



                              THE SIGN OF THE FOUR

                               Arthur Conan Doyle







                                Table of contents
        The Science of Deduction
        The Statement of the Case
        In Quest of a Solution
        The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
        The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
        Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
        The Episode of the Barrel
        The Baker Street Irregulars
        A Break in the Chain
        The End of the Islander
        The Great Agra Treasure
        The Strange Story of Jonathan Small















          CHAPTER I
          The Science of Deduction


     Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece
     and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,
     white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled
     back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested
     thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred
     with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point
     home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the
     velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

     Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance,
     but custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from
     day to day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my
     conscience swelled nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked
     the courage to protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I
     should deliver my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the
     cool, nonchalant air of my companion which made him the last man with
     whom one would care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His
     great powers, his masterly manner, and the experience which I had had
     of his many extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and
     backward in crossing him.

     Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken
     with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme
     deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no
     longer.

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

     He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which
     he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-per-cent solution.
     Would you care to try it?"

     "No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution has not got
     over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra
     strain upon it."

     He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," he said.
     "I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it,
     however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind
     that its secondary action is a matter of small moment."

     "But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brain may,
     as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and
     morbid process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at
     last leave a permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction
     comes upon you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why
     should you, for a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great
     powers with which you have been endowed?  Remember that I speak not
     only as one comrade to another, but as a medical man to one for whose
     constitution he is to some extent answerable."

     He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his fingertips
     together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who
     has a relish for conversation.

     "My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me
     work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate
     analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then
     with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of
     existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen
     my own particular profession,--or rather created it, for I am the
     only one in the world."

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

     "The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered.  "I am the
     last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or
     Lestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by the
     way, is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine
     the data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim
     no credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work
     itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my
     highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my
     methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."

     "Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struck by anything
     in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat
     fantastic title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'"

     He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he.  "Honestly, I
     cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an
     exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional
     manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which
     produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an
     elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid."

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

     "Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of
     proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the
     case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from
     effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it."

     I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially
     designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the
     egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should
     be devoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years
     that I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small
     vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I made no
     remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail
     bullet through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me
     from walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.

     "My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said Holmes,
     after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted
     last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come
     rather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has
     all the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the
     wide range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher
     developments of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and
     possessed some features of interest. I was able to refer him to two
     parallel cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis
     in 1871, which have suggested to him the true solution. Here is the
     letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance." He
     tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I
     glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration,
     with stray magnifiques, coup-de-maîtres and tours-de-force, all
     testifying to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.

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

     "Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes,
     lightly. "He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of
     the three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the
     power of observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in
     knowledge; and that may come in time. He is now translating my small
     works into French."

     "Your works?"

     "Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have been guilty
     of several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here,
     for example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the
     Various Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of
     cigar-, cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with colored plates
     illustrating the difference in the ash. It is a point which is
     continually turning up in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of
     supreme importance as a clue. If you can say definitely, for example,
     that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an Indian
     lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search. To the trained eye
     there is as much difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly
     and the white fluff of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a
     potato."

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

     "I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing
     of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as
     a preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon
     the influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes
     of the hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers,
     and diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest
     to the scientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed
     bodies, or in discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary
     you with my hobby."

     "Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatest interest
     to me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your
     practical application of it. But you spoke just now of observation
     and deduction. Surely the one to some extent implies the other."

     "Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously in his armchair,
     and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "For example,
     observation shows me that you have been to the Wigmore Street
     Post-Office this morning, but deduction lets me know that when there
     you dispatched a telegram."

     "Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confess that I don't
     see how you arrived at it. It was a sudden impulse upon my part, and
     I have mentioned it to no one."

     "It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at my
     surprise,--"so absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous;
     and yet it may serve to define the limits of observation and of
     deduction. Observation tells me that you have a little reddish mould
     adhering to your instep. Just opposite the Seymour Street Office they
     have taken up the pavement and thrown up some earth which lies in
     such a way that it is difficult to avoid treading in it in entering.
     The earth is of this peculiar reddish tint which is found, as far as
     I know, nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much is observation. The
     rest is deduction."

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

     "Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter, since I sat
     opposite to you all morning. I see also in your open desk there that
     you have a sheet of stamps and a thick bundle of postcards.  What
     could you go into the post-office for, then, but to send a wire?
     Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the
     truth."

     "In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a little thought.
     "The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest.  Would you
     think me impertinent if I were to put your theories to a more severe
     test?"

     "On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent me from taking a
     second dose of cocaine. I should be delighted to look into any
     problem which you might submit to me."

     "I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to have any
     object in daily use without leaving the impress of his individuality
     upon it in such a way that a trained observer might read it. Now, I
     have here a watch which has recently come into my possession. Would
     you have the kindness to let me have an opinion upon the character or
     habits of the late owner?"

     I handed him over the watch with some slight feeling of amusement in
     my heart, for the test was, as I thought, an impossible one, and I
     intended it as a lesson against the somewhat dogmatic tone which he
     occasionally assumed. He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard
     at the dial, opened the back, and examined the works, first with his
     naked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I could hardly keep
     from smiling at his crestfallen face when he finally snapped the case
     to and handed it back.

     "There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watch has been
     recently cleaned, which robs me of my most suggestive facts."

     "You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before being sent to
     me." In my heart I accused my companion of putting forward a most
     lame and impotent excuse to cover his failure. What data could he
     expect from an uncleaned watch?

     "Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirely barren," he
     observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy, lack-lustre eyes.
     "Subject to your correction, I should judge that the watch belonged
     to your elder brother, who inherited it from your father."

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

     "Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The date of the watch is
     nearly fifty years back, and the initials are as old as the watch: so
     it was made for the last generation. Jewelry usually descents to the
     eldest son, and he is most likely to have the same name as the
     father. Your father has, if I remember right, been dead many years.
     It has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother."

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

     "He was a man of untidy habits,--very untidy and careless. He was
     left with good prospects, but he threw away his chances, lived for
     some time in poverty with occasional short intervals of prosperity,
     and finally, taking to drink, he died. That is all I can gather."

     I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about the room with
     considerable bitterness in my heart.

     "This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could not have believed
     that you would have descended to this. You have made inquires into
     the history of my unhappy brother, and you now pretend to deduce this
     knowledge in some fanciful way. You cannot expect me to believe that
     you have read all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to
     speak plainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it."

     "My dear doctor," said he, kindly, "pray accept my apologies. 
     Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how
     personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you,
     however, that I never even know that you had a brother until you
     handed me the watch."

     "Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did you get these
     facts? They are absolutely correct in every particular."

     "Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was the balance of
     probability. I did not at all expect to be so accurate."

     "But it was not mere guess-work?"

     "No, no: I never guess. It is a shocking habit,--destructive to the
     logical faculty. What seems strange to you is only so because you do
     not follow my train of thought or observe the small facts upon which
     large inferences may depend. For example, I began by stating that
     your brother was careless. When you observe the lower part of that
     watch-case you notice that it is not only dinted in two places, but
     it is cut and marked all over from the habit of keeping other hard
     objects, such as coins or keys, in the same pocket. Surely it is no
     great feat to assume that a man who treats a fifty-guinea watch so
     cavalierly must be a careless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched
     inference that a man who inherits one article of such value is pretty
     well provided for in other respects."

     I nodded, to show that I followed his reasoning.

     "It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, when they take a
     watch, to scratch the number of the ticket with a pin-point upon the
     inside of the case. It is more handy than a label, as there is no
     risk of the number being lost or transposed. There are no less than
     four such numbers visible to my lens on the inside of this case.
     Inference,--that your brother was often at low water. Secondary
     inference,--that he had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could
     not have redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at the inner
     plate, which contains the key-hole. Look at the thousands of
     scratches all round the hole,--marks where the key has slipped. What
     sober man's key could have scored those grooves? But you will never
     see a drunkard's watch without them. He winds it at night, and he
     leaves these traces of his unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all
     this?"

     "It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret the injustice
     which I did you. I should have had more faith in your marvellous
     faculty. May I ask whether you have any professional inquiry on foot
     at present?"

     "None. Hence the cocaine. I cannot live without brain-work. What else
     is there to live for? Stand at the window here. Was ever such a
     dreary, dismal, unprofitable world? See how the yellow fog swirls
     down the street and drifts across the duncolored houses. What could
     be more hopelessly prosaic and material? What is the use of having
     powers, doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them? Crime
     is commonplace, existence is commonplace, and no qualities save those
     which are commonplace have any function upon earth."

     I had opened my mouth to reply to this tirade, when with a crisp
     knock our landlady entered, bearing a card upon the brass salver.

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

     "Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollection of the
     name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson. Don't go, doctor. I
     should prefer that you remain."





          CHAPTER II
          The Statement of the Case


     Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward
     composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small, dainty, well
     gloved, and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a
     plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a
     suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige,
     untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull
     hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her
     face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but
     her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were
     singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which
     extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never
     looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and
     sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat
     which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand
     quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation.

     "I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "because you once enabled
     my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic
     complication. She was much impressed by your kindness and skill."

     "Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated thoughtfully. "I believe that I
     was of some slight service to her. The case, however, as I remember
     it, was a very simple one."

     "She did not think so. But at least you cannot say the same of mine.
     I can hardly imagine anything more strange, more utterly
     inexplicable, than the situation in which I find myself."

     Holmes rubbed his hands, and his eyes glistened. He leaned forward in
     his chair with an expression of extraordinary concentration upon his
     clear-cut, hawklike features. "State your case," said he, in brisk,
     business tones.

     I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "You will, I am
     sure, excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.

     To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved hand to detain me.
     "If your friend," she said, "would be good enough to stop, he might
     be of inestimable service to me."

     I relapsed into my chair.

     "Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My father was an
     officer in an Indian regiment who sent me home when I was quite a
     child. My mother was dead, and I had no relative in England. I was
     placed, however, in a comfortable boarding establishment at
     Edinburgh, and there I remained until I was seventeen years of age.
     In the year 1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment,
     obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphed to me
     from London that he had arrived all safe, and directed me to come
     down at once, giving the Langham Hotel as his address. His message,
     as I remember, was full of kindness and love. On reaching London I
     drove to the Langham, and was informed that Captain Morstan was
     staying there, but that he had gone out the night before and had not
     yet returned. I waited all day without news of him. That night, on
     the advice of the manager of the hotel, I communicated with the
     police, and next morning we advertised in all the papers. Our
     inquiries let to no result; and from that day to this no word has
     ever been heard of my unfortunate father. He came home with his heart
     full of hope, to find some peace, some comfort, and instead--" She
     put her hand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.

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

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

     "His luggage?"

     "Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it to suggest a
     clue,--some clothes, some books, and a considerable number of
     curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He had been one of the officers
     in charge of the convict-guard there."

     "Had he any friends in town?"

     "Only one that we know of,--Major Sholto, of his own regiment, the
     34th Bombay Infantry. The major had retired some little time before,
     and lived at Upper Norwood. We communicated with him, of course, but
     he did not even know that his brother officer was in England."

     "A singular case," remarked Holmes.

     "I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six
     years ago--to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882--an advertisement
     appeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan and
     stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was
     no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the
     family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her
     advice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same
     day there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed
     to me, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No
     word of writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same
     date there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar
     pearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have been pronounced
     by an expert to be of a rare variety and of considerable value. You
     can see for yourselves that they are very handsome." She opened a
     flat box as she spoke, and showed me six of the finest pearls that I
     had ever seen.

     "Your statement is most interesting," said Sherlock Holmes.  "Has
     anything else occurred to you?"

     "Yes, and no later than to-day. That is why I have come to you.  This
     morning I received this letter, which you will perhaps read for
     yourself."

     "Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope too, please. Postmark,
     London, S.W. Date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-mark on corner,--probably
     postman. Best quality paper. Envelopes at sixpence a packet.
     Particular man in his stationery. No address. 'Be at the third pillar
     from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o'clock.
     If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman,
     and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be
     in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really, this is a very pretty
     little mystery.  What do you intend to do, Miss Morstan?"

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

     "Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and--yes, why, Dr. 
     Watson is the very man. Your correspondent says two friends. He and I
     have worked together before."

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

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

     "You are both very kind," she answered. "I have led a retired life,
     and have no friends whom I could appeal to. If I am here at six it
     will do, I suppose?"

     "You must not be later," said Holmes. "There is one other point,
     however. Is this handwriting the same as that upon the pearl-box
     addresses?"

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

     "You are certainly a model client. You have the correct intuition.
     Let us see, now." He spread out the papers upon the table, and gave
     little darting glances from one to the other. "They are disguised
     hands, except the letter," he said, presently, "but there can be no
     question as to the authorship. See how the irrepressible Greek e will
     break out, and see the twirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by
     the same person. I should not like to suggest false hopes, Miss
     Morstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand and that of
     your father?"

     "Nothing could be more unlike."

     "I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out for you, then, at
     six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I may look into the matter
     before then. It is only half-past three. Au revoir, then."

     "Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindly glance from
     one to the other of us, she replaced her pearl-box in her bosom and
     hurried away. Standing at the window, I watched her walking briskly
     down the street, until the gray turban and white feather were but a
     speck in the sombre crowd.

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

     He had lit his pipe again, and was leaning back with drooping
     eyelids. "Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did not observe."

     "You really are an automaton,--a calculating-machine!" I cried.
     "There is something positively inhuman in you at times."

     He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said, "not to
     allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is
     to me a mere unit,--a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities
     are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most
     winning woman I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little
     children for their insurance-money, and the most repellant man of my
     acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a
     million upon the London poor."

     "In this case, however--"

     "I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule. Have you
     ever had occasion to study character in handwriting? What do you make
     of this fellow's scribble?"

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

     Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," he said. "They
     hardly rise above the common herd. That d might be an a, and that l
     an e. Men of character always differentiate their long letters,
     however illegibly they may write. There is vacillation in his k's and
     self-esteem in his capitals. I am going out now. I have some few
     references to make. Let me recommend this book,--one of the most
     remarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's Martyrdom of Man. I
     shall be back in an hour."

     I sat in the window with the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were
     far from the daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon our
     late visitor,--her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, the
     strange mystery which overhung her life. If she were seventeen at the
     time of her father's disappearance she must be seven-and-twenty
     now,--a sweet age, when youth has lost its self-consciousness and
     become a little sobered by experience. So I sat and mused, until such
     dangerous thoughts came into my head that I hurried away to my desk
     and plunged furiously into the latest treatise upon pathology. What
     was I, an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account,
     that I should dare to think of such things? She was a unit, a
     factor,--nothing more. If my future were black, it was better surely
     to face it like a man than to attempt to brighten it by mere
     will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.





          CHAPTER III
          In Quest of a Solution


     It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He was bright, eager,
     and in excellent spirits,--a mood which in his case alternated with
     fits of the blackest depression.

     "There is no great mystery in this matter," he said, taking the cup
     of tea which I had poured out for him. "The facts appear to admit of
     only one explanation."

     "What! you have solved it already?"

     "Well, that would be too much to say. I have discovered a suggestive
     fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive. The details are
     still to be added. I have just found, on consulting the back files of
     the Times, that Major Sholto, of Upper Norword, late of the 34th
     Bombay Infantry, died upon the 28th of April, 1882."

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

     "No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then. Captain Morstan
     disappears. The only person in London whom he could have visited is
     Major Sholto. Major Sholto denies having heard that he was in London.
     Four years later Sholto dies. Within a week of his death Captain
     Morstan's daughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated
     from year to year, and now culminates in a letter which describes her
     as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to except this
     deprivation of her father? And why should the presents begin
     immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is that Sholto's heir
     knows something of the mystery and desires to make compensation? Have
     you any alternative theory which will meet the facts?"

     "But what a strange compensation! And how strangely made! Why, too,
     should he write a letter now, rather than six years ago? Again, the
     letter speaks of giving her justice. What justice can she have? It is
     too much to suppose that her father is still alive. There is no other
     injustice in her case that you know of."

     "There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties," said
     Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition of to-night will
     solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, and Miss Morstan is
     inside. Are you all ready? Then we had better go down, for it is a
     little past the hour."

     I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observed that Holmes
     took his revolver from his drawer and slipped it into his pocket. It
     was clear that he thought that our night's work might be a serious
     one.

     Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitive face was
     composed, but pale. She must have been more than woman if she did not
     feel some uneasiness at the strange enterprise upon which we were
     embarking, yet her self-control was perfect, and she readily answered
     the few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes put to her.

     "Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," she said. "His
     letters were full of allusions to the major. He and papa were in
     command of the troops at the Andaman Islands, so they were thrown a
     great deal together. By the way, a curious paper was found in papa's
     desk which no one could understand. I don't suppose that it is of the
     slightest importance, but I thought you might care to see it, so I
     brought it with me. It is here."

     Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed it out upon his
     knee. He then very methodically examined it all over with his double
     lens.

     "It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked. "It has at
     some time been pinned to a board. The diagram upon it appears to be a
     plan of part of a large building with numerous halls, corridors, and
     passages. At one point is a small cross done in red ink, and above it
     is '3.37 from left,' in faded pencil-writing.  In the left-hand
     corner is a curious hieroglyphic like four crosses in a line with
     their arms touching. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarse
     characters, 'The sign of the four,--Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh,
     Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess that I do not see how this
     bears upon the matter. Yet it is evidently a document of importance.
     It has been kept carefully in a pocket-book; for the one side is as
     clean as the other."

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

     "Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it may prove to be of
     use to us. I begin to suspect that this matter may turn out to be
     much deeper and more subtle than I at first supposed. I must
     reconsider my ideas." He leaned back in the cab, and I could see by
     his drawn brow and his vacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss
     Morstan and I chatted in an undertone about our present expedition
     and its possible outcome, but our companion maintained his
     impenetrable reserve until the end of our journey.

     It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock, but the day
     had been a dreary one, and a dense drizzly fog lay low upon the great
     city. Mud-colored clouds drooped sadly over the muddy streets. Down
     the Strand the lamps were but misty splotches of diffused light which
     threw a feeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellow
     glare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy, vaporous
     air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across the crowded
     thoroughfare. There was, to my mind, something eerie and ghost-like
     in the endless procession of faces which flitted across these narrow
     bars of light,--sad faces and glad, haggard and merry. Like all human
     kind, they flitted from the gloom into the light, and so back into
     the gloom once more. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull,
     heavy evening, with the strange business upon which we were engaged,
     combined to make me nervous and depressed. I could see from Miss
     Morstan's manner that she was suffering from the same feeling. Holmes
     alone could rise superior to petty influences. He held his open
     note-book upon his knee, and from time to time he jotted down figures
     and memoranda in the light of his pocket-lantern.

     At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick at the
     side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansoms and
     four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging their cargoes of
     shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamonded women. We had hardly
     reached the third pillar, which was our rendezvous, before a small,
     dark, brisk man in the dress of a coachman accosted us.

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

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

     He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioning eyes upon
     us. "You will excuse me, miss," he said with a certain dogged manner,
     "but I was to ask you to give me your word that neither of your
     companions is a police-officer."

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

     He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab led across a
     four-wheeler and opened the door. The man who had addressed us
     mounted to the box, while we took our places inside. We had hardly
     done so before the driver whipped up his horse, and we plunged away
     at a furious pace through the foggy streets.

     The situation was a curious one. We were driving to an unknown place,
     on an unknown errand. Yet our invitation was either a complete
     hoax,--which was an inconceivable hypothesis,--or else we had good
     reason to think that important issues might hang upon our journey.
     Miss Morstan's demeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I
     endeavored to cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventures
     in Afghanistan; but, to tell the truth, I was myself so excited at
     our situation and so curious as to our destination that my stories
     were slightly involved. To this day she declares that I told her one
     moving anecdote as to how a musket looked into my tent at the dead of
     night, and how I fired a double-barrelled tiger cub at it. At first I
     had some idea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon,
     what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledge of London,
     I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save that we seemed to be going
     a very long way. Sherlock Holmes was never at fault, however, and he
     muttered the names as the cab rattled through squares and in and out
     by tortuous by-streets.

     "Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square. Now we come out on the
     Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are making for the Surrey side, apparently.
     Yes, I thought so. Now we are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses
     of the river."

     We did indeed bet a fleeting view of a stretch of the Thames with the
     lamps shining upon the broad, silent water; but our cab dashed on,
     and was soon involved in a labyrinth of streets upon the other side.

     "Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory Road. Lark Hall Lane.
     Stockwell Place. Robert Street. Cold Harbor Lane. Our quest does not
     appear to take us to very fashionable regions."

     We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbidding neighborhood.
     Long lines of dull brick houses were only relieved by the coarse
     glare and tawdry brilliancy of public houses at the corner. Then came
     rows of two-storied villas each with a fronting of miniature garden,
     and then again interminable lines of new staring brick
     buildings,--the monster tentacles which the giant city was throwing
     out into the country. At last the cab drew up at the third house in a
     new terrace. None of the other houses were inhabited, and that at
     which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, save for a single
     glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking, however, the door was
     instantly thrown open by a Hindoo servant clad in a yellow turban,
     white loose-fitting clothes, and a yellow sash. There was something
     strangely incongruous in this Oriental figure framed in the
     commonplace door-way of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.

     "The Sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spoke there came a
     high piping voice from some inner room. "Show them in to me,
     khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straight in to me."





          CHAPTER IV
          The Story of the Bald-Headed Man


     We followed the Indian down a sordid and common passage, ill lit and
     worse furnished, until he came to a door upon the right, which he
     threw open. A blaze of yellow light streamed out upon us, and in the
     centre of the glare there stood a small man with a very high head, a
     bristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald, shining
     scalp which shot out from among it like a mountain-peak from
     fir-trees. He writhed his hands together as he stood, and his
     features were in a perpetual jerk, now smiling, now scowling, but
     never for an instant in repose. Nature had given him a pendulous lip,
     and a too visible line of yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove
     feebly to conceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part
     of his face. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the
     impression of youth. In point of fact he had just turned his
     thirtieth year.

     "Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating, in a thin, high
     voice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step into my little sanctum. A
     small place, miss, but furnished to my own liking.  An oasis of art
     in the howling desert of South London."

     We were all astonished by the appearance o the apartment into which
     he invited us. In that sorry house it looked as out of place as a
     diamond of the first water in a setting of brass. The richest and
     glossiest of curtains and tapestries draped the walls, looped back
     here and there to expose some richly-mounted painting or Oriental
     vase. The carpet was of amber-and-black, so soft and so thick that
     the foot sank pleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great
     tiger-skins thrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Eastern
     luxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in the corner. A
     lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hung from an almost
     invisible golden wire in the centre of the room. As it burned it
     filled the air with a subtle and aromatic odor.

     "Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerking and
     smiling. "That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, of course. And these
     gentlemen--"

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

     "A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you your stethoscope?
     Might I ask you--would you have the kindness? I have grave doubts as
     to my mitral valve, if you would be so very good. The aortic I may
     rely upon, but I should value your opinion upon the mitral."

     I listened to his heart, as requested, but was unable to find
     anything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy of fear, for he
     shivered from head to foot. "It appears to be normal," I said. "You
     have no cause for uneasiness."

     "You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan," he remarked, airily.  "I
     am a great sufferer, and I have long had suspicions as to that valve.
     I am delighted to hear that they are unwarranted. Had your father,
     Miss Morstan, refrained from throwing a strain upon his heart, he
     might have been alive now."

     I could have struck the man across the face, so hot was I at this
     callous and off-hand reference to so delicate a matter. Miss Morstan
     sat down, and her face grew white to the lips. "I knew in my heart
     that he was dead," said she.

     "I can give you every information," said he, "and, what is more, I
     can do you justice; and I will, too, whatever Brother Bartholomew may
     say. I am so glad to have your friends here, not only as an escort to
     you, but also as witnesses to what I am about to do and say. The
     three of us can show a bold front to Brother Bartholomew. But let us
     have no outsiders,--no police or officials. We can settle everything
     satisfactorily among ourselves, without any interference. Nothing
     would annoy Brother Bartholomew more than any publicity." He sat down
     upon a low settee and blinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery
     blue eyes.

     "For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may choose to say will go
     no further."

     I nodded to show my agreement.

     "That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer you a glass of
     Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines. Shall I
     open a flask? No? Well, then, I trust that you have no objection to
     tobacco-smoke, to the mild balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am
     a little nervous, and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative." He
     applied a taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrily
     through the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle, with our
     heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands, while the strange,
     jerky little fellow, with his high, shining head, puffed uneasily in
     the centre.

     "When I first determined to make this communication to you," said he,
     "I might have given you my address, but I feared that you might
     disregard my request and bring unpleasant people with you. I took the
     liberty, therefore, of making an appointment in such a way that my
     man Williams might be able to see you first. I have complete
     confidence in his discretion, and he had orders, if he were
     dissatisfied, to proceed no further in the matter. You will excuse
     these precautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and I might
     even say refined, tastes, and there is nothing more unaesthetic than
     a policeman. I have a natural shrinking from all forms of rough
     materialism. I seldom come in contact with the rough crowd. I live,
     as you see, with some little atmosphere of elegance around me. I may
     call myself a patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape is
     a genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhaps throw a
     doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there cannot be the least question
     about the Bouguereau. I am partial to the modern French school."

     "You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan, "but I am here
     at your request to learn something which you desire to tell me. It is
     very late, and I should desire the interview to be as short as
     possible."

     "At the best it must take some time," he answered; "for we shall
     certainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew. We shall
     all go and try if we can get the better of Brother Bartholomew. He is
     very angry with me for taking the course which has seemed right to
     me. I had quite high words with him last night. You cannot imagine
     what a terrible fellow he is when he is angry."

     "If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as well to start at
     once," I ventured to remark.

     He laughed until his ears were quite red. "That would hardly do," he
     cried. "I don't know what he would say if I brought you in that
     sudden way. No, I must prepare you by showing you how we all stand to
     each other. In the first place, I must tell you that there are
     several points in the story of which I am myself ignorant. I can only
     lay the facts before you as far as I know them myself.

     "My father was, as you may have guessed, Major John Sholto, once of
     the Indian army. He retired some eleven years ago, and came to live
     at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He had prospered in India, and
     brought back with him a considerable sum of money, a large collection
     of valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. With these
     advantages he bought himself a house, and lived in great luxury. My
     twin-brother Bartholomew and I were the only children.

     "I very well remember the sensation which was caused by the
     disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in the papers,
     and, knowing that he had been a friend of our father's, we discussed
     the case freely in his presence. He used to join in our speculations
     as to what could have happened. Never for an instant did we suspect
     that he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast,--that of all
     men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.

     "We did know, however, that some mystery--some positive
     danger--overhung our father. He was very fearful of going out alone,
     and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at
     Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, who drove you to-night, was one of them.
     He was once light-weight champion of England. Our father would never
     tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to
     men with wooden legs. On one occasion he actually fired his revolver
     at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman
     canvassing for orders. We had to pay a large sum to hush the matter
     up. My brother and I used to think this a mere whim of my father's,
     but events have since led us to change our opinion.

     "Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a
     great shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he
     opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death. What was in
     the letter we could never discover, but I could see as he held it
     that it was short and written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered
     for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse,
     and towards the end of April we were informed that he was beyond all
     hope, and that he wished to make a last communication to us.

     "When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and
     breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and to come upon
     either side of the bed. Then, grasping our hands, he made a
     remarkable statement to us, in a voice which was broken as much by
     emotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in his own very
     words.

     "'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind at this
     supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan. The
     cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has
     withheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should have
     been hers. And yet I have made no use of it myself,--so blind and
     foolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been
     so dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another. See
     that chaplet dipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle. Even that
     I could not bear to part with, although I had got it out with the
     design of sending it to her. You, my sons, will give her a fair share
     of the Agra treasure. But send her nothing--not even the
     chaplet--until I am gone. After all, men have been as bad as this and
     have recovered.

     "'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'He had suffered
     for years from a weak heart, but he concealed it from every one. I
     alone knew it. When in India, he and I, through a remarkable chain of
     circumstances, came into possession of a considerable treasure. I
     brought it over to England, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he
     came straight over here to claim his share. He walked over from the
     station, and was admitted by my faithful Lal Chowdar, who is now
     dead. Morstan and I had a difference of opinion as to the division of
     the treasure, and we came to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of
     his chair in a paroxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand
     to his side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backwards,
     cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I
     stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he was dead.

     "'For a long time I sat half distracted, wondering what I should do.
     My first impulse was, of course, to call for assistance; but I could
     not but recognize that there was every chance that I would be accused
     of his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in
     his head, would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry could
     not be made without bringing out some facts about the treasure, which
     I was particularly anxious to keep secret. He had told me that no
     soul upon earth knew where he had gone. There seemed to be no
     necessity why any soul ever should know.

     "'I was still pondering over the matter, when, looking up, I saw my
     servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. He stole in and bolted the door
     behind him. "Do not fear, Sahib," he said. "No one need know that you
     have killed him. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "I did
     not kill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head and smiled. "I
     heard it all, Sahib," said he. "I heard you quarrel, and I heard the
     blow. But my lips are sealed. All are asleep in the house. Let us put
     him away together." That was enough to decide met. If my own servant
     could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good
     before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar and I
     disposed of the body that night, and within a few days the London
     papers were full of the mysterious disappearance of Captain Morstan.
     You will see from what I say that I can hardly be blamed in the
     matter. My fault lies in the fact that we concealed not only the
     body, but also the treasure, and that I have clung to Morstan's share
     as well as to my own. I wish you, therefore, to make restitution. Put
     your ears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in--At this
     instant a horrible change came over his expression; his eyes stared
     wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voice which I can never
     forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake keep him out'! We both
     stared round at the window behind us upon which his gaze was fixed. A
     face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the
     whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was
     a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of
     concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushed towards the window,
     but the man was gone. When we returned to my father his head had
     dropped and his pulse had ceased to beat.

     "We searched the garden that night, but found no sign of the
     intruder, save that just under the window a single footmark was
     visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace, we might have
     thought that our imaginations had conjured up that wild, fierce face.
     We soon, however, had another and a more striking proof that there
     were secret agencies at work all round us. The window of my father's
     room was found open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes had been
     rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece of paper, with the
     words 'The sign of the four' scrawled across it. What the phrase
     meant, or who our secret visitor may have been, we never knew. As far
     as we can judge, none of my father's property had been actually
     stolen, though everything had been turned out. My brother and I
     naturally associated this peculiar incident with the fear which
     haunted my father during his life; but it is still a complete mystery
     to us."

     The little man stopped to relight his hookah and puffed thoughtfully
     for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed, listening to his
     extraordinary narrative. At the short account of her father's death
     Miss Morstan had turned deadly white, and for a moment I feared that
     she was about to faint. She rallied however, on drinking a glass of
     water which I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafe upon
     the side-table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair with an
     abstracted expression and the lids drawn low over his glittering
     eyes. As I glanced at him I could not but think how on that very day
     he had complained bitterly of the commonplaceness of life. Here at
     least was a problem which would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr.
     Thaddeus Sholto looked from one to the other of us with an obvious
     pride at the effect which his story had produced, and then continued
     between the puffs of his overgrown pipe.

     "My brother and I," said he, "were, as you may imagine, much excited
     as to the treasure which my father had spoken of. For weeks and for
     months we dug and delved in every part of the garden, without
     discovering its whereabouts. It was maddening to think that the
     hiding-place was on his very lips at the moment that he died. We
     could judge the splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which
     he had taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomew and I had
     some little discussion. The pearls were evidently of great value, and
     he was averse to part with them, for, between friends, my brother was
     himself a little inclined to my father's fault. He thought, too, that
     if we parted with the chaplet it might give rise to gossip and
     finally bring us into trouble. It was all that I could do to persuade
     him to let me find out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detached
     pearl at fixed intervals, so that at least she might never feel
     destitute."

     "It was a kindly thought," said our companion, earnestly. "It was
     extremely good of you."

     The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. "We were your trustees,"
     he said. "That was the view which I took of it, though Brother
     Bartholomew could not altogether see it in that light. We had plenty
     of money ourselves. I desired no more. Besides, it would have been
     such bad taste to have treated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion.
     'Le mauvais goût mène au crime.' The French have a very neat way of
     putting these things. Our difference of opinion on this subject went
     so far that I thought it best to set up rooms for myself: so I left
     Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgar and Williams with me.
     Yesterday, however, I learn that an event of extreme importance has
     occurred. The treasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated
     with Miss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out to Norwood
     and demand our share. I explained my views last night to Brother
     Bartholomew: so we shall be expected, if not welcome, visitors."

     Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on his luxurious
     settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughts upon the new
     development which the mysterious business had taken. Holmes was the
     first to spring to his feet.

     "You have done well, sir, from first to last," said he. "It is
     possible that we may be able to make you some small return by
     throwing some light upon that which is still dark to you. But, as
     Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late, and we had best put the
     matter through without delay."

     Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tube of his
     hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a very long befrogged
     topcoat with Astrakhan collar and cuffs. This he buttoned tightly up,
     in spite of the extreme closeness of the night, and finished his
     attire by putting on a rabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which
     covered the ears, so that no part of him was visible save his mobile
     and peaky face. "My health is somewhat fragile," he remarked, as he
     led the way down the passage. "I am compelled to be a
     valetudinarian."

     Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our programme was evidently
     prearranged, for the driver started off at once at a rapid pace.
     Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voice which rose high above
     the rattle of the wheels.

     "Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "How do you think he found
     out where the treasure was? He had come to the conclusion that it was
     somewhere indoors: so he worked out all the cubic space of the house,
     and made measurements everywhere, so that not one inch should be
     unaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the height of the
     building was seventy-four feet, but on adding together the heights of
     all the separate rooms, and making every allowance for the space
     between, which he ascertained by borings, he could not bring the
     total to more than seventy feet. There were four feet unaccounted
     for. These could only be at the top of the building. He knocked a
     hole, therefore, in the lath-and-plaster ceiling of the highest room,
     and there, sure enough, he came upon another little garret above it,
     which had been sealed up and was known to no one. In the centre stood
     the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters. He lowered it through
     the hole, and there it lies. He computes the value of the jewels at
     not less than half a million sterling."

     At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at one another
     open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure her rights, would change
     from a needy governess to the richest heiress in England. Surely it
     was the place of a loyal friend to rejoice at such news; yet I am
     ashamed to say that selfishness took me by the soul, and that my
     heart turned as heavy as lead within me. I stammered out some few
     halting words of congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my head
     drooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. He was clearly a
     confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamily conscious that he was
     pouring forth interminable trains of symptoms, and imploring
     information as to the composition and action of innumerable quack
     nostrums, some of which he bore about in a leather case in his
     pocket. I trust that he may not remember any of the answers which I
     gave him that night. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution him
     against the great danger of taking more than two drops of castor oil,
     while I recommended strychnine in large doses as a sedative. However
     that may be, I was certainly relieved when our cab pulled up with a
     jerk and the coachman sprang down to open the door.

     "This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," said Mr. Thaddeus Sholto,
     as he handed her out.





          CHAPTER V
          The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge


     It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this final stage of our
     night's adventures. We had left the damp fog of the great city behind
     us, and the night was fairly fine. A warm wind blew from the
     westward, and heavy clouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a
     moon peeping occasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough to
     see for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one of the
     side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better light upon our way.

     Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and was girt round with a
     very high stone wall topped with broken glass. A single narrow
     iron-clamped door formed the only means of entrance. On this our
     guide knocked with a peculiar postman-like rat-tat.

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

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

     There was a grumbling sound and a clanking and jarring of keys. The
     door swung heavily back, and a short, deep-chested man stood in the
     opening, with the yellow light of the lantern shining upon his
     protruded face and twinkling distrustful eyes.

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

     "No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brother last night that I
     should bring some friends.

     "He ain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus, and I have no
     orders. You know very well that I must stick to regulations. I can
     let you in, but your friends must just stop where they are."

     This was an unexpected obstacle. Thaddeus Sholto looked about him in
     a perplexed and helpless manner. "This is too bad of you, McMurdo!"
     he said. "If I guarantee them, that is enough for you. There is the
     young lady, too. She cannot wait on the public road at this hour."

     "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably. "Folk may be
     friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' the master's. He pays me well
     to do my duty, and my duty I'll do. I don't know none o' your
     friends."

     "Oh, yes you do, McMurdo," cried Sherlock Holmes, genially. "I don't
     think you can have forgotten me. Don't you remember the amateur who
     fought three rounds with you at Alison's rooms on the night of your
     benefit four years back?"

     "Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" roared the prize-fighter. "God's truth!
     how could I have mistook you? If instead o' standin' there so quiet
     you had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of yours under
     the jaw, I'd ha' known you without a question. Ah, you're one that
     has wasted your gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you
     had joined the fancy."

     "You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one of the
     scientific professions open to me," said Holmes, laughing. "Our
     friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I am sure."

     "In you come, sir, in you come,--you and your friends," he answered.
     "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders are very strict. Had to be
     certain of your friends before I let them in."

     Inside, a gravel path wound through desolate grounds to a huge clump
     of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged in shadow save where a
     moonbeam struck one corner and glimmered in a garret window. The vast
     size of the building, with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck
     a chill to the heart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and
     the lantern quivered and rattled in his hand.

     "I cannot understand it," he said. "There must be some mistake. I
     distinctly told Bartholomew that we should be here, and yet there is
     no light in his window. I do not know what to make of it."

     "Does he always guard the premises in this way?" asked Holmes.

     "Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was the favorite son,
     you know, and I sometimes think that my father may have told him more
     than he ever told me. That is Bartholomew's window up there where the
     moonshine strikes. It is quite bright, but there is no light from
     within, I think."

     "None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint of a light in that little
     window beside the door."

     "Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where old Mrs. Bernstone
     sits. She can tell us all about it. But perhaps you would not mind
     waiting here for a minute or two, for if we all go in together and
     she has no word of our coming she may be alarmed. But hush! what is
     that?"

     He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until the circles of light
     flickered and wavered all round us. Miss Morstan seized my wrist, and
     we all stood with thumping hearts, straining our ears. From the great
     black house there sounded through the silent night the saddest and
     most pitiful of sounds,--the shrill, broken whimpering of a
     frightened woman.

     "It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She is the only woman in the
     house. Wait here. I shall be back in a moment." He hurried for the
     door, and knocked in his peculiar way. We could see a tall old woman
     admit him, and sway with pleasure at the very sight of him.

     "Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! I am so glad you
     have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!" We heard her reiterated rejoicings
     until the door was closed and her voice died away into a muffled
     monotone.

     Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowly round, and
     peered keenly at the house, and at the great rubbish-heaps which
     cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan and I stood together, and her hand
     was in mine. A wondrous subtle thing is love, for here were we two
     who had never seen each other before that day, between whom no word
     or even look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in an hour of
     trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other. I have
     marvelled at it since, but at the time it seemed the most natural
     thing that I should go out to her so, and, as she has often told me,
     there was in her also the instinct to turn to me for comfort and
     protection. So we stood hand in hand, like two children, and there
     was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us.

     "What a strange place!" she said, looking round.

     "It looks as though all the moles in England had been let loose in
     it. I have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near
     Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work."

     "And from the same cause," said Holmes. "These are the traces of the
     treasure-seekers. You must remember that they were six years looking
     for it. No wonder that the grounds look like a gravel-pit."

     At that moment the door of the house burst open, and Thaddeus Sholto
     came running out, with his hands thrown forward and terror in his
     eyes.

     "There is something amiss with Bartholomew!" he cried. "I am
     frightened! My nerves cannot stand it." He was, indeed, half
     blubbering with fear, and his twitching feeble face peeping out from
     the great Astrakhan collar had the helpless appealing expression of a
     terrified child.

     "Come into the house," said Holmes, in his crisp, firm way.

     "Yes, do!" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. "I really do not feel equal to
     giving directions."

     We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, which stood upon the
     left-hand side of the passage. The old woman was pacing up and down
     with a scared look and restless picking fingers, but the sight of
     Miss Morstan appeared to have a soothing effect upon her.

     "God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with an hysterical sob.
     "It does me good to see you. Oh, but I have been sorely tried this
     day!"

     Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, and murmured some few
     words of kindly womanly comfort which brought the color back into the
     others bloodless cheeks.

     "Master has locked himself in and will now answer me," she explained.
     "All day I have waited to hear from him, for he often likes to be
     alone; but an hour ago I feared that something was amiss, so I went
     up and peeped through the key-hole. You must go up, Mr.
     Thaddeus,--you must go up and look for yourself. I have seen Mr.
     Bartholomew Sholto in joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I
     never saw him with such a face on him as that."

     Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, for Thaddeus Sholto's
     teeth were chattering in his head. So shaken was he that I had to
     pass my hand under his arm as we went up the stairs, for his knees
     were trembling under him. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his
     lens out of his pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared to
     me to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoa-nut matting
     which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowly from step to step,
     holding the lamp, and shooting keen glances to right and left. Miss
     Morstan had remained behind with the frightened housekeeper.

     The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage of some
     length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry upon the right of it
     and three doors upon the left. Holmes advanced along it in the same
     slow and methodical way, while we kept close at his heels, with our
     long black shadows streaming backwards down the corridor. The third
     door was that which we were seeking. Holmes knocked without receiving
     any answer, and then tried to turn the handle and force it open. It
     was locked on the inside, however, and by a broad and powerful bolt,
     as we could see when we set our lamp up against it. The key being
     turned, however, the hole was not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes
     bent down to it, and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of
     the breath.

     "There is something devilish in this, Watson," said he, more moved
     than I had ever before seen him. "What do you make of it?"

     I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlight was
     streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vague and shifty
     radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended, as it were, in the
     air, for all beneath was in shadow, there hung a face,--the very face
     of our companion Thaddeus. There was the same high, shining head, the
     same circular bristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance.
     The features were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed and
     unnatural grin, which in that still and moonlit room was more jarring
     to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. So like was the face to
     that of our little friend that I looked round at him to make sure
     that he was indeed with us. Then I recalled to mind that he had
     mentioned to us that his brother and he were twins.

     "This is terrible!" I said to Holmes. "What is to be done?"

     "The door must come down," he answered, and, springing against it, he
     put all his weight upon the lock. It creaked and groaned, but did not
     yield. Together we flung ourselves upon it once more, and this time
     it gave way with a sudden snap, and we found ourselves within
     Bartholomew Sholto's chamber.

     It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory. A double
     line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawn up upon the wall opposite
     the door, and the table was littered over with Bunsen burners,
     test-tubes, and retorts. In the corners stood carboys of acid in
     wicker baskets. One of these appeared to leak or to have been broken,
     for a stream of dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the
     air was heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A set of
     steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litter of lath
     and plaster, and above them there was an opening in the ceiling large
     enough for a man to pass through. At the foot of the steps a long
     coil of rope was thrown carelessly together.

     By the table, in a wooden arm-chair, the master of the house was
     seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon his left shoulder, and
     that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon his face. He was stiff and cold,
     and had clearly been dead many hours. It seemed to me that not only
     his features but all his limbs were twisted and turned in the most
     fantastic fashion. By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar
     instrument,--a brown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a
     hammer, rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was a torn
     sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it. Holmes glanced
     at it, and then handed it to me.

     "You see," he said, with a significant raising of the eyebrows.

     In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror, "The
     sign of the four."

     "In God's name, what does it all mean?" I asked.

     "It means murder," said he, stooping over the dead man. "Ah, I
     expected it. Look here!" He pointed to what looked like a long, dark
     thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.

     "It looks like a thorn," said I.

     "It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, for it is
     poisoned."

     I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came away from the skin
     so readily that hardly any mark was left behind. One tiny speck of
     blood showed where the puncture had been.

     "This is all an insoluble mystery to me," said I. "It grows darker
     instead of clearer."

     "On the contrary," he answered, "it clears every instant. I only
     require a few missing links to have an entirely connected case."

     We had almost forgotten our companion's presence since we entered the
     chamber. He was still standing in the door-way, the very picture of
     terror, wringing his hands and moaning to himself. Suddenly, however,
     he broke out into a sharp, querulous cry.

     "The treasure is gone!" he said. "They have robbed him of the
     treasure! There is the hole through which we lowered it. I helped him
     to do it! I was the last person who saw him! I left him here last
     night, and I heard him lock the door as I came down-stairs."

     "What time was that?"

     "It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the police will be
     called in, and I shall be suspected of having had a hand in it. Oh,
     yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't think so, gentlemen? Surely you
     don't think that it was I? Is it likely that I would have brought you
     here if it were I? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!"
     He jerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsive
     frenzy.

     "You have no reason for fear, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes, kindly,
     putting his hand upon his shoulder. "Take my advice, and drive down
     to the station to report this matter to the police. Offer to assist
     them in every way. We shall wait here until your return."

     The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and we heard him
     stumbling down the stairs in the dark.





          CHAPTER VI
          Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration


     "Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we have half an hour
     to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. My case is, as I have told
     you, almost complete; but we must not err on the side of
     over-confidence. Simple as the case seems now, there may be something
     deeper underlying it."

     "Simple!" I ejaculated.

     "Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinical professor
     expounding to his class. "Just sit in the corner there, that your
     footprints may not complicate matters. Now to work! In the first
     place, how did these folk come, and how did they go? The door has not
     been opened since last night. How of the window?" He carried the lamp
     across to it, muttering his observations aloud the while, but
     addressing them to himself rather than to me. "Window is snibbed on
     the inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side. Let us
     open it. No water-pipe near. Roof quite out of reach. Yet a man has
     mounted by the window. It rained a little last night. Here is the
     print of a foot in mould upon the sill. And here is a circular muddy
     mark, and here again upon the floor, and here again by the table. See
     here, Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration."

     I looked at the round, well-defined muddy discs. "This is not a
     footmark," said I.

     "It is something much more valuable to us. It is the impression of a
     wooden stump. You see here on the sill is the boot-mark, a heavy boot
     with the broad metal heel, and beside it is the mark of the
     timber-toe."

     "It is the wooden-legged man."

     "Quite so. But there has been some one else,--a very able and
     efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"

     I looked out of the open window. The moon still shone brightly on
     that angle of the house. We were a good sixty feet from the round,
     and, look where I would, I could see no foothold, nor as much as a
     crevice in the brick-work.

     "It is absolutely impossible," I answered.

     "Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend up here who
     lowered you this good stout rope which I see in the corner, securing
     one end of it to this great hook in the wall. Then, I think, if you
     were an active man, you might swarm up, wooden leg and all. You would
     depart, of course, in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up
     the rope, untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on the
     inside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As a minor
     point it may be noted," he continued, fingering the rope, "that our
     wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber, was not a professional
     sailor. His hands were far from horny. My lens discloses more than
     one blood-mark, especially towards the end of the rope, from which I
     gather that he slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin
     off his hand."

     "This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomes more
     unintelligible than ever. How about this mysterious ally? How came he
     into the room?"

     "Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There are features of
     interest about this ally. He lifts the case from the regions of the
     commonplace. I fancy that this ally breaks fresh ground in the annals
     of crime in this country,--though parallel cases suggest themselves
     from India, and, if my memory serves me, from Senegambia."

     "How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked, the window is
     inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"

     "The grate is much too small," he answered. "I had already considered
     that possibility."

     "How then?" I persisted.

     "You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking his head. "How
     often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible
     whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? We know that
     he did not come through the door, the window, or the chimney. We also
     know that he could not have been concealed in the room, as there is
     no concealment possible. Whence, then, did he come?"

     "He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.

     "Of course he did. He must have done so. If you will have the
     kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall now extend our researches
     to the room above,--the secret room in which the treasure was found."

     He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with either hand, he
     swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying on his face, he reached
     down for the lamp and held it while I followed him.

     The chamber in which we found ourselves was about ten feet one way
     and six the other. The floor was formed by the rafters, with thin
     lath-and-plaster between, so that in walking one had to step from
     beam to beam. The roof ran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner
     shell of the true roof of the house. There was no furniture of any
     sort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick upon the floor.

     "Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, putting his hand
     against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door which leads out on to
     the roof. I can press it back, and here is the roof itself, sloping
     at a gentle angle. This, then, is the way by which Number One
     entered. Let us see if we can find one other traces of his
     individuality."

     He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so I saw for the
     second time that night a startled, surprised look come over his face.
     For myself, as I followed his gaze my skin was cold under my clothes.
     The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked
     foot,--clear, well defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the
     size of those of an ordinary man.

     "Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done the horrid thing."

     He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "I was staggered
     for the moment," he said, "but the thing is quite natural. My memory
     failed me, or I should have been able to foretell it. There is
     nothing more to be learned here. Let us go down."

     "What is your theory, then, as to those footmarks?" I asked, eagerly,
     when we had regained the lower room once more.

     "My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," said he, with a
     touch of impatience. "You know my methods. Apply them, and it will be
     instructive to compare results."

     "I cannot conceive anything which will cover the facts," I answered.

     "It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-hand way.
     "I think that there is nothing else of importance here, but I will
     look." He whipped out his lens and a tape measure, and hurried about
     the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long
     thin nose only a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes
     gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, and
     furtive were his movements, like those of a trained blood-hound
     picking out a scent, that I could not but think what a terrible
     criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity
     against the law, instead of exerting them in its defense. As he
     hunted about, he kept muttering to himself, and finally he broke out
     into a loud crow of delight.

     "We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to have very little
     trouble now. Number One has had the misfortune to tread in the
     creosote. You can see the outline of the edge of his small foot here
     at the side of this evil-smelling mess. The carboy has been cracked,
     You see, and the stuff has leaked out."

     "What then?" I asked.

     "Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I know a dog that would
     follow that scent to the world's end. If a pack can track a trailed
     herring across a shire, how far can a specially-trained hound follow
     so pungent a smell as this? It sounds like a sum in the rule of
     three. The answer should give us the--But halloo! here are the
     accredited representatives of the law."

     Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audible from below,
     and the hall door shut with a loud crash.

     "Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your hand here on this
     poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. What do you feel?"

     "The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.

     "Quite so. They are in a state of extreme contraction, far exceeding
     the usual rigor mortis. Coupled with this distortion of the face,
     this Hippocratic smile, or 'risus sardonicus,' as the old writers
     called it, what conclusion would it suggest to your mind?"

     "Death from some powerful vegetable alkaloid," I answered,--"some
     strychnine-like substance which would produce tetanus."

     "That was the idea which occurred to me the instant I saw the drawn
     muscles of the face. On getting into the room I at once looked for
     the means by which the poison had entered the system. As you saw, I
     discovered a thorn which had been driven or shot with no great force
     into the scalp. You observe that the part struck was that which would
     be turned towards the hole in the ceiling if the man were erect in
     his chair. Now examine the thorn."

     I took it up gingerly and held it in the light of the lantern. It was
     long, sharp, and black, with a glazed look near the point as though
     some gummy substance had dried upon it. The blunt end had been
     trimmed and rounded off with a knife.

     "Is that an English thorn?" he asked.

     "No, it certainly is not."

     "With all these data you should be able to draw some just inference.
     But here are the regulars: so the auxiliary forces may beat a
     retreat."

     As he spoke, the steps which had been coming nearer sounded loudly on
     the passage, and a very stout, portly man in a gray suit strode
     heavily into the room. He was red-faced, burly and plethoric, with a
     pair of very small twinkling eyes which looked keenly out from
     between swollen and puffy pouches. He was closely followed by an
     inspector in uniform, and by the still palpitating Thaddeus Sholto.

     "Here's a business!" he cried, in a muffled, husky voice. "Here's a
     pretty business! But who are all these? Why, the house seems to be as
     full as a rabbit-warren!"

     "I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones," said Holmes,
     quietly.

     "Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It's Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the
     theorist. Remember you! I'll never forget how you lectured us all on
     causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It's
     true you set us on the right track; but you'll own now that it was
     more by good luck than good guidance."

     "It was a piece of very simple reasoning."

     "Oh, come, now, come! Never be ashamed to own up. But what is all
     this? Bad business! Bad business! Stern facts here,--no room for
     theories. How lucky that I happened to be out at Norwood over another
     case! I was at the station when the message arrived. What d'you think
     the man died of?"

     "Oh, this is hardly a case for me to theorize over," said Holmes,
     dryly.

     "No, no. Still, we can't deny that you hit the nail on the head
     sometimes. Dear me! Door locked, I understand. Jewels worth half a
     million missing. How was the window?"

     "Fastened; but there are steps on the sill."

     "Well, well, if it was fastened the steps could have nothing to do
     with the matter. That's common sense. Man might have died in a fit;
     but then the jewels are missing. Ha! I have a theory. These flashes
     come upon me at times.--Just step outside, sergeant, and you, Mr.
     Sholto. Your friend can remain.--What do you think of this, Holmes?
     Sholto was, on his own confession, with his brother last night. The
     brother died in a fit, on which Sholto walked off with the treasure.
     How's that?"

     "On which the dead man very considerately got up and locked the door
     on the inside."

     "Hum! There's a flaw there. Let us apply common sense to the matter.
     This Thaddeus Sholto was with his brother; there was a quarrel; so
     much we know. The brother is dead and the jewels are gone. So much
     also we know. No one saw the brother from the time Thaddeus left him.
     His bed had not been slept in. Thaddeus is evidently in a most
     disturbed state of mind. His appearance is--well, not attractive. You
     see that I am weaving my web round Thaddeus. The net begins to close
     upon him."

     "You are not quite in possession of the facts yet," said Holmes.
     "This splinter of wood, which I have every reason to believe to be
     poisoned, was in the man's scalp where you still see the mark; this
     card, inscribed as you see it, was on the table; and beside it lay
     this rather curious stone-headed instrument. How does all that fit
     into your theory?"

     "Confirms it in every respect," said the fat detective, pompously.
     "House is full of Indian curiosities. Thaddeus brought this up, and
     if this splinter be poisonous Thaddeus may as well have made
     murderous use of it as any other man. The card is some
     hocus-pocus,--a blind, as like as not. The only question is, how did
     he depart? Ah, of course, here is a hole in the roof." With great
     activity, considering his bulk, he sprang up the steps and squeezed
     through into the garret, and immediately afterwards we heard his
     exulting voice proclaiming that he had found the trap-door.

     "He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders.
     "He has occasional glimmerings of reason. Il n'y a pas des sots si
     incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit!"

     "You see!" said Athelney Jones, reappearing down the steps again.
     "Facts are better than mere theories, after all. My view of the case
     is confirmed. There is a trap-door communicating with the roof, and
     it is partly open."

     "It was I who opened it."

     "Oh, indeed! You did notice it, then?" He seemed a little crestfallen
     at the discovery. "Well, whoever noticed it, it shows how our
     gentleman got away. Inspector!"

     "Yes, sir," from the passage.

     "Ask Mr. Sholto to step this way.--Mr. Sholto, it is my duty to
     inform you that anything which you may say will be used against you.
     I arrest you in the queen's name as being concerned in the death of
     your brother."

     "There, now! Didn't I tell you!" cried the poor little man, throwing
     out his hands, and looking from one to the other of us.

     "Don't trouble yourself about it, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes. "I think
     that I can engage to clear you of the charge."

     "Don't promise too much, Mr. Theorist,--don't promise too much!"
     snapped the detective. "You may find it a harder matter than you
     think."

     "Not only will I clear him, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a free
     present of the name and description of one of the two people who were
     in this room last night. His name, I have every reason to believe, is
     Jonathan Small. He is a poorly-educated man, small, active, with his
     right leg off, and wearing a wooden stump which is worn away upon the
     inner side. His left boot has a coarse, square-toed sole, with an
     iron band round the heel. He is a middle-aged man, much sunburned,
     and has been a convict. These few indications may be of some
     assistance to you, coupled with the fact that there is a good deal of
     skin missing from the palm of his hand. The other man--"

     "Ah! the other man--?" asked Athelney Jones, in a sneering voice, but
     impressed none the less, as I could easily see, by the precision of
     the other's manner.

     "Is a rather curious person," said Sherlock Holmes, turning upon his
     heel. "I hope before very long to be able to introduce you to the
     pair of them. A word with you, Watson."

     He led me out to the head of the stair. "This unexpected occurrence,"
     he said, "has caused us rather to lose sight of the original purpose
     of our journey."

     "I have just been thinking so," I answered. "It is not right that
     Miss Morstan should remain in this stricken house."

     "No. You must escort her home. She lives with Mrs. Cecil Forrester,
     in Lower Camberwell: so it is not very far. I will wait for you here
     if you will drive out again. Or perhaps you are too tired?"

     "By no means. I don't think I could rest until I know more of this
     fantastic business. I have seen something of the rough side of life,
     but I give you my word that this quick succession of strange
     surprises to-night has shaken my nerve completely. I should like,
     however, to see the matter through with you, now that I have got so
     far."

     "Your presence will be of great service to me," he answered. "We
     shall work the case out independently, and leave this fellow Jones to
     exult over any mare's-nest which he may choose to construct. When you
     have dropped Miss Morstan I wish you to go on to No. 3 Pinchin Lane,
     down near the water's edge at Lambeth. The third house on the
     right-hand side is a bird-stuffer's: Sherman is the name. You will
     see a weasel holding a young rabbit in the window. Knock old Sherman
     up, and tell him, with my compliments, that I want Toby at once. You
     will bring Toby back in the cab with you."

     "A dog, I suppose."

     "Yes,--a queer mongrel, with a most amazing power of scent. I would
     rather have Toby's help than that of the whole detective force of
     London."

     "I shall bring him, then," said I. "It is one now. I ought to be back
     before three, if I can get a fresh horse."

     "And I," said Holmes, "shall see what I can learn from Mrs.
     Bernstone, and from the Indian servant, who, Mr. Thaddeus tell me,
     sleeps in the next garret. Then I shall study the great Jones's
     methods and listen to his not too delicate sarcasms. 'Wir sind
     gewohnt, daß die Menschen verhöhnen was sie nicht verstehen.' Goethe
     is always pithy."





          CHAPTER VII
          The Episode of the Barrel


     The police had brought a cab with them, and in this I escorted Miss
     Morstan back to her home. After the angelic fashion of women, she had
     borne trouble with a calm face as long as there was some one weaker
     than herself to support, and I had found her bright and placid by the
     side of the frightened housekeeper. In the cab, however, she first
     turned faint, and then burst into a passion of weeping,--so sorely
     had she been tried by the adventures of the night. She has told me
     since that she thought me cold and distant upon that journey. She
     little guessed the struggle within my breast, or the effort of
     self-restraint which held me back. My sympathies and my love went out
     to her, even as my hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the
     conventionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave
     nature as had this one day of strange experiences. Yet there were two
     thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was
     weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a
     disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worse still,
     she was rich. If Holmes's researches were successful, she would be an
     heiress. Was it fair, was it honorable, that a half-pay surgeon
     should take such advantage of an intimacy which chance had brought
     about? Might she not look upon me as a mere vulgar fortune-seeker? I
     could not bear to risk that such a thought should cross her mind.
     This Agra treasure intervened like an impassable barrier between us.

     It was nearly two o'clock when we reached Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The
     servants had retired hours ago, but Mrs. Forrester had been so
     interested by the strange message which Miss Morstan had received
     that she had sat up in the hope of her return. She opened the door
     herself, a middle-aged, graceful woman, and it gave me joy to see how
     tenderly her arm stole round the other's waist and how motherly was
     the voice in which she greeted her. She was clearly no mere paid
     dependant, but an honored friend. I was introduced, and Mrs.
     Forrester earnestly begged me to step in and tell her our adventures.
     I explained, however, the importance of my errand, and promised
     faithfully to call and report any progress which we might make with
     the case. As we drove away I stole a glance back, and I still seem to
     see that little group on the step, the two graceful, clinging
     figures, the half-opened door, the hall light shining through stained
     glass, the barometer, and the bright stair-rods. It was soothing to
     catch even that passing glimpse of a tranquil English home in the
     midst of the wild, dark business which had absorbed us.

     And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it
     grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I
     rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original
     problem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain
     Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the
     letter,--we had had light upon all those events. They had only led
     us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian
     treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange
     scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery of the treasure
     immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the very
     singular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable
     weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those upon
     Captain Morstan's chart,--here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man
     less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of
     ever finding the clue.

     Pinchin Lane was a row of shabby two-storied brick houses in the
     lower quarter of Lambeth. I had to knock for some time at No. 3
     before I could make my impression. At last, however, there was the
     glint of a candle behind the blind, and a face looked out at the
     upper window.

     "Go on, you drunken vagabone," said the face. "If you kick up any
     more row I'll open the kennels and let out forty-three dogs upon
     you."

     "If you'll let one out it's just what I have come for," said I.

     "Go on!" yelled the voice. "So help me gracious, I have a wiper in
     the bag, an' I'll drop it on your 'ead if you don't hook it."

     "But I want a dog," I cried.

     "I won't be argued with!" shouted Mr. Sherman. "Now stand clear, for
     when I say 'three,' down goes the wiper."

     "Mr. Sherlock Holmes--" I began, but the words had a most magical
     effect, for the window instantly slammed down, and within a minute
     the door was unbarred and open. Mr. Sherman was a lanky, lean old
     man, with stooping shoulders, a stringy neck, and blue-tinted
     glasses.

     "A friend of Mr. Sherlock is always welcome," said he.  "Step in,
     sir. Keep clear of the badger; for he bites. Ah, naughty, naughty,
     would you take a nip at the gentleman?" This to a stoat which thrust
     its wicked head and red eyes between the bars of its cage. "Don't
     mind that, sir: it's only a slow-worm. It hain't got no fangs, so I
     gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps the bettles down. You must
     not mind my bein' just a little short wi' you at first, for I'm guyed
     at by the children, and there's many a one just comes down this lane
     to knock me up. What was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"

     "He wanted a dog of yours."

     "Ah! that would be Toby."

     "Yes, Toby was the name."

     "Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here." He moved slowly forward with
     his candle among the queer animal family which he had gathered round
     him. In the uncertain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there
     were glancing, glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny
     and corner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn
     fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other as
     our voices disturbed their slumbers.

     Toby proved to an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel
     and half lurcher, brown-and-white in color, with a very clumsy
     waddling gait. It accepted after some hesitation a lump of sugar
     which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having thus sealed an
     alliance, it followed me to the cab, and made no difficulties about
     accompanying me. It had just struck three on the Palace clock when I
     found myself back once more at Pondicherry Lodge. The
     ex-prize-fighter McMurdo had, I found, been arrested as an accessory,
     and both he and Mr. Sholto had been marched off to the station. Two
     constables guarded the narrow gate, but they allowed me to pass with
     the dog on my mentioning the detective's name.

     Holmes was standing on the door-step, with his hands in his pockets,
     smoking his pipe.

     "Ah, you have him there!" said he. "Good dog, then! Athelney Jones
     has gone. We have had an immense display of energy since you left. He
     has arrested not only friend Thaddeus, but the gatekeeper, the
     housekeeper, and the Indian servant. We have the place to ourselves,
     but for a sergeant up-stairs. Leave the dog here, and come up."

     We tied Toby to the hall table, and reascended the stairs. The room
     was as he had left it, save that a sheet had been draped over the
     central figure. A weary-looking police-sergeant reclined in the
     corner.

     "Lend me your bull's-eye, sergeant," said my companion. "Now tie this
     bit of card round my neck, so as to hang it in front of me. Thank
     you. Now I must kick off my boots and stockings.--Just you carry them
     down with you, Watson. I am going to do a little climbing. And dip my
     handkerchief into the creasote. That will do. Now come up into the
     garret with me for a moment."

     We clambered up through the hole. Holmes turned his light once more
     upon the footsteps in the dust.

     "I wish you particularly to notice these footmarks," he said. "Do you
     observe anything noteworthy about them?"

     "They belong," I said, "to a child or a small woman."

     "Apart from their size, though. Is there nothing else?"

     "They appear to be much as other footmarks."

     "Not at all. Look here! This is the print of a right foot in the
     dust. Now I make one with my naked foot beside it. What is the chief
     difference?"

     "Your toes are all cramped together. The other print has each toe
     distinctly divided."

     "Quite so. That is the point. Bear that in mind. Now, would you
     kindly step over to that flap-window and smell the edge of the
     wood-work? I shall stay here, as I have this handkerchief in my
     hand."

     I did as he directed, and was instantly conscious of a strong tarry
     smell.

     "That is where he put his foot in getting out. If you can trace him,
     I should think that Toby will have no difficulty. Now run
     down-stairs, loose the dog, and look out for Blondin."

     By the time that I got out into the grounds Sherlock Holmes was on
     the roof, and I could see him like an enormous glow-worm crawling
     very slowly along the ridge. I lost sight of him behind a stack of
     chimneys, but he presently reappeared, and then vanished once more
     upon the opposite side. When I made my way round there I found him
     seated at one of the corner eaves.

     "That You, Watson?" he cried.

     "Yes."

     "This is the place. What is that black thing down there?"

     "A water-barrel."

     "Top on it?"

     "Yes."

     "No sign of a ladder?"

     "No."

     "Confound the fellow! It's a most break-neck place. I ought to be
     able to come down where he could climb up. The water-pipe feels
     pretty firm. Here goes, anyhow."

     There was a scuffling of feet, and the lantern began to come steadily
     down the side of the wall. Then with a light spring he came on to the
     barrel, and from there to the earth.

     "It was easy to follow him," he said, drawing on his stockings and
     boots. "Tiles were loosened the whole way along, and in his hurry he
     had dropped this. It confirms my diagnosis, as you doctors express
     it."

     The object which he held up to me was a small pocket or pouch woven
     out of colored grasses and with a few tawdry beads strung round it.
     In shape and size it was not unlike a cigarette-case. Inside were
     half a dozen spines of dark wood, sharp at one end and rounded at the
     other, like that which had struck Bartholomew Sholto.

     "They are hellish things," said he. "Look out that you don't prick
     yourself. I'm delighted to have them, for the chances are that they
     are all he has. There is the less fear of you or me finding one in
     our skin before long. I would sooner face a Martini bullet, myself.
     Are you game for a six-mile trudge, Watson?"

     "Certainly," I answered.

     "Your leg will stand it?"

     "Oh, yes."

     "Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell it!" He
     pushed the creasote handkerchief under the dog's nose, while the
     creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a most
     comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the bouquet of
     a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handkerchief to a distance,
     fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar, and let him to the
     foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly broke into a
     succession of high, tremulous yelps, and, with his nose on the
     ground, and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the trail at a
     pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of our speed.

     The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see some
     distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house, with its
     black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up, sad and
     forlorn, behind us. Our course let right across the grounds, in and
     out among the trenches and pits with which they were scarred and
     intersected. The whole place, with its scattered dirt-heaps and
     ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look which harmonized
     with the black tragedy which hung over it.

     On reaching the boundary wall Toby ran along, whining eagerly,
     underneath its shadow, and stopped finally in a corner screened by a
     young beech. Where the two walls joined, several bricks had been
     loosened, and the crevices left were worn down and rounded upon the
     lower side, as though they had frequently been used as a ladder.
     Holmes clambered up, and, taking the dog from me, he dropped it over
     upon the other side.

     "There's the print of wooden-leg's hand," he remarked, as I mounted
     up beside him. "You see the slight smudge of blood upon the white
     plaster. What a lucky thing it is that we have had no very heavy rain
     since yesterday! The scent will lie upon the road in spite of their
     eight-and-twenty hours' start."

     I confess that I had my doubts myself when I reflected upon the great
     traffic which had passed along the London road in the interval. My
     fears were soon appeased, however. Toby never hesitated or swerved,
     but waddled on in his peculiar rolling fashion. Clearly, the pungent
     smell of the creasote rose high above all other contending scents.

     "Do not imagine," said Holmes, "that I depend for my success in this
     case upon the mere chance of one of these fellows having put his foot
     in the chemical. I have knowledge now which would enable me to trace
     them in many different ways. This, however, is the readiest and,
     since fortune has put it into our hands, I should be culpable if I
     neglected it. It has, however, prevented the case from becoming the
     pretty little intellectual problem which it at one time promised to
     be. There might have been some credit to be gained out of it, but for
     this too palpable clue."

     "There is credit, and to spare," said I. "I assure you, Holmes, that
     I marvel at the means by which you obtain your results in this case,
     even more than I did in the Jefferson Hope Murder. The thing seems to
     me to be deeper and more inexplicable. How, for example, could you
     describe with such confidence the wooden-legged man?"

     "Pshaw, my dear boy! it was simplicity itself. I don't wish to be
     theatrical. It is all patent and above-board. Two officers who are in
     command of a convict-guard learn an important secret as to buried
     treasure. A map is drawn for them by an Englishman named Jonathan
     Small. You remember that we saw the name upon the chart in Captain
     Morstan's possession. He had signed it in behalf of himself and his
     associates,--the sign of the four, as he somewhat dramatically called
     it. Aided by this chart, the officers--or one of them--gets the
     treasure and brings it to England, leaving, we will suppose, some
     condition under which he received it unfulfilled. Now, then, why did
     not Jonathan Small get the treasure himself? The answer is obvious.
     The chart is dated at a time when Morstan was brought into close
     association with convicts. Jonathan Small did not get the treasure
     because he and his associates were themselves convicts and could not
     get away."

     "But that is mere speculation," said I.

     "It is more than that. It is the only hypothesis which covers the
     facts. Let us see how it fits in with the sequel. Major Sholto
     remains at peace for some years, happy in the possession of his
     treasure. Then he receives a letter from India which gives him a
     great fright. What was that?"

     "A letter to say that the men whom he had wronged had been set free."

     "Or had escaped. That is much more likely, for he would have known
     what their term of imprisonment was. It would not have been a
     surprise to him. What does he do then? He guards himself against a
     wooden-legged man,--a white man, mark you, for he mistakes a white
     tradesman for him, and actually fires a pistol at him. Now, only one
     white man's name is on the chart. The others are Hindoos or
     Mohammedans. There is no other white man. Therefore we may say with
     confidence that the wooden-legged man is identical with Jonathan
     Small. Does the reasoning strike yo as being faulty?"

     "No: it is clear and concise."

     "Well, now, let us put ourselves in the place of Jonathan Small. Let
     us look at it from his point of view. He comes to England with the
     double idea of regaining what he would consider to be his rights and
     of having his revenge upon the man who had wronged him. He found out
     where Sholto lived, and very possibly he established communications
     with some one inside the house. There is this butler, Lal Rao, whom
     we have not seen. Mrs. Bernstone gives him far from a good character.
     Small could not find out, however, where the treasure was hid, for no
     one ever knew, save the major and one faithful servant who had died.
     Suddenly Small learns that the major is on his death-bed. In a frenzy
     lest the secret of the treasure die with him, he runs the gauntlet of
     the guards, makes his way to the dying man's window, and is only
     deterred from entering by the presence of his two sons. Mad with
     hate, however, against the dead man, he enters the room that night,
     searches his private papers in the hope of discovering some
     memorandum relating to the treasure, and finally leaves a momento of
     his visit in the short inscription upon the card. He had doubtless
     planned beforehand that should he slay the major he would leave some
     such record upon the body as a sign that it was not a common murder,
     but, from the point of view of the four associates, something in the
     nature of an act of justice. Whimsical and bizarre conceits of this
     kind are common enough in the annals of crime, and usually afford
     valuable indications as to the criminal. Do you follow all this?"

     "Very clearly."

     "Now, what could Jonathan Small do? He could only continue to keep a
     secret watch upon the efforts made to find the treasure. Possibly he
     leaves England and only comes back at intervals. Then comes the
     discovery of the garret, and he is instantly informed of it. We again
     trace the presence of some confederate in the household. Jonathan,
     with his wooden leg, is utterly unable to reach the lofty room of
     Bartholomew Sholto. He takes with him, however, a rather curious
     associate, who gets over this difficulty, but dips his naked foot
     into creasote, whence come Toby, and a six-mile limp for a half-pay
     officer with a damaged tendo Achillis."

     "But it was the associate, and not Jonathan, who committed the
     crime."

     "Quite so. And rather to Jonathan's disgust, to judge by the way the
     stamped about when he got into the room. He bore no grudge against
     Bartholomew Sholto, and would have preferred if he could have been
     simply bound and gagged. He did not wish to put his head in a halter.
     There was no help for it, however: the savage instincts of his
     companion had broken out, and the poison had done its work: so
     Jonathan Small left his record, lowered the treasure-box to the
     ground, and followed it himself. That was the train of events as far
     as I can decipher them. Of course as to his personal appearance he
     must be middle-aged, and must be sunburned after serving his time in
     such an oven as the Andamans. His height is readily calculated from
     the length of his stride, and we know that he was bearded. His
     hairiness was the one point which impressed itself upon Thaddeus
     Sholto when he saw him at the window. I don't know that there is
     anything else."

     "The associate?"

     "Ah, well, there is no great mystery in that. But you will know all
     about it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is! See how that one
     little cloud floats like a pink feather from some gigantic flamingo.
     Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank.
     It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a
     stranger errand than you and I. How small we feel with our petty
     ambitions and strivings in the presence of the great elemental forces
     of nature! Are you well up in your Jean Paul?"

     "Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle."

     "That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makes one
     curious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof of man's real
     greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. It argues, you
     see, a power of comparison and of appreciation which is in itself a
     proof of nobility. There is much food for thought in Richter. You
     have not a pistol, have you?"

     "I have my stick."

     "It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if we get
     to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you, but if the other turns
     nasty I shall shoot him dead." He took out his revolver as he spoke,
     and, having loaded two of the chambers, he put it back into the
     right-hand pocket of his jacket.

     We had during this time been following the guidance of Toby down the
     half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis. Now,
     however, we were beginning to come among continuous streets, where
     laborers and dockmen were already astir, and slatternly women were
     taking down shutters and brushing door-steps. At the square-topped
     corner public houses business was just beginning, and rough-looking
     men were emerging, rubbing their sleeves across their beards after
     their morning wet. Strange dogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly
     at us as we passed, but our inimitable Toby looked neither to the
     right nor to the left, but trotted onwards with his nose to the
     ground and an occasional eager whine which spoke of a hot scent.

     We had traversed Streatham, Brixton, Camberwell, and now found
     ourselves in Kennington Lane, having borne away through the
     side-streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom we pursued seemed
     to have taken a curiously zigzag road, with the idea probably of
     escaping observation. They had never kept to the main road if a
     parallel side-street would serve their turn. At the foot of
     Kennington Lane they had edged away to the left through Bond Street
     and Miles Street. Where the latter street turns into Knight's Place,
     Toby ceased to advance, but began to run backwards and forwards with
     one ear cocked and the other drooping, the very picture of canine
     indecision. Then he waddled round in circles, looking up to us from
     time to time, as if to ask for sympathy in his embarrassment.

     "What the deuce is the matter with the dog?" growled Holmes. "They
     surely would not take a cab, or go off in a balloon."

     "Perhaps they stood here for some time," I suggested.

     "Ah! it's all right. He's off again," said my companion, in a tone of
     relief.

     He was indeed off, for after sniffing round again he suddenly made up
     his mind, and darted away with an energy and determination such as he
     had not yet shown. The scent appeared to be much hotter than before,
     for he had not even to put his nose on the ground, but tugged at his
     leash and tried to break into a run. I cold see by the gleam in
     Holmes's eyes that he thought we were nearing the end of our journey.

     Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderick and
     Nelson's large timber-yard, just past the White Eagle tavern. Here
     the dog, frantic with excitement, turned down through the side-gate
     into the enclosure, where the sawyers were already at work. On the
     dog raced through sawdust and shavings, down an alley, round a
     passage, between two wood-piles, and finally, with a triumphant yelp,
     sprang upon a large barrel which still stood upon the hand-trolley on
     which it had been brought. With lolling tongue and blinking eyes,
     Toby stood upon the cask, looking from one to the other of us for
     some sign of appreciation. The staves of the barrel and the wheels of
     the trolley were smeared with a dark liquid, and the whole air was
     heavy with the smell of creasote.

     Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other, and then burst
     simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.





          CHAPTER VIII
          The Baker Street Irregulars


     "What now?" I asked. "Toby has lost his character for infallibility."

     "He acted according to his lights," said Holmes, lifting him down
     from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. "If you
     consider how much creasote is carted about London in one day, it is
     no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed. It is much
     used now, especially for the seasoning of wood. Poor Toby is not to
     blame."

     "We must get on the main scent again, I suppose."

     "Yes. And, fortunately, we have no distance to go. Evidently what
     puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight's Place was that there were
     two different trails running in opposite directions. We took the
     wrong one. It only remains to follow the other."

     There was no difficulty about this. On leading Toby to the place
     where he had committed his fault, he cast about in a wide circle and
     finally dashed off in a fresh direction.

     "We must take care that he does not now bring us to the place where
     the creasote-barrel came from," I observed.

     "I had thought of that. But you notice that he keeps on the pavement,
     whereas the barrel passed down the roadway. No, we are on the true
     scent now."

     It tended down towards the river-side, running through Belmont Place
     and Prince's Street. At the end of Broad Street it ran right down to
     the water's edge, where there was a small wooden wharf. Toby led us
     to the very edge of this, and there stood whining, looking out on the
     dark current beyond.

     "We are out of luck," said Holmes. "They have taken to a boat here."
     Several small punts and skiffs were lying about in the water and on
     the edge of the wharf. We took Toby round to each in turn, but,
     though he sniffed earnestly, he made no sign.

     Close to the rude landing-stage was a small brick house, with a
     wooden placard slung out through the second window. "Mordecai Smith"
     was printed across it in large letters, and, underneath, "Boats to
     hire by the hour or day." A second inscription above the door
     informed us that a steam launch was kept,--a statement which was
     confirmed by a great pile of coke upon the jetty. Sherlock Holmes
     looked slowly round, and his face assumed an ominous expression.

     "This looks bad," said he. "These fellows are sharper than I
     expected. They seem to have covered their tracks. There has, I fear,
     been preconcerted management here."

     He was approaching the door of the house, when it opened, and a
     little, curly-headed lad of six came running out, followed by a
     stoutish, red-faced woman with a large sponge in her hand.

     "You come back and be washed, Jack," she shouted. "Come back, you
     young imp; for if your father comes home and finds you like that,
     he'll let us hear of it."

     "Dear little chap!" said Holmes, strategically. "What a rosy-cheeked
     young rascal! Now, Jack, is there anything you would like?"

     The youth pondered for a moment. "I'd like a shillin'," said he.

     "Nothing you would like better?"

     "I'd like two shillin' better," the prodigy answered, after some
     thought.

     "Here you are, then! Catch!--A fine child, Mrs. Smith!"

     "Lor' bless you, sir, he is that, and forward. He gets a'most too
     much for me to manage, 'specially when my man is away days at a
     time."

     "Away, is he?" said Holmes, in a disappointed voice. "I am sorry for
     that, for I wanted to speak to Mr. Smith."

     "He's been away since yesterday mornin', sir, and, truth to tell, I
     am beginnin' to feel frightened about him. But if it was about a
     boat, sir, maybe I could serve as well."

     "I wanted to hire his steam launch."

     "Why, bless you, sir, it is in the steam launch that he has gone.
     That's what puzzles me; for I know there ain't more coals in her than
     would take her to about Woolwich and back. If he'd been away in the
     barge I'd ha' thought nothin'; for many a time a job has taken him as
     far as Gravesend, and then if there was much doin' there he might ha'
     stayed over. But what good is a steam launch without coals?"

     "He might have bought some at a wharf down the river."

     "He might, sir, but it weren't his way. Many a time I've heard him
     call out at the prices they charge for a few odd bags. Besides, I
     don't like that wooden-legged man, wi' his ugly face and outlandish
     talk. What did he want always knockin' about here for?"

     "A wooden-legged man?" said Holmes, with bland surprise.

     "Yes, sir, a brown, monkey-faced chap that's called more'n once for
     my old man. It was him that roused him up yesternight, and, what's
     more, my man knew he was comin', for he had steam up in the launch. I
     tell you straight, sir, I don't feel easy in my mind about it."

     "But, my dear Mrs. Smith," said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, "You
     are frightening yourself about nothing. How could you possibly tell
     that it was the wooden-legged man who came in the night? I don't
     quite understand how you can be so sure."

     "His voice, sir. I knew his voice, which is kind o' thick and foggy.
     He tapped at the winder,--about three it would be. 'Show a leg,
     matey,' says he: 'time to turn out guard.' My old man woke up
     Jim,--that's my eldest,--and away they went, without so much as a
     word to me. I could hear the wooden leg clackin' on the stones."

     "And was this wooden-legged man alone?"

     "Couldn't say, I am sure, sir. I didn't hear no one else."

     "I am sorry, Mrs. Smith, for I wanted a steam launch, and I have
     heard good reports of the--Let me see, what is her name?"

     "The Aurora, sir."

     "Ah! She's not that old green launch with a yellow line, very broad
     in the beam?"

     "No, indeed. She's as trim a little thing as any on the river. She's
     been fresh painted, black with two red streaks."

     "Thanks. I hope that you will hear soon from Mr. Smith. I am going
     down the river; and if I should see anything of the Aurora I shall
     let him know that you are uneasy. A black funnel, you say?"

     "No, sir. Black with a white band."

     "Ah, of course. It was the sides which were black. Good-morning, Mrs.
     Smith.--There is a boatman here with a wherry, Watson. We shall take
     it and cross the river.

     "The main thing with people of that sort," said Holmes, as we sat in
     the sheets of the wherry, "is never to let them think that their
     information can be of the slightest importance to you. If you do,
     they will instantly shut up like an oyster. If you listen to them
     under protest, as it were, you are very likely to get what you want."

     "Our course now seems pretty clear," said I.

     "What would you do, then?"

     "I would engage a launch and go down the river on the track of the
     Aurora."

     "My dear fellow, it would be a colossal task. She may have touched at
     any wharf on either side of the stream between here and Greenwich.
     Below the bridge there is a perfect labyrinth of landing-places for
     miles. It would take you days and days to exhaust them, if you set
     about it alone."

     "Employ the police, then."

     "No. I shall probably call Athelney Jones in at the last moment. He
     is not a bad fellow, and I should not like to do anything which would
     injure him professionally. But I have a fancy for working it out
     myself, now that we have gone so far."

     "Could we advertise, then, asking for information from wharfingers?"

     "Worse and worse! Our men would know that the chase was hot at their
     heels, and they would be off out of the country. As it is, they are
     likely enough to leave, but as long as they think they are perfectly
     safe they will be in no hurry. Jones's energy will be of use to us
     there, for his view of the case is sure to push itself into the daily
     press, and the runaways will think that every one is off on the wrong
     scent."

     "What are we to do, then?" I asked, as we landed near Millbank
     Penitentiary.

     "Take this hansom, drive home, have some breakfast, and get an hour's
     sleep. It is quite on the cards that we may be afoot to-night again.
     Stop at a telegraph-office, cabby! We will keep Toby, for he may be
     of use to us yet."

     We pulled up at the Great Peter Street post-office, and Holmes
     despatched his wire. "Whom do you think that is to?" he asked, as we
     resumed our journey.

     "I am sure I don't know."

     "You remember the Baker Street division of the detective police force
     whom I employed in the Jefferson Hope case?"

     "Well," said I, laughing.

     "This is just the case where they might be invaluable. If they fail,
     I have other resources; but I shall try them first. That wire was to
     my dirty little lieutenant, Wiggins, and I expect that he and his
     gang will be with us before we have finished our breakfast."

     It was between eight and nine o'clock now, and I was conscious of a
     strong reaction after the successive excitements of the night. I was
     limp and weary, befogged in mind and fatigued in body. I had not the
     professional enthusiasm which carried my companion on, nor could I
     look at the matter as a mere abstract intellectual problem. As far as
     the death of Bartholomew Sholto went, I had heard little good of him,
     and could feel no intense antipathy to his murderers. The treasure,
     however, was a different matter. That, or part of it, belonged
     rightfully to Miss Morstan. While there was a chance of recovering it
     I was ready to devote my life to the one object. True, if I found it
     it would probably put her forever beyond my reach. Yet it would be a
     petty and selfish love which would be influenced by such a thought as
     that. If Holmes could work to find the criminals, I had a tenfold
     stronger reason to urge me on to find the treasure.

     A bath at Baker Street and a complete change freshened me up
     wonderfully. When I came down to our room I found the breakfast laid
     and Holmes pouring out the coffee.

     "Here it is," said he, laughing, and pointing to an open newspaper.
     "The energetic Jones and the ubiquitous reporter have fixed it up
     between them. But you have had enough of the case. Better have your
     ham and eggs first."

     I took the paper from him and read the short notice, which was headed
     "Mysterious Business at Upper Norwood."

     "About twelve o'clock last night," said the Standard, "Mr.
     Bartholomew Sholto, of Pondicherry Lodge, Upper Norwood, was found
     dead in his room under circumstances which point to foul play. As far
     as we can learn, no actual traces of violence were found upon Mr.
     Sholto's person, but a valuable collection of Indian gems which the
     deceased gentleman had inherited from his father has been carried
     off. The discovery was first made by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr.
     Watson, who had called at the house with Mr. Thaddeus Sholto, brother
     of the deceased. By a singular piece of good fortune, Mr. Athelney
     Jones, the well-known member of the detective police force, happened
     to be at the Norwood Police Station, and was on the ground within
     half an hour of the first alarm. His trained and experienced
     faculties were at once directed towards the detection of the
     criminals, with the gratifying result that the brother, Thaddeus
     Sholto, has already been arrested, together with the housekeeper,
     Mrs. Bernstone, an Indian butler named Lal Rao, and a porter, or
     gatekeeper, named McMurdo. It is quite certain that the thief or
     thieves were well acquainted with the house, for Mr. Jones's
     well-known technical knowledge and his powers of minute observation
     have enabled him to prove conclusively that the miscreants could not
     have entered by the door or by the window, but must have made their
     way across the roof of the building, and so through a trap-door into
     a room which communicated with that in which the body was found. This
     fact, which has been very clearly made out, proves conclusively that
     it was no mere haphazard burglary. The prompt and energetic action of
     the officers of the law shows the great advantage of the presence on
     such occasions of a single vigorous and masterful mind. We cannot but
     think that it supplies an argument to those who would wish to see our
     detectives more decentralized, and so brought into closer and more
     effective touch with the cases which it is their duty to
     investigate."

     "Isn't it gorgeous!" said Holmes, grinning over his coffee-cup. "What
     do you think of it?"

     "I think that we have had a close shave ourselves of being arrested
     for the crime."

     "So do I. I wouldn't answer for our safety now, if he should happen
     to have another of his attacks of energy."

     At this moment there was a loud ring at the bell, and I could hear
     Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, raising her voice in a wail of
     expostulation and dismay.

     "By heaven, Holmes," I said, half rising, "I believe that they are
     really after us."

     "No, it's not quite so bad as that. It is the unofficial force,--the
     Baker Street irregulars."

     As he spoke, there came a swift pattering of naked feet upon the
     stairs, a clatter of high voices, and in rushed a dozen dirty and
     ragged little street-Arabs. There was some show of discipline among
     them, despite their tumultuous entry, for they instantly drew up in
     line and stood facing us with expectant faces. One of their number,
     taller and older than the others, stood forward with an air of
     lounding superiority which was very funny in such a disreputable
     little carecrow.

     "Got your message, sir," said he, "and brought 'em on sharp. Three
     bob and a tanner for tickets."

     "Here you are," said Holmes, producing some silver. "In future they
     can report to you, Wiggins, and you to me. I cannot have the house
     invaded in this way. However, it is just as well that you should all
     hear the instructions. I want to find the whereabouts of a steam
     launch called the Aurora, owner Mordecai Smith, black with two red
     streaks, funnel black with a white band. She is down the river
     somewhere. I want one boy to be at Mordecai Smith's landing-stage
     opposite Millbank to say if the boat comes back. You must divide it
     out among yourselves, and do both banks thoroughly. Let me know the
     moment you have news. Is that all clear?"

     "Yes, guv'nor," said Wiggins.

     "The old scale of pay, and a guinea to the boy who finds the boat.
     Here's a day in advance. Now off you go!" He handed them a shilling
     each, and away they buzzed down the stairs, and I saw them a moment
     later streaming down the street.

     "If the launch is above water they will find her," said Holmes, as he
     rose from the table and lit his pipe. "They can go everywhere, see
     everything, overhear every one. I expect to hear before evening that
     they have spotted her. In the mean while, we can do nothing but await
     results. We cannot pick up the broken trail until we find either the
     Aurora or Mr. Mordecai Smith."

     "Toby could eat these scraps, I dare say. Are you going to bed,
     Holmes?"

     "No: I am not tired. I have a curious constitution. I never remember
     feeling tired by work, though idleness exhausts me completely. I am
     going to smoke and to think over this queer business to which my fair
     client has introduced us. If ever man had an easy task, this of ours
     ought to be. Wooden-legged men are not so common, but the other man
     must, I should think, be absolutely unique."

     "That other man again!"

     "I have no wish to make a mystery of him,--to you, anyway. But you
     must have formed your own opinion. Now, do consider the data.
     Diminutive footmarks, toes never fettered by boots, naked feet,
     stone-headed wooden mace, great agility, small poisoned darts. What
     do you make of all this?"

     "A savage!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps one of those Indians who were the
     associates of Jonathan Small."

     "Hardly that," said he. "When first I saw signs of strange weapons I
     was inclined to think so; but the remarkable character of the
     footmarks caused me to reconsider my views. Some of the inhabitants
     of the Indian Peninsula are small men, but none could have left such
     marks as that. The Hindoo proper has long and thin feet. The
     sandal-wearing Mohammedan has the great toe well separated from the
     others, because the thong is commonly passed between. These little
     darts, too, could only be shot in one way. They are from a blow-pipe.
     Now, then, where are we to find our savage?"

     "South American," I hazarded.

     He stretched his hand up, and took down a bulky volume from the
     shelf. "This is the first volume of a gazetteer which is now being
     published. It may be looked upon as the very latest authority. What
     have we here? 'Andaman Islands, situated 340 miles to the north of
     Sumatra, in the Bay of Bengal.' Hum! hum!  What's all this? Moist
     climate, coral reefs, sharks, Port Blair, convict-barracks, Rutland
     Island, cottonwoods--Ah, here we are. 'The aborigines of the Andaman
     Islands may perhaps claim the distinction of being the smallest race
     upon this earth, though some anthropologists prefer the Bushmen of
     Africa, the Digger Indians of America, and the Terra del Fuegians.
     The average height is rather below four feet, although many
     full-grown adults may be found who are very much smaller than this.
     They are a fierce, morose, and intractable people, though capable of
     forming most devoted friendships when their confidence has once been
     gained.' Mark that, Watson. Now, then, listen to this. 'They are
     naturally hideous, having large, misshapen heads, small, fierce eyes,
     and distorted features. Their feet and hands, however, are remarkably
     small. So intractable and fierce are they that all the efforts of the
     British official have failed to win them over in any degree. They
     have always been a terror to shipwrecked crews, braining the
     survivors with their stone-headed clubs, or shooting them with their
     poisoned arrows. These massacres are invariably concluded by a
     cannibal feast.' Nice, amiable people, Watson! If this fellow had
     been left to his own unaided devices this affair might have taken an
     even more ghastly turn. I fancy that, even as it is, Jonathan Small
     would give a good deal not to have employed him."

     "But how came he to have so singular a companion?"

     "Ah, that is more than I can tell. Since, however, we had already
     determined that Small had come from the Andamans, it is not so very
     wonderful that this islander should be with him. No doubt we shall
     know all about it in time. Look here, Watson; you look regularly
     done. Lie down there on the sofa, and see if I can put you to sleep."

     He took up his violin from the corner, and as I stretched myself out
     he began to play some low, dreamy, melodious air,--his own, no doubt,
     for he had a remarkable gift for improvisation. I have a vague
     remembrance of his gaunt limbs, his earnest face, and the rise and
     fall of his bow. Then I seemed to be floated peacefully away upon a
     soft sea of sound, until I found myself in dream-land, with the sweet
     face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me.





          CHAPTER IX
          A Break in the Chain


     It was late in the afternoon before I woke, strengthened and
     refreshed. Sherlock Holmes still sat exactly as I had left him, save
     that he had laid aside his violin and was deep in a book. He looked
     across at me, as I stirred, and I noticed that his face was dark and
     troubled.

     "You have slept soundly," he said. "I feared that our talk would wake
     you."

     "I heard nothing," I answered. "Have you had fresh news, then?"

     "Unfortunately, no. I confess that I am surprised and disappointed. I
     expected something definite by this time.  Wiggins has just been up
     to report. He says that no trace can be found of the launch. It is a
     provoking check, for every hour is of importance."

     "Can I do anything? I am perfectly fresh now, and quite ready for
     another night's outing."

     "No, we can do nothing. We can only wait. If we go ourselves, the
     message might come in our absence, and delay be caused. You can do
     what you will, but I must remain on guard."

     "Then I shall run over to Camberwell and call upon Mrs. Cecil
     Forrester. She asked me to, yesterday."

     "On Mrs. Cecil Forrester?" asked Holmes, with the twinkle of a smile
     in his eyes.

     "Well, of course Miss Morstan too. They were anxious to hear what
     happened."

     "I would not tell them too much," said Holmes. "Women are never to be
     entirely trusted,--not the best of them."

     I did not pause to argue over this atrocious sentiment. "I shall be
     back in an hour or two," I remarked.

     "All right! Good luck! But, I say, if you are crossing the river you
     may as well return Toby, for I don't think it is at all likely that
     we shall have any use for him now."

     I took our mongrel accordingly, and left him, together with a
     half-sovereign, at the old naturalist's in Pinchin Lane. At
     Camberwell I found Miss Morstan a little weary after her night's
     adventures, but very eager to hear the news. Mrs. Forrester, too, was
     full of curiosity. I told them all that we had done, suppressing,
     however, the more dreadful parts of the tragedy. Thus, although I
     spoke of Mr. Sholto's death, I said nothing of the exact manner and
     method of it. With all my omissions, however, there was enough to
     startle and amaze them.

     "It is a romance!" cried Mrs. Forrester. "An injured lady, half a
     million in treasure, a black cannibal, and a wooden-legged ruffian.
     They take the place of the conventional dragon or wicked earl."

     "And two knight-errants to the rescue," added Miss Morstan, with a
     bright glance at me.

     "Why, Mary, your fortune depends upon the issue of this search. I
     don't think that you are nearly excited enough. Just imagine what it
     must be to be so rich, and to have the world at your feet!"

     It sent a little thrill of joy to my heart to notice that she showed
     no sign of elation at the prospect. On the contrary, she gave a toss
     of her proud head, as though the matter were one in which she took
     small interest.

     "It is for Mr. Thaddeus Sholto that I am anxious," she said. "Nothing
     else is of any consequence; but I think that he has behaved most
     kindly and honorably throughout. It is our duty to clear him of this
     dreadful and unfounded charge."

     It was evening before I left Camberwell, and quite dark by the time I
     reached home. My companion's book and pipe lay by his chair, but he
     had disappeared. I looked about in the hope of seeing a note, but
     there was none.

     "I suppose that Mr. Sherlock Holmes has gone out," I said to Mrs. 
     Hudson as she came up to lower the blinds.

     "No, sir. He has gone to his room, sir. Do you know, sir," sinking
     her voice into an impressive whisper, "I am afraid for his health?"

     "Why so, Mrs. Hudson?"

     "Well, he's that strange, sir. After you was gone he walked and he
     walked, up and down, and up and down, until I was weary of the sound
     of his footstep. Then I heard him talking to himself and muttering,
     and every time the bell rang out he came on the stairhead, with 'What
     is that, Mrs. Hudson?' And now he has slammed off to his room, but I
     can hear him walking away the same as ever. I hope he's not going to
     be ill, sir. I ventured to say something to him about cooling
     medicine, but he turned on me, sir, with such a look that I don't
     know how ever I got out of the room."

     "I don't think that you have any cause to be uneasy, Mrs. Hudson," I
     answered. "I have seen him like this before. He has some small matter
     upon his mind which makes him restless." I tried to speak lightly to
     our worthy landlady, but I was myself somewhat uneasy when through
     the long night I still from time to time heard the dull sound of his
     tread, and knew how his keen spirit was chafing against this
     involuntary inaction.

     At breakfast-time he looked worn and haggard, with a little fleck of
     feverish color upon either cheek.

     "You are knocking yourself up, old man," I remarked. "I heard you
     marching about in the night."

     "No, I could not sleep," he answered. "This infernal problem is
     consuming me. It is too much to be balked by so petty an obstacle,
     when all else had been overcome. I know the men, the launch,
     everything; and yet I can get no news. I have set other agencies at
     work, and used every means at my disposal. The whole river has been
     searched on either side, but there is no news, nor has Mrs. Smith
     heard of her husband. I shall come to the conclusion soon that they
     have scuttled the craft. But there are objections to that."

     "Or that Mrs. Smith has put us on a wrong scent."

     "No, I think that may be dismissed. I had inquiries made, and there
     is a launch of that description."

     "Could it have gone up the river?"

     "I have considered that possibility too, and there is a search-party
     who will work up as far as Richmond. If no news comes to-day, I shall
     start off myself to-morrow, and go for the men rather than the boat.
     But surely, surely, we shall hear something."

     We did not, however. Not a word came to us either from Wiggins or
     from the other agencies. There were articles in most of the papers
     upon the Norwood tragedy. They all appeared to be rather hostile to
     the unfortunate Thaddeus Sholto. No fresh details were to be found,
     however, in any of them, save that an inquest was to be held upon the
     following day. I walked over to Camberwell in the evening to report
     our ill success to the ladies, and on my return I found Holmes
     dejected and somewhat morose. He would hardly reply to my questions,
     and busied himself all evening in an abstruse chemical analysis which
     involved much heating of retorts and distilling of vapors, ending at
     last in a smell which fairly drove me out of the apartment. Up to the
     small hours of the morning I could hear the clinking of his
     test-tubes which told me that he was still engaged in his malodorous
     experiment.

     In the early dawn I woke with a start, and was surprised to find him
     standing by my bedside, clad in a rude sailor dress with a
     pea-jacket, and a coarse red scarf round his neck.

     "I am off down the river, Watson," said he. "I have been turning it
     over in my mind, and I can see only one way out of it. It is worth
     trying, at all events."

     "Surely I can come with you, then?" said I.

     "No; you can be much more useful if you will remain here as my
     representative. I am loath to go, for it is quite on the cards that
     some message may come during the day, though Wiggins was despondent
     about it last night. I want you to open all notes and telegrams, and
     to act on your own judgment if any news should come. Can I rely upon
     you?"

     "Most certainly."

     "I am afraid that you will not be able to wire to me, for I can
     hardly tell yet where I may find myself. If I am in luck, however, I
     may not be gone so very long. I shall have news of some sort or other
     before I get back."

     I had heard nothing of him by breakfast-time. On opening the
     Standard, however, I found that there was a fresh allusion to the
     business.

     "With reference to the Upper Norwood tragedy," it remarked, "we have
     reason to believe that the matter promises to be even more complex
     and mysterious than was originally supposed. Fresh evidence has shown
     that it is quite impossible that Mr. Thaddeus Sholto could have been
     in any way concerned in the matter. He and the housekeeper, Mrs.
     Bernstone, were both released yesterday evening. It is believed,
     however, that the police have a clue as to the real culprits, and
     that it is being prosecuted by Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard,
     with all his well-known energy and sagacity. Further arrests may be
     expected at any moment."

     "That is satisfactory so far as it goes," thought I. "Friend Sholto
     is safe, at any rate. I wonder what the fresh clue may be; though it
     seems to be a stereotyped form whenever the police have made a
     blunder."

     I tossed the paper down upon the table, but at that moment my eye
     caught an advertisement in the agony column. It ran in this way:

     "Lost.--Whereas Mordecai Smith, boatman, and his son, Jim, left
     Smith's Wharf at or about three o'clock last Tuesday morning in the
     steam launch Aurora, black with two red stripes, funnel black with a
     white band, the sum of five pounds will be paid to any one who can
     give information to Mrs. Smith, at Smith's Wharf, or at 221b Baker
     Street, as to the whereabouts of the said Mordecai Smith and the
     launch Aurora."

     This was clearly Holmes's doing. The Baker Street address was enough
     to prove that. It struck me as rather ingenious, because it might be
     read by the fugitives without their seeing in it more than the
     natural anxiety of a wife for her missing husband.

     It was a long day. Every time that a knock came to the door, or a
     sharp step passed in the street, I imagined that it was either Holmes
     returning or an answer to his advertisement. I tried to read, but my
     thoughts would wander off to our strange quest and to the
     ill-assorted and villainous pair whom we were pursuing. Could there
     be, I wondered, some radical flaw in my companion's reasoning. Might
     he be suffering from some huge self-deception? Was it not possible
     that his nimble and speculative mind had built up this wild theory
     upon faulty premises? I had never known him to be wrong; and yet the
     keenest reasoner may occasionally be deceived. He was likely, I
     thought, to fall into error through the over-refinement of his
     logic,--his preference for a subtle and bizarre explanation when a
     plainer and more commonplace one lay ready to his hand. Yet, on the
     other hand, I had myself seen the evidence, and I had heard the
     reasons for his deductions. When I looked back on the long chain of
     curious circumstances, many of them trivial in themselves, but all
     tending in the same direction, I could not disguise from myself that
     even if Holmes's explanation were incorrect the true theory must be
     equally outré and startling.

     At three o'clock in the afternoon there was a loud peal at the bell,
     an authoritative voice in the hall, and, to my surprise, no less a
     person than Mr. Athelney Jones was shown up to me. Very different was
     he, however, from the brusque and masterful professor of common sense
     who had taken over the case so confidently at Upper Norwood. His
     expression was downcast, and his bearing meek and even apologetic.

     "Good-day, sir; good-day," said he. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes is out, I
     understand."

     "Yes, and I cannot be sure when he will be back. But perhaps you
     would care to wait. Take that chair and try one of these cigars."

     "Thank you; I don't mind if I do," said he, mopping his face with a
     red bandanna handkerchief.

     "And a whiskey-and-soda?"

     "Well, half a glass. It is very hot for the time of year; and I have
     had a good deal to worry and try me. You know my theory about this
     Norwood case?"

     "I remember that you expressed one."

     "Well, I have been obliged to reconsider it. I had my net drawn
     tightly round Mr. Sholto, sir, when pop he went through a hole in the
     middle of it. He was able to prove an alibi which could not be
     shaken. From the time that he left his brother's room he was never
     out of sight of some one or other. So it could not be he who climbed
     over roofs and through trap-doors. It's a very dark case, and my
     professional credit is at stake. I should be very glad of a little
     assistance."

     "We all need help sometimes," said I.

     "Your friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes is a wonderful man, sir," said he,
     in a husky and confidential voice. "He's a man who is not to be beat.
     I have known that young man go into a good many cases, but I never
     saw the case yet that he could not throw a light upon. He is
     irregular in his methods, and a little quick perhaps in jumping at
     theories, but, on the whole, I think he would have made a most
     promising officer, and I don't care who knows it. I have had a wire
     from him this morning, by which I understand that he has got some
     clue to this Sholto business. Here is the message."

     He took the telegram out of his pocket, and handed it to me. It was
     dated from Poplar at twelve o'clock. "Go to Baker Street at once," it
     said. "If I have not returned, wait for me. I am close on the track
     of the Sholto gang. You can come with us to-night if you want to be
     in at the finish."

     "This sounds well. He has evidently picked up the scent again," said
     I.

     "Ah, then he has been at fault too," exclaimed Jones, with evident
     satisfaction. "Even the best of us are thrown off sometimes. Of
     course this may prove to be a false alarm; but it is my duty as an
     officer of the law to allow no chance to slip. But there is some one
     at the door. Perhaps this is he."

     A heavy step was heard ascending the stair, with a great wheezing and
     rattling as from a man who was sorely put to it for breath. Once or
     twice he stopped, as though the climb were too much for him, but at
     last he made his way to our door and entered. His appearance
     corresponded to the sounds which we had heard. He was an aged man,
     clad in seafaring garb, with an old pea-jacket buttoned up to his
     throat. His back was bowed, his knees were shaky, and his breathing
     was painfully asthmatic. As he leaned upon a thick oaken cudgel his
     shoulders heaved in the effort to draw the air into his lungs. He had
     a colored scarf round his chin, and I could see little of his face
     save a pair of keen dark eyes, overhung by bushy white brows, and
     long gray side-whiskers. Altogether he gave me the impression of a
     respectable master mariner who had fallen into years and poverty.

     "What is it, my man?" I asked.

     He looked about him in the slow methodical fashion of old age.

     "Is Mr. Sherlock Holmes here?" said he.

     "No; but I am acting for him. You can tell me any message you have
     for him."

     "It was to him himself I was to tell it," said he.

     "But I tell you that I am acting for him. Was it about Mordecai
     Smith's boat?"

     "Yes. I knows well where it is. An' I knows where the men he is after
     are. An' I knows where the treasure is. I knows all about it."

     "Then tell me, and I shall let him know."

     "It was to him I was to tell it," he repeated, with the petulant
     obstinacy of a very old man.

     "Well, you must wait for him."

     "No, no; I ain't goin' to lose a whole day to please no one. If Mr.
     Holmes ain't here, then Mr. Holmes must find it all out for himself.
     I don't care about the look of either of you, and I won't tell a
     word."

     He shuffled towards the door, but Athelney Jones got in front of him.

     "Wait a bit, my friend," said he. "You have important information,
     and you must not walk off. We shall keep you, whether you like or
     not, until our friend returns."

     The old man made a little run towards the door, but, as Athelney
     Jones put his broad back up against it, he recognized the uselessness
     of resistance.

     "Pretty sort o' treatment this!" he cried, stamping his stick. "I
     come here to see a gentleman, and you two, who I never saw in my
     life, seize me and treat me in this fashion!"

     "You will be none the worse," I said. "We shall recompense you for
     the loss of your time. Sit over here on the sofa, and you will not
     have long to wait."

     He came across sullenly enough, and seated himself with his face
     resting on his hands. Jones and I resumed our cigars and our talk.
     Suddenly, however, Holmes's voice broke in upon us.

     "I think that you might offer me a cigar too," he said.

     We both started in our chairs. There was Holmes sitting close to us
     with an air of quiet amusement.

     "Holmes!" I exclaimed. "You here! But where is the old man?"

     "Here is the old man," said he, holding out a heap of white hair.
     "Here he is,--wig, whiskers, eyebrows, and all. I thought my disguise
     was pretty good, but I hardly expected that it would stand that
     test."

     "Ah, you rogue!" cried Jones, highly delighted. "You would have made
     an actor, and a rare one. You had the proper workhouse cough, and
     those weak legs of yours are worth ten pound a week. I thought I knew
     the glint of your eye, though. You didn't get away from us so easily,
     you see."

     "I have been working in that get-up all day," said he, lighting his
     cigar. "You see, a good many of the criminal classes begin to know
     me,--especially since our friend here took to publishing some of my
     cases: so I can only go on the war-path under some simple disguise
     like this. You got my wire?"

     "Yes; that was what brought me here."

     "How has your case prospered?"

     "It has all come to nothing. I have had to release two of my
     prisoners, and there is no evidence against the other two."

     "Never mind. We shall give you two others in the place of them. But
     you must put yourself under my orders. You are welcome to all the
     official credit, but you must act on the line that I point out. Is
     that agreed?"

     "Entirely, if you will help me to the men."

     "Well, then, in the first place I shall want a fast police-boat--a
     steam launch--to be at the Westminster Stairs at seven o'clock."

     "That is easily managed. There is always one about there; but I can
     step across the road and telephone to make sure."

     "Then I shall want two stanch men, in case of resistance."

     "There will be two or three in the boat. What else?"

     "When we secure the men we shall get the treasure. I think that it
     would be a pleasure to my friend here to take the box round to the
     young lady to whom half of it rightfully belongs. Let her be the
     first to open it.--Eh, Watson?"

     "It would be a great pleasure to me."

     "Rather an irregular proceeding," said Jones, shaking his head.
     "However, the whole thing is irregular, and I suppose we must wink at
     it. The treasure must afterwards be handed over to the authorities
     until after the official investigation."

     "Certainly. That is easily managed. One other point. I should much
     like to have a few details about this matter from the lips of
     Jonathan Small himself. You know I like to work the detail of my
     cases out. There is no objection to my having an unofficial interview
     with him, either here in my rooms or elsewhere, as long as he is
     efficiently guarded?"

     "Well, you are master of the situation. I have had no proof yet of
     the existence of this Jonathan Small. However, if you can catch him I
     don't see how I can refuse you an interview with him."

     "That is understood, then?"

     "Perfectly. Is there anything else?"

     "Only that I insist upon your dining with us. It will be ready in
     half an hour. I have oysters and a brace of grouse, with something a
     little choice in white wines.--Watson, you have never yet recognized
     my merits as a housekeeper."





          CHAPTER X
          The End of the Islander


     Our meal was a merry one. Holmes coud talk exceedingly well when he
     chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of
     nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on
     a quick succession of subjects,--on miracle-plays, on medieval
     pottery, on Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on
     the war-ships of the future,--handling each as though he had made a
     special study of it. His bright humor marked the reaction from his
     black depression of the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a
     sociable soul in his hours of relaxation, and face his dinner with
     the air of a bon vivant. For myself, I felt elated at the thought
     that we were nearing the end of our task, and I caught something of
     Holmes's gaiety. None of us alluded during dinner to the cause which
     had brought us together.

     When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at this watch, and filled
     up three glasses with port. "One bumper," said he, "to the success of
     our little expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you
     a pistol, Watson?"

     "I have my old service-revolver in my desk."

     "You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that
     the cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six."

     It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf,
     and found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.

     "Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?"

     "Yes,--that green lamp at the side."

     "Then take it off."

     The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were
     cast off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at
     the rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors
     forward.

     "Where to?" asked Jones.

     "To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson's Yard."

     Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines
     of loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with
     satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.

     "We ought to be able to catch anything on the river," he said.

     "Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us."

     "We shall have to catch the Aurora, and she has a name for being a
     clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how
     annoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?"

     "Yes."

     "Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical
     analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of
     work is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving
     the hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of
     the Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been
     up the river and down the river without result. The launch was not at
     any landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly
     have been scuttled to hide their traces,--though that always remained
     as a possible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small
     had a certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable
     of anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a
     product of higher education. I then reflected that since he had
     certainly been in London some time--as we had evidence that he
     maintained a continual watch over Pondicherry Lodge--he could hardly
     leave at a moment's notice, but would need some little time, if it
     were only a day, to arrange his affairs. That was the balance of
     probability, at any rate."

     "It seems to me to be a little weak," said I. "It is more probable
     that he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his
     expedition."

     "No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a
     retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that
     he could do without it. But a second consideration struck me.
     Jonathan Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his
     companion, however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise
     to gossip, and possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He
     was quite sharp enough to see that. They had started from their
     head-quarters under cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back
     before it was broad light. Now, it was past three o'clock, according
     to Mrs. Smith, when they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and
     people would be about in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did
     not go very far. They paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved
     his launch for the final escape, and hurried to their lodgings with
     the treasure-box. In a couple of nights, when they had time to see
     what view the papers took, and whether there was any suspicion, they
     would make their way under cover of darkness to some ship at
     Gravesend or in the Downs, where no doubt they had already arranged
     for passages to America or the Colonies."

     "But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings."

     "Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in
     spite of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small,
     and looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably
     consider that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would
     make pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How,
     then, could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when
     wanted? I wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I
     could only think of one way of doing it. I might land the launch over
     to some boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling
     change in her. She would then be removed to his shed or hard, and so
     be effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at
     a few hours' notice."

     "That seems simple enough."

     "It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be
     overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at
     once in this harmless seaman's rig and inquired at all the yards down
     the river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the
     sixteenth--Jacobson's--I learned that the Aurora had been handed over
     to them two days ago by a wooden-legged man, with some trivial
     directions as to her rudder. 'There ain't naught amiss with her
     rudder,' said the foreman. 'There she lies, with the red streaks.' At
     that moment who should come down but Mordecai Smith, the missing
     owner? He was rather the worse for liquor. I should not, of course,
     have known him, but he bellowed out his name and the name of his
     launch. 'I want her to-night at eight o'clock,' said he,--'eight
     o'clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen who won't be kept
     waiting.' They had evidently paid him well, for he was very flush of
     money, chucking shillings about to the men. I followed him some
     distance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so I went back to the
     yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the way, I
     stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand at water's
     edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall be
     lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not
     take men, treasure, and all."

     "You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men
     or not," said Jones; "but if the affair were in my hands I should
     have had a body of police in Jacobson's Yard, and arrested them when
     they came down."

     "Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewd
     fellow. He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him
     suspicious lie snug for another week."

     "But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to their
     hiding-place," said I.

     "In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a
     hundred to one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he
     has liquor and good pay, why should he ask questions? They send him
     messages what to do. No, I thought over every possible course, and
     this is the best."

     While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the
     long series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City
     the last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of
     St. Paul's. It was twilight before we reached the Tower.

     "That is Jacobson's Yard," said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of
     masts and rigging on the Surrey side. "Cruise gently up and down here
     under cover of this string of lighters." He took a pair of
     night-glasses from his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. "I
     see my sentry at his post," he remarked, "but no sign of a
     handkerchief."

     "Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them,"
     said Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, even the
     policemen and stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going
     forward.

     "We have no right to take anything for granted," Holmes answered. "It
     is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be
     certain. From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and
     they can hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light.
     We must stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the
     gaslight."

     "They are coming from work in the yard."

     "Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some little
     immortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look
     at them. There is no a priori probability about it. A strange enigma
     is man!"

     "Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal," I suggested.

     "Winwood Reade is good upon the subject," said Holmes. "He remarks
     that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the
     aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example,
     never foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with
     precision what an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but
     percentages remain constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a
     handkerchief? Surely there is a white flutter over yonder."

     "Yes, it is your boy," I cried. "I can see him plainly."

     "And there is the Aurora," exclaimed Holmes, "and going like the
     devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the
     yellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves
     to have the heels of us!"

     She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind
     two or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up
     before we saw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the
     shore, going at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and
     shook his head.

     "She is very fast," he said. "I doubt if we shall catch her."

     "We must catch her!" cried Holmes, between his teeth. "Heap it on,
     stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have
     them!"

     We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful
     engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp,
     steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to
     right and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang
     and quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our
     bows threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right
     ahead a dark blur upon the water showed where the Aurora lay, and the
     swirl of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was
     going. We flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and
     out, behind this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the
     darkness, but still the Aurora thundered on, and still we followed
     close upon her track.

     "Pile it on, men, pile it on!" cried Holmes, looking down into the
     engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,
     aquiline face. "Get every pound of steam you can."

     "I think we gain a little," said Jones, with his eyes on thea Aurora.

     "I am sure of it," said I. "We shall be up with her in a very few
     minutes."

     At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with
     three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting
     our helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could
     round them and recover our way the Aurora had gained a good two
     hundred yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky
     uncertain twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our
     boilers were strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated
     and creaked with the fierce energy which was driving us along. We had
     shot through the Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long
     Deptford Reach, and up again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The
     dull blur in front of us resolved itself now clearly enough into the
     dainty Aurora. Jones turned our search-light upon her, so that we
     could plainly see the figures upon her deck. One man sat by the
     stern, with something black between his knees over which he stooped.
     Beside him lay a dark mass which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The
     boy held the tiller, while against the red glare of the furnace I
     could see old Smith, stripped to the waist, and shovelling coals for
     dear life. They may have had some doubt at first as to whether we
     were really pursuing them, but now as we followed every winding and
     turning which they took there could no longer be any question about
     it. At Greenwich we were about three hundred paces behind them. At
     Blackwall we could not have been more than two hundred and fifty. I
     have coursed many creatures in many countries during my checkered
     career, but never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad,
     flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we drew in upon them, yard
     by yard. In the silence of the night we could hear the panting and
     clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern still crouched upon
     the deck, and his arms were moving as though he were busy, while
     every now and then he would look up and measure with a glance the
     distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and nearer. Jones
     yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boat's lengths
     behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a clear
     reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the
     melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in
     the stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at
     us, cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,
     powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I
     could see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump
     upon the right side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there
     was movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened
     itself into a little black man--the smallest I have ever seen--with a
     great, misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair.
     Holmes had already drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the
     sight of this savage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort
     of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that
     face was enough to give a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen
     features so deeply marked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small
     eyes glowed and burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were
     writhed back from his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a
     half animal fury.

     "Fire if he raises his hand," said Holmes, quietly. We were within a
     boat's-length by this time, and almost within touch of our quarry. I
     can see the two of them now as they stood, the white man with his
     legs far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with
     his hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the
     light of our lantern.

     It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as we looked he
     plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood,
     like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our pistols rang out
     together. He whirled round, threw up his arms, and with a kind of
     choking cough fell sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of
     his venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At
     the same moment the wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder
     and put it hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the
     southern bank, while we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a
     few feet. We were round after her in an instant, but she was already
     nearly at the bank. It was a wild and desolate place, where the moon
     glimmered upon a wide expanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant
     water and beds of decaying vegetation. The launch with a dull thud
     ran up upon the mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush
     with the water. The fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank
     its whole length into the sodden soil. In vain he struggled and
     writhed. Not one step could he possibly take either forwards or
     backwards. He yelled in impotent rage, and kicked frantically into
     the mud with his other foot, but his struggles only bored his wooden
     pin the deeper into the sticky bank. When we brought our launch
     alongside he was so firmly anchored that it was only by throwing the
     end of a rope over his shoulders that we were able to haul him out,
     and to drag him, like some evil fish, over our side. The two Smiths,
     father and son, sat sullenly in their launch, but came aboard meekly
     enough when commanded. The Aurora herself we hauled off and made fast
     to our stern. A solid iron chest of Indian workmanship stood upon the
     deck. This, there could be no question, was the same that had
     contained the ill-omened treasure of the Sholtos. There was no key,
     but it was of considerable weight, so we transferred it carefully to
     our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly up-stream again, we
     flashed our search-light in every direction, but there was no sign of
     the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the bottom of the Thames
     lie the bones of that strange visitor to our shores.

     "See here," said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. "We were
     hardly quick enough with our pistols." There, sure enough, just
     behind where we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts
     which we knew so well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant
     that we fired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his
     easy fashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the
     horrible death which had passed so close to us that night.





          CHAPTER XI
          The Great Agra Treasure


     Our captive sat in the cabin opposite to the iron box which he had
     done so much and waited so long to gain. He was a sunburned,
     reckless-eyed fellow, with a net-work of lines and wrinkles all over
     his mahogany features, which told of a hard, open-air life. There was
     a singular prominence about his bearded chin which marked a man who
     was not to be easily turned from his purpose. His age may have been
     fifty or thereabouts, for his black, curly hair was thickly shot with
     gray. His face in repose was not an unpleasing one, though his heavy
     brows and aggressive chin gave him, as I had lately seen, a terrible
     expression when moved to anger. He sat now with his handcuffed hands
     upon his lap, and his head sunk upon his breast, while he looked with
     his keen, twinkling eyes at the box which had been the cause of his
     ill-doings. It seemed to me that there was more sorrow than anger in
     his rigid and contained countenance. Once he looked up at me with a
     gleam of something like humour in his eyes.

     "Well, Jonathan Small," said Holmes, lighting a cigar, "I am sorry
     that it has come to this."

     "And so am I, sir," he answered, frankly. "I don't believe that I can
     swing over the job. I give you my word on the book that I never
     raised hand against Mr. Sholto. It was that little hell-hound Tonga
     who shot one of his cursed darts into him. I had no part in it, sir.
     I was as grieved as if it had been my blood-relation. I welted the
     little devil with the slack end of the rope for it, but it was done,
     and I could not undo it again."

     "Have a cigar," said Holmes; "and you had best take a pull out of my
     flask, for you are very wet. How could you expect so small and weak a
     man as this black fellow to overpower Mr. Sholto and hold him while
     you were climbing the rope?"

     "You seem to know as much about it as if you were there, sir. The
     truth is that I hoped to find the room clear. I knew the habits of
     the house pretty well, and it was the time when Mr. Sholto usually
     went down to his supper. I shall make no secret of the business. The
     best defence that I can make is just the simple truth. Now, if it had
     been the old major I would have swung for him with a light heart. I
     would have thought no more of knifing him than of smoking this cigar.
     But it's cursed hard that I should be lagged over this young Sholto,
     with whom I had no quarrel whatever."

     "You are under the charge of Mr. Athelney Jones, of Scotland Yard. He
     is going to bring you up to my rooms, and I shall ask you for a true
     account of the matter. You must make a clean breast of it, for if you
     do I hope that I may be of use to you.  I think I can prove that the
     poison acts so quickly that the man was dead before ever you reached
     the room."

     "That he was, sir. I never got such a turn in my life as when I saw
     him grinning at me with his head on his shoulder as I climbed through
     the window. It fairly shook me, sir. I'd have half killed Tonga for
     it if he had not scrambled off. That was how he came to leave his
     club, and some of his darts too, as he tells me, which I dare say
     helped to put you on our track; though how you kept on it is more
     than I can tell. I don't feel no malice against you for it. But it
     does seem a queer thing," he added, with a bitter smile, "that I who
     have a fair claim to nigh upon half a million of money should spend
     the first half of my life building a breakwater in the Andamans, and
     am like to spend the other half digging drains at Dartmoor. It was an
     evil day for me when first I clapped eyes upon the merchant Achmet
     and had to do with the Agra treasure, which never brought anything
     but a curse yet upon the man who owned it. To him it brought murder,
     to Major Sholto it brought fear and guilt, to me it has meant slavery
     for life."

     At this moment Athelney Jones thrust his broad face and heavy
     shoulders into the tiny cabin. "Quite a family party," he remarked.
     "I think I shall have a pull at that flask, Holmes.  Well, I think we
     may all congratulate each other. Pity we didn't take the other alive;
     but there was no choice. I say, Holmes, you must confess that you cut
     it rather fine. It was all we could do to overhaul her."

     "All is well that ends well," said Holmes. "But I certainly did not
     know that the Aurora was such a clipper."

     "Smith says she is one of the fastest launches on the river, and that
     if he had had another man to help him with the engines we should
     never have caught her. He swears he knew nothing of this Norwood
     business."

     "Neither he did," cried our prisoner,--"not a word. I chose his
     launch because I heard that she was a flier. We told him nothing, but
     we paid him well, and he was to get something handsome if we reached
     our vessel, the Esmeralda, at Gravesend, outward bound for the
     Brazils."

     "Well, if he has done no wrong we shall see that no wrong comes to
     him. If we are pretty quick in catching our men, we are not so quick
     in condemning them." It was amusing to notice how the consequential
     Jones was already beginning to give himself airs on the strength of
     the capture. From the slight smile which played over Sherlock
     Holmes's face, I could see that the speech had not been lost upon
     him.

     "We will be at Vauxhall Bridge presently," said Jones, "and shall
     land you, Dr. Watson, with the treasure-box. I need hardly tell you
     that I am taking a very grave responsibility upon myself in doing
     this. It is most irregular; but of course an agreement is an
     agreement. I must, however, as a matter of duty, send an inspector
     with you, since you have so valuable a charge. You will drive, no
     doubt?"

     "Yes, I shall drive."

     "It is a pity there is no key, that we may make an inventory first.
     You will have to break it open. Where is the key, my man?"

     "At the bottom of the river," said Small, shortly.

     "Hum! There was no use your giving this unnecessary trouble. We have
     had work enough already through you. However, doctor, I need not warn
     you to be careful. Bring the box back with you to the Baker Street
     rooms. You will find us there, on our way to the station."

     They landed me at Vauxhall, with my heavy iron box, and with a bluff,
     genial inspector as my companion. A quarter of an hour's drive
     brought us to Mrs. Cecil Forrester's. The servant seemed surprised at
     so late a visitor. Mrs. Cecil Forrester was out for the evening, she
     explained, and likely to be very late. Miss Morstan, however, was in
     the drawing-room: so to the drawing-room I went, box in hand, leaving
     the obliging inspector in the cab.

     She was seated by the open window, dressed in some sort of white
     diaphanous material, with a little touch of scarlet at the neck and
     waist. The soft light of a shaded lamp fell upon her as she leaned
     back in the basket chair, playing over her sweet, grave face, and
     tinting with a dull, metallic sparkle the rich coils of her luxuriant
     hair. One white arm and hand drooped over the side of the chair, and
     her whole pose and figure spoke of an absorbing melancholy. At the
     sound of my foot-fall she sprang to her feet, however, and a bright
     flush of surprise and of pleasure colored her pale cheeks.

     "I heard a cab drive up," she said. "I thought that Mrs. Forrester
     had come back very early, but I never dreamed that it might be you.
     What news have you brought me?"

     "I have brought something better than news," said I, putting down the
     box upon the table and speaking jovially and boisterously, though my
     heart was heavy within me. "I have brought you something which is
     worth all the news in the world. I have brought you a fortune."

     She glanced at iron box. "Is that the treasure, then?" she asked,
     coolly enough.

     "Yes, this is the great Agra treasure. Half of it is yours and half
     is Thaddeus Sholto's. You will have a couple of hundred thousand
     each. Think of that! An annuity of ten thousand pounds. There will be
     few richer young ladies in England. Is it not glorious?"

     I think that I must have been rather overacting my delight, and that
     she detected a hollow ring in my congratulations, for I saw her
     eyebrows rise a little, and she glanced at me curiously.

     "If I have it," said she, "I owe it to you."

     "No, no," I answered, "not to me, but to my friend Sherlock Holmes.
     With all the will in the world, I could never have followed up a clue
     which has taxed even his analytical genius.  As it was, we very
     nearly lost it at the last moment."

     "Pray sit down and tell me all about it, Dr. Watson," said she.

     I narrated briefly what had occurred since I had seen her
     last,--Holmes's new method of search, the discovery of the Aurora,
     the appearance of Athelney Jones, our expedition in the evening, and
     the wild chase down the Thames. She listened with parted lips and
     shining eyes to my recital of our adventures. When I spoke of the
     dart which had so narrowly missed us, she turned so white that I
     feared that she was about to faint.

     "It is nothing," she said, as I hastened to pour her out some water.
     "I am all right again. It was a shock to me to hear that I had placed
     my friends in such horrible peril."

     "That is all over," I answered. "It was nothing. I will tell you no
     more gloomy details. Let us turn to something brighter. There is the
     treasure. What could be brighter than that? I got leave to bring it
     with me, thinking that it would interest you to be the first to see
     it."

     "It would be of the greatest interest to me," she said. There was no
     eagerness in her voice, however. It had struck her, doubtless, that
     it might seem ungracious upon her part to be indifferent to a prize
     which had cost so much to win.

     "What a pretty box!" she said, stooping over it. "This is Indian
     work, I suppose?"

     "Yes; it is Benares metal-work."

     "And so heavy!" she exclaimed, trying to raise it. "The box alone
     must be of some value. Where is the key?"

     "Small threw it into the Thames," I answered. "I must borrow Mrs.
     Forrester's poker." There was in the front a thick and broad hasp,
     wrought in the image of a sitting Buddha. Under this I thrust the end
     of the poker and twisted it outward as a lever. The hasp sprang open
     with a loud snap. With trembling fingers I flung back the lid. We
     both stood gazing in astonishment. The box was empty!

     No wonder that it was heavy. The iron-work was two-thirds of an inch
     thick all round. It was massive, well made, and solid, like a chest
     constructed to carry things of great price, but not one shred or
     crumb of metal or jewelry lay within it. It was absolutely and
     completely empty.

     "The treasure is lost," said Miss Morstan, calmly.

     As I listened to the words and realized what they meant, a great
     shadow seemed to pass from my soul. I did not know how this Agra
     treasure had weighed me down, until now that it was finally removed.
     It was selfish, no doubt, disloyal, wrong, but I could realize
     nothing save that the golden barrier was gone from between us. "Thank
     God!" I ejaculated from my very heart.

     She looked at me with a quick, questioning smile. "Why do you say
     that?" she asked.

     "Because you are within my reach again," I said, taking her hand. She
     did not withdraw it. "Because I love you, Mary, as truly as ever a
     man loved a woman. Because this treasure, these riches, sealed my
     lips. Now that they are gone I can tell you how I love you. That is
     why I said, 'Thank God.'"

     "Then I say, 'Thank God,' too," she whispered, as I drew her to my
     side. Whoever had lost a treasure, I knew that night that I had
     gained one.





          CHAPTER XII
          The Strange Story of Jonathan Small


     A very patient man was that inspector in the cab, for it was a weary
     time before I rejoined him. His face clouded over when I showed him
     the empty box.

     "There goes the reward!" said he, gloomily. "Where there is no money
     there is no pay. This night's work would have been worth a tenner
     each to Sam Brown and me if the treasure had been there."

     "Mr. Thaddeus Sholto is a rich man," I said. "He will see that you
     are rewarded, treasure or no."

     The inspector shook his head despondently, however. "It's a bad job,"
     he repeated; "and so Mr. Athelney Jones will think."

     His forecast proved to be correct, for the detective looked blank
     enough when I got to Baker Street and showed him the empty box. They
     had only just arrived, Holmes, the prisoner, and he, for they had
     changed their plans so far as to report themselves at a station upon
     the way. My companion lounged in his arm-chair with his usual
     listless expression, while Small sat stolidly opposite to him with
     his wooden leg cocked over his sound one. As I exhibited the empty
     box he leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud.

     "This is your doing, Small," said Athelney Jones, angrily.

     "Yes, I have put it away where you shall never lay hand upon it," he
     cried, exultantly. "It is my treasure; and if I can't have the loot
     I'll take darned good care that no one else does. I tell you that no
     living man has any right to it, unless it is three men who are in the
     Andaman convict-barracks and myself. I know now that I cannot have
     the use of it, and I know that they cannot. I have acted all through
     for them as much as for myself. It's been the sign of four with us
     always. Well I know that they would have had me do just what I have
     done, and throw the treasure into the Thames rather than let it go to
     kith or kin of Sholto or of Morstan. It was not to make them rich
     that we did for Achmet. You'll find the treasure where the key is,
     and where little Tonga is. When I saw that your launch must catch us,
     I put the loot away in a safe place. There are no rupees for you this
     journey."

     "You are deceiving us, Small," said Athelney Jones, sternly. "If you
     had wished to throw the treasure into the Thames it would have been
     easier for you to have thrown box and all."

     "Easier for me to throw, and easier for you to recover," he answered,
     with a shrewd, sidelong look. "The man that was clever enough to hunt
     me down is clever enough to pick an iron box from the bottom of a
     river. Now that they are scattered over five miles or so, it may be a
     harder job. It went to my heart to do it, though. I was half mad when
     you came up with us. However, there's no good grieving over it. I've
     had ups in my life, and I've had downs, but I've learned not to cry
     over spilled milk."

     "This is a very serious matter, Small," said the detective. "If you
     had helped justice, instead of thwarting it in this way, you would
     have had a better chance at your trial."

     "Justice!" snarled the ex-convict. "A pretty justice! Whose loot is
     this, if it is not ours? Where is the justice that I should give it
     up to those who have never earned it? Look how I have earned it!
     Twenty long years in that fever-ridden swamp, all day at work under
     the mangrove-tree, all night chained up in the filthy convict-huts,
     bitten by mosquitoes, racked with ague, bullied by every cursed
     black-faced policeman who loved to take it out of a white man. That
     was how I earned the Agra treasure; and you talk to me of justice
     because I cannot bear to feel that I have paid this price only that
     another may enjoy it! I would rather swing a score of times, or have
     one of Tonga's darts in my hide, than live in a convict's cell and
     feel that another man is at his ease in a palace with the money that
     should be mine." Small had dropped his mask of stoicism, and all this
     came out in a wild whirl of words, while his eyes blazed, and the
     handcuffs clanked together with the impassioned movement of his
     hands. I could understand, as I saw the fury and the passion of the
     man, that it was no groundless or unnatural terror which had
     possessed Major Sholto when he first learned that the injured convict
     was upon his track.

     "You forget that we know nothing of all this," said Holmes quietly.
     "We have not heard your story, and we cannot tell how far justice may
     originally have been on your side."

     "Well, sir, you have been very fair-spoken to me, though I can see
     that I have you to thank that I have these bracelets upon my wrists.
     Still, I bear no grudge for that. It is all fair and above-board. If
     you want to hear my story I have no wish to hold it back. What I say
     to you is God's truth, every word of it. Thank you; you can put the
     glass beside me here, and I'll put my lips to it if I am dry.

     "I am a Worcestershire man myself,--born near Pershore. I dare say
     you would find a heap of Smalls living there now if you were to look.
     I have often thought of taking a look round there, but the truth is
     that I was never much of a credit to the family, and I doubt if they
     would be so very glad to see me. They were all steady, chapel-going
     folk, small farmers, well known and respected over the country-side,
     while I was always a bit of a rover. At last, however, when I was
     about eighteen, I gave them no more trouble, for I got into a mess
     over a girl, and could only get out of it again by taking the queen's
     shilling and joining the 3d Buffs, which was just starting for India.

     "I wasn't destined to do much soldiering, however. I had just got
     past the goose-step, and learned to handle my musket, when I was fool
     enough to go swimming in the Ganges. Luckily for me, my company
     sergeant, John Holder, was in the water at the same time, and he was
     one of the finest swimmers in the service. A crocodile took me, just
     as I was half-way across, and nipped off my right leg as clean as a
     surgeon could have done it, just above the knee. What with the shock
     and the loss of blood, I fainted, and should have drowned if Holder
     had not caught hold of me and paddled for the bank. I was five months
     in hospital over it, and when at last I was able to limp out of it
     with this timber toe strapped to my stump I found myself invalided
     out of the army and unfitted for any active occupation.

     "I was, as you can imagine, pretty down on my luck at this time, for
     I was a useless cripple though not yet in my twentieth year. However,
     my misfortune soon proved to be a blessing in disguise. A man named
     Abelwhite, who had come out there as an indigo-planter, wanted an
     overseer to look after his coolies and keep them up to their work. He
     happened to be a friend of our colonel's, who had taken an interest
     in me since the accident. To make a long story short, the colonel
     recommended me strongly for the post and, as the work was mostly to
     be done on horseback, my leg was no great obstacle, for I had enough
     knee left to keep good grip on the saddle. What I had to do was to
     ride over the plantation, to keep an eye on the men as they worked,
     and to report the idlers. The pay was fair, I had comfortable
     quarters, and altogether I was content to spend the remainder of my
     life in indigo-planting. Mr. Abelwhite was a kind man, and he would
     often drop into my little shanty and smoke a pipe with me, for white
     folk out there feel their hearts warm to each other as they never do
     here at home.

     "Well, I was never in luck's way long. Suddenly, without a note of
     warning, the great mutiny broke upon us. One month India lay as still
     and peaceful, to all appearance, as Surrey or Kent; the next there
     were two hundred thousand black devils let loose, and the country was
     a perfect hell. Of course you know all about it, gentlemen,--a deal
     more than I do, very like, since reading is not in my line. I only
     know what I saw with my own eyes. Our plantation was at a place
     called Muttra, near the border of the Northwest Provinces. Night
     after night the whole sky was alight with the burning bungalows, and
     day after day we had small companies of Europeans passing through our
     estate with their wives and children, on their way to Agra, where
     were the nearest troops. Mr. Abelwhite was an obstinate man. He had
     it in his head that the affair had been exaggerated, and that it
     would blow over as suddenly as it had sprung up. There he sat on his
     veranda, drinking whiskey-pegs and smoking cheroots, while the
     country was in a blaze about him. Of course we stuck by him, I and
     Dawson, who, with his wife, used to do the book-work and the
     managing. Well, one fine day the crash came. I had been away on a
     distant plantation, and was riding slowly home in the evening, when
     my eye fell upon something all huddled together at the bottom of a
     steep nullah. I rode down to see what it was, and the cold struck
     through my heart when I found it was Dawson's wife, all cut into
     ribbons, and half eaten by jackals and native dogs. A little further
     up the road Dawson himself was lying on his face, quite dead, with an
     empty revolver in his hand and four Sepoys lying across each other in
     front of him. I reined up my horse, wondering which way I should
     turn, but at that moment I saw thick smoke curling up from
     Abelwhite's bungalow and the flames beginning to burst through the
     roof. I knew then that I could do my employer no good, but would only
     throw my own life away if I meddled in the matter. From where I stood
     I could see hundreds of the black fiends, with their red coats still
     on their backs, dancing and howling round the burning house. Some of
     them pointed at me, and a couple of bullets sang past my head; so I
     broke away across the paddy-fields, and found myself late at night
     safe within the walls at Agra.

     "As it proved, however, there was no great safety there, either. The
     whole country was up like a swarm of bees. Wherever the English could
     collect in little bands they held just the ground that their guns
     commanded. Everywhere else they were helpless fugitives. It was a
     fight of the millions against the hundreds; and the cruellest part of
     it was that these men that we fought against, foot, horse, and
     gunners, were our own picked troops, whom we had taught and trained,
     handling our own weapons, and blowing our own bugle-calls. At Agra
     there were the 3d Bengal Fusiliers, some Sikhs, two troops of horse,
     and a battery of artillery. A volunteer corps of clerks and merchants
     had been formed, and this I joined, wooden leg and all. We went out
     to meet the rebels at Shahgunge early in July, and we beat them back
     for a time, but our powder gave out, and we had to fall back upon the
     city. Nothing but the worst news came to us from every side,--which
     is not to be wondered at, for if you look at the map you will see
     that we were right in the heart of it. Lucknow is rather better than
     a hundred miles to the east, and Cawnpore about as far to the south.
     From every point on the compass there was nothing but torture and
     murder and outrage.

     "The city of Agra is a great place, swarming with fanatics and fierce
     devil-worshippers of all sorts. Our handful of men were lost among
     the narrow, winding streets. Our leader moved across the river,
     therefore, and took up his position in the old fort at Agra. I don't
     know if any of you gentlemen have ever read or heard anything of that
     old fort. It is a very queer place,--the queerest that ever I was in,
     and I have been in some rum corners, too. First of all, it is
     enormous in size. I should think that the enclosure must be acres and
     acres. There is a modern part, which took all our garrison, women,
     children, stores, and everything else, with plenty of room over. But
     the modern part is nothing like the size of the old quarter, where
     nobody goes, and which is given over to the scorpions and the
     centipedes. It is all full of great deserted halls, and winding
     passages, and long corridors twisting in and out, so that it is easy
     enough for folk to get lost in it. For this reason it was seldom that
     any one went into it, though now and again a party with torches might
     go exploring.

     "The river washes along the front of the old fort, and so protects
     it, but on the sides and behind there are many doors, and these had
     to be guarded, of course, in the old quarter as well as in that which
     was actually held by our troops. We were short-handed, with hardly
     men enough to man the angles of the building and to serve the guns.
     It was impossible for us, therefore, to station a strong guard at
     every one of the innumerable gates. What we did was to organize a
     central guard-house in the middle of the fort, and to leave each gate
     under the charge of one white man and two or three natives. I was
     selected to take charge during certain hours of the night of a small
     isolated door upon the southwest side of the building. Two Sikh
     troopers were placed under my command, and I was instructed if
     anything went wrong to fire my musket, when I might rely upon help
     coming at once from the central guard. As the guard was a good two
     hundred paces away, however, and as the space between was cut up into
     a labyrinth of passages and corridors, I had great doubts as to
     whether they could arrive in time to be of any use in case of an
     actual attack.

     "Well, I was pretty proud at having this small command given me,
     since I was a raw recruit, and a game-legged one at that. For two
     nights I kept the watch with my Punjaubees. They were tall,
     fierce-looking chaps, Mahomet Singh and Abdullah Khan by name, both
     old fighting-men who had borne arms against us at Chilian-wallah.
     They could talk English pretty well, but I could get little out of
     them. They preferred to stand together and jabber all night in their
     queer Sikh lingo. For myself, I used to stand outside the gate-way,
     looking down on the broad, winding river and on the twinkling lights
     of the great city. The beating of drums, the rattle of tomtoms, and
     the yells and howls of the rebels, drunk with opium and with bang,
     were enough to remind us all night of our dangerous neighbors across
     the stream. Every two hours the officer of the night used to come
     round to all the posts, to make sure that all was well.

     "The third night of my watch was dark and dirty, with a small,
     driving rain. It was dreary work standing in the gate-way hour after
     hour in such weather. I tried again and again to make my Sikhs talk,
     but without much success. At two in the morning the rounds passed,
     and broke for a moment the weariness of the night. Finding that my
     companions would not be led into conversation, I took out my pipe,
     and laid down my musket to strike the match. In an instant the two
     Sikhs were upon me. One of them snatched my firelock up and levelled
     it at my head, while the other held a great knife to my throat and
     swore between his teeth that he would plunge it into me if I moved a
     step.

     "My first thought was that these fellows were in league with the
     rebels, and that this was the beginning of an assault. If our door
     were in the hands of the Sepoys the place must fall, and the women
     and children be treated as they were in Cawnpore. Maybe you gentlemen
     think that I am just making out a case for myself, but I give you my
     word that when I thought of that, though I felt the point of the
     knife at my throat, I opened my mouth with the intention of giving a
     scream, if it was my last one, which might alarm the main guard. The
     man who held me seemed to know my thoughts; for, even as I braced
     myself to it, he whispered, 'Don't make a noise. The fort is safe
     enough. There are no rebel dogs on this side of the river.' There was
     the ring of truth in what he said, and I knew that if I raised my
     voice I was a dead man. I could read it in the fellow's brown eyes. I
     waited, therefore, in silence, to see what it was that they wanted
     from me.

     "'Listen to me, Sahib,' said the taller and fiercer of the pair, the
     one whom they called Abdullah Khan. 'You must either be with us now
     or you must be silenced forever. The thing is too great a one for us
     to hesitate. Either you are heart and soul with us on your oath on
     the cross of the Christians, or your body this night shall be thrown
     into the ditch and we shall pass over to our brothers in the rebel
     army. There is no middle way. Which is it to be, death or life? We
     can only give you three minutes to decide, for the time is passing,
     and all must be done before the rounds come again.'

     "'How can I decide?' said I. 'You have not told me what you want of
     me. But I tell you know that if it is anything against the safety of
     the fort I will have no truck with it, so you can drive home your
     knife and welcome.'

     "'It is nothing against the fort,' said he. 'We only ask you to do
     that which your countrymen come to this land for. We ask you to be
     rich. If you will be one of us this night, we will swear to you upon
     the naked knife, and by the threefold oath which no Sikh was ever
     known to break, that you shall have your fair share of the loot. A
     quarter of the treasure shall be yours. We can say no fairer.'

     "'But what is the treasure, then?' I asked. 'I am as ready to be rich
     as you can be, if you will but show me how it can be done.'

     "'You will swear, then,' said he, 'by the bones of your father, by
     the honor of your mother, by the cross of your faith, to raise no
     hand and speak no word against us, either now or afterwards?'

     "'I will swear it,' I answered, 'provided that the fort is not
     endangered.'

     "'Then my comrade and I will swear that you shall have a quarter of
     the treasure which shall be equally divided among the four of us.'

     "'There are but three,' said I.

     "'No; Dost Akbar must have his share. We can tell the tale to you
     while we await them. Do you stand at the gate, Mahomet Singh, and
     give notice of their coming. The thing stands thus, Sahib, and I tell
     it to you because I know that an oath is binding upon a Feringhee,
     and that we may trust you. Had you been a lying Hindoo, though you
     had sworn by all the gods in their false temples, your blood would
     have been upon the knife, and your body in the water. But the Sikh
     knows the Englishman, and the Englishman knows the Sikh. Hearken,
     then, to what I have to say.

     "'There is a rajah in the northern provinces who has much wealth,
     though his lands are small. Much has come to him from his father, and
     more still he has set by himself, for he is of a low nature and
     hoards his gold rather than spend it. When the troubles broke out he
     would be friends both with the lion and the tiger,--with the Sepoy
     and with the Company's raj. Soon, however, it seemed to him that the
     white men's day was come, for through all the land he could hear of
     nothing but of their death and their overthrow. Yet, being a careful
     man, he made such plans that, come what might, half at least of his
     treasure should be left to him. That which was in gold and silver he
     kept by him in the vaults of his palace, but the most precious stones
     and the choicest pearls that he had he put in an iron box, and sent
     it by a trusty servant who, under the guise of a merchant, should
     take it to the fort at Agra, there to lie until the land is at peace.
     Thus, if the rebels won he would have his money, but if the Company
     conquered his jewels would be saved to him. Having thus divided his
     hoard, he threw himself into the cause of the Sepoys, since they were
     strong upon his borders. By doing this, mark you, Sahib, his property
     becomes the due of those who have been true to their salt.

     "'This pretended merchant, who travels under the name of Achmet, is
     now in the city of Agra, and desires to gain his way into the fort.
     He has with him as travelling-companion my foster-brother Dost Akbar,
     who knows his secret. Dost Akbar has promised this night to lead him
     to a side-postern of the fort, and has chosen this one for his
     purpose. Here he will come presently, and here he will find Mahomet
     Singh and myself awaiting him. The place is lonely, and none shall
     know of his coming. The world shall know of the merchant Achmet no
     more, but the great treasure of the rajah shall be divided among us.
     What say you to it, Sahib?'

     "In Worcestershire the life of a man seems a great and a sacred
     thing; but it is very different when there is fire and blood all
     round you and you have been used to meeting death at every turn.
     Whether Achmet the merchant lived or died was a thing as light as air
     to me, but at the talk about the treasure my heart turned to it, and
     I thought of what I might do in the old country with it, and how my
     folk would stare when they saw their ne'er-do-well coming back with
     his pockets full of gold moidores. I had, therefore, already made up
     my mind. Abdullah Khan, however, thinking that I hesitated, pressed
     the matter more closely.

     "'Consider, Sahib,' said he, 'that if this man is taken by the
     commandant he will be hung or shot, and his jewels taken by the
     government, so that no man will be a rupee the better for them. Now,
     since we do the taking of him, why should we not do the rest as well?
     The jewels will be as well with us as in the Company's coffers. There
     will be enough to make every one of us rich men and great chiefs. No
     one can know about the matter, for here we are cut off from all men.
     What could be better for the purpose?  Say again, then, Sahib,
     whether you are with us, or if we must look upon you as an enemy.'

     "'I am with you heart and soul,' said I.

     "'It is well,' he answered, handing me back my firelock. 'You see
     that we trust you, for your word, like ours, is not to be broken. We
     have now only to wait for my brother and the merchant.'

     "'Does your brother know, then, of what you will do?' I asked.

     "'The plan is his. He has devised it. We will go to the gate and
     share the watch with Mahomet Singh.'

     "The rain was still falling steadily, for it was just the beginning
     of the wet season. Brown, heavy clouds were drifting across the sky,
     and it was hard to see more than a stone-cast. A deep moat lay in
     front of our door, but the water was in places nearly dried up, and
     it could easily be crossed. It was strange to me to be standing there
     with those two wild Punjaubees waiting for the man who was coming to
     his death.

     "Suddenly my eye caught the glint of a shaded lantern at the other
     side of the moat. It vanished among the mound-heaps, and then
     appeared again coming slowly in our direction.

     "'Here they are!' I exclaimed.

     "'You will challenge him, Sahib, as usual,' whispered Abdullah. 'Give
     him no cause for fear. Send us in with him, and we shall do the rest
     while you stay here on guard. Have the lantern ready to uncover, that
     we may be sure that it is indeed the man.'

     "The light had flickered onwards, now stopping and now advancing,
     until I could see two dark figures upon the other side of the moat. I
     let them scramble down the sloping bank, splash through the mire, and
     climb half-way up to the gate, before I challenged them.

     "'Who goes there?' said I, in a subdued voice.

     "'Friends,' came the answer. I uncovered my lantern and threw a flood
     of light upon them. The first was an enormous Sikh, with a black
     beard which swept nearly down to his cummerbund. Outside of a show I
     have never seen so tall a man. The other was a little, fat, round
     fellow, with a great yellow turban, and a bundle in his hand, done up
     in a shawl. He seemed to be all in a quiver with fear, for his hands
     twitched as if he had the ague, and his head kept turning to left and
     right with two bright little twinkling eyes, like a mouse when he
     ventures out from his hole. It gave me the chills to think of killing
     him, but I thought of the treasure, and my heart set as hard as a
     flint within me. When he saw my white face he gave a little chirrup
     of joy and came running up towards me.

     "'Your protection, Sahib,' he panted,--'your protection for the
     unhappy merchant Achmet. I have travelled across Rajpootana that I
     might seek the shelter of the fort at Agra. I have been robbed and
     beaten and abused because I have been the friend of the Company. It
     is a blessed night this when I am once more in safety,--I and my poor
     possessions.'

     "'What have you in the bundle?' I asked.

     "'An iron box,' he answered, 'which contains one or two little family
     matters which are of no value to others, but which I should be sorry
     to lose. Yet I am not a beggar; and I shall reward you, young Sahib,
     and your governor also, if he will give me the shelter I ask.'

     "I could not trust myself to speak longer with the man. The more I
     looked at his fat, frightened face, the harder did it seem that we
     should slay him in cold blood. It was best to get it over.

     "'Take him to the main guard,' said I. The two Sikhs closed in upon
     him on each side, and the giant walked behind, while they marched in
     through the dark gate-way. Never was a man so compassed round with
     death. I remained at the gate-way with the lantern.

     "I could hear the measured tramp of their footsteps sounding through
     the lonely corridors. Suddenly it ceased, and I heard voices, and a
     scuffle, with the sound of blows. A moment later there came, to my
     horror, a rush of footsteps coming in my direction, with the loud
     breathing of a running man. I turned my lantern down the long,
     straight passage, and there was the fat man, running like the wind,
     with a smear of blood across his face, and close at his heels,
     bounding like a tiger, the great black-bearded Sikh, with a knife
     flashing in his hand. I have never seen a man run so fast as that
     little merchant. He was gaining on the Sikh, and I could see that if
     he once passed me and got to the open air he would save himself yet.
     My heart softened to him, but again the thought of his treasure
     turned me hard and bitter. I cast my firelock between his legs as he
     raced past, and he rolled twice over like a shot rabbit. Ere he could
     stagger to his feet the Sikh was upon him, and buried his knife twice
     in his side. The man never uttered moan nor moved muscle, but lay
     were he had fallen. I think myself that he may have broken his neck
     with the fall. You see, gentlemen, that I am keeping my promise. I am
     telling you every work of the business just exactly as it happened,
     whether it is in my favor or not."

     He stopped, and held out his manacled hands for the whiskey-and-water
     which Holmes had brewed for him. For myself, I confess that I had now
     conceived the utmost horror of the man, not only for this
     cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned, but even more
     for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated it.
     Whatever punishment was in store for him, I felt that he might expect
     no sympathy from me. Sherlock Holmes and Jones sat with their hands
     upon their knees, deeply interested in the story, but with the same
     disgust written upon their faces.  He may have observed it, for there
     was a touch of defiance in his voice and manner as he proceeded.

     "It was all very bad, no doubt," said he. "I should like to know how
     many fellows in my shoes would have refused a share of this loot when
     they knew that they would have their throats cut for their pains.
     Besides, it was my life or his when once he was in the fort. If he
     had got out, the whole business would come to light, and I should
     have been court-martialled and shot as likely as not; for people were
     not very lenient at a time like that."

     "Go on with your story," said Holmes, shortly.

     "Well, we carried him in, Abdullah, Akbar, and I. A fine weight he
     was, too, for all that he was so short. Mahomet Singh was left to
     guard the door. We took him to a place which the Sikhs had already
     prepared. It was some distance off, where a winding passage leads to
     a great empty hall, the brick walls of which were all crumbling to
     pieces. The earth floor had sunk in at one place, making a natural
     grave, so we left Achmet the merchant there, having first covered him
     over with loose bricks. This done, we all went back to the treasure.

     "It lay where he had dropped it when he was first attacked. The box
     was the same which now lies open upon your table. A key was hung by a
     silken cord to that carved handle upon the top. We opened it, and the
     light of the lantern gleamed upon a collection of gems such as I have
     read of and thought about when I was a little lad at Pershore. It was
     blinding to look upon them. When we had feasted our eyes we took them
     all out and made a list of them. There were one hundred and
     forty-three diamonds of the first water, including one which has been
     called, I believe, 'the Great Mogul' and is said to be the second
     largest stone in existence. Then there were ninety-seven very fine
     emeralds, and one hundred and seventy rubies, some of which, however,
     were small. There were forty carbuncles, two hundred and ten
     sapphires, sixty-one agates, and a great quantity of beryls, onyxes,
     cats'-eyes, turquoises, and other stones, the very names of which I
     did not know at the time, though I have become more familiar with
     them since. Besides this, there were nearly three hundred very fine
     pearls, twelve of which were set in a gold coronet. By the way, these
     last had been taken out of the chest and were not there when I
     recovered it.

     "After we had counted our treasures we put them back into the chest
     and carried them to the gate-way to show them to Mahomet Singh. Then
     we solemnly renewed our oath to stand by each other and be true to
     our secret. We agreed to conceal our loot in a safe place until the
     country should be at peace again, and then to divide it equally among
     ourselves. There was no use dividing it at present, for if gems of
     such value were found upon us it would cause suspicion, and there was
     no privacy in the fort nor any place where we could keep them. We
     carried the box, therefore, into the same hall where we had buried
     the body, and there, under certain bricks in the best-preserved wall,
     we made a hollow and put our treasure. We made careful note of the
     place, and next day I drew four plans, one for each of us, and put
     the sign of the four of us at the bottom, for we had sworn that we
     should each always act for all, so that none might take advantage.
     That is an oath that I can put my hand to my heart and swear that I
     have never broken.

     "Well, there's no use my telling you gentlemen what came of the
     Indian mutiny. After Wilson took Delhi and Sir Colin relieved Lucknow
     the back of the business was broken. Fresh troops came pouring in,
     and Nana Sahib made himself scarce over the frontier. A flying column
     under Colonel Greathed came round to Agra and cleared the Pandies
     away from it. Peace seemed to be settling upon the country, and we
     four were beginning to hope that the time was at hand when we might
     safely go off with our shares of the plunder. In a moment, however,
     our hopes were shattered by our being arrested as the murderers of
     Achmet.

     "It came about in this way. When the rajah put his jewels into the
     hands of Achmet he did it because he knew that he was a trusty man.
     They are suspicious folk in the East, however: so what does this
     rajah do but take a second even more trusty servant and set him to
     play the spy upon the first? This second man was ordered never to let
     Achmet out of his sight, and he followed him like his shadow. He went
     after him that night and saw him pass through the doorway. Of course
     he thought he had taken refuge in the fort, and applied for admission
     there himself next day, but could find no trace of Achmet. This
     seemed to him so strange that he spoke about it to a sergeant of
     guides, who brought it to the ears of the commandant. A thorough
     search was quickly made, and the body was discovered. Thus at the
     very moment that we thought that all was safe we were all four seized
     and brought to trial on a charge of murder,--three of us because we
     had held the gate that night, and the fourth because he was known to
     have been in the company of the murdered man. Not a word about the
     jewels came out at the trial, for the rajah had been deposed and
     driven out of India: so no one had any particular interest in them.
     The murder, however, was clearly made out, and it was certain that we
     must all have been concerned in it. The three Sikhs got penal
     servitude for life, and I was condemned to death, though my sentence
     was afterwards commuted into the same as the others.

     "It was rather a queer position that we found ourselves in then.
     There we were all four tied by the leg and with precious little
     chance of ever getting out again, while we each held a secret which
     might have put each of us in a palace if we could only have made use
     of it. It was enough to make a man eat his heart out to have to stand
     the kick and the cuff of every petty jack-in-office, to have rice to
     eat and water to drink, when that gorgeous fortune was ready for him
     outside, just waiting to be picked up. It might have driven me mad;
     but I was always a pretty stubborn one, so I just held on and bided
     my time.

     "At last it seemed to me to have come. I was changed from Agra to
     Madras, and from there to Blair Island in the Andamans. There are
     very few white convicts at this settlement, and, as I had behaved
     well from the first, I soon found myself a sort of privileged person.
     I was given a hut in Hope Town, which is a small place on the slopes
     of Mount Harriet, and I was left pretty much to myself. It is a
     dreary, fever-stricken place, and all beyond our little clearings was
     infested with wild cannibal natives, who were ready enough to blow a
     poisoned dart at us if they saw a chance. There was digging, and
     ditching, and yam-planting, and a dozen other things to be done, so
     we were busy enough all day; though in the evening we had a little
     time to ourselves. Among other things, I learned to dispense drugs
     for the surgeon, and picked up a smattering of his knowledge. All the
     time I was on the lookout for a chance of escape; but it is hundreds
     of miles from any other land, and there is little or no wind in those
     seas: so it was a terribly difficult job to get away.

     "The surgeon, Dr. Somerton, was a fast, sporting young chap, and the
     other young officers would meet in his rooms of an evening and play
     cards. The surgery, where I used to make up my drugs, was next to his
     sitting-room, with a small window between us. Often, if I felt
     lonesome, I used to turn out the lamp in the surgery, and then,
     standing there, I could hear their talk and watch their play. I am
     fond of a hand at cards myself, and it was almost as good as having
     one to watch the others. There was Major Sholto, Captain Morstan, and
     Lieutenant Bromley Brown, who were in command of the native troops,
     and there was the surgeon himself, and two or three prison-officials,
     crafty old hands who played a nice sly safe game. A very snug little
     party they used to make.

     "Well, there was one thing which very soon struck me, and that was
     that the soldiers used always to lose and the civilians to win. Mind,
     I don't say that there was anything unfair, but so it was. These
     prison-chaps had done little else than play cards ever since they had
     been at the Andamans, and they knew each other's game to a point,
     while the others just played to pass the time and threw their cards
     down anyhow. Night after night the soldiers got up poorer men, and
     the poorer they got the more keen they were to play. Major Sholto was
     the hardest hit. He used to pay in notes and gold at first, but soon
     it came to notes of hand and for big sums. He sometimes would win for
     a few deals, just to give him heart, and then the luck would set in
     against him worse than ever. All day he would wander about as black
     as thunder, and he took to drinking a deal more than was good for
     him.

     "One night he lost even more heavily than usual. I was sitting in my
     hut when he and Captain Morstan came stumbling along on the way to
     their quarters. They were bosom friends, those two, and never far
     apart. The major was raving about his losses.

     "'It's all up, Morstan,' he was saying, as they passed my hut. 'I
     shall have to send in my papers. I am a ruined man.'

     "'Nonsense, old chap!' said the other, slapping him upon the
     shoulder. 'I've had a nasty facer myself, but--' That was all I could
     hear, but it was enough to set me thinking.

     A couple of days later Major Sholto was strolling on the beach: so I
     took the chance of speaking to him.

     "'I wish to have your advice, major,' said I.

     "'Well, Small, what is it?' he asked, taking his cheroot from his
     lips.

     "'I wanted to ask you, sir,' said I, 'who is the proper person to
     whom hidden treasure should be handed over. I know where half a
     million worth lies, and, as I cannot use it myself, I thought perhaps
     the best thing that I could do would be to hand it over to the proper
     authorities, and then perhaps they would get my sentence shortened
     for me.'

     "'Half a million, Small?' he gasped, looking hard at me to see if I
     was in earnest.

     "'Quite that, sir,--in jewels and pearls. It lies there ready for
     anyone. And the queer thing about it is that the real owner is
     outlawed and cannot hold property, so that it belongs to the first
     comer.'

     "'To government, Small,' he stammered,--'to government.' But he said
     it in a halting fashion, and I knew in my heart that I had got him.

     "'You think, then, sir, that I should give the information to the
     Governor-General?' said I, quietly.

     "'Well, well, you must not do anything rash, or that you might
     repent. Let me hear all about it, Small. Give me the facts.'

     "I told him the whole story, with small changes so that he could not
     identify the places. When I had finished he stood stock still and
     full of thought. I could see by the twitch of his lip that there was
     a struggle going on within him.

     "'This is a very important matter, Small,' he said, at last. 'You
     must not say a word to any one about it, and I shall see you again
     soon.'

     "Two nights later he and his friend Captain Morstan came to my hut in
     the dead of the night with a lantern.

     "'I want you just to let Captain Morstan hear that story from your
     own lips, Small,' said he.

     "I repeated it as I had told it before.

     "'It rings true, eh?' said he. 'It's good enough to act upon?'

     "Captain Morstan nodded.

     "'Look here, Small,' said the major. 'We have been talking it over,
     my friend here and I, and we have come to the conclusion that this
     secret of yours is hardly a government matter, after all, but is a
     private concern of your own, which of course you have the power of
     disposing of as you think best. Now, the question is, what price
     would you ask for it? We might be inclined to take it up, and at
     least look into it, if we could agree as to terms.' He tried to speak
     in a cool, careless way, but his eyes were shining with excitement
     and greed.

     "'Why, as to that, gentlemen,' I answered, trying also to be cool,
     but feeling as excited as he did, 'there is only one bargain which a
     man in my position can make. I shall want yo to help me to my
     freedom, and to help my three companions to theirs.  We shall then
     take yo into partnership, and give you a fifth share to divide
     between you.'

     "'Hum!' said he. 'A fifth share! That is not very tempting.'

     "'It would come to fifty thousand apiece,' said I.

     "'But how can we gain your freedom? You know very well that you ask
     an impossibility.'

     "'Nothing of the sort,' I answered. 'I have thought it all out to the
     last detail. The only bar to our escape is that we can get no boat
     fit for the voyage, and no provisions to last us for so long a time.
     There are plenty of little yachts and yawls at Calcutta or Madras
     which would serve our turn well. Do you bring one over. We shall
     engage to get aboard her by night, and if you will drop us on any
     part of the Indian coast you will have done your part of the
     bargain.'

     "'If there were only one,' he said.

     "'None or all,' I answered. 'We have sworn it. The four of us must
     always act together.'

     "'You see, Morstan,' said he, 'Small is a man of his word. He does
     not flinch from his friend. I think we may very well trust him.'

     "'It's a dirty business,' the other answered. 'Yet, as you say, the
     money would save our commissions handsomely.'

     "'Well, Small,' said the major, 'we must, I suppose, try and meet
     you. We must first, of course, test the truth of your story. Tell me
     where the box is hid, and I shall get leave of absence and go back to
     India in the monthly relief-boat to inquire into the affair.'

     "'Not so fast,' said I, growing colder as he got hot. 'I must have
     the consent of my three comrades. I tell you that it is four or none
     with us.'

     "'Nonsense!' he broke in. 'What have three black fellows to do with
     our agreement?'

     "'Black or blue,' said I, 'they are in with me, and we all go
     together.'

     "Well, the matter ended by a second meeting, at which Mahomet Singh,
     Abdullah Khan, and Dost Akbar were all present. We talked the matter
     over again, and at last we came to an arrangement. We were to provide
     both the officers with charts of the part of the Agra fort and mark
     the place in the wall where the treasure was hid. Major Sholto was to
     go to India to test our story. If he found the box he was to leave it
     there, to send out a small yacht provisioned for a voyage, which was
     to lie off Rutland Island, and to which we were to make our way, and
     finally to return to his duties. Captain Morstan was then to apply
     for leave of absence, to meet us at Agra, and there we were to have a
     final division of the treasure, he taking the major's share as well
     as his own. All this we sealed by the most solemn oaths that the mind
     could think or the lips utter. I sat up all night with paper and ink,
     and by the morning I had the two charts all ready, signed with the
     sign of four,--that is, of Abdullah, Akbar, Mahomet, and myself.

     "Well, gentlemen, I weary you with my long story, and I know that my
     friend Mr. Jones is impatient to get me safely stowed in chokey. I'll
     make it as short as I can. The villain Sholto went off to India, but
     he never came back again. Captain Morstan showed me his name among a
     list of passengers in one of the mail-boats very shortly afterwards.
     His uncle had died, leaving him a fortune, and he had left the army,
     yet he could stoop to treat five men as he had treated us. Morstan
     went over to Agra shortly afterwards, and found, as we expected, that
     the treasure was indeed gone. The scoundrel had stolen it all,
     without carrying out one of the conditions on which we had sold him
     the secret. From that day I lived only for vengeance. I thought of it
     by day and I nursed it by night. It became an overpowering, absorbing
     passion with me. I cared nothing for the law,--nothing for the
     gallows. To escape, to track down Sholto, to have my hand upon his
     throat,--that was my one thought. Even the Agra treasure had come to
     be a smaller thing in my mind than the slaying of Sholto.

     "Well, I have set my mind on many things in this life, and never one
     which I did not carry out. But it was weary years before my time
     came. I have told you that I had picked up something of medicine. One
     day when Dr. Somerton was down with a fever a little Andaman Islander
     was picked up by a convict-gang in the woods. He was sick to death,
     and had gone to a lonely place to die. I took him in hand, though he
     was as venomous as a young snake, and after a couple of months I got
     him all right and able to walk. He took a kind of fancy to me then,
     and would hardly go back to his woods, but was always hanging about
     my hut. I learned a little of his lingo from him, and this made him
     all the fonder of me.

     "Tonga--for that was his name--was a fine boatman, and owned a big,
     roomy canoe of his own. When I found that he was devoted to me and
     would do anything to serve me, I saw my chance of escape. I talked it
     over with him. He was to bring his boat round on a certain night to
     an old wharf which was never guarded, and there he was to pick me up.
     I gave him directions to have several gourds of water and a lot of
     yams, cocoa-nuts, and sweet potatoes.

     "He was stanch and true, was little Tonga. No man ever had a more
     faithful mate. At the night named he had his boat at the wharf. As it
     chanced, however, there was one of the convict-guard down there,--a
     vile Pathan who had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring
     me. I had always vowed vengeance, and now I had my chance. It was as
     if fate had placed him in my way that I might pay my debt before I
     left the island. He stood on the bank with his back to me, and his
     carbine on his shoulder. I looked about for a stone to beat out his
     brains with, but none could I see. Then a queer thought came into my
     head and showed me where I could lay my hand on a weapon. I sat down
     in the darkness and unstrapped my wooden leg. With three long hops I
     was on him. He put his carbine to his shoulder, but I struck him
     full, and knocked the whole front of his skull in. You can see the
     split in the wood now where I hit him. We both went down together,
     for I could not keep my balance, but when I got up I found him still
     lying quiet enough. I made for the boat, and in an hour we were well
     out at sea. Tonga had brought all his earthly possessions with him,
     his arms and his gods. Among other things, he had a long bamboo
     spear, and some Andaman cocoa-nut matting, with which I make a sort
     of sail. For ten days we were beating about, trusting to luck, and on
     the eleventh we were picked up by a trader which was going from
     Singapore to Jiddah with a cargo of Malay pilgrims. They were a rum
     crowd, and Tonga and I soon managed to settle down among them. They
     had one very good quality: they let you alone and asked no questions.

     "Well, if I were to tell you all the adventures that my little chum
     and I went through, you would not thank me, for I would have you here
     until the sun was shining. Here and there we drifted about the world,
     something always turning up to keep us from London. All the time,
     however, I never lost sight of my purpose. I would dream of Sholto at
     night. A hundred times I have killed him in my sleep. At last,
     however, some three or four years ago, we found ourselves in England.
     I had no great difficulty in finding where Sholto lived, and I set to
     work to discover whether he had realized the treasure, or if he still
     had it. I made friends with someone who could help me,--I name no
     names, for I don't want to get any one else in a hole,--and I soon
     found that he still had the jewels. Then I tried to get at him in
     many ways; but he was pretty sly, and had always two prize-fighters,
     besides his sons and his khitmutgar, on guard over him.

     "One day, however, I got word that he was dying. I hurried at once to
     the garden, mad that he should slip out of my clutches like that,
     and, looking through the window, I saw him lying in his bed, with his
     sons on each side of him. I'd have come through and taken my chance
     with the three of them, only even as I looked at him his jaw dropped,
     and I knew that he was gone. I got into his room that same night,
     though, and I searched his papers to see if there was any record of
     where he had hidden our jewels. There was not a line, however: so I
     came away, bitter and savage as a man could be. Before I left I
     bethought me that if I ever met my Sikh friends again it would be a
     satisfaction to know that I had left some mark of our hatred: so I
     scrawled down the sign of the four of us, as it had been on the
     chart, and I pinned it on his bosom. It was too much that he should
     be taken to the grave without some token from the men whom he had
     robbed and befooled.

     "We earned a living at this time by my exhibiting poor Tonga at fairs
     and other such places as the black cannibal. He would eat raw meat
     and dance his war-dance: so we always had a hatful of pennies after a
     day's work. I still heard all the news from Pondicherry Lodge, and
     for some years there was no news to hear, except that they were
     hunting for the treasure. At last, however, came what we had waited
     for so long. The treasure had been found. It was up at the top of the
     house, in Mr. Bartholomew Sholto's chemical laboratory. I came at
     once and had a look at the place, but I could not see how with my
     wooden leg I was to make my way up to it. I learned, however, about a
     trap-door in the roof, and also about Mr. Sholto's supper-hour. It
     seemed to me that I could manage the thing easily through Tonga. I
     brought him out with me with a long rope wound round his waist. He
     could climb like a cat, and he soon made his way through the roof,
     but, as ill luck would have it, Bartholomew Sholto was still in the
     room, to his cost. Tonga thought he had done something very clever in
     killing him, for when I came up by the rope I found him strutting
     about as proud as a peacock. Very much surprised was he when I made
     at him with the rope's end and cursed him for a little blood-thirsty
     imp. I took the treasure-box and let it down, and then slid down
     myself, having first left the sign of the four upon the table, to
     show that the jewels had come back at last to those who had most
     right to them. Tonga then pulled up the rope, closed the window, and
     made off the way that he had come.

     "I don't know that I have anything else to tell you. I had heard a
     waterman speak of the speed of Smith's launch, the Aurora, so I
     thought she would be a handy craft for our escape. I engaged with old
     Smith, and was to give him a big sum if he got us safe to our ship.
     He knew, no doubt, that there was some screw loose, but he was not in
     our secrets. All this is the truth, and if I tell it to you,
     gentlemen, it is not to amuse you,--for you have not done me a very
     good turn,--but it is because I believe the best defence I can make
     is just to hold back nothing, but let all the wold know how badly I
     have myself been served by Major Sholto, and how innocent I am of the
     death of his son."

     "A very remarkable account," said Sherlock Holmes. "A fitting wind-up
     to an extremely interesting case. There is nothing at all new to me
     in the latter part of your narrative, except that you brought your
     own rope. That I did not know. By the way, I had hoped that Tonga had
     lost all his darts; yet he managed to shoot one at us in the boat."

     "He had lost them all, sir, except the one which was in his blow-pipe
     at the time."

     "Ah, of course," said Holmes. "I had not thought of that."

     "Is there any other point which you would like to ask about?" asked
     the convict, affably.

     "I think not, thank you," my companion answered.

     "Well, Holmes," said Athelney Jones, "You are a man to be humored,
     and we all know that you are a connoisseur of crime, but duty is
     duty, and I have gone rather far in doing what you and your friend
     asked me. I shall feel more at ease when we have our story-teller
     here safe under lock and key. The cab still waits, and there are two
     inspectors down-stairs. I am much obliged to you both for your
     assistance. Of course you will be wanted at the trial. Good-night to
     you."

     "Good-night, gentlemen both," said Jonathan Small.

     "You first, Small," remarked the wary Jones as they left the room.
     "I'll take particular care that you don't club me with your wooden
     leg, whatever you may have done to the gentleman at the Andaman
     Isles."

     "Well, and there is the end of our little drama," I remarked, after
     we had set some time smoking in silence. "I fear that it may be the
     last investigation in which I shall have the chance of studying your
     methods. Miss Morstan has done me the honor to accept me as a husband
     in prospective."

     He gave a most dismal groan. "I feared as much," said he. "I really
     cannot congratulate you."

     I was a little hurt. "Have you any reason to be dissatisfied with my
     choice?" I asked.

     "Not at all. I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I
     ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have
     been doing. She had a decided genius that way: witness the way in
     which she preserved that Agra plan from all the other papers of her
     father. But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is
     opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I
     should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment."

     "I trust," said I, laughing, "that my judgment may survive the
     ordeal. But you look weary."

     "Yes, the reaction is already upon me. I shall be as limp as a rag
     for a week."

     "Strange," said I, "how terms of what in another man I should call
     laziness alternate with your fits of splendid energy and vigor."

     "Yes," he answered, "there are in me the makings of a very fine
     loafer and also of a pretty spry sort of fellow. I often think of
     those lines of old Goethe,--

              Schade, daß die Natur nur einen Mensch aus Dir schuf,
             Denn zum würdigen Mann war und zum Schelmen der Stoff.

     "By the way, a propos of this Norwood business, you see that they
     had, as I surmised, a confederate in the house, who could be none
     other than Lal Rao, the butler: so Jones actually has the undivided
     honor of having caught one fish in his great haul."

     "The division seems rather unfair," I remarked. "You have done all
     the work in this business. I get a wife out of it, Jones gets the
     credit, pray what remains for you?"

     "For me," said Sherlock Holmes, "there still remains the
     cocaine-bottle." And he stretched his long white hand up for it.









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