and Phrases and their Compositionality" by Mikolov et al. (2013). """ word_counts = Counter(words) total_count = len(words) freqs = {word: count / total_count for word, count in word_counts.items()} # Common words (freq(word) > threshold) are kept with a computed # probability, while rare words are always kept. p_keep = { word: math.sqrt(threshold / freqs[word]) if freqs[word] > threshold else 1 for word in word_counts } return [word for word in words if random.random() < p_keep[word]] def make_vocabulary(words, top_k=20000): """Creates a vocabulary from a list of words. Keeps the top_k most common words and assigns an index to each word. The index 0 is reserved for the "" token. """ word_counts = Counter(words) vocab = {"": 0} for word, _ in word_counts.most_common(top_k - 1): vocab[word] = len(vocab) return vocab if __name__ == "__main__": input_filename = "text8" print("Reading words from", input_filename) words = read_words_from_file(input_filename) print("Number of words:", len(words)) ss = subsample(words) print("Number of words after subsampling:", len(ss)) vocab = make_vocabulary(ss) print("Vocabulary size:", len(vocab)) # TODO: this should be IDs... in a function train_data = [word for word in ss if word in vocab] print("Number of words in training data:", len(train_data)) output_filename = "train-data.pickle" print("Saving training data to", output_filename) with open(output_filename, "wb") as file: pickle.dump({"train_data": train_data, "vocab": vocab}, file) ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/pyproject.toml ================================================ [project] name = "word2vec-jax" version = "0.1.0" description = "Add your description here" readme = "README.md" requires-python = ">=3.12" dependencies = [ "jax[cuda12]>=0.5.3", "optax>=0.2.4", ] ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/similar-words.py ================================================ import pickle import numpy as np import argparse from itertools import islice def find_similar_words(word, vocab, inv_vocab, embedding, top_k=10): """Finds the top_k most similar words to a given word. Returns a list of (word, similarity) pairs. """ if word not in vocab: return [] word_id = vocab[word] # embedding is of shape (V, D), where V is the vocabulary size and D is the # embedding dimension. word_embedding = embedding[word_id] # (D,) # Compute cosine similarity between the word and all other words using # numpy. The result is a (V,) array of cosine similarities of word with each # of the vocabulary words. norms = np.linalg.norm(embedding, axis=1) # (V,) similarities = np.dot(embedding, word_embedding) / ( norms * np.linalg.norm(word_embedding) ) # Extract the top_k indices with the highest similarities top_k_words = np.argsort(similarities) return [ (inv_vocab[word], similarities[word]) for word in islice(reversed(top_k_words), top_k) ] def find_analogies(a, b, c, vocab, inv_vocab, embedding, top_k=10): """Finds analogies for "A is to B as C is to ?". Returns a list of (word, similarity) pairs. """ if a not in vocab or b not in vocab or c not in vocab: return [] # embedding is of shape (V, D), where V is the vocabulary size and D is the # embedding dimension. a_embedding = embedding[vocab[a]] # (D,) b_embedding = embedding[vocab[b]] # (D,) c_embedding = embedding[vocab[c]] # (D,) # Compute the analogy vector analogy = b_embedding - a_embedding + c_embedding # Compute cosine similarity between the analogy and all other words using # numpy. The result is a (V,) array of cosine similarities of word with each # of the vocabulary words. norms = np.linalg.norm(embedding, axis=1) # (V,) similarities = np.dot(embedding, analogy) / (norms * np.linalg.norm(analogy)) # Extract the top_k indices with the highest similarities top_k_words = np.argsort(similarities) return [ (inv_vocab[word], similarities[word]) for word in islice(reversed(top_k_words), top_k) ] def show_similarity(w, cs, vocab, inv_vocab, embedding): """Shows the similarity of a word with a list of context words. Returns a list of (word, similarity) pairs. Each pair has one word from cs and its degree of similarity with w. """ if w not in vocab: return [] w_embedding = embedding[vocab[w]] # (D,) # Compute the cosine similarity between w_embedding and the embeddings of # each of cs. sims = [] for c in cs: if c not in vocab: continue c_embedding = embedding[vocab[c]] # Compute cosine similarity similarity = np.dot(w_embedding, c_embedding) / ( np.linalg.norm(w_embedding) * np.linalg.norm(c_embedding) ) sims.append((c, similarity)) return sims DESCRIPTION = """ Find similar words or analogies using word embeddings. Only one of -analogy, -sims or -word should be specified; -analogy has priority. """ if __name__ == "__main__": parser = argparse.ArgumentParser(description=DESCRIPTION) parser.add_argument( "-analogy", help="Comma-separated list of words to perform analogy task (e.g., 'king,man,queen').", ) parser.add_argument( "-sims", help="Comma-separated list of words: w,c1,c2...", ) parser.add_argument("-word", help="The word to find similar words for.") parser.add_argument( "-checkpoint", required=True, help="Path to the checkpoint pickle file." ) parser.add_argument( "-traindata", required=True, help="Path to the training data pickle file." ) args = parser.parse_args() model_params_file = args.checkpoint train_data_file = args.traindata with open(model_params_file, "rb") as file: model_params = pickle.load(file) with open(train_data_file, "rb") as file: train_data = pickle.load(file) vocab = train_data["vocab"] inv_vocab = {v: k for k, v in vocab.items()} # The projection array is our embedding matrix. # Its shape is (V, D). embedding = model_params["projection"] if args.analogy: a, b, c = args.analogy.split(",") analogies = find_analogies(a, b, c, vocab, inv_vocab, embedding) print(f"Analogies for '{a} is to {b} as {c} is to ?':") for word, similarity in analogies: print(f"{word:15} {similarity:.2f}") elif args.sims: w, *cs = args.sims.split(",") similarities = show_similarity(w, cs, vocab, inv_vocab, embedding) print(f"Similarities for '{w}' with context words {cs}:") for word, similarity in similarities: print(f"{word:15} {similarity:.2f}") else: similar_words = find_similar_words(args.word, vocab, inv_vocab, embedding) print(f"Words similar to '{args.word}':") for word, similarity in similar_words: print(f"{word:15} {similarity:.2f}") ================================================ FILE: word2vec-jax/train.py ================================================ import jax.nn import jax.numpy as jnp import optax import numpy as np import pickle def generate_train_vectors(train_data, vocab, window_size=4, batch_size=128): """Generates training vectors from a list of words and vocabulary. Generates (target_batch, context_batch) pairs, where target_batch is a (batch_size,) array of target word IDs and context_batch is a (batch_size, 2*window_size) array of context word IDs. Stops when it runs out of data. The leftover data (whatever doesn't fit in the last batch) will be discared. """ target_batch = np.zeros(batch_size, dtype=np.int32) context_batch = np.zeros((batch_size, 2 * window_size), dtype=np.int32) batch_idx = 0 for i in range(len(train_data)): if i + 2 * window_size >= len(train_data): break # 'i' is the index of the leftmost word in the context. target_word = train_data[i + window_size] left_context = train_data[i : i + window_size] right_context = train_data[i + window_size + 1 : i + 2 * window_size + 1] target_batch[batch_idx] = vocab.get(target_word, 0) context_batch[batch_idx, :] = np.array( [vocab.get(word, 0) for word in left_context + right_context] ) batch_idx += 1 if batch_idx == batch_size: yield np.array(target_batch), np.array(context_batch) batch_idx = 0 @jax.jit def word2vec_forward(params, context): """Forward pass of the word2Vec model. context is a (batch_size, 2*window_size) array of word IDs. V is the vocabulary size, D is the embedding dimension. params["projection"] is a (V, D) matrix of word embeddings. params["hidden"] is a (D, V) matrix of weights for the hidden layer. """ # Indexing into (V, D) matrix with a batch of IDs. The output shape # is (batch_size, 2*window_size, D). projection = params["projection"][context] # Compute average across the context word. The output shape is # (batch_size, D). avg_projection = jnp.mean(projection, axis=1) # (batch_size, D) @ (D, V) -> (batch_size, V) hidden = jnp.dot(avg_projection, params["hidden"]) return hidden @jax.jit def word2vec_loss(params, target, context): """Compute the loss of the word2Vec model.""" logits = word2vec_forward(params, context) # (batch_size, V) target_onehot = jax.nn.one_hot(target, logits.shape[1]) # (batch_size, V) loss = optax.losses.softmax_cross_entropy(logits, target_onehot).mean() return loss def train(train_data, vocab): V = len(vocab) D = 200 LEARNING_RATE = 1e-3 WINDOW_SIZE = 8 BATCH_SIZE = 1024 EPOCHS = 25 initializer = jax.nn.initializers.glorot_uniform() params = { "projection": initializer(jax.random.PRNGKey(501337), (V, D)), "hidden": initializer(jax.random.PRNGKey(501337), (D, V)), } optimizer = optax.adam(LEARNING_RATE) opt_state = optimizer.init(params) print("Approximate number of batches:", len(train_data) // BATCH_SIZE) for epoch in range(EPOCHS): print(f"=== Epoch {epoch + 1}") epoch_loss = [] for n, (target_batch, context_batch) in enumerate( generate_train_vectors( train_data, vocab, window_size=WINDOW_SIZE, batch_size=BATCH_SIZE ) ): # Shuffle the batch. indices = np.random.permutation(len(target_batch)) target_batch = target_batch[indices] context_batch = context_batch[indices] # Compute the loss and gradients; optimize. loss, grads = jax.value_and_grad(word2vec_loss)( params, target_batch, context_batch ) updates, opt_state = optimizer.update(grads, opt_state) params = optax.apply_updates(params, updates) epoch_loss.append(loss) if n > 0 and n % 1000 == 0: print(f"Batch {n}") print(f"Epoch loss: {np.mean(epoch_loss):.2f}") checkpoint_filename = f"checkpoint-{epoch:03}.pickle" print("Saving checkpoint to", checkpoint_filename) with open(checkpoint_filename, "wb") as file: pickle.dump(params, file) if __name__ == "__main__": print(jax.devices()) print(jax.default_backend()) # Load train-data from pickle file with open("train-data.pickle", "rb") as file: data = pickle.load(file) train_data = data["train_data"] vocab = data["vocab"] print("Number of words in train data:", len(train_data)) print("Vocabulary size:", len(vocab)) print( "First 10 words and their IDs:", [(word, vocab[word]) for word in train_data[:10]], ) train(train_data, vocab)